Greetings!
'Tis your old fuzzy pal, Marko with another of his unspellcheckerlessed creations.
I dunno why I'm calling this thing, "A Rare Day". Maybe I'll make sense of it later. I very nearly called it, "Dead Blithering" although I'm not really all that focused on mortality at the moment. Well, other than the deadly nature of the pea soup I made for dinner...
No, now that's not exactly true. Not about the pea soup, I mean... I wouldn't lie to you about a thing like pea soup. But I did spend the morning in a graveyard yesterday. Nearly two years after a friend of mine died, the internment of her ashes finally took place.
Hers is the red granite stone in the back there. I just had to get that lovely sculpture into the picture.
It was a simple ceremony with just her son giving a short speech and her daughter-in-law reading a favorite poem. Oh, and a man in a kilt (of the official Czech tartan)played "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes.
And afterwards several of us walked to a spot nearby for a cup or glass of tasty beverage and talked about our friend, half of whose ashes had just been planted, and told the stories of how we had each met her.
Then I found myself with an afternoon to myself and no real desire to go home. It was a beautiful, sunny day in Prague...
I had originally hoped that one of the gang from the graveyard would be eager to get some lunch and sit at a table outdoors and sip beer for the rest of the afternoon before we were all planning to attend a little gathering of family and friends in the evening. Turns out we all had something that needed doing somewhere else. I really only had to visit my bank to settle a transaction that hadn't gone through. That took 15 minutes and then I was free. I thought about heading home. I do have a lad at home taking the last few days worth of antibiotics for a nasty strep throat, but, at this point in the illness, going home would mean watching him play computer games. Instead, I bought a hotdog at my favorite place-- always my reward for a bank transaction well done and walked off to explore.
I walked a long way in my good shoes. I thought about a little garden restaurant that I had seen once in the area and wondered where it was because I thought I must be nearing that area. And I was also thinking that, even by myself, I'd still like that beer. On a whim I decided to turn off the road onto a path that wound off and up into a park only to discover the garden restaurant along the path. And guess what? I didn't see anyone serving the few folks at the tables outside and I decided that I'd rather go to a place that I'd been to a few months earlier in that same area. And then I ended up walked all the way through the park, down the road on the other side and past the other restaurant to a grocery store where I bought a couple of braided rolls and a bottle of water and returned to the park. I found a bench and muched and sipped and read a silly short science fiction story. Then I walked to the subway and rode to a station closer to my evening's destination.
Again, I walked past several familiar spots, apparently giving up by degrees the idea of having a beer. I sadly noted that one favorite place was now catering to the tourists with a big sign out front advertising, "goulash soup in a bread bowl". I don't think anybody ate that until about 15 years ago. People still don't really eat it. They always leave behind the bowl, the crust-- which is the best part of the bread. I tried soup in a bread bowl once and didn't quite see the point of it.
I thought about how I'd always see the head of security from the US Embassy getting his lunch at that place. I rather doubt that he goes there to eat goulash soup in a bread bowl. It's a rare pub that manages to cater successfully to both the natives and the tourists.
I walked all the way up into the gardens across the moat from the castle. I thought I'd maybe do a little sketching, or at least take some photographs.
I discovered a few things that I hadn't noticed before.
That last one was taken from a set of steps that I sometimes would sit on and sketch. They lead to an black iron door that never seems to be opened. I sat there alone, leaning against the door, for awhile enjoying the view. I decided that, what with the haze and plastic sheeting on the scaffolding, I wouldn't be sketching the cathedral.
I got out another book and read for about a half hour; looking up occasionally to watch the infrequent passers-by. They'd often pause when they noticed me and then discover the view of the cathedral. Out would come the cameras... I'd often get a smile after that. It was like I was sharing a secret with them.
Then a tour guide brought a mixed-age group of about 30 Italian tourists to sit with me while he told them some of the history of Prague Castle.
My secret was out.
We all laughed while they were surrounding me. I wished that I understood more Italian. Maybe I'd have learned something from the tour guide.
Just as they were leaving I got a phone call from Mrs. the Werelynx and we arranged a place and time to meet from which we could walk to the party that evening.
I got up and walked to the end of the garden, taking several unsuccessful photos of the ladybug beetles that were flying and crawling around everywhere, while I looked for more unusual views of the castle and gardens.
I explored an end of the moat that I'd never been in and found a couple of figures just relaxing.
On the way to my rendezvous I stopped in a wonderful toy shop owned by friends of ours (who would also be going to the party later) to visit, check out all the new stuff, watch videos of one of their granddaughters, and allow myself to be tempted by a little, hand-made book of recycled paper that fits perfectly into the big pockets of my fall jacket. I'm looking forward to seeing how well the paper takes ink-- maybe it's better suited to colored pencils. At any rate, if I wasn't going to get any sketching done then at least I bought a sketchbook.
And these two gentlemen were standing next to the area, far to the other end of the castle, where I waited for Mrs. the Werelynx's tram to arrive. The building behind Tycho Brahe and Johannes Kepler is a high school (well, a gymnazium).
Unfortunately, what with work awaiting us early in the morning we weren't able to stay for more than a couple of hours at the party. That friend that we'd all lost two years ago sure collected a fascinating and diverse group of friends-- who all remember her fondly, with delight, and laughter.