my4thlife

Not much is new, except everything has changed

2012-02-06T01:45:00.000-08:00

The month of January was very much a cliche this year for me in Prague. It was not too pleasant, weather-wise, and produced the predictible cabin fever. Not much happened in terms of new initiatives, but at the same time, everything has changed.

January was overcast for 30 days out of 31--maybe even all 31. While I know intellectually that there must have been some sunshine, I can't remember it. The temperature hovered around zero clesius (32 fahrenheit) all month, with drizzling rain that half-heartedly froze into slush that melted as it was being formed. It was gloomy, wet and pretty darn dismal.

Life went on as usual, except that we didn't get to church as much as usual, due to lingering colds, intermittent stomach bugs and flus, and achy joints. It took quite a bit of will power to go anywhere not strictly necessary. What with our on-going projects, such as doctor's exams, physical therapy for my husband, tutoring sessions, knitting group meetings, increasing senility in our old Dachshund, wet and grey skies, and general malaise, we didn't start too many new initiatives in January.

Except one.

We developed a new, streamlined career development program, Redirect, that gets right to the heart of change. In four sessions, our small group made a brief survey of what we have in terms of personal resources, looked at what we love to do, and will set a goal, just one goal, for 2012.

The final session of Redirect is this Thursday, and we all have to submit our one goal. This need to set a goal for the entire year has given me some tremendous insights into what I really want to do, what I truly love to do, and what I feel I must do before I get too old to do much of anything.

My goal is just about formulated, and will, I think, bring about some big changes in 2012.

Dog blues

2012-01-06T10:38:00.000-08:00

Our dog Klaus is getting old, and having some quite typical health problems.

He had an enlarged prostate, and the wonderful Czech vet gave him some medicine six months ago that has shrunk the prostate significantly.

But in the meantime, Klaus is down to one functioning sense--taste--and has dementia. The vet made these diagnoses today, but she was only confirming what I already knew, from his behavior. He cannot see much, cannot hear well, and cannot even smell things anymore. He insists on licking everythinghe can reach, from the pavement to our parquet floors and IKEA rugs. It's is rather gross to hear him lick, lick, lick. And of course he will lick any person foolish enough to let bare flesh near his tongue. We now know our true friends--people who will let Klaus lick them!

The dementia is also obvious. He will start to pee outside, and forget what he is doing. No kidding. You can read the expression on his face--"now what was it I wanted to do?" as he squats to pee (he can't lift his hind leg anymore, due to arthritis and lack of muscle/nerve coordination, so he squats). He can no longer recognize the door to our apartment house, and has to be dragged into it. We look like we are not kind to him when we are outside, as we have to drag him up when he poops and can't get back up, when he licks something filthy, or when he's trying his best to run in front of a speeding car that's coming up the street.

It is very hard for us to watch these changes in our little dog. We are relying on the vet to help us through this, the last stage of his 17-year life (so far). He mostly sleeps and begs for food, as taste is just about the only pleasure he has left. Our little friend is old.

How much longer? and variations

2011-12-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has been around children has heard the questions, "are we there yet? how much longer? when will we be there?" "when will we stop again?" I ask these questions, too. Here are some examples:

1. "How much longer?" I moan inwardly, when my husband takes me on what I call a magical mystery tour. He remembers some place he wants me to see, and takes me there, but never directly. We weave in and out of streets, courtyards, alleys, and parks, as he gives me the scenic tour--for free. He knows where he's going, so he is always relaxed. I don't know if we have another minute or another hour before we reach our destination. This drives me crazy. He gets very hurt if I ask this question out loud, interpreting it as a lack of trust in his ability to give me a wonderful surprise. So I bite my tongue and suffer...

2. "When did this happen? Who planned it? Why didn't I know about it?" I have this reaction to any surprise. I've been the honored guest at three surprise parties in my life--a baby shower, a small gathering of friends so low-key that I didn't even realize it was a birthday party for me, and a bigger birthday party that my kids planned when they were 8 and 11 years old. In all three cases, I was so discombobulated that I couldn't quite grasp what was happening. Surprises are just too surprising for me, as I like to know where I am and where I am going, on a nice neat timetable. I need firm beginning and ending times to be happy. Long, complicated ceremonies have the same effect--a bishop's visit, a dance recital, a sneak preview.

3. "When will it stop?" This is my anxious question when I'm waiting for something to happen--for a dog to stop barking down the block at night, for a baby to stop crying in the next room at a hotel, for a pot to boil on the stove, for the dentist to finish drilling my tooth. What makes me so nervous is not knowing how long this will last--if I know that there are 56 more seconds of drilling, I have all kinds of coping mechanisms to use to pass the time. It's the unknown that defeats me.

4. "Where will I be next year at this time?" When I'm making a big life change, which seems to be about every two years or so, I can't help but ask this question. In my younger years, not knowing was exciting and adventurous. Now it's kind of scary. Since I try to follow God's guidance in these changes, rather than planning them out logically with my own brainpower, I spend lots of time in this state of uncertainty. It really drives me mad, at times. I like limited commitments, like a one-year teaching contract or a two-year lease. Being enclosed in a well-defined agreement is comfortable for me. I would have liked being in the military for this reason--except I would not have liked the enforced obedience, the constant conformity and the weapons training. Well, maybe I wasn't meant for the military!

I used to make fun of people who were so timid that they couldn't do anything new. Routines were for unintelligent people who couldn't enjoy the spontaneity of life. Now I am one of those people. I think that life's most stinging moments come when we realize, as Pogo said, that we are the enemy. Or, to put it another way, "what goes around comes around." What we consider our strengths are so often the areas of our downfall--what we scorn in others is what we may, indeed, end up scorning in ourselves.

So all my questions--"how much longer?" "are we there yet?" "when will this be over?"--reveal the lack of trust that I hoped to avoid as an adult, and as a Christian. We really don't know the answers, but can only guess. How much smarter to admit how little we know, and to trust God that He has our best interests at heart and is bringing into our lives exactly what we need, when we need it.

no more morning hassles

2011-12-02T01:03:00.000-08:00

I had a job here in Prague for about 2 months, starting last September. It was a little job--teaching children aged 3-5 in a Prague preschool--and I loved the children.

Most parts of the job were pleasant or at least okay, but one thing I really didn't like was giving up my morning routine with my husband to rush to work.

Since 1985 I've worked full-time and then some, usually putting in 60-hour weeks at my main job and handling a few part-time assignments at the same time. That's a lot of work. I was on a strict schedule for many of my jobs, and grew accustomed to hassling to get where I needed to be, when I needed to be there.

Moving to Prague in 2010 was like taking a vacation. I didn't have a regular job, but instead took on some tutoring assignments with Korean high-school students living in Prague for a few years (there's a large Hyundai facility in Ostrava). My time was my own, and life was luxurious.

In March 2011, I created a consulting assignment in a Prague preschool, with the goal of helping the school with teacher training, curriculum, and strategic planning. I completed parts of this assignment, then was hired as a teacher in September 2012.

For a number of reasons, the teaching assignment didn't work out, and I left it about a month ago. Now I have my mornings back! I can have a leisurely cup of tea with my husband, pray with him, and get the day off to a civilized start!

sick as a dog/weak as a kitten

2011-11-28T02:47:00.000-08:00

I have had acute bronchitis for three weeks, and am taking antibiotic and anti-coughing pills. I feel better in my lungs (no more asthma) and do';t have those terrible coughing fits, but I am "weak as a kitten"--I walk the dog and feel like I hiked the Appalachian trial.

I guess "sick as a dog" describes the utter giving up of a sick dog. When he's sick, my dog has so little energy he doesn't even lift his head when we open the closet door to the sacred treats (plastic-y "beef jerkies" from DM). He just lies there, indifferent to the world.

I am finally able to imagine that some day I'll feel like myself again, with normal levels of energy. But I still feel a bit like a helpless animal, resigned to weakness and not caring about the rest of the world.

In mourning--enough. already!

2011-11-09T23:48:00.000-08:00

Mourning is a period of time when a person adjusts to a loss. We mourn people who have died; relationships that have ended; dreams that have evaporated; projects that seem to have failed.

Most advice about mourning in the US is to get over it as quickly as possible and move on. Plunging into a new relationship or project; changing jobs or homes, taking us a new, consuming hobby--these are classic ways to move on. As Bobby on Hill Street Blues once said about a sorrow, "I just want to get this behind me."

In Central Europe, in contrast, mourning is a way of life. Think of those Greek widows who wear black from the day their husband dies to the day they die. On any Prague street you may run across a plaque on a wall, commemorating the tragic death of someone you probably never heard of. The news magazines routinely have feature stories on Hitler, Heydrich (Prague's Nazi boss, who was killed by Czechs as he rode in an open car), Stalin, Lenin, and so on. It's as if WWII is still being fought somewhere not far away.

After living here for 16 months, I can say that I'm a bit sick of being in mourning. First there is the general social mourning around me, the heavy feeling that the past, with its pains, deceptions and murders, is just a step behind us. Prague is famous for this; Franz Kafka's The Trial explores the idea of free-floating guilt and terror.

Then there's the mourning for my friends. Since I've been here, I've had four close friends endure exceptionally nasty treatment in their jobs here in Prague. All four left those jobs, two to move back to the USA. I miss my friends, and I also feel indignation that they were treated so poorly.

And then there is my own mourning. I came to Prague enthusiastically, with a host of ideas for ways to contribute to the city. I believed that, if I treated people well, they'd do the same in return. But this didn't often happen, and much of my initial enthusiasm has been squeezed out of me by now.

I've had four jobs that didn't work out, for various reasons. The common thread in all four was an inability to build relationships of trust with my employers. Too much information was withheld for my comfort level. I felt that I was being deliberately misled and confused, just so that the people I worked for could maintain control over me. Why?

In the 60's, management Theory X was shown to be stifle creativity and lead to employees feeling no loyalty to their companies (see box at left for Theory X). I guess managers here haven't gotten that insight yet! When Jarda and I ran the Business Leadership Forum: USA programs for Czech executives, we saw that Theory X was alive and well. But that was 20 years ago! Surely things have changed.

So I am in mourning again. The last consulting assignment I had ended in some unpleasantness, and I am making my peace with it, looking for the positives as well as the negatives.

But I must say that what I'm really mourning is the severe beating that my life-long beliefs have taken here. Like Anne Frank, the Jewish girl captured and killed by Nazis for no reason except that she was Jewish, I still believe, in spite of all, that people are good. I have tried being tough and cynical, but I can't pull it off. Deep inside me is the certain knowledge that God lives in each person; I seek that God in people, and usually find Him.

Yet here in Prague, it's as if people's goodness is hidden deep underground. Jarda tells me that oppression, terrible wars, betrayal, and several police states have turned Czechs into masters of deceit. Like Good Soldier Schweig, Czechs are cunning and crafty, No wonder their managers still use Theory X!

So, the mourning continues. But at some point, as an American, I will pick myself up and move on spiritually and psychologically. I think I'm at that point!

Dead Zone

2011-11-05T01:25:00.000-07:00

Stephen King wrote a novel called The Dead Zone. I never read it, but I love the title.

I know what it's like to exist in a dead zone, though. Dead to emotion, dead to my instincts, dead to pleasure and rage. For me, the dead zone is more of a numb zone, the place I go when I can't cope with my feelings about what's happening around me.

I've spent some rather tediously long stretches of time in the numb zone--going through the motions of daily living, containing my boredom, my sorrow, my anger, my fear and my disgust at what I'm dealing with. In this zone, I have handled some pretty tough times, times of terror, confusion, regret and indecision.

So the numb zone has its virtues; like a POW who endures till she is free, I can endure what comes into my life. I am grateful for times when the numb zone has kicked in, freeing me to deal with difficulties and challenges without the encumbrance of emotion.

But the numb zone has its drawbacks. Shutting out negative emotions, like pain, sorrow and anger, inevitably shuts out the positive emotions, too. It's hard to allow joy into a well-established numb zone.

My greatest moments of joy in life have always been lived right next to times of anguish. When I feel all my emotions, when I stick my head out of the numb zone, I can expect to shoulder the burden of my own sins and everyone else's, in a spiritual sense. But I can also expect boatloads of grace and love to pour into me, making it more than worthwhile to let myself feel what I feel.

No doubt this drive to enter the numb zone is what makes druggies, heavy drinkers, exercise freaks, computer nerds and all kinds of obsessive people do whatever they can to shut out the world that's just too much for them. I feel empathy with anyone who tries to escape the pain of a child's death, or of a lover's infidelity, or of a ruined career. It's normal to create a numb zone when these catastrophic life events loom over us.

But the problem is that living in the numb zone can become such a habit that it cancels out all the zest and spontaneous laughter of life. By the time you react, with your slow, numbed emotions, the moment has passed.

By the way, an excess of happiness and joy also produces a numb zone for me. The day Jarda and I got married, a day I had prayed to see for 10 years, I was so overwhelmed with excitement that I was as numb as a frozen turkey. Jarda had to lead me through the ceremony. I only remember a few moments of that wonderful day.

So the numb zone is a haven, a place of refuge for people like me whose emotions are powerful and consuming. But it's also a prison, where life is just in shades of gray. I noticed last week that I was starting to be glad when the days and months passed, waiting for Christmas holidays while enduring my daily routine. If I were still 20 or 30 years old, I could put up with that numb zone thinking. But I'm not. So I changed the circumstances that had led me to retreat. As a consequence, I have hardly slept the past few nights, as suppressed emotions have churned themselves into my brain and heart. Oh well--better a sleepless night than a heart that cannot feel.

For Nadine: rainbow, rainbow, rainbow

2011-10-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

Nadine loves rainbows. So did poet Elizabeth Bishop, it seems.

The Fish
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled and barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
--the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly--
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
--It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
--if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels--until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

You say it's your birthday!

2011-10-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

Last night we celebrated Jarda's 70th birthday. It's quite a milestone in life. We invited about 30 friends to Restaurace Mozaika and had a wonderful evening. Here's a sample of the party:

Trip to USA and back to PRG

2011-09-24T20:22:00.000-07:00

In August I visited our adult children and granddaughter in the USA. I was in Jersey City, Manhattan, Syracuse, Ithaca and Orlando. It was meant to be a quick trip there and back, so I could start my new Little Mole job by running the teacher training we had postponed from May.

However, Mother Nature had some tricks up her sleeve. There was an earthquake in Virginia, hundreds of miles from me in Syracuse, that set the floor beams in my daughter's house to shimmying and swaying. Then I flew to Orlando and got out just ahead of Hurricane Irene. But Irene followed me and kept me in the USA for 5 more days than I planned.

I loved the extra time with our family but got back to Prague and had to run to catch up with my obligations. The last three weeks have been very busy, with starting two new jobs and moving my tutoring sessions to a cafe near our apartment.

Just this weekend I have started to feel "caught up" to some degree. If I didn't have many years of experience in the "plan-as-you-go" mode of work, I don't think I could have done it all!

Standing on the threshold...again

2011-08-01T23:38:00.000-07:00

Here I am, on the threshold of another year. Let me deconstruct that statement:

"threshold" is a pun, as "Praha" (the Czech version of Prague) means "threshold"

My year starts in August, after a lifetime of being a student or a teacher

All my life, then, August has been my true New Year's Eve. In the USA, I was a student in Louisville, Kentucky for 13 years; in New York (Long Island, Canton and Potsdam) for 8 years; in Tennessee for 5 years. I was a teacher/researcher in New York for 4 years; in Tennessee for 8 years; in Florida for 17 years.

I have been both a teacher and a student in Prague for one year, since 2010. Add it up: 56 years. Since I'm 61 years old, that means I've only had 5 years of rest from education!

I always knew I was meant to be a teacher. My 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Thompson, had me work with Tommy, a classmate who was struggling with reading. I wanted to please my teacher, and I liked the time I spent helping Tommy. My favorite teacher was Sara Merrill, my 7th grade Core teacher. She was old-school: strict, not at all "chummy"with her students and very smart. She was my #1 role model when I taught high school in the USA.

So...here I am again. It's August, so I must be getting ready for school! This time I will be teaching 4 and 5-year-olds, at an international preschool in Riegrovy sady, near my flat. I had a consulting assignment at this school in April and May, and I like the people there very much. Yesterday was spent preparing a teacher training workshop for my new school.

I am excited to be at the threshold again!

connecting...cross-culture couples

2011-07-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

Jarda and I have been married for nearly 16 years, and not one of those years has been easy. It's only our deep love for and commitment to each other (and our mutual love of God) that have made it possible for us to stay together.

We've had our rocky times and our moments of sweet harmony, and have learned a few things along the way:

1. We are different because we are from different cultures. This seems obvious, but it's a huge difference that never goes away. I grew up in the USA and lived there for 60 years, moving to Europe only last year. Jarda grew up in Czechoslovakia, left at the age of 26, lived in Norway, England, Switzerland and the USA. Even his 43 years of living in the USA did not change what came before; Jarda still thinks and reacts like a European, while I think and react like an American. This difference is vast. I can only imagine how vast it would be if one of us were Asian, or African, or South American.

2. We are different because of an age gap. I am 61 and Jarda will be 70 in October. When you add this gap to the culture chasm, it's at least one generation of difference. I am a child of the 60's, raised on rock and roll, flower power and freedom; Jarda is from the soviet time-warp of the 1920's, where his society was frozen under communism, raised on repression, scarcity and secrecy. His father, born in 1912 under the Austro-Hungarian empire, had Victorian values and attitudes of pater familias, respect for authority and social conformity, while my parents, from Kentucky farm families, were self-sufficient and hard-working individualists.

3. We are different tempermentally. Jarda has two speeds: straight ahead full steam or complete halt. I am steady and much slower. We usually get to the same place eventually, but not at the same pace. Literally, we can't walk together. His 6'4" stride doesn't match my 5'2" movement; he is either going way ahead of me or lagging behind, looking at something fascinating. Shopping together is difficult. We don't even fall asleep at the same pace. He is the hare--I am the tortoise.

4. We are of different genders. Men and women are not the same. Although our genetic structure is much more similar than different, those differences are telling. Hormones exert an almost irresitible influence on behavior, so Jarda's higher levels of testosterone vs. my "surplus" of estrogen make us physically very different in how we react to challenges. As we get older, this is one difference that is diminishing! But still, our bodies are just different enough genetically that we experience life in quite dissimilar ways.

So, even after 16 years of marriage, preceded by 10 years of friendship and business partnership, we still misunderstand each other as often as not. We've learned how to manage our cultural gaps by constant cross-checking ("so I think you are saying...), seeing each other in the best light possible ("she's not trying to be difficult, she just has a different opinion") and relying on God, who pulls us together with His love.

Still it's not easy. Some days I feel like I married a Martian. His behavior is simply inexplicable. But then I switch cultural/biological/psychological perspectives, see things from Jarda's point of view, and feel enriched by having the privilege of living with someone so different from me. Connecting across cultures is never boring!

It's the right thing to do

2011-07-07T23:21:00.000-07:00

I love the movie "One True Thing." The mom has terminal cancer, and the independent daughter comes home to take care of her. When her mom expresses doubt that her daughter will be happy at home again, and questions her motives, the daughter says "it's the right thing to do." The mother says "for whom?"

The obvious answer is, "for the mother." But the real answer is, "for the daughter." Sometime around age 35 we Americans suddenly wake up to the fact that our parents are getting old. That means we, too, are getting old. Once you really internalize the fact of aging and eventual death, it changes your attitude to every part of life.

Childhood's inexperience guarantees that we can't truly understand the process of life--that it has a beginning, a middle and an end. For the child, life is simply an already-running narrative that he or she becomes aware of. Life is literally timeless, as the child has no way to comprehend time as a framework for life.

Usually the first encounter with death for an American child is the death of his or her grandparent. This is very sad, but somewhat understandable, as grandparents are already old when the child gets to know them. They are "old people," a distinct category.

But parents aren't old to their children, until suddenly one day, they are. Old. This is a shocking discovery. It's as if a cold, hard-hearted world has replaced the warmth and innocence of childhood. Never mind that the person is usually well into his or her 30's when this happens. In America, death is decorously hidden and euphemized away, so that the realization that our very own parents are getting old and will die someday is a hideous truth.

So, for the movie daughter, grasping the fact of her mother's coming death is the central event of the movie. When she knows, in her gut, that Mom has a limited time left to live, the daughter comes to live with her and take care of her, reversing their roles. She does it because it's the right thing to do.

Doors opening and shutting so fast I've got a headache

2011-07-03T10:46:00.000-07:00

Idyllic picnic spot in Austria

Sometimes you get into a nice groove in life. The way you're living is smooth and orderly, not in a boring, mechanical way, but in a sweet, mellow way.

Kolin, CR

April and May were like that for Jarda and me. We had our established Prague routine at home, at church, with friends and with my tutuoring students. Noah came to visit for my birthday in April and we were pleased to show him Prague, and our life here. May was a quick-moving month where I accepted two job offers in Prague for September, thinking that we were really settled now.

Cesky Krumlov

June featured a wonderful trip to Austria, to a radon spa in the mountains. We had a sensational time there and loved every minute.

Bad Hofgastein

Bad Ischl

Jarda and Sara at Gmunden, Austria

Mondsee, Austria

Then came the end of June. Suddenly we had a whole new crop of options and some very exciting opportunties. The doors were slamming open and closed all around us. We are assessing what we'll do, but I can tell you it's exciting to be in the "prime of life" and still not entirely sure what the future holds!

How time flies

2011-06-06T23:57:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents and just about everybody who was "old" said that time flies.

I thought that was simply not true. For me, the time between summers, or Christmases, was an agonizingly long, hopeless time. The school year was so boring, so tedious and so energy-draining that I looked forward to the vacations like a prisoner longs for a weekend pass.

How things change (another stupid cliche, I thought then!). Now time doesn't just fly, it gets sucked down a drain and simply disappears. Sometimes when I'm getting ready for bed, I can hardly believe another day has passed so fleetingly. And I'm not even old yet! How will I feel when I'm really old, say 90 or so.

I can easily imagine that what we call "senile dementia" is, in part, the defense of the brain against a deluge of rapid daily events that, taken as a whole, would overwhelm the person's cognitive and emotional capacity. In other words, if we reacted as completely to, and remembered as thoroughly, every event of each day as we did when we were younger, our poor brains would overheat.

Scientists believe that the human brain is fairly empty at birth, in terms of nervous structure. There aren't many synapses formed yet. As we grow and live, the synapses multiply very quickly, till our brains are so full when we reach puberty that the brain does an "information dump"--it prunes back the multiple synapses to make room for the intense experiences of adolescence and young adulthood.

We don't have more scheduled brain information dumps as we live, so by the time we're getting old, our brains are hopelessly crammed with synapses--memories. I think that the mild forgetting of early senile dementia is a defense of the brain against forming more, repetitive synapses. Why remember every time we brush our teeth, or drive to the supermarket, or ride the Metro?

So at the end of a routine day, I often feel that it passed in A moment. It takes a pretty spectacular day for time to stop flying past me!

Rules of relationships

2011-05-22T01:35:00.000-07:00

Sociology teaches you that all relationships are built on rules. Some rules are enforced through the power of the state (laws, for example) while other rules are enforced by social pressure (norms, to use a sociology term).

smoking allowed here

Laws are rules that govern public relationships, as in business contracts or citizenship obligations (taxes, criminal law, etc.). They also govern what might appear to be personal relationships, as in marriage, where a personal relationship becomes aligned with the laws of the society.

You might think that laws are stronger than norms, as laws are enforced through the court system, fines, and prisons. Yes, laws have teeth. But so do norms.

Quiet fun only! in public

Norms are the everyday unwritten rules of society. For example, in Prague it's customary not to raise your voice in public. In restaurants, on the tram, and walking on the streets, people murmur in low voices. Only children, mentally-disturbed people and foreigners raise their voices--to shout, to laugh, to celebrate life.

There's no law against laughing in public in Prague, but there may as well be one. The force of norms is very strong, as most people follow them without questioning them. In contrast, most laws are debated and engender constant controversy.

Relationships have unwritten rules--norms--that can be baffling. Between men and women, or between people from different cultures, the rules are very strict but are often fuzzy in their outlines, subject to interpretation and modification. This can be confusing to everyone involved!

What law is being described here?

What's more, the rules change as the relationship becomes more or less intense. If you see someone every day, the rules are different than if you see him or her only occasionally. People who live together have conflicts when their rules differ--what makes these conflicts so upsetting is that usually neither person can articulate what rules have been broken, because the norms are so much a part of personal worldview that they seem ridiculously obvious--not worth mentioning.

Some relationships develop so gradually that you don't notice that new rules are going into effect. This can lead to some hurt feelings, as one person believes that the relationship has more significance than the other person is willing to agree to.

All this is on my mind because this week, Jarda and I both have realized that we have, without ever so choosing, been enveloped into positions of commitment that we cannot sufficiently honor. The process has been so slow and indirect, in both our cases, that we were surprised to realize that the other people involved were working under the assumption that we had agreed to do something we could not do!

In our minds, what was being asked of us was so far beyond what we can reasonably do that we didn't dream that the other people involved were sure we could and would do as they wished us to do. So the moment of truth was startling, in a way, because our perspective suddenly shifted enough to see what those people were thinking--and it was so far from what we thought, that we were very uncomfortable. Now we are having to backtrack a bit to correct these perceptions and say more clearly what we can and cannot do.

Franz Kafka

Maybe it shouldn't be so suprising to uncover some hidden rules in the city where Franz Kafka wrote ficition (Metamorphosis*, The Castle*) on this very theme--the difficulty to live when the rules are not known.

Metamorphosis--man become dung beetle overnight
The Castle--man is arrested and held in jail when he has done no wrong. His jailers won't charge him with anything, but he feels so guilty because of the arrest that he becomes his own accuser.

On my own in Prague

2011-05-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

Kaja, Jana and Jarda leaving for a trip in March

Jarda has been away this weekend on a trip with Karel and Jana to South Bohemia. I stayed home to babysit Klaus (my choice--at the age of 15, Klaus is no longer a good traveler or a good guest!). Friday I went to my consulting assignment, Saturday to a Czech/Slovak craft fair and a major international book fair with Marie, and today I am taking it easy with Klaus.

I must admit I no longer like to be on my own. It's a pleasant feeling of freedom for about an hour, then I miss my husband and our life together. I fully understand that life is short and every minute counts--and I want those minutes to be with the person I love as my life partner and best-ever friend.

Jarda at our property in Mechenice

It's okay to be on my own, though I wouldn't choose it as a lifestyle. But, if I have to be on my own, Prague is a good place to do it!

new friends

2011-04-30T06:52:00.000-07:00

Joanna relaxes

what I most like about living in Prague is the interesting people I meet. Last week at our knitting group, Joanna brought along a woman who is a peace activist. She is from Colorado, and we had a lovely conversation about the need to know who you are, to act authentically, and to define your values and goals.

at the same time, what I most dislike about living in Prague is that my friends all move away. The people I know are often from other countries, and end up returning there to get married, take a job, go to graduate school or whatever. So my friendships are short and intense.

three sets of doors.

for a teacher, this is normal. Each year you get to know students very well--then they graduate, move away, etc. This has been my life for 26 years, but I still have some problems with letting go.

I feel young again

2011-04-04T10:35:00.000-07:00

Something about Spring takes me right back to age 15 or so...in Louisville. The first day you don't need a winter coat, the first day you can bask in the sun, the first day you see forsythia in bloom and all kinds of bulbs poking out of the ground--Spring!!!

Choose your metaphor: wall or canyon

2011-03-31T23:48:00.000-07:00

Last night I made a new friend, Mary, at my knitting group. She's an American married to a Czech man and has lived in Prague for 6 years. As we were getting to know each other, we shared our experiences of living here and having a Czech husband. We both had ways of expressing the cultural difficulties we face each day.

Czech Hradcany guards. Not exactly what you'd see in Florida.

I had just come from tutoring a new client, "Dita", a Czech business executive. Dita already has English lessons three times a week in her workplace (with a Czech-nationality teacher who lived in New Zealand), but as she said, she still can't carry on a simple conversation in English.

I found while tutoring Dita that her difficulty wasn't just a matter of translating words from English to Czech and back to English-the problem was the vast gap, or canyon, or chasm, between her concept of the world and the concept of a native American English speaker.

Words are tied to culture and express the ways that people make sense out of their surroundings."Words create worlds" is the motto of my favorite Czech bookshop, Anagram.

So simply translating words from English to Czech won't enable Dita to have a decent conversation. She needs to know how English-speakers think before she can correctly understand their words and respond intelligently. Dita, of course, already knows this--that's why she hired me! But tutoring her made me see, once again, the huge empty space between my American culture and her Czech culture. We literally can't talk to each other.

As I described this tutoring experience to my new friend, Mary, she said she knew just what I meant. Even after 6 years of living here, happily married and the mother of two beautiful children, she still encounters "the wall" of culture every day.

What I call a gap, Mary calls a wall. Different metaphors, same difficulty. And this is between cultures that share a common religious heritage (Christianity), musical heritage (Mozart, Beethoven and many other great Classical musicians visited or lived in Prague, architectural heritage, and so on. In many ways Czechs an American are from the same roots. Yet we can barely understand each other. How hard is it, then, to try to make sense of Asian or African cultures? How can we ever really know what Arabs think, or Aborigines? Is it any surprise that "world peace" is so elusive?

No exit

2011-03-25T23:28:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, my class read a play by French Existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre. The play was called No Exit; the premise involved a group of people in a room, waiting for something. No one could say what they were waiting for, but as they became impatient, they shared their stories of how they got there. Each one had been selfish, cruel or merely inconsiderate of others. As the play progressed, the characters realized the room had no doors--no exit. They were trapped--in Hell. The famous line? "Hell is other people."

In some ways, marriage has no exit. You are trapped with another person. Both of you have been selfish, cruel or merely inconsiderate. You are waiting for something, but you don;t know what it is.

Without God at the center of your marriage, you can come to the conclusion that hell is your spouse. The consequences of that decision are coldness, infidelity and/or divorce.

My first marriage ended in divorce. We made our own exit, smashing a hole in the wall of the room that was our marriage. The violence of this process still reverberates in our lives and the lives of our children, family and friends.

Now I'm married again. Same room, different spouse. The biggest difference? We both follow God; He is in the room with us.

So the room with no exit has become, in many ways, a sanctuary for both of us. There we can feel safe, knowing that the lack of doors means that no one comes in without God's permission.

We meet God together in that room. Yes, we are sometimes selfish, cruel or merely inconsiderate of each other. But God gently reminds us of how we got there--by loving each other and making a commitment to live together, supporting and encouraging each other to be the best we can be, for God.

Meditations on the stimulation of travel, the spending of money and the need for root canals

2011-03-05T13:04:00.000-08:00

I like the mental state of travel, the feeling of freedom that comes from being cut off from your mundane life. I like feeling sophisticated traveling alone, a real woman of the world, jetting to and fro across the Atlantic. I have so many new writing ideas that I can't possibly pursue them all. Travel empties your mind of tired old routines and refills it with something different.

But the physical challenges can be tiring. I've been dragging around luggage and an assortment of stuff from Prague to Dublin to Florida and back to Dublin, and can't wait to get back to Prague tomorrow.

Not that I should complain. I had a mini-shopping spree in Florida, buying a netbook computer (it's half the price in the US as compared with Prague), some simple knit tops (for some reason, they don't sell anything simple in Prague), and some medications and so forth for my husband that we can't find in Prague. So I should be happy, right?

Except that spending money is excruciating for me. I feel that every penny spent is blood dripping from my veins. At home I can buy the daily necessities without too much pain, as the expense if expected and I've resigned myself to spending money on bread, etc. But buying big-ticket items puts me into a state of mind that's about as pleasant as getting a root canal (oh, yes, I have to get a root canal when I get home).

There's a balance in traveling: the great refreshing of ideas vs the bleeding drain of money spent on hotels, cars, meals, etc. I believe the balance tipped this time in favor of the new ideas, and the pleasure of visiting many of my friends in Florida, but I will be really glad to get back to Prague tomorrow.

Prague, Mother of Cities

2011-02-21T02:09:00.001-08:00

Even the manhole covers are dignified here!

Culture & education

2011-02-17T06:27:00.000-08:00

Your basic perspective on what the world is all about comes to you as a child--that's culture.

You can't get rid of that perspective, but you can add to it, modify it, and expand it in different directions--that's education.

Nothing but the Truth

2011-02-07T23:57:00.000-08:00

Years ago I read a book called Nothing but the Truth by Avi, a young adult author. It made a deep impression on me, and I still ponder the themes and implications. In a nutshell, the story concerned a dedicated teacher, an older woman who'd given her life to education. She was respected in her school but considered old fashioned and perhaps a bit too strict.

Every morning the school intercom played an instrumental version, without words, of 'The Star Spangled Banner." Students and teachers were supposed to stand and listen in silence. One morning, one of her students began to hum with the tune. His classmates snickered; he was out of line and they knew it. His teacher asked him to be silent, and then the story took off. She tried to disicipline him for disrespect; he went to the principal's office; his father got into it, then a local newspaper and the school board. The boy's defense? He was simply being patriotic and wanted to sing the words with the music, but knew he wasn't allowed to sing, so he hummed instead.

The story became a cause celebre; people took sides, with many denouncing the teacher for restricting the boy's freedom of speech. Things got worse; it was suggested the teacher resign to stop the uproar. In a spirit of servanthood, the teacher quietly resigned and left in disgrace after a long career of service.

In the last paragraph of the book, as a celebration of the victory of free speech, the boy is invited to sing the song aloud at an assembly. He turns pale and whispers, "But I don't know the words."

I have thought of this line so many times over the years. The boy was bluffing all along, but no one ever thought to put him on the spot. Instead, they sacrificed the dutiful teacher. You can read this as truth vs. lies, or virtue vs. treachery, or youth vs. age, or freedom vs. discipline, or simply a snapshot of the cruel ways of the world.

Or you can flip it around and see it as a vindication of the teacher's devotion to a way of perceiving life. She was allowed to leave and rest, after so many years of effort and hard work for young people. Maybe she got a nice pension and could enjoy her remaining years in peace. Maybe the boy was the real victim, as he was supported in his deceit and bullying, giving him encouragement to build a life that could only hurt him and the people around him.

Spring is so great when you've had a real winter!

2011-02-06T01:23:00.000-08:00

This winter in Prague is my first cold-weather winter in 23 years. We've had snow, ice, freezing rain, cold and more cold. Yesterday, however, was a peek at spring. I was so happy to be outdoors! Here are two nice shots from the park in Korlovo namesti.

I'd rather not know

2011-01-30T09:00:00.000-08:00

Many years ago a colleague said of a group of people in our organization that we were being forced to socialize with, "We didn't used to know them. Now we know them and don't like them."

That's about how I feel about understanding the Czech language. When I came here in 1990, I had never heard Czech, except when Jarda talked to his brother on the phone. I paid absolutely no attention to those conversations as I couldn't understand a word he was saying. I loved to be in the Czech Republic because I was completely free to imagine what people were saying, as I had no idea what they were saying.

Czech sounded to me not a bit like either German or Spanish, both of which I had studied. Czech was totally exotic. Combined with the excited body language of a Czech at home (not in public, where Czechs are as frozen as dead fish), I could make up intellectual, spiritual conversations about the meaning of life, since that's what Jarda and I usually talked about (in English).

I resisted learning Czech, so that my trips here could be vacations from the mundane, daily kinds of conversation I find so boring to listen to: other people's shopping results or dinner menus; other people's problems at work or with their boyfriend; other people's lives, in fact. On the tram I wove fanciful stories that the people were talking about reparations after the expulsion of the Sudeten Deutsch following WWII, or the conflict between being truthful and not lying (they are not the same thing).

Then I moved here and was shamed into taking a language course in Czech. I began to understand the conversations around me. And guess what? These conversations are, indeed, about what's for dinner and how their daughter-in-law is doing everything wrong. I really hate to listen to other people's minutae (unless they are my friends, of course) so now I no longer can let my mind wander in public. Before I know it, I'm hearing about the price of cabbage or the appalling mess that the neighbors made in the trash bins. Ycchh.

Patience or vision

2011-01-24T01:57:00.000-08:00

When I was a high-school teacher, I was constantly being complimented on my patience. People seemed to have the idea that teaching is all about patience, of which they had very little. So I must be a saint of patience (or else not very bright) to be able to teach.

Certainly patience is necessary for anyone to do anything in life, as one's plans rarely correspond exactly to reality. But I don't find myself any more patient than most people.

What I have, though, that IS different is an ability to see people not as they are at the moment, but how they might be in the future. It's that vision that spurs me on to take the time to understand people well enough to help them, teach them or simply be their friend.

Empathy: a special kind of love

2011-01-17T23:25:00.000-08:00

Empathy is feeling what someone else feels, or joining someone in her/his emotional state. You could say that empathy is an understanding of someone else's heart, and a willingness to inhabit that person's emotional state.

You can understand someone with your mind, intellectually, without understanding that person's heart. And, vice-versa, you can understand someone only with your heart.

Examples: 1. the scientist is trained to use the mind to gain knowledge about the world. Good science is only about what the mind can observe, and not about what the heart can feel.

2. On the other hand, my dog is an acute observer of my emotional state. He knows better than I do exactly how I feel.

Empathy, then, involves an understanding of the heart. But it goes further. Empathy involves itself with someone else's heart, inhabiting the same emotional space. Rather than observing, in a cool, detached way, that person's emotional state, the empathetic person joins the person.

Romans 12:15 says, "Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn." The Message translates it this way (Romans 12: 14-16):

Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they're happy; share tears when they're down. Get along with each other; don't be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don't be the great somebody.

It takes guts to be empathetic. People can be strange when their emotions are running high, and sharing that strangeness is frightening. It's not easy to enter into someone's life, yet keep your own perspective and be somewhat objective.

Empathy is sometimes confused with sympathy, another reaction of the heart. The difference is that the sympathetic person registers someone's feelings but doesn't share them. Sympathy may move you to help someone, but you stay out of his/her emotions. Doctors, counselors, psychiatrists, clergy, teachers, nurses--these people usually have sympathy but are trained to avoid empathy, so they can keep their professional distance.

Empathy is a bold step into someone else's life. It takes energy, commitment and determination to act with empathy. It is a special kind of love.

who needs self-esteem, anyway

2011-01-06T00:44:00.000-08:00

I'm a fan of Albert Ellis, founder of rational-emotive therapy. Simply put, Ellis stated that we can be better-adjusted psychologically by accepting who we are. No searching of the past can bring true contentment, nor can endless self-criticism bring peace of mind.

This philosophy appeals to me because it's action-oriented and practical. If you wake up feeling blue, or confused, or miserable over past problems, snap out of it and do something positive.

In my mid-30's I had a huge life-change, not of my own choice. It shook me to the core. I couldn't remake reality, so I accepted that one life was over and built a new one. The new one is not necessarily better (I'm no fan of trashing the past to pretty-up the present) but it's not the same, either. "It is what it is," as a friend of mine says.

About self-esteem, as review of Ellis' book The Myth of Self-Esteem says:

"Many psychologists preach the importance of self-esteem, but on closer analysis the meaning of self-esteem often amounts to little more than basing our sense of self-worth on the success of our achievements or relationships. In this insightful exploration of true self-acceptance, Albert Ellis criticizes the traditional definition of self-esteem, calling it conditional self-acceptance—i.e., we feel good about ourselves only on condition that we fulfill certain ambitions and personal desires.

Ellis proposes instead unconditional self-acceptance --learning to appreciate our unique personalities no matter what good or bad actions we do or how successful our relationships turn out to be. This more realistic approach, Ellis points out, helps us to avoid the common pitfall of failing to live up to our (often unrealistic) expectations and the consequent feelings of self-denigration, low esteem, and depression, which impede our ability to tackle life’s challenges. "

This is a good summary of what I've come to believe is the best way for me to approach life. Do something useful and you'll feel better.

The year turns a corner

2011-01-05T03:51:00.000-08:00

a mirror that almost sees around corners in Bad Schandau, Germany

Sometimes I wish I could see around corners. I love to plan, I'm cautious by nature and I don't enjoy surprises. Have you ever noticed that when you go somewhere new, the journey there takes a long time, but when you return, or retrace the original journey, it's amazingly quick. I think the fear and anxiety we sometimes feel at new events and activities make them seem more challenging than they really are.

This new year is upon us, whether we like it or not. Personally, I was just getting comfortable with 2010 and it's many changes. I have a feeling that my life will continue changing this year, and I pray that I'll have the wisdom and grace to ride the waves of change without falling down.

relaxed and refreshed

2010-12-26T02:02:00.000-08:00

Thirty years of working 2 or 3 jobs at a time, while running a business, raising 2 children as a single mom most of the time, writing books, articles and newsletters, trying to learn a bit of French and to resurrect my high-school German, maintaining a spiritual life, traveling around the US and internationally--all this was great fun, but sometimes a bit much.

So now I am enjoying a brief spell of relaxation and refreshment before my next big assignment. Since we moved to Prague in August, I've done a few "career" things, but nothing major. Now I'm ready for another big push. Jarda and I are going to the Giant Mountains (Krkonose) with Kaja and Jana for the New Year, and we'll take time for a good planning meeting for 2011.

I can't wait to choose some new goals!

The eternal present

2010-12-12T08:02:00.000-08:00

In litearture, there's a concept known as the "literary present." When writing about a fictional character, the present tense is used, even if the action of the story occurred in the past. Thus: "Scarlett O'Hara refuses to think about tomorrow's problems as she struggles to hold on to Tara; eventually she suffers because of her refusal."

The idea is that literary characters don't live in the physical world like humans do, and aren't subject to our human categorization of past, present and future. It's all the same to them.

This idea carries over to my relationship with God. When I listen to Him, I'm existing in the "eternal present," a plane that isn't subject to the regular rules of past, present and future. It's something like a conversation between close friends that is interrupted; even if years pass before the friends resume the conversation, they can pick it up and continue seamlessly.

When I am in God's presence (hmm...I'm always in His presence but I don't always perceive Him), I am the same age as when I knew Him in Louisville, or Munfordville, or Rossie, or Canton, or Sewanee, or Jacksonville, or Lake Mary. He is eternal, and the labels of past, present and future don't apply to Him.

This is one reason why it's so refreshing to pray. When I'm with God in my spirit and mind, I get a break from the tyranny of time. I stand outside time with God.

(this all sounds much more airy-fairy than I mean for it to sound. What I'm trying to describe is quite matter-of-fact. But I guess when you talk about the changing nature of time, you quickly sound kind of nutty).

Our dachshund Klaus

2010-12-09T23:57:00.000-08:00

Can't walk, can't see, can't hear, can't smell, still goes. That's our dog Klaus.

He had spinal paralysis in 2002, and had an operation that restored his ability to walk (he relearned walking, using his spinal cord rather than brain--called spinal walking). He has cataracts, is getting deaf, and can no longer smell worth a darn (he can't smell--but he does smell!!)

Yet he can't wait to get outside and explore the world every day--5 times a day. We walk in the snow, the ice, the wind, the rain, the sunshine, the middle of the night. We walk when his back leg gets so cold that the poor withered muscle stops supporting him, and he's dragging his butt around. We walk night and day, just to make him happy.

He sniffs everything, making sure that no new dog comes into his territory without his knowledge. He walsk with great determination, throwing all of his 14 pounds against the leash in his fervor to leap in front of a car (he can't see them, but he has an uncanny sense of exactly when they are coming). He walks in the path of approaching people: he ignores the kids and old people who say how cute he is. He waits for an audience before he poops, so we are smiling and picking up poop in plastic bags while people say how cute he is. He barks like a madman, but only at Jarda and me. He growls at the vacuum cleaner.

He's 14 years old and, as they say in the South, a mess. That's why we love him.

Catching flies

2010-12-02T00:33:00.000-08:00

There's an old saying, "you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." So true.

"Honey" is sweet words, kindness, and gentleness. Real honey is medicinal, both internally and externally. It ages well, doesn't rot and adds a mellow taste to whatever you put it in.

Vinegar is sour. It stings the eyes. When Christ was crucified, they gave him a sponge soaked in vinegar to drink, to keep Him awake while they tortured him. Vinegar preserves, but it changes the character of what it preserves into a shriveled, salty thing.

So why, then, do educated, comapssionate human beings use vinegar to get people to do the right thing? The strong dose of sourness may make people act as you wish, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth. In the future, you'll have to use more vinegar (force) to achieve the same goal.

Using honey, in contrast, is mild and sweet. Persuading with kind words also makes people act as you wish. And they are left with a pleasand taste in the mouth. Future encounters will be welcomed rather than avoided.

So if you want to catch the maximum number of flies (get people to do what you want them to do), try a little honey!

It's not so bad to be underestimated

2010-11-24T10:09:00.000-08:00

All my life, people have thought me to be less capable than I actually am, when we first meet. This is due to, I think, a few things:

1. I look like everyone's favorite aunt or grandma.

2. I smile a lot.

3. I don't complain much, unless I know someone well.

People tend to put me in some "nice, sweet" category and leave me there. I knit, I like kittens and I love kids. I must be harmless.

Not true. I am really quite smart (I have a high IQ, and I read a lot),and extremely discerning. I can get a "read" on a new person in a matter of minutes, knowing more about the person than he or she may know about him/herself. I had a friend who didn't like this: she once told me so, in no uncertain terms. She said, "I don't want to be known!"

But I can't help it. When I meet people, I can discern their problems, their attitudes and their fears right away. I know when someone is lying to me, or trying to impress me or manipulate me. Often I let the person believe that he or she has fooled me, just to see what happens.

There's a saying: "giving a person enough rope to hang himself/herself." This saying is so true. If you shut up and listen to people, they almost always tell you, quite openly, what their faults are and how they want to take advantage of you. When I can't easily read a person, I get suspicious, as this usually means that the person is good at deception.

Being underestimated has helped me time and again. When people think you're not competition for them, or not smart enough to understand them, they can be quite careless about what they say. You can learn a lot about people by being quiet!

No faith in the old ways, no hope in the new

2010-11-23T00:04:00.000-08:00

In The Bone People by Keri Hulme, one of the sad, mixed-up characters makes this comment about her people, the Maori: "No faith in the old ways, no hope in the new."

What she means, I think, is that the Maori can neither live by their old cultural beliefs, customs, and habits, because they no longer are connected to them spiritually, nor can they live by the European cultural dictates brought to New Zealand by European settlers.

This culture-specific statement has, I think, greater resonance than simply to describe the pitiful dilemma of people caught between two very different cultures, one traditional and one modern. In the global culture we all live in, like it or not, we are all caught in this dilemma.

Why do I say we live in a global culture? Technology has produced this. The media, cheap and easy air transportation, a world economy in which each country trembles when another shivers, and a knowledge that we all share one small planet has made the 6 billion people living on Earth into one uneasily-balanced community.

In Prague, I see this every day. For example, in my knitting group we have a Korean missionary in Prague who's also lived in Germany, so she speaks 4 languages. One knitter is French, with a Finnish boyfriend, who works at the German Volkswagen plant just north of Prague. The American girl teaching English also taught in Vietnam and has backpacked all over Asia. The hostess was a missionary in Uganda before being a missionary here in Prague. One knitter was born in the Philippines, lived in Canada, met her Czech husband in Thailand and now lives with him and their baby in Prague. So who's Czech?

The well-defined cultures and "old ways" of the past are just that: past. The only way to move forward, in my mind, is to hope that the new will be better, and able to meet the challenges of a world that's getting more interconnected every day.

President Obama wrote a book called The Audacity of Hope. That title sums it up quite nicely. We need to hope, with reckless abandon, that we as humans can find ways to live togther without the fears of each other that cause people to "cling to their guns and their religion."

Just us two

2010-11-12T23:52:00.000-08:00

A couple in love is a beautiful thing. They have eyes only for each other. They anticipate each other's thoughts, words and wishes. They are most happy when they are in complete harmony, just the two of them.

If only this could last--or maybe not. Imagine a world in which everyone was locked into a couple. Only as a unit could the couple function in society. This would be awkward and cumbersome. Think of voting: two to a booth. Every computer would need two keyboards. Restaurants would have to buy bigger plates for the dining couple. Lawyers would do double work (and charge triple prices!)

But the real problem with "just us two" is the lack of balance and common sense it produces. When two people in love talk, they rarely correct each other. The words dripping from your loved one's lips are pearls of wisdom. Right? Maybe.

And what if your loved one is not exactly mentally stable. He or she can convince you that up is down, past is future, and the present is all we have.This is fun for a brief time but no way to live a life. In fact, too much of this is called verbal abuse, even if it feels cozy and snug to be wrapped upin the other person's perceptions.

And for those who follow God, "just us two" is a disaster. If the couple turns inward, hoping to find God in each other, they will be sadly disappointed. We all have some godliness in us, but none of us is God.

So, if you're in love, good for you! "Just us two" is exhilarating and not to be missed. But just us two isn't real love.

Flu and reevaluation

2010-11-10T11:27:00.000-08:00

I've had a bad flu, round one and round two, for the past several weeks. Since I firmly believe that physical sickness is tied to psychological distress, I've been talking and praying with my husband Jarda to explore what's making me sick. From this reevaluation, we're making some changes in how we spend our time here in Prague, and I'm considering how to best use the talents, skills and gifts that are under my stewardship.

The wooden statue is of Jan Amos Comenius, a Bohemian educator who was forced into exile during the Austrian Counter-Reformation of the 17th century. Comenius taught that learning should be pleasant and that students should be treated with gentle respect. So, responding to his influence, I've decided to start teaching English again, as I have for 20 years. I took a short break to work with young children, but am now ready to teach and tutor high-school, university and adult students in American English. There's information about this on our website, www.ili.cc, under the American English Language Institute.

Science with Sara: Theory #4, to keep standing up, you need to relax

2010-11-02T23:59:00.000-07:00

This lesson I learned in high school. One morning when I was on my way to the bus, the pavement was icy. In Louisville, KY, we had some snow and ice, but not enough to help you gain true mastery of how to walk in it. As I realized it was icy, I stiffened my posture, and ....whoosh...I was down.

Later I lived for 14 years in the land of ice and snow, Northern New York. There I had ample opportunity to perfect walking in ice, snow, sleet, melting snow, freezing rain, and soon. The lesson of relaxing kept me standing up.

This is paradoxical, as one might think that a precarious footing calls for strict, stiff steps. But no! When the body stiffens, it loses resilence and the abilty to flex in tune with the environment. Better to relax.

Science with Sara: Theory #3, things multiply in the dark corners of the house

2010-11-02T02:36:00.000-07:00

Things multiply, and I don't just mean dust bunnies. Did you ever clean out a closet and find things that don't even belong to you? Things that you're sure you never laid eyes on before? How did they get there?

In Love in the Time of Cholera, Fermina Daza says:

"Someone should invent something to do with things you cannot use anymore but you still cannot throw out." She was dismayed by the voracity of with which objects kept invading living spaces, displacing the humans, forcing them back into the corners, until Fermina Daza pushed the objects out of sight. For she was not as ordered as people thought, but she did have her own desperate method for appearing to be so: she hid the disorder.

I've got news for Fermina: hiding the objects doesn't work. They simply multiply, quietly, until they suddenly burst into the room and now what? Do you know what I mean?

Science with Sara: Theory #2, less soap is better

2010-10-31T04:56:00.000-07:00

Less soap is better.

For all the years I've been married to Jarda (15 as of December 12, 2010), we've had a difference of opinion about soap. He believes that the more soap you use, the cleaner everything will be.

This is not true!
1. Too much laundry soap will not get rinsed properly from your clothes,and they'll get grey and stiff.

2. Soap left in the dishcloth or sponge in the bathroom or kitchen is a mold-inviter. Molds love soap! I guess they live on the fat. Anyway, rinse out the dishcloth and sponge with cold water till the water runs clear.

3. Bits and pieces of soap left around are not insurance against future dirt--they are nasty little bits of fat that clog the drains and get slimy.

There! Jarda may make a counter-argument, but I think I am invincible on this point.

Science with Sara: Theory #1

2010-10-29T00:18:00.000-07:00

I have always liked science. In high school, I was not a good Science student, as my brain doesn't hold on to numbers in the same way as other people's brains, so I had a rough time with Chemistry, though I thought it was fascinating. My Biology class was taught by the football coach--need I say more? Physics was not an option for me (the number thing again).

Later, as an adult living in the country of upstate NY, I loved Biology, especially the class I took where we met at the St. Lawrence River to slog around in the weeds, looking at algae, baby pikes and other river dwellers. Being outside and part of nature made biology come alive (a shout-out for my professor, whose name I can't recall, but who is indelibly imprinted in my mind for hating river carp--they eat baby pike. He once pulled a carp from the river and watched with glee while the fish died, gasping for oxygen.)

What I like about science is the observation and analysis aspect. In college, I was a Sociology major--that's a social science--and I loved the most nerdish parts of it: observing human behavior, making notes, and trying to draw conclusions from the evidence I gathered. This is called research, and my favorite Soc class was Research Methods (a shout-out for Pat Turbett, my professor). I was a research assistant for Pat (and for my history professor, Stan Nadel, as well).

Recently I have developed some scientific theories I'd like to share.

1. Bodies attract each other.

I think this is called "gravity," but I mean it a bit differently. When I walk my dog, he is irresistably drawn into the paths of oncoming cars. When I walk down the sidewalk, my husband walks on a diagonal slant directly into my path. Anyone on a cell phone in public invariably stops in the middle of a crowd to share some highly personal bit of news, blocking everyone from all directions. On the Metro, people move in clumps, bunched up at bottlenecks like the escalator; on the highway, cars drive in groups, even though there's no logical reason for this.

My dog is permanently attached to my feet when we're indoors. I have to be sneaky to have enough space to wash the dishes, as my husband will follow me into the kitchen, even though I just waited hours for him to leave it.

Bodies attract. I think that if two people were lost in the Siberian winter, they would find each other in a blinding snowstorm. There must be a built-in sonar that draws us to other bodies. The only downside is that the sonar doesn's seem to differentiate between living bodies and non-living; I believe that the two people who found each other in the snowstorm would be equally attacted to an oncoming train.

Simmering in Luhacovice

2010-10-26T00:35:00.000-07:00

This prize-winning dog is named Simmer.

I'm in a simmering mode. Ideas are tumbling around inside me, but the daily chores keep taking precedence over sorting out my thoughts. This weekend we're going with Kaja and Jana to Luhacovice for 4 days! Woo-hoo! a chance to think, simmer, bubble and sort.

Deeply happy

2010-10-20T05:38:00.000-07:00

This morning when I woke up, I lay in bed for a few minutes and relished the deep joy and contentment I was feeling.

I guess some brain chemical was suddenly released, because I felt so happy I thought I'd die right there on the spot. :>)

Only in heaven do I expect to know such joy. But there it was, given to me on a Wednesday morning at 6:30 am, for no apparent reason. Thank you, God.

Pretty women who aren't vain

2010-10-12T00:07:00.000-07:00

There's a very pleasant young woman in my Czech class. She is quite pretty, and not at all vain. When you alk to her, you don't have the impression that she's gauging the impact of her beauty on you. I like this lack of vanity.

My son had a girlfriend with this same quality. She was simply who she was, and her beauty was no more remarkable to her than her kindness, her intellect or her ability to contribute positively in social situations. She didn't expect special treatment because of her looks. I respect her.

Speechless at Montessori

2010-10-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

Today I subbed/helped out at the Montessori School in Prague where my friend Joanna works. I'm figuring out how the school operates. The language of instruction is English, but many of the children are, naturally, Czech, and thus speak Czech. They are encouraged to speak English at school as much as possible. Today I spent some time with a small boy, age 3, who spoke to me in rapid, excited Czech. He wanted to tell me something that was very important to him. I couldn't understand him. I am supposed to speak to the children in English, yet I wanted to communicate with him, which would mean speaking Czech, which I can't speak anyway. The result on my part was a part Czech, part English mishmosh that seemed very funny to me, but I didn't want to laugh as he might think I was laughing at him. I felt speechless.

Bach's Christmas Oratorio

2010-10-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

Below is a YouTube clip of excerpts of the Oratorio, performed in a gorgeous cathedral in Munich. The conductor is moving at a fast clip; the orchestra and chorus are having great fun.

J. S. Bach - (1/3) Weihnachtsoratorium BWV 248 - Kantate I (Excerpts)

2010-10-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

The nine greatest pleasures and privileges of getting older: #9, I am not everybody's cup of tea!

2010-10-06T01:24:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was shy and inward. I lived in a fantasy world, safe and protected from the problems of life. Irritating or hurting someone else was not at all a priority, as I had plenty to do to keep my inner life going. It always took me off guard when I offended someone or was disliked by a person. I couldn't imagine that I was important enough to anyone that I could offend them, or that I was noticeable enough to be disliked.

I was well in my 30's before I understood that not everyone will like me. Because of reasons I may never know, or because I have been careless or distant without intending to be, I have hurt people. Or I remind them of someone they don't like, or they just don't like the way I look, or my voice, or whatever.

Okay. I'm not going to be universally adored. No one is. Even Jesus had His detractors. And, on a lesser scale, some people can't stand Obama or Brad Pitt or Mother Teresa.

I am not everyone's cup of tea, and that's a fact. So when people get mad at me, or cut me off, or "unfriend" me, I feel some surprise and hurt, but it doesn't injure me fatally, because I know that I'm not everyone's cup of tea.

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #8-I accept how I look

2010-10-05T06:03:00.000-07:00

I hear a great and mighty intake of breath from the women reading this! Yes, Matilda, you will eventually come to terms with how you look and accept yourself--and even like the way you look!

Ectomorph legs...sigh...

I am short and sturdy. Even when I was fairly slender in my teens and 20's, I had a curvy body with a relatively long waist and short legs: not the beauty image one would covet. I am an endomorph, round and tending toward, well, fat. Ectomorphs are tall and thin (like my husband), while mesomorphs are wiry and taut (like my first mother-in-law, whose muscle tone I still envy). The only body type that keeps its muscles well over the years is the mesopmorph; in endomorphs, muscle easily turns to fat and in ectomorphs, muscle just seems to disappear.

As a teenager, I was deluded into thinking that if I lost weight, I'd get a better-proportioned body. Why I thought this, I can't say, but I did. Then when I did lose weight, I was very disappointed to see the same body, just slimmer. I still didn't like my body.

This is not to even mention my hair (straight and fine--why couldn't I have thick, curly hair?), my complexion (pimples and all), my lips (too thin, according to a fellow teacher, to wear lipstick without it getting on my teeth), and so on. I have always liked my eyes (first blue, now green) but hated my eyebrows (no arch).

It's taken me decades to realize that I will never have a model's body, or wear clothes like a model:

This girl looks great in an outfit that, on me, would just be sad. Well, that's life (to je zivot), isn't it?

My body has been a very faithful companion in my life. It's produced two babies, given me all sorts of pleasure, taken me from place to place and given my brain a place to live. I accept how I look, and wish I'd seen at a younger age what a waste of time it is to refuse to accept (and improve, of course, as far as is reasonably possible) the body God gave you.

The nine greatest pleasures and privileges of getting older: #7, I understand and appreciate my own creativity

2010-10-04T01:04:00.000-07:00

My artistic gifts are modest, and I never had confidence when I was young in my ability to be creative. As I've gotten more experience and gained some understanding of myself, I've realized that my creativity is of an analytical type. I like to pick something into pieces are rearrange it.

This kind of creativity applies to 1. objects, 2. processes and 3. ideas.

1. Objects: I like to refashion items into something new--on http://basichats.blogspot.com, you can see, for example, the bag I made out of some knitted swatches crocheted together, lined with a placemat. This gives me far more pleasure than buying something new, as anything I buy is subject to the analytical process--"it should be just a bit bigger this way" or "I wish it had a zipper" or whatever. I feel virtuous to be recycling and get a great deal of pleasure from just looking at the finished objects.

2. Processes: in my business (www.ili.cc) I am the managing director. As such, I initiate and oversee the organizational aspects of the business, such as finances, planning and evaluating (Jarda does the marketing and delivery of programs). Jarda laughs at me for being so in love processes that I create mini-bureaucratic ways to do everything. For example, he can;t just ask me to print a document. He has to fill in a lengthy printed "Document Request" form before I'll take it seriously.

Jacques Derrida

3. Ideas: as a teacher, I live in the world of ideas. Some ideas are useful, but some are destructive. I spend lots of mental time and energy analyzing ideas, pulling them apart and putting them back together again. In literature, this type f literary criticism is called "deconstruction," and Jacques Derrida is its hero. The 19th century German "higher criticism" movement that applied critical analysis to the Bible in order to better understand it was demonized by conservative Christians and led to the split in American churches between "modernists" (heretics, according to the conservative fundamentalists) and "fundamentalists" (undereducated literalists to the higher critics).
Higher criticism

Knowing that my tendency to analyze has a creative twist has helped me to focus this skill and use it wisely. In my younger years, it seemed that most of the people I knew didn't like analysis and often resented my efforts to understand things by patiently taking them apart, then putting them back together. I believe I was seen to be a "know-it -all." But really, my need to analyze is connected with the need to create something "new, better and different," as Jarda would say.

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #6-I'm a role model!

2010-09-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

Jan Hus statue at Staromestke namesti

This is a great discovery--I am now an official role model! Simply by virtue of being old but not yet retired from life, I'm becoming one of those people about whom it's said, "Isn't she wonderful! Taking Czech lessons when she's so...old!" When I get on the tram (but not the Metro,for some reason), sweet young men give me their seats, with a smile that says, "Here, you old person--I'm young and strong, so take my seat!" In my Czech class and in my knitting group, I'm as old as everyone's mom. And I'm the only person that old!

The respect I get is a funny blend of politeness, mild pity, some slight scorn, a bit of fear (as I remind people that they, too, will be old one day) and true respect for my accomplishments and occasional wisdom. I am amazed myself at what I've done in my life professionally: run an influential business, written and published books, articles and newsletters (not to mention blogs!), earned a Master's degree, taught at prestigious uiversities. I'm not bragging, but for a girl from KY who was a hippie for 10 years, I've done okay. I only grasp the scope of what I've done when I answer that famous question, "why are you in Prague?" Then as I mention my connections here over the past 20 years, I see the questioner's face become respectful, and I realize that indeed I have done something with my life.

Last night my Czech class went to a neaby cafe for a drink after class. We had a great time, getting to know each other and sharing our experiences in Prague. I was the mom, and it seemed right. It's not so bad, being a role model!

The nine greatest pleasures and privileges of getting older: #5, I don't have to be grumpy

2010-09-26T03:10:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how grumpiness spreads. For many people, it's the default setting: yadda, yadda, yadda. In my teens and 20's I lived in NY, where grumpiness is a religion. Nothing is ever good enough. Think Woody Allen: griping as an art form.

But in my heart I'm still the smiling, energetic baby I was so long ago. Here I am (on the left) with just a few of my many Doyel-side cousins at Christmas 1951. My brother John is holding me back from scampering around in joy. I am sometimes a sour-puss, no doubt: I can be stridently irritated and righteously angry; but I am not grumpy by nature.

And now I feel free to be as silly and non-serious as I really am. Life to me is funny, when it's not tragic; I would rather see the humor than the pathos. I laugh inappropriately; I can see by people's eyes that I am shocking and even offending them. But--lighten up, folks!

As my friend Sandy said to me years ago--"life is too short! Be happy!" Her husband died not many years later of cancer, and I've often wondered if she already knew that he was ill when she told me that . I loved Sandy--she had two kids in their teens and then two toddlers, by the same husband. I felt like she took a second chance on life. She was a speech therapist and drove a ridiculous distance to work at a Native American school, instead of the cushy job she might have had at BOCES. A toast to SANDY FROM WADDINGTON!!!

P.S. my wonderful cousin Susie is in the pic, almost hidden behind one of her brothers (in front of cousin Jeff in a cowboy hat). It's so typical of Susie that she's modestly hidden while taking care of someone else. LOVE YOU, SUSIE!

ctrnáct (14)

2010-09-24T23:38:00.000-07:00

I can remember quite clearly how the world looked to me when I was 14. I understood how the world operated, and how to find my place in it.

There was a strict social order in school (popular kids, kids in cliques, couples, best friends, athletes, and those who didn't fit anywhere, especially with each other).
There was order in the church (good Christians, backsliders and hypocrites).
There was order among pop music groups. The Beatles were the best; the Rolling Stones were #2; the rest of the British groups were #3 collectively. Everything else was rubbish, except Motown, which held a place of its own (an unusual exception).
There was order in government (America, the evil Communists, Europe, poor places that were transitioning from colony to country, and places so remote I would never get there, like Nepal).
There was order in my wardrobe: school clothes (preferably preppy--we called it "Ive League"), church clothes, the clothes I had to change into the moment I got home from school, going-downtown clothes).
There was order in the seasons, in the school calendar, in the holidays.
There was order in age. Young people were my age; everyone else was either a kid or an old person. I couldn't remotely imagine myself turning into an old person.

I was absolutely sure that I had figured out the social order. I could place myself accurately within each category: school oddball, good Christian, Beatles fan, American, Ivy League dresser, and young.

Now you'd think that, looking back, I'd find my 14-year-old self immature or misguided, but I don't. I honestly believe that the "average person" never moves beyond this stage, and it's perfectly normal to see the world in this orderly way. Tea Partiers, John Birchers, doctrinaire Liberals, most Christians, nationalists, fashionistas, music snobs, anyone who makes seasonal bulletin boards--all these people are thinking like I did when I was 14.

14 is a pivotal year in nearly all societies. In many parts of the world (including England, Czech Republic, & the USA), students are sorted out after 8th grade. They either go on a college-prep track or a general ed/vocational track. In most poorer countries (and among such sects as the Amish in the USA), they simply stop going to school at 14 unless they have wealthy parents or some exceptional talent.

Jewish kids are bar/bat mitvahed at 14. Some animist cultures still have "vision quests" for 14-year-old boys. In the countries that traditionally marry young, 14 is a prime age for marriage; even in countries where they don't marry young, 14 is the age when sexual actiivity (or thoughts thereof) begins. Children are considered adults at 14, having gone through puberty.

So the world at 14 is one of certainties and belief in the established order.Most people, as I've observed, don't move far beyond their 14-year-old worldview. I'm not putting them down; in fact, I sometimes yearn for the knowledge of where I fit in the world that I knew so well at age 14.

"Yiddish Civilization" by Paul Kriwaczek

2010-09-24T03:48:00.000-07:00

This book's thesis is that European Jews constitute a community that has roots in Israel, Greece, Rome, Austria, Bavaria, Bohemia, Poland, Ukraine, Silesia, Lithuania, Russia and beyond. It's a kind of cross-continental trip through places where the Jews had an impact on the cultures around them, and also were influenced by those cultures. It sounds dry, but it's not, as Kriwaczek has a subtle humor punctuated by outrageous statements and jokes. I'm inspired to visit all the synagogues in the Czech Republic, as a start to understanding this sophisticated and educated civilization.

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #4-being content

2010-09-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was always longing for complete happiness. The idea of nirvana, or total bliss, appealed to me--except that I never met anyone who had achieved it, and could hardly imagine a state of mind that left no room for thoughts of improvement. You know what I mean--"wow, this is a beautiful day! Too bad Jana isn't here to enjoy it!" I think it's human to see the flaws in a seemingly perfect situation.

My quest for complete happiness was like a scientist searching for absolute zero--theoretically, it must exist, right? In science, maybe yes. In life, probably not. Since humans can both remember the past and anticipate the future, it may be impossible for anyone to be totally happy for more than the blink of an eye--or the jump of a synapse.

Now I have much more modest goals in the happiness quest. I am able to recognize moments of contentment. Contentment has more to do with appreciating the situation as it exists and less with picking out the flaws that prevent the situation from being perfect.

For example, today Jarda and I went to a small restaurant in the vineyards of Grebovka Park near our flat. We had bread, cheese and wine from the vines we were sitting among. It was a warm, calm day, summerlike in ambience. The view down the vineyard slope was pretty, looking at old houses with red tile roofs nestled between tall pine and spruce trees.

Vinice Restaurant

We were content. Everything was not perfect--we had a wasp circling our meal, the waiter forgot to bring our bread, the woman at the next table was talking in a loud voice into her cell phone--but we appreciated the food, the drink, the view and each other's company. That's the nice thing about getting older--I am (very often) content.

working with your hands and mental creativity: flow

2010-09-19T22:55:00.000-07:00

When I was in my 20's, I discovered that I did my very best thinking while working with my hands at a repetitve task. Sweeping the floor was the most effective, but washing dishes, knitting, hand sewing and drawing fostered the same state of mind in which my thoughts flowed freely, to creatively solve problems and analyze situations.

I am still using my handwork as a thinking tool. I've taken up knitting again and knit whenever I am sitting down. In our new flat, we have no dishwasher, so I wash dishes. I use our soft pushbroom to clean the wooden parquet floors in the flat. In all these activities, I enter a state of mind that induces thought.

Oregon stream flowing

There was a book in th 80's called "Flow" by a guy with a long Polish name. His thesis was that there's a psychological connection made during certain repetitive activities that allows people to enter a state of mind called flow, where time stands still and life flows like a stream. During flow, inherent originality is released and the creation of great works of musical composition, literature and art is possible.

So don't complain about doing those little chores like wiping the countertops or changing a baby's diaper. These activities release the brain from its normal constraints and allow the flow of creativity!

Two legs, two arms=can carry things

2010-09-17T23:27:00.000-07:00

If you people-watch, as I do, you quickly notice one inescapable fact: people love to carry things. In fact, it seems that one big advantage of having 2 legs as opposed to 4 is that you can carry things in your arms.

Here's what I mean: a dog, for example, has 4 legs. This is a huge advantage for walking or running: the weight is distributed better, and even if one leg doesn't function (such as a 3-legged dog), the dog can still move well.

People, though, have only 2 legs. If one doesn't function, then the person either hops or uses a clumsy crutch. Their 2 arms don't help people walk or run. They help balance the legs, true, but their real purpose is to carry things.

So my theory is that people, when they realize they have 2 arms that can carry things, start looking for things to carry. And once you get the idea that you can carry things, the entire world becomes moveable. This leads to an attitude of, on the one hand, creativity that builds railroads, cars and ocean liners; on the other hand, of greed that motivates raids, theft and war. Instead of "I think, therefore I am," you get "I can carry, therefore I find things to carry."

Try it yourself--spend a few hours watching people carry things from here to there. You can get the impression that being human is defined by having the ability, and the desire to carry things.

Chubby runners

2010-09-13T23:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday and today I noticed something charming--chubby people running. This was in the park where I walk Klaus. Now I myself am an officially chubby person, and I used to run in the 80's, when I was significantly less chubby than I am now, but still not possessing a whippet-thin physique.

So I was thrilled to see these chubby folk trying to get into shape. In the US, if you're not in shape, you might feel embarrassed to run in public or go to the gym because of all the thin, in-shape people with their toned bodies around you. Being in shape is, like everything else in the US, a competitive activity. If you want to feel good in the gym, you need to already be in shape when you go there. People who are chubby, or not possessed of well-defined muscles, must be brave to go to the gym.

But here, these two chubby people were running without shame. Their running gear consisted of old sweatpants and a sweatshirt, not the latest close-fitting, expensive running gear favored in the US. They were just two people trying to improve their health. Hooray for chubby runners.

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #3-I can see how foolish I am

2010-09-12T06:12:00.000-07:00

Having said that I understand people, it's not surprising for me to say that I understand myself as well. As a younger woman I was quite sure of my opinions and conclusions. Once I figured something out, I moved on to the next thing. I thought older people, with their milder outlook on life, had simply lost their passion.

Now I have to laugh at such ideas. My opinions have been shown to be wrong as often as right, so I don't necessarily live by them. My conclusions may have seemed right at the time, but the passing years have proven many of my conclusions to be based on insufficient evidence--in other words, I was ignorant but didn't know it. The biggest area of my foolishness involves thinking that I can ever know enough about anything to move on to the next thing. Things keep cropping up--things I thought long ago settled--I suddenly see them in a different light, and my opinion shifts accordingly.

I have to laugh at myself many times a day--I put all the dirty clothes in the washing machine and, just as the door locks, find another item that should be in that load. I turn the key in the door of the flat to walk the dog and realize that his leash is in the flat. These are small examples, but they illustrate the principle: I am ceaselessly, relentlessly making mistakes, even though I try to think of everything. I am often foolish!

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #2-I understand people

2010-09-12T06:02:00.000-07:00

As a young woman, I was exceptionally naive about people. I rarely understood their motives, especially if they were very different than mine. I had a tough time to distinguish lies from truth, sincerity from deceit, and what was in my own best interest from what was not a good idea for me.
That's not a problem anymore. The decades of living, working and interacting with people have given me enough insight and experience to size people up very quickly. What's more, I can usually read what's happening in social interactions and respond with knowledge, not ignorance. After having been in many different circumstances, and seeing the results of many different situations, I can often see where something is headed long before it's obvious to others.
This is a privilege and a pleasure. It's a privilege because I can sometimes reroute a disaster before it happens, saving myslef and the others involved from a bad end. It's a pleasure, because I can interact with people without wondering what their game is. I can usually see their game right away, and can "cut through the crap" if necessary--or simply not engage that person in the game at all.

The Nine Greatest Pleasures and Privileges of getting older: #1-saying NO

2010-09-12T05:54:00.000-07:00

You can say "no" to people without feeling guilty. To be honest, I never had much trouble saying no, but I'm aware that there are strong social norms about who can say no, when and how. Yesterday a friend told me that her latest visitors were not very good guests. They had shown up unexpectedly, with no warning, and their energy levels didn't really mesh with my friend's circumstances. But she said, "We couldn't say no," which took me back many years to all kinds of awkward and unpleasant social situations that I felt I couldn't control.
Well, now I've moved up the ladder of generations almost to the top, and I can, like my granma could, say no to requests that are beyond my purview. If I already had plans, I can say no. If the request involves more money, energy or time than I can afford at the moment, I can say no.

Naturally, I pay a price for every no. If you say no often enough, people will stop asking you. So I'm not rude or frivolous with my no's. I use them sparingly. But when I do, I don't feel bad about it. That's one privilege of getting older.

Health update for the family

2010-09-08T01:31:00.000-07:00

My tooth is calming down nicely, and Klaus seems to have gotten past his whining crisis. I'm starting to get a routine here in Prague: wake up, walk the dog, eat a leisurely breakfast with Jarda (lunch and dinner tend to be less leisurely), pray with him and plan the day.

"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast." ~ John Gunther

Fat face on the down slope; Klaus whines

2010-09-02T23:25:00.000-07:00

My swelling is going down. Now, though, we've deduced that our dog Klaus is suffering from a tooth problem. He has been whining incessantly and stalking around the flat at night, his claws clicking on the parquet floor and waking us up. So yesterday we fed him baby aspirin all day--he slept like a baby. We figure the aspirin controlled his tooth pain. We're going to get in touch with the Veterinární klinika Panda, which offers pet stomatologie (tooth care).

Fat face

2010-09-02T01:12:00.000-07:00

My face is fat, on one side. Although I myself am on the chubby side :>), my face is usually rather bony. So this weird fat cheek is bothering me. My brother-in-law told me to rinse with chamomile tea, put ice on my cheek (wrapped in a towel) a few times a day, and take aspirin. The swelling from my tooth should go down soon.

mysterious tiredness explained! Tooth al messed up!

2010-08-31T22:29:00.000-07:00

My dental experience here in Prague over the past two days has revealed the cause of the weakness I wrote about earlier--I have had a chronic infection over my tooth for a year or so. The very skilled dentist who helped me yesterday showed me, on the x-ray, the dead nerve and inflammation that have been visited on my poor tooth. He cleaned out what he could and put on a temporary crown. I go back in October to get a root canal and a permanent crown.

Sometimes I'm just plain stupid

2010-08-31T13:51:00.001-07:00

Being a child of the ‘60’s in America, I’ve tried to figure out who I am and what makes me unique among others. Especially in my 20’s, I set about to strip away all the sociological, physical, economic, political and historic influences that had shaped my life to that point, in an effort to see who I really was—to reach self-realization.
For me, getting to the bottom of my own selfhood meant getting away from society and its dictates. I moved to a remote part of the country, near the Canadian border, in a place that hadn’t seen much change in the past 60 years or so. Rossie, New York, is a tiny village in a small township (also called Rossie). My first husband and I lived there for 7 years, started our family (Noah and Melissa), built two little cabins, had a garden, burned wood for heat, and lived as simply and cheaply as we could.
Those years were fun, but not enlightening, except to make me realize that I can’t cut myself off from society. We gratefully accepted medical care when we needed it; we wanted our children to have an education in public schools; we had auto insurance, a telephone and enough modern conveniences to make our voluntary sacrifices of electricity and plumbing seem like a foolish martyrdom rather than a philosophical statement. We were never out of sight of other people’s property; the fire department would have protected us if we’d needed them. The local people thought we were strange, but were friendly and neighborly; at no time were we in the least independent of American culture in some manifestation.
So my experiment of stripping away the social cocoon that enveloped me from birth showed me this: the cocoon WAS me. I couldn’t separate myself from it at all. I was no closer to being able to define myself than when I moved to Rossie.

Still looking for my place

2010-08-25T08:47:00.000-07:00

Czechs love marionettes. These are witches.

Probably I'm just a bit impatient. I've been living in Prague exactly three weeks. We don't even have the apartment fully put together yet, and we're still adjusting to hauling the dog up and down the stairs in his taska. So I probably need to cut myself some slack and stop berating myself for not yet having established myself in a job, a church, or even a new friendship. This Saturday I'll go the knitting group--stitch-and-bitch--so I can do both! Hey, maybe I should take one of these witches with me! Stitch-and-bitch with a witch!

Kafka-esque

2010-08-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

it's fashionable to say that Prague is Kafak-esque, meaning absurd and confusing in its laws, rules, norms and customs. Franz Kafka was born in Austro-Hungarian Prague as a German-speaking Jew, lived here all his short life (he died in his 20's of TB) and wrote about alienation.

Or, the way I see it, is he made fun of alienation. He was the product of 5 cultures (German, Yiddish, Bohemian, Austrian and Hungarian) and must have developed a certain distance from all the nuances of each. This distance is expressed in humor--very bleak humor, to be sure, but still he has his little jokes. A man wakes up as a dung beetle ("Metamorphosis"); a man's empty coal bucket becomes a horse ("The Bucket Rider"); a man starves himself as a circus act ("The Hunger Artist"). These images are foolish and metaphorical at the same time. Kafka's poking fun at the ponderous symbolism found in European literature of his day by using folksy mundane figures in his very simply written stories.
Or, anyway, that's what I think.

mysterious tiredness

2010-08-24T08:30:00.001-07:00

Jarda and I are just entering our third week of living in Prague (actually, he lived here from age 1 day to 27 years, then moved away). The entire month of July we were in some kind of existential overdrive to get everything tidied up in Florida so we could move here. Since we got here, we've attended a funeral, visited gravesites, lived through a violent hailstorm that took down two apple trees near our chata (camp), begun negotiations to sell said chata, gotten phones, a printer, a new refrigerator...the list goes on and on. The past few days I've been overtaken by a kind of weak tiredness that makes me want to lie down, but I can't nap due to the many details crowding my head. I need to relax. NOW!

Random

2010-08-22T23:14:00.000-07:00

when I taught high school, my students liked to say that anything unexpected or somewhat hard to get was random. This blog is looking pretty random. My little lady mouse is in agreement.

my idealism

2010-08-21T06:52:00.000-07:00

I truly believed that a person could live a life outside the grid, away from modern conveniences, going back to the past. Of course I was wrong. But it made for nice dreams!

I seem to have a lot to say

2010-08-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

For the past 28 years, I've been a productive member of society, not a hippie dropout. Well. The hippie is still alive and well. She just got sidetracked. Here's Joni Mitchell, sidetracked.

Freedom!

2010-08-21T06:39:00.000-07:00

Janis Joplin had an opinion about freedom: http://www.celticguitarmusic.com/Janis%20Joplin.jpg. She said it was just another word for "nothing left to lose." There's wisdom in her definition.

I am so spaced out

2010-08-21T06:36:00.000-07:00

In the 60's you called a person who marched to his/her own beat "spaced out." I have put myself into the straitjacket of conformity since 1975. Now's the time to break loose. (1975 Gran Torino--my father-in-law's car)

so...what's up, doc?

2010-08-21T06:30:00.001-07:00

The rabbit and carrot makes me think of the cartoon about Bugs Bunny. You know, all my life I've been trying so hard to be rational and normal. Now somehow I must be abbie-normal. So be it.

Fame

2010-08-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

there was a TV show called FAME that I liked. It was about a high school in Manhattan where talented kids get a chance to become famous. Debbie Allen was the driving force, if I remember correctly, behind this semi-reality show. I loved it. I wonder, though, what FAME is. Noteriety? A huge ego at work?

FAME

stories are not truth

2010-08-21T06:01:00.000-07:00

I have a basic dilemma as a writer: most people like stories. They are soothing in their predictability: exposition (time and place, characters) leading to rising action (something happens!) on to climax (the meaning of the exposition plus the rising action becomes clear) and falling action (the "mopping up" detail, where all the strands of the story are pulled together) leading to conclusion/denouement (the conclusion is what's expected by "received wisdom," while the denoument is usually a surprise).
All this requires a kind of formulaic approach, in which the conclusion is basically defined by the exposition and rising action. There's only one way that the story can develop in a "good" story.
As it happens, I don't think that way. For me, every piece of the story can go in some radically different direction at any moment. Instead of the predictable telling of a story, where everything is simply "as it must be," I think in terms of changing the story at every point.
This is post-modern, according to lit crit. That title is too pretentious for me; it's just the way I think. I wish I could stick to platitudes and moral lessons, as I think I would please those whose opinion matters to me, but I cannot. My mind wanders; always has.