On Missing

There are several areas in a human’s life where certain forms of missing happen. Take me today, for instance. I’ve managed to miss a turn, a glimpse at a map and a chance to get involved, all within one afternoon.

In my never-ceasing struggle to get incorporated into the Ann Arbor community as much as possible I decided to become a member of the local library – Ann Arbor District Library. Or did I want the membership because of the shelves upon shelves upon shelves of music and movies the library has to offer? Provided there’s Dvorak’s American Quartet no. 12 in F Major playing in my headphones at the moment, the latter seems the case.

But anyway. As I was walking down, that is in my case up, the street, not paying any particular attention to the surroundings, I missed my turn to the left. The walk which should take some ten minutes took me thus more than twenty.

The second missing followed shortly afterward. Upon emerging from the library, a proud holder of the library card carrying a bunch of Rostropovich’s CD’s in a bag, I simply let myself be overpowered by my infallible instinct and highly-developed sense of orientation, missing thus a glimpse at my now very worn-out map. Those who know me also know what I’m referring to. Yes, I ended up in a completely different part of the downtown. And at that point, had I missed yet another look at the map, I might have as well found myself in Ypsilanti, for all I know.

Having missed the said glimpse and losing thus my way, not such an uncommon thing with me, I’ve also missed my chance to get involved with one of four hundred plus student communities there are under U of M. Only too late did I come to the very heart of the Central Campus, the Diag, and saw that it was past four and all the communities’ representatives were unanimously packing their tables and leaving. Ok then, it will cost me a ride up to North Campus next week, but I will get involved. No more missed opportunities.

How many things does an ordinary person miss in his or her life? Do they regret them? Do they realize and admit them at all? A character in one of Chekhov’s short stories was obsessed with things missed. He even made a list of them to frustrate himself with. Yes, I was angry with all those missed turns, glimpses or chances today. But there’s no reason to cry over spilled milk. The missed things must remain just that. Missed things. They cannot turn to spoilers of one’s present.

Or even better, they should teach one something. I've learnt today to pay more attention to street signs, to the map and to social events around.

But then, there is also a different kind of missing. And this one cannot be stored for self-educational purposes. This missing is still with me no matter what. I’m missing my husband. I hope you’re fine, honey. As well as I hope that one day you're going to have a chance to read this.

People

Having praised the beauties of Ann Arbor, I think it’s time a few words were also said about the people over here. Where to start? To say that I’ve never encountered a nicer and more helpful bunch is a good way of introduction as we all as summing up.

Take for instance Saturday. Remember? That was the day when the big, err, lost, game was on. There were hardly any people in the streets. Yet, crossing at traffic lights, I was suddenly greeted and addressed by a stranded pedestrian. “Why aren’t you at the game?” “Because I’ve never realized there was going to be a game today. And besides, I’ve just arrived and I’m settling down a bit. How come you aren’t at the game?” “Oh, I’ve already had enough. So where are you heading to?” “Michigan League.” And so on and so forth. Before we reached the place he was heading to, I’d learnt that he liked hiking, had been to India for a year and was a vegetarian. Oh yeah, and he also invited me to his friends’ barbecue on Monday.

This is just a small demonstration of the ease with which people communicate over here. They might not have any intentions of becoming your friends but at the same time they will go out of their ways to show you that they really care about what you have to say and if you are having any difficulties, they are so willing to help.

Take today, for example. “Jana, you play the cello, right? And so how’s it going? Do you have the instrument yet?” “Hm. No?” “Ok, so I finish here at five and then I’ll take you to the rental office. Let me just check with them what their opening hours are.” And the result? There’s one brand new cello standing in the corner of my humbly equipped room. My supervisor’s assistant is indeed such a sweet lady! A mere side note: only upon hugging the instrument did I realize how much I’ve been missing the feel and sound of it.

To many of you the above described might seem completely ordinary, but coming from the very midst of grumbling Czech culture, one cannot but be pleasantly surprised.

But there’s no need to get fooled. There’s still a long way to go between such friendly help and real friendship. The point I’m trying to get across is that the beginnings of the said friendship are so much easier and more pleasant than any awkwardness experienced elsewhere.

I’m more than convinced that the awkwardness is bound to come. As well as the other negative aspects of social communication. But it’s so reassuring to know there are always going to be people around who will smile at you and if in need be help you.

I was setting up my bank account today. Although I was feeling as close to being an idiot as I could get, the lady was incredibly patient with me. Kept explaining and explaining and explaining. Explaining and answering. Even the most stupid questions like whether my check book would be sent to my Czech or American address. Stupid, I know. I’ve realized that the moment I said that. But still, I got my answer and a beautiful smile on top of that.

Before I finish my today’s apotheosis, let me draw a picture for you. This time it’s not the people who I’m depicting but the place again. Ann Arbor. Haze-less blue sky; it’s not a blue of an ocean or of a flower in the mountains. It’s a blue only layers upon layers of air can conjure up. Only now and then the blue thickness is interrupted by streaks of white clouds (“A day when you’re watching the sun in the sky / The clouds, so white, so slow, drifting by” – these are not my words and I sincerely hope that the person whose they are doesn’t mind me borrowing them, as they so much dovetail with what I’m writing about). The sun is shining, shining hot, burning, and the sky is breathtakingly beautiful.

There’s only one other element in the picture competing for the viewer’s attention. That is the land. The land covered in yellow grass. Although yellow is associated with decay, the scenery around doesn’t seem decaying to the viewer’s eyes. Her eyes are simply dazzled by the two colors, yellow and blue, so different yet in a complete harmony now, as if reaching to one another at the horizon. What would happen if they were to touch? If they were to blend, lose their selves and become one? They would give birth to green. Color of spring, of life. Yellow and blue are good colors. Nice colors. I’m happy to be at the university which has these two in its emblem. And in a town which abounds in them wherever one looks.

Pre-Labor-Day Days

Ann Arbor is indeed true to its name. I don’t know much about the Ann part, haven’t met that many people so far, but it definitely is an arbor. A beautiful forest already preparing itself for the upcoming fall. Leaves are slowly, yet steadily, turning yellow and brown and falling from the trees. Being crushed by hundreds and hundreds of students' feet running to and fro.

But let me start from the beginning. I was born. . . . No, not that beginning. I think I will start with the day I landed in Miami, Florida. The flight was good. Uninventive and rather boring, but still good. Only too late did I realize that the other two seats next to me were empty, as if inviting me to stretch on them. Which I did, like two hours before the landing, and immediately fell asleep.

Waiting in a line to have all my documentation properly revised and stamped, I was made to view “Welcome to America” program. In a loop. For four times. Smiley happy faces enhanced by the music of Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Lovely. Cultural impacts immediately from the very beginning. At least they didn’t make me take my shoes off. This had already been taken care of by the British at Heathrow.

Afterwards, when it was finally my turn, the official from the Department of Home Security was evidently tired and didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing with all my documents. Although he winked at me in a friendly way, he also forgot to stamp one of my papers. I’m only to see what trouble will ensue from such negligence of duties.

Upon emerging from the airport building I was as if smacked in the face by suffocating heat. Heat and humidity. I tried to ascribe it to the small parking space full of cars and buses, all with their engines running. But no, not even all the traffic in Miami was able to produce such terrible climate. The weather was really hot. Hot and humid. Humid and hot. Whichever way you prefer. And more of it was still to come.

The ride from the airport was nothing special but for the fact that I was able to realize for the first time how much ugly Miami actually was. It was nothing but concrete, glass-and-metal buildings, no people in the streets but all the more huge cars on the roads. Huge cars of European or Asian makes manufactured specifically for the American market and thus twice as big as those visible on European roads. Talk about oil crisis.

The hotel was beautiful even despite the fact that I was woken up by my future roommate at 1 am (plane delayed at JFK). Her name is Maria and as well as the other Fulbrighters she is a sweet thing. Compassionate, willing to listen, willing to talk, willing to experience and share. I’m missing her already, though I’m secretly hoping for a trip to NY some time in November to see all those at Columbia University.

If I look aside all the talk about how great and liberal America is, the Orientation was a fantastic experience. Have you ever been in a room with people from, let’s say, four different countries? Well, multiply the number by ten and you’ll get the number of nationalities our moderate group consisted of. It’s incredible how much one can learn in three days, provided that he or she is exposed to such community. I’ve learnt something about Egyptian marriage rituals, about the history of Bangladesh, about dating patterns in New Zealand, about Japanese humility expressed through their very language, and about many others. But not only this. One can also learn a lot about themselves. About myself being a member of a Czech culture as well as about being a European. Nothing is as eye-opening as seeing your own culture through the prism of somebody else’s culture. Or through the way somebody else sees you and your culture.

Our days were spent in classes whereas the evenings were about dining out. Neither Miami nor Miami Beach appealed to me much. I don’t know. I guess all the positive things we’ve encountered were overruled by the constant changes of air-conditioned rooms (air-conditioned to such an extend that we had to wear sweaters, warm socks, or sweatshirts with hoods and yet we were still shivering with cold) and unbearable warm and humidity of the outdoors. It’s really a wonder none of us has fallen ill.

I was happy to leave Miami. The people, both the organizers and the participants, were such a thrill to meet! Beautiful in their diversity and openness. All of them. But still, Miami as a city was killing me. I can’t image anyone willingly living there.

And so on Friday I arrived in Ann Arbor. I was warned it was a cozy little town (of some a hundred thousand inhabitants) which I would love the instant I saw it. All those people telling me this were of course right. I only didn’t expect them to be so right. As I’ve said, Ann Arbor is unspeakably beautiful. With trees everywhere it may indeed remind one of an arbor. There are typical suburb houses (with adorable porches and verandahs) or apartment houses everywhere behind or along the trees.

When I arrived in the town, it was way past midnight, and yet the town was all party party party down here. All the porches and verandahs were crowded with students, be that grads or undergrads. House upon house, verandah upon verandah, around each of theme there were around twenty people, drinking, listening to music, enjoying themselves.

Only the other day did I learn that the reason for such a jubilation was a Saturday football match between U of M team and the team of Utah. Although I’ve been told that Michigan had a great team, eventually they lost. But this didn’t change a thing about the fact that from very early Saturday morning, the streets of Ann Arbor were filled with people of all colors and ages wearing yellow and blue T-shirts, sweat shirts, shorts or others, bearing the logo of their football team. I mean all of them. I was by far and large the only person not wearing something yellow-blue with a huge M across my breast. (Have to buy myself something, though.)

Before the commencement of the match, the fans' pouring crowds stopped the traffic. Though I have to admit that the streets were totally empty once the match started. The stadium, referred to as Big House, can house a hundred thousand people (biggest in the country). In the light of the entire city’s population, no wonder there was no one in the streets. Michigan lost. I wouldn't be able to tell but for the lack of parties afterwards.

If anyone wants to come over and visit me, there cannot be better time than that of the match. It’s indeed experiencing the American culture through and through. As I was told by a shop assistant in a hardware shop: “You arrived on the match day. Well, welcome to America!” Next weekend there’s another U of M home match. I hope it is enough time for me to grasp the rules, of both the game and the social event as such. You know what I mean, when to shout boo’s and when to cheer.

There’s nothing more and report, except for miniature details, like numerous squirrels in the streets, the beauties of campus buildings or willingness of people to help and to show you the manifold ways of incorporating into their culture. In this respect the grumbling Czechs have a lot to learn. And reciprocally, we could teach Americans something about dietary habits. No offense, but the food over here is terrible. I don’t know what I’m going to survive on. I’ve been here less than a week and already I’m craving for something at least remotely natural. But enough. No complaining. This may come later when I start to be home-sick and my work doesn't satisfy me. As for now I’m still in a honeymoon phase, enjoying the novelty around.

And last but not least, for those in knowing, some time in March a certain French-Japanese-American cellist is going to perform in Ann Arbor. Guess I should get a ticket soon. Yay!

Instead of an Introduction

Do you know the feeling when you are subject to too much new information and your whole body is as if bursting with it? As if you couldn't stand as much as another minute without telling anyone? Telling at least a small portion of it? A tiny detail? This or that?

Well, that's what happening to me right now. Each day I'm learning new things, trivial things as well as those of vital importance, and I'm only storing, storing them. Not knowing many people around yet, I decided to share some of my impressions with any online audience which can happen to stumble over my lines.