Adventures with Jonah

"This is haw you make cocoa"

2011-11-25T22:52:00.008-08:00

Although I live in a TV-free household, my son has watched his fair share of cartoons and the like. We have been selective, but now that he's older, I'd rather show him more educational videos rather than just funnies.

Jonah recently got an advent calendar in the mail from his Czech grandma. Perfect, I thought. The back of the box described the company's commitment to fair trade and showed photos of several farmers in the cooperative and of the cocoa bean picking and roasting process. I thought, why not learn a little more and got busy on youtube.

Surely enough, I found three short, accessible segments about the history and making of chocolate. We watched and discussed. Jonah was engrossed.

First we watched a video on unfair and abusive labor practices on cocoa plantations in Ivory Coast:

Next we watched a video discussing the reasons why it is important to support fair trade chocolate:

And, finally, we watched a clip made for kids about the history of chocolate and how it is traditionally picked and made from cacao beans:

Apparently my little first-grader was still processing all the information later when we were playing scramble-unscramble words with Scrabble tiles. He wrote: "This is haw you make cocoa."

I remember when he was about three, while we lived in Prague I showed him one of his first "educational" videos. It showed how hot dogs are made. My hidden agenda was that he would be so disgusted that he'd stop begging me for a hot dog from the stand on the way home from school every day. To my chagrin, the video of machines mixing powders, stuffing casings and pooping out hot dogs made him even more excited about this dubious food item. Kids are funny, funny people.

The Big Six

2011-08-12T10:49:00.011-07:00

My son was born 6 years ago yesterday! Oh my! Was it just yesterday or a hundred years ago? Motherhood. What a trip. I remember both this (2 weeks before Jonah was born):

and this (his first night home)... so vividly, yet like it was a dream:

To celebrate the occasion, we went camping by a river. It turned out to be a favorite summer experience for all involved:

And this is Jonah at one on the shore of the same river where he celebrated his sixth birthday (notice the hat - haha):

flowers for Amalia

2011-01-31T18:56:00.007-08:00

Tomorrow marks the third anniversary of Amalia's birth. As time goes on, the pain of her death, only eight days after she was born, lessens. But the memories don't fade. And, to be honest, the aversion I have to many of those memories lingers.

Why aversion? And what a horrible thing to admit! I am only telling the truth. Amalia's short time with us was spent in intensive care. When not by her bedside in the hospital, I was home with my son, my mind flooded with worry and fear. At night, I could barely sleep and the nightmares that overwhelmed me were epic.

I am still in the process of teasing out the good from the horrific. The moments of tenderness are what must be raised above the rest:

Amalia's tiny, soft hand against mine; her warm head nestled against my chest when I held her (albeit only once); my lips against her hair and forehead; the songs my sister and I sang to Amalia incessantly while she was alive; the flowers and wishes family and friends had sent; the care of the nurses and doctors--institutional, but golden; my milk that flowed via tubes through her veins; the hospital window with a view, high up on a hill, gray clouds rushing by, pine trees swaying in the hostile February air; the rain drops pounding the windshield as I pushed ahead, driving to see her each day; ginger tea in the dark because I could hardly eat; bitter herbs because I could hardly sleep; her little face so much like her brother's; her reddish brown curls, dimpled knuckles, round belly, purple heels; the relief when she was breathing; and, finally, the sorrowful parting: ashes set free in a fast-flowing river full of heart-shaped stones.

Thank you for these flowers today, Jenni and Andy, Amalia's aunt and uncle, two of the very few people who got to meet her.

good cop, bad cop?

2010-10-08T11:38:00.006-07:00

"Mom, do all police do a bad job? Or do some police do a good job?" my son asked me this morning. "Why do some police do a bad job?"

It has been two weeks since I have taken my son with me to a police accountability rally in our hometown, and Jonah is still thinking about it. Inspired by his questions, we talked a bit about the possible reasons for why some officers may not follow protocol, and why some end up using excessive force.

At the protest, we listened to speeches given by community activists who have struggled to reform our city's police department. We heard from parents and young people affected by police brutality. The fathers of two young African-American men recently murdered by white cops were there too, although they did not speak. It was emphasized that communities of color and the homeless are disproportionately targeted by the police in our town.

Jonah asked to hold a sign and, for the first time while attending a rally with me, expressed interest in discussing the issues at hand.

My grandmother is of the opinion that five-year-olds are too young to attend protests. I disagree. I would rather expose my son to real issues and people taking action to change policy and practice for the better. Especially as someone growing up in this country in relative economic comfort and with white privilege, authentic experiences like these are crucial in his formation of a sense of community, ethics, justice and responsibility.

My son could be at home watching a Disney cartoon or playing with Legos on a Saturday morning (although we are actually a TV-free household), or he could be witnessing grassroots activism in his own community. I prefer the latter, when the opportunity for us to engage together is there.

Of course, that afternoon after returning home, Jonah whipped out his guns and played soldier in the backyard. Boys will be boys. But now he's at least learning about how serious and irreversible the damage guns cause is in real life.

Discipline the unconditional way... say what?

2010-06-07T13:28:00.012-07:00

To be honest, I've never been very fond of the modern, widely endorsed parenting techniques of "time-out" and, on the flip side, of rewarding positive behavior with praise or symbolic treats (such as stickers...). The traditional authoritarian style of parenting has never agreed with me either. My sister and I, for one, weren't spanked or threatened into behaving well as children. But why exactly do these styles not feel right to me? I've contemplated it; it's because they strike me as coercive and controlling.

Of course, the parent must be an example and a guide, straddling the line between compassionate and firm, but is it not possible to raise our children with deep respect and empathy without manipulation?

One of my heroes in the field of education, Alfie Kohn, has written an excellent piece on unconditional parenting. What a concept.

In Parental Love with Strings Attached, which appeared in the New York Times last fall, he explains:

Conditional parenting isn’t limited to old-school authoritarians. Some people who wouldn’t dream of spanking choose instead to discipline their young children by forcibly isolating them, a tactic we prefer to call “time out.” Conversely, “positive reinforcement” teaches children that they’re loved – and lovable – only when they do whatever we decide is a “good job.”

This raises the intriguing possibility that the problem with praise isn’t that it is done the wrong way -- or handed out too easily, as social conservatives insist. Rather, it might be just another method of control, analogous to punishment. The primary message of all types of conditional parenting is that children must earn a parent’s love.

As a parent of a talkative, energetic and willful boy, I am having to forge my own way that agrees with my philosophy on life and one that obviously complements my husband's.

I'll admit that disciplining my son has been quite the trial and error approach, often inconsistent, experimental in nature, and perhaps a bit loosey-goosey to outside observers. Sometimes I'm gentle and communicate clearly, other times I slip into patterns I'm not so pleased with. But I am definitely very hip to this idea of unconditional love, and so rather than imposing an iron fist, I prefer talking through problems with my son and being emotionally open and accessible. I want my son to gain a deep understanding of how his behavior affects other people. I want him to develop his own internal behavior compass based on empathy and real-world relationships.

Alfie Kohn cites scientific research showing that: "Children who received conditional approval were indeed somewhat more likely to act as the parent wanted. But... they tended to resent and dislike their parents... They were (also) apt to say that the way they acted was often due more to a 'strong internal pressure' than to 'a real sense of choice.' Moreover, their happiness after succeeding at something was usually short-lived and they often felt guilty or ashamed."

Additionally, grown-ups, who as children "sensed that they were loved only when they lived up to their parents’ expectations, ...felt less worthy as adults."

In short, as Kohn asserts, using love withdrawal as a parenting method "isn’t particularly effective at getting compliance, much less at promoting moral development."

So, what is Kohn's answer and how does it mesh with my own ideas of parenting with unconditional love?

Kohn's conclusion, based on scientific research from the field of psychology, is this:

"Unconditional acceptance by parents as well as teachers should be accompanied by 'autonomy support': explaining reasons for requests, maximizing opportunities for the child to participate in making decisions, being encouraging without manipulating, and actively imagining how things look from the child’s point of view."

The idea of "autonomy support" is quite in line with how I was raised and with how I am trying to parent Jonah. In reality, to love someone unconditionally is one of the most difficult human tasks. I sometimes forget and raise my voice, I'll be honest. But I'm giving it my best shot, always questioning my own motivations and recommitting myself daily to basing my interactions with my son on mutual respect, empathy, and joy. In my professional life as a teacher, as well, I have made it a goal to try for the same kind of approach with my students. Parenting and teaching with unconditional love. What a trip.

away we went

2010-03-27T19:56:00.022-07:00

My first time stealing away from Jonah was when he was three months old (around the time I went back to work). I spent the three sinful days (mom's guilt; I know other mothers can relate) with my sister and mom in Seattle, pumping breast milk like a dairy cow while--the devoted groupie that I am--admiring my sister in concert and revisiting with two of the women closest to my heart the places we lived and frequented once upon a time when Seattle was our first American hometown.

Now Tim and I have both had opportunities to take breaks from the incessant duties of parenthood for the occasional night or two (or a few), but as a couple, we haven't had many chances to get away together. In fact, last month was the first time we left town without the little guy for just one night. (Little guy is four-and-a-half by now already, mind you!) And just last week Tim and I spent several days alone together on a trip to New Mexico, thanks to Jonah's paternal grandparents, uncle and aunt, who took care of him in our absence. And what an amazing experience that trip was!

I have traveled around the US quite a bit, crossing the continent from one coast to the other seven times by land, and traveling North to South the slow way many times. I've spent time in (not just driven through) nearly half the states, but this was my first time in New Mexico. I am still digesting the impressions I took away from that place.

Aside from the magnificent and varied scenery and scrumptious food of New Mexico, which both floored me, I was most affected--disturbed and simultaneously moved--by the state's history. For me, visiting New Mexico was, for the first time entering flourishing Native America, and I tried my best to be a humble guest. New Mexico, unlike any other part of the US I have come to know, is a place where the dominant paradigm is not Anglo, but indigenous. The truth is that--and I don't care if this sounds crazy to some of you--many aspects of the Anglo world just don't sit well with me. So being in New Mexico--with its painful, yet inspiring history of Native American triumph despite the violence inflicted on the Pueblo Indians by the Euros and Anglo-Americans, I felt a sense of relief and reverence for the incredible strength that it took for the people of New Mexico to assert their ways and persevere.

I was so moved by this that while taking in local history in museums, books and in remote places as well as cities, I was often unable to hold back my tears. I am always very careful not to romanticize events or groups of people, but I do have to acknowledge my admiration here. The whole trip, I felt so deeply for the people and the land. I was especially moved when reading about the Pueblo Indian revolt of 1680 against the Spaniards, which, in the words of author and historian Joe S. Sando, a Pueblo Indian, "made it possible for the Pueblo people of today to remain on their traditional lands, thus preserving their farmlands, their culture, and their way of life."

During the trip, I took note of how differently history is told depending on who tells it and who funds the effort. Yes, it's true; my heart tends to root for the underdog. But I am not naive. I also understand that the assault on the local people's way of life is far from over. It continues, one of the ways being the dumping of nuclear waste on the native people's land. So, the fight is still on.

I am so grateful Tim and I had this opportunity to travel and learn in the process. Lucky us, indeed. Jonah did great without us from what we heard. And I hope that some day we will have the chance to return to New Mexico. It really is a special place.

Diversity at my son's school: are they for real?

2010-03-16T22:38:00.037-07:00

A couple of years back, when I was still a columnist for Anti-Racist Parent--now renamed Love Isn't Enough--I wrote a piece in which I surveyed my son's library to examine gender stereotypes and the representation of people of color in his books. I took a trip down memory lane this week, and conducted a similar experiment at his school during my short stint as a volunteer at a Scholastic Book Fair/Fundraiser. Fascinating.

Of course, the school AND the company Scholastic both like to pay a lot of lip service to "diversity." Who doesn't these days.

The first article by Scholastic on "diversity" that popped up in my search says:

Even 3 and 4 year olds are tuned in to matters of culture and ethnicity. For them, the issues are not social but personal, and are closely related to their self-esteem. . . If your child's preschool validates cultural diversity, you'll know it just by looking around. Are a variety of faces represented on the walls?

That article was published in 1996. So, how is Scholastic doing now as far as honoring diversity with the reading materials it sells in the communities who choose Scholastic book fairs as venues for fundraising?

First, let's look at my son's school community. I know that each classroom, during enrollment, tries to balance equally the gender represented in the student body. Racially, in my completely unscientific estimation, the population of the school is about eighty percent white, reflecting--and possibly proportion-wise surpassing--the racial make-up of Portland, the whitest US city with a population of over half-million. (Portland is about 78% white, while the state of Oregon is 87% white. Just to throw in a bit of trivia, the Czech Republic, where I grew up, is about 97% white). Religious affiliations are impossible to determine, though I know for sure that at least three major religions (Christianity, Judaism, and Buddhism) are represented. A myriad of ethnicities are represented, however, the only ones I can determine, other than those overrepresented in the region (e.g. Anglo-American and Scandinavian-American), are ones based on the languages I've heard at the school. I have heard Vietnamese, Chinese, French and Spanish. The languages spoken, of course, don't necessarily give me information on specific ethnicities (for instance, a French speaker could be Canadian, Hatian, or French among many other possibilities) but at least we can establish that a percentage of children at my son's school are growing up bi- or multi-lingual.

Let me just say, that to some, this may seem like an odd exercise in face value symbology. But we would be kidding ourselves if we asserted that we live in a colorblind society and that our ideas about people are not influenced by the racial, gender, and many other types of stereotypes which we encounter just about everywhere--in the media, in books, in advertising and entertainment, in our families, etc.

So, I was curious to see what a giant such as Scholastic was doing to educate our children, and if their book selection for the young was reinforcing or helping to shatter two categories of stereotypes in particular: gender pigeonholes and stereotypes about people of color still so prevalent in this society.

As far as gender, I counted how many book covers featured girls and women, paying attention to the numbers of "visible minorities" (yes, indeed a subjective definition), and to what the girls were pictured doing. Were they shown in midst of interesting and varied activities or just standing there looking pretty (and pretty "useless")?

As far as race, I took note of the number of books showing people of color, and again in what context they appeared.

In this survey, I only focused on book covers due to a time constraint, and because it is the cover that usually determines whether parents and children choose the book to pick up, flip through, and possibly purchase.

So, what was the Scholastic preschool/early elementary-level book selection like? Here are my findings:

Of the nearly 300 books displayed, 75 portrayed people only, and 21 showed people and animals together. The rest of the book covers showed either only animals, a scene, a building, or nondescript characters such as aliens. So, about one-third of the books for sale featured people on the front covers.

Of the approximately 100 covers with people on them, 20 featured "visible minorities." Of those books, 11 displayed girls or women on the front, interestingly almost always with one or more males. Four books showed people of color interacting with animals, six showed people of color alone (though I'm being generous here, because one cover was of a must-look-very-closely-to-ascertain African-American boy's arm carrying a suitcase--and I still counted it). Finally, ten, or about half, showed "visible minorities" together with whites.

Three of the twenty books with people of color had Asian-Americans/Pacific Islanders on the cover. Yes, that's three out of 100 when my son's school has quite a few students of Asian heritage, and when the Portland population is more than twice that, percentage-wise. Needless to say, I was disappointed to see such underrepresentation.

Only one of the books had a Latina on the cover (Dora, the Explorer). That's right; only one out of a hundred books showed a Latina, while Latinos, according to the US Census Bureau, represent fifteen percent of the US population, and in the greater Portland Metro area, depending on the location, 7 to 50% of the total local population.

Sixteen of the twenty book covers featuring people of color showed African-Americans.

Eight of the books with "visible minorities" on the front focused on athletes, all African-Americans, and all but one of the many athletes shown on the book cover "collages" were male sports figures. Additionally, two book covers showed Barack Obama--one where he was alone and smiling, and the other where he was smiling, surrounded by his smiling family. Are you smiling yet?

So, let's talk more about what we see people of color doing on the book covers. The Asian girls are just standing there, one looking startled (whoa, she's not smiling!), the other... drum roll... smiling pretty. The one pair of Asian parents we are shown is smiling, climbing up and hugging a giant dinosaur. And Dora? She's at the doctor's office, sitting on the examination table with a stethoscope in her ears. Dora--pictured with a doctor who is a white woman--is, you may gasp now... smiling. And the African-American characters and personalities? Some are engrossed in sports games, others happily posing in sports jerseys. Other than sports figures, there is one black girl sitting on a bench with a book in her lap. However, she is not reading, but talking to a friend instead. And there is one black kid taking eggs out of an Easter basket. And there is that boy carrying a suitcase--his arm only, rather--because the rest of his body is on the back cover. But the remaining people of color are just standing there or jumping up into the air smiling, looking pretty. Even a photograph of Ruby Bridges on the book cover of her autobiographical story for children about being the first African-American to attend an all-white school in New Orleans, is pictured just standing there, smiling. A beautiful photo, nonetheless, but she is seen without books, pencils or anything hinting at the theme of the book. Inside, the book does have powerful photographs of the protests surrounding desegregation and of Ruby at school with her teacher and friends, but on the cover, her image is stripped of the historical context, so central to the story.

It is interesting to note that of all the people, the athletes (and a couple of kids who look scared of ghosts or who knows what) are the only ones whose facial expressions show intensity, this while focusing on a sports game. Otherwise, all the rest of the people, and especially those of color are seen smiling and looking "non-threatening." Showing people (and animals with human-like features) in their happy-go-lucky best is a definite trend with books for this age group in general.

Of the nearly 100 books featuring people, 39 included girls on the cover (Remember, most accompanied by boys or men). Ten of them were girls or women of color. About half the book covers with females showed girls as active and engaged in an activity, including painting, cooking, playing with dolls, performing theater, riding a horse or building a snowman. The other half of girls were pictured mostly posing with smiles on their faces. A much smaller percentage of "active" females was shown on the covers featuring women of color.

As far as the catalogue for the book fair, designed by Scholastic, of the fifty books featured, only ONE book cover displays a person of color, an African-American girl hugging a dog she rescued.

So, in conclusion. Are we seeing Scholastic breaking with or reinforcing gender and racial stereotypes? I must share that I am disappointed that, though a large percentage of books featured females on their covers, many of the girls, especially the girls of color, were shown not engaged in ANY interesting or meaningful activities. Instead, they were posing on the book cover, looking cute. Most of the girls shown as active were doing typically "girly" things such as art, playing with dolls, dancing or cooking. I didn't see any girls (ok, except for the one building a snowman) engaged in scientific pursuits or activities stereotypically assigned to boys, such as building, using machines or doing sports (other than one female basketball player and a horse rider).

I was also unhappy about the relatively low numbers of books featuring people of color, and even deeper than that, that the range of activities in which "visible minorities" were shown engaging was by far much narrower than that of their white counterparts. I mean, half of all the African-American "faces" belonged to athletes. What about the scholars, the scientists, the artists, the writers, the teachers... You get the drift.

Should I send my "analysis" to Scholastic? I think I'll do that... and report back.

welcome, Devil, our friend

2010-03-14T20:17:00.005-07:00

Oh yeah! This little family is really moving up in the world of household technology... and yes, namely cleanliness. We have finally, after fourteen years of living in filth, purchased a brand new (not an ancient, battery-powered-hand-me-down or a found-in-the-back-alley kind of) vacuum. All these years, the broom and rag have been our not-so-constant companions, but cry for us no more. We now have a new gadget with a capital G: a flaming red Dirt Devil! And what a powerful friend it is!

When daddy caveman brought the thing home to be assembled, caveboy jumped and screeched with excitement. The two of them spent a good half-hour matching holes to hoses and nicknaming parts with labels as clever as "The Wind Sword." When the apparatus was functional at last, the family converged in the middle of the living room in awe. The switch was flipped, and the magic began. We watched the Devil, pushed by Alphaman, do his dirty work for us. This neanderthal family hadn't seen anything as mind- or dirt-blowing in its own musty cave ever.

The cave family has added a new song and dance to its repertoire: Hip hip hooray for the Devil that takes the dirt away!

taking the leap

2010-02-09T09:37:00.019-08:00

And now a drum roll please. Yes, you are witnessing this blogger about to take a big leap into the unknown. Ready or not...

A bit of background first. Bear with me. Fifteen years ago I embarked on a teaching career. My trajectory has been varied and far from linear. I have taught in so many capacities: from volunteer facilitator to program coordinator, and in settings ranging from preschool to adult education, from non-profits and alternative schools to the private sector. I've taught English (business writing, workplace conversation, literature, and more), Speech and Rhetoric, Cross-Cultural Communication, Czech, Drama, Journalism, Creative Writing, Pre-Employment Skills for adults transitioning into clerical, customer service and health care careers, and more. The bulk—though not all—of my work has been with teen and adult newcomers. You know, my people in the broad sense of the word: African, Central American, Middle Eastern, Asian, European—all first- or second-generation immigrants like I am in this country.

After all these years I still feel the passion. I was born for this profession. The electricity in the classroom as ideas are pondered, discussed, as new ones emerge, as discoveries and connections happen still excites me. When the moment is right in the classroom, I feel that creative flow artists talk about—the thrill of listening, enlisting thoughts and comments, responding, directing, dialoguing...

My favorite parts of teaching are the interactions with large groups of students and the planning phase that's all about brainstorming and coming up with the big ideas, preferably in partnership with other colleagues, as opposed to in isolation. Ask me to list essential questions--the deep, overarching questions tackled when studying a particular topic--and I'll give you a thousand. Ask me to help you brainstorm for an event or workshop, and I'll be there, on fire. Ask me to research an issue that I feel strongly about in depth, and I'm all over it. Ask me to spearhead a new project I can get behind, and I'll do it in a heartbeat.

On the flip side, don't ask me to sustain or maintain projects long-term unless new ideas and reinventions are integral to the process. I get bored and drained with the same old. I'm all about the enthusiasm and energy for the new. Don't ask me to do repetitive tasks, especially office work or anything related to tracking the budget! You get the drift. The parts of teaching that I dread are basically all the paperwork: grading, writing up lesson plans, making handouts, seeking out detailed examples and quotes for lessons, breaking down big projects into small, individual skills to be taught. I also dread returning to the same room every day, seeing the same walls, same desks, same garbage cans... That's why I'm all about teamwork. Collaboration not only keeps me inspired and energized; it allows each person the opportunity to excel at what she loves to do. Unfortunately, almost all the teaching jobs I've had have been very isolating for a team-oriented person like me.

Now you, if you are anything like my inner critic, may say: oh, you like the easy-peasy parts of teaching, the parts that are all about the initial boom and the big show, the components poised to collect the accolades if the show is good enough to be eye candy for the onlookers. The inner berating voice goes on: Don't be ridiculous. Every profession requires unpleasant, mundane tasks; one cannot always do just one's preferred things. But my question these days is: why not? Why not focus on designing my work life with an emphasis on my qualities and inclinations? I can handle some amount of "chores", of course--I'm an adult, but the amount of tasks I love to do needs to far outweigh the ones I consider mundane, so I can thrive. I've been steeped in education long enough to understand my strengths and for me to be able to let my talents shine fully, I need work that demands from me what I do best.

In a nutshell, I am an idea person, a global thinker, an initiator and brainstormer extraordinaire who likes variety and work encompassing a broad scope. I'm a person who loves to launch new projects, and who is most at home leading and interacting organically in a large group setting, and who likes to collaborate in the project planning phase. I think I'm good at listening to and inspiring people. I care deeply about social justice issues and I try to channel that into all my work. And again, I like to team up with others with varied strengths so that everyone has a chance to shine and feel fulfilled.

The main deal is that other than being a dedicated educator, I have also led other lives while allotting the biggest chunk of my energy for teaching. I am passionate about writing and about organizing events that help bring individuals together, revitalize communities, inspire people creatively, and have the potential to affect social change. I have a deep, buried love of the theater, and now a newly found passion for photography.

At this time, I am finding myself at a crossroads and I have decided to take the leap. I am moving away from my tendency to derive security from being someone's employee (though deliberately nearly always with plenty of freedom to teach how and what I want), to steering my own creative life. I have many creative projects in mind (a couple already in the works), one very large one in particular for which I am gearing up as I finish out the school year at the place where I teach. Once the year is done, I am committing to paving my own way as an artist, dedicating myself predominantly to the other passions I've been putting on the back burner for years: writing, directing, and working with visual images. Teaching--or rather facilitating workshops--will still be a part of my life, but in ways that excite instead of drain me. I'll keep you posted on the latest developments, but for now, I'm only sharing this much, because the projects I am initiating are still in-utero and need the sacred time of gestation first. Stay tuned.

a trip seven years ago

2010-02-06T00:32:00.018-08:00

I can't believe it's been seven years since Tim and I traveled to Thailand together. What an incredible experience. Short, but unforgettable. We focused on the north of the country, as per the recommendation of a good friend who has lived in Thailand for many years. On our trip we spent time in wonderful and dynamic Bangkok, which, contrary to the warnings we'd received from our friends, we loved.

Our favorite place was the magical historical city of Sukhothai, filled with temples, lush greenery, lakes and statues of the Buddha from the 13th century. We explored Sukhothai just after sunrise both days, before the hordes of tourists arrived. I don't know if there is another place in the world where I felt so much special, sacred energy. The images of Buddha made of stone were breathtaking, the architecture stunning, yet intimate.

Continuing to the north, unlike most tourists who tend to travel to the beaches in the south, we went to the small, quaint town of Pai and the northern city of Chiang Mai, a great cultural and historical center. Last was the mountain town of Mae Hong Son where much of the architecture is Burmese in style.

Along the way, like typical tourists, we supported the local economies by eating street food and getting lots of traditional massages. Oh yes! We even took an all-day cooking class, which was a blast. We rented bikes and rode around the countryside. We slept in tiny hotels on ancient, narrow lanes and in bungalows--many rustic, some new, yet simple. We even got to meet up with a friend from the U.S. and her Thai boyfriend. Fun times.

When backpacking around the country, we ran into so many Czechs, it was uncanny. Thailand must be the top destination outside Europe for the Czechs. There were Czechs even leaping out of the bushes at the hot springs in the middle of the woods, for goodness sakes.

Ah yes, the memories.

Here are some photos I took on our trip:

More photos here

on raising a boy

2010-02-03T15:20:00.026-08:00

No crying, don't be too emotional, carry heavy things, talk in a deep voice, stand up for yourself, fix cars, like cars, work outside, pay for girls, be a gentleman, drop out of school, fight, show off, work out, respect the ladies, open the door for them, work to support the family, keep the family in line, don't act "gay", be strong, play sports, look good, be thin, be buff, be tough, be lazy, keep the girl satisfied, be protective.

These are some of the messages my teenage students listed about what we are often told makes a "real man."

As a mother of a boy, I have been trying to be very conscious of not reinforcing many of these often harmful societal expectations for boys.

One of the foremost experts on raising well-balanced boys is Dr. William Pollack, who burst into fame after being interviewed on Oprah back in the 90s. I happened to see that show and bought his book, Real Boys, when it first came out. The book has influenced me in a profound way. In it, Pollack, a psychiatrist who spent two decades studying and interviewing boys, discusses the concept of the "Boy Code," the widely accepted ideas that boys must be stoic, independent, tough and brave.

Here is how Pollack defines the three common societal myths about boys, or the Boy Code:

• BOYS WILL BE BOYS-We're taught that boys' testosterone levels make them "naturally" more aggressive, when in truth a boy's behavior is shaped more by his loved ones than by nature.

• BOYS SHOULD BE BOYS-Society expects boys to hide "weak" emotions like fear, hurt or shame behind a stoic mask, and only anger is an acceptable emotion. In fact, there are many diverse and healthy ways to express oneself as a male.

• BOYS ARE TOXIC-We believe that unless they are kept under strict controls, boys are dangerous to society; actually, boys are empathetic and caring with a strong desire for justice.

These pressures can ultimately lead boys to become disconnected, low-performing academically, depressed, violent and even suicidal.

How do we, as a society, and in particular as parents perpetuate these ideas? Pollack writes:

The boy code is communicated through such phrases as "Stand on your own two feet," "Be a little man," "Don't be a mamma's boy," "Big boys don't cry." Such messages begin around the ages of four and five and are reinforced in adolescence. Because we diminish the expression of boys' genuine emotional voices, too many boys believe they are failing to achieve what has become a truly impossible test of masculinity. Since the expression of their natural love and empathy violate such a restrictive code of masculinity and, indeed, are considered feminine, boys are prodded into a homophobic stance, with softness considered acting "gay," their worst fear; and angry emotions accompanied by "bullying" actions may be their only means to express their feelings and still protect their fragile sense of remaining a "real boy."

In our research, we found myths about boys, created and reinforced by the boy code, that become self-fulfilling prophecies:

• Violence is biologically inevitable for boys.
• Boys are less empathic than girls.
• The expression of caring and love by young males is "unnatural" or "feminine."

Pollack says that mothers especially tend to fight their innate desire to nurture their sons, and to push away their little boys by the age of five or six.

Tim and I are doing everything in our power to break the cycle of these destructive pressures on boys, at least in our own little sphere. We are affectionate and open with Jonah, we encourage him to express his emotions and to be affectionate back. We work hard on counteracting the homophobia, sexism and machismo found in the dominant U.S. (and Czech) culture. For instance, we don't discourage Jonah from being affectionate with his guy friends and I talk with him about same sex relationships as I do about heterosexual relationships.

Another thing Tim and I try to do is not talk about weight or appearance issues we may be burning to discuss together. I don't want my son to grow up listening to his parents' body image issues d'jour, so those don't get passed on, however petty they may seem to us at the time. I will admit we don't always do a good job NOT voicing our own internal body image obsessions in front of our son, but we are trying remember to cut the doubts out internally and in conversations.

Yes, Jonah is obsessed with guns, robots, the police, construction and everything space war and space exploration related, but we let him indulge while steering him also towards other activities--physical, educational and creative. Neither Tim or I feel that it's unhealthy. Imaginary play--even if it has to do with fighting and aggression--can be a healthy outlet for pent-up energy and exploring identity and relationships, as long as no one is hurt and we build compassion and empathy in him (or more so support its natural development), to counteract the destructive presence of violence in our culture.

So far, I'd like to say that our deliberateness on counteracting the Boy Code is working, but Jonah is still young and the messages of what it supposedly means to be a man are everywhere.

Pollack writes that though boys often naturally tend to want to play in a more rough-and-tumble way than girls, "the way we nurture our boys is an equal, perhaps more powerful predictor of behavior than most biologically based tendencies."

Here are the suggestions on strategies Pollack offers to parents and educators on raising boys with healthy self-esteem. I use the "timed silence" and "shame-free zone" concepts in my approach to communicating with my male students quite a bit:

Active learning. A majority of boys learn and connect better through action or activity. At school, that means boys need more freedom to move around in the classroom (especially in the early years), more recesses, no punishments that take away recess or physical activity, "gadgets" boys can manipulate while they attempt to listen, and the incorporation of videobased and computer learning, even during traditional instruction.

Literacy. The typical boy will learn to read and write approximately 12 months later than the typical girl. Many boys prefer nonfiction stories involving action (violence not required). Reading and writing materials that cater to boys' learning curve and tastes will help boys get excited by and stay engaged in learning.

Communicating with your boy
If your boy isn't very comfortable talking with you about his day or his feelings, use our practical research model of Action Talk:

• Timed silence. First, although we always helped boys to express a wide range of feelings, we recognized that the "boy code" often made it hard for them to express their painful emotions in words and overcome their hidden feelings of shame. Thus, we allowed for "timed silence," not pressuring them before they were ready and giving them some time to connect.

• Shame-free and safety zones. We created safety or shame-free zones with adults where boys knew they were safe from teasing, shaming, blaming, and lectures. We also monitored our own attitudes and prejudices.

• Communicate by doing. Since action was still their preference, we did not force words upon the boys. First, we engaged in an activity of their choosing, such as a game, a walk, or a car ride. Only then did we make a very brief statement, and waited patiently for their unique responses, resisting the temptation to lecture.

• Share experiences. In an attempt to diminish boys' loneliness and disconnection, we shared a few of our own experiences of boy-code pain. When such sharing comes from a father or father figure, a boy learns in the deepest sense that real men have pain and can share it. When a mother or maternal figure shares an experience, a boy learns that women respect boys and men who can be openly vulnerable. Importantly, she also communicates that for all our apparent gender differences, we really do come from ONE planet.

• Express love. We sometimes hesitate to tell boys and young men not only how much we admire their hard work, but also how much we really do love them. As they grow older, boys hear that word from the caring adults in their lives 10 times less than the girls we cherish. Ignore the friends and relatives with tough-love advice, or the principal who doesn't understand that boys need emotional support at school, or even your son's own fears about turning into a "sissy." You really can't express your genuine feelings of love for your son too much.

Like I said, I'm sure Jonah is getting messages about culturally accepted forms of masculinity already from cartoons, observations of people's interactions with each other, and other sources. But by not having a TV and by making room for emotions and encouraging affection and good, open communication skills (which incorporate Pollack's suggestions of allowing for silence and communicating by doing), I'm hoping we're building a strong, positive foundation here.

I once had a girl...

2010-01-31T21:44:00.020-08:00

I still have the battle scars as proof you existed. And three photos. The size of your palm imprinted in mine, the feel of your ashes in my hand—ivory and turquoise—falling in to the gurgling river rushing on.

It's been two years and it is still hard to find the words, even the opportunities to speak about it all. I try to shape my sorrow and my memories of her into poems or photographs, but succumb easily to silence.

With the impending anniversaries of Amalia's birth and death--which fall within eight days of each other--I've been growing increasingly anxious, fearful and distracted. It's almost midnight and we are now on the precipice of our little girl's birthday, February 1.

What am I dreading so much? Is it the fear of fear itself? Is it the flood of emotion that hasn't had a chance to fully express itself, though I have given my grief a voice plenty of times? Is it that I'm afraid of further loss because I don't trust that the people I hold dear will want to hear me out and stick with me because I'll strike them as too needy, too unstable, too much of a "downer"?

As soon as she was born, the paramedics whisked my daughter off to intensive care. And the nightmares started. I didn't think I would survive those first days, those first weeks. I thought I would never be able to sleep again or to carry on living. I was conscious of my breathing, always hearing her raspy gasps like grasps at oxygen in my own breathing, internalizing her struggle to stay alive.

Jonah was my sole motivation to stay committed to this life, although I was very mindful of never placing my burden on him. I wanted to be truthful with him about what is happening in my world, but to shield him from my own misery, which required me to remove myself emotionally from the situation while simultaneously living inside the heart wrenching reality that it was--an impossible task. Granted, he was only two-and-a-half, but perceptive and curious nonetheless. We did our best.

Over the last two years I've worked so much on creating inner peace, and that is why I'm stunned at how much is resurfacing for me two years later.

The only time when thinking about Amalia stands apart from the trauma and hurt I so closely associate with her short life, is when I talk with Jonah about her. When he asks about her, I speak of her with neutrality that helps smooth over the turbulence and, to be completely honest, at times even the dread that thoughts of her trigger like a Pavlovian response.

When I tell Jonah about his sister, I am able--if just for a brief moment--to remain upbeat and tender and glad to remember. That is because I want Jonah to have his own stories, his own associations with his sister, free of my own painful memories. Sometimes, too, when Tim and I speak about her, the good begins to outweigh the bad.

She was and still is such a mysterious presence in our lives. It will take us years to unravel all there is to feel, learn and understand about what Amalia's presence meant and still means.

I once had a girl...
And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown
- The Beatles

A blast from the past: J-boy watches Obama's Inauguration

2010-01-21T10:22:00.005-08:00

Yesterday was the first anniversary of Obama's inauguration. I just reviewed the post from last year I made about that. Fascinating how much Jonah's attention was on the presence of weapons in the ceremony--something I wouldn't have registered as intensely. Very telling.

Here is the link.

happily ever after...

2010-01-20T20:51:00.008-08:00

My minison and his minifriends seem to have a lot of discussions about marriage these days. Last weekend Jonah asked me if the cemetery was where his dad and I got married, and then proceeded to tell me that "militaries" is where people get married.

A big topic in preschool also seems to be the idea of who can marry whom. Jonah has broached this subject with me several times lately. At five, his best friend Jacob (not his real name) is already taking a stand, sounding like a staunch supporter of the doctrine that allows only couples of the opposite sex to marry. And now I have my son parroting his friend's worldview back at me, looking for a reaction. So I take a breath, embracing this as another teaching moment.

I remember when those bumper stickers, "marriage = one woman, one man," cropped up all over our city. Those were the days when a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was almost a constant while driving behind preachy people's rear ends. And boy, were there a lot of those around. That was pre-election time in 2004. Massive conservative movement campaigns were sweeping across our state, incensing voters to show up to elections to make their voices heard on a measure designed to amend the state Constitution to define marriage as a union of one man and one woman. That was also the year Bush was up for re-election. This was before Jonah's time, but the events and the bitter aftertaste of those ideological battles are still with me. After all, these battles continue today around the country and beyond.

On election night, Tim and I attended a party dedicated to the occasion. The entire house, full of about forty people, was discussing and following the federal and state poll results in real time. The mood turned quickly from upbeat and energetic to shocked and disillusioned when the results for both the Presidential election and the state ballot measure decisions came in. To our chagrin, the constitutional marriage amendment passed. I left the party disgusted and agitated.

"You know," I say to Jonah. "I have several friends--men who are married to men and women who are married to women. They love each other, live together and some raise children together."

He pauses briefly without losing a beat, "I like Jacob too much."

To that I reply, that's nice that you like him so much. And then it is time to say goodnight.

Friendship and love. The big questions d'jour for miniman. One thing is for sure. When it comes to my son, whether he falls in love with boys or girls when he is older, he will have his parents' total support and acceptance.

the man with the silver crown

2010-01-16T16:37:00.016-08:00

As the rain drenches our windshield while we wait, and the gas pump dial spins at breakneck speed, my son asks me from his car seat where we are. I say we're tanking up on MLK Boulevard, and since we're on the topic, I decide to delve in. Now that he's four, it's a good time to start talking about Dr. King: "Do you know who Martin Luther King Jr. was?"

I wonder how well Jonah will grasp the ideas behind the man's life and legacy. I try to break the concepts down to his level without sounding like a retarded, washed-out elementary school textbook that glosses over what really happened and mattered during Dr. King's life and still matters today.

As I navigate the traffic on MLK, which is what we call the street here, I use simple words to try to convey the essence of the civil rights movement and Dr. King's anti-war activism. It's much more of a challenge than I had anticipated to illuminate the abstract concepts at play here to a four-year-old literal thinker: in/justice, in/equity, oppression, racism, violence, law, rights, imperialism, resistance, courage, community organizing... So I start with talking about the man as someone special and brave who was a leader and who worked with people to challenge unfair things and to help people live better. Next I plan to get more detailed and to engage my son in greater depth.

Just at a point when I think Jonah is following along, he asks, "Did he wear a crown? A silver crown?" Well, he wasn't a king though that was his name, I answer.

Judging from our interaction, it's clear that the idea of challenging oppression is a little too abstract for my son, so I talk about King's anti-war activism. Fighting, getting hurt, shooting, enemies... Jonah grasps those concepts pretty well. So I discuss why Dr. King was opposed to war and we linger on that topic for a while. Jonah is curious about why anyone would wage war. I am pleased, thinking, glad you asked. At freeway speed, I am so engrossed in the conversation that I miss our turn, forcing us to loop around the whole city.

Jonah asks me if MLK is dead. I say that he is. Jonah asks how Dr. King died. I explain that he was shot, and in simple words why this most likely happened, because my son wants to know.

Finally, I tell Jonah he was named after Martin Luther King Jr., his middle name being Rey, king in Spanish. I tell him why we, his white, not overly politically active parents decided to name our son after Rev. King. I say, in simpler words, that it's because we wanted to honor a person whose work moves us deeply; that we wanted to send a ray of his courage, dedication and vision forward, into the future with the young generation; that we wanted our son to do important work for a more just world, as we--and dare I say more intensely than we--strive to do in our small, humble ways.

So, fittingly, I follow up with what he thinks he will do in the world when he is older, to which, after all this talk about ideals and societal change in pre-schooler jargon, he replies: "I'm going to drive a police... (While he pauses... I think, oh no, not the police, clenching my teeth, hoping he doesn't finish his sentence with the words "patty wagon" or some such wackiness that would make me keel over while driving sixty miles an hour)... tow truck."

A police tow truck. Well, there you have it, my friends. To be continued.

Czeching it

2010-01-14T19:27:00.015-08:00

You knew the pun would come one day. Yes, my son and I are "Czeching it" these days. Sort of like roughing it, winging it while trying to preserve the mother tongue by any means possible.

The exciting news is that my dream has come true and a Czech preschool opened a couple of months ago in our American city. It's a brand new day. After a few months of Czechlesness, my son is back into language immersion again--once a week, but still. Since I have no kin here and very few Czech friends, the school is a godsend.

Last Monday was Jonah's first day there. He was beside himself, refusing to go home after a full school day. The next morning he begged to return. He even burst into spontaneous song in Czech. Most importantly, he is not mad at me anymore when I speak Czech to him. Tonight he even asked me to read to him only in Czech AND he understands almost everything I say (if I keep it simple enough)! His teacher even said to me she's pretty sure Jonah understands everything she says. The biggest task for me is just to remember to speak it to him daily. And as sentimental as it may sound, it's a good feeling to be keeping our heritage alive, passing it on to at least one more generation.

on the good days

2010-01-14T18:11:00.008-08:00

On the good days, I remember the students do give back. They challenge me to the brink of madness, but they teach me this: patience, generosity, loving firmness.

Today was one of those days.

When I started this job, I vowed to myself to remain who I am: a fun-loving, playful, curious, questioning, intensely emotional person. And because I can get so silly and dramatic, I worried my students wouldn't take me seriously. You know the old cliche advising teachers to not smile before Christmas to instill respect in students? Well, even if I tried--and believe me I have in other teaching situations--I'm not someone who could pull that off.

I am not a big person with an air of authority, so I have to figure out different, creative ways to get my students on track and to create order in the classroom.

This year I'm focusing on building relationships and remaining positive and centered even on the bad days when students give me hell, ignore my instruction, refuse to work.

But things are getting better. In general, my students and I do have good rapport. Most of them are at least intrigued by the work we do together and I do think that a lot of them find meaning in it.

For instance, my English class students are now writing short stories on the topic of injustice. Good stuff.

I just wish there wasn't so much tedious work involved: grading, grading up the wazoo.

But on days like these, the good days, I try to remind myself why I do this work and how much it does make me grow as a person.

teacher talk

2010-01-07T09:25:00.018-08:00

Tereza, the teacher here. Popping in to record that on the menu, unexpectedly today, is something of a professional crisis. Fun times. I should be working on curriculum (at home, as per usual), getting ready for a staff meeting and a full week of teaching next week, plus all that other good stuff that goes with my job, but things are surfacing that I have to pause for, to mull over.

I love my job. I adore the kids. I think about them constantly, pore over books, trying to figure out how to best work with my students to inspire them, increase their skills, to work around the barriers the kids I call the "conscientious objectors to forced schooling" have set up (educator Herbert Kohl writes insightfully about students who decide to actively not-learn). I look for ways to get my students to take charge of and pride in their learning.

I think I succeed sometimes; I can see it in those moments when students are eager to share their writing and ideas, begging me for feedback, curious about what we're doing next, busy working in groups, not noticing that lunch break is upon us...

As any teacher, I work about twice the hours I get paid for. That is normal. To be expected with this line of work. But I'm finding that I tear myself apart internally for feeling more and more resistant to working outside of school hours. I get sick of the tedious tasks I'm expected to do for show, e.g. write down lesson plans teeming with teacherese when I'm already up to my neck with grading and planning. I admonish myself for being bored, lazy, irresponsible, for just wanting to reap the fruits without the labor. But it is beacause spending my time on the mundane tasks (other than choosing materials and responding to student work--I say that because I have an issue with grading) steers me away from the overarching goals that are at the heart of teaching for me. The kind of teaching I believe in is all about establishing relationships and weaning students off their reliance on authority, encouraging critical thinking and courage to stand up against injustice. Also, finding or reigniting internal flames: curiosity, drive, pride in accomplishment... All that deep stuff that can't necessarily be enumerated. And yes, I need to give my students basic skills, of course!

As far as working with youth, the job I have now is as perfect as they come. A small school with an amazing group of staff, freedom to structure my own curriculum... But there are still tasks I'm expected to complete that don't feel integral to what goes on in the classroom. And I am beginning to really resent this.

Perhaps part of why I am having these feelings is that teaching is one of my great, life-long passions, but it's not what I want to consume my life. I am also passionate about writing and photography and I want to fit all those into my life.

So, how do I do all that AND parent at the same time? I don't know. Over winter break I had a hard time getting motivated to do the tedious teacher things. I started to lose connection with why I love teaching. But as soon as I walked in the school in the new year with the students coming up to me and greeting me, it all came back. I was back in my element, so grateful for the opportunity to work doing what I do.

How to keep going without feeling warn-out by the mundane, how to stay inspired and full of energy for teaching and my other creative pursuits? I don't have any answers yet, but I'll keep looking.

[photo credit Walter Sanders"]

the year in review

2010-01-01T04:10:00.002-08:00

2010 busted in the door, but, though I'm mapping out some goals for the new year, my mind is still stuck in 2009. What a year jam-packed with adventure it was for us! The second international move within a span of twelve months and all the adjustments that go along with that--new job, new place to live, new school for Jonah... Also travel, lots of travel. Six countries, five U.S. states, and at least 16 cities and numerous other historical sights that we visited in 2009. How lucky for us! Here are some in pictures I took on our trips:

The hip and historic city of Berlin, which I visited with my 80-year-old grandmother:

London where we met up with Jonah's paternal grandparents and a good old friend from college:

The ancient and still pulsing city of Athens which my little family spent four days exploring:

The breathtakingly rustic and romantic, cousin-of-Venice Corfu Town on the island of Corfu, or Kerkyra as the Greeks call it. Here we spent a week with Jonah's Czech grandparents:

Of course my birth city of Prague where we lived for a year:

And other places of interest, with our favorites being the very mysterious medieval castles and ruins around the Czech Republic. The one pictured is a 14th century castle called Bone (Kost in Czech):

And towards the end of 2009, New York, where we visited my sister and husband for Thanksgiving:

Workwise, I must admit that my job in Prague was the most boring and underpaid one I've ever had--teaching executives, secretaries and accountants English. Now the Czechs are known to be slow to warm up to strangers, but I had no idea how much that would impact my lessons! Imagine sitting in the same room with a poker-faced, taciturn man (or woman) for 90 minutes, hoping to get a conversation going. Yes, you're right. Sounds like a bad date--several, in fact--every day of the week!

The best part of the job was taking an undercover survey of current attitudes on politics and society under the guise of teaching conversation (when people finally did speak). Fascinating. But I'm glad the new school year is in full swing, because now I get to do work that I'm passionate about--teaching high school English to immigrant youth. I'm definitely in my element at this small public charter school. Yay!

Thinking back at last year, most of all, I value the relationships that sustained me over the last year(s) when things were going well and when things were difficult, especially after the death of our daughter. These are some of the special people who have always made us feel loved and supported:

My lovely grandmother:

My daddy and wife, who both helped us so much to make a new life in Prague:

Tim's parents who visited us in Prague:

And of course the uncles & aunts:

And many sweet friends... You know who you are.

To all those contemplating a move abroad, I highly recommend it. With enough emotional and practical support, it can be done, even with a small child. However, for anyone able to do it, I suggest a time frame of at least two years. A year is barely enough to begin to adjust, let alone get comfortable and create lasting bonds. Though the Czech Republic is my first home, I had never lived there as an adult, forging my own way with my own job, my own place to live, etc. Of course my family who still lives there helped, but I wanted to make new connections and get plugged in to some meaningful political/social work. However, with such a limited time, it felt like parachuting in, so I gave up trying because it just felt irresponsible to only be able to commit to a short time without the ability to form deep relationships. That is my biggest regret. But, many things were good: my son learned Czech, I got to spend with family and old friends, and to reconnect to my roots.

Our year in Prague made me realize that I am still Czech to the core and that, though I doubted myself before, I do have a deep understanding of the culture and society. Also, I proved to myself that something as challenging as starting a life in another part of the world with my whole family could be done. I am also glad Tim was able to form a bond with the place that makes me who I am.

In 2010, among my personal, creative and professional goals, I'm hoping to explore the Pacific Northwest more and to make it to a couple of national parks we've never visited. We will see if those dreams come true.

On a more recent note, the Czechs say that how you spend the first day of the new year is how you will live the rest of your year. The day started with an intense wrestling match with the self-proclaimed Wrestle Lord who tried out some of his deadly new moves, such as the fly toss, on me. Good thing we wrestle free style and I was able to solicit the help of a bunch of pillows in the process. Next we played some more and ate a feast of leftovers from the night before and some homemade cookies delivered to our door by a good friend. Not a bad start to a year, is it, friends?

forgive me while I tout the loot

2009-12-27T10:05:00.016-08:00

Now the Mom in this family has no more excuses. Time to get off the ol' cell phone, pick up the real thing and start shooting actual photos. This year for Christmas I got a book to help me understand my new digital SLR camera, which--I'll freely admit--I find quite intimidating, as I've never had a formal photography class or teacher. I am by no means a technophobe, however, photography terms alone have me squirming in my seat. Here's to hoping my passion for photography will carry me through the initial pain of climbing the steep learning curve incline.

The trouble with working with an SLR is that for an instant sharing whore like me, there is quite a process, and therefore delay, before being able to post pics online for others to respond to. But practicing patience is good exercise for me.

I have my camera and how-to book, among other wonderful gifts, Jonah has these (and more) new treasures to be excited about: legos, preschooler board games (which teach many valuable skills, but also provide him with an additional opportunity to boss the rest of the family around. Oy vey!), and--his favorite--roller skates and gear. I'm already imagining myself running around the neighborhood, panting like a maniac while holding Jonah's hand to help him balance. But maybe he'll surprise me and not need handholding for too long. But those falls, those falls... The worrywart mother that I am, I pray for soft, safe landings.

This year we're spending Christmas at Jonah's paternal grandparents in Montana where the sky is blue, the ground covered in snow, and the temperature down to 0°F at night. Though there's plenty of fun to be had on the slopes down the road and in Chico Hot Springs a couple of days from now, work for my teaching job is piled high and always nagging at me from every corner. Still, there is also plenty of time to relax and plenty of time to think about the New Year, approaching fast.

Over the last few months I have been experiencing a sort of a personal creative renaissance, feeling inspired and excited to not only take snapshots, but to also write. Writing has been a theme throughout my life, but I have often abandoned it, feeling constricted, even pained by the act of writing. Working with words easily overwhelms me, though I'm drawn to it like a fly to simple syrup.

With the new year coming, I have been charting out some resolutions for myself. Although I am generally not a fan of resolutions, it's good to spend some energy on crystallizing some goals for myself. This time, my goals involve a lot of creative activity as well as ways to stay inspired and connected to strong, positive, creative people. Needless to say, I'm feeling pretty good about 2010. Hope you are too.

(The black & white images are mine, taken with an iPhone camera)

the budding caveboy artist

2009-12-19T10:18:00.006-08:00

Jonah can now write his name. Notice how anatomically correct his caveman-style self-portrait is :)

And here is a portrait of me, Mom.

I must share that Jonah insists on his own terminology for female anatomy: "It's not a vagina, mom! It's puh-gina!" Because the sounds must match for males and females, i.e. alliteration. Ah, kids.... Never cease to amuse.

Mommy's making a list

2009-12-15T23:47:00.002-08:00

People have been nagging me about what's on my list for Santa. As the years go on, I find I'm less and less enthused about gift-centered holidays, especially Christmas. I like to blame my lack of excitement on the semi-Semite in me asserting herself more vigorously each year as I get older. But more likely it's my inner curmudgeon and my lazy self that have begun to take over this time of year. Now I do enough just to participate in the charade mostly for my son.

But let me not be a stink bug now. I'll try to muster up some cheer.

Here are a couple of items I've found so far for my list:

Now with this one, I could either scratch in the hard-to-reach places, 0R do the "smell the ol' graveyard?" trick the Czechs are known to pull when someone gets on their wrong side.

What is she talking about, you may be asking yourselves. Well, rather than punch someone outright, the Czechs like to give a wee last-minute test before all hell breaks loose: fist in the face of one's opponent and the question: "Smell the graveyard?" Things usually end on a good note then.

And here is the other item for my list. How about it?

resemblance

2009-07-21T06:55:00.001-07:00

Jonah & his Czech grandpa :

Greece

2009-07-21T06:37:00.003-07:00

Yesterday we returned from a week-long vacation in Greece, my father's treat. How lucky we are! We spent our time swimming in the sea and the pool, eating tasty food, and taking in some sights.

Kerkyra, or Corfu, as it is known in English, is one of the greenest Greek islands, because it receives quite a bit of rainfall in the winter. The island has it all: bays and rugged beaches, valleys and mountains, tiny villages as well as resorts. Its main town, Kerkyra, has a beautiful center with Italian-style renaissance buildings with shutters and narrow, windy streets with laundry crisscrossing them up high like Tibetan prayer flags.

I took more than 700 photos! Here is a selection of the best pics.

"graduation"

2009-07-11T11:19:00.004-07:00

Jonah's first year of pre-school has come to a close. His school held a little graduation ceremony and party for all the parents and kids. Jonah received a completion certificate. Look at this proud "graduate"! Here is the school's director and founder giving Jonah his certificate:

When we said goodbye, his teacher had tears in her eyes. She grew quite fond of our little boy and he of her. Too bad we can't take her with us to Portland.

I won!

2009-07-11T11:10:00.002-07:00

In late June, my employer held an end-of-the-year party for all the instructors. The wine, beer, non-alcoholic beverages, and cold-cut buffet were free. A contest was announced and teachers encouraged to enter funny quotes by their English-learner students. I couldn't think of one, but finally jotted down the first that came to mind. And guess what! My quote won me a bottle of champaign! The quote was:

"I work for the lover department."

In reality, my student meant to say: "I work for the law department." But she mixed up the pronunciation of "lawyer," saying "lover" instead. When I explained what error she made, she turned beet-red. Poor woman! Little did she know that later I would be getting tipsy thanks to her "funny" English quote.

visitors galore

2009-07-06T13:48:00.009-07:00

The last two weeks have been mostly about entertaining visitors from the US. Tim's cousin Nate stayed with us for several days on his way to study in Russia. We enjoyed getting to know him better now that he is no longer a little boy but an adult with his own interests and observations about life.

Nate got to see me sing with my choir and to meet my grandmother during that occasion. They both had a nice time talking. My grandmother was charmed -- and I know this because she told me so -- by Nate's intelligence, sensitivity and good looks. Jonah didn't give Nate a minute to rest, constantly showering him with questions and showing off his weapons and warrior/robot maneuvers.

After Nate left, our good friends Megan and Stefan with their four-year-old son came to stay with us. Jonah loves Finn so those two were inseparable for a week. We spent half their stay enjoying Prague and then for three days opted out to leave town and enjoy the summer in the Czech countryside. The place where we went by train was a small town where I used to spend my summers as a girl. It still is paradise: wild strawberries, blueberries and raspberries; edible mushrooms and woods, creek and a lake to swim in. A perfect place for kids and adults who love nature.

More photos here (scroll down the page).

mama sings

2009-07-06T07:59:00.007-07:00

As a girl, I was part of one of Prague's children's choirs. Ours was called Mládí, meaning Youth.

Interestingly, this spring the conductor and women members from all eras past happened to get together to rehearse for the choir's 40th anniversary concert. I was invited to attend the weekly rehearsals.

On June 26th we had our concert at the National Museum, the famous building at the top of Wenceslas Square. About fifty of the past members sang under the leadership of our conductor, the founder of the choir. My whole family came to see the event, even Tim's cousin Nate who happened to be visiting. We sang Mozart, Dvořák, Smetana, some medieval and renaissance music as well as Czech folk songs arranged for the choir.

All went well until the last encore number when I accidentally shouted the final "hooray" a verse early. Oops. The conductor gave me a dirty look, the choir girls laughed, but, fortunately, the audience didn't notice. That's what everyone I asked said anyway. Phew. I pretended the accidental "yooo" sound, signifying "hooray" was my tribute to Michael Jackson who had died the night before.

P.S. I'm just next to the lamppost on the right hand side.

the June quotes are here

2009-07-01T04:56:00.005-07:00

I have just added Jonah's quotes from last month to the list of his quotes of the day.

The highlights include:

"My poison makes people hard like salami."

"Does America speak magic?"

and

"Mom, I put dad in jail. You'll stay with me. You're my friend. You're my police girl."

More quotes here.

cousin gets married

2009-06-20T23:57:00.003-07:00

Yesteday we attended my oldest cousin's wedding. He's my dad's brother's oldest son. The wedding was outside and it rained only during the ten minutes of the ceremony. People whispered it was raining happiness on them. The setting was quite unique: the top of the Dancing House, from where the views of the city are really something.

Below you can see the bride and groom (with bride's father) in front of the Dancing House and one of the beautiful views from the top. More pictures here.

Jonah writes!

2009-06-19T11:23:00.003-07:00

Today, for the first time, Jonah sat down and began, with a noteworthy amount of attention span and intention, to learn and write down letters.

He had been drawing circles for a while now, but today he started writing x's and then I taught him A's and T's. Using chalk, he wrote them with a gusto and a surprising precision for a three-year-old. He tried writing J's too, but kept reversing them, which is natural for younger kids, I believe.

A few hours later Jonah actually remembered the letters he learned earlier, writing them down again on a fresh piece of paper with a pen. How exciting!

ol' college friends

2009-06-19T11:13:00.006-07:00

It's amazing how much my friends from college resurface. One of them, a musician, musicologist and teacher, currently lives in a town three hours away from Prague, which I visited while my sister played there. Scott took me around, showing me some of the town's jewels, about which he knows so much more than I. Photos from that visit here.

(My friend Scott is the one on the left)

Another, a filmmaker, writer and sculptor, just came to visit Prague and we hung out for the first time in eight years. Fun times!

(My friend Oscar is on the left, his friend Charity on the right)

Jonah's aunt's visit

2009-06-19T11:04:00.004-07:00

My sister was here on a concert tour for two weeks. She was very busy with work, but was able to sneak in a couple of visits with us. Like the good groupie that I am, I followed her for a couple of out-of-town concerts as well, one of those times with the whole family for maximum impact.

Jonah loved his time with his auntie, who, between shows, a live television interview and performance, a screening of a film she acted in, also managed to record her new album in the Czech Republic. The new album should be out in the fall. Yay!

Some photos (more here):

Mother's Day

2009-06-08T02:51:00.004-07:00

Last month, Jonah's school held an event to celebrate Mother's Day. The kids did a demonstration of their morning yoga exercises and sang folk songs. Their Christmas performance was very similar, but at that time Jonah had only been in preschool a short time. He was still shy and didn't know much Czech, so it was hard to motivate him to participate in the group. This time, he not only participated, but actually enjoyed himself. At the end of the show, he brought me a flower and a card he made.

He's doing well in preschool. His teacher loves him and he loves her. She already told me she will miss him terribly when we move.

May quotes

2009-06-08T02:46:00.004-07:00

I've been a little behind on my blogging here. Still, I have faithfully continued to write down interesting things Jonah says. Here are a few morsels from the month of May:

"I'm making metal armor, my wife."

"Mommy, don't worry. I'll always protect you."

"Smell me, 'cause I smell right, like the Boba Fetts that smell right."

More here.

Greece

2009-05-12T11:08:00.005-07:00

What an incredible time we had on our trip to Athens this month! The first impression that greeted us (other than getting ripped off when buying our bus fair to town at the airport and the awfully crowded ride to town) was the smell of jasmine. It had rained in Athens and the air smelled like jasmine tea.

Our hotel was perfect. A two-bedroom apartment, complete with a kitchen and balcony overlooking a few busy streets, parks, and the Hill of the Wolves (Lykavittos Hill). Very central too.

We saw so much in the four days we were there: The Acropolis with its temples, green spaces, and ancient amphitheater; the Ancient Agora, the nerve center of commerce and culture in old Greece; Kerameikos, the most important ancient burial ground in Athens; the National Gardens, a lush jungle-like park in the heart of the Greek capitol; an old turkish-style bath house, beautifully restored; remnants of ancient Roman baths; the fabulous National Archeological Museum, which houses the famous Mask of Agamemnon and other awe-inspiring artifacts.

We also took a day trip 70 km down the coast to Cape Sounion where the Temple of Poseidon punctuates the landscape, the striking white columns contrasting with the vibrant blues of the sky and sea. There we got to swim in the cool, but welcoming Aegean Sea.

In Greece, I tasted the freshest and most marvelous orange juice and the sweetest and most fragrant strawberries I had ever eaten in my life. I got the latter from a fruit seller in Monastiraki Square, a place where the various histories of Athens meet.

The oranges and lemons on the fruit trees were ripe. The temperature was perfect. Between 24 and 28 °C (that's 75 and 82 °F). The sun was out. It sprinkled only for about an hour upon our arrival the first day.

Jonah did fine. Transitions can be a bit difficult with him. This fickleness manifests itself in him throwing tantrums. We managed dissipating those sucessfully most of the time. Considering that most of what we did was grown-up oriented (read sightseeing), he did great. We did give him opportunities to play as well.

The only drawback of traveling to Greece with a child (and no babysitter) is that one cannot enjoy Greek nightlife, for which the country is so famous or proper Greek food. The customary way to eat is late at night -- 10 pm at the earliest -- and most restaurants don't even open their kitchens till then, so I was glad we had our own kitchen at the hotel. With a child who goes to sleep by 8 pm that is a must in the Mediterranean. The tastiest food we had eaten was from a skewered meat seller at a flea market. Each skewer of tender and perfectly seasoned pork for only 1 Euro!

For nights I have had dreams about building ancient cities, which began while still in Greece. As I sit here now in the much-colder Prague, my mind is still half-way in Greece. As I've said to my friends, I left my heart in Athens. Jonah, fortunately, assures me that he still has his heart inside him.

For more pics, go here.

the family protests

2009-05-03T14:06:00.004-07:00

Today, our little family of three participated in a protest against neo-nazism in the Czech Republic. We went to express our solidarity with the Roma (Gypsy) community, who has been experiencing an increasing amount of tension, harassment, and violence at the hands of the white majority.

I wrote about our participation at the demonstration on another blog, Roma Rights.

my little sweetheart

2009-05-02T12:24:00.000-07:00

the grandparents are here!

2009-04-22T14:11:00.006-07:00

Jonah's Montana grandparents arrived yesterday. It's their first time in Prague. Jonah, of course, is in seventh heaven, and we're excited to show them around.

Here is a sampling of some of the things we have planned: a walk around the Prague Castle and a tour of the Czech Senate; a day trip to the 660-year-old Karlštejn castle; and a day trip to the UNESCO town of Český Krumlov, founded in the 13th century. Of course, there will be time with the extended family: my dad & wife & my maternal grandmother. Tim's parents were also invited to see the Fiddler On The Roof at the theater which my father runs.

Today we walked through Prague's Old Town, weaving in and out of groups of tourists and soaking in the sights and spring sunshine.

More pics coming soon.

will it happen again?

2009-04-21T13:07:00.005-07:00

Today Jonah and I participated in a Yom HaShoah ceremony by reading some of the names of those who died in the Holocaust. Many of my relatives died in the Holocaust.

Every time I walk the streets of the oldest parts of Prague, I think about this:

At the outbreak of World War II, over 92,000 Jews lived in Prague, almost 20 percent of the city’s population. Prague was one of the largest Jewish communities in Europe. At least two-thirds of the Jewish population of Prague perished in the Holocaust (. . .) More than a quarter of a million Czechoslovak Jews were murdered in the Holocaust and more than 60 synagogues in the Czech lands were destroyed.

My father's parents, both Jewish, were concentration camp survivors. My mother's grandfather was also. He was a political prisoner. A communist. I think about how lucky I am to be alive and how lucky that my son is here.

Jonah was one of the only children at the commemoration in the big Square of Peace, or Náměstí Míru. Though I didn't plan to meet up with anyone there, after I read my page of names, my father walked up to me. He was there too, as was my maternal grandmother.

While I read the names of the victims into the microphone, I held Jonah, who surprised me by speaking softly and shyly into the microphone as I spoke. After each name, I said the year and camp of the person's death, followed by a word explaining the person's death - in most cases "zavražděna," or "murdered." I couldn't make out what Jonah was saying so quietly, but the word I heard him repeat over and over was "zavřena," which means closed.

I tried to explain to him the significance of this memorial, in a way that a three-year-old can grasp. He asked many questions like: "Why did they put them in prison?" and "Why didn't they like them?" and "Did I die in a war?" and "Did you die?"

Finally, after I satisfactorily explained the basic concept of what happened during the war, which he understood as he is already fascinated with weapons, fighting, and wrestling, he asked: "Will it happen again?"

I wish I could say that it won't and it isn't. I said that I will protect him and that I hope it will never happen again, knowing all too well that genocide, hatred and war are still rampant today.

I not only remembered the Jews who perished at the hand of the Nazis. There were also political prisoners, the Roma (Gypsies), gays and lesbians, and religious men and women.

Today, fascism still plagues the Czech Republic as well as many other parts of the world. Just last Sunday there was a neo-Nazi march in a city in the north of the Czech Republic, where I lived as a little girl. Around 300 fascists marched, flanked by 1250 police, most in riot gear.

Just two days ago, a molotov cocktail thrown through a window of a house in a small Czech town, severely burned a Roma family, including a two-year-old child. Such hate crimes are on the rise here and across Europe and the United States.

I want to do my part to curb hate and oppression. Somehow. I try, but I still feel compelled to try harder.

a weekend for kings

2009-04-13T12:48:00.013-07:00

What a relaxing Easter weekend we had!

First, it was off to the 900-year-old castle Křivoklát, as I said in my last post.

The next day, we spent the afternoon with my grandmother. As usual, she treated us like kings, preparing a tasty meal for us and then accompanying us to one of the funnest playgrounds for kids. Jonah had a blast. The city is so much friendlier and cheerier filled with warmth and sunshine.

We finished off the holiday with some relaxation at my dad's in the countryside. We sat around and chatted while Jonah played with a neighbor kid, the same age as he: heaven for the parents who could actually carry on an uninterrupted adult conversation or just plain rest. Those who have only children will understand.

Czech Easter tradition dictates that girls and women get whipped with hand-braided whips made from willow switches. For that purpose, I brought a pillow to stuff into my pants to pad my behind: an Easter butt, as Jonah aptly dubbed it. My little gallant knight was ready to protect me. When I told him all about how the Czechs celebrate Easter, he decided -- instead of the predictable "oh great, time to whip the girls like there's no tomorrow" -- to be my protector and to use his weapons to ward off all the evil whipping maniacs. Fortunately I am so old that I only got whipped by my dad just so I don't think I've been forgotten: two light taps on my Easter tush. What a change from the time when I was younger when Easter was the most terrifyingly electrifying holiday. That and St. Nicholas Day when the devil comes to take bad children to hell. On his first Easter in the old country, Tim stayed out of this strange pagan ritual. No "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." Instead, he buried his nose in his New York Times bestseller.

After the whipping, we were served a great lunch by my step-mom, and then, along with another family, we accompanied my dad on his favorite activity: fishing. My dad picked a spot that had a huge, fat sign specifying that fishing is strictly forbidden in the lake. That fact obviously posed no obstacle. About a half hour into our fete, the actual owner of the lake showed up and set up shop across the water from us. He seemed not to care we were there at all. Perhaps he already knew my dad and had worked out some sort of a deal with him. No one knew for sure, but our fishing expedition continued unhindered.

The ladies just sat there, chiding the men who competed in how many carp each caught and released. The boys fished out slimy grass with sticks, calling the green stuff fish and taking turns frying it for each other. Fun times. Jonah got his first sunburn on his arms. Not to worry. It was very mild.

For more pics, go here and scroll down to the bottom of the page.

Though we didn't in any way celebrate Passover since my dad is one of those ultra assimilated types, I did get a box of matzah to take home. Jonah thought the biggest cracker he has ever eaten was so cool. I am glad, because I was already thinking of reviewing the video I watched last year about all the many things one can do with matzah:

castle time on Easter

2009-04-11T11:34:00.009-07:00

Now that spring is here, the sun is shining, the birds chirping, and plants are coming to life again, my mood has lifted. The gray winter seemed so long, but now that it's warm enough just for a t-shirt and shorts outside, new possibilities lay ahead.

Today we ventured out to yet another castle; this one, one of the oldest, 900-years-old, to be exact. Křivoklát, like most others, hide among the hills until one approaches quite close. It's behind the last bend in the curvy road, just when you think you're lost, that a magnificent castle appears on the mountain ahead, close enough to be standing on the palm of your hand.

This weekend is the second most important holiday one after Christmas in the Czech calendar. Easter is about crafts and folk tradition, including some wacky pagan ones. We decided to visit Křivoklát, because they were hosting a traditional artisan market with musical and theatrical performances right in the courtyard.

A superb band named Krless, specializing in medieval vagrant music, played. They got the kids dancing right away. I was tempted too, but no other adults were even tapping their feet -- the typical Czechs they were --, so I decided to just stick to a few miniscule knee bends and claps here and there to punctuate the most exciting parts in the music. Jonah, on the other hand, pranced around the courtyard like he owned it, with his new sword and shield. Tim tied a handkerchief around Jonah's head to complete his pirate look. When I told Jonah that I really enjoyed his dancing, he that said he wasn't dancing, but driving a pirate truck. Right, I should have known.

The market was fun. Lots of neat pottery, glass, semi-precious stone, leather, iron, and woven products. The food carts were something: meat and more meat, of course, and a traditional, beautifully decorated smoked cheese. Pics here.

first joint poetry project

2009-04-10T11:40:00.002-07:00

Here is the first poem Jonah and I have ever written together. This was on April 2.

Rhyme Time

There was once a duck,
rodie, pocky Mortimer Tuck.

Piddy goat, Five Dive Hive,
went along the road to a pond.

Donald Duck went to the water
and pooped in the water:
Popcorn!

All his clothes were torn.
Then what did he do?
Make a whistle on the poo.

By pape poh pope,
he ate a rope.

Yuck, said the duck.
Yuck, said the mommy.
You growed a poppy.

to protect and serve

2009-04-09T15:49:00.003-07:00

Remember last fall I wrote about Jonah wanting to protect me by fighting the subway fair inspectors the day I forgot my pass? Today we were riding home from school when we saw the ticket checkers approaching. As I had predicted, they never checked me. I told Jonah that I thought they wouldn't because they never seem to check parents with kids. He asked why. I don't know, I said. I've just noticed that. To that he replied:

"Maybe they're scared of kids."

"Why?" I asked.

"Maybe they're scared of kids shooting."

Oh yes. That would be kids like him, protecting their mommies by shooting down the ticket inspectors. My little prince. Love him so.

Actually, even funnier than that, the other day I asked Tim to remind me of what the police motto was. He said: "To protect and serve," to which Jonah responded in the midst of playing policeman: "But I am not serve. I just protect." Too proud to serve, but never too proud to use his weapons!

my little pirate

2009-04-03T13:11:00.005-07:00

Jonah's favorite make-belief characters of late have been:

policeman
pirate
knight
fireman
garbage man
skateboarder
wrestler

Thanks for the cross-Atlantic eye patch, Gma & Gpa!

to the castles we go

2009-03-30T00:36:00.007-07:00

The winter here has felt so long! So much gray sky. We are ready for spring! The temperatures have finally climbed into the 50's and the birds have begun their sweet, sweet twittering. Just the other day I saw the first flower of the season blooming in the grass. This was a relief, since just a few days ago it was snowing here.

We have finally started to take more trips to see the sights around the country again. Recently we visited two castles, both from the 14th century: Karlštejn and Borotín, the second of which is a ruin, and a fascinating one to be sure. The ruin includes an underground section with vaulted Gothic ceilings.

Can't wait for more trips to come this season.

More pics here.

my ggma

2009-03-28T11:28:00.000-07:00

My grandmother celebrated her 81st birthday this month. Yes, we were there: my little family, together with my US-based cousin, who is currently studying in Prague, and a good family friend.

Together, we treated my grandmother to a tasty multiple-course meal in an Italian restaurant where, as it turned out, many a famous person (such as Johnny Depp) has eaten.

My grandmother is pretty much the highlight of our stay in Prague. But that goes without saying. She is one fantastic lady!

veni, vidi....

2009-03-06T04:18:00.009-08:00

Honestly, I'm glad February is behind us. As of last year, it is officially my least favorite month of the year. You can imagine why.

But, now on to bigger and better adventures. Yes. We just came back from a trip to London and Dublin. First time for all of us.

In London we met up with Tim's parents, who had just finished their dreamy, around-the-world trip. Oh the places they'd seen! Peru, Eastern Island, Australia, Papua New Guinea and more.... We got to hear the stories fresh and even meet some of their travel compatriots.

Our three days in London were a blast. Almost an arctic blast, that is, because I was freezing the whole time, whether outside or in our hotel room. But, that's beside the point.

We, of course, had the obligatory pub meal of fish and chips and a pint (all but Jonah and me who don't like the flavor of beer). We strolled around Hyde Park and Green Park and across the river Thames. We rode a London taxi, river boat, a double-decker and The Eye of London, all in the same day! We rode across the Tower Bridge, took pics with Big Ben, walked inside the Tower of London complex, watched the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace... So much to see, so little time...

The Eye of London was really something. Space age entertainment, I call it.

The highlight of our time in London was meeting up with my college friend Toufique, who lives in London. He took us, via the tube, to his favorite neighborhood: a crossroads between an artsy, alternative scene with artisan markets and bars, frequented by tattooed, punk and hipster crowds and a Bengali neighborhood full of restaurants, mosques, and other businesses catering (not only) to South Asian clientele. Thanks to Toufique, we got to dine in a little off-the-beaten-path Bengali restaurant. Now that was fun! We finished off our time together with a cup of hot alcoholic cider. Yum! I was sad to say goodbye.

Then on to Dublin. To my dismay, Dublin was even colder than London. Needless to say, I underdressed. Silly me.

In Dublin, we had the kindest hosts one could imagine. Stephen, a native Dubliner, cooked up a storm and shared lots of historical and political tidbits about Ireland. Ann, who was not only taking care of us but also of her one-year-old daughter was patient enough to not kick us to the curb once I started feeling lightheaded thanks to some bug I caught on our trip. In between the feasting and talking and walking around Dublin, I kept asking to be excused to lay down... Pretty soon I felt so out of it that I ceased to be fun around and forgot to even take pictures. Too bad... Jonah had fun with little baby Eilis though. She adored him and tried imitating everything he did.

The last evening another friend I'd met in Portland, Tara, and her husband came over for dinner. That was fun as well.

My favorite thing in Dublin was the National Museum, which houses artifacts from as long as the Stone Age. There we saw a replica of an ancient stone burial structure, dating from about 3700-2500 BC. We also perused the remnants of Iron Age "bog bodies," bodies, whose sacrifice was part of king inauguration rituals thousands of years ago, preserved in Irish bogs. Creepy and immensely fascinating.

I put pics of our trip here. Sorry, not many from Ireland.

remembering Amalia

2009-02-15T14:40:00.005-08:00

A candle for Amalia on her would-be first birthday at my grandmother's on February 2:

And the flowers my grandmother Anna gave me on that day:

And a video I made as I set out to pay homage to my deceased grandmother and daughter at the New Jewish Cemetery on the first anniversary of Amalia's death. It was at that cemetery that I first encountered death after my grandmother Bedřiška died when I was ten. The video somehow illustrates a bit about Amalia's journey to me: the journey through the unknown towards a light, mom's (my) hand opening the door, being out in the world for just a moment, and, as the film ends, even -- unintentionally yet fittingly -- the funeral service office across the street called Tranquility...

the gift that keeps on giving: Playmobil's Security Check Point

2009-02-04T00:25:00.007-08:00

I just came across an internet posting about the Playmobil's Security Check Point. The toy is clearly something I do not plan to purchase for my child, but just reading the product reviews makes my belly ache.

Just to whet your appetite, here is a customer review by "loosenut" entitled "Great lesson for the kids!"

I was a little disappointed when I first bought this item, because the functionality is limited. My 5 year old son pointed out that the passenger's shoes cannot be removed. Then, we placed a deadly fingernail file underneath the passenger's scarf, and neither the detector doorway nor the security wand picked it up. My son said "that's the worst security ever!" But it turned out to be okay, because when the passenger got on the Playmobil B757 and tried to hijack it, she was mobbed by a couple of other heroic passengers, who only sustained minor injuries in the scuffle, which were treated at the Playmobil Hospital.

The best thing about this product is that it teaches kids about the realities of living in a high-surveillence society. My son said he wants the Playmobil Neighborhood Surveillence System set for Christmas. I've heard that the CC TV cameras on that thing are pretty worthless in terms of quality and motion detection, so I think I'll get him the Playmobil Abu-Gharib Interogation Set instead (it comes with a cute little memo from George Bush).

Take a look yourself at this mini revolt on the internet. The best laugh I've had in along time.

Berlin with babi

2009-02-02T11:50:00.005-08:00

This year for Christmas I got my babi, or grandma, a concert ticket to see her favorite pianist, Murray Perahia. He was on tour and the closest place he was performing was Berlin. So to the ticket I added two nights in a hotel in Berlin.

We took the train there last week. It was a trip to remember. I wasn't that excited about Berlin, but realized as soon as we got there, that it's undoubtedly an interesting and vibrant place to visit.

The highlights: impressive modern architecture using lots and lots of glass in pleasing ways; historical places like the remnants of the Berlin wall, the bits of old architecture that withstood the bombings during the war, and the most stirring: the Holocaust memorial. We actually got to Berlin on International Holocaust Commemoration Day.

The pianist was fabulous. A huge, arena-like concert hall sold-out and bursting in the seams. Mozart, Schubert, Brahms, Beetoven. My grandmother was beside herself. She is quite the music critic too. I am not well-versed in classical music, but I was impressed as well.

Here are some pics from our trip. More here.

And a video of the Holocaust memorial experience:

Jonah watches "the Prez"

2009-02-02T05:57:00.009-08:00

On the day of Barack Obama's inauguration, we streamed the ceremony live over the internet while eating dinner. It was, after all, 6 pm in Prague. As I watched, ate, and fed Jonah, I took notes of Jonah's commentary as well. Here is a list of his quotes from the occasion:

• Obama? Obama? Is that Obama coming?
• Does she not have a black face?

(To which I responded that Michele Obama's skin is dark and that some people have brown skin, some light, some dark skin just like one of his teachers at Czech preschool. Jonah nodded and then went on with his commentary)

• Why is there always police? Why are they protecting?
• Why did she say liberty? (about Feinstein's speech)
• What is it liberty?
• Why can't he see? Is he closing his eyes? Why do they close their eyes? - (about Rev. Warren)
• Why is there a flag?
• Why is she there? (about Aretha Franklin)
• Who's that boy? Who's Robert Bennet?
• Why do they shoot? (about the cannons)
• Why would they shoot people?
• Why don't they shoot people?
• Mom, what do they shoot?
• What do they shoot in the air?
• Why did you say boo? (to thanking bush for service)
• You don't have a gun?
• I have a gun.
• It's a shooting gun for school: shoot, shoot, shoot!
• Action, Tereza! (random Obama word he repeated)
• Watchful eye. (random Obama expression he caught)
• Why did he say tanks?
• Are those microphones?
• Why do they need guns?

As you can see, he was mostly fascinated with machines, cannons and the police, I guess, well, because life for him now is all about: "Action, Tereza, action!"

a quick January rundown

2009-01-19T12:48:00.009-08:00

I've been a bit behind on this blog. So here is a quick rundown of the most exciting moments of last two weeks. The holidays seemed to drag on for a very loooooong time. The highlight were our times with family. Here is Jonah with his great-grandmother:

I so enjoyed the visit that three of my college classmates paid us on New Year's. Fun times, reminiscing while drinking bad wine and powerful plum brandy, which I shall from now on call The Remedy Of My People. My friend actually purchased one of the most awe-inspiring objects, truly an item worthy of idol worship: a plum brandy decanter in the shape of an old-fashioned machine gun with a set of shot glasses. Here is Jonah admiring the beauty with which we thoroughly familiarized ourselves while kicking off the New Year with a bang:

Finally, after playing a two-week long viral infection relay over the holidays, we got outside to do a little sledding in the chilly winter weather near my dad's house out in the country. All the lakes and ponds were frozen over with thick ice. People cleared the snow and ice skated and "hokeyed" like there was no tomorrow. We stuck to sledding, which was just our speed:

Another favorite activity was an impromptu tour of a firehouse which my dad finagled one afternoon after thinking of it during lunch. Oh, let's walk over to the firehouse down the street and try our luck, he said. Though he was more excited about the trucks and equipment than his grandson, his junior by fifty-five years, the place did make an impression on Jonah too:

More pics here.

another blog

2009-01-08T13:55:00.002-08:00

I have started blogging about Czech politics on another blog, if you are interested. Today's topic is the Czechs assuming the rotating European Union presidency for the next six months. You can read my post here.

when my sister was here

2009-01-02T14:41:00.002-08:00

Here is Jonah with my dad, his wife and my sister in November:

a visit to babi's

2009-01-01T07:25:00.001-08:00

Jonah and his great-grandmother:

Part I:

Part II:

the games we play

2008-12-30T12:33:00.003-08:00

Lately, with winter vacation, a round of colds, forbidding weather and all, we've spent a whole lot of time inside, cooped up in our third-story apartment. And boy, does Jonah need a playmate!

Tim and I, the dutiful parents we are, have been taking turns indulging our son who would otherwise turn into a category 5 tropical storm.

Here are the roleplays Jonah has involved us in lately, listed for memory's sake:

• pirates and monsters
• fire boy and fire girl
• Eyeore and Christopher Robin
• cashier and shopper (usually the shopper walks away with free merchandise AND money from the cashier to boot)
• teacher and preschooler
• daddy/mommy and child
• cook and restaurant guest
• doctor (sometimes rather medieval in his style; fond of bloodletting, for instance) and broken leg person
• person who is afraid of bad guys and a guy who shines his flashlight at and hits the bad guys with swords (spoons, actually) and, in the end, saves the person who is afraid

the birds and the bees

2008-12-30T06:31:00.005-08:00

I had no idea it would come so soon. Just the other day Jonah asked me how babies get inside moms' bellies; how babies are made. He didn't want just a simple explanation, trust me. I tried many versions, all true, but "clean." He kept asking for a more in-depth explanation until I had to get into the biology of it. I kept it simple, but finally, as if I at last gave him the answer he was looking for, he was satisfied enough to move onto the next activity. His tool bench, was it?

Days later I read what good old Dr. Spock et al have to say about preschoolers asking about where babies come from. I am proud to say that I think Dr. Spock would have approved of how I handled the situation.

I have vowed to myself that I will be better than my parents about teaching my child about sex. My parents never talked about sex, even when I tried to initiate the conversation as a child. They just let me stew in my own embarassment once I realized sex was apparently something embarassing to talk about. I learned everything I've ever wanted to know about sex from Woody Allen. Just kidding. It was from my peers in the neighborhood and in grammar school - not a very reliable source, to say the least.

Though Jonah has lately been curious about body parts, shapes, skin color, etc., I wouldn't have guessed "the birds and the bees" talk would come so early. Geez Louise.

he got it this time

2008-12-26T12:27:00.004-08:00

Yes, it's true. Jonah got lots of great presents this Christmas, but what is worthy of mention is that he really got what Christmas is all about for the first time at this age (just a little over three).

We celebrated with my grandmother on Christmas Eve with a traditional meal of soup, fish, and potato salad. My baking skills are an embarassment, so good thing my grandmother did most of the baking. I tried the traditional Christmas bread (very similar to challah), but had to throw it away in the end. My grandmother's was so much tastier. Edible, actually, unlike mine. Fortunately, the only type of cookies I attempted were no-bake cookies, which turned out fabulous (one of the two types I made anyway).

My favorite presents were: clothing (which I don't treat myself to very often), a beaded necklace my mom made, and a music gift certificate from Tim. The gift I dread the most but that is the best for me is an exercise mat and weights. Believe it or not, I asked for it. You get what you ask for, as they say. To my own surprise, I actually used both today. Now if I can only keep up the good work...

Tim's favorite present was probably the GPS navigation screen the family got for the car from my dad. Tim loves the robot's female voice with a sensual and sofisticated British accent. He says the present is better than a therapist for our relationship. He is right since our most heated bickering usually takes place while trying to navigate in the car. Like my dad says, the worst thing is two drivers in one car.

Though Jonah was sick with the flu, he actually perked up in the evening. Well, who wouldn't with so much magic in the air and so many presents under the tree? Jonah's two favorite presents were a cash register with a shopping basket and cans, but the number one prize goes to a tool bench with a whole set of tools, nuts, and bolts, and the like. See for yourselves:

two days in the mountains

2008-12-22T11:33:00.004-08:00

We spent the weekend in a winter wonderland in the mountains of northern Czech Republic where my childhood friend goes with her family. When we showed up, there was hardly any snow on the ground, but luckily for us, it snowed all night Friday and half of Saturday. On Sunday, the snow began to melt and after we left, the rain washed the rest of the snow away. So, we were very lucky to sled, hike and frolic in this:

happy bolidays

2008-12-18T11:40:00.001-08:00

first holiday special

2008-12-18T11:09:00.003-08:00

Well, well, well. We just had another first. This time a first performance. Earlier this week, Jonah's school held a holiday party, complete with the traditional feature of a besídka, or Christmas performance, for the parents. As a kindergartener I too entertained my parents like a trained little monkey. Fortunately, Jonah's school didn't take the occasion too seriously and it turned out casual, albeit a bit chaotic at times.

The kids demonstrated some of their daily yoga routines and sang a few folk songs. The children who stay in the program all day (not Jonah, who leaves after lunch) also performed a Christmas play.

Surprisingly, Jonah was shy and wouldn't sing along with the kids. Following another mother's lead, I went up "on stage" and put Jonah in my lap. Once I did that, he joined in, which he normally does enthusiastically. In the four months that we have been here, Jonah has learned at least a dozen Czech folk songs, and he has been speaking more and more Czech, which he seems to enjoy.

something in my throat

2008-12-13T14:05:00.003-08:00

I was starting to feel like I was coming down with something. My throat was hurting. But I decided to go to my grammar school class reunion anyway. I only got to see those guys once before (which was last year) since finishing school with them twenty-one years ago. This time, we got together in a square, all done up for Christmas, lit up with little lights, bustling with an arts and crafts market and a couple of hundred of people in small groups, all bundled up in the near-freezing weather.

First things first. We ordered some hot drinks from one of the stands: mulled wine for some and not punch for others. We gossiped and laughed, while gathering in numbers. Next we stumbled to a nondescript pub with food that one of my classmates called cafeteria-like, which he said he had guessed just by reading the menu. Of course, the pub was already filled to the brim with smoke, which only got worse when others in our party lit up cigarettes. Mind you, smoky restaurants are just about the norm here. I have only found one non-smoking place in Prague, but about that later.

Well, three hours into the night, my throat was so sore that I decided to call it quits. I gathered everyone up for a group shot and plunged into the night to descend the escalators down into the tube that leads home.

By morning, my voice was completely gone. An anomaly for me. I had to cancel my English classes. The next day, my condition continued. I was hoping the laryngitis wasn't permanent, like Tim with a not-so-faint glimmer in his eye fleetingly remarked it could have been. Everyone was high-fiving my husband: "It must be so nice to have a silent wife!" Meanwhile, I was giving those very same people the finger in the pocket.

Now, three days later my voice is back. There, albeit raspy. So, we decided to take me to town for an outing -- since I was back to presentable -- to the only non-smoking restaurant we know.

The place would be great if the food was better. They have a large children's corner with toys that keep Jonah busy so Tim and I can actually talk grown-up style. Once, Tim found something suspect in his tomato soup. It turned out to be a rather large cluster of wood splinters, possibly chipped off a wooden spoon. We took a break from that place, but decided it was worth another try, which it was. But today was another story.

When I finished my soup, lo and behold, I had a funny feeling in my throat. Like something was stuck in the back of my mouth. I drank some water. I coughed. I went to the bathroom to gargle. Nothing. Finally, I looked inside my mouth. You wouldn't believe what I saw: a long splinter-like thing, lodged into my left tonsil like a cupid's arrow. What???

I tried to get at it with my finger, which only made me gag. Then I tried swishing more water around in my mouth to no avail. I panicked and got the whole family to follow me into the women's bathroom to answer this: "Do you see what I see?" Tim didn't seem too phased. He tried his luck with his finger. Much a do about nothing.

I even went as far as briskly walking up to the waiters, who all seemed to be on some sort of a permanent break behind the bar, grooving to the music and flipping through fashion magazines, hoping they'd have the magical tool I needed. I asked for tweezers, but only got blank stares as I obviously interrupted the staff cocktail party dangerously close to the cash register.

We had to hustle home, food in boxes. Though Jonah was concerned, he did look forward to the home surgery. At first, he was going to take the matter -- or should I say tweezers -- into his own hands, but I told him an adult would be much better suited for that task, assuring him that I felt no pain, but that the mouth and tonsils are delicate and one has to be precise. Daddy would do the job while Jonah shone his bright, cat-shaped flashlight from uncle and aunt in my mouth.

Daddy, who as a teen wanted to be a nurse, washed his hands like a doctor would, soaping them up diligently. He dislodged the sucker with one swift move of precision. Jonah got to shine into my mouth and to look at the intruder, which turned out to be nothing but a very long piece of some sort of a spice. Perhaps sage?

A friend of mine commented that all this throat business could mean something. She said: "Find a healer - and get some work done on your chakras!" Though this sounded a little odd at first, I did, just to see, look up the "throat chakra." And here is what I found: In ancient Indian medicine with a two-thousand year history of healing, Vishuddha, the Throat Chakra, governs communication and growth through self-expression. Emotionally it governs independence, mentally it governs fluent thought, and spiritually, it governs a sense of security.

It just so happens that all these issues are very pertinent in my life right now. Now I'll have to meditate on this deeper meaning. And all it started with was just a little something in my throat.

a blast from the past

2008-12-11T11:41:00.006-08:00

Do you remember the stories I shared with you about our last Portland landlord, the asexual, caulk-obsessed robot? Well, I realized I had taken a photo of one of his notes to us to prove that the issue of "hard" vs. "soft caulk" really did play a central role in his relationship to us, possibly his life. See for yourselves:

the three of us

2008-12-09T13:15:00.002-08:00

at a tram stop

the devil was here

2008-12-06T15:28:00.012-08:00

Mikuláš (St. Nicholas), anděl (angel) and čert (devil) showed up, ready to give the good children fruit and candy and the bad ones coal & potatoes, with the worst kids threatened with being taken to hell, a Czech tradition every 5th of December.

Jonah sure as hell didn't like the devil. He brought a whole bag full of weapons (spoons) just in case he had to ward off the evil. Before the event, he also spent some time practicing his "show" tune (one of the myriad of folk songs or poems each child is obligated to perform for Mikuláš), creating a contingency plan and psyching himself up: "I'll go to his (the devil's) house and I'll make farts, put in my pocket and throw at him."

I say: smart guys plan ahead for whatever situation could arise.

He sat on Mikuláš's lap to sing a song and say he's been a good boy all year. Jonah was brave and for that he was rewarded with a bag of goodies. It was almost like Christmas.

Jonah even recalled last year's Mikuláš event when I showed him this picture I took there. He said: "Mommy, did we buy pickles there?" Which we did. They were homemade by the devil himself, I swear.

emotional IQ

2008-12-02T10:19:00.003-08:00

Something that I'm proud of as a mother is that I've been encouraging Jonah in his natural sensitivity to emotions and that I've been raising him to show and talk about emotions openly. He is very loving and affectionate and able to describe and debrief on how or others are feeling -- quite an accomplishment at his young age, I think, though I don't have much comparison with other kids his age right now.

Jonah is very loving and affectionate with family members and he expresses himself clearly concerning matters of the heart.

Today I became frustrated with how often he changed his mind about which way he wanted to take home from school. When I raised my voice, he quickly tried to calm me: "Mom, don't act all crazy. Let me hug you and kiss you to make you feel better." Talk about diffusing tension instantly!

On a slightly different topic, I've read that at this age, pre-schoolers start experimenting with white lies. Today I witnessed just that. I was asking Jonah about his friends at school. He said he mostly likes to play alone (common for three-year-olds). But then, out of the blue he said: "I sometimes throw dirt behind boys' shirts." He looked at me for a reaction. When he saw my disapproving face, he changed his tune: "I was just making a joke." I then tried to engage him in talking about it, but he insisted it was really "nothing." Tricky, tricky guy.

he remembers

2008-12-02T10:08:00.004-08:00

The other day, Jonah looked at the chandelier in our apartment. About the only consoling thing about this hideous brass ceiling fixture is that sometimes its shapes ignite Jonah's imagination.

Looking at the light, Jonah mentioned that it reminded him of people riding horses. He said: "There is a horse for mommy there, one for daddy, one for Jonah and one for mommy's baby."

I was touched that he included Amalia in the world he was imagining.

Yesterday on our way home from pre-school, we were talking about kids growing bigger. Jonah was excited about the idea of becoming a man some day. He asked me if "the baby" was going to grow bigger too, so we talked about Amalia again. My simple, yet truthful answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity.

What a sensitive little boy.

sister was here

2008-12-02T10:05:00.002-08:00

My sister was here. What can I say? I love that girl. And so do Jonah and Tim.

sister time

2008-11-27T07:07:00.009-08:00

It's been a busy time. My sister's visiting from New York, playing shows around the country and Europe. Like a groupie, I followed her and her group to the mountains in the north of the Czech Republic two days ago to a town where I went to "allergy camp" as a child. It was my first time back after at least 23 years.

Let me explain. As a child, I had a chronic cough, caused by allergies to dust, feathers, fur... you know, those common allergens in the air. So, my parents sent me away to the mountains to a kid sanatorium, of sorts, on the recommendation of our pediatrician. The idea was to --far from the polluted cities where my family always lived -- get some fresh air, coupled with a host of therapies, such as inhaling steam in a dark basement while playing a plastic recorder under the supervision of a stern nurse.

In essence, the concept made sense. And sure, fresh mountain air is good for just about anyone. But five weeks in a medical environment --granted, trying not to seem too hospital-like -- away from everything you know as a child can feel a bit lonely, to put it mildly. Needless to say, I usually got so homesick that I literally made myself sick and had to be plucked out of the hands of the comrades in white coats and taken home well before my stay there was supposed to be over.

Now with the trauma of "allergy camp" long gone, visiting that little town of 900 people was a whole different experience. I could actually appreciate the town's beauty. The town, set on a mountainside and surrounded by forested slopes, is centered around a few healing geysers, discovered more than a thousand years ago. It has a promenade, built in the 1800's, but has been a spa town for hundreds of years. Under a foot of freshly fallen snow the place had an aura of magic.

The town apparently has only one theater, which happens to be a movie theater. I realized from looking at the schedule that my sister's show was sandwiched between two movies: Goat Story (bear in mind that goat is a vulgar word for "boob" in Czech) and "Space Monkeys." Quite amusing.

My sister's show was truly special. She and the other musicians, one Czech, the other an American living in Germany, sounded so great. For this parent, the whole experience was a treat, away from the hum drum of city life and a welcome -- albeit brief -- break from motherhood.

my thieving people

2008-11-16T12:00:00.006-08:00

Alert the elders, alert the elders! The Czechs were just voted Europe's worst thieves. Yay for us!

"A study by the British Centre for Retail Research revealed that Czechs top the list of 22 of Europe’s biggest shoplifters."

Read more here.

latest developments

2008-11-15T10:02:00.005-08:00

1. Jonah has been liking preschool. On holidays or weekends, he often asks to go to school. He sings the songs he learns there and mumbles to himself in Czech when he plays. He is on his way to becoming bilingual. Nearly every day he yells to go back to school once we get home.

2. Tim continues taking Czech lessons at a language school twice a week and is making quite a bit of progress. He has made some friends in the class that he sometimes hangs out with outside of school.

3. It's been great to reconnect with old friends. I have some great friends in Prague, most of whom I've known since childhood. I have been making sure to see them at least a couple of times a month. Just today, I took Jonah to visit one of my newer friends and his partner. We actually met over the internet three years ago because I started listening to his podcast. Then we wrote back and forth for a while and finally met in person when I visited Prague. Both he and his partner are wonderful people. They bought an old farm house about 50 miles from Prague that they have been renovating. From their porch, there is a view of distant fields, forest and a medieval castle. They have three dogs, three cats and three ducks. Jonah had a fabulous time running around with -- or should I say among -- their animals today and "helping" in the garden.

4. I have been spending a lot of time reflecting and reevaluating nearly everything about life and coming up with new projects for the future. Not sure yet what will transpire.

5. Spending time with my dad and grandma has been very special. Jonah enjoys them too. The other day I went to meet my grandma and to see a concert she invited me along to. Jonah was upset that he couldn't come, saying that babi was his mom too. I think what he meant is that she is family.

6. I am amazed at how the few things we brought with us to Prague (two duffel bags each) are enough. As long as I have access to the internet, I feel that I can keep up with the news in politics and my friends' lives. Beyond that, all I really need -- aside from my lovely little family -- is food, shelter (our simple, furnished apartment), and clothes. I used to think of myself as someone who is attached to things, but that doesn't seem to be the case. The computer (okay, and my camera and iPod) is about the only material object that is important to me... I surprise myself sometimes.

never again

2008-11-09T12:20:00.008-08:00

Today I attended the commemoration of Holocaust victims at the Pinkas synagogue in Prague, the walls of which have the names of Czech Jews who died in concentration camps, inscribed. Many of them were my relatives.

The event took place on the day Kristallnacht happened seventy years ago. Most of the people who attended were the generation of my grandparents and my parents. Almost no one younger than my parents was there.

I cannot begin to describe the emotions I felt, being there with my father whose parents survived concentration camps, and his cousin who herself is a survivor. I held myself back, because when I really think about it, the emotions that well up are just too strong for a quiet and solemn gathering such as today's was.

And what scares me about the Holocaust is that the vast majority of the "unaffected" people just stood by while the targeted groups were rounded up and virutally decimated: Jews (my dad's family), communists (my mom's father), gays, and the Roma. And others didn't just stand by. More than enough Czechs willingly collaborated with the Nazis, and so many had no qualms about taking what wasn't theirs.

And what really hits home is that the Holocaust wasn't that long ago, or somewhere in a faraway land, but here on this soil and the soil of Germany and Poland. It is a true miracle that my grandparents survived, that I am here and that Jonah can now walk on the same soil, in the same streets where my family lived peacefully, with great hopes for the future prior to the 1930's.

uncle was here

2008-11-09T11:55:00.005-08:00

We just parted with Jonah's Uncle Andy, who visited us for a week in Prague. He must have left overwhelmed, because we did not let him rest. Jonah was filled with excitement and bounced off the walls practically the whole time his uncle was here. We walked around the city, visited my relatives, had a tour of the Senate, where my father is a legislator, and my father's theater. We ate at my uncle's restaurant, took Jonah to the circus and left town overnight for some sightseeing. In short, it was a busy week.

I have attached some pictures of our adventures. More can be found here.

Andy at my grandmothers, about to enjoy a typical Czech dish of potato dumplings, cabbage, and pork:

at the Gothic (14th century) castle Kost (which means Bone):

In Prague's Wenceslas Square:

voterado follow-up

2008-11-09T11:19:00.002-08:00

Because this year, for the first time, I could cast my vote for U.S. President, I, of course, got all wrapped up in the whirlwind of this election. However, because we are living overseas, I felt strangely isolated in my fervor to learn about what was happening on the political scene in America and what Americans were thinking and feeling.

I've been thinking about politics quite a bit and feeling emotional about, not so much the symbolic, though the pure fact that Obama will be the first African-American president and the first U.S. president with an Arabic (Barack) and tribal African (Obama) name (by the way, did you know that Barack means "he who is blessed?") is nothing short of monumental. I, the idealistic skeptic that I am, have been more concerned about the tangible, wondering how the new administration will shape the future of the country I love so much. Of course, the answer lies in what we, the citizens, do to affect the policies of our country and our communities; in how much pressure we exert on our local and federal representatives to legislate the changes that we feel are needed.

Now more than ever, I want to be part of the change and I am thinking about how to get involved in working towards the future I envision. More on that later. But now I just want to say that though I voted for a third-party progressive candidate -- a choice I stand by proudly --, I am happy to see Barack Obama get elected. By the same token, I have no illusions about the kind of legacy his administration will leave behind. Still, I feel energized about joining others in taking concrete steps towards creating a more socially, economically and environmentally just world.

voterado

2008-11-04T00:45:00.006-08:00

Of course, though faraway from the madness of American politics, we are eagerly awaiting the results of the U.S. Presidential elections. In fact, I will be tempted to stay up all night, I'm sure, as we are nine hours ahead of the west coast and the election results will just barely be starting to come in around midnight our time.

Tim's brother Andy is here, visiting from the U.S., which has been just fabulous. He's as excited and curious about the election. We talked about setting multiple streaming stations with all our computers. I think I need to stock up on some snacks liquor for mixed drinks too to sweeten the anticipation. Though the boys seem to prefer beer.

This is my first U.S. election to participate in actively. I am, after all, what some call "a new American." I have always followed politics and elections, more and more intensely the older I get.

As many of you, my readers, already know, I did not cast my precious vote for either of the anointed candidates because I feel that, most importantly:

1. Neither truly represents my values.

2. Neither has proposed legislation that adequately addresses the changes that I believe are needed in domestic and foreign policies (such as ending the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; cutting military spending; vowing to support the creation of a green economy based on truly renewable resources, not coal, nuclear power or offshore drilling; doing away with Bush's destructive education reform, No Child Left Behind; and creating a universal -- read single-payer -- health care plan).

I am well aware of the risks and the arguments against voting for a third party candidate. I know that at this point, the way elections are run and publicized, none of the third party candidates have a chance of winning. But I have given this phenomenon a lot thought over the years and feel that:

1. Voting one's values is the most morally sound thing to do.

2. The argument of voting out of fear of "the other" candidate winning doesn't hold much water anymore. Especially since the last presidential elections were won by the Democrats who cowardly didn't challenge the election-fraud-skewed results and questionable court rulings.

3. The Democrats, on a national scale, haven't proven that they deserve the progressive vote (tacit and outright support of the Bush administration policies, such as the USAPATRIOT act, War on Terror, increased Pentagon budget, and the Wall Street bailout).

4. Voting for a third party candidate is a small step in helping to open up the system.

5. Voting for a third party candidate whom I deem to be more progressive sends a strong message to the Democrats that they are not meeting the needs or gaining the trust of the progressives.

And if anyone counters my choice with 'the race card,' well, my answer is that I actually voted for a candidate who happens to be a person of color AND a woman. She is a former congress person, Cynthia McKinney. And I'm proud of my choice. This woman has the guts to stand up to some scary people: she has questioned the Pentagon papas about where huge sums of missing money have gone, she has rightly raised some difficult questions about 9/11, she has been a true people's advocate and she has paid dearly for her gutsiness. She was smeared in the press, dismissed as shrill and crazy, and was followed by the secret service in attempts to intimidate and silence her.

So, to sum up, before I spend all morning writing this, though I know my candidate will only get a miniscule percentage of the presidential vote, I feel good about having voted in alignment with my values. Still, I'm anxious to see what happens tomorrow. Scores of my friends are excited about the prospects of Barack Obama becoming the next president, so I'm curious to see what happens. Election fraud and voter intimidation and disenfranchisement are already wreaking havoc, so the reactions, if any, of the various candidates to those will also be interesting. See election problem reports here, here and here.

Prague in the fall

2008-10-31T14:13:00.003-07:00

my little prince

2008-10-31T13:59:00.005-07:00

The other day when I was picking Jonah up from school, I realized that I had forgotten my quarterly bus pass at home. Oops.

It's important to say that the Prague transportation system is amazing. Fast and efficient. Not like those Portland buses that people have to get on one at a time, paying the driver with exact change. No wonder it takes like two hours to travel two miles. In Prague it's an honor system. You get on and the chances are you may or may not be caught by the "checker guys" as I like to call them.

So when I picked Jonah up, I told him I forgot both my bus pass and my wallet. He was very concerned about what would happen as a result. I assured him that at most, the "checker guys" would just ask me for money. A lot of money which I didn't want to have to pay. The clearer I tried to explain the situation, the more questions Jonah had and the more concerned -- or should I say agitated -- he grew.

Suddenly, he whipped out an imaginary sword and, with the fierceness of a samurai, began to demonstrate with resolve how he would protect me if I got checked: "I will take out my sword," he shouted. "I will poke them. I will hit the check (or Czech?) guys down!"

My little guy --barely three feet tall-- had made up his mind to fight the evil dragon to save me.

Long pause. Double take. "Mom, what the check guys do to you? They hit you?"

I explained again that there is probably nothing to worry about. And surely enough, we made it home unchecked.

the flag was still there

2008-10-29T12:24:00.005-07:00

Okay. This is funny. Yesterday was the 90th anniversary of the creation of Czechoslovakia (now two different countries -- just in case you may have forgotten -- Czech Republic and Slovakia). It was a public holiday. The schools and most shops were closed. An annual celebratory parade displaying military splendor was organized and the media were filled with programs commemorating the occasion.

I caught a glimpse of a very interesting program on the ethnic pride of Czech people. Unfortunately, my son shouted through half of it, so I could only make out the occasional half-sentence. However, I found the topic fascinating.

Czechs range on their feelings of attachment to their heritage so vastly from person to person and from generation to generation that it is almost impossible to conclude from a collection of interviews on the topic that there exists a coherent relationship between the Czech people and Czech national or ethnic pride.

Because, in part, the country is small and has so many times been betrayed and simultaneously overrun by huge and hungry superpowers and subject to various top-down, destructive regimes, including fascism and totalitarianism, the Czechs tend to be humble, careful, mistrustful and somewhat self-effacing peoples. If I may generalize, based on my own perceptions and conversations with others, Czechs tend to often feel a bit inadequate. Communism and the "iron curtain" closed doors for so many people. The Czechs who stayed, felt cut off from the rest of the world. As a result, still today, many Czechs feel they don't know enough or are from a country that's too small to make a significant mark on the map. Many of my fellow country people are harsh on themselves, insisting, for instance, that their language skills aren't good, though large numbers are proficiently multilingual. Czech people even make fun of themselves and their "Czechness."

Most of my friends, when quizzed about their national pride, instantly protest, equating national pride with fanaticism and even fascism. So, a man waving a Czech flag is immediately suspect to many and seen as either a crazed soccer fan, or much worse, a possible skinhead. (And let me assure you, the neo-nazi community here is powerful and growing). So to the average Czech, I gather, Czech food and countryside are nice, but Czech pride is for the fanatics.

Now for the funny part, at last. Jonah glanced at the TV just at the point when a Czech flag, filmed in black and white, was waving all across the screen. He said: "Mom, turn of the TV. I don't like the flag waving. It scares me." How Czech of him!

waxing lyrical about the political

2008-10-29T01:19:00.005-07:00

I thought that upon moving to the Czech Republic, my focus would shift somewhat; that I would devote more of my time to learning about the political scene of my birth country as well as Europe, but I find myself increasingly focused on the political happenings in the U.S. I obsessively read the news and opinions on the presidential election, economic crisis, the recent developments in America's military and foreign policy areas (aren't they almost one and the same?).

Most of all, I am interested in the underreported nuggets, the stuff that lies buried underneath the stories du jour that has larger implications for the society that I have come to know and call my own: the U.S. After all, I have spent the last twenty plus years, the vast majority of my life, trying to understand the United States. The majority of my friends are some of my family live there. And we plan to return there. So, I have a huge stake in what happens in America.

I voted in the U.S. presidential elections for the first time since it was last year I finally became a U.S. citizen. Though this act filled me with excitement, I know that voting for president and voting in local elections are only marginally important steps in affecting change. And I struggle with that. A part of me feels that I am so behind in understanding the structures which shape my life: the stock market, the government... I feel like I am finally just beginning to understand and to gain historical perspective. But just studying all this takes so much time. And I want to do more than vote and continue to educate myself in areas of history, politics and finance. But I, like many others I suppose, can't figure out how and where to best bite down for the long haul.

In a recent article Taking Politics Seriously: Looking Beyond the Election and Beyond Elections, the authors argue the obvious: that "voting matters, but it's not the most important act in our political lives." They urge:

Traditional grassroots political organizing to advance progressive policies on issues is more important. And even more crucial today is the long-term project of preparing for the dramatically different world that is on the horizon -- a world in which an already unconscionable inequality will have expanded; a world with less energy to deal with the ecological collapse; a world in which existing institutions likely will prove useless in helping us restructure our lives; a world in which we will need to reclaim and develop basic skills for sustaining ourselves and our communities. . . Our political work should focus on connecting with people on common ground, articulating a realistically radical analysis, and working from there to construct a just and sustainable society.

I think about that. I have a fantasy of creating an intentional community where friends live together, grow and cook food together and share resources, even childcare. I probably sound like a crazy hippie, but I don't care. I've had a similar dream for years, but have not articulated it to too many people. A dream is a dream and it's fine to imagine, but there are more immediate issues to work on. Where does one start?

I am well aware that I am speaking from a position of privilege. Many people don't really have the choice of whether to fight for a cause. They are getting laid off in large numbers, for instance, or getting moved from their land. For those people the struggle is about survival. I, on the other hand, can sit back and flip through issues like through a rollerdex.

The environmental and economic crisis both still feel faraway, but they will hit and they will hit all of us hard. So, who's ready, just like James Brown said to: "get together and get some land, raise our food like the man, save our money like the mother?"

I'm half-joking, of course. But I'm also half-serious. I think that a more communal style of life is in order. It is the future. But I do want to devote some of my time towards working for social justice. I just need to find the entry point. Have you found yours?

bum in the park

2008-10-25T23:15:00.006-07:00

Jonah: "Take me in the police car."

me: "You know what? No drinking in the park. You're under arrest. I'm taking you away in the police car."

Jonah: "Thank you!"

when the caca hits the fan

2008-10-20T10:03:00.004-07:00

What is your plan, where do you want to be if... or dare I say... when the world, or more specifically the U.S., goes to shits? If the financial crisis hits as hard as the Great Depression -- and it already has in many parts of the country -- what is your plan?

I think about these things. My grandparents had lived through the war, bombings, near starvation, concentration camps. My parents lived through a totalitarian regime, which I also remember all too well. I have lived through waves of poverty myself when food stamps were assurance that there would be food on the table.

Already three years ago, I was telling people that I think a financial crisis of gigantic proportions was going to erupt, but back then to most I sounded like a bit of a nut.

My husband and I don't own a house or property, which could be both a plus (no mortgage problems or need to be tied down to a location post the housing bubble burst) and a minus (no property we can call our own, no place to grow our own food).

With interest, I read an opinion piece entitled Not My Financial Crisis -- I've Got Literally Nothing to Lose. I have a few things in common with the author of the piece. I own nothing (except for a car and some furniture) and I am used to living paycheck to paycheck. If, however, as a result of a sour economy, there is no work to feed me, that would be a whole different story.

I was struck by the author's ability to be so unaffected by the grim reality of the Wall Street meltdown. In fact, his lighthearted attitude made him a bit suspect to me, but perhaps there is a message in his piece: if you are someone who has experienced poverty before, and are someone who is resourceful, you may just be okay. Still, a deep-seated fear hovers just beneath the surface when I ponder the effects the crisis could have on me and my loved ones. I remember being poor, but my most recent stretch of years has been lived in relative comfort. To lose that scares me.

The most uplifting part of the article was the author's idea, when there is no work to be found in the city, of going to an organic farm and working for room and board. With almost no real-world skills such as sewing, cooking, or repairing things, helping on a farm, my friends, is something I can see myself doing if push comes to shove. I have weeded and planted before and I can do it again. I love being in nature, cultivating things that grow from the ground, taking care of animals.

If I trusted humans more, I would say that perhaps the financial collapse could lead to more alternative and healthier ways of living; less of a dependence on the stock market, multinational companies, and international trade built on abuse of workers and the environment. I would like to see people find different ways of taking care of themselves: barter, cooperate and pool resources, consume less, transform their communities into environmentally friendly and sustainable local economies...

Enclaves around the world are already doing this. Many more would like to live in this way.

I, and many of my friends, are drawn to the ideas of creating a more sustainable and community-oriented model within the larger society, but many of us resist the idea as well, because we have been raised in such an individualistic culture, where the very idea of success is tied into each person making it on his own; where competition and the attitude of looking out for number one is the emphasis. We are afraid of having to compromise too much, of losing ourselves too much in a cloud of people, because we've been taught that to find ourselves and to be ourselves, we must travel alone (and later in life inside our nuclear family bubble made up of a spouse, two kids, and a dog).

So back to my original question: how do you think the financial crisis will affect you (or is already affecting you)? What do you foresee the/your future to be like in the light of this economic meltdown? What is your vision for change?

how mama voted one day

2008-10-15T10:54:00.006-07:00

Our neighborhood post office is a small hold-over from the previous regime. The lines are always at least twenty-minutes long and the service at best mediocre.

While I was standing at the post office window, finally getting my first U.S. Presidential election absentee ballot weighed and stamped, a man in one of the other queues began to shout obscenities at the top of his lungs: "You fu**ing bastard!!! It's because of you that I've been stuck here for two hours....!!!!"

The recipient of this pitiful caricature-of-a-man's venom was an old gentleman standing meekly with his seventy-something-year-old wife at the front of the line, dealing with a clerk at the window. True, the old man had been there for quite some time, but he was clearly being helped.

I won't repeat what the insults were, but let me assure you, they were all vile. None of the fifty or so customers said anything to him or each other. Ho, hum, just another day at the post office.

I told the clerk who was weighing my letter that they had some rude customers. He responded with: "You know, that is nothing out of the ordinary."

I took on the mission of taming the beast single-handedly, telling the a-hole (without using that word) to calm down and not be so rude. That seemed to shut him up, but what the heck do I know since soon thereafter I left for home, reeling from the adrenaline rush stemming not from sending in my vote for the first time like I had hoped, but from speaking up against an injustice at my neighborhood post office.

remembering

2008-10-14T10:04:00.004-07:00

Out of the blue today Jonah looked at me and said: "I'm dead." He seemed to want a reaction. I asked him what he means. He said that he is sick (which is not the case). Remembering my therapist's advice, which I have already taken to heart and used some months ago, I responded: "You know, Jonah, when someone gets sick, that person usually gets better. Most sick people don't die."

Surely enough, he was thinking of Amalia. I had thought about her earlier the same afternoon, but alone, in a different room. I didn't think there was a trace of sadness on my face anymore. Perhaps coincidentally, Jonah remembered her too. It's been eight months since her death.

Jonah asked me about "the baby." I said that she died. He asked why she died and I told him that she had trouble breathing, which he asked me to explain. To make the situation comprehensible to a three-year-old, I told him she was born that way. Jonah asked me what her name was. I said: "Amalia."

We talked a lot about Amalia after her birth and death, but after a while the conversations stopped. The processing became more quiet and private.

"What was she Malia for?"

"Daddy and I liked the name."

Our conversation continued like this: "You remember all about our baby still," I said.

"Yes." (Pause) "Is she still there?"

"No, she is not at the hospital anymore. She died."

Jonah seemed satisfied with how discussion went and we hugged. My sweet boy, still carrying this tragedy, incomprehensible to a toddler, inside, without trauma attached to it, I can only hope.

the ghosts of Moravia

2008-10-12T14:58:00.011-07:00

We just returned from a weekend away in Moravia, the eastern region of the Czech Republic. Among the yellowing trees and damp grassy hills I forgot all about the financial crisis, upcoming elections, and Bush striking down the Posse Comitatus and deploying troops domestically. The concerns of the day gave way to the expanse of freshly harvested fields and story-filled silence of the centuries-old stone walls we brushed against on our trip.

My grandmother came along and we stayed in an old mill in a secluded valley on the shore of the Jihlava river.

The building was a sizable old farm house with large barns and horse stables. In front there was a playground perfect for Jonah, and just beyond the playground, horses grazing under apple trees all day.

One day the father of the owner even brought his goat to chew on the nettles next to the playground. Jonah and I fed and pet it. I managed to get the goat involved in a lengthy bleating exchange -- a conversation, if you will, between woman and beast, carried out back and forth, clear across the meadow.

This magical valley was located only a five minute drive from the historical town of Třebíč, a place with one of the best-preserved Jewish quarters in Europe. We spent a morning and an evening walking around the old Jewish neighborhood, much of it dating back to the 1500s and beyond.

Above the town lies a five-hundred-year-old cemetery which we also visited to pay our respects to the community which no longer exists in this town. Walking down the cobble stone lanes in the town made me uneasy deep inside my core, unsettled by the tragedy of it: everyone gone, the neighborhood half-empty, half-gentrified.

On Saturday we made a trip north to the Pernštejn castle, towering discretely over forested hills and narrow valleys; a castle which dates back to the 1200's, but whose style is predominantly gothic. This time we toured the place, getting a glimpse of what life may have been like in the centuries past.

One ghost story we were told haunted us. A servant who lived in the castle always skipped church service, primping in front of a mirror instead. The priest grew so angry he cursed her for it. When he did, the earth opened and swallowed the girl whole. She continued to visit the castle as a ghost, it is said. From the day she disappeared into the ground, the mirror, still hanging on the wall in one of the rooms, has been said to make every woman who looks in it turn ugly. The women in our group grew nervous, bowing their heads and looking at the ground as we passed the mirror, believing themselves too beautiful to stand up to the curse.

Another ghost used to appear at the castle, which the Swedes attacked during the Thirty Year War in the 17th century. The ghost was a woman who predicted good or bad things depending on the color of the gloves she wore. White meant good and black bad.

Jonah continued to ask about the ghosts, trying to understand that they were gone now. Finally he settled, albeit reluctantly, on the idea that the ghosts went underground and have not been seen since.

More pics here (scroll all the way down and on the next page).

an inspection... already?

2008-10-05T11:01:00.003-07:00

Barely a month into my new job, management already decided it was time to evaluate me. I was given notice that I would be observed in one of the several one-on-one English lessons I teach. They claimed it was routine procedure. Each instructor is observed once a year and my time was last week.

As per my manager's request, I turned in my lesson plan and copies of materials to be used. My boss's assistant had the privilege of, over coffee, bright and early in the morning, watching me spin the web of magic in my class -- you know, just doing my thing and doing it well, like I always do... ehm, ehm.

Sure, it was awkward to have an observer sit in on an English lesson with only one student, but I did my best to be as natural as possible, reducing my secret-pact-type face-making I just can't bear to eliminate completely, to a minimum. My student cooperated and, together, we impressed the woman.

She asked to meet with me last Friday. During the evaluation, she told me that she liked what she saw and gave me a couple of suggestions for improvement, which, I must say, were not bad at all.

Phew. Now I can go back to muddling through my before-most-people's-work-day-starts lessons half-asleep. My review is done!

castle time

2008-10-04T12:26:00.005-07:00

For our getaway today, I suggested we go to Kokořín Castle, about 60 Km north of Prague. I had never been there, but from the pictures it looked like an amazing place. This time, we invited my Grandmother Anna along.

Though it's been gray and rainy lately, today the sun was out. The trees have begun changing colors, so the sunshine and the gold and rust-tinged forests surrounding the castle provided the perfect backdrop for the experience.

The castle is located in a large nature reserve called Český ráj, or Czech Paradise, full of quaint valleys, forests and sandstone cliffs. The medieval castle of Kokořín is perched atop a sandstone ridge. From the towers, one can see the surrounding forested hills and some distant fields. The area feels remote and peaceful, the perfect contrast to weekday city life.

On the way back we stopped in a classic, but dilapidating village beer hall for lunch, where, as Tim writes: "the three-toothed proprietor handed us menus then told us the two things we could actually order."

More pics here.

a trip to remember

2008-09-29T05:26:00.004-07:00

Imagine taking a trip to an unknown town, stepping out of the car, and just beyond the leafy crowns, happening upon a majestic Gothic cathedral, towering over tree-covered hills and a medieval town where silver mines once bustled with activity.

Imagine entering a seven hundred-year-old chapel, carved into a sandstone hillside; a place of worship where what is natural blends with what was created by man: the unadorned, parchment-colored walls; firm, yet delicate arches, lit by the pure, soft light streaming in through the clear lead glass windows.

Then, as Tim, Jonah and I did yesterday, picture strolling down a cobble stone street, lined with statues of angels and saints, past a 17th century monastery, and discovering a hidden, windy alleyway, dating back at least eight hundred years.

The legend has it that a wealthy man living in the lane had a a beautiful daughter. He was so miserly that he didn't want her to marry for fear of losing his fortune as dowry. Instead, he walled her in in the cellar where she starved to death. Her ghost haunted the house for generations, predicting the house would be destroyed. Eventually, the house did suddenly collapse, leaving fifteen dead behind.

Every ancient town has its legends. In Kutna Hora, there is magic in the air.

Down below, on the other side of town stands a world-famous ossuary, a chapel adorned with chandeliers and altars made of the skulls and bones of those who died in the black plague. It is said the chapel holds between forty and seventy thousand human skeletons.

Some would say making art from human remains is morbid, even sacrilegious, but surprisingly, I found the place beautiful, much like I find Mexican Day of the Dead art beautiful.

A truly amazing trip. More pics here.

what a day

2008-09-24T11:57:00.004-07:00

At daybreak, I hear some distant rustling and make out Tim leaving the bed, and going to Jonah's room. Through the fog of sleep and the earplug wall, I gather that Jonah is awake and calling us. I fall asleep again and wake up to the harsh sound of the digital cock crowing in my ear. Time to get up, gather the paperwork, eat, get dressed, feed number one son, rush him to school and -- on this special day -- make a trip with my sweet foreigner (for the first time in our relationship, it is his turn to be the foreigner... not counting our two short visits here years ago), not to work since my student cancelled class today, but to the... drumroll, please... Foreigner Police. Sound familiar?

Thanks to my dad's clout, we've been able to avoid the overnight wait on the street and we could go directly to the director to apply for Tim's residency. When we finally made our way into the offices, the first thing Tim spotted near the door was, in a classical Western style, a jail cell, albeit with shiny metal bars and a brand spanking new bench. No, the jail cell was not brimming with sullen, mud-smudged faces. It was empty, the door wide open, ready for its lucky prey..

With just one phone call, the director arranged for us to hand our paperwork in to one of the clerks with no wait! Lucky, lucky for us, as some wait for hours, even days on the street for their number to come up, literally.

The clerk handled our request in a routine matter without the crudeness that Czech clerks are known to wallow in. With flashbacks from the times of the Iron Curtain, I sat there quietly, my palms sweating, as if a cat had eaten my tongue, for fear of saying the wrong thing and ruining the process for my husband.

The clerk seemed to derive more pleasure than usual from the act of stamping the various documents at hand with an unusually large assortment of stamps, using red ink, as a gatekeeper of utmost importance should, and tickling the air with her fingers while selecting each stamp she would use as if they each were an exotic chocolate truffle. I concluded that this lady's bedroom must be a sad and lonely place.

We are now only one document away from Tim obtaining his temporary residency status. Soon he will officially be an alien. That much closer to outer space.

***

After a morning spent at the Foreigners Police with stamp fetish lady, following a quick stopover at work, I picked up Jonah from school, needing to rush him home because of an appointment I had set up with my dad. Alas, today was set aside by some darn forces of the universe to be Hurricane Day of the preschool mood palette, but I apparently didn't get the memo. The hurricane hit at exactly 12:40 p.m. and didn't subside till exactly 1:15 p.m. which doesn't seem like much time in the large scheme of things, but imagine carrying a thirty-pound sack of potatoes gone wacko with flinging arms and legs gone berserk, all to the cacophony of hellish screaming along a busy city street, up and down seemingly endless flights of stairs and escalators, and on the subway, filled with rush-hour crowds. The picture wasn't pretty.

I got home sweaty, at my wits end, with my heart about to jump out my throat. The fit stopped a short while thereafter as mysteriously as it began.

I changed and said my goodbyes, hoping to make it on time to my appointment with my dad and one ambassador. My dad, the Senator, had asked me to interpret from Czech to English and vice versa. Interpreting is a new skill for me. I don't do it often, and thus haven't trained my brain synapses to connect the two language centers properly. When all goes well, interpreting can be a satisfying experience, but if the right word doesn't come, that can spell trouble. Fortunately, the occasion was informal and a meal provided. I'm easily amused and food is the only bribe I need. Give me a good meal and I will twirl a hoola hoop on my nose.

Now I'm ready for a good night's sleep. Tim is in the next room doing his homework for Czech class, Jonah is finally asleep after Day of Many a Hurricane. More soon.

my little poet... and you wouldn't even know it

2008-09-22T05:10:00.004-07:00

About a week ago, Jonah improvised his first rhyme in Czech while eating a salad with sunflower seeds:

semínko, maminko = a little seed, mommy

My grandmother was there and it warmed our hearts. Mine too, since I was fifty percent of the rhyme :)

briefly

2008-09-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

1. We are finally settling down into our new lifestyle. Jonah enjoys a good degree of predictability, so any sort of a semblance of routine helps to make him feel at ease. He still complains he does not want to go to school, but doesn't seem tortured by his experience there.

2. I am getting comfortable in my new job. Most of my courses are with individuals, which is not my preferred arrangement, but it will do for now. Most of my students are quite pleasant and the tasty complimentary coffee I am always offered at one of the companies is a treat in this land of mostly inferior and overpriced coffee. (Alas for this coffee lover!)

3. I travel quite a bit for work every day since I teach English to people in their places of employment. I always take public transportation, which is clean, predictable, fast, and efficient. Mostly, I take the subway. The nice thing about the subway is that there is no view, and thus I don't feel tempted to constantly be distracted by the sights and sounds of the hustle and bustle on the streets. On the subway there is not much to look at other than the fellow passengers, which gets old really quick. So I am finally able to squeeze in some reading!!! I always skim the news, then move on to a book. I'm really enjoying reading.

4. We are so eco! Tim and I (and Jonah) only drive once or twice a week. I take public transportation nearly every day and walk at the very least thirty to sixty minutes a day (this includes walking up and down many, many flights of stairs leading to the subway entrance, our apartment building floor, etc.). We don't have a dryer, so we hang dry our clothes... Also, Tim noticed that there isn't as much packaging here on products, so we make much less garbage here than in the States.

5. Our next door neighbor must be slightly wacky. She is an old lady who lives alone. One day -- she must have waited for the precise moment when we emerged out of our apartment -- she opened the door and invited us in, which I politely refused. A little too fast too soon. She must be lonely. Tim later pointed out that she was already talking to us before she managed to swing open the door. The lady is constantly talking to, or should I say at, Tim in the hallway even though he and I have both told her numerous times on separate occasions that he doesn't understand Czech.

6. We have managed to take a couple of trips to the countryside. Yay! Today's trip was to the Karlštejn castle. Here is a pic.

7. I have found several health food stores which sell organic or quality ingredients for the things we are used to cooking. The only things I haven't been able to find, why I have no idea, are: canned black beans (the dried ones taste horrible even when soaked and cooked properly); organic unsweetened cheerios for Jonah; and good -- I mean good -- coffee. There are still some odds and ends I haven't located, but I think I know where to look next time.

8. Between classes, I have had a few chances to walk around the city a bit. Here is a pic to prove it. More here.

9. Most of our paperwork has been handled. ID's, health insurance, car insurance, you know the deal. We are almost done with all our relocation-related bureaucracy. Not quite, but almost.

10. It's been great to spend time with my grandmother. She has taken me to classical music concerts and has cooked up a storm! Today Jonah told her he loves her. What a sweetheart - both of them.

city living, country dreaming

2008-09-14T10:49:00.000-07:00

In the mornings, I usually get up at 6:30, get ready for work, wake up the boys, eat breakfast and take the subway to one of the companies where I teach (mostly individual) English lessons. Often I have two sessions a morning, sometimes just one. Tim takes Jonah to school on the subway, then comes home to work.

After my classes, I take the subway and/or tram back to the language school that employs me, to prepare for the next day. The school is only a five-minute walk from Jonah's preschool, so after I'm done preparing for the next day I pick him up after lunch. We get home and afternoons are spent playing at home, in a nearby park, running errands or visiting friends or family. Jonah has refused to nap since we've moved back to Prague. Sad, but true.

The other day one of my students canceled class, so I had an extra hour to take in some of my favorite sights for the first time since my last visit to Prague a year ago. I went up to the Prague Castle, waded through thick tourist stew to the remarkably deserted Castle Gardens and a couple of the most wonderful viewpoints of the city. It felt sinful to wander like that in the middle of a workday, taking in the last summer rays, and snapping photos like only a foreigner would.

This weekend we walked around some of the oldest parts of Prague as a family (with my Grandma as well), the Old Town Square, which dates back to the early Middle Ages, being one of the sights.

Saturday afternoon Jonah and I drove out to my dad's favorite fishing spot about 45 minutes outside of Prague, following him on the way out and returning on our own. I still get nervous driving here since I don't know all the traffic laws and signs, let alone my way around, very well (shhh... ). But I found my way back just fine.

The countryside is so peaceful and pretty. My dad likes to fish on a lake in an area where he spent his summers as a child. He has made friends with many of the people that spend their summers on the lake in houseboats, so Jonah and I got to look inside one of the tiny summer houseboats and to roast weenies with the lake shore dwellers. All nice folks, I must confirm.

My dad wore his fatigues for the occasion. Apparently, a man must disguise himself properly when in nature around here. The Czechs do love their army garb. When in the woods here, do as the Czechs do: always wear your army stuff... just in case! And just so you know, anything with a U.S. army badge wins special points!

When we arrived to the lake, one of my dad's friends immediately jumped into his houseboat, emerging just a minute later in an army cap, boots, and a fatigue onesie - belly protruding, mind you. He was ready for the fishing occasion of his life, for which I am afraid he waits every night of the summer. On the shore of the lake he unfolded his apparatus: a stand for his four digitalized fishing rods which beep at him when something or someone, hopefully Mr. Fish, tugs on the line, so he can interrupt his weenie roasting and rum drinking and come check on his potential harvest. Genius, I thought!

We were lucky. My dad took Jonah and me on the lake in a row boat, then showed Jonah his fishing tricks (which are called "chumming the waters" and are illegal in the States, Tim tells me). My dad invited Jonah to hold the fishing pole with him, and together they caught a little fish, which Tim, Mr. Montana Fishing Know-How, in a manner of one word reduced to a sardine. I though it was more the size of a smallish trout, but what do I know about fish?

Nevertheless, we had a grand time running around the woods surrounding the lake -- at its deepest some 230 feet deep -- under which hides a village that was flooded long ago, thanks to the construction of a nearby dam. Tucked away in the woods on a tiny peninsula near my dad's favorite fishing spot, only a small abandoned chapel remains.

I have put some more pics here for your enjoyment.

my little school boy

2008-09-10T14:22:00.000-07:00

I bet you've been wondering about how Jonah is doing with his preschool adjustment. Well, let me tell you. You probably remember the post about his first day when he so resisted going to school that he threw a huge tantrum during rush hour on the subway and I had to carry his flailing body up and down flights of stairs and on and off the train, just hoping he doesn't hurt himself or other fellow passengers. Fortunately that type of a crying fit on public transportation only happened once. Phew! Let's hope that chapter is behind us for good.

Still, as you can imagine, the first few days at school were pretty awful. He cried so much that I was afraid we, the parents, traumatized him for life. I was ready to give up trying. Then he got a cold and stayed home for two days. I was sure we would have to start from zero again, but to my surprise, Jonah only cried the last two minutes of the entire morning the first day back after his cold, and today he didn't cry a bit. In fact, I am under the impression that he is actually starting to like school!

His teacher seems sweet, as does the French class teacher, who calls Jonah something like "Jus-Jus" (pronounced "Zhoo-zhoo") and who always praises Jonah's qualities based on his daily progress and achievements. Today, for example, I was told Jonah has a good memory because he retained information from a story told to him several days ago.

I am proud of my little boy. It's hard to be in a strange new environment, away from everything he knows and feels comfortable with, immersed in a not-so-familiar language in a not-so-familiar place. Thank goodness he's doing better at school. Let's hope things keep looking up.

grammar school time

2008-09-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

Last week when I came home after one of the English lessons I had taught as part of my new job, I asked Tim to please correct the mistake in the following, taken from a textbook: "The doorbell's ringing. I'm going to go and see who it is."

He said: "What mistake?" Precisely what I thought as beads of sweat formed on my forehead while staring at the textbook in front of me, listening to my student struggle to come up with the correct answer. My only hope was that my student would interpret my silence as a purposeful teaching strategy.

In all of my years as an English teacher, I've never had to think about, let alone explain, the difference between the two simple future forms "going to" and "will." How would you, my dear blog readers explain the difference (without looking it up)? (By the way, if you want to test your grammar, you can see how well you do with the use of "going to" and "will" here.) The problem is, of course, that in real life the two forms are often used interchangeably.

Like many native and non-native English speakers, I use the language, but am not always sure what the rules are or what grammatical forms I am utilizing at the moment. Often far from it, I am afraid. On top of that, I am now supposed to be an expert on grammar, able to explain it as issues arise at the drop of a hat.

To my dismay, the Czechs drool over grammar. Many, it seems, would rather spend time poring over verb participles than loosening up and having a spontaneous, real life conversation in English for fear of failure or humiliation.

Even as somebody who has gone to school to be an English instructor, after a couple of lessons where grammar looms large I find myself feeling inadequate. Sitting in a room full of British teachers who during new hire training spouted out perfectly distilled grammar rules and spot-on explanations like they are family recipes or curses didn't help. The one American in the room -- a writer and college-level writing instructor -- and I sank deeper and deeper into our chairs as the training went on, feeling left behind in the dust of English-as-a-Foreign-Language Teacher Olympics.

Fortunately, since the above-described lesson, during which I sweated bullets, as some say, I have already had a couple that have gone well and with ease. Let's hope for more of those. (And for more free delicious coffee that I am served at one of the companies where I commute to teach nearly every morning!)

contest: guess what time it is

2008-09-03T11:19:00.000-07:00

Beer (or "pivo") time. Yes, but take a look at these candid camera shots of typical Czechs and tell me what time of day you think I took these pictures. The person closest to the correct time of day will win a small surprise via email.

P.S. Contest ends Saturday!

babi time

2008-09-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

This morning I didn't have to work, so I made plans to go on a walk around Prague with my beloved Grandmother Anna. She is one of the dearest people in my life. I am so glad to be able to spend time with her. Would you believe she is eighty years old? So far, we have seen each other at least twice a week. Here are a few pictures from our walk this morning. More here.

On the "Bridge of the Legions" or "Most Legií" over the Vltava River:

In a part of Prague called "Malá Strana" or "Small Side":

At John Lennon Wall:

not so white-bred

2008-08-31T11:21:00.000-07:00

Before we moved here, I expected the worse, just to be safe, I guess. Those who know me well know that's just who I am. If I imagine, elaborately, the worse of all possible outcomes for every situation that could arise, I fool myself into thinking that I will be ready for anything, and thus safe.

So, before we moved here, I imagined my wonderful Czech people and what it would be like living among them... at their worse. How will I feel, I wondered, surrounded by people many of whom are admittedly unabashedly racist, xenophobic, closed-minded, rude and materialistic?

Fortunately I knew I would have my wonderful Grandmother and several close friends, not to mention husband, who are like-minded and whose shoulders I know I can cry on when times get rough.

It's a bit early to tell, but so far I have not seen very much of the crudeness for which I so tried to brace myself. Perhaps these "isms" will surface soon, as I have seen them surface here, but so far they have largely stayed behind closed doors.

Something that has surprised me already is how much more multicultural this metropolis is than I had expected.

On our street alone, which is away from the tourist route, I have already heard at least eight different languages spoken: Czech, Russian, Vietnamese, Slovak, Polish, German, Romani, Lebanese (not sure about this one), and English.

The first time Jonah ran into other kids at a playground, one spoke Russian and the others were Black Czechs. When Jonah and I went to visit my friend down the street, two of her neighbors, who were there and who are married to Senegalese men, had their mixed-race infant daughters there with them. Today Jonah played with a Vietnamese boy in a restaurant at lunch.

Perhaps I have underestimated this part of the world for its degree of worldliness? You think?

our wooden anniversary

2008-08-31T07:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was our fourth and last celebration of August (following all three of our birthdays): our wedding anniversary. This was our fifth, which is apparently the "Wooden Anniversary." We celebrated by renting... yes, a wooden row boat, and rowing around on the Vltava, the river that flows through Prague. What a wonderful way to spend an anniversary!

and a short video of my lovely boys:

Czech kids galore

2008-08-31T07:13:00.000-07:00

In the short time that we've been here, Jonah's had a chance to spend time with tons of kids. At preschool, of course, though there he was so distracted by crying that he didn't really notice who was around. (Hopefully that will get better soon).

A few days ago Jonah and I went to hang out at my best Czech friend's place, which is quite close to where we live. They have a great backyard with swings and two kids close to Jonah's age (5 and 7). There are also lots of kids in that neighborhood that play together. Jonah had a blast jumping around with those kids as well as raking and building bunkers out of dry grass.

The language barrier didn't seem to bother him, though in the beginning the other kids briefly closed him off from themselves - literally. When I went to investigate, they said that he is not allowed to follow them because they don't understand him. I told them that he will learn Czech from them if they teach him and that if they are nice to him, he will be nice to them. Things changed after that and the other kids, all older than Jonah, included him in their games.

It was funny to watch them get to know each other. My friend's son, who's five, kept trying to establish rapport with Jonah by trying out his English on him: "Jonášku (Czech for 'little Jonah'), apple!" and "Jonášku, orange!" Very sweet. Here is Jonah with one of his new Czech friends, Jáchym.

Yesterday my dad treated us to another steam engine train ride. He invited his neighbor-friends and their kids along. Here is a picture of the kids on the train and a couple of views from the scenic train ride.

around the neighborhood pt. 2

2008-08-26T12:58:00.001-07:00

"Scootering. What's your price for flight?" (Do you know that song?)

a playground a few blocks away:

sprayed tags are everywhere!