Prague-life

So time has been getting the better of me and not allowing me a moment to do anything creative and instead I've been caught up with learning, researching, adapting and implementing things online as well as dullidy-dull stuff like washing and, today's joy of joys - defrosting the fridge.  There is of course, never a good time to defrost the fridge, but if you're planning on taking almost a month off to go travelling in the US and you've run your supplies of food down to a bare minimum (not just due to trying not to have too much food leftover, but also due to running out of money) I guess, now's as good a time as any.

And so it is that I am purposely taking a moment to recall the little things I've been able to get up to over the last few weeks, because I felt a pang of homesickness as I walked back from Tesco today that I'll be leaving my little Prague life behind for quite a while.

Let's see...

There was the weekend I had tonnes of stuff to do but the architect and I managed to nip out into the centre for a couple of hours on a gloomy Saturday so we walked and walked and took in these sights:

And he laughed at me for taking photos because it was such a tourist thing to do.  But when there's this kind of weird stuff around, how can you NOT take a photo?

Then we had a couple of weeks of it starting to look like spring and there was this distinct change in the light in my kitchen that I had to just capture:

And that summer-yness carried on for a little while, just long enough to remind me how hard it'll be to conduct meetings in my hot little flat, and that at 4pm it's necessary to put the blinds down or the sun on my back will surely burn my skin.  And the Russian Countess came to visit and she took photos of me with my parasol and then we went out for dinner in the evening and sat in the company of a fish, because that was part of the décor:

(That is a fish in there - honest!)

And then, there were the lost days of periodness I mentioned in a previous post, with my emotional turmoil over watching 'Outnumbered' and feeling a bit nostalgic, followed by the last week or so of frantic organising.  Plus, there was the day I had my last stupid o'clock meeting on Vaclávské náměstí  so I took a photo of the big Europa Hotel as I left the building and headed to the street:

And then there was all the present-buying to do at the Easter market:

And now I'm into the 'packing and wrapping up presents' endgame that seems endless and far too much effort for the calibre of Easter presents bought.  

I received my own Easter present ahead of time in the post today and I must say I am enormously blessed:

What elegance!  What extravagance!  What yumminess....

And the other day I got a present of lovely yellow tulips, which brought the thought of spring that helped with the fact that the temperatures had gone back down to normal for spring and the clouds had come to hide the sun.

So all that remains now is to do aerobics, (to keep me fit and strong to cope with the stress of the long day of flying and hanging around in airports that awaits) finish my packing and attempt to make the most of my keyboard while I'm still here.  I actually got out the old Tori Amos sheet music last night and for the first time in my life got quite involved (and quite good at, I might, brazenly add) playing "Silent All These Years".  Which I suppose is quite appropriate seeing as I haven't written a proper full song in about two years now.  But I haven't exactly been 'silent' though, have I?

Sore eyes and early mornings

My meet-ee this morning said "you're a sight for sore eyes."  He was trying out his English without being 100% sure of its meaning, obviously.  I was the one with the sore eyes, as it happened.  I never seem to be able to get to bed earlier when I have to be up extra early the next day.  Hence the surviving on 5-6 hours' sleep so regularly.  Anyway, he must have noticed his mistake and observed me properly later, because he went on to say, "I know you're not much of a morning person, so if you want to change our meeting times..."  Ah, yes.  Not much of a morning person.  Mm-hmm.  You got that right.

However, it does make a difference if I can get up at the same time as the sun (or fractionally later, so I wake up to the full force of sunlight) and it's a clear day, instead of the stable dreary, grey clouds of days of old in London.  Here, I can at least feel it was mostly worth my while getting up early, as it's already looking like a glorious day.  And I noticed, having actually got out and gone somewhere (ok, to the big supermarket to do food-shopping...nothing exciting) that there are trees with lime green leaves 'out there' now!  That luscious, slightly deliriously fresh green colour is so weird.  It shocks me every Spring.  It was the trees which were a sight for sore eyes, not me.

The metaphor remains the same

There was a distinct change in the air today.  The weather is hinting at what summer might bring, even before we've fully seen spring.  The scent of warmth greeted me as I walked in my flat.  That faint reminder of what the air is like when you don't need seven layers of clothing.  

I'm tracing my footsteps that brought me back from the brink.  How did I get as far as this?  The shift that occurred, and is still evolving between my old life and the one I now live, lies somewhere between the edge of the platform and the bookshop cafe back on Václavské Námĕstí.  I know I cannot take up residence in the bookshop cafe (hell, I haven't had the luxury of time to even go and have a coffee there) but the metaphor remains the same.  I was practically holding my head out over the tracks before, in the depths of winter that took hold so early in December and didn't stop till the beginning of February, but I seem to be on a tea-break now. 

Back in December I was listening incessantly to MC Solaar tracks, full of orchestral swells set against distorted guitar, followed by soaring but heart-wrenching BVs: "je veux partir d'ici, cette fois je te le dis, je ne veux plus de cette vie..emmenes-moi"  (roughly translated: "I want to leave, this time I'm telling you, I don't want anymore of this life, take me away")  And I remember trudging through slushy snow and being cold to the tip of my heart as much as my toes and barely being able to see somehow, it was all just too bleak.  I remember the fight against that grief, that searing cold front of emptiness and loss; the anguish, the sense of abandonment.  It was all there in the dark skies, the bitter cold, the barren surroundings and lifeless outlook.

And yet, in the days that followed the Bolero concert, there were moments of distraction, if not exactly hope.  And a few good conversations and even..laughter.  The day I walked back from my meet-ee's office, caught the metro and walked home, I listened to another track full of strings and guitars, but the line in it was "I just jumped out in the open, without knowing my parachute'll save me.  It's quiet and peaceful in this emotional nirvana blue."  And somehow I ended up at that Čajovna, a week or two later, hitting my principles against a brick wall because there was no escaping the fact that I knew I felt something and I also knew I couldn't go on without saying so.

But as we walked back, hand in hand through the late evening foggy streets of Prague I wondered what precise change had occurred? What did having someone's hand to hold really mean?  How was it that I had not had the conviction to hold his hand on the way there but on the way back, suddenly, I was walking with a fellow-traveller?  No longer an interested party, a new friend and flickering hope of an ally, but a companion.  A real and tangible one, walking with me.

As spring begins to grace us with her presence, or perhaps is merely hinting at her arrival in the fullness of time, I daren't hope for too much.  Perhaps, inspite of myself though, I shall savour the way it feels to be able to at least envisage the possibility of pleasure.  I shall trace the outline of the spectre of a future and delight in the comfort of being able to imagine if not the best, certainly the 'not-too-bad', whilst simultaneously preparing, as always and as every good English person should, for the worst.

Wounds Heal Better In The Sun

To live with what is unhealable

is presumably also living.

Just don't

turn the hurt into a god.

Also do not believe

that every wound is a stigma.

The sun has its glow, the blood also.

Competition is not necessary.

But it is a firm saying, worthy of adoption,

that wounds heal well in the sun.     Anna Greta Wide

I'm gradually losing hope again now.  But Anna Greta was right about the sun.  This morning's surprise intelligent conversation whilst the sun streamed in through the window, bringing the spectre of spring on the horizon, did me good.  Oh, if only there were true hope of a carefree and enjoyable ride into summer!  The desire to run away, the longing for a chance to lie about on the grass in a field and have the sun keep me warm is as strong as ever after such a tough winter.  There has to be hope of a holiday even though I have absolutely no idea how I'll ever afford one.  I'm so tired of the struggle; the battle to keep going.  The fight to hold back the tears.  The pulling at shreds of hope to make a future.

Make up your mind world.  Either pull me in from the platform and bring me a cup of tea, or let me go just as the fastest train hits its top speed.  I honestly don't mind which.