Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Written on the 8th of May, 2013

While you are reading this I am in Prague for a month on a book tour.
While away I will post pictures and thoughts about my adventures on my Facebook Page - http://www.facebook.com/robertleefulghum
I’ve left behind a series of unpublished stories from previous experiences with the Czechs – to be posted on this website every few days.

This one, for example:

LANGUAGE REQUIREMENTS

One Sunday I was driven a long way out of Prague to the deep woods of South Bohemia to speak to more than 1,000 Czech Rover Scouts gathered in an outdoor encampment.
They were between the ages of 15 and 18.
Boys and girls together - like the Adventure Scouts in the USA.

They were all born after 1989 – after the Velvet Revolution and the fall of communism.
Their parents were forced to learn Russian – the language of those who occupied their country.
Now the young people want to learn English.
And they’ve done that well – no interpreter was needed for my talk.

In a question-and-answer period one Scout asked me how many languages I thought a person should speak.

After some thought, I said: At least five:

First, the language of your own people and culture and history.

Second, the international language of your time – English.

Third the language of love and romance – often non-verbal.

Fourth, the world language of the human race – music.
And, fifth, the language of the cosmos – which has no words.

The latter is a language composed of the unspeakable feelings of amazement and wonder we feel at being part of an infinitely astonishing universe.
One must stop and be still to know it.
It is the language of awed silence.

The Scouts nodded and smiled.

They already speak all five languages - fluently.

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Written on the 8th of May, 2013

While you are reading this I am in Prague for a month on a book tour.
While away I will post pictures and thoughts about my adventures on my Facebook Page - http://www.facebook.com/robertleefulghum
I’ve left behind a series of unpublished stories from previous experiences with the Czechs – to be posted on this website every few days.

This one, for example:

KISSING WITCHES

Late one night my Czech publisher and I drove narrow twisty roads out into the countryside, bound for a May Day Eve bonfire with Witches in the small village of Pelestrov.

In the darkness we could see a great fire, but there were no Witches.
We were told they had adjourned to a local pub for Witches’ brew.
Inside the pub were maybe fifty people, drinking beer, dancing to live music, and drinking some more beer, as is the Czech custom.

About these Witches.
What does a Witch look like?
It’s a subtle thing.
All the ones I saw looked like standard-model middle-class Czech
women in standard-model middle-class Czech party clothes.
No brooms or black capes or snaggly teeth or warts.
Babes is what they were.
Perhaps it is best left at this: If you say you are a Witch, and want to play at being a Witch from time to time, then you probably are a Witch.
Who is to argue?

In a moment I was swept up into the dance with several substantial Witches, and urged to drink as many glasses of slivovitz (Czech white lightning made from plums) as possible before midnight, when, as is the May Day Eve tradition, blossoms from an apple tree were produced, and held overhead.
At that point one must kiss as many Witches as are on offer.
For luck.
And I felt lucky.

I personally kissed six of the biggest Witches.
Well, I exaggerate. I kissed four large ones and two smaller ones.
After playing the guitar (badly) and singing along (even more badly) and drinking another round of slivovitz, and going outside to be personally introduced to two small horses, I was taken away, babbling, according to my friend, Eva, who may be a Witch-in-training.

To say that the hospitality of Witches in a small Czech village is overwhelming is a substantial understatement.
But the night was not over.
Hurtling along on the freeway on the way back to Prague, we came upon a disaster.

Imagine that you are a Witchy-woman driving home on late at night – returning from a Witcheroo.
Suddenly, your car is struck broadside without warning - attacked by a pig the size of a baby rhino.
This would explain the pie-eyed look on the face of the Witch we saw standing beside her car.

The pig, it turns out, was a large wild boar.

What, I wonder, got into the mind of the boar and sent him hurtling into the side of that car at midnight?
A bad day with Mrs. Boar and the boar-lettes?
A Witch’s spell?
A bet with his fellow boars that he couldn’t get across the highway between cars?
A sudden deranged revulsion at global warming?
A fermented pile of acorns?
An urge to enter the Monaco Grand Prix?
What?

Alas, we will never know.
The late boar lay quite still in bloody disarray alongside the freeway.
And what will the Witchy-woman tell her husband when she gets home?

Imagine the conversation.

“Hello, dear, how goes the Witching?”
“You’re not going to believe this . . . on the way home . . . this giant pig came out of the woods . . . and attacked the car. . .”

He didn’t believe it.
You probably don’t either.
But I do - I was there.
I think . . .

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Written on the 8th of May, 2013

This week I leave for a month in Prague in the Czech Republic.
It’s a major book tour to support my new memoir, which has just been released.
The Argentine Tango Chronicles of Senor Don Roberto Juan Carlos Fuljumero y Suipacha. (That’s me.)
I’ll take part in the activities of the Prague Book Fair.
And be present at the premier performance at the Czech National Theater of a play made from my novel about dancing – If You Love Me Still, Will You Love Me Moving – Tales from the Century Ballroom.

But first, there’s this:

GOVERNMENT JOB

Last Sunday afternoon I was a speaker at a kickoff rally for a candidate for the office of Mayor of Seattle.
Someone commented that they were surprised that I was involved in politics.
Yes, I am – and always have been.
I have a permanent position in government.
I am a citizen.
It’s a job for life.
With extraordinary benefits and privileges.

The job also entails obligations and responsibilities.
At a minimum to take part in the political process and always vote.
This year I am supporting Peter Steinbrueck for Mayor.
Because he is the most qualified candidate in the race.
If you are a voting citizen in the city of Seattle, I ask you to support him.
Go to his website https://www.peterforseattle.com/
– Peter Steinbrueck for Mayor – and see why.
Then do at least two things as part of your job as a citizen:
Contribute to his campaign – send money.
And vote for him - the primary is August 6.

* * *

CZECH SOUP

One afternoon, while wandering around Prague, I came upon a florist shop where large, extravagant displays of flowers were being loaded into a van. I stopped to watch – and smell.
The lady supervising the loading noticed my interest.
It was quickly established that I was an American, that she, the owner, spoke excellent English, that the displays were for a funeral, and that we have a similar custom in my country.

We agreed that it was an odd thing that people who would not think of giving someone even a small bouquet while they were alive would send them great heaps of flowers after they died. 
In light of this human habit, she told me this story:

There was an old man who went every day to the same café in a small town to have soup for lunch.
He said it was the very finest soup he had ever eaten, and it had increased his life expectancy.
When the old man finally died, there was a funeral with the usual elaborate gifts of flowers from his friends.

The man who ran the café, however, brought a huge pot of soup. “How can you insult the dead in this way?” asked the mourners. “Well,” said the cook, “he is as likely to taste the soup as he is to smell your flowers, and, besides, you all can take home some of the soup in his honor and eat it.
Perhaps you will live longer because of it.
He did.”

From that day forward, the people of that town brought soup to funerals and sent flowers to the living.

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Written April 25, 2013

Note: a reminder that I have a Facebook page now - http://www.facebook.com/robertleefulghum.

What follows is very personal – it’s a tribute to the character of a friend.

THE COOLEST CHICK IN THE UNIVERSE

Many years ago I went on a kayak paddling expedition in the Queen Charlotte Islands off the coast of British Columbia.
The paddling partner assigned to me was young Canadian.
Sixteen years old, bright, lively, talky, a laugher – and a strong paddler.

Emily – called “Em.”

Days on the water together created a lasting friendship.
When I asked her about her life ambitions, she said she wanted to become the Coolest Chick in the Universe.
We laughed – but she meant it.

She traveled the world alone, served on a Canadian Coast Guard ship as a life guard, pursued graduate studies, earned a Ph.D from Harvard in biology, moved back to Canada, married, had one child, and has just been given a full-tenured professorship in Ottawa, where she will head her own research lab.

We’ve remained in contact, and every time I’ve seen her and heard tales of her amazing life adventures, I came away thinking that she indeed deserves the title of The Coolest Chick in the Universe.

She settled down to teach in Montreal and raise a family.
Pregnancy was problematical, and though she had one daughter, there were miscarriages along the way toward having more children.
Finally, in January, her second daughter was born: Mathilde.

But, alas, she was born with neurological problems that caused constants seizures.
And the child was unable to take nourishment.
Nothing that medical science could do.
She could not long survive.

And so her mother and father took her home.
And two weeks ago Mathilde died in her mother’s arms.

Here’s some parts of the letter I wrote to Em.

Dearest, dearest Em . . .

This will not be long in words, though it will be deep in feelings.
There’s very little you haven’t thought or felt by now.
My letter to you only acknowledges and affirms our binding friendship.
It’s enough to simply say that I understand, and, as always, I am here, holding you in my heart and mind.

You have always been so wise beyond your years.
And continue to be so, as your remarkable letter to me emphasizes.
You are balancing rational knowledge with emotional grief as well as I can imagine it being done.
If anybody can get through such a painful event, you can and will.

I’m reminded of a story out of my past.
A fellow minister was approached by a grieving mother whose child had drowned in a swimming pool. “Why? Why? Why me?” she asked.
“Because people cannot live underwater,” he replied.

I suppose it was a cruel thing to say.
The mother was speechless.

He went on: “The laws of nature apply to all living things – you have not been singled out – accidents happen and human beings are not anaerobic.”
He went on:
“But we don’t have to like it,” he went on, “it’s OK to cry and grieve. That’s also part of nature’s way.”

Not many people would have understood the simple, elegant truth of what he said – but she did – she was a nurse.
And you will, too.

You, dear Em, probably know as much as anyone about biology and the Way of all things that come into life and go back to the Great Circle of Being.
You know both its inexorable reality and its grand mystery.

My view is that all of us are just universal recycling compost, in a way - and the Law of the Conservation of Matter and Energy is just another way of stating that everything about each of us is woven into the existence of everything forever and ever and ever.
Or, better said, we are truly stardust.
Including Mathilde.

I believe that things work out best for the person who makes the best of the way things turn out.
You have always been one of those.

Much of what goes on in this life is out of our power.
Epictetus, the Greek sage, noted that 4,000 years ago – and so it is.

The only thing you really can control is your attitude toward what happens.
And you have what the Buddhists call Right Attitude.
You’ve been a Life Guard, worked as a Life Saver, been a vehicle for life creation, and served as a life preserver for Mathilde as long as you could.
You’ve done your best.

Having a tiny, fragile child die in your arms is a harsh test of your courage.
Fortunately, you have never been short of courage.
And you were there for her as far as you and she could go together.
I repeat: You’ve done your best.

Mathilde was conceived about this time a year ago.
A two-part bio-molecular combination thrown onto the roulette wheel of Chance. But an unworkable combination of genes and DNA and fortune.

As with all of us, she came and went – her time frame was just brief.
And, as you say, her death brought to bear a deeper understanding of yourself, an appreciation of what medical science can do and cannot, and an emphatic reaffirmation of the love and support of friends and family.
Finely woven loss and gain, joy and sorrow - the fabric of existence.

I would worry if you didn’t understand all this.
But you do, you do.
I looked carefully at your face in the group photo you sent.
There’s the Em I know – smiling - with strength shining in all directions.
I’ve never seen you cry or grieve.
But no doubt you will do that as well as you’ve done everything else.

Given your child-bearing history, it’s really wise to forego future pregnancies.
But there are other ways to have children.
And the love you have for Mathilde might well be given to a living child in need of love.
Adoption is always an option - though that, too, can be problematical.
Wait at least a year before you consider this.
But give it serious thought.

Enough.
I say again that I hug you close in my heart and mind.
And I place invisible flowers at the grave of Mathilde.
She’s returned to stardust.

Think of me as an invisible presence at the celebration for Mathilde.

With all the love I can send,

Robert Fulghum
Forever a friend of Em Standen, still the Coolest Chick in the Universe.

Queen Anne Hill - Seattle, Washington
Written April 2, 2013 - the day after the Feast Day of All Fools
Chilly, windy, mixed clouds and sun as winter retreats.
Outside one can hear “the spear song of the marching grass”
(That’s a favorite phrase from the spring poetry of e e cummings)

PROVOCATIONS

Seldom am I without a notebook and pen when I go out in the world.
Whatever strikes my senses gets noted and written down.
Anything and everything can become fodder for the mental mill.
Whenever I begin a new notebook I look back through the one I just filled and find lines that might be provocative to my ongoing thinking.
These are frames around thought - kindling for the fire.

And I copy the active lines into the first pages of the fresh notebook to serve as a bridge to what comes next in the pages yet to be filled.
The transition often takes place on April Fool’s Day.

Here are the lines I just copied into my new and as-yet-empty notebook:

Everything looks better at a distance.

Everything is compost.

Sex is often safe; love is always dangerous.

I don’t know my size; and my name often escapes me.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.

There are many ways of telling the truth.

Letting go and giving up are not the same thing.

There’s a difference between quitting and knowing you’re beat.

Live as long as you want to; want to as long as you live.

Don’t believe everything you think.

If you concern yourself only with getting, you will never get enough.
If you concern yourself only with giving, enough will do.

Time changes everything - and, in the end, Time always has the last word.

Reality is a matter of opinion - and a loose consensus between friends.

Trust the song, not the singer; trust the tale, not the teller; trust the poem, not the poet.

There are many ways to lose your life. Death is only one of them.
You are not dead - just buried alive - some days are like that.

“Never practice; never rehearse; play!” Wanda Landowska

Complete freedom is absence of choice.

If you’re going to hell, you might as well have the right clothes.

The maze of love is better than all the straight freeways.

How are you? How aren’t you?

This is It - always just Now, but Now becomes Then.

You miss 100 per cent of the shots you don’t take, and get no results from what you don’t try.

Onward!