Flying High Part Two - Prague's Subway KGB

Prague. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face. The mood and mystery of the city suit me. From walking along the Charles Bridge to winding through the streets of Mala Strana; from hiking up to the castle to reverently meandering through the Old Jewish Cemetery or simply enjoying the magical skyline from my favorite spot, Vyshrad, I love it. My joy is only heightened by dear Czech friends I've met along the way, people who have delighted me since the first time I laid eyes on them. And to think I almost didn't go because so many people, who were worried that I was traveling alone with no hotel reservations or tour guide, advised me to stay in Western Europe. I'm so glad I found the courage to follow my heart and let Prague cast its spell on me.

However, the spell was NOT cast immediately. My first view of Prague was not pretty. Everything was gray and even though it was summer the weather was cold and rainy. When I first stepped off that night train from Munich my sleepy eyes were accosted by graffiti and construction zones. There were crowds of people visiting the numerous sex shops. And there I stood a naive little Christian girl from Texas.....I'm sure you can imagine the look on my face and the size of my eyes as I took everything in. I was definitely not in Kansas anymore!

Since I was alone and slightly terrified I tagged along with the girls who had shared my night train. After a lot of walking we eventually managed to find a youth hostel in a seedy residential district. I was not thrilled to learn that the rooms were co-ed but what was I going to do, walk all the way back to the train station and camp out with the prostitutes??? No, that was definitely not an option so I stayed and tried to pretend that I wasn't such a naive little Christian girl! This is when some Pivo would have come in handy but I was still a BSF leader so it was out of the question for me......


But alas the hostel kicked me out of the room until later on in the evening so I was forced to explore the city. And that is when the magic happened. I'm sure it won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me but I got horribly lost, even with a map. I was constantly asking for directions and almost finding the right place before getting distracted by a tall spire or a Kolache shop and losing my way again. But I slowly fell in love with the charms of the city as I wandered around lost. It felt like I was walking in a fairy tale, although it was laced with reality and came to a screeching halt when I stumbled (literally) on the 9th century cobblestone right in front of........Kmart, complete with Little Caesar's Pizza inside. Call me a snob but the home of the blue light special should never grace a city like Prague! Seriously.


After running in horror from Kmart and spending many more hours wandering I eventually needed to purchase additional subway tickets so I could continue my adventure, but I could find no one to help me decipher that strange language of consonants. And this was a young country whose democratic identity was still emerging from the veil of communism, so trust me when I tell you that it was long before the words "customer service" had ever been uttered within its borders! Finally after watching me stare at the strange ticket machine for too long a stranger had mercy on me and helped me purchase a 24-hour metro ticket, or so I thought....but as the next day unfolded I discovered that there was a HUGE difference between a 24-hour ticket and an ALL DAY ticket.


I was so naive. My only subway experience had been in Munich a few days earlier, when I ended up 17 miles outside of the city because I couldn't read the subway map. Yeah, I was pretty unprepared for the Subway KGB, those stealthy undercover agents who prey on tourists and make a killing in "fines" and scare the you-know-what out of people who can't figure out how to purchase the correct ticket! When someone with a strange accent flashes a badge at you in a foreign country, the normal reaction is PANIC, and I'm proud to say that I reacted VERY normally and panicked on cue. Turns out that I possessed a DAY ticket, which meant it was only good for the date of purchase, which just so happened to be the day before...... I realized all of this within about 2 seconds as I was being yelled at and my passport was being scrutinized. That little mistake cost me over $20 which probably went straight into the agent's pocket, but it kept me from achieving "permanent resident" status in the Czech prison system so I was more than happy to pay it. Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but at the time I was scared to death and certain that I would never see America again. Of course after forking over my food budget for 2 days I proceeded to find a semi-private spot and have an emotional meltdown. Some nice European had pity on me and provided a tissue so I could mop my face. After putting myself back together again I squared my shoulders and marched off to explore the city that had captured my imagination, there was no way I would let fear keep me from experiencing as much of Prague as possible.

So now each time I return to my favorite city I make sure to purchase the correct subway ticket. But as scared as I was I wouldn't trade my first trip for anything, it was worth every second and every tear and that $20 fine! Prague. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Average

I saw a print ad for Pantene shampoo the other day and I was reminded of their old commercials. Remember the one that featured a glamorous model tossing her thick, glossy, luxurious mane of hair and uttering the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"?

I detested that commercial because I was painfully aware that I could never utter those words in good conscience. Maybe they should make a new commercial featuring yours truly. I could toss my less than luxurious, graying hair and utter the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm average." I guarantee you that women throughout the world would relate because from our hair to our makeup to our clothes many of us spend hours trying to look beautiful, and most of us end up looking, well.....average. Like a friend of mine says, "It takes a lot of work to look this average." Yeah, no kidding. For me it takes at least 30 minutes to put on a face that won't scare the masses!

On a more serious note, that ad got me thinking a lot about physical beauty, especially since seeing it again coincided with my near disastrous makeover. Beauty has often been a double-edged sword for me garnering a lot of unwanted attention, and yet I still wrestle with it because it's very clear to me that I do not fit the "mold" of what a beautiful woman should look like, at least not today! But I'm finally mature enough to grasp that real beauty has very little to do with looking "hot" and much more to do with who I am. How I wish my younger self could have understood that true beauty is mysterious and invites others to stop posing and striving and rest in its presence; it's a soothing and peaceful refuge when life is chaotic and overwhelming. And although it is elusive that's the kind of beauty I want to possess.

So while I believe that it's okay to enhance what remains of my physical beauty, I want it to reflect my inner beauty otherwise it's hollow. Perhaps my nephew has the most balanced perspective. He loves me no matter how I look maybe because he sees how much my heart loves his. But he also appreciates physical beauty and tells me when he thinks I look "cute". One night when he was about 6 we had the following exchange as he was brushing my hair and I was painting my nails.

Zachary: You know Wobin, when I am 40 you're going to be old.

Me: Yes, I know that Zachary, but will you still love me?

Zachary: Yes, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Me: But will you still think I'm beautiful?

Zachary: What? That's silly, you are bootiful.

Me: But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles?

Zachary: Wobin, that won't matter.

Me (about to get what I deserve): But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles AND I don't have on any makeup?

Zachary studying my makeup-free face: Hmmm, I'll still love you....but Wobin, the makeup helps!

Indeed.

Makeovers and Movies

Thursday Laurie and I went to Origins and had makeovers. The results were stunning. She looked beautiful. I looked like a hooker. Had I chosen to walk down San Pedro Avenue I would have likely been arrested, or at the very least run out of town by the competition.... Seriously. Why do all makeover artists insist on rimming my eyes, inside and out, with an entire stick of black eyeliner? I am not a raccoon! Add the gold and green shimmering eye shadow, bright coral lipstick and too rosy blush to my deathly pale skin and well, you can imagine the look. I haven't worn that much makeup since I was a teenager. I should have taken a picture but I really didn't want that particular look frozen in time, I have enough embarrassing looks captured on film for posterity. If you've never seen my "Elvira" phase then you don't know what you're missing......

Next, because we had errands to run I was forced to venture out into public with a face full of "lady of the night" makeup. It was 3:00 pm in the afternoon. I'm sure I garnered some strange looks at the frame shop and Target. Once we arrived home I set about wiping off some of the eyeliner and extra shimmer, but I was only mildly successful since I did not have time to start from scratch and redo all of my makeup before "Girls' Night Out". Then when I was almost ready I noticed a fresh crop of gray hair revealed by the harsh bathroom lighting, and as we all know that means a round of painful plucking. The LAST thing I wanted was to look like an old hooker, if I'm going to sport that look I'd at least like to appear young.

Because of my last minute plucking we were a little late arriving at Jeannie's but once there we quickly loaded into her husband's convertible and zoomed off to eat dinner. We ate an assortment of yummy food and desserts and talked about books, movies, men and faith. Then we left and cruised down Stoneoak with the top down, hair blowing in the wind, blasting 80s music all the way. Jeannie and Laurie were singing and car dancing to "Love Shack" because they are fun and carefree, I AM NOT. As you know I am neurotic and awkward and never dance in public, even in the car..... I did allow myself to enjoy the music and tried to sing along but I was very much aware of the fact that I looked like an old hooker so it was difficult for me to relax, especially with "Crazy Love" cranked up on the radio. We were quickly brought back to reality when Jeannie announced that she needed to purchase swim diapers before morning so off we drove to Walgreens. While she went inside Laurie and I sat in the convertible listening to music. I was a little paranoid that we would be carjacked because I forgot I was on the north side. I guess I'm used to living downtown; I would NEVER sit in a convertible with the top down and the keys in the ignition next to Puffin' Paul's Smoke Shop in my neighborhood!

We ended the night with a double feature in Jeannie's home cinema. All snuggled up with blankies in the soft, buttery leather recliners laughing at the antics of Ben Stiller in "Along Came Polly" and having our hearts warmed by Ryan Gosling in "Lars and the Real Girl". We laughed and cried (well, I cried) and then faced reality when the clock struck 2:00 am. By the time we made it home and fell asleep it was 3:00 am. Today I feel and look old from lack of sleep and 2 days later I am STILL recovering, but getting makeovers, hanging with fun girlfriends, reminiscing about our youth and watching funny movies was a great way to spend a few vacation days, black eyeliner and all.

Shiny Silver Dress

I just read a short article about Sarah Jessica Parker's fashion misfortune last week. It appears the dress she wore to her movie premier had been worn by a socialite just three weeks before. Apparently this is a big deal. A celebrity of her status is supposed to be the first person photographed in a dress, not the second.... It's a huge scandal. People are embarrassed. People are making accusations. People are disappointed. People are completely focused on a shiny, silver dress.

Wow.

Since I'm obviously not a fashionista it is rather difficult for me to comprehend the magnitude of this problem, especially when I contrast it with the struggles of friends whose annual salary is less than the cost of the dress in this fashion scandal. This week alone I had 3 different women share their struggles with me. They were all crying. They were all stressed. They were all worried. They work long hours. They work hard and yet they struggle to survive. They struggle to put food on the table for their children. They make too much money for food stamps but not enough for HEB. But they fight. And even though they have made choices I will never understand, I admire them. I admire them for not giving up. I admire them for their determination. I admire them for digging in their heels and deciding that they will do whatever it takes.

But admiring them is not enough. How do I help them? Vowing to live a life of poverty will not meet their needs. And giving money today will not necessarily meet their needs tomorrow. I do offer emotional support. I do offer community resources designed to meet their physical needs. I do what I can but then I go home to my nice apartment and full refrigerator. And I struggle to reconcile my small luxuries with their very real poverty. And I don't know how to not feel guilty for some of my material blessings.

I know others who struggle with this too. I just had this conversation a few weeks ago. I just had it again last night. Is it okay to enjoy financial blessings? It is okay to drive a nice car or live in a nice house? Is it okay to spend money on art? Is it okay to buy expensive clothes or new furniture? Why do I get to live without the burden of poverty when others will never find their way out of it?

Perhaps in an effort to lessen my guilt I sometimes focus on those who wear shiny, silver dresses. It's easy to judge them for the things I deem excessive. It's easy to be pious. It's easy to believe that I would not choose to live their way or care about frivolous things when it isn't even an option for me. But what if it becomes an option? What if I inherit a small fortune? What if I win the lottery? Would I be willing to give away the extra cash to help those who are less fortunate? Would I really choose to live as I do now, clipping coupons or forgoing my wants to afford my needs? The reality is that I would adjust very quickly to a higher income level. We ALL would. I'm not sure I would choose to give as sacrificially as the widow in Jesus' story. And that breaks my heart because I want to care more about people than I do about shiny, silver dresses.