Wishing everyone a great new year. May all your dreams, hopes and wishes come true this year.
Wish big, reach high. Disrupt a category, break your breaking point. Help others reach their goals. Don’t stop. Start something new. Be an innovator. Set lofty goals. Be generous and kind. Don’t settle into status quo. Change with the changing times.
Never give up.
Watch for my first podcast of the year. You don’t want to miss it.
Copyright (c) 2023. Emma Blogs, LLC.
The nature oblivious to the Coronavirus horrors is waking up from its winter’s sleep.
I enjoyed nature’s gifts during my first walk to the The Franciscan Life Process Center: daffodils getting ready to burst open, birds singing and frogs croaking in the swamp off the gravel road.
Just under two miles, the walk covers a variety of terrain and vegetation enhanced by the beautiful landscape at the Franciscan campus outside of Lowell.
The ornamental grasses were neatly trimmed and the colors of the meadow were changing from yellowish to green. I walked past the vacant parking lot to the St. Mary’s Rosary Walk.
On normal days, the center is busy with arts and music programming. People from far and near enjoy the Franciscans’ offerings: everything from painting au plain air, music instruction, community gardening, trails to retreats in the yurts or the San Pietro house.
The gardening team is usually busy with their landscaping tasks.
But today it was quiet as the silence pierced my ears and only an occasional robin broke the spell.
I spent some quiet time on St. Mary’s Plazza as one of the sisters, who was walking her mutt Pico, greeted me.
“What a beautiful day,” she said.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous.”
At that moment I realized how fortunate we were to enjoy the beautiful Friday afternoon far away from the nation’s Coronavirus hot spots.
“What is your name?” the sister asked.
“I am Emma,” I answered. “And yours?”
“I am sister Mary Paula,” she said.
There has never been a need for social distancing outside the buildings at the center surrounded by open space. I walked the way of the cross several times and I have never encountered a single soul. The same goes for the trails on the 230-acre campus, where you immerse yourself in serenity.
When I got home, my husband Ludek was cleaning up around the outdoors furnace after a long winter.
“Let’s go somewhere, it’s Friday afternoon,” I said.
“There’s nowhere to go,” he said.
There is still nature left and its bountiful gifts for us to enjoy in the times of the Coronavirus.
Tips: Consider the COVID-19 quarantine as your personal retreat away from the society’s hustle and bustle. Let it transform you.
Featured photo: the retreat yurts at the Franciscan Life Process Center.
Stay tuned for continued day by day coverage of the Coronavirus crisis.
Visit the Franciscans at: https://lifeprocesscenter.org/
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Copyright (c) 2020. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
Christmas gift of health inspires
Going to a hospital is never easy. We’ve all been there during our lifetime at least once when we were born. Last Friday, I accompanied my lifelong partner Ludek to Metro Health for left heart catheterization with possible intervention at the Metro Hospital in Wyoming.
I was actually the designated driver on this trip. We packed our bags, because we didn’t know if we were going to stay overnight depending on the outcome of the procedure. The sarcastic locals dub Metro as Hotel 6 since it sits directly on freeway M-6.
Cardiac catheterization is a procedure used to diagnose and treat cardiovascular conditions. The doctor inserts a long thin tube called a catheter in an artery or vein in the wrist, neck or groin and threads it through the bloods vessels to the heart.
It was a follow-up to the echo stress test that showed possible narrowing of the blood vessels, that in turn causes chest pains and difficulty breathing. Ludek had been complaining of breathing difficulties.
We got to the hospital at noon. We first went to the Metro Cafe because I was starving, but Ludek had to fast. The enormous cafeteria was full with staff and visitors. It boasted that everything was made from scratch. Actually the salad was delicious. They also had a Subway there.
Walking side by side with nurse Leann we passed the Coffee Bar and the hospital boutique on our way to Cath Lab. The staff hooked up Ludek to all the necessary equipment showing vitals in Bay 9.
After that it was mostly waiting. The procedure was delayed twice due to previous complications with other patients. While Ludek got some sleep, it was introspective time for me. Then finally Dr. Larry Diaz, cardiologist, entered to inform us what’s going to happen. Dr. Diaz was wearing a biker’s cap with word Venezuela on it, a shielded floral apron and he had a slight accent.
We introduced ourselves.
“I am Dr. Diaz and you?” he asked.
“I am Emma,” I said.
“My daughter’s name is Emma,” he said.
“Are you from Venezuela?” I asked boldly.
“Yes, born and raised there until 24,” he said. “A long time ago.”
We discussed the procedure with all the possible outcomes including bleeding and death.
“The positives outweigh the negatives,” he said.
I was far from being calm, but once you’re this far into it, you have no other choice then to stay. I wanted to run so bad. Once they hauled Ludek into the surgery room at 3:21 p.m., I left Bay 9 quickly.
I walked through the hallways around the Healing Garden atrium to the Metro Cafe to replenish fluids. It was really cold and dry in the entire building. I got some Peace Tea with Georgia peach flavor and stared into the Healing Garden at the art on the wall, the bare trees, and at the chairs and tables that had snow for cushions.
Luckily, I was there by myself with only a student working on his computer. The lunch buzz was gone. The bins designated for trash were marked “compost.” A chain link wall closed off the check-out registers from the other side of the Cafe.
I felt grateful to philanthropists Bill & Bea Idema who made the Healing Garden possible. The daylight was leaving us gradually under the dark clouds. I had pager #614 on me, so the cath lab staff could reach me anywhere in the building except for the Coffee Bar.
I passed a big waterfall sign with rolling water over the donor plaques with the inscription: Inspired by Philanthropy. The hospital was celebrating 25 years of philanthropy.
Restless, I changed location to the Reflection Seating area overlooking the atrium closer to the cath lab. I was exhausted over all the possibilities of what could happen. I didn’t want to stay there overnight.
“How could I ever consider being a doctor?” I asked myself. “I can’t even stand being here.”
Yes, at one point in my life, I actually wanted to be a doctor, specifically a cardiologist.
I got lost in my thoughts staring into the garden behind the glass wall. If it was summer, I would have been sitting there, but then I wouldn’t have been able to keep my lunch salad leftovers in the car.
I called our son Jake after seeing endless messages on the phone. It was comforting to speak to an outsider about something else than catheters and moderate sedation with opioid analgesic fentanyl.
“How is dad?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “He just went in.”
Jake, a chronic complainer, talked about the rotten healthcare system.
“Well, at least, it’s available to us,” I said. “Can you imagine in the Third World countries, you would just die.”
We talked about Christmas with Jake stirring my focus away from the tension of the moment. It helped. After the phone call, I pulled out the classic “The Night before Christmas” by Clement Moore out of my computer bag, and read it. I bought it for our grandkids. I started translating it into Czech for our Christmas Eve bilingual performance at Jake’s house. It did wonders for me. I forgot I was in a hospital with the husband having a serious heart procedure done.
A call from mom Ella in Florida put me back into the reality of the hospital on a Friday evening. The staff was rapidly deserting it. The labyrinth of hallways was growing Silent.
“Can you get me my medication from Big Rapids?” she asked. “Next time, when I go to Florida, I’ll take a U-Haul.”
“I got to go,” I said as the pager started vibrating and blinking red like crazy.
It was 5:06, when I re-entered Bay 9. Just in time for Ludek being hauled back in from the surgery room. He had a bloody wrist and some contraption on it. He was smiling and so was the nurse.
“He’s good to go,” jumped in Diaz giving us two thumbs up. “He can shovel snow now. He had no blockages, there was nothing to fix.
“Merry Christmas.”
I gave him a big hug. The biggest hug that I could give.
“Thank you Dr. Diaz.”
Ludek had his arm all bandaged up, like it was broken.
We left the building around 7 p.m. Ludek said he saw stars from the sedation, but other than that he was feeling okay.
As I drove through the wintery night through the city with homes decorated for Christmas, I felt relieved with the outcome; no balloons, no stents to fix blockages in the arteries.
“The arteries feeding your heart are clear,” Dr. Diaz’s words resonated in my ears.
Ludek got the best Christmas gift. That is the gift of health.
Copyright (c) 2017 Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
Writing opens a new window into the world.
Writing as a form of therapy. Writing is healing. Once you write on a regular basis, it becomes a part of you and who you are.
You discover and rediscover yourself and your surroundings. You see people that you have known for years through different eyes.
You gain new insight, as you better connect with the world.
The advantage of every day writing is that you get to compare your underlying emotions from one day to the next. You get to monitor them, as they change with every minute.
Writing opens a new window into the world. Yours and mine.
I firmly believe that if there were more writer’s in the world, there would be less violence.
Follow me on my publishing journey of Shifting Sands Short Stories. The ebook will be released on June 30.
Copyright (c) 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
Relaxing into the outdoors
By Emma Palova
EW Emma’s Writings
Lowell, MI – I am working on exploring new methods to alleviate mental distress as expressed in the article, “Easter Fishing.”
I will take it one step at a time: First I will find the patience for morel hunting (May 2 article), second I will learn how to fish and golf and thirdly I will take on boating.
But, for now I have to get out my kayak, and hit the waters of my beloved Murray Lake.
We’re getting a one day break from the rain and cold, according to forecasts. But, who knows?
What would you do with that one awesome daybreak from the cold, wind and the dark in your life?
I am looking forward to new horizons.
http://roughfish.com/content/easter-and-cure-mental-distress
Copyright (c) 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
In the rhythm of anger, fear, terror and violence
Note: The “Greenwich Meridian” © 2017 Emma Palova memoir is an evolving novel covering our immigration saga spanning three generations that started with the Russian invasion of former Czechoslovakia in 1968 up to date.
I also wrote this in response to the Daily Post prompt @rhythmic, as violence overshadows joy
By Emma Palova
Lowell, MI- It’s 5:53 a.m. EST on a regular Thursday morning. Husband Ludek just left for work coughing, and I am recovering from a bout of cold that kept me inside yesterday. It’s still dark outside, and I light some candles, so I can meditate before writing with a cup of coffee, and a cup of nettle tea.
But, something else kept me indoors yesterday, as well as in my own shell. I was dealing with a red fury, called anger that topped off with an apple that my husband didn’t take to work with him. I always get an apple ready for him thinking about his health in the morning.
When the apple was still there yesterday, I thought he was angry at me.
I felt the anger building up in me since Monday, as I watched the disturbing evening NBC newscast on “Tonight at 7.”
“I’ll never forget this one,” I said disgusted to Ludek. “I won’t sleep again.”
It was a slew of everything from my 1970s teen idol David Cassidy’s announcement of dementia, to the one year anniversary of the Uber shooting in Kalamazoo, Michigan, that left six dead and two wounded.
“We don’t want Kalamazoo to be remembered for this,” said the speaker at the Monday night vigil held at the K-Wings Stadium teary eyed.
The newscast showed Laurie Smith, wife and a mother, who’s loved ones where shot on that dreadful night at a car dealership, shopping for a truck. The daughter was supposed to go too. She didn’t. That saved her life.
Laurie held little urns with ashes as dreadful charms tied to a necklace in her fingers, crying.
“I carry their ashes around my neck,” she sobbed.
How can you not remember this? I would have to be a piece of stone.
Kalamazoo is home to one of the best universities in the country, the Western University Michigan (WMU). Other than being the home of the Broncos, it is the alma mater of many and an intellectual oasis in Midwest America.
My son Jake went to Western. He graduated in winter of 2010 in an auditorium decked out with red and white Poinsettia plants in pots with glittery wrap around Christmas time.
Surreal.
Early on when we settled down in the Grand Rapids area in the 1990s, I took online classes in psychology from WMU. I love the entire university environment along with the culture, the libraries, the ethnic restaurants, the university cafeterias and the sports. My parents worked at Ferris State University in Big Rapids until retirement in the 2000s. I studied at the Technical University of Brno, my dauther Doc Em studied at Charles University in Prague.
We have university blood circling in our veins.
I celebrated one of my birthdays at the WMU Performance Arts Center with the longest standing performance of all times, the “Phantom of the Opera” in 2007.
“Can you imagine those actors doing it over and over again?” said my friend Sue, when I complained to her that every day at the newspaper office was the same.
Many years later, as I think about all these moments, like grains of sand, sifting through time in an hour glass. The little sand grains that represent anger, fear, terror, joy, love and hope in a cyclical rhythm.
Grains of time sift through the hour glass rhythmically. To the right: my parents Ella & Vaclav Konecny with grandpa Joseph Drabek in 1987 during grandpa’s only visit to the USA.
Below is a photo essay representing the victory of joy & hope over rhythmic violence: left 1001 Days of Blogging Annie Conboy of UK who blogs for the future of her daughter Erin. Right top: son Jake Pala who teaches Josephine Marie Palova, 3, the Czech language to preserve our origins. Below right in the small frame, French granddaughter Ella, 6, on summer break in Parnell to learn English. Pictured in the bottom frame is Mrs. Irma Richmond, teacher from the one-room schoolhouse at Fallasburg in the 1960s. Today, kids from Murray Lake Elementary and on the http://www.fallasburgtoday.org come to visit the school thanks to the advancement of technology. Mrs. Richmond says hi to all.
Follow Mrs. Richmond’s and Annie’s stories into the future.
https://wordpress.com/post/fallasburgtoday.org/1397
Before that lovely opera performance, we enjoyed a meal at Rasa Ria, a Malaysian restaurant with my parents Ella and Vaclav in downtown Kazoo.
It was one of my best birthday celebrations, ever. And it was in Kalamazoo, in the university city of intellect and terror.
And now this additional piece of terror, that will always stay in our minds, and in those charms with ashes around Laurie’s neck.
I can still recall the actual coverage of the Uber shooting one year ago, when the police contained the rampage in 4 hours and 42 minutes. The footage showed cars chasing the suspect, finding the victims at innocent places like Cracker Barrel and at the Seeley dealership in Kalamazoo.
“Why did he do it?” Ludek kept asking me.
The news report mentioned that the Uber driver said that the devil told him which people to shoot through the phone app.
“Crazy?” I ask.
One year later, crime perpetrator, Jason Brian Dalton, 45, still hasn’t been convicted. A hearing is set for March 9. If convicted, he faces a life in jail, according to news reports.
As I watched the vigil for the victims, my memory flashed back to a trip to France in 2016 with our granddaughter Ella. We were waiting for a Uber driver to take us from Charles De Gaulle (CDG) Airport to Gare du Nord train station in Paris.
“Emma, are you sure this is safe, you know about that shooting in Kalamazoo?” I asked my liberal daughter Doc Emma, who permanently resides in the wine village of Fixin, in Burgundy France.
“Oh, it can’t happen here,” she said, “only in America.”
“Really?” I asked.
I thought about all the violence of the past two years in France as it flashed through my mind; from attacks in Paris, Nice and Belgium.
Now, back again to the current reality as of Feb. 23, 2017. The two Uber shooting survivors, Addie Kopf, 15, and Tiana Carruthers, 26, continue to fight forward.
After undergoing several surgeries, Kopf has difficulty speaking and remembering, in spite of overall improvements. Carruthers, who shielded children from the gunfire, is now walking without a cane, according to news reports.
I glanced at the comments following some of the broadcasts of the one-year anniversary of the Uber shooting that occurred in Kalamazoo on Feb. 20, 2016.
robandhan1 day ago
Huh… another white guy with a gun…
jime4441 day ago
@robandhan and how many die in chicongo each day? not many white people, either………libturd.
charlie251 day ago
Does anyone remember this??? There have been so many weirdos killing people in the past year to remember this one.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Some useful links:
1001 Days of Blogging by Annie Conboy
https://emmapalova.com/2016/12/15/1001-days-of-blogging/
Recent news Uber shooting one-year anniversary coverage on Wood TV 8 and other regional channels.
http://www.wxyz.com/news/kalamazoo-shooting-rampage-victims-to-be-honored-one-year-later
Have we grown cynical to people suffering around us? Have we grown used to anger, terror and violence as a rhythm of life?
Copyright © 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
A poet’s way
This poem is in response to the Daily Post prompt @clean
Clean
“Out of the Woods”
By Tubie Gilmore
I see a pleasant path, and I begin to ramble
On either side are thorns and rocks
The ground is full of brambles…..
Fallen trees to trip me, the woods are very dark…
But around the corner, and down the path,
I think I can see a park.
I think I’ll walk on the path today, the woods are too scary…
The path is my way,
It has a few hills as I walk toward the park,
But the sun is shining, I am not in the dark……
To get out of the woods
Is simple to do…
Just stay on the path,
And we’ll all walk with you!
Note: The poem was inspired by a therapeutic session with theme “Are we out of the woods” in the “ABC Rooms” held on Feb. 1, 2017.
Copyright (c) 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
In search of grace
By Emma Palova
EW Emma’s Writings
Lowell, MI- I write this not only in response to the Daily Post @graceful photo prompt, but also to find solace and reprieve in grace.
Contrary to my better judgment, I’ve been writing a lot about politics lately. I don’t know if I’ve been doing that to make myself feel better or more responsive to what has been going on in North America, UK and the Middle East.
And I still don’t know if it was the journalist bursting out of me, or the Czech ex-patriot living currently in America. I guess, I’ll never know.
Somebody once said that the worst thing of all is “indifference.” No matter, how hard I try to be immune to it all, the current affairs just bug me.
I am trying to find the grace in me, to accept the future of democracy.
Along with writing about religion, writing about politics, no matter how unbiased, usually gets me into trouble. I really don’t need any distraction at a time when I’ve picked up the momentum to finish the “Greenwich Meridian” memoir about the Konecny family immigration saga.
After coming back from Aunt Marta’s funeral in mid January in Czech Republic, I was so re-energized to finish the memoir, and to pursue the greater Konecny Saga picture. I made space for it in my mind, in my studio and in my work day.
I’ve gathered the necessary research, started the Ancestry Konecny Facebook page, caught up with the Alumni ZDS Stipa page to set the stage for everything to finally wrap up. I have built up the following on social media and most platforms that I know of. I hooked up with a dear director friend whom we seem to have similar goals, at times.
Thanks to my never-ending insomnia, I am caught up with client projects into 2017 as they constantly evolve. I did all the little bureaucracy that I needed to do, put things in fancy five-star folders, and such. I straightened my affairs both here and there, and in between.
I’ve communicated and answered messages both domestic and foreign; on messenger, on text, on Skype, and on phone.
I said hi to an old friend of Irish origin at church last Sunday. I asked about the immigrant family from Africa that the church had sponsored in 2016. I was supposed to teach them English as a Second Language (ESL), but other projects came up.
“Oh, I’ve been neglecting them since it’s so cold outside,” he said. “I really feel bad.”
“Me too,” I thought, without any particular reference to anything.
So what happened? The world happened. I am burnt out like a candle, like the fire in our wood stove.
Even host Alfonso Ribeiro on AFV last Sunday said, “I am out like acid-washed jeans or mullets.”
It’s a cold early afternoon in January. The day is grayish, and so are my heart and soul.
“So, what are you going to do for yourself, today,” Facebook friend Fiosa posted this Monday morning.
Somebody out there on that vast Internet sea responded:
“I am going to look for a job.”
Just before reading that, I arranged my beautiful collection of blooming orchids for a photo shoot for the @graceful photo prompt.
If I really love anything and need anything when I feel whipped, it’s these enigmatic flowers. They literally speak to me in their own language with their beautiful shapes and colors and their bold structure.
They come into full bloom during the deepest frosts Up North in Michigan. They engage in nothing but themselves, in their own grace.
Where do you find grace?
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/graceful/#respond
Thank you for being.
Love always,
Emma
Copyright (c) 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
Be kind in an unkind world
“Change is in the air, as old patterns fall away and new energies are emerging. Consciously release what needs to be released, and welcome with a full embrace the newness you’ve prayed for and so richly deserve.”
Marianne Williamson
By Emma Palova
EW Emma’s Writings
Lowell, MI- I’ve never seen a more varied reaction to the happenings in Washington D.C. than this week following the presidential inauguration of Mr. Donald Trump on Jan. 20.
Any psychology student would have had a great doctoral thesis if he or she had analyzed and tabulated the responses to president Trump’s inauguration, Women’s March on Jan. 21, the first executive orders, retreat in Philadelphia, the Right to Life March and the mainstream media commentaries. Not to speak of late night shows, Saturday Night Live, and the fashion comparisons of the First Lady to historical figures and her linguistic disabilities.
Only the death of the incarnate of the modern woman Mary Tyler Moore, and maybe watching “Charlie Bartlett” kept the weights of humanity from tipping over completely.
“So tell me what you think about all of the above and I’ll tell you who you are,” independent analysts and charlatans tested the Internet waters.
Facebook, twitter and other social media were bubbling like a witch’s potion with all the ingredients starting with hate to complete apathy, withdrawal and secure rationalization.
In between reigned ridicule, sarcasm, vulgarity, hopelessness, fear and despair.
Of course, there were observers patiently waiting to render their opinions after all others have gone first, ala “risqué” style.
I’ve tasted my share of firsts with the post “Join 10 Actions in 100 Days”, a story about a local inspiring woman Sharon Ellison, a participant in the Women’s March.
The overwhelming reaction was that the women were vulgar and inappropriate like Madonna in order to get attention.
I didn’t catch what an editor would have caught, that is a vulgar phrase on a sign accompanying the post. It cost me some.
However, one of the best observations in the last 8 days was the use of the “alternate fact” term as the means to justifying anything.
I find that term especially useful in teaching my American born protégé Josephine Marie Palova, 3, the Czech language.
“My dear Josephine, a cow is actually a horse, or vice versa, depending on what you need it to be.”
Not, that this is anything new in politics.
“What you meant to ask me, was….?” A city manager restructured my question to his prepared answer.
“What I really wanted to say was that…”
“But you said something else,” I said.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that.”
The politician’s word play is like a bad game of chess. No matter how good you are, the opposing party will claim they had won…….although in a different game.
Well, at least the Wall Street was happy in this game as the stocks soared past the 20,000 mark, if that is any indication of anything, according to ill-willed analysts.
I found some reprieve in the pacifist stance on the matter of the affairs in the union, in the world and in the universe, thanks to a post from a friend in Iowa, Sheryl Groen.
“Change is in the air, as old patterns fall away and new energies are emerging. Consciously release what needs to be released, and welcome with a full embrace the newness you’ve prayed for and so richly deserve.”
Marianne Williamson
There’s means to an end, my friend.
Be kind, everyone else is fighting a hard battle. Love like a kid, because love wins.
Featured photo thanks to Michelle Emaus of Lowell.
Copyright © 2017. Emma Blogs, LLC. All rights reserved.
Looking back at the second half of 2016
Note: This is the second post on the Daily Post theme “Retrospective” on https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/retrospective/
By Emma Palova
EW Emma’s Writings
Lowell, MI- The second half of 2016 rocked and we rocked with it. We rocked the Milky Way as we elected the 45th president, Mr. Donald Trump by the vote of the Electoral College.
We’ve seen stars rise, shine and fall; both on the human scene and in the sky. Most recently we marked the death of Carrie Fisher better known as Princess Leia in Star Wars. Her mother Debbie Reynolds, the star of the 1952 “Singin’ in the Rain” musical died one day later.
They joined a string of deaths of famous personalities in 2016, starting with David Bowie in January and Prince in April.
We proudly watched the summer Olympic Games in Rio 2016.
We lived through nature’s wrath at us in tornadoes and fires, as we ran human stampedes in malls seeking deals after Christmas.
Finally, we were so disappointed after the much coveted “Hatchanimals” that didn’t hatch.
It was a year to remember, personally and nationally.
Things lost, things found in 2016
Summer breaks rediscovered
In July, I rediscovered the magic of the summer break as our granddaughter Ella Chavent, 6, of Fixin’, France spent her first summer on our three-acre ranch in northeast Kent County.
Starting in July, every morning I took her to the St. Pat’s summer school in Parnell, MI so she can improve her English.
“Grandma, tell me one of your stories,” she asked.
During our brief ride, accompanied by the music of Queen, I told Ella about “that dude with the fancy Corvette,” who almost ran over a boy.
Together, we celebrated Christmas in July after I bought Santa and rocking horse ornaments at an estate sale in Fallasburg for quarter a piece.
“Who died?” I asked at the sales tent which featured lovely items like a black J. Marco Galleries dress with a perfume bottle pattern.
“Our sister did,” said the lady at the dress tent. “We miss her.”
We went to the Picnic Pops concert in Canonsburg to listen to the music of Queen. We beat the heat on the beach in South Haven and explored Ella’s first fairs: the Ionia Free Fair and the Kent County Youth Fair in Lowell.
We gardened and picked red currant to make currant pies, we bought tart cherries at H&W Farms in Belding and made tart preserves and syrup.
Ella went on her first field trips to local farms.
Motivated by Ella who was going to a catholic school, I returned back to church after a 10-year long sabbatical.
And a new journey has begun. I still have on the fridge Ella’s paper star with these words:
“You were made for greatness,” Pope Benedict.
August, Burgundy revisited
Ella and I headed back to France in mid-August. I had her on a leash and she carried in her backpack a collection of stuffed animals.
“They are my tain tains,” Ella said passionately. I could only feel what tain tains mean.
“Grandma, hold on to me, I need you,” she said.
We held on together as we landed at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris after a sleepless flight.
“Nice to meet you,” said a woman in a short skirt.
“Selene, this is mom,” Doc Emma introduced us. “Mom, this is our friend and au pair, Selene.”
Selene was the first of a colorful set of characters, I was to meet during my third stay in Burgundy.
From my studio on Rue Magniens in the peaceful wine village of Fixin’ I wrote about the “Climates” aka vineyards in the aftermath of the Bastille Day killings in Nice.
September, things new. .Podcast platform
Upon my return from France, I dedicated my studio time to new accounts, such as the Americas Community Voices Network as we headed into the election.
It was a feverish time of exploring and discovering on both the WordPress and Podcast platforms.
The fall at the Pala ranch means preservation of pickles and tomatoes. Why? Because you have to answer to winter when she asks.
“What did you do in summer?” so goes the old Czech saying.
October, things old, things new
October delivered a bang in many different ways, on many different levels. My cousin Brona Pink of Stipa, maintenance manager for Zoo Lesna, visited the USA for the first time. He stayed at my parents’ Ella & Vaclav Konecny in Big Rapids.
Today, I wish we had spent more time together.
We also celebrated our wedding anniversaries, Ludek and mine, along with our son’s Jake & Maranda.
On Oct. 21, the Rockford Ambulance took me to the Metro Hospital on M-6 aka “Hotel.” I passed out from exhaustion and dehydration, and I started a new path to better health and wellness.
November ushers in president-elect Trump
In spite of my better judgment, I voted for Mr. Donald Trump on Nov. 8th. As a lifelong Democrat I voted Republican for the first time. Doc Emma missed the election by one day.
“Good, at least she couldn’t vote for Trump ,” my mom Ella said angrily.
Tired of old Washington tactics, much like the rest of the nation, I was ready for a change.
A spiritual and physical change in everything.
I started with myself; I did a thorough inventory of my mind and my physical belongings.
I have fiction manuscripts collecting dust on the shelves in my studio. They’re good stories. I was the bad one.
I stopped the rut of yo-yo dieting and overeating. I cleaned the shelves of my pantry and threw out a lot of old things.
If perfection exists in this world, the family Thanksgiving 2016 was next to perfect. As a family we got together, we didn’t fight, nobody got drunk and we didn’t burn the turkey.
After the holiday, my parents left for their winter stay in Venice, Florida, as fires blazed in Kentucky and tornadoes whipped Alabama.
December whips and shakes
Dec.7, 2016- On the 75th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, I tied yellow ribbons of hope around our ranch.
On Dec. 7th, I published the first installment of the 2016 IW Inspiring Women series featuring artist Linda Kropf Phillips of Lowell at https://emmapalova.com/2016/12/07
Dec. 8- I started marketing a brand new account for Costa Rica on ETravel & Food at https://etravelandfood.wordpress.com/2016/12/08/visit-jaco-costa-rica/
Dec. 10- Together with the Fallasburg Historical Society, we celebrated the biggest “Christmas at Fallasburg” party ever, thanks to the power of the social media.
“Thank you Mr. Zuckerberg, your Facebook helped me make the party a huge success.
No pun intended, but it was a party for the “history books.”
On Dec. 17, I passed the Czech Christmas baking tradition on to granddaughter Josephine Marie Palova, 3. She joins the gallery of the Palova bakers spanning generations of traditional Czech baking.
Yesterday on Dec 28, I mourned the loss of my doggie friend, Annie. Annie was the neighbor’s dog who filled in the gap after my dog Haryk died almost three years ago.
“We’re heartbroken,” our neighbor announced Annie’s death.
“I loved her like my own dog,” I responded in tears. “Goodbye, Annie.”
As we close on this year, and the red dogwood twigs in Christmas bouquets have new shoots, the yellow ribbons are still hanging around the house.
Dec. 29- Today is my brother Vas’ birthday. He has completed 55 trips around the Sun. May he enjoy many more.
“Happy birthday, Vas.”
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