Mendelssohn on the Roof, Martinů in the House

Karl and I joined friends last week for dinner and a concert at the Rudolfinum, yet another stunning Prague edifice. In so many cities, it would be the go-to example of neo-Renaissance, drool-worthy architecture. In Prague, however, where it's a chore to find a boring building, the Rudolfinum has to be content with sharing the glory. So it never hurts to have a little lore to lean on in attracting attention. A girl's gotta know how to use her assets. More on that later.

We met up with Madeleine and Vašek for dinner before heading to the concert. There's a future post percolating about Vašek, but suffice to say he's been an instrumental figure in our Prague landscape.


Fat and happy, off we went to the Rudolfinum, which looked nothing like this last Thursday night. Just wanted to show off these pretty pics I took in November. Back when the sun shone.


Details for the music lovers ~ the program included Rhapsody: Concerto for Viola and Orchestra by Bohuslav Martinů, Philharmonic Dances by Jan Novák, and Antonín Dvořák's Symphony No. 6.

While I found the music engaging, if you asked me to expand on that, I'm not sure I'd come up with more than, "it was real purty."

Let's call the professor in, shall we? Karl?

The Martinů struck me as surprisingly lush and warm, which is an interesting choice, since the tone of the viola is inherently warm, and you might expect the composer to set up the orchestra as more of a contrast. From today's vantage point -- a week after the concert -- the main thing that sticks is the way Martinů plays back and forth between minor and major, somehow having one tonality fade into the other and then back again.

Novák's piece was loud. The Martinů had used a limited orchestra, sort of a chamber orchestra. Everybody else came out for the Novák, and they played loud. After the first of the three dances, Madeleine remarked that it were as if they knew she'd been up early that morning with her grandchild. Kate commented more simply that it was "bombastic"--but in a good way. My overall impression was of orchestration with a broad brush, sort of a textbook approach to getting a large, "philharmonic" sound, far from the subtleties of Ravel or Mahler. But it was effective after its fashion. And the insistence of the odd-meter rhythms in the last dance finally has its way with the listener.

The Dvořák is an old friend of mine, which I first learned by playing it with the Evansville (Indiana) Philharmonic in 1991. I was so taken with the piece (particularly the coda of the first movement) that I quickly went out and got a recording of it (London Philharmonic, Istvan Kertesz conducting). The interesting thing when you hear a piece you know well from one particular recording is to see how the performance you're at interacts with the version that's been ground into your head by repeated listenings. One danger is that you'll react to any deviation from your expectations as a flaw. Another possibility is that the new performance reveals aspects of the piece that you had never noticed. What was surprising in this case was how much the piece played out ... just like I expected it to. But that didn't make it disappointingly routine. Maybe I just like the piece so much that I was satisfied to hear a good live performance of it. There was one big difference from my familiar version, in that Altrichter (the conductor) started off much slower than I expected, switching to the tempo I knew after the introductory theme statement; he went back to that slower tempo at analogous parts of the first movement, switching right back to the main tempo when the underlying character of the music changed. In recordings from the 60's, 70's, and 80's this sort of thing is rare, but if you go back to recordings of Wilhelm Furtwängler's conducting from the 40's, it's all over the place. I thought Altrichter used it well. Madeleine commented, "To nebylo málo muziky za peníze," which translates roughly as, "That wasn't just a little music for the money." She was right.

Thanks, honey. Like I said, real purty.

The Rudolfinum opened as a "house of artists" in 1885 with the Czech Philharmonic taking up residence in 1896. The building served as the provisional seat of the Parliament of the Czechoslovak Republic after the country's founding 1918. In 1920 they went and made the whole thing legal, with the Parliament using the building as its permanent seat. But once the Nazis came to town in 1939, well ... there was no need for Parliament. Back to concert hall.


"House of Artists" has an egalitarian ring to it, and the Rudolfinum is home to a gallery as well as a concert hall. Prominent composers and artists peer down from the roof's perimeter, although the musicians seem to have the best real estate.

Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, and Handel enjoy the southern view at the front of the building.


On the east side, looking out toward Old Town and the Jewish Quarter, are Weber, Haydn, Mendelssohn, and Schumann.


We tried mightily to identify these four on the west side but couldn't find anything in books or online. They survey the Vltava river for a water view. Why wasn't Handel placed here?


As to the aforementioned lore, it is said that during the Nazi occupation in World War II, orders came down from German headquarters to remove the statue of Mendelssohn from the Rudolfinum. Writer Jiří Weil had some dark fun with this premise in his 1960 novella Mendelssohn Is on the Roof.

In it the SS officers who trudged to the roof didn't know their Bach from their Beethoven, let alone Mendelssohn from anyone else. And so intending to dismantle Felix Mendelssohn, who was raised Christian but "tainted" in the eyes of the Nazis due to a Jewish bloodline, the officers found the statue displaying the most prominent nose. And down came Hitler's darling, Richard Wagner.

We don't know how much of this is apocryphal, but a few things are certain: there never was a statue of Wagner on the roof of the Rudolfinum, and Mendelssohn stands solid today, looking out at the Jewish cemetery. It's possible that the statue was brought down and then replaced.

But I love the story. It makes me chuckle, not just because of the obvious irony, but also because it conjures thoughts of Bugs Bunny and the Blues Brothers.

(Hey, I had to show off my cultural knowledge, too. Remember? A girl's gotta know how to use her assets.)

Parting shot: Prague Castle at night, taken from Mánes Bridge as we crossed it to catch the tram home. Purty, ain't it?

Vánoční trhy (Christmas Markets)

December in Prague. It's cold, and it's dark by 4:30. What better way to combat seasonal affective disorder than to get outside in the daylight hours and enjoy a cup of svařák (mulled wine) and a hunk of šunka (ham) with the rest of humanity.

Mix and a mingle and all that.



Originating in Germany in the Middle Ages, Christmas markets are a popular destination for locals and tourists alike in many European cities. Market stalls pop up all over Prague, but the biggest (and probably most tourist-y, but nonetheless lovely) is at Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square).



Christmas markets rev up in late November, hit a fever pitch by early December, and ride the momentum right through New Year's and into early January. (So Adrienne and family: bring your woolies!)

We spent Saturday afternoon taking in the atmosphere -- and some svařák -- at Old Town Square. Here are some goofy boys in front of the Christmas tree and the Church of Our Lady Before Týn.


Church of St. Nicholas behind some market stalls.



Old Town Hall. We ascended the tower for a panoramic view.



Týn Cathedral from the tower.


Birds-eye view of Christmas market stalls around Jan Hus Memorial statue.



Sweet Ben


Prague Castle


St. Nicholas
Some cute guy.


Clock watchers -- it was nowhere near the top of the hour, so the crowd was a little thinner than it is just before the big show. (Which isn't that big.)


Here's what they were looking at: the Astronomical Clock.


And Dad -- who's never far from me when there's a Dixieland band playing -- this is for you.

Garrett the Great White

Have a look at Garrett.



Let's put aside, for the moment, his spot-on impression of a certain Edvard Munch painting, and focus on this.


Garrett's got a new set of teeth. And he's growing them in rows. Like a shark.

Sharks' teeth grow in multiple rows, with new ones moving to the front line as the older soldiers break off or fall out.

When I went looking for a picture of shark teeth in rows, I found the usual gory Jaws photo assortment but was taken aback to find several shots of children among the images. A click and a look revealed that they all had two rows of lower teeth. Like G. And pediatric dentists have a name for these children: shark-teeth kids.

Garrett is a shark-teeth kid.

This revelation will come as no surprise to his brother, Ben, their cousin Gabriel, or G's friend Owen back home -- all of whom have been on the receiving end of Garrett's chompers through the years. Love bites, indeed.

So now we have to find a family dentist who speaks English and is gentle with kids. So s/he can yank out Garrett's front teeth.

Actually, reports are sort of mixed on how best to address this. If you, dear reader, have any experience with this and care to share, I'd appreciate it.

You think you've thought through all the scenarios of what could happen over the course of a year abroad, away from your turf and familiar services. Then your kid starts sprouting teeth like a shark.

I'm sure it will all be okay. Modern dentistry -- even in eastern Europe! -- can do wonders. Look what it did for these guys.

Mluvíš česky?

I just finished a two-week intensive Czech class through Czech Language Training that I've been attending three hours each weekday since Garrett's birthday. Because I didn't have enough going on this past fortnight.

And after focusing on česky jazyk (Czech language) for almost 30 hours of class time -- and the odd evening minutes here and there -- I'm starting to understand a little of the buzz around me.

Petra, the instructor, was great. Very laid back and cheerful, she made the classes fun.


That's right, taking Czech classes was kind of fun. I mentioned this to an acquaintance I bumped into last weekend.

"In the four and a half years I've lived here, that is the first time anyone has said learning Czech was fun," she replied.

I credit Petra.

But we had a good mix of folks, too.

Here we are, a veritable melting pot. We represented five continents and languages, lacking only Australia. And Antarctica.


Mohammed (from Tunisia) arrived in the fall. His wife is Czech. Luis (Colombia) is engaged to a Czech woman. They met in Australia, so perhaps he's our Australia connection. He's committed to giving Prague a year before he decides whether or not he can abide the climate. And the language.

Celine (France) is a student getting a masters in education. The Czech class helped her fulfill course requirements for her degree. And Sanoj (India) arrived just a day or two before the class started. He is a social worker and starts his job in two weeks helping disadvantaged children at a local facility.

It was a relief, if humbling, that our common language was English. Which means all of these guys were learning their third language, if not fourth. I have some knowledge of Spanish, but I couldn't claim any level of fluency. Ah, America.


The class actually finishes tomorrow, but my book group gathers in the morning I decided I'd rather discuss Three Cups of Tea over homemade goodies and a Christmas book swap than conjugate irregular verbs in the future tense.

Go ahead, you can say it: slacker.

The Final Installment

Part three, in a series. Part one here. Part two here.

A few have wondered if it would be possible to send the boys to different schools. Logistically it just wouldn't work. Riverside and Tusarova are in opposite directions from our door, and their start times would have us either early at one or late at the other. More to the point, though, is this: Garrett would not want to be at Tusarova without Ben. Garrett's display on Tuesday morning showed his anxiety in the moment about changing schools, but we knew it wouldn't last once he checked out Riverside. As I mentioned in a comment, Garrett may be losing something in this equation, but he's gaining a lot, too.

+ + + + + + + +

When last we left our heroes, Beaming Ben and Growling Garrett were en route to Riverside for their Look-See morning visit. Arriving in the school courtyard, we took in the scene: backpacks ditched at the side of the school, kids running around, throwing snowballs, laughing and yelling in English. Ben turned to me, eyes shining, and with quiet earnestness said, "I'm ready." No kidding, he was beaming. Ben let the principal, Mr. Chisholm, walk him to his classroom to settle in while I dealt with a fretful Garrett.

Garrett did his best to deflect any friendly overtures from the teacher, Mrs. Perie, and other students, but his resolve melted quickly as he was seduced into conversations in which he could function better than a toddler.

I was able to extract myself just after 10 o'clock (my Czech class started at 9:30, I got there at 11). When Karl came to pick up at noon, Garrett loped across the playground to him, exclaiming, "I made a friend!"

The battle, however, wasn't quite over. On the bus ride home, Garrett said Riverside was fine, but he wasn't going to go there right away.

We wanted to face this head on, but it's not always clear what the best approach is with G. Later that afternoon I chatted with him while he had snack. I had a little speech prepared.

Parents have to make choices about what they think is the best option for their children in a tough situation. We'd hoped Tusarova would work out well for everyone. While you made friends and had fun there, your need to learn how to read and write wasn't being met ...

I was planning to play the reading/writing card because G specifically mentioned to me within the previous week, "we've got to get me reading." Also, I didn't want Garrett to blame Ben for G needing to leave his friends.

I got to the part about Tusarova being good in some ways when Garrett interrupted me.

"Actually, I like Riverside better."

Phew.

So that's it. They started Wednesday. Both teachers reported the boys had a fabulous first day. Ms. Logan, Ben's teacher, said at one point she saw Ben and three other boys from class laughing and walking arm-in-arm down the hall. And Garrett happily has been taken under the wing of Allison, one of his classmates. By Friday it seemed they'd been there all year.

+ + + + + + + +

We're delighted that the boys are as happy as they are at Riverside, and grateful we had the option to send them there. But it's not without some sadness. There is an opportunity lost in this. If we didn't acknowledge that, the picture would not be complete. We thought it was important enough to try a local school despite the difficulties. Just because something is hard, we told the boys, doesn't mean it's not worth doing. Had we known of the specific problems sooner and addressed them effectively, that, too, could have provided an important lesson about persevering through challenges.


And Ben and Garrett did hang in there, even when it was really hard. I hope they have gained a sense of their resilience and ability to adapt. Their mom and dad certainly see it in them. And we could not be more proud of them.


Boys, you rock.

Language, it seems, wasn't the issue

Not entirely, anyway.

Last week I spoke with representatives from several of the international primary schools in Prague and visited two sites. Both were lovely in their own way. One did not have room in either the kindergarten or second grade (she could have told me that before I made the trip out there, but whatever). Naturally we went with the one that had room for our boys: Riverside School.

Riverside is considerably smaller than the first school I visited and not nearly as flashy. But the warmth of the staff toward me during the interview and the feeling of community throughout the halls comforted me and reminded me somewhat of Center Street, the elementary school where Ben and Garrett will return next year. The atmosphere in the classrooms was even better. From what I saw the children were engaged and having fun. They were polite to each other and to anyone they encountered. A week ago today I left that meeting, shed the burden of anxiety that had been building, and went to pick the boys up from their last day at Tusarova.

Over a snack of ice cream, I mentioned that I'd looked at some schools.

Ben's head snapped up, his body daring to hope.

"English schools?"

I nodded.

"Are we going to go?"

"What would you think of that?" I asked, looking at Garrett.

"Yeah. Yes! YES!" Both of them pumped fists in the air.

Certainly the initial reaction was positive, but we knew it would be tricky with Garrett. By Saturday afternoon, he looked at me with tears teetering on his lower lids and insisted he didn't want to go to a new school, didn't want to leave the friends he'd made.

Ben, on the other hand, started speaking Czech.

The boy who curled in a ball at school for the last two and half months suddenly read headlines to us from Karl's newspaper, asked how to say certain things, and crafted phrases about comic book characters.

Which is a little bittersweet. It's clear he was not happy at Tusarova, but he was absorbing something. More than he knew, or wanted to admit to himself. As parenthropologist mentioned in her comment on the last post, "it easily could have gone the other way, with Ben taking to the Czech school."

True, that. It's a shame he didn't have a better situation. One with a friend.

Anyhoo. Since it didn't seem right to make Garrett test-drive a new kindergarten class on his birthday, especially if he were wholly against the idea, we put off the boys' school visit for a day. Tuesday morning saw us off to Riverside, Ben with a spring in his step and Garrett with daggers in his eyes. He left no doubt as to his feelings.

"I'm NOT spending even ONE DAY at Riverside! I want to go to Tusarova!"

Sigh.

The final update about this transition to come.

Oh, and 3? It's a magic number. Yes it is.

Know When to Fold 'em

Changes are brewing here, and we're sending the boys to a new school. Wrapping my head around the events that got us here, I wrote this last week. I'll post the update in the next day or two.

Three, it's a magic number. That's what everyone told us anyway.

As a child, our friend Andrée lived for a year in France when her father was on sabbatical. She spent the first three months in school mute and then busted out in perfect French.

A nursing student who babysat for us last year waxed poetic about her time in the Netherlands in elementary school. She left without any knowledge of Dutch and came home fluent. “It took about three months,” she told us.

And Karl's mother, Char, an ESL teacher of many years, said something clicks for kids after three months' time in an immersion situation. “Christmas, it all comes together around Christmas.”

I could go on. But none of that really matters when it's not coming together for your kid.

Ben –– we learned recently –– has really been struggling with school. He got into a downward spiral situation which involved other kids in the class actively excluding him from break-time activities and him shutting down and not participating in class. His teacher said he would eat during class (rather than break, when it was allowed), go to the bathroom many times, and sit in the knees-up position reading an English book. (He would not earn any checks for that!) She let him because she felt badly for him.

Garrett, on the other hand, seems to be on the verge of actually speaking Czech. Although he would claim differently, his teachers say that he communicates effectively, either in using very simple Czech (with beautiful pronunciation!) or hand gestures. He makes himself understood. And based on what he tells us about his school day, it's obvious he's absorbing more than what he would be observing visually.

But Garrett's class, kindergarten, is the perfect place for a child learning a new language. The schedule is very predictable. The agenda is all play, all day. (I'm sure there's more to it than that, but from a kid's point of view, that's the take home.)

In second grade, however, Ben has to sit through subjects such as science, Česky jazyk (Czech language), and social studies all in a different language. The only one he enjoys is math. It must be comforting that the numbers are the same.

Compounding the different environments are their wildly different temperaments. Garrett is social, gregarious, not too afraid to take risks –– in other words well suited to pick up a new language. Ben is much more internally focused, intellectual and precise, a bit shy.

We're three months into the academic year. Ben is miserable when he's at school, a fact we did not understand fully until last week. We knew he wasn't happy about the set up, but he didn't talk about school at home. And at home he was very content.

We've gone back and forth on this, but the bottom line is we want our children to enjoy this year. And so, we're pulling the plug on our cultural experiment at ZS Tusarova and looking into enrolling Ben and Garrett at one of the international schools.

I'm conflicted about this only because Garrett is right on the cusp of speaking Czech. And he actually enjoys school now, which wasn't the case back in October. His teachers tell us each day how much more he communicates than even the week before.

Should we have gone this route from the beginning? I don't know. I guess I'm glad we tried it, and equally glad that Karl and I are on the same page in recognizing the need to change.

This whole parenting thing is a big kick in the pants sometimes.