Greetings and welcome to another bit of Friday-flavored fluff. Everybody resting and recovering from that gorgeous moon last night? Mouth lined with polyamid, shag carpeting? My sympathies.
It's been that kind of week here too.
I haven't forgotten to take some photos to share though.
Last weekend was a busy one. Not only did we manage to install new carpet in our bedroom (see? I knew what I was nattering about in the intro), but we even took a trip downtown to visit the National Museum.
The National Museum in Prague is one of my old haunts. I've visited it for the exhibits several times over the decades and when I still had friends working there I’d stop by for a cup of coffee on occasion, even did the graphic design work on an exhibit there once. I've attended concerts and parties in the National Museum. I've been in a few of the areas not open to the public, like the docent offices and the cellar storage vaults. Those days are long gone at this point. I don't know anyone at the museum now. But this last Sunday I got to see a part of the museum that I'd never visited before.
After a fairly recent restoration, the cupola was opened to the public.
On Monday, after my English classes, I slipped and slid my way through the park on my way to the subway to go downtown.
There was no sign of ice on the sidewalks downtown. I stopped by the studio where I've attended life drawing classes and remain friends with the instructor, Mirek. Only by request will I be sharing the sketch I did of the model that evening. After the class, Mirek and I went out to a nearby restaurant to meet up with a friend of his. U Pinkasů is considered one of the landmark pubs of Prague. It isn’t a place I’ve been to more than a couple of times— not really one of my haunts and I'd never sat in the taproom before. An old tradition in Czech pubs is to have a table set aside for their regular customers, preferably the one closest to the taps.
I know enough to feel a bit awkward sitting at such a table. In a mildly alcoholic fashion, it’s an honor to be seated at the regulars’ table. But the guy my friend and I were there to see was definitely a regular. It was a strange couple hours of beer drinking and conversation. Mirek's friend, Rosťa was seated to my right, Mirek across from him and across from me, in one cuddly clump, was an artist named Jonáš whom I'd met through Mirek years ago and a young woman I'd seen at Mirek’s class when I'd stopped by on a couple of occasions. Mirek is somewhat short and wiry, Jonáš and the woman (whose name was longish and started with 'M’, younger than my sons) are both small and thin, then ol’ Marko (a broad-shouldered, towering slab of beef) and Rosťa, who, even seated, made me look downright dainty. Seriously, you would have made the rest of us using Rosťa for raw material. Well, perhaps minus the young woman. I'm laughing a bit at myself for hesitating to call her a 'girl’ and being uncomfortable calling her a 'woman’. You know, younger than my sons, my babies.
The bartender knew both Rosťa and Jonáš by name. True Regulars.
I occasionally have a strange evening hanging out with Czech artists. They tend to drink more than me and smoke— which I’ve never taken up. Mirek chided me for staying by myself at the table while the others stepped out to smoke. I could have just gone along for the conversation— and there's a whole world of odd tales to be heard from folk like that.
Last night, I went for a walk with Mrs the Werelynx (fresh off the plane from Amsterdam) and one of our friends.
Thanks for stopping by.
This is an open thread.