Culture Shock at Home

Happy happy joy joy

2009-09-25T15:33:00.004-04:00

Děkuji,Leni.

Hiking Trip

2009-09-22T03:28:00.006-04:00

A couple of Sundays ago, we hiked an easy 8 km to Raven Cliff Falls and back. Next time I want to take the longer hike to the suspension bridge above the falls.

Then we stopped to look around from the top of Bald Mountain

where it's possible to feel rather small in the great scheme of things.

Goose Reason to Go for a Walk

2009-06-20T09:11:00.003-04:00

It's hard to get motivated to go outside when you have a new gaming system to play on. I was pleased that a walk and the opportunity to see some baby geese still beats out electronic entertainment.

Gifts

2009-05-27T18:26:00.004-04:00

Bram saw this little racoon family today as they trundled along under the footbridge over the spring. By the time I got my camera, one of the babies had scampered away and the mother had retreated to safety up a tree with the other one. I confess I was filled with unaccountable joy at being allowed to see them. It always feeds something deep inside me to see a mother care for her babies even though today, that joy was tempered a bit by my feelings for the mother as she trembled in her fear and determination to keep her young safe.

I am grateful for gifts such as this, for being allowed to see that regardless of how I am feeling or how I think my world is, somewhere there is actually quite a lot going along that is just as it should be. It gives me some faith that things for me will eventually be as they should be, too.

They Have Legs

2009-05-27T18:23:00.003-04:00

And they are going home today. It takes a lot longer than I thought for tadpoles to become frogs, and the time has come, though we won't be able to see their complete transformation, to return them to their home. I suggested that we put them in the little creek that runs behind our house, but Bram was insistent about the "environmental hell that would reap."

Is it your birthday, too?

2009-05-06T17:22:00.005-04:00

My posts here are getting fewer and farther between. I wish I could say the same for my use of cliche here. Here's my cake, with 38.5% of my age worth of skinny sparkly candles on it. You can do the math. What? Did you think I'd just say it out loud? Je stači až jsem stara, ano? Please note that the cake is outside on the porch. Bram expressed some concern about a fire hazard even with the relative few candles.
This morning I bought a cake to share with my friends at the Pacolet Senior Center tomorrow and will collect my share of birthday hugs and good wishes from them then.
I had lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant and in the afternoon, snow cones made by Bram followed by this lovely tasty cake (with lemon pudding filling). For dinner, either the steakhouse or my favorite Mexican restaurant. Beer or margarita? Decisions decisions.

Yes, It's Me

2009-04-30T19:15:00.001-04:00

And no, I didn't land a modeling job.

New Family Members

2009-04-30T18:37:00.004-04:00

There are nine of them: Kameshia, Rachel, Morty, Alex, Bettykins, Walt, Lenička, Není zač, and Ička. My novena of fishes.

Our Current House Guests

2009-04-19T13:29:00.006-04:00

Bram spent a good bit of his spring break exploring the canal behind the beach house. He found a Congo eel, whom he named Carl and who promptly bit the dust. Then he caught about 15 tadpoles. I agreed that he could bring four of them back home with us. And here are three of them, all lined up for their photo op (the fourth one is very small and very shy). I wonder if they feel like some kind of political prisoners.

My Own Personal Auto Bahn

2009-03-14T16:03:00.003-04:00

I admit it. I have favorite words, and lots of them. In Czech, one of my favorites is kniha-book (and another, knihovna-library). In Spanish, it's mariposa-butterfly. And in German, well, nothing rocks my boat like auto bahn. I like to pronounce it like this, ow-toe baahn when I pretend I'm on it. I was thinking about this word on last Monday as I cruised along I-85 at a happy 155 kmh to get to Athens to the dentist. I thought about other words I like the sound of like ryby-fish, and trascocina-closet, and pamplemousse-grapefruit. The dentist trip wasn't as bad as it could have been. I nearly fell asleep (yes, he's that good, and that is why I drive two and half hours for him to fix my teeth). And to make my life ever so much better, I spent time before the dental appointment with Nancy and her son Anthony (an absolute charmer, whose self confidence is not only endearing, but enviable), and later, had coffee and more time with Nancy to talk. I forget how good it feels, how positively soul-reviving time with a friend can be. I've felt better all week because of it, even though I got a speeding ticket on Wednesday. And that time, I was thinking only of words like time, and late, and hurry.

Yo-Yo Weather

2009-03-14T15:13:00.007-04:00

It's rainy and dreary here again today, but let's not talk about that. A couple of weeks ago, the weather was perfectly wonderful for a few days. On a Saturday, we went to Greenville, about 65km away, to the zoo, which was unbelievably crowded. Thanks to the sunshine and warm temperatures (26C), I didn't mind it at all. Or maybe I was just desperate to get out of the house and out of town for a few hours. In the zoo, I asked myself the usual question, "what's my favorite animal here today?" In fact, my favorite zoo animal hands down is the hippopotamus, but they don't have any in Greenville. And I played the game of trying to figure out which of the animals looked the most like I felt. The anit-social elephant covered in red mud, her backside to the crowd? The other one, clean, facing the crowd head on and up close? The chimpanzee seated against the bars of her cage, her outstretched hand imploring visitors to offer her a cracker? The small leopard lying along a long in the sun? The turtle, too cold now that the sun had moved to find a warmer spot? I never did decide on a favorite for the day (Really, what can compete with a hippo?). And as for which animal was most me, maybe the leopard, feeling nothing more than gratitude for the sunshine.
After the zoo, we drove downtown for dinner at Sticky Fingers Rib Shack, where they serve, you guessed it, ribs barbecued any way you want them (and the best wheat beer on tap I've had since Brno). All I can say is you come to visit, I will take you there; you will eat great ribs, you will learn your blues name and you will love it all.
After dinner, we walked a few blocks to Reedy River Falls Park, where besides water rushing over massive rocks, the river winds through miles of paved pedestrian paths dotted with grassy areas, woods, and flowers.
There were children (and a few grownups) rolling down grassy slopes, blossoming hyacinths, daffodils, crocus. People lolled about on the grass or on blankets, reading, enjoying their feasts of picnics and private music or kisses (though none for me). We watched two boys good-naturedly try to retrieve their football from a whirlpool at the base of the falls, and for a half hour, maybe less, all of my hopes were fastened on their success and I lost sight of my own troubles. I wasn't the only one who cheered with real enthusiasm when they finally got the ball and launched it back across the river.

It's No Big Deal to You, but

2009-03-02T20:59:00.005-05:00

for us, even a tiny bit of snow is a thrill. And this much, well, this much means no electricity for about 18 hours and no school or work for two days. And for me, a lovely reminder of my Brno, though in Brno, the white silence wasn't devoured by the sounds of gasoline-powered generators.

Sunday

2009-03-01T19:07:00.004-05:00

I had to go save these from being further beat down into the ground by the rain and the precipitation expected tonight.

Evolution, Trilobite Writers, and Jell-O

2009-02-04T16:46:00.003-05:00

I found this list in Bram's backpack a few weeks ago and came across it again on my desk last week. Yes, my desk hadn't been cleaned off in ages--still hasn't. It's a pretty common thing for American school children to make a list of what they are thankful at Thanksgiving. Here's Bram's list of ten things for which he is most thankful
1. Family
2. Anything related to Jurassic Park (except knock-offs)
3. Friends
4. A brain
5. Jell-O
6. Holidays
7. Good books
8. Prehistoric life books
9. Evolution
10. Universe
(This list is NOT put in order of which I like better)

What's not to love about a kid whose grateful for Jell-o and evolution? At the moment, though, he isn't happy about anything because his English assignment isn't going well. The assignment was to write a children's book, but he has written and is illustrating something somewhere between a comic book and a graphic short story about a writer who's a trilobite. It's going to be good when he's done, but he's upset because his drawings today aren't his best.

How Rich is This?

2009-01-29T14:31:00.006-05:00

Or how stupid?
See this machine? It's purpose is to count your change for you---for a fee! I get it that some people like to come home and put their change in a jar and then cash it in or deposit it at the bank to see how much they saved kind of by accident when the jar is full. But how rich or busy do you have to be to not mind paying 8.9 cents on the dollar to have a machine count your change? The thing is, the people I usually see at this machine certainly don't dress or act or talk like they have so much money and so little time that they have to pay to have their money counted.

In the malls here, there is a place where you can literally throw your money away by watching it wind down a large funnel and down a hole and into the collection box below. I wish I had been the brilliant person who anticipated this easy way to make money. I don't have a photo, but you can understand what it looks like if you imagine a large black plastic funnel that is about a meter and half in diameter, set with the narrow end down onto a circular wooden base. There aren't any signs or instructions, but people here seem to know what to do. Walk up to the thing, stand a coin up on its edge on the outer edge of the funnel, and watch it roll in concentric circles before it falls through the hole in the center. I try to imagine such a thing in the middle of some public space in Brno and I just cannot. What Czech would throw money away like this? I have an idea what use just about any beer-drinking male would find for such a thing, and the only thing it might have to do with money is saving the 15kc charge at the public toilets.

The Only Ones

2009-01-18T16:03:00.005-05:00

I was a little afraid of dead things when I was child. Once, when I was telling my father how scary it would be to live next to a cemetery, he said in that flat voice he usually reserved for answering stupid questions, "Why? THOSE are the only people on the earth who won't hurt you." Along the route to Bram's school, there are two cemeteries: on the west and east on the way in, and on the east and west on the way home. I notice these cemeteries not because there is a house right up against one of them or because I am feeling miserable or hollow (though I often am), but because what I see first are the flowers that have blown off the graves. For some reason, it really bothers me to see them there, ripped from the resting places of somebody's loved ones and lying like so much trash in the ditch and along the roadside. These days it's mostly red poinsettias or blue things or some kind of fluffy yellow spidery-looking flower I don't recognize. I would like to stop and to put them all back, but of course I can't. And that bothers me more than it should. I am sorry for the living who brought the flowers to the cemetery and how they must have felt about leaving first someone they loved and then the flowers and for the oblivious dead who now thanks to the wind, appear to lie there unmissed and ungrieved. But then, THEY are the only ones on earth who. . . .

Friday Plans

2008-12-19T07:49:00.003-05:00

Today Bram and I will take thirty-seven more stuffed animals to the Pacolet Senior Center to add to the first batch of seventeen I took last week. Then we'll party with my new old friends there. There won't be a Santa, and I've heard the widow women will be disappointed. I need to start shopping for a Santa suit now for next year.

From Wednesday

2008-12-19T07:34:00.004-05:00

The waterworks from The Whitney Mill, which was powered in part by hydro-electrics.

Bram's playdough ammonite.

The pink elephant: Someone rents it and has it put in your yard the parking lot where you work when you turn 40 or 50 or 60 or...there's just news you want to share. I can't imagine a single Czech finding this kind of advertising appealing.

There's No Place Like Home

2008-12-19T05:19:00.006-05:00

Since Tuesday, I have been awash in homesickness for Brno. I am especially feeling the lack of the serenity I felt at Smidkova, in the little dining room where I used to study, write, and say my prayers. I felt close to God there, where the eastern light slashed through the high windows to light the tiny cross I had made one fidgety morning from an olive twig brought from Tunisia. When I lifted my head from my work, I could calculate the weather by the number and colors of the rising chimney smoke against the sky. I knew that if I stood up, and the day were cold enough, I could see that haunting Dormitory where Nazis tortured and executed Jews and other enemies of the Reich, jailed behind the pale gray bars of smoke and time. It isn't a threatening place now, though it will always loom.
In my sanctuary, I could anticipate the upstairs mid-morning coffee routine and track the sounds of wooden chairs scraping lightly across the ceramic floor, the muffle of conversation, and hearing these things, feel safe and comfortable, at peace and unalone.
This is all in contrast to the peace and security I now lack. I am betrayed and heartsick, longing to click my heels like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, of returning to a better time and better place, both literally and figuratively. There' no place like home...there's no place like home...

Hedonistic Saturday (Požitkářský Sobota)

2008-12-06T10:23:00.006-05:00

Our son has been dreaming of today all week because today is going according to his plan. I know it's indulgent of Thomas and me, but we like to give Bram the chance to have just the kind of day he wants every now and then. So, today's plan is to spend all day in bed. Who among us hasn't dreamt of such a day when the alarm had gone off? Our shifts as butler have been scheduled so that no one gets taken advantage of; whoever is butler is to be called "Jeeves", and the means of summoning the butler has been determined (Bram taps his lamp; Thomas and I yell "ding ding!") Bram has set the tone for interactions with Jeeves, and it's extremely polite, so for now, we're all laughing our heads off every time Jeeves is summoned. I've had my coffee and a corndog for breakfast, my computer, books, iPod, and telephone beside me, so I'm enjoying it. I know how ridiculously silly and self-indulgent this is of us, but as there's no harm in it, why not just enjoy it? After all, we have permission to lie on the bed rather than in it, and to fetch things for ourselves if we want, to even get dressed. Now if we could just get snow on Christmas... .

Our Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T14:52:00.003-05:00

For the first time in a very long time, I cooked the entire Thanksgiving feast myself, and we stayed at home. We had turkey, gravy, dressing (stuffing), cranberry sauce, green beans, corn, collard greens, congealed salad, sweet potato souffle, cherry pie, and oatmeal cookies. I was a little worried I had forgotten what to cook and was out of practice, but it turned out just fine. Thomas helped a lot ahead of time and even said the blessing! Now for the first time ever, we might even go get our Christmas tree this week. Either I am over my culture shock or I have caved to the pressures of American consumerism.

Thanksgiving Already Creeping Away

2008-11-19T20:52:00.003-05:00

I should have known something was up when I walked into Wal-Mart the day before Halloween and had to veer around the huge Christmas tree the employees were putting up. There was Halloween candy on the shelves to the left and right of the tree, and the Halloween aisle, well, half of the Halloween aisle(this would be about one tram long) was still overflowing with jack-o-lanterns and hundreds of costumes. Did everybody go for the homemade costumes this year? Is poor costume sales some reliable indicator about consumer faith in the economy? But I digress. The other half of the aisle was already filled with Christmas candy. Red and green, orange and black and purple. It makes me cringe to think about it.
So, today, I went in search of a little something, well, with a turkey or a horn of plenty on it---a tea towel or fingertip towel or a dish sponge to send to a friend. About half of the Halloween stuff is still there, and there didn't seem to be any more Christmas decorations up, at least. But there was no sign of Thanksgiving! No turkey dish towels, no horns of plenty centerpieces, no turkey cups or napkins or paper plates, not even a turkey platter. I have kind of gotten used to those tacky platters as harbingers of the feast. (I even own one and like it LOL)
If stores begin Halloween in August (so much for fresh candy), and Christmas at Halloween, and then just skip Thanksgiving, what is that? Not holiday creep. Holiday leap? Holiday warp? Whatever it is, I really ought to just hush since I am always kvetching about the over-commercialism of holidays. It's just that it would have been nice to have seen at least a cardboard turkey or a couple of pilgrims or indians with feathers or something like that stuck around. Thanksgiving is still a week away.

White Horse in the River

2008-11-13T19:16:00.005-05:00

One or two or three times a week, I drive a bit under twenty kilometers to Pacolet, SC, where I spend time with the folks at the Pacolet Senior Center. I always have a pleasant time there, talking to the seniors, listening to them, playing games or doing little artsy projects that I bring. I am happy for the company, and unlike so many of my friends these days, they aren't too busy or sick of me yet to not enjoy mine. On Thursday, I was encouraged to follow one of them down the road a little ways to see some Christmas decorations for sale that a local millionaire dying of cancer donated to her church. The decorations were the kind of high-end stuff that's available in malls, and they were quite nice, but the real treat for me was not in being offered a chance to preview what was to be sold last Saturday and to choose some things first, but in getting to see Pacolet Mills. It is a stunningly beautiful old mill town. In addition to a large variety of well-cared-for mill houses on gently curving streets, there's this white horse on a pylon in the middle of the river and a riverside amphitheatre to rival ones I know in Verona and Rome. Because it was raining, I didn't walk down to take a good photo of the amphitheatre or of the houses, but I hope to soon have some to share with you.

Free on Election Day

2008-11-04T19:32:00.003-05:00

Of course, we're free; it's America! And we aren't all that was free today. We got free coffee from Starbucks, a free waffle (the Belgian type, not those nifty wafer-like ones you can get from Czech spas)from Waffle House, a free doughnut from Krispy Kreme (I'm sorry I can't explain Krispy Kreme donuts to you, but when you visit, I'll buy you some-I promise), and my favorite, a free chicken sandwich from
Chic-Fil-A. We aren't interested in any kind of government handouts, but hey, we would be fools not to take handouts from big business. After a busy day of chasing down the freebies, we are watching the election returns. Because of Thomas's tremendous election excitment, I have been saved from having to cook, and we are feasting on junk food for dinner. I am even being treated to a bottle of my favorite Yellow Tail red wine. It ain't Christmas, but it's damned close. If Obama wins, it will be like Santa came early. And if not, I am going to need more wine, lots and lots more wine.

Happy Hallow-GREEN?

2008-11-02T09:58:00.004-05:00

This year, the usual things happened for Halloween: Wal-Mart and the other merchants put out the Halloween decorations and candy some time around Labor Day, a full two months before October 31st. There was, once again, enough Halloween candy, decorations, and costumes to fill at least two trams, plus even more Halloween underwear, this time for men and women, than last year (though I still gave the thongs a miss). Not everything is about the same. For one thing, for the first time in more than twenty years, I didn't carve a jack-o-lantern for Halloween, and putting a small wreath on the door and an electric artificial jack-o-lantern in the window was the extent of my decorating.
Bram was as amenable as ever about having a homemade costume, and this year we made it completely with recyclables and things left over from previous years' costumes. He really wanted his costume to make a statement about the environment, so he went as the endangered American Crocodile. We used some of the fabric I bought at Goodwill nine(!) years ago, cardboard from the box his trampoline came in, leftover paint, duck tape from 9/11. For the eyes we used earplugs we got from one of the airlines.
Bram's school has embraced "Going Green" with such enthusiasm that they had every student and teacher make costumes from recyclables and items that were headed for the landfill. On Friday, they staged a New Orleans style parade around the quarter-mile running track. It was the first Halloween Parade I had ever heard of. It was cute, and it reminded me how much Halloween has changed since I was a child. Halloween used to be only about dressing up and going door to door to get candy. Sometimes there was a Halloween Carnival, though we rarely went. (Remember: for us, it was all about the free candy). Halloween was very much a children's celebration. These days, however, there are just as many, if not more adult costumes in the stores and adult activities in the community. It seems that visiting haunted houses--really scary haunted houses-- and going through corn mazes at midnight are overshadowing Trick-or-Treating as the primary ritual for the day. I find this change interesting because it seems not so much a new invention in ritual as a reversion to the original focus of Halloween rituals: messing around with the really scary spirits of the dead. But I still get the biggest kick out of seeing young children in costumes at my door, shouting "Trick-or-Treat!" and then craning their little necks so they can see what they got. It's like magic, isn't it? Say three words and you get candy from stangers.

Beach Companion

2008-10-14T20:29:00.005-04:00

I moved from my spot at the shoreline and into the sand dunes to get away from the breeze that kept blowing the pages of the book I was reading only to be constantly and happily distracted by the activity of this Ghost Crab.

And this the marsh I bike pass to and from the beach. Every time I go by here, alone or not, I say, "I want to go kayaking in the marshes."

Dreams Do Come True

2008-10-14T19:25:00.006-04:00

I spent most of the day reading Milan Kundera and George Singleton and thinking about the chores I should have been doing, like cleaning the front porch. I weighed the merits of just leaving the dust and spider webs along with the good sense of saving the fifteen dollars or so I would likely spend for pumpkins, and for now I am thinking about just hunting down some plastic spiders to toss into the webs with the current eight-legged residents and calling it decorated. Of course, we all know I won't be able to forego the pumpkin carving. We hiked to a florist to buy a pumpkin and I made Thomas haul a giant fifty pound gourd back to our apartment when we lived in Brno; it's clear that I am incapable of living without carving a jack-o-lantern for Halloween.
This past weekend was fall break for Thomas and Bram, so we headed south to celebrate Columbus Day with my parents. I'm sorry that I don't have any interesting descriptions of the rituals and activities about tradtional celebrations for this holiday. Like a lot of our government holidays, Columbus Day has become just another excuse for merchants to have sales and for the residents of the most wasteful country in the world to spend money that many of us don't really have on things we don't really need. But I digress.
So, we drove (sigh) the five and half hours to the beach. Along the way, we were treated to fields of cultivated wildflowers in the medians and along the sides of the highway. We owe this unexpected beauty to Lady Bird Johnson, First Lady of Democratic President Lyndon Johnson.
So, it was most satisfying to see such useless loveliness. Truly, it isn't necessary for roadsides to be pretty to look at, but isn't it nice that Lady Bird's dream to beautify the highways and byways of America has come true, at least along some roadways. The flowers are some kind of Cosmos which grow an impressive five and half feet tall with blossoms the width of a man's hand. You can see their solid patches of color from more than a mile away..
On Saturday, we drove up to Lumber City, where my mother is buying the house she has dreamed of living in since she was seven years old. Even though we teased her about being the only person in America actually buying a house in this economy, I was heartened by her ability to make this dream come true. It makes me happy to think about her as a little girl stopping in front of the house on her way to school, wishing she could go inside, could have such a fine place, and that now, more than sixty years later, it's hers. Although it will need a little work, it's going to make a comfortable happy getaway for her and my father.

Dangerous Chocolate Cake

2008-10-08T10:51:00.014-04:00

I got an email from my mother today with "Dangerous Chocolate Cake" in the subject line, and in spite of my trepidation at the possibility of learning that chocolate cake is now some form of terroristic threat, I opened it anyway. Then I spent the next ten or fifteen minutes making this.>
It's chocolate cake that you can make really fast with basic ingredients and the microwave. Here is the recipe:

4 tablespoons (60ml)flour (use self-rising or add 1/2 tsp pracek do peciva)
4 tablespoons(60ml)sugar
2 tablespoons(30ml)cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons(45ml)milk
3 tablespoons(45ml)oil
3 tablespoons(45ml)chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.

I opted to tip it out onto a plate and slice it. It didn't turn out as sweet as I would have liked, so I microwaved a little butter, cocoa, powdered sugar and milk in a mug for about a minute and poured it over the top. It is in fact, quite enough for two or maybe even three people, especially if you served it with ice cream. (What's in the photo is about half of the cake) Of course, to self-medicate after a bad day, you could always just stick a knife handle into the cake while it's in the mug and fill the hole up with chocolate syrup and eat it all yourself. Bad, bad World! Poor, poor me.

This Place is a Dump

2008-09-26T13:04:00.004-04:00

But it's called a landfill because the great huge (about 600 thousand) tons of garbage that go into it daily fill giant multi-acre pits, level the valleys and build small mountains. And on top there are inocuous-looking pipes, somtimes topped with tiny turbines that vent the methane gas from the rotting trash below.
Our guide pointed out the area that marks the approximate spot that is at least partially filled with the diapers from the children born ten years ago; a few of the fifth graders gasped immediately, and those who didn't, stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed when they heard that it takes hundreds of years (some say 500 or more) for those diapers to decompose. I now have new respect for my friends who chose cloth diapers over disposable, and I'm sorry I didn't.
We drove by a big pile of discarded metal things and saw in there several children's bicycles. I remembered the bike that I learned to ride without training wheels: it was one that my father had rescued from the county dump and refurbished for me. He painted it gold, put new tires and chain on it, bought a 'banana seat' and hand grips to match in red glittery vinyl that sparkled like those red shoes in The Wizard of Oz. I loved that bike as much as my brother loved the classic chopper bike my father found and restored for him. His was green with great chrome forks,a black seat. It was painted green with a very cool black smoke effect on it. It isn't that we were so poor that my parents couldn't or wouldn't have bought us new bikes. Rescuing mechanical things and restoring them to a state of usefulness has always been a hobby for my father. I think he likes the feeling of accomplishment he gets from improving something, and I know it makes him happy if his efforts make someone else glad, too. He still saves a bike from time to time, though there are few children around who care for a bike, especially a used one, and he gives them to the local animal shelter which auctions them off to buy food and supplies for the animals there.
After seeing all of those green grass covered hills, with trash lurking beneath them, producing methane, which will eventually be used to fuel a local industrial plant, and percolating some awful liquifaction that we can only hope won't taint the groundwater, all I could think was what a shamefully wasteful culture we have here. I started using those t-shirt bags I made for shopping, so with very few exceptions, I haven't brought anymore of those plastic store bags home since April. We recycle everything that we can and try to reuse at least a time or two the containers that don't recycle before we commit them to the trash. I think now I'll start avoiding as much plastic packaging as I can, which may mean learning to make yogurt since those yogurt cups don't recycle, and can't be used for anything else. I hear it isn't hard to do. One thing is for sure, I have got to do more.

Something to do on a Saturday

2008-09-20T12:43:00.004-04:00

My new and only reason to like Diet Coke. There's just something about men in lab coats and goggles in synchronisation that makes me smile. Or maybe it's all the wasted soda.

The Bringing of Food

2008-09-05T10:56:00.007-04:00

In the American South, it has long been the custom to bring food to someone whenever there is a family emergency or event that disturbs the most basic household routines. The illness or death of a family member, and even the happy occasion of a new baby is very likely to elicit the bringing of food to the home. This is not an activity reserved for family members or close friends, but one which is often embraced by thoughtful co-workers or neighbors, some of whom barely know your name. It's just another of those things that we do here.

When I was pregnant with Bram, even one of my former students, a dear Japanese woman, brought me sushi when I couldn't eat a thing. Miraculously, I ate the entire dish in one sitting and felt stronger and better. When my son was born, my neighbor baked muffins from scratch for us. And when my father-in-law was in the hospital, friends, family, neighbors, and people who barely knew my in-laws delivered food on a daily basis. Even after the funeral, the food continued to come, because, well, grieving families need comforting.

The food is always someone's idea of comfort food; for Southerners this is fried chicken, potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chicken and dumplings, ham and something with gravy, some kind of casserole or fruit cobbler, cake, pies, trays of fresh fruit or veggies or even sweet tea and coffee. Now that our society has changed and so few of us live with or even near extended family, it isn't unusual for people to bring paper plates and disposable utensils, so there is less worry about cleaning up.

While my father was in the hospital this past week, my friend Gloria, a generous and thoughtful soul, brought us food: chicken, peas and cornbread, corn on the cob, and black eye pea salad. Even when things are going well, Gloria's cooking is a special treat, and because we were all a bit stressed, her offer of food was a delight. Bringing food is one of those gestures that we Southerners understand, like saying the name of an ailing stranger in church, or having prayers said for us, that gives us comfort and makes us all feel better. It's doing something for a fellow human being with no expectation of an immediate return. And THAT is another thing I love about the South.

Nejsem Tady (I'm not here!)

2008-06-29T07:42:00.002-04:00

Ahoj, Darlings. I hope you will forgive my absence from the blog for the last month. I have been a bit busy with my other writing and preparations for our trip. Now, I am happy to tell you that I am now back in the Czech Republic, home, among Czechs, and that I have been commissioned to write a column about my Czech travels for a newspaper in South Carolina. My editor says that I am to "sell the Czech Republic." I hope I can do you and your lovely little country justice.
I won't be posting here very often, if at all, but on the Czech Summer blog. You can find it by clicking on the link in the column on the right.
Tak, mej se hesky!

Shark Song

2008-05-28T19:03:00.005-04:00

We went to the beach today to get a little color. There were sharks (small ones, about 2-4 feet long) swimming up to the shallows. I think they were either dogfish or nurse sharks. I didn't really get a good look. What does one do when one sees such a thing here? I stood around to try to get a photo, of course, and the locals, well they sang the Baby Shark song, which apparently everyone but us had heard of and knew. and danced around until they got the silly giggles.
We walked along the beach and found whelk egg casings (photo above), lots more Cannonball Jellies, seaweed and one dead puffer fish. Here's the photo. I'm too tired to be thoughtful.

Natural Rhythm

2008-05-28T13:30:00.006-04:00

One of the best things about living in a place, or going to it very frequently, is the pleasure of learning it. It is cliche to say that all places have their own rhythms, but it's true. We are on St Simons Island now, where the rhythms of all things here are tied to the moon and the tides that are dictated by it. It's nearly June, a bit early for the mating and migratory seasons of the crabs and rays and stinging jellies, so the pier is not so full as it will be in another few weeks, and there are more swimmers than we'll see in August, when the wind-shoved waters and tides become filled with jellyfish as hurricane season really kicks in. Yesterday we walked to the village and went out on the pier to watch the creatures that the fishermen were hauling in, and while we were there, a man caught a nearly five foot Bullnose ray. We didn't see any other rays (their migration from their breeding areas isn't due for another eight weeks), and I was surprised to see how our attitude about catching them changes in relation to how abundant they are. I began to understand in a way that I hadn't before, the conservationist's heart. And since we have been spending a lot of time lately at Hobcaw Barony, the value of conservation has been on our minds. All three of us said our silent prayers that the ray would get loose; we crossed our fingers, held our thumbs. We knew that the fisherman would haul it up and chop it to bits for shark bait, and that would be just the wrong fate for such a graceful creature. (Bram would argue that it would be a sorry demise for two graceful creatures.) As the ray slipped loose and swam away, we all smiled.
There were a few people crabbing, with little success, and most of what was being caught by those not yet fishing for sharks were mostly small spade fish. We walked the beach and saw only a few hermit crabs (I guess it isn't time for them yet,either), some conch shell casings, millions of sea roaches (ugh) and a positively irridescent glass snake. It isn't actually a snake, but a legless lizard, or Eastern Glass Lizard so I don't have to add it to my official snake count. And we came across one big fat Cannonball Jelly about the size of a four year old's head. Mercifully, the Canonball isn't a stinging jelly. This photo was actually taken on Huntington Beach, NC.

Natural Order

2008-05-17T15:35:00.007-04:00

Here is the last photo that I took of the little robins. As you can see, they had grown more feathers and opened their eyes. We made multiple trips to the bathroom window to watch the mother bird feed them and began to notice that she was not so fat as when she was sitting on the eggs. It reminded me a bit of my own first months as a mother, when my son was so frequently at the breast that I sometimes felt he was more of an appendage, albeit a lovely one, than a child. Even so, there is something very satisfying about watching mothers feeding their babies, however they do it. So perhaps, naturally, I felt some connection to this bird, though now I feel a bit silly saying such a thing.
Thomas and Bram and I had been counting the days, wondering how many more it would be before the nestlings wings would be feathered out and strong enough for flight. The view into that nest had become a real source of entertainment, and dare I say it, joy for us. It gave us all a sense that everything was as it should be, at least for this little nest hinged in the shrub branches: for here, for the moment.

Until yesterday. After our walk, Thomas went back to peek at the birds again before he started work. When I heard him cry out, I assumed that the birds had fallen out of their nest. I was prepared to tell him that it was no big deal, that we would just gather them up and put them back in. It isn't true that mother birds will kill their young if humans touch them. But when I got to the window, I saw the snake swallowing the last of three little robins while the mother bird and some cardinals flitted from tree to shrub making distressed peeping noises. Thomas and I are heartbroken for the mother bird. She was so very thin looking from working so hard to be a good mother, and now some awful, heartless creature had just taken all of her nestlings. We both wanted to cry.
It's the natural order of things, I know, and I am one to admonish others in their upset over such things. But this time, we had some of our own emotions invested the welfare of these common little robins, and well, it hurts. It reminds me rather painfully of a former colleague whose daughter, a dear sweet girl, was gunned down in the street a few months before she was to graduate with honors with a pre-med degree. Is that the natural order for humans, too? Am I wrong to expect our natural order to be less fraught with senseless violence? To think that good mothering should be rewarded somehow with the safety of our offspring? We haven't told Bram about the birds. He has such a great fondness for little things. Maybe he will forget about the nest. Or maybe he has already looked and seen it empty and knows the fate of the birds was not a good one. Right now, I am not sure which is sadder.

Baby Robins : Day 7

2008-05-13T16:06:00.002-04:00

Anybody want to suggest some names for these guys? Click the post title and then "comments", prossim. One velke pivo in Brno or Prague pub of your choice per winning name recommendation.

It's My Birthday, Too

2008-05-07T17:07:00.006-04:00

At least one of these little robins was born yesterday, on my birthday, and if I count that as one of my birthday presents, then I am officially spoiled. I think that birthdays are a bigger deal for Americans than for Czechs (and maybe most Europeans). We celebrate every birthday, not just the round anniversaries. The car washes here give birthday discounts on washes and oil changes, my bank and insurance agent send me birthday cards. The drug store sent me a coupon for three dollars to spend on anything I want, and I don't even take any medicines, so it isn't as if I'm a good customer. Many restaurants will bring you a free dessert with your meal if you or someone at your table tells them that it's your birthday. There is of course one small catch: when they bring your dessert, several of the servers sing loudly and clap all the way to your table so that everyone in the place knows it's your birthday.
At lunch I told the waitress that it was my birthday, and that if she wanted to bring me a dessert, I wouldn't mind it at all if she and her associates didn't sing. I was lucky and she served it alone, with a smile and a quiet "Happy Birthday". At the Mexican restaurant later, however, Bram played the part of informer, so I had to wear a silly tourist sombrero while the servers sang to me.
One year when Bram was small, we went around to various places just to see how much free stuff I could get. It's a silly thing to do, I know, but well, I am what I am.
It's no wonder that Americans have the reputation for being like children. We chew our gum (even bubble gum sometimes); we are boisterous and naive. We smile too often and too big, and we love to play. We are hopeless dreamers. It is said that we believe that the difficult we will do now; the impossible will take a little longer. It is one of the things which I like most about being an American: we believe that nothing is really impossible and we are willing to work to prove it. Maybe we are a bunch of big children, but I figure what's the point of threatening as a child to do whatever you want when you grow up, if you don't make good on it--at least every now and then. Now where is my Play Doh?

Sunday Surprise

2008-05-05T08:32:00.005-04:00

There's a Robin's nest outside our bathroom window, so we are all excited about watching the mama bird and the babies when they emerge. These eggs seem bluer than the ones I remember from my childhood. Oh, and the ants are still here. They've just moved to the other side of the kitchen. Ants don't like cinnamon. Indeed. I'm laughing.

Would You Spit on Me

2008-05-05T08:19:00.002-04:00

if I were on fire? I heard this expression from my mother, who was telling me some story that she heard from one of her sisters. When my mother asked her about the unkindness of some woman they know, my aunt’s response was, “No way she’d help. She’s so hateful she wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.” They went on to discuss the sheer selfishness of this woman, her unwillingness to be kind when it cost her nothing, and her inability to be more than angry and jealous about any good thing that might happen to someone else. Sadly, I know this person. Well, not this exact one, but several of her ilk. I suspect that her life is so devoid of things to make her happy that she hasn’t enough experience with that feeling to be able to enjoy even a vicarious experience of it by being glad for someone else.
I was a bit shocked, thinking how harsh it was that someone might care so little for you that they wouldn’t cross the street to help you, or, even worse, would have too much contempt to spit on a person even if you were on fire. The expression conveys a diffidence which may be worse than contempt, don’t you think?

Recently, I came across quite the opposite the phrase “pay it forward” and an example of what this means. Basically, it’s just doing a kindness for someone for no reason without expecting something in return. I think it is a part of what some religions call karma and what cultural anthropologists term, “generalized reciprocity”. My brother laughs at me because before I learned these terms, I called it “cosmic quid pro quo”. Whatever it is called, I really like the idea of being nice for no reason. I like to give little presents to people and to do nice things for them, especially when I get to see them happy about it. And I like to think about them paying it forward by doing something unexpectedly nice for someone else. Today, I am going to do a little paying it forward and say something nice, do something helpful, give something away. We'll see if that improves my mood.

Crabby [krab-ee] grouchy, in a bad mood

2008-05-03T17:35:00.010-04:00

Saturday: Up early, coffee, reading for a couple of hours, interrupted by Bram's complaints of boredom, which bore me to the point of anger. Breakfast of toast and egg yolk. Yeah, I know it's the unhealthy part, but it's the part of the egg I like. Plans for a trip to the street festival downtown, the library and to the Greenville Zoo ditched because of the weather forecast. I just have no energy for enduring even the possibility of driving in another nasty storm. So, we went to Wal Mart where I noticed that the mean SPF of sunscreen is now more than 50. There is also quite a lot of lotion with SPF 70. Jeez, have we screwed up the ozone so thoroughly that we really need SPF 70? When I was a kid, SPF 15 was marketed for former skin cancer victims and people with sun allergies. Now we don't spend time in the sun without at least 15, and usually it's higher than that. I skipped the sunscreen and got a tiny kite (10cm) and a floppy flying disk.

We went to Toys R Us and did that parent thing that kids never seem to catch onto where one parent "goes to the restroom" and in fact is buying what the kid picked out and putting it into the car, while the other parent stands around feigning interest in as many things as possible. Then to the bookstore to use gift cards from Christmas. Bram refused to hang out with me because, as he puts it, I "read only murder and death books" and am interested only in books with dead bodies in them, which is sheer rubbish . The fact that only one of the last eleven books I read was about death and dismemberment aside, at the time he said this to me, I was looking at blank books. Don't think it didn't cross my mind to write a story about a killing just then. I sent him back to his father and briefly considered spending his college savings on a new sports car. I hate his complaining. I have zero patience for it after all I do to be the kinder, gentler parent. There are times when I would dearly love to slap him, just once. Heck, maybe a bunch of times. I will start dinner soon, and if Bram is wise, he will have listened to his father's entreaties to not mess with the cook. They'll get nothing or English peas, beets and burnt toast if they tick me off. So you see I haven't the perfect child and I am far from being the perfect wife and mother. But as hard as I try, I figure at the least I am owed not having to listen to complaints about my reading tastes or my cooking.

The Ant Experiments: Trial 1

2008-05-01T12:42:00.005-04:00

Those of you who were hoping to see a nice photo of me and Bram tormenting ants are going to be disappointed. We didn't want to kill the ants, merely discourage them from continuing their annual march through my kitchen. I had hoped to have a photo of an ant for you, but the first experiment with a natural ant repellent is going so well that I don't have any ants to photograph. Every April, ants migrate through my kitchen for about a week. They go from one end of the counter to the other, down the wall and out the door and disappear. Another foot to the north and they would be going through the garage instead of my kitchen, but what could I do? I have tried all kinds of things to get rid of them in the past. I even tried insecticide once, but then stayed up all night worrying about poison in the kitchen. The ants don't get into the food (though it is a bit disheartening to see them when I am preparing meals (I use the other counter when they're here), but I would still like them gone. So this year, I tried an extremely simple natural remedy: ground cinnamon sprinkled along the ant trail. In a matter of hours, the number of ants decreased. Yesterday I saw fewer than fifty and today, only four! Ants don't like cinnamon. I wonder why.

Roses are Blooming

2008-04-28T19:00:00.003-04:00

I wish I could take some credit for these, but I can't. All I do is cut the bush down a couple of times a year and toss a little fertilizer on it, if I remember.

BAD Snake

2008-04-25T10:54:00.008-04:00

My brother says that the only good snake is a dead snake. I always argue with him, remind him of the benefits of the good (nonvenomous) snakes, like king, rat, and garden snakes, who keep down the rodent population; king snakes even prey on venomous snakes, doing two good deeds for us humans. I am always the one to argue that he should just leave the snakes be. Even the venomous Eastern Diamondback rattler offers some serious benefits to humans: it's an excellent rodent hunter and its venom is used, not only as an anti venom for rattlesnake bites, but to treat stroke and to prevent the growth of some cancerous tumors. This is the one I am most familiar with, having grown up in Middle Georgia and spent a good bit of time in southeastern Georgia, where my parents have property. Really, it's probably the main reason that every woman in my family knows how to manage at least a shotgun. The men, of course, all know because besides being expected to defend the womenfolk against snakes and whatever else they may see as a threat, they also tend to like to hunt. But I digress.
This morning, as I looked out into the yard, I thought I saw the head of yesterday's snake peeking out of the cross tie again. Jujuu, photo time! By the time I got to the sand pile, I saw this snake.
I was immediately anxious. First, his markings are all wrong for a good snake. Second he didn't slither out his tongue and try to get away from me. His head had the triangular shape of a viper. And his pupils, instead of being all nice and round and innocent looking, were tiny black vertical lines. It didn't move when I moved. It just sat there, as Thomas says, like a Nazi. A quick call to my mother and search on the Internet confirmed my suspicion: Copperhead Moccasin.
Copperheads bite more people per year than any other U.S. snake though their venom is less potent than that of most species. Almost no one dies of copperhead bites. But, and you know there is one, this snake was in my sonny boy's sand pile, where he often plays, and this sand pile is in our yard where we have all been playing Frisbee for the past several days. And, well, we got a shovel and chopped the snake's head off! No way I'm going to let something threaten my child. Maybe it's an Irish thing: Mess with me and mine, and well... . My father says, "It's a GOOD snake now."

Waiting for the Snake

2008-04-24T21:37:00.008-04:00

This is the black rat (milk?) snake which I have been seeing about once a year for the last few years. It is condsiderably larger than it was the first time I saw it when it was just a tiny thing curled in the top of one of the shrubs in the front yard. It is now more than a meter and half in length. Today it slithered across the sand pile and into the little herb plot. I startled it with the camera, then spent nearly an hour playing peek-a-boo with it as it tried to re-merge from the railroad crosstie and I tried to video it. I like this snake and the fact that it chooses to live in our yard. Maybe it likes it that we don't use fertilizers or pesticides in the lawn.

Am I Spoiling Him?

2008-04-23T09:09:00.003-04:00

Ivan asks if I might be spoiling my sonny boy, and has even suggested that my parenting may in some way make my son weak. Don’t worry, I am fond enough of Ivan to not be offended by his questions about my mothering. But for Ivan, and the rest of you who think I’m spoiling the sonny boy, here is my official response.

The very worst of America is that the greedy, grasping, me-first individualism which used to be frowned upon by people with good sense is what is advertised, packaged and fed to us by just about everything in our culture now. It is, I think, capitalism untempered by human sympathy. It’s hard knocks and me-first gone terribly awry. Individualism isn’t an approachable ideal without a learned respect for the thoughts and feelings of others, and a democracy cannot flourish without individualism. Having spent some time abroad, I have had opportunity to think about what it means and what it should mean to be an American, a good American, the best American. To have some idea of what this is, I had to think about what it means to be a good citizen and a good person, to rear a child who will be these things at home and abroad.

I parent my son with two ideas in mind. One: Like every human he has needs which if not met in childhood will manifest themselves as unhealthy appetites and anti-social behaviors in his adulthood. (This is a part of attachment parenting). Two: The best way to teach him a respect for others is to show respect for him. And so far, it seems to be working. Though he has a tendency to ‘get his Irish up” in the presence of any perceived injustice (he has after all, quite a lot of Irish blood in him), he is almost unfailingly polite, thoughtful and considerate of others. From his first experience in preschool, we have gotten regular reports from teachers and other parents about his sympathetic nature, his willingness to share what he has, to protect the weak, to do the right thing. Will he grow up to be a ruthless lawyer, politician or businessman or greedy someone about whom people will say, “he wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire”? I doubt it.
So, often enough, and in the estimation of some folk, I am rather indulgent with him: a little Pat a Mat on a tired morning, singing him awake on his birthday, a trip to the candy store from time to time, listening to him complain about his problems, hugging and holding him when he seems overwhelmed by his troubles. And in return, he tells us that he loves us, will put a blanket on his father or me if we are napping, will offer to hug and hold us when we need it, and he will share his last piece of candy with anyone who hasn’t any.
As for whether I am making him tough enough to go away from home or to fight when necessary, I don’t think I need to worry. I know my boy. He has enough Irish in him that I don’t need to give that part of his nature any nurturing, only a bit of discipline. I hope I am helping him to live up to what we have told him since he was very young: Be the better man.

The Bag Thing

2008-04-22T10:52:00.004-04:00

Here are the results of the latest test of the shirt bags. Twelve kilograms in one bag and five kilograms in the other. The bags stayed where I put them in the trunk of the car, and nothing slid out into the trunk while I drove home even though I didn't tie the tops of the bags. Yes, I drive like a maniac, so this may not be an issue for the less sanguine driver.

Now if I could just convince the bagboy that I don't want any of those stupid plastic store bags, and that's the reason I bring my own. The bagboy is the person who puts our groceries into the bags after the cashier rings up our purchases. "Bagboy" is probably no longer the correct name for this person; it's probably "bagger" or "packer" some similar gender and age neutral term. Or maybe something as outrageous as "customer service facilitator" or "endline packing engineer". Very few American stores expect the customers to bag their own purchases, though ringing up and bagging one's own items is a possibility at the "self-check stations" of some of the bigger stores.

Eco Bags: Test Run

2008-04-21T11:39:00.003-04:00

I finally got around to making some of these T-shirt bags yesterday that I learned about from Gwen . I made a few changes in the basic instructions just for the heck of it. I added a strap from the long sleeves I cut off so that one bag will go over the shoulder and across the chest like a messenger bag. I used the little belt from one shirt to make a shoulder strap for it, and put a pocket on one. I really don't care much for toting things in my hands because I am too likely to set them down and forget where I put them. I made one little draw string bag without straps, and five or six of the 'basic' bags. This morning I used three of my t-shirt bags at the grocery store. The bags worked great and were a lot more pleasant to hold on to than the usual plastic ones or my canvas bags. I liked the stretchy striped one the best; it will expand to hold a lot and then shrink back small when it's empty. The cashiers at the store liked the bags, too. Bram rather likes this idea since it means he can now use his favorite dinosaur shirt as a bag and save it from the yard sale or the rag bag.

Tuesday/Wednesday

2008-04-16T20:05:00.004-04:00

Tuesday: We payed the mechanic and picked up our van. $2855. I don't know how many koruny that is. The less I think about the cost of the new engine, etc, the better. I've already figured how many trips to Brno that amounts to. The mechanic seems like a very nice guy, honest, and genuinely interested in his work, something that is a real rarity in any profession these days. I took the van to a self serve carwash and gave it a good cleaning inside and out; I even shampooed the carpets.
Wednesday: This was how I spent my day.
Up at 6:30am
Got Bram ready for school. He was having a hard time wanting to go, so we watched a little Pat a Mat, which improved our moods.
Had two cups of coffee and checked my email.
Called my mother.
Called the insurance company about the van (no, they aren't paying for anything).
Started watching Kolya.
Stopped watching the movie to make a cake.
Went to lunch with Thomas at Five Spices, the Indian restaurant, to celebrate the 20th anniversary of our first date. I confess, this was Thomas's idea. I'm afraid I'm not even good at planning special activities for our wedding anniversary, but Thomas always remembers such things.
Bought new windshield wipers for the Toyota.
Took a nap with Thomas (We're practicing for retirement).
Checked my email.
Took burritos from Taco Bell to Bram's art lessons.
Came home and watched a little more of Kolya.
Put the icing on the cake (strawberry in the middle, cream cheese on the outside).
Washed dishes.
Picked Bram up from art lessons.
Had a piece of the cake.
Started dinner (Vegetarian chili).
Poured a glass of wine and finished watching Kolya.
Dinner.
Watched the Obama/Clinton debate.
Pondered, as usual, the predicament of me and the other Yellow Dogs

The ONLY Sensible Thing

2008-04-10T16:09:00.003-04:00

We went to the video store yesterday to check out a little entertainment only to find that our beloved source of movies is going out of business. We have been paying about $15 a month for what amounts to a subscription for the privilege of checking out unlimited DVDs (3 at a time, we chose the cheapest plan). It was cheaper, by two thirds than basic cable TV and the quality is a million times better. So, it isn't a happy thing for us. I insisted that we do the only sensible thing; drive straight to the grocery store to buy ice cream! A half gallon (about 2 litres) of all natural butter pecan for me, and birthday cake flavor for Bram. Thomas opted to just share ours. I had to try Bram's since I am such a big fan of birthday cake (Really. I insist on it at least 3 times a year). Birthday cake ice cream... . Well, I am happier now. To be honest, though, I have to admit that my having a happiness may have more to do with our coming to Brno than with the ice cream. Can you say, "non-refundable flight tickets"?

Is Your Mailbox Lonely?

2008-04-10T14:50:00.005-04:00

Or is it just quite crowded with mail you don't want? We've successfully stopped just about all of the junk mail that used to fill up our mailbox, and now except utilites (gas, electricity, water), and cable internet and insurance, we hardly even get any bills anymore. As enamoured as I am of the internet and the ability to stay in constant contact with many of my friends, I rather miss 'real' mail now that I get only about a half dozen letters a year. There is something very gratifying about getting a handwritten letter from someone. Holding the paper and seeing the ink of feelings and thoughts from one heart and mind to another makes the whole communication more intimate and somehow more real. It's quite gratifying to hold in my hands a missive from a friend. And when I get a card or letter, I get the added pleasure of deciding whether to delay that gratification. Should I choose to set it aside, I can revel in the anticipation of opening and reading it. It assumes the status of a gift. And who doesn't love presents, right?
At postcrossing.com, you can sign up to send and receive postcards from random 'postcrossers' from all over the world. It isn't the same as getting a letter from a friend but it beats spam in your email and junk mail in your mailbox. And maybe it will appeal just a little to the romantic in you, the idea of a card chosen for and written and addressed to you from a stranger a quarter or a half way 'round the world. Even if it doesn't, the cards are nice and the stamps jsou hustá.

Easter Monday

2008-03-26T20:16:00.003-04:00

I was a little unhappy to have missed the things I wanted to do on Easter, but Lenka came into the kitchen Monday morning to ask if I wanted to color eggs. "An Easter do-over?" I asked. She reminded me that Czechs celebrate on Easter Monday. I began to cheer up a little, and after I realized I hadn't missed my chance to get my Easter beatings, I cheered up a lot. So, here is the photo of the eggs that Lenka showed me how to color and decorate with onion skins and leaves, and to shine with a piece of bacon. And after dinner, we got our Easter beatings with the pomlasky.

For all of you non-Czechs, pomlaksy are braided switches which the Czech menfolk use to beat their women on Easter Monday. Don't gasp. It makes them healthy and beautiful all year (and apparently, excellent cooks).

Angels

2008-03-26T19:44:00.004-04:00

I have been thinking about how much the responses of the people who helped us reflected their own perceptions of our situation. A couple, a woman and two children stranded by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere (Okay, so it wasn't nowhere, just 30 km to the nearest town) to most is just a spectacle, to some, an annoyance, an unwanted view from their front window. But to a few it is a sign that something needs remedying. Janet stopped to offer help. One couple out of a few hundred stopped to ask if we needed anything. Three (or more) patrol officers came to help, made calls and arrangements. And in the same spirit, this couple,

John and Gail Rose, of Oakwood Grove Baptist Church, requested the use of their church van and insisted on driving us ALL THE WAY HOME, to Spartanburg, to our house. They refused payment and offers of dinner. We learned that this is something that the Roses often do for stranded motorists. Sometimes--often, they arrange transportation for the people who are left after a car accident. Those without the friend or loved one they started the journey with, sad people, grieving people, broken people. John and Gail are people who see where help is needed and provide it, kindly, generously, asking nothing in return.
Now, I wonder, how many fewer hurt or broken people there would be in the world, how many fewer fights and wars there would be if our better nature ruled as it does in all of those who did their bit to help us?

Knights in Shining Armour

2008-03-26T19:24:00.005-04:00

Okay, so maybe I am being a bit dramatic here, but how can I resist calling these North Carolina Highway Patrol Officers anything less heroic? Trooper McLeod arrived smiling and apologetic, though the fault of his late arrival was mine, not his, and quite happy to help us get out of our dilemma. He began to arrange transportation for us and for our vehicle. The tow truck that came was the one up in the rotation, not his personal choice (I asked). He called his boss, Sergeant Ledford who also came to help carry our bags and all of us, and while we waited around, Officer McLeod provided pleasant, interesting company.
At the Patrol Station in Clyde, we met Trooper Feinberg, who was equally kind and good-natured, and who had also arranged for us to be taken to the Asheville Airport to rent a car to get home, but when our ride arrived, we got a wonderful surprise.
It may be that it is just a part of their duties to be solicitous and polite to stranded motorists, to do more than just stare as they drive slowly past, to do more than throw up their hands and say, "It's Sunday," but I doubt it. Whether it is good breeding for which I should thank their mothers or good training for which I should thank their teachers, I was grateful for it. They represented both their state and my country well, I think. Lenka was impressed, too, I think. I know I was.

Good Samaritan

2008-03-26T19:18:00.003-04:00

Of the many cars who went by us, only this woman and one other young couple in a hot blue Mustang did more than just slow down to stare. This woman (Her name was Janet, no kidding) stopped, asked if she could help, made phone calls to try to help, and once our help was finally under way, she stopped back by to ask if we were okay. It was clear from her behavior that what she saw was clearly a group of people in need of some assistance, and her breeding or her natural inclination, or both, was to try to help.

Not a Part of the Plan

2008-03-26T17:07:00.006-04:00

The engine is blown. The only help offered by the people residing at the house we ended up in front of was to tell us to move our car and to inform us that we wouldn't be able to get any help on a Sunday. Oh, during the more than two hours we were stranded, he and his kids and wife did take a little time out to stand around and stare at us. Did they think we did this on purpose or for fun? Were they too Yankee to have been bred well enough to be kind? Have they had so many motorists stranded in the road in front of them that they've gone quite tired of helping them?

The tow truck driver charged us $250 to tow the van to the dealership, and though we all felt that this was a bit extreme, we paid it. There were other things, by other people, which made it not so bad.
On a positive note, Lenka's daughter and my son behaved exceptionally well; they were calm in the car, entertained themselves entirely, and though they must have been as tired as we were of sitting by the road, they didn't complain even once.

The Plan and What Went Right

2008-03-26T16:39:00.008-04:00

First, take the kids to meet the Easter Bunny and to go egg hunting at the university: This went well enough. They examined the hiding field, discussed their mutual goals, planned their strategy, found 40 plus eggs, and divided them fairly without so much as a frown of disagreement (and people say only children are spoiled and don't know how to share).

Next, get on the Blue Ridge Parkway and see fabulous mountain views like this one
And this waterfall.

Next, find a nice hotel with balconies and flowing water in Cherokee, North Carolina. Visit the Cherokee Museum and the Oconaluftee Indian village. Oconaluftee was closed for the season. But the Museum of the Cherokee Indian was very good, with enough reading and visuals and artifacts to be informative and interesting. Please note that this museum, built, maintained and operated entirely by Cherokee, is NOT called the "Museum of the Cherokee Native American."

Day Trip One

2008-03-21T23:50:00.001-04:00

Here, it is said that a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body. When we had the very excellent dinner that Lenka cooked for us last night, Thomas and I decided that a friend will buy you lunch. A good friend will cook for you. An excellent friend will travel 5000 miles to cook for you in your own home. Seriously, eating Czech food makes me feel happy and loved, and having someone prepare Czech cuisine for me makes me feel very special indeed.
Today, I took the girls to Chimney Rock in North Carolina for the day. We had the delicious lunch that Lenka had packed for us, which included sandwiches made with some of the pork roast that she had cooked for us last night. We took the Outcroppings Trail, about a 30 minute hike plus some few (hundred? thousand?) stairs up to the top of the Chimney, and back down again. We hiked the Skylane Trail (about an hour and a half) to the top of Hickory Nut Falls, which as you can see from the photo, is way higher than the Chimney, with both fantastic and a few scary (for me) views from near the very top of the mountain. The weather was cool and very windy, for the most part a good day for hiking. There wasn't the excitement of our previous trip, and I think that we were all glad for that.
What was especially nice for me were the conversations that Lenka and I had in the car and while we were hiking. In fact, I am sure that this was my favorite part of the trip. It's rare, for me at least, to find someone so open, funny, and sympathetic who isn't afraid of laughing at herself or at me, whose response to my sharing something is to share something of her own.

They're Here!

2008-03-21T17:35:00.007-04:00

Lenka and Anicka arrived from Brno a week ago. Since they got here, I have been very busy showing them things. Shortly after this photo was taken in front of the oldest residence in Athens, Ga, we headed farther south to St Simons. What is normally about a 6 hour trip by car, (the only way to go, of course, for those of us who don't have horses or planes) took us 12 hours! After running into a huge rain storm outside of Commerce, we found ourselves trying to escape bad weather as we went. From store fronts darkened by a power outage, we drove through traffic lights swinging nearly horizontal in the wind to Athens. We finished up our chili dogs and chili steaks at the world's largest drive-in, The Varsity, just as skies began to darken. We stopped in Bishop to look around at some funky sculptures. As you can see, Lenka took a particular liking to the big dinosaur. We passed through Madison, where the ground was white with small hailstones and stopped in Milledgeville for a quick walk through the campus of my alma mater, Georgia College and State University. The skies were the least threatening ones we had seen all day: the sun was even shining, the flowers and tea olive were blooming on campus. Nothing gave us warning of what happened ten minutes later.
As we left Milledgeville, it began to rain again, then to hail. Small hailstones quickly got larger, until finally, my poor little car was being pelted with baseball-sized hail. I phoned my mother to ask her to check the weather radar. She very calmly said, "You're in a tornado. They've already evacuated the college. Move south as soon as you can." I must say that both Anicka and Lenka were very brave about it. And my brave little Toyota now has a good many new dimples.
Once we were at the beach, the weather was wonderful, though a little bit windy. Lenka and Anicka spent their days at the beach and biking around while I rested. And on Tuesday, we all went to Jekyll Island to Driftwood Beach.
We toured the buildings and grounds at Hofwyl Broadfield Plantation and headed back home, this time without free samples of some of the worst weather that the South has to offer.

My Nighttime Companion

2008-03-10T12:49:00.004-04:00

Now you can hear the owl who keeps me company sometimes. It hoots like this about once every 28 seconds for a couple of hours. I am wondering if this one is a new owl, since our neighbors recently cut some trees. Our owl is always in the backyard. This one was in the front.

Mole Captured: CIA Not Notified

2008-03-10T11:57:00.002-04:00

This little adventure began with Thomas informing us that he had caught a mole. And here is the little mole. I think they are much smaller than Czech krtci.

Wedding Shower

2008-03-10T11:39:00.004-04:00

My brother-in-law is getting married next month, so Thomas and I hosted a party for them. They are engaged now, which means that John has asked her to marry him, given her a ring, called an engagement ring, and she has said yes. In the period between getting engaged and getting married, it is common tradition for friends and family to give the couple parties, called showers, for the purpose of giving them gifts to help them furnish their household.
There are all kinds of wedding showers, each of which bears the name of the theme and kind of gifts to be given to the couple. Traditionally only the bride attends these showers although these days it is increasingly common for the groom to attend them, too. These are usually called wedding showers instead of bridal showers. Some of the common shower types are household or kitchen showers, lingerie showers, bedroom or bathroom showers, and linen showers. A couple of the newer ones are tool, home improvement, and camping showers. There is a bit of fun in these since the gifts for say, a bedroom, kitchen shower may be anything that could possibly be used in these rooms. Use your imagination: the couple are newlyweds.

Our Odd Little Activities

2008-03-05T17:58:00.003-05:00

Thomas came home today announcing that we may call him James Earl Jones because he has been asked to do a voice over for a movie that the special effects director for Bram's movie is now making. (Bram starrred in a student-made flick, "Death's Day Off" in 2007.) I have spent some time lately writing lyrics for the Czech power thrash metal band, Hypnotic Face. I have no taste for heavy metal, but after listening to the songs for which I was asked to write the lyrics, I have grown very fond of Radek's guitar playing, and of writing for music. He promises me that as soon as the band has recorded the songs, I may post them here. I promise you that as soon as I have them, you will see them here.

All You Can Eat

2008-03-03T18:31:00.009-05:00

My parents visited us for a couple of days this weekend, and as part of the middle class thing to do, we went toRyan's for dinner. Ryan's is an all-you-can-eat restaurant. That means you pay one price (around 80 to 160Kc at today's exchange rate), the waitress brings your drink and a basket of bread to the table, and you serve yourself all of the food you want. There is no time limit to how long you can stay at the restaurant or how much you eat. The only rules are that you may not smoke and you may not take food out of the restaurant. The cost is a little less for children and the elderly. The elderly (people over age 55) are given what is called a senior citizen discount. It's a fairly normal discount given at most restaurants, department stores and other places of business, and usually amounts to between 10 and 20%. Some stores offer these discounts only on certain days. But I digress.
At Ryan's you may eat all of the food you want for just this one price. You may start with soup. Then you can choose any or all of the meats (grilled steak or chicken, baked or fried chicken, roast beef, turkey, ham, shrimp, fish baked or fried) to go with any or all of the vegetables that are offered. On the buffet there are potatoes fried or mashed, rice, okra, green beans, carrots, cabbage, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, corn on or off the cob, beans, pasta (macaroni and cheese or spaghetti with sauce with or without meat). There is also a salad bar. A salad bar is a cold buffet table with lettuces (2 kinds plus spinach) to begin your salad and a wide range of things to put on it. The salad bar at Ryan's has raw broccoli, tomatoes, cauliflower, carrots, green peppers, mushrooms and olives, beets, and three bean salad. On the second salad buffet table are the mixed salads. These are various things mixed with mayonnaise or some other kind of dressing (macaroni, potatoes, beans, peas, flavored whitefish, etc). There is fresh fruit, too. And a dessert bar, which has about a dozen different desserts plus candy, chocolate syrup, and caramel to put on your ice cream. I am enormously fond of banana pudding.

The obvious advantage to such a restaurant is that you can choose from a wide variety of things to eat, and eat as much or as little as you want. It's a great place for picky eaters and children. The obvious disadvantage is that it is very easy to overeat, especially if you are the daughter of an Irish accountant who wants to get her money's worth. Fortunately, I got over that inclination after about the twentieth time I ate at Ryan's. Some of you have said that such a restaurant would not be possible because it would go broke. Well, guess what, Ryan's is currently fighting bankruptcy now.

Viden/Wien/Vienna

2008-03-03T18:15:00.006-05:00

We pronounce the name of this town in Georgia /vaj ena/

We pronounce the name of these sausages /vaj ina/

How to Make Us Smile

2008-02-26T10:27:00.004-05:00

While returning some things to Party City yesterday, I was entreated by the manager to take as many of the red mylar balloons as I could, for FREE! I am too Irish and too much my mother's daughter to refuse. I left the store laughing at my good fortune (Bram is going to love this!) and glanced back to see the clerks lined up at the window watching me while I poked 21 fat red hearts into the backseat of my little car. The biggest thrill was seeing the smile on Bram's face when I picked him up for school and said to him, "I hope there's room for you." I'm afraid he gets that silly idea from me that balloons are happy things.

Sad Gossip

2008-02-25T09:05:00.005-05:00

Saturday: I spent too much time buying fake (yes, fake) flowers for the flower boxes on the garden shed. No one gets close enough to see they aren't real, and who cares any way? It's not like we ever have company here this time of year. The clerk walked by, nodded at my pink bouquet and said that she should get some of those for her daughter's grave. The woman was no older than I am. I did find it interesting--the kindness and pity in the eyes of the people who walked past me while I picked out the flowers. How seeing someone choosing flowers seemed to remind them of something. They didn't smile or speak, but it was obvious that they were empathetic. Maybe it was because I was gathering pink ones and they thought of mothers, daughters, wives.

Thursday: In the post office I met a stranger who cried as she told how badly she just wants her husband to go dancing with her, or just to take her to a place where she can go dancing, or to let her go out with her friends. He doesn't want to go any where or do anything but sit on the sofa and watch the shows he wants to watch. He won't even agree to watch a show of her choosing with her. It was sad to see how miserable this man makes this woman. She is very attractive; most of my male friends would be flattered, very flattered if such a woman wanted their company. I asked her if she thought she could tell him that she wasn't happy. If he loves you, he will want you to be happy, right? She smiled then, and said she would ask him. I have thought of her every day since then and wondered about their conversation.

Sunday: I spoke with a very dear friend whose childhood friend became a widow just a couple of weeks ago. In the course of telling me how much time she had been spending with her friend and about the things they had been doing (like requesting the death certificate, changing account names, shopping, etc) she told me about something this new widow said and did. In the middle of shopping, the widow threw up her hands, took a deep breath, and announced, "My God, I feel like I have just got out of prison, serving a life sentence! I have never felt so free. I'm glad he's gone."

I thought about my son and my sweet indulgent husband who has never needed Valentine's Day or my birthday or our anniversary to remind him to show me how much he loves me, and I wondered, "Would I get the same kind looks from strangers if I were shopping for blue flowers? Or would widows smile at my good fortune and wives cast jealous darts?" I hope I never have to look for blue flowers. I am in no prison.

Hanging on the Window

2008-02-11T11:08:00.001-05:00

This is my old window on the world, and today I am really missing this window and that world. I miss the air, the houses, the chimneys and the sky they curled the smoke into on some days. I miss the church bell, the bells and screeching of the trams, and the quiet between these things. Most of all I am missing the every day sounds from inside the house: the opening and closing of doors and the footfalls in the stairwell in the mornings, and in the afternoons, in reverse. The scrape of chairs across the floor that signalled oběd, and again when it was over. And the near sudden silence of afternoon rest time. There wasn't a lot of activity to watch: the dog let out, the neighbor on his bike, people opening gates, women hanging laundry, an attractive woman talking to someone, standing one foot before the other, hands clasped behind her back. Once, while I was standing at a different window, I heard the sound of a duvet being shaken out and saw a single white sock float past me and to the ground. I would not have thought that I would care so much for being not alone, for taking comfort in the constant reminders that other people were around. But I do. I miss my window and everything around it.

The Man in the Yellow Cap

2008-02-04T18:57:00.002-05:00

We went to the circus yesterday. I'm sorry I have no photos for you because it was just that kind of Sunday when I have a hard time getting to a 12:30 engagement dressed and with a camera. This was Bram's first trip to the circus and only my second. In my defense, I would like to point out that we have been offering, really begging Bram to go to the circus for the last seven years. His reason for finally agreeing to go? He learned that 'freaks' weren't part of a circus. He's more than a little upset by the sight of conjoined twins, bearded ladies, people too tiny or humans too huge and the like. My frustration at learning only now why I've missed every circus for the last 7 years aside, I had great time, a wonderful time.

But, and you know there is a but, I'm afraid I didn't enjoy it as much as I had hoped because I was so distracted by THE MAN IN THE YELLOW CAP. Men went by on horses, riding, standing, on two horses at once. Yellow Cap just sat there. Elephants, horses, ponies, tigers, goats, and a porcupine (all of the animals were in odd numbers, 9, 11, 7, 3, 1) danced by. And when I say danced, I mean really danced: kicking up their heals, tossing their heads, and generally looking as much like humans dancing as it was possible to do. Yellow Cap just sat there: not a smile, not a clap. "Maybe animals are not his thing," I thought, marvelling at the goats on horseback.
Then the acrobats came on, bending their bodies and throwing themselves around like so much yarn. Nothing. The clown encouraged us all to clap, slapped his giant floppy shoes in 4/4 time, pulled his hair off, put it back. Yellow Cap blinked. After a while, even his daughter began to look a little worried. Nine (odd!) sexy girls with handlebars attached to their waists gyrated to some heavy metal tune. Behind them seven (yes, 7, another odd number!) of motorcyclists rode their bikes inside a ball for 3 (odd!) minutes. Yellow cap didn't even appear to be breathing.
It was at this point that I noticed that with a few exceptions, the entire audience was behaving like this: they just sat and stared, not with awe, not with boredom, but complete and utter apathy, as if they were home watching television.
Okay, so maybe I am so ridiculously easily entertained, or so hard up for visual stimulation because we don't have TV at our house that I can't know quality entertainment when I see it. But you know, these performers weren't doing simple worthless tricks. The kids behind me were whooping it up, laughing, kicking my chair with excitement. What a circus performer does ain't nothing. When is the last time you wrapped your legs around your head and tucked your feet into your armpits? Or stood around tossing a whip at 7 tigers? I thought so. So, wouldn't you agree that the circus deserved at least some hearty clapping? Maybe Yellow Cap was waiting for the Super Bowl. How can that be more fun than a dancing elephant or motorcycle on a highwire?

Bearded Trees

2008-01-29T21:16:00.000-05:00

Whenever we travel to Georgia to see my family, I know we're getting close when I start seeing Spanish moss in the trees. The closer we get to the coast, the more there is of it, and the happier and more at home I begin to feel. Spanish moss is in fact, not a moss at all, but an epiphytic plant, a plant that grows on another plant (in this case, trees) but which does not rely on the host plant for nutrients. Although it is not a parasite, it can cause some harm by blocking needed sunlight, weighing down and breaking branches, and in hurricanes, by creating more wind resistance and causing greater damage to the tree during storms.
Besides making the trees interesting or creepy-looking, depending on how you see it, Spanish moss has some practical uses, too. These days it is most commonly used by florists and gardeners as a mulch, for moisture control, and for decoration. It is used by crafters for making everything from birds nests to angel's hair and Christmas wreaths, and in some places, it is used as packing material. In the past, it was often used as stuffing for car seats, furniture and mattresses, and by Cajun builders in Louisiana, as insulation in houses. Wild creatures and songbirds, especially use it as nesting material. My brother and I once used it to stuff a burlap bag ( which we call a croker sack) to make a swing. We tied the neck of the stuffed bag to the end of rope attached to a high limb on a big oak at the farm. To swing on it, we ran at and jumped onto the bag like little monkeys on their mother's back. It was great, free fun for us.
Because of its similarities to gray hair, another name for Spanish moss is grey beard. In both of the legends that I know about Spanish moss, the moss originated as hair. According to the legend told on the Georgia Coast, the moss is the hair and beard of a Spaniard who bought an lovely indian maiden for a yard of braid and a piece of soap. When the maiden ran to escape her fate as wife of this evil Spaniard, she climbed a tree, the Spaniard followed her, she leapt from the tree into a creek, and when her pursuer tried to leap out of the tree after her, his hair and beard became tangled in the tree. As punishment for his intentions, the Spaniard died in the tree, which now produces this moss as a reminder.
In the South Carolina version, it is a Cuban man and his lovely long haired bride who are pursued through the woods by Cherokee indians, who kill them both and toss the woman's raven locks into the tree as a warning to other foreign invaders. According to this legend, by the next day the hair had shriveled up, turned, gray and spread to other trees. And as the Cherokee moved, the hair in the trees followed them, a constant reminder of their crime. So, you can decide which story you like best. The politically correct choice to make is the one which makes the white man the culprit and the Native American the victim. Not really a happy place for either, I think.

I Still Voted

2008-01-26T21:01:00.000-05:00

Okay, I will admit it. I am so disillusioned by the state of this country, by its polices at home and abroad and by just the sheer stupidity and self-serving practices of politicians, that for the first time since I became eligible to vote, I was tempted to just give the whole democratic process a miss. It's a bit sad, I think, that I should feel this way about something I have always taken so seriously and been so enthusiastic about. When I turned 18, I was more excited about finally being able to vote than I was about being able to buy alcohol. I went with my grandmother, her mother, and my own mother to the polling place in my little hometown and felt like I was a part of truly something important, that my right to vote, a part of the freedom that members of my family had fought for, had carried life-long scars for, that a few had even died for was a sacred right not to be taken for granted. I have volunteered my time to campaign in every Presidential election since 1980, and cried for those in countries where they don't have such freedoms, and lectured friend and foe on the importance of voting. Don't worry: I did vote, though I pressed the buttons with the least amount of conviction I have ever had in a voting booth. And as for my lack of enthusiasm, just watch this video. See if you see anything to account for this apathy.

What did this man do for me? What would any of the candidates do for anybody other than the rich?

A Crying Shame

2008-01-22T16:40:00.000-05:00

We saw this pile of books tossed out with the trash in a neighborhood in Gainesville. There is no excuse for this. It is isn't that much trouble to put them into a bag or box and take them to a donation center. And if it is, Goodwill or some other charity will come to your house to haul these books away for you. The only time I ever saw anything like this in Europe was in a photograph of Nazis burning books. Can you imagine a Czech doing such a thing with a book? I can't.

Večera Sněžilo!

2008-01-17T09:14:00.000-05:00

No school, no work, no buses---all day.

Co mysliste? Bude sněžit nebo ne?

2008-01-16T21:27:00.000-05:00

That's the big question here. Actually, the forecast is calling for sleet and ice and maybe a little snow, but judging from the way we act around here, you would think we were expecting a month-long blizzard. We got an email from the school this morning reminding us of their inclement weather policy. The grocery stores were unusually crowded most of the day with people standing in long lines at the checkouts, a sight normally only on paydays and holidays. The shelves were already being emptied of milk and bread by two in the afternoon! And tomorrow, if there is snow or ice in the morning, the schools will be closed, there will be no public transport, factories and businesses will either close for the day or operate at reduced capacity. Are you laughing yet? I remember what a miracle it seemed to us in Brno when there was snow and ice and school and work. I knew then that when we came home I would miss the snow in winter, and I do. Thanks to Ivana and Lenka, I at least have plenty of good ovocný čaj, Czech movies, and Becherovka to keep me happy here for a little longer with or without snow.

The "Do Over" for PF 2008

2008-01-09T10:54:00.000-05:00

I used to be terribly annoyed by my brother and his friends at play; their games were so often punctuated by sudden outbursts and interrupted by fights that I wondered how they could enjoy each other's company at all. We girls didn't seem to fight as often. We never yelled at each other, and our arguments were more likely to take the form of long silences, maybe tears and hurt looks instead of shouting and hitting. It seemed to me, though, that the boys had a better way of dealing with their differences of opinion: they just shouted or swapped blows and got over it. Like firecrackers, they went off and were done with it. Because of this, I usually ended up playing with the boys. It was just easier for me to get along with them. (One of my former bosses would say it is because of my natural "firecracker-y" disposition.) The boys had one other way of dealing with things when they didn't go right. It's called a "do-over". In a game if a turn was wrongfully taken or ended badly, a shot was interfered with or even just missed, if you were playing with the boys, you could just shout for a "do-over" which meant another chance. So now I will get to my point: I want a do-over for New Year's Day. I was sick and didn't get to call my family and friends, as has been my habit for a long time. I didn't even feel like emailing, either (though it wouldn't have mattered since the internet was out most of the day). I am a bit superstitious about that one day and I think that whatever I do on that day will be what I am doing all year. I don't want to be sick and missing my friends for the next twelve months, so sometime in the next week or so, you may get a call or a card from me with your New Year's wishes.

Laurel and Hardy (Pat a Mat?) Museum

2008-01-02T15:36:00.000-05:00

In a small, unassuming former bank building in Harlem, Georgia is the Laurel and Hardy Museum. We've been meaning to stop here for years, but we have always been driving by at the wrong time. But last week, we finally got our chance. We were greeted by the museum's docent, a sweet little yankee lady named, Nancy. She is quite possibly the most enthusiastic museum docent I have ever met. She was friendly, knowlegeable, and so eager to please that she not only took our picture, put on our favorite Laurel and Hardy movie for us to watch, but she also made popcorn for us.
Oliver Hardy (the fat one, in case you don't already know) was born in Harlem at the home of his paternal grandparents, to a mother whom I hope he called every day to aplogize to. Oliver weighed in at a hefty 14 pounds (6.4 kilo) at birth! And if that is not a reason to lavish your mother with kindness, generous gifts, and grateful ovations, I don't know what is. But I digress. Norville (his real name) Laurel was actually reared just north of Harlem, in Milledgeville, where his mother (God bless her) ran the Milledgeville Hotel. Local historians in Milledgeville credit Mrs Hardy with the hard work that resulted in the hotel's eventual success and popularity.
As for her son, Norville, well we all know what became of him. After making movies for a time in Florida, he went on to California where he was teamed with Stan Laurel and ended up performing together onstage and in films in which they behave quite a lot like Pat and Mat, but with more violence. Here are a few clips which someone has compiled and put together with music from ABBA. I know how you feel about ABBA, but this is just too too funny not to share.

Dam(n) That's Pretty

2008-01-02T14:37:00.000-05:00

After Christmas, we drove to Georgia to see my parents at the farm. We took a different route, one which takes us right over the Strom Thurmond Dam across the Savannah River which forms the boundary between South Carolina and Georgia. The dam was built in the late 1940's and mid 1950's by the US Army Corps of Engineers (a division of the armed forces responsible for the nation's water and related environmental resources). It was built for flood control, hydropower, and navigation, and the resulting lake, Lake Turmond, is more than 70,000 acres, has more than 1200 miles of shoreline, and is surrounded by more than 80,000 acres of land. It is the largest lake east of the Mississippi River, and is one of the 10 most used Corps lakes in the US. But I don't really care about all of that. I like it because it is a pretty place to stop and rest during the 5 hour trip south.

What is interesting, perhaps, is the person for whom the lake and dam were named, Strom Thurmond, a South Carolina politician and US Senator, known for his conservative politics in public, and his rather hypocritical behavior in private. A Civil Rights opponent and segregationist, a great campaigner with a "family values" platform with a very strong anti-abortion stance, he fathered his first legitimate child at age 68. For the first time, at age 100, he became a grandfather publicly. I am not sure just how many children he fathered (who is?), but it must have been quite a lot since he was so often called "Sperm" Thurmond. Don't laugh. It gets better: Shortly after he died, it was revealed that Sperm's, perhaps, first (??) illegitimate child was a girl he fathered by the Thurmond family maid, who at the time was a tender 16-year-old black girl. Strom was then 22. Interesting, isn't it, in light of his vehement campaigns against equal treatment for blacks, abortion and reproductive rights for women, and for "strong family values"? I shouldn't judge, I guess. Maybe ole Sperm felt it better to decide for everyone else whether integration and equality of the races (and sexes) was a good thing, since he himself had such intimate knowledge of mixing and mingling and the consequences. Where would the world be, after all, without such moral superiors making the decisions for the rest of us?

Christmas

2007-12-27T13:14:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-23T10:28:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-22T22:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-22T21:42:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-22T21:16:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-22T20:40:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-12-12T15:49:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-11T13:35:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-12-10T18:13:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-01T10:19:00.002-05:00

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

2007-11-20T06:32:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-19T14:06:00.001-05:00

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

2007-11-19T12:36:00.001-05:00

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)

2007-11-15T15:37:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-08T21:14:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-05T20:32:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-29T14:43:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-28T15:30:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-21T15:59:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-21T14:46:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-06T20:48:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-02T12:20:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-02T09:39:00.001-04:00

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

2007-09-27T21:35:00.000-04:00

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.