Old Prague - Czech Republic, Part 2

Our trip around Prague continues...

Click here on Prague, Castles And Cathedrals to read about the first part of our Czech adventure.

Prague is a gorgeous city in ancient Bohemia and in the current Czech Republic. Every corner we walked around we were so excited for the surprise that awaited us.

Streets like this, with little gas-lit lamps and flower boxes on the windows.

And streets like this, where the buildings have meticulous works of art on them.

The biggest must see of Prague is the Old Town Square. And located in the Old Town Square is the Prague Astronomical Clock, or Prazský orloj. The clock was first put up in 1410 and it is the oldest astronomical clock still working.

We decided that was something we really wanted to see, so we headed over to the clock at noon to watch it chime.

It was a little bit of a let down. These doors open up and statues of dower apostles file past. And then the doors shut. Matt and I looked at each other and we said at the exact same time, "That was it?" Oh how I love that we are both unimpressed by the same things.

The clock was made even less impressive by the fact that at least half of Europe and a third of America was visiting Prague this weekend. I stood in the square and more than once uttered, "Who in the heck are all these people?!"

I may have also thought, "What made them think they could come to Prague the same time I did?" I'm kind of a snot, huh?

You see, I feel like Europe is mine. Like mine personally. Like I'm the first American to come to Europe and to fall in love with it. We've lived in Germany for 10 months now and other than our first trip to Paris in August, 2012, we've done all our traveling off season. With the arrival of June and higher temperatures and sunshine, tourist season is upon us. Prague had also flooded the week before so Matt and I were sure that people would have cancelled their trips and we would have Prague to ourselves. Nope. Maybe all these people thought the same thing. Boy, we were all in for a surprise. I guess I'm going to have to learn to share Europe with the rest of the world.

At the center of the Old Town Square is a memorial to Jan Hus, a Czech priest who lived between 1349-1415. He thought all the same things as Martin Luther did, only a century earlier. He was burned at the stake for heresy against the Catholic Church. He is considered the first church reformer. Why was Jan Hus burned at the stake and Martin Luther heralded as a reformer? Mostly because Jan Hus was Czech and Martin Luther was a German. The Catholic Church thought it was a lot easier to make an example of Hus. Burning a German at the stake would have caused much more of an uprising. 

Every which way you turn in the Old Town Square gives you glimpses of the true beauty of Prague.

St. Nicholas church.

Prague can trace it's beginnings to a Celtic settlement that started in 6th century AD. Prague flourished during the 1300's as capital of Bohemia. It was an important city for the Habsburgs (those guys in charge of the Austro-Hungarian Empire). The city became an economic powerhouse in 1771 and rich merchants filled the city with churches and palaces. They gave Prague the Baroque architecture that it is known for around the world. 

This church looming like a specter from behind the jaunty pink and yellow buildings is the Týn Church, or Church of Our Lady before Týn. It was built in the 14th century. It gave my husband, Matt, the willies. He said it looked just like that place in the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang where the guy with the big nose took the children. He kept giving the church sideways glances. I think he was having memories surface about nightmares he had as a child about being stolen away by a man with a big nose. I stroked his arm and told him that nobody was going to steal him away now.

We followed the crowds over to the Charles Bridge. The Charles Bridge connects the two halves of Prague over the Vltava river. It is the oldest stone bridge surviving and still in use in Europe today. 

Here we are walking over the bridge with all the other tourists. It wasn't just the fact the Prague was crowded that we were having a hard time with. It was also really warm and we were totally unprepared. We brought shorts and T-shirts so clothes weren't the problem. We just really weren't ready mentally to battle that kind of heat. After the cold temps and rain we had just had on our trip to Berlin, the heat and sunshine were a shock.

This is King Charles who laid the first stone on July 9,1357 for the bridge. Prague is really into statues. They are in the squares. They are on the bridges.

They put statues on the tops of their buildings. 

They even stick them on the sides of buildings. Heck, if you hold still long enough they might put a statue on you.

Not that I'm complaining. Prague is a breathtakingly beautiful city. One of the reasons that Prague is so beautiful is because it suffered relatively low bombing damage during World War II. Hitler entered Prague in 1939 and claimed it to be part of Germany. Prague was liberated from Nazi Germany by the Soviet Red Army in 1945.

After seeing the main sights and attractions in Prague, I just aimlessly wandered around the Old Town. Aimless wandering is one of my favorite things to do in a new city. You never know what you are going to come across or discover when you turn the corner.

I love walking along the streets, mixing with the locals, finding little shops and eateries. And mostly just seeing the city. Marveling at the architecture. Unfortunately, my children tire quickly of aimless wandering in crowded hot cities so there often has to be promises of ice cream to be eaten in the shade.

But after all the aimless wandering and scoops of ice cream and pastries eaten, what I'm really hoping is that these trips, this time in Europe changes them. Like it's changed me. I hope they realize how big the world is, yet small at the same time. How beautiful it is. I hope they learn that you don't need to be scared of cultures or people that are different from you. How beauty is in the differences. I hope they learn to act local, but think global. I hope they learn that with all the history out there that they are a part of it. No matter how small, we are all a part of it.  I hope as adults they will sit around in some cafe in Paris or Madrid and have a sibling reunion and remember their childhood in Europe. I hope that after all the hot car rides and miles walked and shoes worn out and strange beds slept in, that they will still have a love of new places, languages, and stories. I guess I hope that by showing them the world they will want to make it a better place.

Na shledanou,

Kelly

17 Years At Schwetzingen Castle - Germany

My husband and I recently celebrated our 17th anniversary. Yes, I will take applause now. At times it feels like it has gone by so fast. At other times, it feels like instead of 17 years it has been 17 lifetimes. To celebrate our anniversary we went to the Schwetzingen Schloss, or the Schwetzingen Castle.

If you are thinking, "Oh, how romantic and exciting!" Don't. It really required no work from us at all. I consider Heidelberg to be my front yard and Schwetzingen to be my back yard as I live right between the two of them. I fight traffic in front of the castle often as it's the fastest way to my son's soccer field. So basically we went somewhere that we see weekly in errands. Let the romance run wild.

If you are wondering how to pronounce Schwetzingen, it's like this - Sh-vets-ing-gun.

These are the Schwetzingen Gardens. They were started in the mid 1700's. This is the front half. They are the formal gardens and are planted in a French garden design. 

The spring planting with the Zirkelbau or orangery/reception rooms of the castle in the back ground. An orangery is a place in a fashionable residence where citrus trees in tubs would be wintered. Needless to say, my current apartment lacks an orangery and therefore, cannot be thought of as fashionable.

On the south side of the garden, there is this little bricked off section where flowering trees grow. From the street you can only see the tops of these pink trees. But when you pass through the iron gate, you get rewarded with all the daffodils.

I love how the ground looked like pink confetti had been thrown all over.

This is the pathway to the English section of the garden. English design, not English speaking. The English portion was planted to look more natural and to have more harmony with the landscape than the meticulously maintained flowerbeds in the French section.

I don't know if you can tell from this picture, but these blossoms are as big as my fist. 

Here I am practicing my bridge-vamp pose a'la Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. If you don't know what I am talking about, see it here. I know I'm not even close, but in my defense she was wearing Ked's with no socks (a look I absolutely adore) and I am in a trench coat. I guess it's just my excuse to strike a pose with no one looking.

More of the natural English garden.

Here is a view of the back of the castle. The Schwetzingen Gardens are one of the few examples where you can see the classic look of a formal French garden blend into the newer, natural example of an English garden. 

After our meandering around the castle, we went to find a Biergarten that our friend had told us about. The only problem was this is Germany and there are like 37 different Biergartens around the castle. So we picked one that provided a good photo op. Like this one. (There was a little confusion with my kids as to what a Biergarten actually is. They had visions of a garden with fountains spewing beer out of them. Unfortunately for some, this is not the case. A Biergarten is nothing more than a restaurant with an outdoor dining space. No beer spewing fountains here.)

The view from the Biergarten.

The sun was setting and it was time to meander back through the gardens to the car, still holding hands after 17 years.

Tschüß,

Kelly

Wedding Day Vomit

Today is my 15th anniversary. Pretty momentous, right? My wedding day was filled with typical things. A beautiful white dress. A candle lit ceremony. First kiss as man and wife. My fiance turned husband dapper in a black tuxedo. Family all dressed up and running around, laughing and talking and sometimes arguing. A five tier white cake with flowers. Dancing and food. Bouquets tossed. Rice thrown in air and showering down on us as we ran to our decorated car. And to top it all off, puke all across the backseat of that car. That I got to clean up. Awesome.

Let me back track a little. Matt and I decided not to have a limo take us from the reception to our hotel downtown. We thought it was a better idea to drive the shiny, green Audi we had just bought together. Our first car as husband and wife. What a better symbol to leave the reception in than our first major purchase together? I was the principle driver of the shiny, green Audi so Matt decided that the night before the wedding we should switch cars so that he could get it washed and all clean for us to leave the wedding in. What a great plan. Too bad it all turned to crap. Or vomit actually.

Matt had his then five year old nephew, Joey (not his real name), sleep over the night before our wedding day. Joey was set to be our ring bearer in the ceremony and Matt wanted to do something special for him as a thank you. Matt and Joey took the car to get washed, vacuumed, Windexed and all shined up for the big day. And after that he and Joey went and did typical uncle things. Mainly letting him stay up really late and eat all sorts of junk food. When Joey woke up the next day (our wedding day) he told Uncle Matt that he wasn't feeling too good. Who would after staying up till 1:00 am eating fourteen bags of Skittle's and M&M's? Matt hurriedly bundled Joey up and tried to get him home to his mom and dad before the inevitable happened. He wasn't quick enough. Joey puked Skittle's and M&M's all over the back seat of the freshly detailed, shiny, green Audi.

Here is the part in the story where I really don't understand what happened. Or really understand what Matt was thinking because the first thing he did after Joey puked was drive to my parent's house and switch cars without even telling me. On our wedding day. What a sweetheart, huh?

I'm sitting in my parent's living room just killing time when I see Matt pull up in my shiny, green Audi and take out a pale Joey and place him in his car which was in my driveway. He then starts to drive away. I run to the door and get ready to ask him what's going on when he slows down (he doesn't even stop) and rolls down the window and says, "Hey, Joey doesn't feel well. I've got to get him home." I wave to him and then he starts to speed up and roll the window back up. He then rolls it down a little more and as he's speeding away I think I hear him yell, "And he threw up in the back seat. See ya!"

What? Did he really just say 'And he threw up in the back seat?' What am I supposed to do about that? Doesn't he realize it's my wedding day?! Now mind you, the reason I was killing time was because I was pretty much ready. Nails, done. Hair in an elegant upsweep, done. Make-up, done. My dress was hanging up in my room ready to go. Now I'm supposed to go and clean up candy puke from his nephew? I realized that nobody else was going to clean this up so I got in the stinky car and drove it down the the local car wash where they have shampoo machines. I then spent the next 30 minutes scrubbing candy puke out of the cream, velvet interior of my shiny, green Audi. I did get a lot of stares while I was there. I did after all have a very formal hairdo and wedding make up on. But I was wearing sweats. Super hot.

After scrubbing the upchuck out of my back seat I decided I wasn't going to let this ruin my day. It was my wedding day after all. I got my dress and drove to the the site of the wedding. The rest of the day went smoothly and was beautiful.

The next morning Matt and I sat and had a gorgeous brunch in the restaurant of the hotel we stayed in. I decided that even though I wasn't going to let the "puke incident" ruin my wedding day, I had no problem letting it ruin the day after my wedding.

Me - "So... do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Matt - "About what?"
Me - "Seriously?"
Matt - No words. Just a smirk on his face.
Me - "Well, if you won't say it, I will. About how you dropped off a car filled with puke to your fiance on her wedding day."
Matt - "What was I supposed to do?"
Me - "You're kidding right? How about clean it up? It was after all, My Wedding Day." My voice is now starting to edge up just a little bit.
Matt - "Well, it was MY wedding day too."
Okay. The gloves are off. No more Mrs. Nicey-Nicey.
Me - "Well, you're lucky it ended up being your wedding day because after a stunt like that, I almost didn't show up."
Matt - "Well, you did. Too late now." More smirking.

I didn't know what to say here. He was right. I did show up. All my power was gone. Playing mad wasn't working. I had to pull out the big guns.

Me - "I was just really hurt. It made me feel like you didn't care." Oh my. The twisted web we weave.
Matt - "Honey, let me set something straight right now. I. Don't. Do. Throw. Up. Never. Never, ever, ever. The smell of it, the sight of it makes me throw up. I had to hold my shirt balled up over my face just to drive the five miles to your parents house. And when I start throwing up, I don't stop. You should be glad that I dropped off the car to you or I might not have made it to the wedding."

True to form, for the fifteen years of our marriage, this has been right on. Every time one of our kids or I am sick he runs out of the room. He can't even stand listening to the retching sound. This also means that when our kids are sick, I'm the only one who gets to clean that up too.

Back to fifteen years ago. I decided to let it drop. For that day anyway. I have opened up the vault and taken this little anecdote out every now and then when I feel like he is being a turd.

Me - "You know that this reminds me of? Our wedding day when you dropped off a car filled with vomit."
Matt - "You need to get over that."
Me - "NEVER!"

So that is pretty much the story of my Wedding Day Vomit. What should you take away from this? If you remember anything, remember this. That man sneakily left my new car in my parents driveway filled with surprise puke on My Wedding Day and I still married him. That is how much I loved him. I still showed up. I still said my vows and slipped a ring on his finger and listened to him say his and slip a ring on my finger. Those vows have rung pretty true. We've had good times and bad. We've been richer and poorer. We've had sickness and we've had health. But I wouldn't trade any of it. Not the times together or the times apart because it's all of our experiences that have given us the amazing marriage that we have today. Every single experience has shaped the husband and wife we are to each other. Even the pukey ones. After reading this story if there is anyone out there still wondering what would I say that day, I will tell you. I do, I do, I do. A million times over, I do.

Happy 15th Anniversary Matt.

Ich liebe dich. Sie sind mein Herz. Sie sind meine Seele.

Love And All That Other Stuff

Today is the day where you tell the one you love how much you love them. Valentine's Day. Because of our circumstances, Matt and I regularly tell each other how much we love, appreciate, miss and cherish each other. Sigh... I know. We are so sweet. Since he already knows the things I love about him, I will tell you.

I love...

Matt's smile. It's perfect (without the help of an orthodontist). It lights up the room.

How he can put anything together or fix anything. He went to install a water heater once in an apartment and I said "Wait. Do you know how to do that?" And he just said "I'll figure it out." And he did.

How we have running jokes just between the two of us that have been going on for over a decade.

How funny he is. Even when he isn't trying to be funny.

That he is such a great dad.

That he never misses an opportunity to go to the school and have lunch with our kids.

That he isn't afraid to stand up for someone or something he believes in.

That he buys me flowers.

How from far away his eyes look brown but when you get up close you realize that they are really gold with green flecks in them.

How he never tries to change the way I feel. 

That he loves to explore as much as I do.

That he will dance in the kitchen with me to Nat King Cole and Dean Martin.

That he will talk in a French accent while we eat French food.

How he never sits back and lets someone do all the work. Matt is usually the first and last one working.

That he worked two jobs and went to school when our kids were little.

How he lets me put my cold feet on his warm feet in bed.

How strong he is.

How he grows a goatee because he knows I love it.

How he wears the argyle sweater I bought him that he doesn't like as much as I do.

If something needs to be repaired around the house, he does it right away. He doesn't procrastinate.

That he holds my hand everywhere we go.

That he also insists on getting my door.

That he doesn't get embarrassed.

How he doesn't question decisions I've made.

That he isn't afraid to express how he feels.

How he will admit when he's wrong.

How he writes me love letters.

How he is exactly the right height for me to rest my head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

That he makes me my favorite dinner almost every time he comes home.

That he will be silly.

That he will go down a slide backwards to make the kids laugh.

And I especially love that no matter how hard on myself I am, how unattractive I think I am, or how much I think I've messed something up, he is always there to disagree with me.

Signs of Love, or How To Set Yourself Up For Teasing

Welcome to my blog, Maybe Too Blonde. After much prodding by people who shall remain nameless, I have decided to start a blog. It may be funny, it may not. It may be sad, it may not. But it will always be here. Let me introduce myself with a story.

Those of you out there that know me in person will know how much I love to tease people. I love to make little jokes at other's expense. Like when my brother clogged our toilet. I love to tease him about that. Which brother was it? I'm not at liberty to say.

My husband and I were once on the freeway when a dump truck flew by us at well over 90 mph. We were both shocked by the blatant disregard for safety when my husband said, "There should be a law against trucks going that fast." I looked at him, and I'm afraid, burst out laughing. "There is!", I laughed. "It's called a speed limit!" He then turned bright red and sat silent. I have never let him forget this. I break out this little story, along with a few other gems, at parties and get togethers. And people crack up. Matt takes this all in stride. He is great. But I on the other hand have on many occasions been described as a person who can dish it out, but not take it. When people make jokes at my expense, I tend to pout, get defensive, and leave. Usually all three. My family or friends, sometimes both, have to come and get me from the other room and tell me to lighten up. So it is with this following story that I am prepared to tell that I knew my husband really loved me. Or understood me. Or wanted to make me happy. Or probably all three.

About four years ago we were driving as a family from Disneyland in California to my dad's house in Phoenix. Any of you that have ever driven this stretch of highway know how desolate and barren it can be. Picture me driving. We depart a little town called Kingman where you leave the interstate and take a little two lane highway all the way into Phoenix. We had about a half a tank of gas at this point. I thought it was enough. I was almost, almost, wrong. About two thirds of the way to Wickenburg, the first sign of civilization in the desert outside of Phoenix, I started noticing the needle on our gas gauge dropping much more quickly than I thought it should. With 45 miles to go still to get to Wickenburg, our gas light came on. Crap. Matt started to say in that I-told-you-so voice that I should have filled up in Kingman. This is not the point in the story where I messed up. I slowed our speed from a clippy 65 to a turtle's pace of 40 hoping the reduction in speed would help us consume less gas. Ten miles out of town, the car started chugging. I'm really sweating now. It's 110 degrees out and Matt has just informed me that he will not be the one walking into Wickenburg with the gas can. Another crap. I silently start the bargaining with the Almighty. If you will please just help us get to the gas station, I will never swear again. I will volunteer at the homeless shelter. I will donate all my shoes to charity. Just pleasepleaseplease let us get to the gas station. Miracle of all miracles, we make it. We are still not to the teasing point of the story. Hang on.

Have you ever been scared to death that something terrible was going to happen, like running out of gas in the middle of the freaking desert and then it didn't happen? You were alright? You know that relief that floods over you and you almost can't believe your good luck? That was where I was. The first gas station we come upon on the highway is one of these really old stations. It only has two pumps and they are not the digital kind. They have the rolling numbers that click away as you fill your pump. Matt stays in the car to entertain the kids, who are hot and tired, and I get out and start to fill the car. I prepay and I watch the numbers click away and start to scrub the suicidal bugs off our huge windshield. I scrub and scrub some more. Noticing that the pump is done, I dump the squeegee in the bucket of water, climb in my car, and drive off. Hmm, what's missing? I will tell you what is missing. I drove off with the nozzle of the gas pump still in my car. Yes. It is true. I did this. As we drive off, slowly I might add because I am all about safety, we hear a terrible crashing-tearing-ripping sound. And this is how smart I am because at first, I don't know what it is. But Matt does. He starts screaming "You are still hooked to the pump!" I slam on my breaks expecting gas to be pouring from the pump but it has one of those safe guards that stops gas from going everywhere when people do exactly what I have just done. How did this happen? I'm not sure. Maybe I was just so happy we made it I was in a fog. At this point I look at Matt and say "what should I do?" I thought I was scared when I thought we were going to run out of gas. But now I'm really scared because I think I'm facing a very expensive gas pump repair. We sit there for about five minutes half expecting the attendant to come running out. But nothing happens.

Here is the part of the story where I am not proud of myself. I ask Matt if I should just leave. I know, I know. Not very upstanding, am I? Matt sits there, speechless, letting me figure this out. I then decide to go in and explain what happened, because hey, my kids are watching and for all I know, they guy inside is probably writing my license plate down right this second and calling the cops. I remove the nozzle, which is still in my car, and carry it, hose and all into the gas station. At the counter of the very old gas station which on a side note I think was called Billy-Bob's (no lie) was a girl all of 14. She doesn't even look up at me when I walk in carrying the amputated hose and nozzle. She is chewing gum and reading a magazine. I slowly approach her and when she finally acknowledges me, I carefully, oh so carefully, place the mess on the counter. Now here is where I don't really understand what came out of my mouth but it sounded kind of like this:
"I-was-putting-gas-in-my-car-and-somehow-I-don't-really-know-how-this-nozzle-fell-off-all-by-it-self-when-I-drove-off-with-it-still-stuck-to-my-car-and-I-don't-know-how-I-did-that." She looks at me apologetically and says, just leave it here. I'll let the owner know tomorrow. Okay. You don't have to tell me twice. I looked at her and said "Gotta go!" and ran to the car. Matt was very anxious to know what had happened. Were they calling the police? Was I being chased? I started the car, made sure it wasn't attached to anything, and got the heck out of Dodge.

Now where in this story does the teasing take place you ask. But that is the point. It never does. As we drive the remaining 30 miles to my dad's I am mentally playing out all the things, ammo if you will, that Matt has against me now. Know how blonde my wife is? Let me tell you. She can't even pump gas. I am waiting, just waiting with a big target on my face for the verbal ribbing that I am sure is coming. But it never comes. He has never mentioned it again. I have told the story a few times. It gets a lot of laughs, but Matt never elaborates or makes fun of me. Don't get me wrong, Matt has done his fair share of teasing, but about this, never. I must say, that this one event in my life did cause me to question my intelligence. Was I not as smart as I thought I was? How could I be so stupid! This takes the cake for all the dumb blonde things anyone could do. All I can say is that maybe Matt knew how I was silently lashing myself and figured he had nothing to add. But after about six months of no teasing, I quietly decided that he really did love me and was choosing love over a good tease.

Would I have done the same? I really don't know. I'd like to think I would, but honestly, I'm not sure. I guess at some things, he is better than me. Not teasing some you love would be one of them.

What little things made you realize that you were loved?