A Christmas tale

Most of the year we see on TV, as evil conquers good. So people look forward to Christmas and fairy tales. I want to write about the good things in this festive comments.

Christmas is a celebration of eternal goodness, not modern, new or advanced, as if we no was assessed — as Christians or as atheists. Things and values that exist for a long time, do not change. The strength of tradition, culture, ancestors legacy, hope, birth…

Something that is invariably that the world long ago. For example, the great-grandfather. Last year he was playing under the Christmas tree on the floor with two year old Eliza, the youngest in the family, and her toys. We have a great picture. When Aliske be 20 years old, she certainly will not remember great-grandfather, and here is a photo to remember. The photo will remain with her for life.

The miracle of family.

Ten years ago my grandmother died, and I in his farewell speech said at the end that losing the man who in all situations was always on my side, whether I deserve that support or not. These people each of us very little. Many of them at all. But if such a person exists, it is almost always a family member.

Christmas is an important holiday, so during it you feel the power of the family. And as occurs, for example, during illness, birth, weddings. When there is something important.

I’m not going to write a bombastic review, because for the past three years, you already know my style. I’m not writing and “politically” that the traditional biological family need to protect, because more and more fools who think she’s a relic.

It’s Christmas, and I’ll write about things that I love. About those things that do not change and do not depend on the ruling regime.

I love the mountains. I don’t know why, but I have to pull. Summer, autumn, winter. I even think that the people there are nicer. This is stupid. The view from the chapel Meadow cottage, and behind the towering Snow — as if from another planet. Best there in October: meadow yellow incredibly, behind — the abyss into the unknown in Poland. The beginning of January, the newly-fallen snow and frost. I warmly dressed and food on the slopes and at the ninth hour alone in deep snow on a steep slope down. I have a sharp and prepared skis. Going to be a beautiful winter day, and I’m on the street. All is well in the world. Bottom of the lift, the sensation disappears. People, turnstile, advertising. Probably, if there is a heaven, the way to climb up there very long.

I do love sports. When I drive 70 miles on the bike, I have a good mood, thirst, hunger. I sleep well, the taste of alcohol becomes richer, and the wife I like. Or that’s how it is at these competitions “for grandparents”: when I move the last hill, you know it’s gonna go all the way with this group. Probably, doctors call it a “release of endorphins”, but I’m sure that the explanation is not so simple.

The surroundings of our Prague zoo. Something is changing, and there grow to billions in the halls, better is the graphics and marketing. Something remained the same: the animals look emaciated and sullen. But I love the train that circles down the hundred-meter track, and the woman who sells tickets there for 50 years (or whatever) and then collects them from children. With it went when I was a kid. I think that it has no modern till, perhaps, she has no cash, but I really don’t want to put them, since Christmas. In addition, I have a very stigma of a gun, because I have many children and every time I want to ride “more and more” capricious and there, and this dear woman is sometimes given tickets for free. I hope that in the spring she will be there.

I love Prague. She is beautiful. The most magical place I would rather keep the memories, because now never want through the Charles bridge one, but with tourists and accompanying bridge similar to McDonald’s. Beneath you swims five boats. But in my youth I sometimes went at dusk on the bridge, was a light mist. The Communists are nowhere to bright light — only the castle and the river, and all seemed to be out of medieval tales or fantasy. This picture is still before my eyes. And surprisingly frightening Baroque sculpture around.

I love the school. Before the Department after the Department and the office of the Director I’ve worked with these for about 40 years. But to truly love them. One morning I was driving (as it is now I all the time go to meetings) for Moravia. And there was no Jogina from Bazhin (Ivan Mládek, by the way, I also love). I was driving on a handsome village in the South lot. Beautiful school in the centre, the children go with the bags, a young teacher stands at the door and smiles. I guess she was on duty, but still. I have rolled probably four villages, and the mood was perfect.

Now every day I’m a little facebooking. All there is a little show off, and even if their life really was like on a personal page, at least one-third, the country would have been entirely happy, cheerful and successful people. But I like it there, for example, to look at brides, how proudly they post dozens of photos. And even better — the birth of children: one can see how the styling disappears, and the Pope’s enthusiastic and proud. A miracle.

As in Bethlehem. Lies With Jesus. And the world is good (for a moment).