general | matching tracksuits

Saturday Duet

Saturday 19 January 2013 | 0 Comments

"We'll talk to Mama tomorrow on Skype," I said to a sniffling L yesterday when we came back home.

Of course, once we get Skype loaded and everyone in their places, the silliness among cousins begins and K and I leave them to their devices.

"Let me show you something!" L shouts.

"Let me show you something!"

"The Boy is awake," says Babcia. "Let me show you all something."

But with just the two of us in the house, we're soon off to work, the computer shut down, the dusters and brooms out.

"You clean your room. I'll get the bathrooms," I tell L. "From there, we'll see where we stand."

"When I finish, I'll tell you," she says. After some time, she comes: "I'm finished. Can you make sure I did everything?"

Her work tables are clean; her bed is made; the clothes on her floor have disappeared.

Such work deserves a reward: homemade pizza.

Which, it turns out, was only fun to make.

The Games We Play

Friday 18 January 2013 | 0 Comments

The surest way to get the Girl to do something she's reluctant to do? Turn it into a game.

Say you're on the third floor of a building. (Which would be the second floor in Poland -- the ground floor doesn't count I guess.) Say you're not keen on using the elevator because it's so painfully slow. Say the Girl complains about being tired. How do you get her to go along with your scheme to use the stairs?

Simple. Turn it into a race.

It helps if Nana is there to be the opponent, of course.

Departure

Thursday 17 January 2013 | 2 Comments

The house feels empty: the Girl, asleep in the other room; K and the Boy, somewhere over the Atlantic. It's an odd feeling, this quiet, not entirely unwelcome after the stressful departure. Rain, rain, and more rain, and a delayed departure from Munich which meant a delayed arrival in then departure from Charlotte. And then there's the question of further delays from Munich to Krakow. So it's been a fairly up-and-down evening.

When the Girl discovered the up escalator paired with "stairs that don't move," the up-and-down became literal. It was a good distraction: the Boy was hungry and the Girl was fidgety.

Everyone else was, too. Especially in this part of the airport -- baggage claim. It's the worst part of any journey, especially the return home. All you want to do is get back to your own comfortable and known reality and you're waiting with dozens more people for the worst carousel in the world to do its job.

After some slightly stressful difficulties at passport control, K and the Boy disappeared into the labyrinth of departure gates as L and I walked away, with one of us shedding enormous tears and the other only worried about the journey home and how long the wait for the shuttle bus to the parking -- Douglas airport is adding parking garages, which ironically makes for nightmarish parking -- will take.

A slow tearful return ends with the Girl in bed while I put off shuffling to an empty bed for as long as I can.

Departures stink.

Packing

Wednesday 16 January 2013 | 2 Comments

Packing is seldom fun. It should be an event filled with great anticipation, but the stress of forgetting something usually ruins that.

K is getting ready for a trip to Polska, leaving tomorrow. I tell her, "Except for the moonshine, there is nothing you're taking that can't be replaced in Poland should you lose it or forget it." And as for the shine -- bought in a liquor store with an official seal, it can hardly be called shine, so even losing that's no big loss.

"How I dislike packing," she says. "How I used to like packing when I was younger. It was a sign of adventure. Now, it's just trouble."

Instant Smile

Tuesday 15 January 2013 | 2 Comments

It's hard to get a candid shot with the Boy. He's turned into a true poser: any time he sees the camera out, the smile emerges. The hands start waving. The squealing begins.

Friends and Siblings

Monday 14 January 2013 | 0 Comments

Of late, the Girl really enjoys playing with the Boy. Not pestering him; not hanging on him; not kissing him mercilessly. Playing with him. Granted, she still does all those things: she gets a little carried away with her affection. (But then, who doesn’t?) Still, there’s been more developmental play of late, trying to get the Boy to do this or that. More gently some days than others, but still. Improvement is improvement.

40

Sunday 13 January 2013 | 3 Comments

Lordy Lordy Look Whos Forty Round Stickers

Four thoughts, one for each decade:

The Banner

There was a banner across the entrance to the house when my mother's cousin turned forty. "Lordy! Lordy! C's forty!" It seemed to be such a big deal, her turning forty. She was aghast, horrified. Or at least she pretended to be.

I was more curious about the banner they might hang the next decade: the only thing I could think of to rhyme with "fifty" was "nifty."

U2's "40"

Thirty

When I turned thirty, I had a party. Not a lot of people; not a lot of food; not a lot of anything except dancing and the other thing that goes along with Polish parties.

It was a fun and funny night, with my best friends and my then-girlfriend, now-wife.

Being Forty

Doesn't feel like being thirty-nine. Or twenty-nine. But who would have thought it would? Or should?

Morning Sky

Saturday 12 January 2013 | 0 Comments

Some mornings, you’re lucky. You wake up. You wake up and see the sky. You wake up and see the sky filled with clouds. You wake up and see the sky filled with clouds and hear the rain.

And in spite of all the gray, you’re happy.

And then you realize you can trick yourself into doing it every morning.

And then you realize it’s not a trick.

Priests

Friday 11 January 2013 | 0 Comments

A common enough sight in rural Poland: multiple priests of all ages, looking almost like altar boys. Common enough because of the percentages: 95+% Catholic, 5% other, including a few Muslims. These particular priests had gathered for a procession of the Black Madonna through Lipnica Wielka. At the time, I was skeptical, even cynical. Today, I’d view things a little differently.

Coal Delivery

Thursday 10 January 2013 | 0 Comments

I occasionally look through old pictures from the years I lived in Poland and find a picture that I’d forgotten about but which moves me to mutter to myself, “Wow.” Not that I’m so terribly impressed with my own photography, but more that I’m surprised to see by the reminder of how utterly different my life in Poland in the mid- to late-nineties was.