Ugly Mondays

life cant handleI am an expert in the field of Mondays. I know all about them. I’ve lived through a couple real toughies. The thing about Mondays is that it takes us away from our free time and family time. It’s the less than grandiose welcoming of what, for most of us, will be a long week of tough jobs, gas lights, electricity bills, homework, and cooking meals you have no energy to eat let alone prepare. (I lost the battle with my freshman fifteen the minute I realized eating ice cream from the tub demanded significantly less effort than making myself toast or eggs or basically anything that requires more than a spoon*).

*I did eventually get the eating habits under control and now, independently and of my own accord, maintain a mostly balanced diet. Adulthood doesn’t come with one leap – baby steps.

But this last year has been pretty “Monday” free. Maybe this is because I love my job or maybe because the hardest day of the week for me is consistently Thursdays so Mondays are more of a light-weight in the ring.

I was definitely due for a hair-pulling, teeth-grating, hand-wringing, gut-churning Monday. I got one.

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The art of opening doors

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My friends and captors on Charles’ Bridge, February 2014.

“Just pull the handle down,” Kat said in a tone that suggested I didn’t know how to open a door.

“I tried that.”

The large double doors of the Old Jewish Synagogue in Prague sat there lazily, refusing to budge. I felt mocked.

“Maybe it’s closed already,” said Kačka. She too attempted to open the door – like Americans don’t ever do that sort of thing and must not know how.

Kat smirked at both of us – it’s a friendly kind of smirk that Czechs are good at. The clouds rolled over our heads and began misting us with cold droplets of sky, so we walked to the other side of the narrow lane and through a door (which did open for us) to ask about the Synagogue. It was late Friday afternoon so Prague’s Jewish Quarter was settling down for the Sabbath. We, however, were just getting started.

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If God is the sun

IMG_6957Rain beats against my umbrella and hits the ground in a frenzy as the winds whip the tails of my jacket. And then, as suddenly as it came, the rain stops. The street is silent except for my footsteps and the sound of steeple bells from the Hussite Chuch down the road.

Today is what Czechs call “White Saturday” – the day before Easter – and I’m on my way to the supermarket on the hill above our house to buy a chocolate rabbit before it gets too dark.

I know some Christians have problems with the whole Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies thing, but my mom and grandma have been doing baskets and egg hunts for as long as I can remember. This is my first Easter away from them and I just thought a chocolate animal wrapped in colored tinfoil might make me feel closer to home.

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