More grand adventure
Good grief, how many pictures did we take today? It started with another gloriously slow and easy morning in Poland. Then we headed to this extensive cemetery that we saw on the way to the gigantic mall the other, day. The mall is called Manifaktura, and I feel like saying the way they say Mufasa on the Lion King movie. The cemetery is back to back with another cemetery called Cmetarz Prawoslawny. One says it's a Catholic cemetery. (Next time around we're visiting the Jewish Cemetery, wherever it is).
We walked around for 45 minutes and didn't even walk the entire perimeter of one of the 2 cemeteries. It was very interesting. Outside of the cemetery there were several vendors who sold things to put on graves. Mostly flowers, real and fake. And these lantern things that you put candles in, those are quite popular here. There were quite a few people at the cemetery, several had little bags for weeds and tiny brooms to tidy up the plots they were visiting. The cab driver told us it was a holy day, but then it turns out he was saying holiday - the Polish Labor Day.
Cemeteries are fascinating places. How people perceive death, and react to funerals, and create ceremonies: it's all quite interesting. How different cultures honor their dead is intriguing. Man, I didn't realize that I don't know how to spell that word. Maybe I should just stop using it then. I've always said "don't use words you can't spell". But it was an excuse to learn how to spell it, right?
It's very sobering to be contemplating life on a path of the buried dead. These cemeteries were overflowing with tombs. It was also breathtaking because the sun had finally come out. I can't imagine what it would be like to walk through there in the winter with the bitter cold and leaf-less trees and grey sky. Today was just a basic cold, and spring was in the air and on the branches. I always think of all those people, and the lives they lived, and the stories they created, and the fine line between life and death. The people who die unexpectedly, and the ones who cheat death in miraculous ways.
My latest favorite quote on it is from W. Clayton who is a doctor who has delivered babies, and been there as patients have died. He said: "Yet was our birth truly the beginning? The world sees birth and death as the beginning and the end. But we know that birth and death are actually just milestones on our journey to eternal life. They are essential parts of the great plan, sacred moments when mortality and heaven intersect".
I was taken back by the long rows of loved ones in the ground. Walking among the skeletons. Chances are good that when I die, one day someone will have to bury me. They will have to find a cemetery and lay my bones to rest. I don't belong to an Indian tribe that would just put me in a tree, for nature to take me back over again. I would like my tombstone to have a big tree carved into it. Because I am part of a big family tree. It should say: "Estoy tratando". ("I am trying"). I believe that even in death, I will still be trying, still be loving them all. Part of me wants the big memorial, with a big cement tree that will last hundreds of years, to inspire everyone who walks by it. Another part of me wants to die as humble as I'm trying to live. All this reminds me of the saddest thing I've read about death. I don't know who said it, but the it goes something like this: There are 2 deaths. The first one is when your spirit leaves your body, and the second one is the last time you are remembered. Whoosh.
It also made me think about how all of Life is a supposing game. My choices are made Supposing I will live until I'm at least 80 years old. What would change if I knew the year that I would die? What if I were to die here in Europe, close to Ron, but so far from the rest of my loved ones? What would happen if I live to be a crusty 90 years old? Wait, I'm sorry, I know a few people over 90 and I'm very happy they are still here, and they are not crusty. What a stereotype. Sometimes I say things, and then I wonder why on earth I'm so flippant.
I wish the cemetery was empty of mourners, so that I could take a thousand pictures at a thousand angles, of the thousands of memorials I saw today. I took some pictures, as discreetly as possible. I couldn't help myself. This Catholic cemetery had so many variations of crosses. I wonder what ways the Jewish cemetery will be different. It was strange, black and upright tombstones were common, and they kind of looked like TV screens at first glance. Like the one in my living room right now.
After the walk among the dead we livened things up by strolling to the nearby mall. The whole thing was shut down except for some outside restaurants. We were ready to sit down, warm up, and eat. It was still a chilly day out there. It was a high of 55 degrees today. We had some great Thai food. My favorite was a lemonade drink that had lime and spicy mango in it. Terrific mistake, I guess I'm not good at pointing at a menu, I tried to get the lemonade with lemon grass, cherry plum, and fresh basil. I will have to try it next time.
Then we people watched for a long time. Polish people have boring coats and cool shoes, even the men. Or maybe it's just been a long time since I've seen men wearing anything but flip flops. We thought about heading back, but heard some music and decided to follow it to the source. There was a live band playing and some kid games and people making cotton candy. Decent music, we listened to a song or two, it was already after 5pm.
The next leg of the adventure went like this: I said "Look at those 2 tall spires over there, let's go see what kind of church is there." The spires appeared over the tops of other regular looking buildings. It was a beautiful church. We stood across the street to try and get some good pictures, the sun was very accommodating. This little old lady walked up to me and said something. Not a question, just a statement. Probably about the church? I looked at her and said apologetically: I don't speak Polish! She smiled and squeezed my arm, and drew me in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I beamed back at her, and then she was gone. Disappeared with a quickness. I was very touched. I like to think that she said something like - you should go see the true beauty inside it's doors. I didn't want to go inside and disturb people who were worshipping, but then we did go to the front doors, and I'm glad I did. It was so ornate and so tall and so incredibly beautiful when I peeked inside. There was also a sign that said St. Mary's parish church. between 1940 and 1944, by order of the German occupying authorities, it was a sorting station and a depot for Jewish property. Wow.
We walked a few more blocks and found a sign that said we were standing in the Jewish ghetto of Lodz. It was the first ghetto, and it was second biggest after the one in Warsaw. Crazy. So we walked back to the church to look again with new eyes. There was an extension/building of the church behind the big building and the sign said it was where Jewish people were questioned and tortured. Man. Such human suffering from 70 years ago. The sun was setting, so we headed back. It made me wonder though. How old was that lady? Was she born in Lodz? If she was 70 years old (quite possible) then she was born during or right after all these catastrophic events. Her parents being first hand eye witnesses to all those horrors. From what I've read, even the non-Jewish people were still used as a labor force. She has probably been through so much, and yet there she was giving a stranger a sweet kiss on the cheek. Hmmmm.
We walked around for 45 minutes and didn't even walk the entire perimeter of one of the 2 cemeteries. It was very interesting. Outside of the cemetery there were several vendors who sold things to put on graves. Mostly flowers, real and fake. And these lantern things that you put candles in, those are quite popular here. There were quite a few people at the cemetery, several had little bags for weeds and tiny brooms to tidy up the plots they were visiting. The cab driver told us it was a holy day, but then it turns out he was saying holiday - the Polish Labor Day.
Cemeteries are fascinating places. How people perceive death, and react to funerals, and create ceremonies: it's all quite interesting. How different cultures honor their dead is intriguing. Man, I didn't realize that I don't know how to spell that word. Maybe I should just stop using it then. I've always said "don't use words you can't spell". But it was an excuse to learn how to spell it, right?
It's very sobering to be contemplating life on a path of the buried dead. These cemeteries were overflowing with tombs. It was also breathtaking because the sun had finally come out. I can't imagine what it would be like to walk through there in the winter with the bitter cold and leaf-less trees and grey sky. Today was just a basic cold, and spring was in the air and on the branches. I always think of all those people, and the lives they lived, and the stories they created, and the fine line between life and death. The people who die unexpectedly, and the ones who cheat death in miraculous ways.
My latest favorite quote on it is from W. Clayton who is a doctor who has delivered babies, and been there as patients have died. He said: "Yet was our birth truly the beginning? The world sees birth and death as the beginning and the end. But we know that birth and death are actually just milestones on our journey to eternal life. They are essential parts of the great plan, sacred moments when mortality and heaven intersect".
I was taken back by the long rows of loved ones in the ground. Walking among the skeletons. Chances are good that when I die, one day someone will have to bury me. They will have to find a cemetery and lay my bones to rest. I don't belong to an Indian tribe that would just put me in a tree, for nature to take me back over again. I would like my tombstone to have a big tree carved into it. Because I am part of a big family tree. It should say: "Estoy tratando". ("I am trying"). I believe that even in death, I will still be trying, still be loving them all. Part of me wants the big memorial, with a big cement tree that will last hundreds of years, to inspire everyone who walks by it. Another part of me wants to die as humble as I'm trying to live. All this reminds me of the saddest thing I've read about death. I don't know who said it, but the it goes something like this: There are 2 deaths. The first one is when your spirit leaves your body, and the second one is the last time you are remembered. Whoosh.
It also made me think about how all of Life is a supposing game. My choices are made Supposing I will live until I'm at least 80 years old. What would change if I knew the year that I would die? What if I were to die here in Europe, close to Ron, but so far from the rest of my loved ones? What would happen if I live to be a crusty 90 years old? Wait, I'm sorry, I know a few people over 90 and I'm very happy they are still here, and they are not crusty. What a stereotype. Sometimes I say things, and then I wonder why on earth I'm so flippant.
I wish the cemetery was empty of mourners, so that I could take a thousand pictures at a thousand angles, of the thousands of memorials I saw today. I took some pictures, as discreetly as possible. I couldn't help myself. This Catholic cemetery had so many variations of crosses. I wonder what ways the Jewish cemetery will be different. It was strange, black and upright tombstones were common, and they kind of looked like TV screens at first glance. Like the one in my living room right now.
After the walk among the dead we livened things up by strolling to the nearby mall. The whole thing was shut down except for some outside restaurants. We were ready to sit down, warm up, and eat. It was still a chilly day out there. It was a high of 55 degrees today. We had some great Thai food. My favorite was a lemonade drink that had lime and spicy mango in it. Terrific mistake, I guess I'm not good at pointing at a menu, I tried to get the lemonade with lemon grass, cherry plum, and fresh basil. I will have to try it next time.
Then we people watched for a long time. Polish people have boring coats and cool shoes, even the men. Or maybe it's just been a long time since I've seen men wearing anything but flip flops. We thought about heading back, but heard some music and decided to follow it to the source. There was a live band playing and some kid games and people making cotton candy. Decent music, we listened to a song or two, it was already after 5pm.
The next leg of the adventure went like this: I said "Look at those 2 tall spires over there, let's go see what kind of church is there." The spires appeared over the tops of other regular looking buildings. It was a beautiful church. We stood across the street to try and get some good pictures, the sun was very accommodating. This little old lady walked up to me and said something. Not a question, just a statement. Probably about the church? I looked at her and said apologetically: I don't speak Polish! She smiled and squeezed my arm, and drew me in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I beamed back at her, and then she was gone. Disappeared with a quickness. I was very touched. I like to think that she said something like - you should go see the true beauty inside it's doors. I didn't want to go inside and disturb people who were worshipping, but then we did go to the front doors, and I'm glad I did. It was so ornate and so tall and so incredibly beautiful when I peeked inside. There was also a sign that said St. Mary's parish church. between 1940 and 1944, by order of the German occupying authorities, it was a sorting station and a depot for Jewish property. Wow.
We walked a few more blocks and found a sign that said we were standing in the Jewish ghetto of Lodz. It was the first ghetto, and it was second biggest after the one in Warsaw. Crazy. So we walked back to the church to look again with new eyes. There was an extension/building of the church behind the big building and the sign said it was where Jewish people were questioned and tortured. Man. Such human suffering from 70 years ago. The sun was setting, so we headed back. It made me wonder though. How old was that lady? Was she born in Lodz? If she was 70 years old (quite possible) then she was born during or right after all these catastrophic events. Her parents being first hand eye witnesses to all those horrors. From what I've read, even the non-Jewish people were still used as a labor force. She has probably been through so much, and yet there she was giving a stranger a sweet kiss on the cheek. Hmmmm.
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