vesele velikonoce! part 2: the beating

1. me at 8:45 this morning...

2. the generous soul.
3. we admire the crasftmanship of his pomlazka.
4. 8:50 "the beating"
5. fertility at my fingertips.
this morning i woke up feeling a little older than usual. i was met with an easter sunrise and the stark realization that these 24 years have really gotten to me. i grabbed a mirror noticing my eyes a little less wide and bright, my skin a little less supple. i yawned and pondered over what could be done. had this been new year's i could make a series of resolutions. had it been my birthday i could have asked for all types of magic potions and elixirs that promise to transform me into a 12 year old again. in exasperation i threw the mirror to the floor and jumped up.

"alas, there is no fountain of youth!" i exclaimed!

suddenly, there was knock at the door. then a heavy, consistent thump.

i quickly turned and there he was "pomlazka" in hand. singing a little ditty that went something like this,

Sem poskakuje Petr, ten divoký králik,

poskakuje zajíčkovou cestou,
skakity, skokity
nastává Velikonoce

[Here comes Peter Cotton tail
hopping down the bunny trail
hippity, hoppity
Easter is on it's way.]

i received my switches and suddenly i was transformed! with each switch i felt as if a year were knocked off. thankfully the song was quick and punchy. he stopped just short of puerility and i am now a spry děvčátko (girl) once again.

vesele velikonoce! part 1

a 1954 postcard i purchased at a local antikvariat depicting czech boys skillfully braiding their own "pomlazkas" from young pussy-willow twigs.
easter time has arrived in the czech republic and all over women are getting prepared for the infamous easter monday festivities; all week girls and their mothers have busied themselves preparing beautiful eggs and bread while the boys make themselves useful with shots of alcohol and tree branches. the way it goes is each year the girls must be beaten to promise fertility, beauty, youth and all the loveliness a girl could aspire for and, if you haven't already guessed, it is the boys job to impart this magic with young unbreakable twigs artfully woven together. naturally, women are grateful for the services rendered and must repay the boys with painted eggs, a shot of something strong, presents and even money. but before you are appalled, be at ease, us women here still have some unalienable rights...we are allowed to have a bucket of water to pour on the fellas if they get too out of hand. these days the tradition is mostly upheld in the villages and moravia but prague hasn't completely let go. the pomlazka caroling has been modernized to suit the times. here is an unedited transcript of a text message jeremy received this afternoon...

"hello i was just wondering whether you an your wife are at home tomorrow since i would like to come beat her and get a shot with you between 9 and 11." -jakub

as i go in search of a spare bucket in my building i wish you all a happy and safe easter. please tune in tomorrow for more cultural background, photos, and perhaps emotional and/or slight rear damage.

i spy two...

i snapped a few photos this morning to assure myself i wasn't actually asleep. 1. art imitates life...chocolate lambs dangerously close to the butcher shop. 2. you tell me whether or not these are conjoined shaggy dogs that proudly wait in front of a tesco express.

today my isomnia brain had a field day adventuring around hradcanska in search of the russian embassy with mel. with little more than an hour of sleep and a lovely cappuccino as payment for my translating services we traversed like global trick-or-treaters from embassy house to embassy house well aware at our ineptitude to identify flags (but still agreeing whole-heartedly on the superfluousness of aforementioned skill ) and that it isn't seemly to have a clearly marked entrance to any russian establishment or at least must be an appalling concept in their architect's minds. everything was surreal as it should be for such a russian affair; the embassy's serpentine line without a soul behind "okna 4" and yet we continued to wait with nothing but hope and our companions....time moved slowly but a man finally appeared behind the glass and before i could muster more than 6 grammatically immaculate words i had the documents forced through the window with more exertion than was ever deemed possible from a government worker. and thus we departed in glorious nationalistic russian splendor as two boys from the same "okna 4" line followed us out guitar in hand warmly singing "katusha" as they walked down the road.