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.