Christmas

One day a few weeks ago, I was chatting with Ivana when her son sent me messages when his mother stepped away from the computer. At first he typed a few coy greetings in English and in Czech. Then he typed "jezisek". He typed it twice more. It was a like child's whispered excitement about Christmas, and it made me smile. A whispered "Jezisek" is now the code around our house for "something wonderful is coming." For most children in America, well for those whose parents allow their celebrations to include the secular, it is Santa Claus who is eagerly awaited. As Fanda says, "Santa Claus v Americe."
Santa Claus comes on Christmas Eve, after the children have gone to bed, and we all open our presents on Christmas Day. Our family tradition for Christmas is a combination of traditions from mine and Thomas's childhoods and begins a whole month before Christmas Day, with the appearance of the Elf Calendar, a blank, homemade calendar (made by elves, wink, wink) for Santa's elf spies to grade the children in the house every day until Christmas. On the days when Bram is good, foil wrapped chocolate coins magically appear as immediate reward for good behavior. We hang stockings by the fireplace, wreaths outside on the doors and windows, solve the Christmas tree questions (live or artificial, lights or not, 1 or 2 or 3 trees), and decide if we will send Christmas cards (we didn't). This year, we had two artificial trees because we were gone for a week. We decorated one with candy and one with all natural things--berries and cones and such from the woods. We'll put all of the natural decorations back outside for the birds. One of my favorite things to have is a live tree decorated entirely with things that the birds can use: seeds, berries, cones, bits of string and foil and fabric for nests, and which we simply move to the yard to be used for habitat and supplies for birds and other wild creatures.

On Christmas Eve, we went to Georgia for Christmas with Thomas's mother. When I was a child, we always went to my grandmother's house on Christmas Eve to open some presents and to have a big dinner there. My grandmother absolutely loved Christmas, it seemed, especially giving gifts. Of course, what child wouldn't adore a grandma who was generous in her giving of gifts, and who was often funny about it, too? On her always-too-huge and oddly shaped tree, she sometimes hung little unwrapped gifts which could only be found by lying under the tree and looking up into it. One year it was wildly colored socks, and now my mother-in-law usually gives me a pair of silly socks on Christmas Eve. I guess I am a little big now to be crawling under the tree.
On Christmas morning, Bram woke us up before sunrise to see what Santa had brought him. He was very deliberate in opening his presents, as always, unwrapping, opening, and giving each gift a fair amount of attention before moving to the next one.This takes an especially long time with the books he gets. The entire process took him three hours! And then he played with his toys and read in his new books while Thomas and I read ours, though I haven't yet started on the best one: the finished typescript of Thomas's next novel, dedicated to me. I think it is my favorite present this year.
In a day or so, we will go to Georgia to have the rest of our Christmas with my family. On New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, we will eat black-eyed peas (for luck) and collard greens (for money), and cornbread (because it is good and it goes well with peas and greens and it is as Southern as knedliky is Czech).

Greetings from the Conch Republic

Our last port of call was The Conch Republic, the new nation created when Key West residents decided to secede from the United States because federal agents shut down the only road in and out of the island for eight hours. I think a healthy dose of year round warm weather, good rum and pure cussedness are often responsible for such rebellious acts by the locals. The presence of renegade lawyers probably doesn't hurt, either.
We arrived late and took a Conch Train tour called "Discover Key West." The last time I was in Key West, I was three years old, and the only memory of that trip I have is of sitting on the console between the front seats for the long drive down, with my mother, one of her sisters and three of cousins all in the '65 Ford Mustang which was my father's idea, at that time, of a family car. Judging from what I have read and heard about what Key West used to be like, it is not hard to see that now it is quite a different place altogether. I got off the boat expecting (and hoping) to see lots of locals--gays, hippies, druggies outrageously dressed and behaving outrageously. Instead, what I saw were mostly tourists, many from cruise ships, I think, wandering the streets of a squeaky clean little town that bore more resemblance to a street in Disney World than a tiny unique island refuge of pirates, scalawags, and misfits. It is all shiny and polished and cute.
But it wasn't a complete disappointment. There are little booths where they sell delicious conch fritters and Key West's oldest tourist attraction, built in the 1930's, Key West Aquarium
We have seen bigger and more expensive aquariums all over the world, but this one is the best, I think. There are low tanks inside the central courtyard which make it possible for one to get very very close to sharks and those most graceful creatures of the seas, the rays. We stayed long enough to hear Jon, the resident marine biologist, talk about the creatures, to handle the sea urchins and starfish, and to watch the feeding of the sharks and rays. Now you can watch them.


No trip to Key West is complete without a view of the sunset from the 'ends of America', so here you are. In spite of the rather Disney-fied atmosphere, I would still like to live there. Who could not love warm weather and abundant sunshine year round and a cast of locals who would rather secede from the Union than wait for a road block to clear?

Cozumel, Mexico and Tulum Ruins

Playa Del Carmen, Cozumel

Beach at Tulum

The Temple at Tulum Ruins

Bram investigates the first of many iguanas we saw all over the ruins.

Cruise: Hanging Around the Ship

I had hoped to spend my time out on deck (they say 'topside') lying in the sun with a book, but it was a bit too windy and cool for me. There are plenty of other things to do onboard that you don't pay extra for: dancing lessons, which I think would have been especially fun to watch before folks got their sea legs, craft lessons (we made beaded gecko decorations, paper flowers, origami boxes, and balloon flowers), a language lesson (there was only one, Tagalog, which we tried to make it through, but the seas were rough that day), art and jewelry lectures, handwriting analysis, and such during the day. Bram and I went to the towel folding demonstration to learn how the stewards fold those towel animals that they leave on our beds at night. In the evenings, there were comedy and music shows, a disco, and of course, topside there is always the pool and the hot tub.

At the ports of call, there are excursions, which have to be paid for. We were supposed to go snorkeling in George Town, Grand Cayman, but the seas were still too rough for it, so we went down in a submarine instead. I wouldn't recommend the submarine. Forgive me, Lenka, but it was not exciting, though it was probably more fun than investigating the many many luxury jewelry and watch stores and souvenir shops there. I am afraid that I cannot see the appeal of traveling to a new place just to shop, and for such expensive things. All I could think about was how many tickets to Brno could be had for the price of just one piece of such jewelry or fancy watch.

Cruise: Sea Legs and Seasickness

When I say that we were wandering around the ship, the word that I should use is "staggering," for we hadn't yet gotten our sea legs. I was a bit embarrassed about weaving about like Johnny Depp doing Jack Sparrow, looking like I had already run up a tremendous bar tab, until I started watching a group of women who seemed quite steady on their pins (i.e. who were not wobbling), and heard them discussing how long they thought it would be before they got their sea legs. Then I realised that as long we were all wobbling, we all appeared to each other to be steady. Go figure. It's a bit like being too drunk to see how foolish you sound and act, but in reverse. It's all kind of fun, really, until the seas get rough and the boat begins to really rock.
Sea sickness. Okay, all of you men, take heed: pregnancy morning sickness feels exactly like very severe seasickness. And, girlfriends, the next time you plan to get pregnant, take your man on a cruise. In rough seas. To improve his ability to empathise. To teach him proper appreciation of the power of woman as procreative being. Just don't stand too close to him when you do. For the rest of you: seasickness also feels a lot like that feeling you get when you have had so much to drink that the room begins to spin and roll. It's bad enough that even a sunset over Miami doesn't please.

Cruise: Day One

Saturday, December 15: Our little ship was called "The Majesty". I thought it was pretty huge until we reached the Caymans and saw some of the other cruise ships. We embarked late in the afternoon, carried our luggage to our stateroom, unpacked, and went out to explore the ship. Don't be overly-impressed that we were in a 'stateroom'; that's just what the majority of rooms are called on a cruise ship, and unless the room is a suite or a penthouse, they are all about the same size as ours. Outside the room, er, stateroom, everyone was wandering around asking the same two questions: "What is this?" and "Is it free?" From this, you can see that the word 'complementary' is an important one to us and other cruisers. In fact, nothing is free on a cruise since you've already paid for it. And any time most Americans have already paid for something, we are likely to get as much as possible.
Out on deck, aft, we saw a long line and got in it, and after about ten minutes in the freezing wet wind, we were pleased to discover that it was a buffet line. Food! We were starving. The fare was stereotypical American: burgers, hotdogs, fries, pizza, salad and fruit. Since every line on a cruise ship is all-you-can eat buffet, we could have gone back for seconds (or thirds). You only have to pay extra for drinks other than tea or water.

We continued our exploration of the ship and discovered two more of the five total "eating venues" it is possible to eat in without paying extra. I overheard two women talking and learned that it is even possible to eat in more than one of the venues for each meal, and that at least one is always open 24 hours a day.
Nearly every single one of the cruise workers was foreign, with the majority of them being from the Philippines. An added bonus of the cruise was that I learned most of the polite expressions in Tagalog that I needed to interact with the stewards, waiters, bar tenders and others. Don't be impressed. Compared to Czech, Tagalog is easy. But, then, compared to Czech, what isn't easy?

Sharks at School!

Here he is, our little scientist. Today he and his classmates dissected sharks in science class. I arrived just in time to see him complete the removal of one of the shark's eyes. I watched as they removed the brain. Who wouldn't love science with lessons like this? As I was leaving, his teacher talked to me about what a remarkable child Bram is. She said he is a natural scientist (we don't call him Mr Empirical for nothing), talked about what a joy he is to have in her class, and was enthusiastic about our taking him for some underwater snorkeling next week. (I'll tell you about that later. It's an early Christmas present.) She also said that we should consider scuba lessons for him since he's so interested in marine biology. He's just the kind of kid who would love that more than he would a new bike. Okay, I know I am bragging. But I am his mother. What? Is some other child's mother going to brag on him?

Superman Wears Bram Underoos

In order to understand this, and the story behind it, you need to know a few things first. Around the age of 3 or 4, many little American boys become enthralled by superheroes. They tend to find one more attractive than the other, and some boys like to dress up and pretend to be their favorite super hero. There are even underwear sets called, “underoos” so they can be super under their clothes. I know of lots and lots of little boys who have been coaxed into good behavior with the words, “Superman/Spider Man/Batman eats vegetables, cleans his room, brushes his teeth, never hits his sister.” And just about as many who were proud to point out their superhero underoos. Bram never went through this phase, but then, you know, he isn’t an average boy.

I hadn’t really thought of super hero culture as an American thing or as being such a big part of who we are or how we think until last night. Bram has been playing Runescape with his friends from school; it is an online multiplayer game, and it is all the rage here for the kids his age. The point of the game is to advance in various skill levels (just about everything from cooking to killing zombies, including prayer level!) and to amass such things as gold, runes, weapons and armour. He’s been playing for a couple of months, has been reading books and maps and online articles about the game, and networking with his pals to improve his status in the game. Bram has always been good about sharing and wanting to help others, and it has been nice to see that a few of his classmates share that impulse. One of them offered to help Bram, and being the trusting boy he is, Bram gave this boy access to his game account. Things went along fine, with this boy helping Bram, and Bram in turn, helping a lower level player in the same way. But Friday, something happened.

Two other boys managed to get into Bram’s account, and completely decimated it. They took all the gains and as an added insult, wiped out his friends list. They did this on Friday, while Bram was home sick from school. It was a little heartbreaking for all of us. I felt so very sorry for him; he was clearly stunned and disappointed, and nothing hurts more than seeing my child hurt. I know what it is like to be betrayed by someone whom you think is your friend, and for there to be no reason for it. I know it is a lesson that he was bound to learn eventually; this need for being careful with trust. He has to know and to remember that a leopard won’t lose his spots, that a boy who will betray his friends will be a man who will do the same. Bram was quite brave though. He didn’t get very angry or plot some revenge, or even cry. Thomas and I hugged him and told him that we were proud of the mature way he was handling it, and to count the experience as “tuition”-- what you pay to learn. Yep, my boy handled this loss of innocence pretty well. Even Superman would be impressed. I bet he’s out there right now looking for some Bram underoos.

Personalize Me!

While we were travelling around we used to play a game which we called, "Spot the American" in which the point, as you can easily guess, is to correctly identify which of the people around us were Americans, without hearing them talk. It is a version of a game I used to play with some of my students called "China, Japan, Korea" in which my task was to correctly guess their country of origin without hearing them speak. My students seemed to think that all Americans thought all Asians looked alike. Of course, we don't, and they don't. While we travelled in Europe, we also liked to play "Spot the Czech", a game which was satisfying because Thomas and I both were equally good at it, and we found it even more fun once we realized that the Vienese usually thought we were Czech.

There are a couple of ways to spot the American: white athletic shoes, baseball caps, t-shirts, and blue jeans are big hints, but the dead give away is that the caps and the t-shirts are likely to have some kind of writing on them. From the overabundance of shirts and caps (and even underwear) in WalMart, you would think that having such a shirt were some kind of requirement. The content of this writing varies wildly from the religious ("Real Men Love Jesus") to the crude "Ask me about my explosive diarrhea", or obscene ("SL_T: all I need is U") or sexist ("If you can read this, the bitch fell off"--to be worn by male motorcyclists and "If you can read this, I pushed the bastard off"--for the woman) to the satirical ("I don't have a drinking problem: I drink, I get drunk, I fall down. No problem"), the political ("Make love, not war" "Immigration is the sincerest form of flattery""Support stem-cell research: grow Bush a brain"), those sporting ethnic pride ("It's a black thing. You wouldn't understand" or "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God"), and... you get the picture. You can see the slideshow. All of this got me to thinking and wondering, if Czechs went in for this kind of thing, what would your shirts say? BTW. I have only one such shirt "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite."

My Spider Vishnu---As American as Apple Pie

I have decided to rename the spider who lives on my back porch Vishnu. I think it is a better name for her than Rachael, which I got from the Holy Bible. After all, the spider does have eight arms. Of course, no one around here, in the buckle of the Bible Belt, took offense at the name Rachael, though it is from the Christian holy book. I wonder if I should be worried that someone will want to kill me because I have named my beloved spider Vishnu. Nah, of course not. Hindus are reasonable people, who have more to do than finding insult and injury where none is intended.

Two nights ago, I prepared lime and spice roasted chicken, Aloo Mattar (curry with peas and potatoes), and green asparagus. I was reminded of the time in Brno when we were all missing food from home. There are two McDonald's restaurants and a KFC on Massarykova, but we don't really consider that "food from home." Our sudden desire for our native cuisine occurred at about the same time that someone in Prague asked me, " just what is American food ?" So for a week I cooked only American food. We had lasagna, enchiladas, Mozambique curry, Aloo Gobi, dressing and turkey, meatloaf, moussaka, quiche, chili, and vegetable gumbo. Are you surprised? There are foods which everyone thinks of as real American cuisine: hotdogs, hamburgers, pizza, barbecue, steak, fried chicken, and good old apple pie. But even those things aren't really from here. American cuisine is rather like American English: what we meet up with, we take in and call it ours. Words we have a use for we add to English. Robot, lens, taco, futon, lasagna, bureau, vodka are all English words now. It is all as American as apple pie. You know apple pie, right? It's like apfel strudel in a pan. But just because we take these things in doesn't mean that we have stolen them from anyone or believe them the sole property of those of our nation or of our faith, things about which no one may think and speak freely. It is the Czech appreciation for this freedom that is one of the things about your character and culture that I am so fond of. Really, more so than most, Czechs and others who suffered under Communism can see the stupidity in demanding the death of someone who names a bear after a prophet. They can appreciate the freedom in both naming your animal whatever the hell you want and being free to criticise someone else for choosing a stupid name. So, I will tell you this: we've been thinking lately about getting a pet. Getting a pet means also giving it a name. I am considering a dog Mohammed, or a chicken Confucius, or a cat Jesus, or a bird Buddha. My bird Buddha. That has nice alliteration. But maybe it would be better to call the bird Jesus, what with the Holy Spirit and all. So call me insensitive or a bigot or insulting, whatever you want. I don't care. I am an American and I will defend to the death your right to free speech. My belief is in a god who understands what is in a person's heart and my faith in a religion which values forgiveness as a sign of tolerance and love. Challenge me on this and maybe I will issue a fatwa against you for not sharing my beliefs. Or maybe I will just forgive you. It is the reasonable, civilised thing to do.

Thanksgiving Celebrations

This is how most Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. Since it is both a big family holiday and an eating holiday, decisions must be made about who will host the dinner and who will be cooking and what. We travel. We eat until we can hold no more. This year, we are having two Thanksgivings. On Saturday, we drove to Georgia (about 150mi/300km, 2.5 hours, but whose counting?) to have our first Thanksgiving with my mother-in-law. This was easy because she was eager to have the dinner at her house and to do all of the cooking, so we didn’t have to do anything except show up and eat. On the way to Georgia, we passed through Clemson, SC, home of the Clemson University Tigers football team. Saturdays in the Fall are big days for college football games, and football is a rather important part of Thanksgiving for some. While Thomas pumped the gas, Bram and I wandered over to buy a bag of boiled peanuts from a man who was boiling them in a giant pot as big as those plastic tubs that they have the carp in at Christmas in Brno. The most important thing you need to know about boiled peanuts is that they taste really good and that the correct pronunciation involves not really making that /i/ sound.
The second Thanksgiving we will have will be in South Georgia in a tiny town called Lumber City. It is where my mother went to high school, where her sisters grew up, and where one of my aunts will be hosting us at her newly acquired hurricane refuge house. A hurricane refuge house is a home that some people on the coast have so that when they evacuate for a storm, they have a place to go to. Since my aunt has quite a lot of pets, not all of whom get along with each other, this a good thing. My mother, her sisters and I will do all of the cooking. There will be turkey and dressing and potatoes and turnips and pumpkin pie, and whatever else we decide to cook. At any rate, it will be too much food. It always is. The menfolk will sit around and talk and wait for us to order them around. After we set the table and tell God thank you, we will eat ourselves silly, which for me isn't very far. I have already told you that this a big family holiday. That means that most Americans travel for this holiday and that they spend time with family, usually lots of family, family that a lot of people might admit they are thankful to have to see only once a year. That won't be the case for me. I love my parents and my aunts. They adore me. What's not to be grateful for in that?

Distractions: A Photo Post

I sat down at the computer to write a post, and this is what I saw.
I tried really hard to think about what I was writing, but these guys were digging this HUGE hole in my front yard. As if the drought hadn't done enough damage to the grass.

I got tired of trying to write with the distraction, and the workers, went to lunch, so I did the only natural thing.
I went outside and played around on their equipment. Darn! No keys.

Thanksgiving 1

Thanksgiving this year is November 22nd. It is always the fourth Thursday of November.

All Americans know the story of Thanksgiving. Pilgrims who came to this country to escape religious persecution in England managed to make it through their first hard winter and to gather a bountiful Fall harvest. To celebrate their good fortune at having arrived here and survived, they held a great feast to thank God and the Native Americans without whose help such survival and good eating might not have been possible. At this feast was served turkey, corn, potatoes, turnips, and pumpkins—the food available to them. As the story goes, after three days of feasting at one such celebration, the Indians disappeared into the woods and returned with five deer, which they gave to the governor. This was sometime around 1621.
Later, of course, the White Man slaughtered as many of the natives as possible, bought Manhattan from them for a box of beads, drove them onto reservations where in the 20th century these seemingly worthless lands were discovered to have such riches as plutonium and oil, and to be so fortuitously placed as to make some of the most profitable gambling casinos in the country. I am sure that there is a team of lawyers somewhere trying to take back those lands and their profits.
But I digress. I have always wondered why the Indians went out to get the deer and why it is that venison, the meat from deer, has never caught on as traditional Thanksgiving fare. Were the natives tired of turkey? We get tired of it. Did the food run out? Did one of the Pilgrims say something about who brought what? It isn’t as though deer has nothing to do with Thanksgiving these days. I mean, deer has as much to do with Thanksgiving as American football does. While quite a lot of men leave the feast table to go sit in front of a television to watch football, I think there may be just as many who don hunting vests and grab their rifles before walking off into the woods to shoot a doe. Doe season (the right to kill a female deer) usually opens on Thanksgiving or the day after. Maybe it is just a Southern thing. If that is the case, does that mean that Southerners are more traditional in their celebration of Thanksgiving? After all, when a Rebel comes out of the woods with a deer, somebody cooks it, and somebody eats it.

Cada Dia, Estoy Más Aquí de Allí (Every day, I am more here than there)

The primary advantage to living in another country for a year (or longer, God I wish it had been longer) is that it forces you out of yourself and in doing so cures you of a kind of blindness. There is, for example, a spectacular view of hills which I had been driving past for seven or eight years and had never seen because I never looked up until I returned from Brno. As I drove that stretch of road, I was always watching the road, thinking about where I was going and what I had to do. For the longest time after we returned from Czechia, I was constantly aware of what my world must look like to a stranger. To be honest, I had always hated living in this town; I thought it ugly and the people most unpleasingly provincial. It is only in perceiving home as as strange culture that I began to really see some beauty in it. Last fall, the trees with their changing leaves were so vibrant that I wept for the intensity of the colors, just as I had wept at the beauty of the Czech countryside.

And this fall, though the weather forecasters promised only brown trees, there is once again such intensity of color that it is a real sensuous experience for me. I look at the colors, the chartreuse, alizarin, crimson, yellow ocre, burnt umber--pure color in the tree leaves and it positively takes my breath away. Everyone always says that the sun on such trees sets them ablaze, that they are like fire, and so they are, fires of pure color, waving, vibrating pigment. It is quite a change from the fall I knew in Brno where I learned to see and appreciate the the greys, the whites, the blacks, the silvers against the cerulean and cobalt skies of deep fall and an epic winter, and the very different quality of sound there. Though sounds are softer here because they are muffled by trees and by buildings framed in wood, I miss the clear, taught quality of sound and the sounds of my old home. I miss the church bells, the many sounds of the tramvays, the sounds of another language around me. It's just that now it seems I am more here than there; I am still not sure that I like it. In Brno, I was always "más aquí de allí". Here, it is a new experience for me. So I was wondering, do you know the movie,"The Wizard of Oz"? Have you any ruby slippers you might lend me?

City, Snow, Mountains, Desert

There are words in the English language which no one should be allowed to use in any ordinary context. These words are awesome, magnificent, glorious, astonishing, breathtaking. And so are these places. Last week we spent five days out West. I have wanted to see the landscapes of the West firsthand since the first time I ever saw a cowboy movie. Of course, the cowboy movies I saw were probably actually filmed in Italy, but maybe not. I was hoping to see something very different from the natural world I know, and I was not disappointed.
We arrived in Denver on Halloween, and saw not one sign of Halloween once we left the airport, where most of the airline employees had made rather lame efforts to be in costume. One flight attendant was wearing what looked like an orange potholder on her head; I think her intention was to be a pumpkin, but she hadn't the clothing or the body for it since, unlike most Americans, she was not yet thirty kilograms or more overweight. They might just as well have worn no costumes and been their usual selves. That would have been quite scary enough.
We spent Thursday in Denver, touring the U.S. Mint, the State Capitol building, and the Colorado History Museum. What we were all struck by was the effort and expense that were put into making the capitol and mint buildings such beautiful places. Looking at the marble and onyx walls, the brass drinking fountains and etched elevator doors that looked like the Baptistry doors in Florence, the half ton chandeliers, the hand carved white oak, Thomas and I breathed to each other, "It's like the churches and castles in Europe!" Except that here, ownership is an issue, and a democratic one, at that. Both of our tour guides made a point of reminding us that these buildings belong to the people. Edna, the capitol doscent wasn't happpy until she was sure that every child in the school group we joined for our tour could tell her that there are 6 million citizens of Colorado and that each and every one has a stake that building, and that it is the people who make the government and not the other way around. Until I go into such places here (state buildings and banks, for example), I usually walk around thinking about what poor aesthetic sense we Americans have, and how we lack any appreciation for the grand. After all, we have no castles, only few cathedrals. It is our banks and official buildings that seem to merit such effort because it is an iconic show of the priorities of a democratic, capitalist country.
In contrast, what the Colorado History Museum presented in its exhibitions were the every day lives and struggles of the people and peoples who lived or suffered for the self-reliant ideal of America. Unlike the capitol and the palace-like banks, their homes and lives glittered more with dreams than brass and crystal chandeliers and marbled walls. Interestingly, nearly all of this museum was underground, as if deliberate effort had been made to avoid the grand and palacial.
On Saturday, we saw the truly grand. Thomas drove us more than 400 miles to Utah to just outside of Dinosaur National Monument. Bram was of course thrilled with the park. We hiked and climbed to dizzying heights. We saw petroglyphs and pictographs (So this was art in America before the Middle Ages!) and all around us were real honest-to-God dinosuar fossils in the rock, and beautiful tiny gemstones on the sand. We stayed in a pension (here we call it a bed and breakfast) just outside of the park. One major difference seems to be that in a bed and breakfast, part of the 'fee' includes mandatory socializing with the owner. I never did get the courage to speak Spanish with her, though her cat, Tito seemed to understand me just fine. On Saturday, Thomas drove the long way back to Denver, through Flaming Gorge Utah and Wyoming and yet more awesome, magnificent, glorious, astonishing, breathtaking country.

Halloween: It Really is About the Candy

Let's face it. While there are all kinds of interesting stories (okay, maybe only a few) about Halloween and its icons, Halloween is really and truly a candy holiday. When I was a child, we rarely got candy, and we never ever got as much as we did going trick-or-treating at Halloween. It was my favorite holiday because it combined my two most favorite things; dressing up and getting candy. It was almost magical, the power a child has over adults (and strangers at that) at Halloween. You knock on the door, and when the person answers it, you say three words--3! words-- "trick-or-treat" and you got candy. If you were smart, you could really work this grif. And we were smart, employing double bagging and on occasion, double costumes, to get extra.
Our average haul was a third to a half of what was then known as a "grocery bag". You can see it in the photo here. The wine has nothing to do with Halloween or candy (except that maybe now wine is my candy); the bottle is there to show you the size of the bag. The candy in front of it is what is left of Bram's haul (nothing compared to what we used to get, but then, he gets candy all of the time). The candy in the dish is what is known as candy corn. Hmmmm candy corn. First of all, there is nothing in Europe as cloyingly sweet to compare it to. Perhaps if you tried to imagine a jam with much too much sugar, cooked too long and sweetened with honey, too, you could get an idea of it. Anyway, candy corn is a seasonal candy; you know what that is. It is like those little brambory shaped marzapan candies you can get in Brno only around Advent, for Mikulaš Day.

To get an idea of just how big a holiday Halloween is here, think about these statistics from the National Retail Federation (who knew there was such a thing?)
This year, 58% of consumers will celebrate Halloween. They are expected to spend an estimated 5.1 billion US dollars on candy, decorations and costumes. For each of these consumers that is an average of $64.82 ($27 on decorations, $19 on candy, and $23 on costumes). Another third of a billion dollars will go for greeting cards. 7.4 million Americans will also dress their pets in costumes. And here is the real shocker: Halloween is only the sixth largest spending holiday in the US! As Markéta would say, "It's enough."

Monday: Meet Bill Clinton

Do you know who this is? Do you know how I managed to get such a close-up photo? It's that time again. Actually, it's a bit early for that time again, but South Carolina is a politically powerful state because it votes early in the nomination process. The party primaries in South Carolina follow those in Iowa and New Hampshire. This year, the primaries are so early because the bigger states like Florida, Michigan, and California moved theirs to an earlier date oddly, to compete with the early primaries in the little states (Iowa, South Carolina and New Hampshire. With Bush's unpopularity, it will be interesting to see what happens in this very Republican state.
So, I met Bill Clinton. I listened to his speech (he uses words like "obviate"--the kind of word that the current President couldn't spell even with it right in front of him), and he seems to me more genuine than any Republican candidate I have ever known. I like Bill. I always have. But, I still might not vote for Hillary. We'll see. I am what is known as a Yellow Dog Democrat. That means I have very strong party loyalties: I would vote for a yellow dog if he were the Democratic candidate. I guess it is like my mother-in-law says, "You can't beat out of the blood what's bred into the bone." Bill. sigh. My hero.

Time to Carve the Pumpkins

Actually, I think it is past time to carve the pumpkins into Jack-O-Lanterns for Halloween. I like to carve them far enough in advance to enjoy them some before I put them out on the porch at night. This year, as usual, we all went for impromptu, hand drawn designs of our own rather than using pumpkin carving templates. Last year, I used a template. Pumpkins in the stores this year range in price from $2.99 (about 60Kc)at Wal Mart to $6.00 (about 120 Kc) for smallish ones at grocery and home improvement stores. None of the pumpkins at this price are nearly as huge as the one we got at a Brno florist's for 50 Kc. A pumpkin of that size here would be around $20 (about 500Kc).


Yesterday evening we went to a church for what they call "Trunk-or-Treat", trick-or-treating in the church parking lot. Members of the congregation park their cars in the lot, open the trunks or hatchbacks and stand around for children to come by and say "trick-or-treat." Traditionally, Halloween trick-or-treating was done on Halloween in one's own or a nearby neighborhood. We knocked on the doors of strangers, said, "Trick-or-Treat", said thank you and went on to the next house as fast as we could. In our case because we lived so far out of town, we went to my grandmother's house and trick-or-treated in her neighborhood.Sometimes, there were so many children participating that it was possible to go to the same house twice without getting caught. These days, however, there are quite a few conservative Christians who believe that Halloween is some form of devil worship,and some take a very hard line against any and every thing Halloween. To avoid giving the devil his due, many churches here now offer Fall Festivals to compete with Halloween. It is already the case that in the public schools here that there can be no images of witches or black cats at Halloween, that Halloween can't be called Halloween (it's Fall Festival) and that the holiday's official colors have gone from the traditional black and orange to purple and orange. Lord only knows what will become of Christmas once those conservatives learn the pagan origins of December festivities. It is a good thing Bram goes to an excellent International Baccalaureate school, where they can say the Pledge of Allegiance and learn about other religions of the world, and learn to respect and tolerate them all. Reciting the Pledge is not allowed in the public schools Here's why. This is thanks to the mongers of political correctness. At Bram's school, they can celebrate Halloween and Christmas, and Easter too and call the celebrations by their right names. And when the Hindi, Jewish, and Moslem children want to share something about their religions, they are encouraged to do so. It is a shame that in America this is now a privilege that one must pay for.
We had a great time at Trunk-or-Treat. Most of the people giving out candy had decorated the backs of their cars, and a few even wore cotumes themselves. It was especially fun to see the very young children in their costumes going from car to car to get their candy. Some of them were too small to say, "Trick or treat"! There were even girls dressed as witches, though they were in burgandy and purple rather than predominantly black costumes. Bram went dressed a huge sack of potatoes, and no one was the wiser to the connection of this costume to Brambory Den. By the way, Happy Czech National Day!

Halloween-- The Stuff

Here is a list of the available Halloween items at Wal-Mart: Halloween greeting cards (with and without sound effects), CDs with scary sounds and music, lots of Halloween candy, costumes and masks, decorated paper napkins, cups, plates, decorated plastic cups, plates and cutlery in orange, black and purple; party favors including, though not limited to plastic spiders, ghosts, witches all on rings or separate, pop-up goblin heads, pencils, erasers, pens, with and without "toppers"--little things that you can stick on the top of your pencil-- slinkies, snakes, skeletons. There are hair bows, earrings, t-shirts, underwear, panties, and thongs(!), pajamas, real pumpkins, artificial pumpkins already carved into jack-o-lanterns with electric lights, and uncarved ones, plastic bowls and tubs in varying sizes and shapes which are to be used for serving candy, bobbing for apples, cooling drinks, etc. There are also "belly washers"-- large plastic bottles of artificially colored sugary drinks which have large plastic or rubber caps in various shapes, cookies and cookie cutters, cakes and cake pans, cupcakes made and decorated for Halloween, cupcake cups and orange, purple and black icing, the usual cookies, snack cakes and breakfast cereals colored and packaged specifically for the season. There are also a large number of large inflatable yard decorations, windsocks, door decorations, and sigh, candles in various sizes,shapes, and scents, in oranges, browns, blacks and purple.

Halloween Has a Website

Halloween has a website. Now that Halloween is the second most popular holiday for decorating, and the 6th most profitable one in the United States, that should surprise no one. It's Halloween.com. I think that just about anything you would like to know about this particular holiday can be found here, including the history, costume ideas, printable activities for teaching about Halloween, screensavers, masks, costume ideas, Halloween jokes, crafts, decorations, and stories. There is a link to how to carve pumpkins which include ideas for pumpkin carving, among other rather odd and funny things. Unfortunately, the link to the design templates page wasn't working, but you can find plenty of other sites by searching "pumpkin carving templates" on Google.
Since it is so easy now to learn all about Halloween online, I will limit my posting to what it looks like here.

Czech This Out

This is turning into a nice week. Bram has been steadily working on a project for school which he will finish tomorrow, a full 5 days before it is due. I have baked two cakes in less than a week (and three in less than two weeks). Friend Lenka has mailed me Becherovka, which should be arriving soon, and today has been the best day so far. Thomas and Bram and I were unsuccessful in our search of the thrift stores today for dinosaur toys, but we did find a bommerang and a glass pie dish. And we went to the Spartanburg International Festival, where Bram discovered an unknown talent for cricket, and we found CZECHS! Well, they are Americans now, but they were all born in Brno. I took a few photos of a few of the displays, so you can see what good ambassadors for the Czech Republic this family is. I realize that my great fondness for all things Czech could cloud my judgment in such matters, but I am sure that the Czech tent was the most professional, most thorough, most interesting and attractive booth at the festival. Do you know how I can say this? It was always the most crowded, of course! But honestly, maybe it was the charm of the Czechs who created and tended it that drew so many people.

Holiday Creep

Holiday creep. No, it isn't an especially festive version of a weirdo. The term officially refers to the habit of retailers to increase the time for selling seasonal or holiday merchandise so that they can make more money. You know it already. I am told that in Brno, Olomouc and Prague, merchants are already filling their stores with Christmas decorations and merchandise, and here I can tell you that the stores are full, and I mean full, of Halloween candy, costumes and decorations, and have been for the last couple of weeks. Halloween is another four weeks away! And next to the orange and black, the ghosts and goblins and jack-o-lanterns and witches they are beginning to add the red and green, the Santas and elves and candy canes of Christmas. I don't know where the stuff for Thanksgiving will go, or what that "stuff" might be. Turkey cups? Pilgrim pants? These days, when I hear "holiday creep", I don't think of it in the sense of a lengthened buying season, but as gradual infiltration of holiday icons and decorations into more and more products. I am used to the M&Ms (candy covered chocolates like Lentilky) changing colors for Christmas, Easter, and Valentine's Day, but now they are not only sporting Halloween colors (orange and brown, for candy), but little Jack-o-lantern faces,too. And I'm used to the cookies and cakes that come in orange and black for a few weeks, to the and the sudden availability of orange plastic wrap and cutlery. This isn't such a big deal, really, but now I really must protest the preponderance of Halloween icons on underwear. This is a fine example of what I call "holiday creep-y".
I kid you not. Here is the selection of ladies Halloween panties which are still available at Wal-Mart. They were all sold out at the Dollar Tree. They must be immensely popular; it has only been a few days since I was in and saw them the first time, and now, as you can see, there aren't even any orange and black Halloween thongs left! That's okay, though. I am not sure that I could endure the jokes from Thomas about pumpkins and black cats, anyway. See those catchy little phrases printed on the panties? I'll be discussing that phenomenon with you later.

Fresh Bread and What I Love about the South

I went out this morning to buy coffee and bread and I had the good sense to go to Publix, the grocery store chain whose motto is "Where shopping is a pleasure." Who knew that grocery stores had mottos? I wonder if they have a flag, too? Any way, I am happy to report that this Publix makes bread fresh, from scratch, not just daily, but several times a day, and that this store is just 6 minutes, by car of course, from my house. The baker was very friendly, offering suggestions for the breads I might try I order to satisfy my craving for rohliky. In the less than 3 minutes time we talked, I learned her name, where she is from, her own preferences for bread, her favorite hard-to-find dish (saganaki, Greek flaming cheese) and where I could get it, and that I could look for a Chicago bakery that bakes Czech bread from which I might order some. Amazing, isn't it, that strangers should learn so much so quickly? In the South, this is quite ordinary, though it is less common than it used to be. Encounters with strangers which last longer than the obligatory "Hey" quickly lead to "who are you, where are you from, and who are your people?" And if we don't get beyond the initial "hey", we still speak to that same person every time, almost, that we see them, even if we see them several times a day. It is what I was taught was "being friendly" and "mannerly". It is just plain rude to pass a stranger without some courteous gesture of acknowledgement. You don't have to speak, but you should at least smile a little, nod your head, or if you are a man, touch or tip your hat.
Children--- good, Southern children are also taught to address their elders with respect; this means, saying "ma'm" to women and "sir" to men. Bram was resisting this lately, but when I explained to him that it was as much a part of his heritage and who he is as Babicka, "Dobry den" and removing your shoes in the house is to the Czechs, his response was to answer me with "yes, ma'm." He hasn't missed it since.

When I went out to my car, I was happy to learn that good old southern chilvary is still something I can see every day. I found that some other Southern women had reared their sons in the Southern tradition when two men came from different directions to offer their assistance to an old woman who was having car trouble. They approached us, one smiling, the other touching the brim of his cap, addressed up both as "ma'm" and assured the woman that they would take care of the problem for her. I think Southern men should tip their hats and speak, say "ma'm" and "sir", open doors for women,and offer their help to anybody who seems to need it. And the rest of us should offer our help to anyone who seems to need it, especially the old and the very young. It isn't a rule. It isn't a law. It is habit. It is who we are. There is a slogan you can see on bumperstickers, caps, and tee-shirts sometimes: "American by birth. Southern by the grace of God" I rather like that. Yes, ma'm. Yes, sir, I do.

Drive-Up, Drive-Thru, Drive-In

One very big difference between the US and all of Europe is the abundance of fast food restaurants from which we can buy and consume food without ever getting out of our cars. The variety of food from these places isn't all that great: it is usually food which most people think of as typically American: burgers, fries, hotdogs, and milkshakes, fried chicken (KFC). There is also Mexican convenience food (tacos, burritos,etc), which is not now thought of as typical American, but which I suspect certainly will be soon, and a few such establishments that serve fish. Now that so many Americans are morbidly obese from consuming large amounts of typical American fare, all of these fast food establishments also offer salads and diet drinks as part of some show of being attuned to the health conscious.


Nearly all of these restaurants (I can see my French teacher shudder every time I use this word to describe these places) have what is called a "drive thru." There is a driveway alongside of the building which leads up to a large menu board. You stop at the menu board, decide what you want, speak your order at the speaker in the menu board, drive around to the drive-up window, pay, and pick up your food. You don't get out of your car; you don't unbuckle your seatbelt; you don't give the cashier a tip. Then you drive happily away, more than likely, consuming your meal in the car as you drive.
A drive-in differs in several ways from a drive thru. One, even if you wanted to, you could not choose to have your meal inside the restaurant, though you might choose to sit at a table outside. There are many many menu boards, each of which is located next to a parking space. The method of ordering your food is the same: you look at the menu, decide what you want, then tell it to the speaker. In a few minutes, a server will come walking or skating out to your car with your food. You pay either with a card and use the menu board, or you pay your server. Either way, you eat your food in the car.
There are a few places which serve food with just the drive-up window where you place your order, pay and get your food, but not many. These days, drive up windows, without fancy menu boards are more common at banks and pharmacies, and even package (liquor) stores than restaurants.

Bags Packed for a Guilt Trip

Children have a way of rewarding a parent in the most heart breaking way sometimes. The tea olive and gardenias that I planted and have nurtured for the last five years and have been ignoring all summer are now overwhelming me with their glorious demands for attention.The blossoms on the tea olive are so dense and their scent so strong that it is nearly suffocating on the porch and you can smell them all through the house. The gardenias, not to be outdone, are blooming again, too. I certainly don't deserve such sweetness from my yard these days, after neglecting it for the last 12 weeks. But here they are, my little children, presenting their negligent mother with flowers and sweet perfumes.

Gardenia Tea Olive

Augusta Arts Festival

Festivals are pretty much the same sort of thing whether you are in Austria or Czechia or here. Most have tents with or without stages, food, and music and dancing, and maybe some art and arts and crafts. The Arts in the Heart of Augusta Festival that we went to this past weekend to read our stories had it all. As with many festivals the purpose is to celebrate and to showcase local culture, and because of the fairly large immigrant populations in Augusta, it has the flavor of both an arts and crafts fair and international food and music festival. The cost for admission is just $5 for the entire weekend, and this entitles you to peruse the artists' tents, enjoy the music and dancing at four or five stages, and to buy food from the 30 booths offering food from 35 different nations. This availability of such a great variety of cuisines is one of my favorite things about my own country as is the fact that we all exist peacefully together. It is also, dare I say it, heartwarming that many of us also take great pleasure in learning about those who aren't at all like us. So, we watched a lot of Irish performers and some Indian dancers, ate a whole lot of good food, and Bram and I got henna tattoos.

Mmmmm, Power Tools

Here are the before and after photos of the closet for which I made and installed shelves yesterday. It took about two hours, including the trip to Lowe's,which is exactly like OBI or Bauhaus, except there is no cafe in the store where you can have a drink or a meal. I live an easy walking distance from the Lowe's and a Home Depot, but I never walk or ride a bike to them because there are no sidewalks, and people drive more like they're at the Lowe's Motor Speedway than on a trip to the Lowe's store. In this area, there are people who call in to the newspaper to express their heartfelt convictions about the fitness of NASCAR drivers to be President of the US (and I thought we couldn't sink any lower than the current one). I have noticed that both Lowe's and Home Depot have all of their signs in both Spanish and English now, as do a few of the other stores, and I am quite happy about it because now a trip to these stores is a free language lesson.

BEFORE no shelves AFTER shelves and drawers

It doesn't look like much, and really, compared to building (from scratch, all by myself) the doors for the garden shed a couple of years ago, the work was both less demanding and less satisfying. Learning and writing the code necessary to present these photos as they are here, side-by-side, with text, was actually more time consuming and in its way, more difficult than both. You know, I think those ready-made drawers should be replaced with something, better, don't you? Maybe next week...

Na Naše Boty

We don't wear shoes inside our house now. At the door inside the garage we have a place for us to remove our street shoes and to change into our house shoes. If you are Czech, this habit is no great thing. Because the inside of a garage which does not face the street is a bit more private than a garage that faces the street, our original place for the shoes was simply a chair and a small bench on and under which we put our shoes. Then last Thursday morning, a neighbor's dog stole one of Thomas's good walking shoes, so Thomas agreed that it was time to buy a proper cabinet na naše boty. We were very lucky to find not only a little cabinet with doors for our street shoes, but a small thing with drawers for the house shoes, too. And three (3) bookcases for a great price at Goodwill. Goodwill is a non-governmental organization which helps people by offering them job training. The benefit for those of us lucky enough not to need this training is that we get to buy what Goodwill sells. Such a store is called a thrift store, and while most of the items sold there are used, many are still new, like the cabinets and bookcases we got this weekend. Think of it as a really well-organized yard sale, with these exceptions: the prices are higher, though still low, it is open 6 or 7 days a week, it is all indoors, and the profits go to benefit the needy. Ever wonder what happens to the stuff that Americans don't sell in their yard sales? Much of it ends up at Goodwill,the Salvation Army, or a similar place. So, we got all of this furniture which was unassembled and in boxes, and I have been very happily engaged in assembling the drawers and two of the bookcases. Honestly, if I could make a living at working with my hands, I think that I would choose it over other jobs I have had. At the end of the day, there would be tangible evidence of my labors.

Weights and Measures

In the South, when we share the products of our garden with someone,unless we are talking about huge gardens and sharing huge amounts, the term of measurement that we use is "mess". A mess of anything is about as much as one might cook for a family of four people for one meal, though it means more if you're talking about a bigger family. A mess of beans for us, for example, looks like what is in the colander on the floor in the picture here. Those beans on the floor around it are also called a mess, such as that which is made when the bag of frozen beans falls out of the freezer and breaks open on the floor. To include both of these uses of the word mess in one sentence, you could say, "Janet made a mess on the floor with a mess of beans." Mess used with "a whole mess of..." means a lot of something and applies both to things you can count and things you can't. As in, "Janet's mom put a whole mess of beans into a whole mess of bags, and one of those bags fell out onto the floor."

Labor Day Weekend

This past weekend was a long weekend because Monday was Labor Day. We had to find something else to do with ourselves because our elaborate plans for a nice long camping trip fell through because it was supposed to rain. We have only gone camping once, and we didn't actually go camping; we just slept in the tent in our backyard. It stormed and rained all night, and that is how we knew that our tent leaks and that we were not going to risk three such nights. So instead, we stayed home, watched movies and read, and I worked on the blog and the site I am webmastering for George Singleton. I got word that I won second prize in a literary competition, and was almost too excited to sleep because I now have enough money for a ticket to Prague. We went to White County to the McConnell farm in the mountains of northeast Georgia on Sunday and hiked around and played in the creek all day Monday. The McConnell boys are extremely fond of building rock dams on the creek, and they will spends hours at it. In fact, this interest in moving rocks has been going on for four generations now, and messing around with the rocks isn't limited to building dams in the water. Bram's grandfather once spent a summer hauling creek rock up the hill to build a nice long wall. I confess, I enjoy it, too. It is a soothing activity which gives me time to think about things.

On the way home it seemed an approriate celebration of Labor Day to stop by Babyland General Hospital, "one of the Travel Channel's top ten toylands" and to witness the birth of a baby doll. As you might imagine, Bram wasn't particularly enthusiastic about it, and he made a point of saying to the adults who spoke to him that he was only there under duress. You can't blame him; it is a doll factory, after all. These toys, called Cabbage Patch dolls, were originally created and hand sewn in Cleveland, Georgia, by Xavier Roberts, who called them "Little People" dolls. They were never cheap, and these days if you want one, you don't buy it, you adopt it for a fee. The adoption fee for a handmade Cabbage Patch Kid ranges from $170 to $350 (from 3570 to 7350 Czech crowns). And you have to sign papers and swear an oath to promise to be the best parent you can be to it. Mass produced versions with plastic heads go for $50 to $80 (1000 and 1600 crowns). A few very special ones have been known to demand a $25,000 adoption fee. That's five hundred thousand Czech crowns! Amazing, isn't it? And all I can figure is how many of these dolls equals one trip to Prague. Babyland General really is a cute little museum which offers as part of the free tour the chance to watch the birth of a real Cabbage Patch baby. Each of these dolls is given its own unique name, usually by a child who is present, and a birth certificate. The baby we saw being born was named Aiden Zeke, and there were lots of jokes about the "A to Z" baby who will have everything. You can see the most exciting moment of the birth in the video here. Let me know if you would like to see the entire ordeal.

THAT'S IT!

It has been over 100 degrees (38 Celsius) for almost a week now. This is in the shade, on the cool side of my porch. The humidity isn't so high, only 39%, so that brings the heat index to only 111 (43C). I give up. The air conditioner is ON!

Back to School: Signature Water and Dancing Cow

Today was Bram's first day back at school. After we took him to school and walked him to his class, we drove over to the office supply store to get a couple more things. On the way we encountered a dancing cow and a girl hawking (ie trying to "sell") free chicken biscuits at the Chic-Fil-A. We didn’t take advantage of the free offer, but while we were stopped at the traffic light, I took video of the person dancing around in the cow suit. And here it is for you to see the ridiculous lengths we capitalists will go to for a buck. Or what silly American jobs there are. Or the kind of silliness that will make me laugh. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t get the free food because although the sandwiches at Chic-Fil-A are really really good, I can’t afford all of the fat and calories right now, even if they are free.
The school served signature water at the Parents' Club picnic yesterday. Signature water is bottled water with customized labels and is usually called private label water. People here buy it for company and school functions, health clubs, and weddings and other parties as a way to promote something, to raise money, or to commemorate some event. It's quite popular these days. It costs from about fifty cents to a dollar and half per bottle to have it made, depending on how many cases of it that you buy. In Czech crowns, that is between 10 and 30 Kc per bottle! So, what do you think about that? Yes, I know. I think so, too. And that is one more reason why I miss you so much. Now, if you will pardon me, I have to go calculate how many of these bottles equals one air ticket to Prague.

Flea-Tech: Violence Rules the Day

First of all, don't call it Flea Tech; they hate that and it isn't a very respectful moniker for the Federal Law Enforecement Training Center (FLETC). We spent the day with our friend, Federal Agent Sharkmon. That still isn't his real name; I have seen his ID, but I don't want to compromise his identity as an agent, so he is Agent Sharkmon.
The very first thing we had to do was to report to the weapons clearing area. We weren't carrying any, and Sharkmon has a special 'red gun' that it isn't necessary to clear. In fact, it isn't a real gun, but all of the trainees have to carry it at all times. A real gun and the right to carry it as a federal agent have to be earned. Our tour started with our providing personal information which we are sure will go into our FBI files, or will be used to start new files on us. Who am I kidding? Of course we already have files!
One of the first things our guide told us about is the cardinal rule of law enforcement: Technique is good, but violence rules the day.

It is kind of one upmanship in aggression. While you have to know the time tested techniques when dealing with a ne'er do well, sometimes retaliation in spades is your best defense. I'm serious! But we still laugh like hyenas when we hear it.
We drove down streets with names like Gunpowder, Firearms, Bunker Lane and Legislative Drive to see firing ranges-- a lot of them, with their jagged rooflines and smokestacks designed for maximum sound proofing and venting of noxious fumes. We also saw buses, trains, automobiles, and a Fed Ex plane, all de-comissioned and put into service as training vehicles for all manner of federal force activities, from anti-terrorism scenarios to customs inspections and border patrol. In some cases these are the same. It was especially interesting to see the facilities for training border patrol agents because I have never gone from one country to another by car. I could see how America must look to millions who come the US. America isn't so much a shining paradise on the other side of a gate as it is a shining gate through which not all may pass to a possible land of milk and honey.
We had a great time touring the training center because Lee is such fun company. He has a great sense of humor and is eager to share what he knows (and he knows some cool stuff). However, the fact that we were entertained by our tour guide doesn't in the least diminish the seriousness of what goes on here. The men and women who sign on to serve their country this way take their jobs very seriously, and they train hard, very hard physically and mentally to be good at what they do. And in the end, as the monument to fallen officers attests, they barter their lives in complete faith that they are making this a better place for all of us.
As Winston Churchill said, "We sleep safe knowing there are rough men ready to visit violence in the night on a moment's notice."

Wednesday: Casino Cruise

Gambling other than the state-run education lottery is illegal in Georgia and in most other states in the US. If you want to gamble at Blackjack, Roulette or Dice tables, or to try your luck with a slot machine (called one-armed bandits), you have to travel to another state. The nearest one for Georgians is North Carolina. Those casinos are located on Native American Indian reservations which are not subject to state law. To escape state prohibitons against such gambling on the coast, it is possible to take a boat 3 miles from the shore, beyond the long arm of the law, and this is what a casino cruise is all about. Such a cruise from St Simons usually costs only $10, and it includes a dinner, a light snack, and access to more than enough opportunities to lose your money. Thanks to my mother's sharp eye for a bargain, we had coupons from the local newspaper for a free cruise plus $10 in match play. Match play means they match your initial bet. You put down your $10; they add their $10 to it, and if you win, you have to give back the money that they put with yours. If you lose, well, then you are out $10. Dinner included soup, salad, a soft drink, and either a hamburger or sandwich with pasta or potato salad. Alcohol was extra, but as Wednesday is Ladies Night, alcoholic drinks were only $2. Thomas and I had no idea how to gamble in a casino, so we spent nearly the entire time sitting in chairs on the top deck of the ship, enjoying each other's company and the night air. Surprisingly this pleasure wasn't diminished at all by the ship's literally spinning in place once we reached the three mile limit. Apparently, it isn't necessary to go one inch beyond three miles, so gambling cruises don't. When we did finally brave the casino, we spent (i.e. blew/wasted) $10 on the one-armed bandits. I would like to say that I found this entertainment fun, but I can't. What I feel when I am risking my money (even a dollar for a lottery ticket) is more anxiety than excitement. Watching others lose their money is a bit scary for me, too. Our time on the deck, with the view, the fresh sea air, and the gulls, pelicans and few dolphins that we saw made it worth the effort, though. I think we'll do this again, maybe in the fall when the weather is cooler and we can take a day cruise, maybe bring binoculars, a book, the iPod, purchase a few drinks....

Sunday: Crabs

Do you know the meaning of "crabby"? Since I was feeling especially crabby and ill-tempered yesterday, I thought it would be a good day to go crabbing. We rode in the back of my father's new truck to the pier. It is now illegal for children to ride in the backs of trucks, but when I was a kid, it was THE way to go anywhere in the summer. In fact, children were expected to ride in the back because trucks cabs were smaller and un-air-conditioned. More about trucks later.
To go crabbing successfully requires basically the same supplies and skills as mushrooming: a basket and the ability to distinguish between those we eat and those we don't. The crabs we eat are Blue Crabs (they are blue). It is illegal to take whole Stone Crabs from the waters (though you may take one claw, if it has two). They are easy to recognize because they aren't blue, and they look a bit inflated. Hermit Crabs are the ones with the shells on their backs. You can throw them back before or after you watch them crawl around for a while. Hermit crabs are sold as pets at the shell shop in the Village.

When we arrived at the pier, my aunt and uncle had already baited and set out the baskets, so all Bram had to do was haul up the baskets and pick out the crabs. It wasn't a very successful crabbing expedition. We caught only one large Stone Crab, which we are obliged by law to throw back, and a whole lot of Hermit crabs. Granted, we had a lot of fun playing around with the Hermits and talking to family. It's always nice for me watch my mom with her sisters, and Bram had a fun time with his cousins.