Newness

Yesterday Gus and I saw a flock of at least fifteen dapper men—towering, important looking older men. They swung large cameras, briefcases, and walked in heavy, dark shoes. And…one of them had a bulldog. A beautiful bulldog in the midst of those navy suits. I wish I’d had MY camera.

We’re settling in here. It’s easier than expected in most ways and harder in ways that surprise. I’m not Becky the artist or teacher or writer or neighbor or wall-flower or runner or adventure racer. I'm not on a committee, and I don't have a school ID tag. I’m the lady-with-the-baby. And that’s not bad, but it’s new. And the newness doesn’t fit well yet. I don’t go out to evening jazz in the park. I don’t attend dinners at restaurants. I have smears of baby on my shirts, and I can’t always get the phone when people call. I’m the-lady-with-the-baby.

Prague shocks me with its beauty. It’s so beautiful that I can’t see it. I’ll turn a winding corridor and find myself startled at a store front and instead of stopping and breathing I just tell myself I’ll return to that spot in a few days and take it all in again. It’s all about Prague revisited for me. With Gus, we can either savor one small place for a long time, or we can zoom through multiple stops. I’m kind of impatient about knowing my city and find that we rush more than we savor. GD, a good breather, once wrote “breathe” on a big card that perched on her desk at work. She'd flash it at me as I sprinted past her classroom. I think it’s time for that above the kitchen sink.