missing my umbrella at the Warsaw parade

Yesterday we were in Warsaw to see a historical parade commemorating the independence of Poland. In 1918, at the end of World War I, today's Poland was freed from the Austria-Hungarian, German and Russian Empires.
It was a great day, my only problem was that I couldn't find my itty bitty umbrella in my cool purse for which I made the fisherman's vest dividers. That, however is beside the point.

From from Angela's camera

Standing there in the rain with the Poles, watching the historical parade of the different regiments in the history of Poland from the rebel army before independence to today's troops made me feel very small.
Let me explain: Yesterday I remembered the 5th grade me. That was the first time I'd ever heard a "polack" joke - it could have been about how many of them it takes to screw in a light bulb, or something similarly enlightening. Being an immature grade schooler I thought it was funny of course. I didn't know what was meant by a "polack", just that it was someone dumber than me. Of course I went on to tell this little joke, and others like it to anyone with patience to listen, until my mom overheard me. It precipitated one of the few lectures that I can actually recollect. She told me that what I was calling a "polack" were real people from a real country, a country called Poland. The people who live there are properly known as Poles. They are Polish, not, "polacks", a derogatory, ignorant term. Poles are hardworking people who love their country. They have fought for their country. After their capitol was bombed to the ground in World War II they rebuilt it with their own hands. Before the Soviet occupation they were a proud and talented people. Poland has produced famous musicians, composers and writers. Don't ever tell "polack" jokes again. Poland, their country which they love has been taken away from them, but they still love their homeland and want to be free again.
I did not appreciate or care for that speech, my Norwegian mother obviously didn't understand sophisticated grade school humor.
But I never forgot it.
And I remembered it again as we stood in the rain near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in one of Warsaw's many beautiful parks. We stood watching the stirring sight of different military regiments parade past us,

From from Angela's camera

after having laid wreaths of flowers on the tomb.

From from Angela's camera

All the while we stood shoulder to shoulder with Poles in the rain who let me stand under their big umbrellas in the Warsaw rain, because I couldn't find my own.
By the time the opening ceremonies are over I'm so glad I'm not a soldier, glad I don't have to spend the night in a pup tent, because I'm wet and cold. My two fellow companions on this outing decide to deposit me at a cafe so they can go and enjoy the sites of chilly, wet Warsaw.
At the cafe I get a table near the radiator and drape my scarf and gloves over it to dry them off, then look through my purse for any errant zloty to pay for an Americano - and what do I find? The last gift my mom gave me before I left home last summer, my tiny black totes umbrella nestled within the vast recesses of my diplomats bag.
So now, who's the polack?

From My drawings

did I already post this here?

When was riding horses I had a special shirt which was part of my riding habit, called a "ratcatcher". I never caught any rats in it, but if I ever needed it, it's NOW!
Our Drohobich bache is on the first floor this year there we've only caught 6 mice, last year we did real well at 11 live mice that we can either let go into the wild, or drown in a bucket of water. After temperatures go down to freezing at night it seems like the mouse are holed up for the winter, and we don't have any more problems with them.
I'd been hearing noises in my room though, enough to convince me that a mammal with a heavy tread is living under the floor of my room, and that he's working on some kind of a project. I told Karen who gave me kind of a glassy look, like "oh really", so I dropped it when I could see she wouldn't volunteer to trade rooms. Imagine my vindication when Karen in making before breakfast coffee agitatedly tells me that "at 4:30 this morning the RATS dragged a chain across the floor" under her room. "We should give him a name" she said, "Sebastian, he's building a torture chamber" I really enjoyed that remark and have shared it with some of my friends.
Then we are expecting company to our bache. Our Polish friends, who take care of our mail are bringing it in, so we scurry around our bache and try to make it seem clean and cozy. Cobwebs in doorways are a big problem, Tammy is taller that both of us, and we don't want her getting spider webs in her hair. They come, we have a great time, Karen cooks delicious Oriental food, and we eat with chopsticks. Our friend Sasha is all pleased that he managed to use his during the whole meal, he and Halya refused at first, but we gave them a lesson, and somehow took away their inhibitions. After the meal Sasha said he had a cramp in his hand from the chopsticks! Our steady listener came, (Anya!) D. S. came, all a great success.
Bedtime, Eleanor has the couch in my room. I use earplugs and am out for all night. In the morning she tells me she heard noises in the night, "Oh yeah, that's Karen's friend Sebastian, he's building a torture chamber" Well, Eleanor had heard things that had made her get out of bed, take her flashlight and investigate. "Do people walk by here swishing plastic bags?" she questioned musingly...I volunteered that there is a garbage dump down the street with lots of plastic bags that the wind might blow.
The next morning it’s back to just Karen and me, "Trude, come in here." A tone of voice which prepares me to expect the worst. The scene which greets my eyes is our dumped garbage pail, the plastic sack is chewed up, (rat tooth doily) and the garbage is perforated with rat's teeth...I fled the scene, leaving Karen to pick up the mess, after she finished making my (and hers!) coffee. I hadn't taken my first sip and again, "come here" in tones that got me out of bed again...this time it was the toilet...on the floor were banana peels and an empty milk carton from the kitchen trash...the wastepaper basket was also tipped over. I backed out of there as quickly as my squeamish bare feet would take me. Closed my bedroom door, got into bed with all my covers on. In this race the rats are winning!

Oh, Karen’s first words were, “let’s not tell the girls huh?” Let’s see how fast it takes for the news to get to Poland !

Update: When I emptied the trash the smell was rank, delicious to a rat of course. I learned that in 3^rd grade when we read about Templeton the Rat in Charlotte’s Web. The land lady came by today and we discussed plugging the rat hole. Her suggestion was to let him crawl out into our apartment and die here…I shot that idea down as tactlessly as possible. She’s coming tomorrow with some goop to plug the hole.

Murder in the Village

My gentle readers will remember my post about all the indignities suffered by Bruce, a dog of the village Antonivka. He is named in honor of the martial arts master Bruce Lee. This dog of such a noble name disgraced himself today in the wee hours of the morning.
A young, maimed, chicken was discovered beside his supper dish. In my previous post about Bruce I praised him and his endurance of certain canine sufferings - chickens eating our of his dog dish for example. Well this morning we had no witnesses as to what allegedly did occur, but a dead chicken was found in the proximity of the dog house. This dead chicken's unmolested corpse was found within the reach of Bruce's short chain which attaches him to the said dog house.
This picture was taken as evidence, unfortunately the corpse had already been removed by passersby (who intended to cook it for lunch).
I think we can see guilt painted all of over the face of this dog, but there is evidence of remorse, he wouldn't touch his breakfast, the surviving chickens are eating it all right under his nose.