Like most people, I'm usually not grateful enough for what I have, and also like most people, I always crave more. But sometimes something gets through my skull and makes me stop and consider the great wealth I possess.
I wish I could translate the peace I feel right now to this screen. Today four of our friends joined Che and I for a bridal shower. We went to our favorite cafe and had drinks and a light dinner, came back to our flat and played games, ate strawberries and brownies, drank juice and champagne, and laughed a lot. After the girls left, I took a walk in the dusk and the white rhododendrons in the park and let my feet take me where my mind wanted to go.
Now I'm sitting in my living room/bedroom in the night breeze flowing through the open window. The sun has just completely set, and it's dark in our room except for the white Christmas lights strung over the mugs lined up on our bookshelf, and the pink candle flickering on the coffee table beside the fuchsia gerbera daisies I gave to Che. Che is playing her music, which is always a lovely blend of acoustic peace.
I'm on the downward slope. The year is almost over, and lessons will be more broken up from here on because of class trips and end-of-the-year entertainment. It's May, a month of promise and apple blossom air. The days are warm and the evenings are cool, and I fall asleep to folk music and the trickle of the fountain on the square.
Che and I use the phrase "I have peace" a lot here even though it sounds a bit unnatural, because it's easy for Czechs to understand. If we make a decision we're satisfied with, we say, "I have peace." If a problem has been resolved, we say, "I have peace." But sometimes, for no reason other than the simple fact that I am rich because I have been given the month of May, a warm bed, the sound of water and the breeze, I also have peace.
L-R: Sarah, Jonna, Che, Tammy, Me, Naomi
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