So now it really is John Paul II, 1978 – 2005

I remember when he got elected. I had left Poland to finish my studies here, in the States and I had just married an American, forever sealing the answer to the question that I could never otherwise resolve: where shall I live, in Poland, or the States?

You could say that the Pope was an expat as well – living at the Vatican. But with an eye toward Poland. The difference? His eye was golden.

I listened to Zbigniew Brzezinski (National Security Advisor under Clinton) talk this afternoon about the Pope’s role in stimulating the peaceful revolution in Poland a decade after his ascent to the papacy. Brzezinski explained that it really was that first papal trip to Poland that transfixed the nation, allowing the people to think of themselves as united (ostensibly over Catholicism, but also over the desire to improve the political climate in Poland), with the courage to rally and oppose – something that not many believed they possessed just a short while earlier.

Brzezinski, of course, hated communism and he ascribed today those same feelings of loathing to Poles. Most, he argued, wanted badly to experience life in the fullest possible way, preferencing spirituality over the constant struggle for material goods. The Pope, by telling them not to be afraid, gave permission for those feelings.

Is Brzezinski right? The fact is, neither he nor I lived in Poland during the eighties and nineties.

Looking back, I honestly think that the symbolism of the Polish Pope was as important (perhaps more important?) to Poland as the man himself. If we had had a jackass of a pope instead of this erudite and calm voice of profound reason, would the people have resisted the opportunity for change that suddenly arose toward the end of the last century? Oh, the symbolism of it all! I am certain John Paul II understood that his worth lay as much in his mere presence in Poland, as in the words he offered.

[There is the flip side though: it has been quietly whispered that it will take the death of John Paul II to make the nation take a leap forward and untangle the complicated and not always positive relationship between the church and the state.]

Brzezinski was right in saying that of the 35 million Poles, 30 million realized, with that first Papal visit, that they shared a voice. But I don’t think it was a voice of utter hatred toward communism. It was the voice that every impoverished and dispirited person has within them – whispering that somehow life should and could be better. And if you asked Poles which they believed to be more crucial in their ultimate push for change – the quest for spiritual freedom or economic well-being, I’m not sure I could readily tell you how they would respond, though if I had to place money, I’d go with the economic well-being.

Here’s the thing: not being a Catholic, I never paid close attention to the Pope’s religious writings. I knew that I disagreed with much of what he said on the subject of theology. But, like most Poles, I feel like it is an end of an era. I feel sorry for Poland for losing the protection of having arguably the most visible world spokesperson on the planet be a Pole. At the same time, I feel like the country is like the bird that has been pushed out by the parent (perhaps many parents) and forced to fly. The parent bird dies, the little one continues, with all the uncertainty that makes up its future.

A mossy spring or a springy moss?

This morning, thinking it to be later than it was, I walked through Owen Woods. Even then (especially then?), the light was sublime. But you had to keep looking down to catch signs of spring. The often overlooked moss has that enchanting early spring green growth that we’re all searching for.

How does the saying go? The early sun catches the moss?  

Take a closer look: 

I'm such a fan of yellow and blue that I could not help taking this photo, even though it is antithetical to the "colors of spring" theme of this post. 

Is the Pope Polish?

I suppose it’s tough for the Polish press to write objectively about the events transpiring at the Vatican. I picked this up from this morning’s reading of the Gazeta:

[Commenting on the perhaps overly hasty depiction by the Italians of the Pope as a person of the past, the Gazeta article states:] His in every respect beautiful, colorful photograph carries the signature “John Paul II, 1978 – 2005.”

What’s interesting, too, is the attention given by the international news agencies to the fact of the Pope’s Polishness. Of course, everyone knew that the Pope is Polish. But in searching for stories to fill the week-end hours, the media coverage takes us back again to the days of Karol Wojtyla, hiking the Polish mountains and writing poetry and playing soccer, all placing him right back in the context that Poles have all this time been well aware of, but others have tabled in the course of the long Papacy.

Not surprisingly then, the media has converged on the Vatican and on Poland this week-end – to Krakow especially. As I read the stories, I am reminded again and again of why Poles, for a few decades, felt that their tiny complexed voice could be heard through this man and why they suffer the loss of their spokesperson, because really, in their eyes, this leaves them alone and vulnerable on the map all over again. And if you think I am exaggerating, listen to the spot TV interviews with Poles and the recurring themes: “other countries noticed us” “we felt protected” “he gave us courage” etc.

Yes, of course, the religiousness of the nation comes through. But it would be wrong to view this particular transition as important to only the devout Poles. History has created a pained nation. Not many world leaders pay much attention to this anymore. The Pope, of course, did, during all his years at the Vatican.

Where have all the hours gone…

I woke up thinking – an hour lost today. That’s okay, an extra hour of sunlight is worth it. On the computer, I noticed the time: 5:30. I should turn off the computer so that the time would reset itself.

I respond to an email from a friend: you’re up early, she writes.

I look at all my automatic news emails – the regular daily dose of NYT, IHT news, and the travel dispatch from both, also the book update. Week-end stuff.

I go out to pick up the Sunday Times from the driveway. It’s not there. Did I forget to restart the subscription?

Back in the kitchen I move all the clocks forward. I turn on the TV to get news of the Pope. It’s odd how we track these stories that are really one sentence stories. Wait, where is the news? I thought it began at 7. Eventually I find it on CBS and I watch, enchanted with scenes of Krakow on a sunny spring day. I hear interviews with young people out on the square and am reminded how attractive young Poles are – they take such care with their appearance! Lovely scenes, sad faces,

I have my home-made latte. I’m fully awake now.

Wait. It’s not Sunday, is it? It’s not daylight savings time yet either, is it? It’s not 7:30 right now, it’s 6:30…

It’s pitiful enough that I can’t fool anyone on April Fool’s, but to fool myself the day after is really dotty.

In Poland it's Prima Aprilis, in France it's Poisson d'Avril

Most April Fool’s jokes are pretty transparent. But this one had at least half of the commenters believing. And maybe they should. Petite runs an honest blog. Still, caught blogging on the job… It could not happen… A threat from a senior colleague… No, not in my experience… (are we still within the parameters of April Fool’s?)

Nostalgia

Right now, my adult daughter’s old high school friends are in the living room. They’ve gathered here, traveling from very distant places back to Madison for a wedding tomorrow. Maybe a dozen of them, all leading lives that I could not have anticipated for them, nor they for themselves.

Time is often measured by the stages your children march through. I forget that, now that my daughters both live more than a thousand miles away from me. Tonight, I am back in their high school days, though with a twist. I hear laughter and it is much more the laughter of adults.

When did the change happen?

No April Fool's, part 2

And for the tail end to my April Fool's post from this morning:

The second six statements are TRUE as well:

7. The first boy I ever had a passionate crush on appeared to have no last name.

Michael Charles. Judge for yourself.

8. When I was a kid, all states (except for Georgia) placed extensive restrictions on where, within their borders, I could travel, even if I was just passing through, without spending the night.

I posed a threat, no doubt about it.

9. The Polish authorities would not permit my mother to give me the name of Nina.

I blogged about this once. The “rule” was that you had to use names of saints who were in the name-day calendar (Nina was not listed). Yes, in “communist” Poland.

10. When I came back to the States as an eighteen year old, the sudden exposure to American junk food caused me to gain 40 pounds in 6 months.

The stuff was addictive! (It took a lot longer to lose it.)

11. For six years of my life, my next door neighbor (in an apartment building) was a spy whose sole occupation was to listen in on conversations that took place inside our unit.

My sister and I were warned not to talk loudly about sensitive subjects. I’m not quite sure what I understood to be a sensitive subject, but I suppose the fact that our Polish babysitter took flight and asked for asylum for herself (were we little monsters? no, it was all very political) might have been one of them…

12. I was once engaged to a bartender who lived on the remote Greek island of Samos.

He certainly thought so. We had language issues.

Another April 1st passes and I fool no one. The story of my life...

April notes

Someone who is visiting from New England remarked yesterday – my, not much green to be seen around here yet!

Obviously, she was looking up. I should have noted the blue skies and reminded her that there are torrential rains today in the region from which she came.

A slow wake-up... 

Had she looked down, she might have seen this promising little patch in my front yard:

Yes, I know, I did not rake much last fall; but note bud -- a day or two short of a yellow explosion. 

No April Fool's, part 1

I promised a response to the post immediately below this one. I'll write it in two parts.

All first six statements are TRUE:

1. The only person who ever noticed that I have a crooked smile was a Russian doctor, in a remote town by the Black Sea.

The scene: Sochi, in the Soviet Union. We must inspect the health of all who travel here. You, the youngest one – your face is not working properly. One cheek ees deader than the other! (gulp) One hip ees higher than the other! (gulp) Eat more!

2. The very fist TV show I watched was the Mickey Mouse Club. I watched it repeatedly while in an orphanage in Poland.

I watched while in the orphanage, but when not watching, I myself was not in the orphanage. The place was in the Polish village where my grandparents lived. They wouldn’t have had me any way. They only took boys.

3. I went to a New York elementary school in a building that had a separate stairwell for boys and a separate one for girls.

New York (then, as now) had such tremendous respect for the United Nations that, when asked to offer up space for the UN International School (where I went), they could only come up with an old, condemned (no April Fool’s there!) public school building, built in the previous century, where boys did not mess with girls. At least not in stairwells.

4. The first three years of my life were spent in a house that had no electricity and no indoor plumbing.

We had a fine well outside and a very clean outhouse. Eventually we moved up to a hand pump that I learned to work, so that water would splash out in spurts into the kitchen. The pump built strong arm muscles! I have no virtuous words to offer for the outhouse.

5. I had a violent confrontation with the police when I was barely fifteen.

The Polish police and I had a run-in during a student demonstration that I was watching at a tender age, trying to understand what the hell was going on in my country in 1968.

6. I was on the Mike Douglas show with Virginia (of “yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” fame).

Mike Douglas wanted to have a few token red commie kids on a Christmas TV special. My sister and I were plucked out of our school, which probably had the highest concentration of commie-country kids in the States (all of five maybe). The goal was for us all, at the close, to sing Silent Night in our different languages. I gave it my best shot, but then I noted during the airing of the show that they muted our singing. Maybe they thought I was vocalizing Polish profanities or worse, anti-capitalist slogans. Even though I was such an angelic child! Okay, a touch spunky at the edges. Okay, maybe not so angelic.

to be continued...

April Fool’s?

This post tests your knowledge of a certain blog author. You read Ocean. Do you know anything about the person who writes it? April 1st suggests that this is a joke. Maybe, maybe not.

So, of the dozen points below: which are true and which are false? (Tune in later for an update, with answers. Impatient? Send me an email and I’ll explain. No foolin.’)

1. The only person who ever noticed that I have a crooked smile was a Russian doctor, in a remote town by the Black Sea.
2. The very fist TV show I watched was the Mickey Mouse Club. I watched it repeatedly while in an orphanage in Poland.
3. I went to a New York elementary school in a building that had a separate stairwell for boys and a separate one for girls.
4. The first three years of my life were spent in a house that had no electricity and no indoor plumbing.
5. I had a violent confrontation with the police when I was barely fifteen.
6. I was on the Mike Douglas show with Virginia (of “yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” fame).
7. The first boy I ever had a passionate crush on appeared to have no last name.
8. When I was a kid, all states (except for Georgia) placed extensive restrictions on where, within their borders, I could travel, even if I was just passing through, without spending the night.
9. The Polish authorities would not permit my mother to give me the name of Nina.
10. When I came back to the States as an eighteen year old, the sudden exposure to American junk food caused me to gain 40 pounds in 6 months.
11. For six years of my life, my next door neighbor (in an apartment building) was a spy whose sole occupation was to listen in on conversations that took place inside our unit.
12. I was once engaged to a bartender who lived on the remote Greek island of Samos.

It just goes to show how little shame I have left…

How obsessed are you with the world of blogs? Do you really really want to listen to Dave Edwards on NPR talk about blogging? With the tiny (and oh so absolutely ditsy-stupid) one minute sentence contribution by the author of Ocean? Go ahead. Listen. Click here. [Webster's def. of ditsy: eccentrically silly, giddy, or inane.] I promise you, in real life 1. I don’t quite sound so much like I just got out of bed and am wrestling with a significant hangover; 2. I am way more intelligent (the bar's not set high by my little contribution). But listen anyway, because the Pew analysis that follows the little Wisconsin blogger snippets is quite informative.

Go ahead, say it out loud: behind (as in, behind every great person…)

What did I just hear? B-hind. From you and on NPR this afternoon, no less.

When did we, even in clear, standard Walter Cronkite English, start incorporating pronunciations into our speech that are not being taught to the foreign-born (like me)? So that the foreign-born always sound…foreign-born?

I am especially confounded by the “b” words. I had to look up in the dictionary my colleague’s rendition of banal (she says it’s b-A-nal, I say it like b-hind, dropping the first vowel: b'naaaal), because I was confused by the sudden appearance of that A. It turns out that I am correct, b’nal is an accepted alternative, but who cares that I am right, if the world listening to me smiles benevolently and says – “how quaint, she follows the textbook.”

So, as I process all the new subtleties and I b’come like one of you, let me just ask, on b’half of all who have the b’lief that the first vowels are there for a reason, don’t drop them or add them without warning. Otherwise we, who don’t know any better, sound b’zarre as we enunciate our syllables, as the good Webster’s d’rects us, or drop them, not knowing that they ought to be retained. Or is it r’tained?

Krakow leading the way, continued

After rhapsodizing about Krakow’s progressive move toward creating a wireless Hot Spot in the Main Square (as well as in a number of other places, such as Kazimierz – the city’s old Jewish neighborhood ) I took a step back and considered the drawbacks (I was assisted in this by an email from Aaron, an American living in Poland).

Indeed, you can bring your laptop, open it up and surf away, right there, amidst flower stalls and groups of school children. True, you need a place to sit. The two or three benches may be unoccupied.

The numerous outdoor cafés! Yes, there are those. But they pose challenges. For one thing, you can’t plug in your laptop anywhere. Thus, it’s at best, an hour’s worth of surfing or writing. (Why do batteries give out so quickly? Why why why can’t they invent a power pack that will keep a computer happily breathing for a whole day?) And there is the weather problem. I just don't see this as a viable option when I travel to Krakow in December.

I am told that if you do take out your laptop, most definitely you will be the only one doing this. And so you will be stared at. Ah well, this in itself can be gratifying. It makes you feel like you are doing something Very Important.

I don’t worry about theft so much, but I do worry about the pigeons. I may be one of the few people around who does not think it’s charming to feed pigeons on St. Marks in Venice and Rynek Glowny in Krakow. I always feel like I want to wash the soles of my shoes when I return from a hike through the Square.

Okay, I’m still shouting yay Krakow from the sidelines, but it’s a quieter shout.

In my Inbox: an email in support of one of the candidates for the presidency of the State Bar

He’s really a warm and fuzzy kind of guy:
He plants flowers and shrubs.
He feeds the birds.
He watches reruns of “Leave it to Beaver.”

My kind of man.
(does a blogger have to explain when she is not serious or will the readers catch on?)