I’m pretty sure whoever coined the phrase “it’s not what you know, but who you know,” was alluding to me and this country. After this past weekend, I sort of feel like my life is a giant game of “six degrees of Slovakia;” and with each new connection forged more benefits arise, new friendships develop, and this whole situation becomes more and more unbelievable to me.
I spent last weekend in Brehy, the town my grandfather was from and where I became formally acquainted with Slovakia two years ago. This time around, I know I can rely on the people I met/reconnected with there for anything; the place is already my home away from home. I was under the impression though that I would need to venture back to home-base to reap the benefits of “having people,” that sort of like cell phone service the power of my networking would decrease with range. Turns out though, that one of these friends studied at a pedagogical (teaching) school in Tisovec fifty years ago. She, her husband and grandson all drove me back Sunday afternoon so she could have an epic homecoming of her own. After we stocked my kitchen with the fresh tomatoes, peppers, pears, potatoes, and whole cornucopia of other goods they supplied me with, we hit the town for a nice gander down memory lane. She told us what was new, what had been expanded or re-done over the years, which part of the school she had studied at are original and where she used to sleep—it was pretty unreal.
Somehow our walkabout led us to the home of one of her classmates from back-in-the-day. I have passed this house numerous times on runs or hikes, and have even speculated about its inhabitants. I’m telling you, give Slovak people ten minutes, and they’ll find a connection to anyone, anywhere. One moment my friend was making small talk with a suspicious seeming stranger, and the next the connection was realized—“Schwartzova?!” the taken-aback woman on the porch exclaimed. How’s that for the past falling into your lap?
The woman’s husband, who resembles Toodles from the movie “Hook,” quickly hobbled down the garden steps to the gate and ardently insisted that we come up for “dva minute” (two minutes—of course it turned into an hour…). Over kava (coffee) the two women filled each other in on basically their entire lives, and as I watched I couldn’t help but imagine myself in a similar situation fifty years from now—on a lazy Sunday afternoon I’ll be in the middle of folding laundry or peeling potatoes, maybe just staring at my ceiling, when suddenly some rando poking around my backyard will reference a cloudy and distant past--“Bone? You mean Gracie Bone, as in G-bone?!” or “Selina Melancon—from Vegas?!” How will our bodies be weathered and worn by then, what sort of crazy adventures will life have taken us on, and who will we call family? These women were my age when they were last together, and now they have grandchildren as old as me. I mean, I hope to keep in better touch over the next few decades, but still, you get the idea…
While the people have been receptive enough to me in Tisovec, my relative card was definitely the ticket to my immense success and complete envelopment by the Brehy community. The whole town would bend over backwards to help me. Now I’m just some visiting American. With this new association out in the open though, this woman doted on me just as hard as the folk in Brehy, and positively jumped at the idea of working with me (I still need to sit down with the girl who is going to translate for me so she can fill this woman in on what’s going down—so far we’ve just exchanged sparse broken sentences and smiled and nodded at each other a lot). As I said before, every week these people are hooking it up more and more. I’m learning to let nothing surprise me, and am probably getting a little spoiled.
I spent last weekend in Brehy, the town my grandfather was from and where I became formally acquainted with Slovakia two years ago. This time around, I know I can rely on the people I met/reconnected with there for anything; the place is already my home away from home. I was under the impression though that I would need to venture back to home-base to reap the benefits of “having people,” that sort of like cell phone service the power of my networking would decrease with range. Turns out though, that one of these friends studied at a pedagogical (teaching) school in Tisovec fifty years ago. She, her husband and grandson all drove me back Sunday afternoon so she could have an epic homecoming of her own. After we stocked my kitchen with the fresh tomatoes, peppers, pears, potatoes, and whole cornucopia of other goods they supplied me with, we hit the town for a nice gander down memory lane. She told us what was new, what had been expanded or re-done over the years, which part of the school she had studied at are original and where she used to sleep—it was pretty unreal.
Somehow our walkabout led us to the home of one of her classmates from back-in-the-day. I have passed this house numerous times on runs or hikes, and have even speculated about its inhabitants. I’m telling you, give Slovak people ten minutes, and they’ll find a connection to anyone, anywhere. One moment my friend was making small talk with a suspicious seeming stranger, and the next the connection was realized—“Schwartzova?!” the taken-aback woman on the porch exclaimed. How’s that for the past falling into your lap?
The woman’s husband, who resembles Toodles from the movie “Hook,” quickly hobbled down the garden steps to the gate and ardently insisted that we come up for “dva minute” (two minutes—of course it turned into an hour…). Over kava (coffee) the two women filled each other in on basically their entire lives, and as I watched I couldn’t help but imagine myself in a similar situation fifty years from now—on a lazy Sunday afternoon I’ll be in the middle of folding laundry or peeling potatoes, maybe just staring at my ceiling, when suddenly some rando poking around my backyard will reference a cloudy and distant past--“Bone? You mean Gracie Bone, as in G-bone?!” or “Selina Melancon—from Vegas?!” How will our bodies be weathered and worn by then, what sort of crazy adventures will life have taken us on, and who will we call family? These women were my age when they were last together, and now they have grandchildren as old as me. I mean, I hope to keep in better touch over the next few decades, but still, you get the idea…
While the people have been receptive enough to me in Tisovec, my relative card was definitely the ticket to my immense success and complete envelopment by the Brehy community. The whole town would bend over backwards to help me. Now I’m just some visiting American. With this new association out in the open though, this woman doted on me just as hard as the folk in Brehy, and positively jumped at the idea of working with me (I still need to sit down with the girl who is going to translate for me so she can fill this woman in on what’s going down—so far we’ve just exchanged sparse broken sentences and smiled and nodded at each other a lot). As I said before, every week these people are hooking it up more and more. I’m learning to let nothing surprise me, and am probably getting a little spoiled.
I know that when we are old ladies, and you are well settled into your turquoise phase, or maybe even so old that the turquoise phase is a distant memory, we would be able to pick up where we left off even if it had been forever. But yes, let's keep in touch before it comes to that. :)
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