Matching Tracksuits

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Who Commanded What

Wednesday 10 August 2022

I really don’t know why I do it. I follow some of these Catholic groups online for no good reason, I think. Am I there just to pick a fight? I guess.

Today, this one popped up as a joke.

Everyone was laughing about it, so I guess humor is the new way of dealing with the awful things God commands in Leviticus. Of course, I replied: “But both come from God. Both are commands from God. That’s the problem.”

A user named Joseph responded, “no there is no problem. None of the levitical laws are valid anymore. Thus any command from Chirst is superior.”

People just don’t get it, though. Jesus might have done away with these laws, but because of the trinity doctrine, it was Jesus who created the commands in the first place. I responded to Joseph:

But the fact that they were commanded in the first place — that’s the problem I’m referring to. That God commanded his people to stone to death incorrigible children, stone homosexuals, stone people for breaking the sabbath — THAT is the problem. Whether or not he did away with those laws is not as troubling as the fact that he made them in the first place.

At this point, Jesse jumped in to help:

[I]f you listened to the first couple of episodes, Fr. Mike clarified it. Some laws were “allowed”, just as what Jesus said about the law on divorce. Also that some must be understood that they were given to a savage, nomadic, tent-living, and with frequent streaks of going astray kind of people who lived thousands of years ago.

I’ve heard this so many times I’m sick of it. No one sees the problem that the same god who gave us the kinder, gentler Jesus also gave us these commands in Leviticus! In fact, because of the trinity, it’s the same being! I tried to explain this:

No, that doesn’t fly. God didn’t allow those laws. He didn’t see them stoning people and say, “Well, I’ll let you do that for a while.” It was God who COMMANDED the stoning. Why does no one get that distinction?

There were a few more responses — I replied to them all. And then everyone just stopped responding to me. Questions are unwelcome, I guess, and even more so follow-up questions.

Anniversary of a Passing

Wednesday 10 August 2022

In some ways, Papa’s passing was much more difficult for me than Nana’s. When Nana died in 2019, I was more worried about Papa than I was myself. I was heartbroken, to be sure, but Papa was devastated. The love of his life, the woman who, in many ways, literally saved his life, was gone. His constant companion for decades was no longer by his side. How would he take it? Would the sorrow he was buried in bury him, too? So when Nana passed, I had a job to do, and a very important job: look after Papa, physically and emotionally (and, while he could still get out of the house, spiritually as we made sure he got to church for the services and community that did so much for him).

We played family games with him, sat and talked to him, watch movies with him, helped him with his exercise and, after his Parkinsons kicked in fully, his physical therapy. As Parkinsons took control, we took on even more responsibilities, more basic responsibilities, more primal responsibilities: feeding him, cleaning him, and all the complications a more bed-bound existence comprise.

Nana’s death was also easier for me emotionally because I had all the support around me that Papa had around him. K and the kids gave me as much support, directly and indirectly, as we gave Papa.

Teachers’ First Day 2022

Monday 8 August 2022

We had our first day back at school today — teachers have a week of preparation before the kids come back. To be honest, a lot of it is less preparation and more endless meetings: three hours this morning; meetings in both the morning and afternoon tomorrow.

In the afternoon, returning home, I discovered that the Boy had painted the ramp into Papa’s room (always it will be Papa’s room) in the morning. After dinner, he applied a quick second coat and now we have a lovely, freshly-painted ramp.

Babcia Re-edits

Saturday 6 August 2022

I’ve been re-editing some pictures from Poland here and there, and I decided to throw together a little compositive of our favorite picture of Babcia, adding some falling leaves and sun rays.

And because Babcia always talks longingly of living 100-200 years ago instead of today with all these crazy computers, I decided to turn it into an old picture as well.

Krakow with Tom

Friday 5 August 2022

My friend Tom and I had to go to Krakow on the same day, both of us having ridiculously early appointments (before eight, I believe).

We did the obvious: took the same bus, took care of our business, then met back up at the rynek for coffee and conversation.

I finished a little earlier than Tom, so I took a few early-morning Krakow pictures. It was probably the only time I was in the Old Town that early. K, who studied in Krakow, insisted that there was no better time to photograph the city.

I got one picture that’s especially significant now: the waiting room in the Krakow train station, which is no longer the waiting room for the train station as the whole station has moved. Not photographing the whole ticket area, waiting room, and platforms is one of several photographic regrets.

Most of the everyday places that made up my reality in Poland during my first stay (96-99) exist now only in memory. I have few photographs of the apartment I had — in fact, only one that I know of. I have only a handful of images of the Nowy Targ bus station, where I spent countless hours waiting for hundreds of busses. The Krakow bus station is the same — gone.

That’s probably why I have so many pictures of our children that are seemingly everyday events — nothing special. Because in a few years, they will be special: reminders of what a normal, say, Tuesday looked like in our family.

Possibly the best portrait I’ve ever taken

Auschwitz Edits

Wednesday 3 August 2022

I edited a few pictures I took in Poland which required more attention than I could give them on a small-screen laptop with only a trackpad. Today I focused on the few pictures I took at Auschwitz.

Return

Tuesday 2 August 2022

Five years ago, I came back a little later with the kids. On our departure day, we found a nice place to sit and wait in Krakow airport.

Today, we recreated the picture — sort of:

We made it home, though, safely and relatively painlessly.

And so our Polska 2022 adventure is over. Reflection to follow, but I’ve been up now for 27 hours, so I’m going to bed…

Last Day in Jablonka 2022

Sunday 31 July 2022

Here in Jablonka, we began our last day with rain and temperature keeping us indoors. It never rose above the high-50s, and it rained all morning before taking a short lunch break to prepare for an afternoon and evening of rain. Depressing weather to go with a day of mixed feelings: ready to go home, we’re both a little sad to leave the adventure here.

In the meantime, K flew out of our local airport heading to Newark for a funeral. In New York, it was sunny and lovely, and K got to see a friend she hadn’t seen for years. Still, the motivation for the trip was a tragedy. A mixture as here.

With the weather as it was, we had few choices this last day in Jablonka. We watched some television, talked, packed — and repeated it all.

And for dinner: kiszka heated on the stove Babcia uses for hot water.

Random Bit for Future Smiles

A regular during our stay here was was the Magno-Z commercial: we got to see that a few times during our month here. The Boy groaned each time it came on, but he still sang along with it.

Commercials, it turns out, are a great source for learning a language.

Family Ognisko

Friday 29 July 2022

One of the things that must happen during a trip to Polska (from the point of view of our children anyway) is an ognisko in Spytkowice. We tried three times this visit — three weekends — and got rained out each time.

It looked like this time we’d get rained out as well, so we did the simple and obvious thing: moved the ognisko to Jablonka, where there’s a covered gazebo. Problem solved. Ognisko complete.

0% “beer” is all the rage now

Last Market Day

Wednesday 27 July 2022

Today was the last day at the jarmark for us. To be honest, I could have done without: there’s very little I’m willing to buy there, but I’m always willing to snap a few pictures with my phone, which is so much less obtrusive than walking around with a camera.

The Boy finally made a decision: he did indeed buy a knife. He’s been worried about whether or not it would make it on the plane, and my assurances that it would be fine as long as it was in our checked luggage finally convinced him. The actual selection process was typical: he handled this one, opened that one, examined a third, went back to the first when a fourth caught his eye.

In the afternoon, we went another bike ride. This time I took him through the forest before heading up along, mixed-surface climb that he declared at the end to be the hardest climb he’s ever done.

Finally, in the evening, I headed back to Lipnica Wielka on a solo ride with the intention of riding to the base of Babia, then crossing over to Lipnica Mala to come back down. However, I made it halfway through LW before I realized it was foolishness to think I could make that ride: I know the climbs that awaited, and I knew my legs didn’t have it in them.

Of course, I stopped by one more time to see how dom nauczyciela was going: it is, in a word, gone. Nothing remains but a hole where the basement was.

Ride and Visit

Tuesday 26 July 2022

The forecast called for rain by lunchtime, so the Boy and I decided to get a morning ride in before the predicted afternoon of rain. We headed out toward the area of the village known as “Wild,” but we came back along tractor tracts and dirt roads through fields.

One of the oddities of riding in rural Poland is the “Warning: Cows with Square Udders Ahead” sign. It has also given rise to a new danger for E as a cyclist: the unexpected blobs of cow blessings on the road.

Along the way back, we discovered yet more abandoned houses, but different in a significant way: these are not unfinished houses that the owners abandoned to move to the States. These are lived-in, likely-loved houses that have simply outlived their usefulness. To renovate them makes little sense to the owners: they’re too small, and to renovate them would cost more than just building a new house.

In the afternoon, once it was raining and rather cold, we headed over to the aunties’ house for name day celebrations. In loving yet typical Polish fashion, the aunties served a virtual meal even though Babcia had begged them not to. It wasn’t a formal meal. It was just enough snacks and cakes to make a meal.

Changes and Endings

Monday 25 July 2022

There was a shortcut through an empty field by a neighbor’s house that was worn down with years of use. The Girl used it heading to her first day at Polish school nine years ago.

First Day at (Polish) School

One of the first changes we’d noticed was that the shortcut is no more.

The shortcut

More and more people drive more and more. Fewer people walk. Just like fewer and fewer people have anything resembling a farm.

“The Polish village is dying,” Babcia insists. “It survived the Partitions, the wars, Communism — but capitalism killed it.” When she says this, I want to argue that it’s more complicated than that, but I never do. What’s the point?

This afternoon, we decided to go for a bike ride to Lipnica Wielka, my home for seven years. Along the way, we passed a monument to slain Soviet soldiers who died fighting the Germans in 1945 as the Soviets pushed the Germans back. The front shifted, as it always does, but from Christmas 1944 to Easter 1945, it ran right through this area.

There’s a monument to the men who died here, presumably at a mass grave based on the inscription.

While the Russians were certainly not heroes in the strictest sense (they were raping in mass numbers as they went along, particularly when they crossed into Germany), they were freeing the Poles from a greater immediate threat. Or were they? Didn’t they just replace one type of totalitarian rule with another? Was it really that much of a change? The Germans had Auschwitz; the Soviets had the Gulag Archipelago.

Things changed, but they didn’t.

When we reached Centrum, I decided we should go look at dom nauczyciela one more time. I knew how it would look — just as it had always looked.

It was scheduled for demolition, but I knew that would take weeks. Months. Maybe even a year. When it comes to construction, nothing moves fast in Poland.

As we approached, though, I saw that the road to dom nauczyciela had been partially blocked off.

And soon, I heard the machinery. And I knew. I knew that although nothing in construction moves fast in Poland, destruction can come with unexpected rapidity.

There it was, my home for three years, three of the most amazing years of my youth, being carted away, load by load, in a dump truck.

It’s silly to feel sentimental about a building, to exaggerate the importance of a relatively routine action. “Things move on,” K suggested in a text.

The building was ugly — there was no denying that. It’s not like it had all the charm of a solution to a problem in which only functionality played any role at all. The strange roof that cascaded and became part of the side of the building suggests at least a half-hearted attempt to make the building original, in some sense beautiful. But like so many things built when communism and socialist realism ruled behind the Iron Curtain, the attempt at some kind of architectural uniqueness only highlighted everything wrong with the ideas ruling the country. The building was, in a word, ugly.

In addition, it was likely horridly inefficient at keeping the heat in. When the mayor’s assistant (who later went on to become the mayor himself) moved into the apartment beside mine on the first floor, he added insulation to the outside of the building to help with the frigid winter nights. The water for the heaters circulated in a clockwise motion from the lower left corner where the boiler was located. I got the hot water first, and as a result, my apartment was almost always oppressively hot when it was in the minus twenties outside. But by the time the water got to the mayor’s assistant’s apartment, it had cooled considerably, hence the insulation.

So K was right: it was time for the poorly insulated, ugly building to come down. But that reality doesn’t change the stab I felt as I watched workers clean up what was left of the building.

Oddly enough, just a few meters from my former home as one heads to the back of the school

is a home that has never changed in appearance since I arrived in 1996, a home that has never been inhabited.

The owners moved to America and quite possibly have even passed away by now. Their children, fully integrated Americans with no desire to return to a small village in southern Poland, a village that one only drives to and never through, own property that they likely never see.

The ride itself — the before and after the discovery — was fantastic:

a 25 km ride that the Boy handled like a pro.