WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BOB??

About five months ago, we became a one car family as Bob is no longer with us. Many of our friends and family knew and were fond of our red Honda Accord Bob.  A number of you have asked about him and his whereabouts.  Well –here are  Bob’s final days.

Johnny was driving home in December from Schenectady when a concerning amount of smoke appeared from Bob’s hood.  With much coaxing and a little luck, Johnny made it home.  I think Bob would have wanted to live out his days at home so we did not rush him to the garage.  We gave Bob some rest over the holidays, with the occasional unsuccessful start up.  After the holidays,  the garage gave us the prognosis that Bob had suddenly developed a number of  serious issues that he would not recover from.  We were given a couple of choices and in the end went for quick and painless, selling Bob to Jerry for scrap and moving on.  Bob would have wanted it that way.

On a Wednesday in early February – Johnny and I met Jerry down at the garage to say goodbye to Bob.  I staged a brief photo session with Jerry as the photographer, Johnny and I as the showroom models and Bob as the consummate star.  Most shots were familial with Johnny and I standing next to Bob, some were of Bob alone and some of Bob and I hinted at a deeper relationship. (The edgier pictures have been lost)

 I questioned Jerry as to his experience with photo sessions and cars and he said that my reactions had been run of the mill, middle of the road or god forbid, “average.”  Imagine – me labeled as average. In the end, I was thankful for that label as Jerry described women who sobbed on the hood of the car not letting go or who chased Jerry and their car down the driveway.  In this case, average was just fine.

It is now July with no new car on the horizon.  We have easily adjusted to one car with more walking and the occasional complicated ride scenario.  The first month, we casually researched a new car and listlessly perused the classifieds for a second hand car.  Nothing felt right, nothing felt appropriate.  We’re not ready yet.  It would be like remarrying before the one year anniversary of the death of one’s spouse.

At some point, we will be ready and something will strike us.  Until then, we have celebrated Bob with a short tribute of poems  and photos to Bob.

ODES TO BOB

Bob was my pal, my roommate,  my go to guy

Bob was trustworthy, reliable and unflappable

He was sturdy, low to the ground and had control

One might say –Bob was one of a kind

Bob did not disappoint

He carried me without hesitation through the Smokey Mountains

To Arkansas and to my dying father

And back again consoling me with his strong frame

Bob delivered us safely on all our travels

Surviving one or two scratches

And a substitute hood in a different color

A couple of bad hair days for Bob

But he rebounded back for another nine years

Purchased by my grandmother in 1992

Bob would have turned 20 this year

That’s 90 in car years you know

A life well lived, a life well remembered               

An example to all                                                                                                                            

My memories of Bob are many and varied

My gratitude to him unending

Thanks Bob

By Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Bob was always quite great

We’ll never forget him

He’s always  our first mate

We’ll always remember him

Concealing him in our hearts

 AFTER…………

Scrapping away his  parts                                       

 By Lucas Martinez

AND now for some Haiku – A nod to Bob’s Japanese roots.

The only car dad

Would  allow me to drive - gone

Run into the ground

By Joseph and Diane Martinez

Work horse, strong, driven

Treasured family member

Limitless road, Bob

By Johnny Martinez

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BOB??

A couple of months ago, we became a one car family as Bob is no longer with us. Many of our friends and family knew and were fond of our red Honda Accord Bob.  A number of you have asked about him and his whereabouts.  Well –here are  Bob’s final days.

Johnny was driving home in December from Schenectady when a concerning amount of smoke appeared from Bob’s hood.  With much coaxing and a little luck, Johnny made it home.  I think Bob would have wanted to live out his days at home so we did not rush him to the garage.  We gave Bob some rest over the Holidays, with the occasional unsuccessful start up.  After the holidays,  the garage gave us the prognosis that Bob had suddenly developed a number of  serious issues that he would not recover from.  We were given a couple of choices and in the end went for quick and painless selling, Bob to Jerry for scrap and moving on.  Bob would have wanted it that way.

On Wednesday February – Johnny and I met Jerry down at the garage to say goodbye to Bob.  I staged a brief photo session with Jerry as the photographer, Johnny and I as the showroom models and Bob as the consummate star.  Most shots were familial with Johnny and I standing next to Bob, some were of Bob alone and some of Bob and I hinted at a deeper relationship.

 I questioned Jerry as to his experience with photo sessions and cars and he said that my reactions had been run of the mill, middle of the road or god forbid, “average.”  Imagine – me labeled as average. In the end, I was thankful for that label as Jerry described women who sobbed on the hood of the car not letting go or who chased Jerry and their car down the driveway.  In this case, average was just fine.

It is now April with no new car on the horizon.  We have easily adjusted to one car with more walking and the occasional complicated ride scenario.  The first month, we casually researched a new car and listlessly perused the classifieds for a second hand car.  Nothing felt right, nothing felt appropriate.  We’re not ready yet.  It would be like remarrying before the one year anniversary of the death of one’s spouse.

At some point, we will be ready and something will strike us.  Until then, we have celebrated Bob with a short tribute of poems  and photos to Bob.

ODES TO BOB

Bob was my pal, my roommate,  my go to guy

Bob was trustworthy, reliable and unflappable

He was sturdy, low to the ground and had control

One might say –Bob was one of a kind

Bob did not disappoint

He carried me without hesitation through the Smokey Mountains

To Arkansas and to my dying father

And back again consoling me with his strong frame

Bob delivered us safely on all our travels

Surviving one or two scratches

And a substitute hood in a different color

A couple of bad hair days for Bob

But he rebounded back for another nine years

Purchased by my grandmother in 1992

Bob would have turned 20 this year

That’s 90 in car years you know

A life well lived, a life well remembered               

An example to all                                                                                                                            

My memories of Bob are many and varied

My gratitude to him unending

Thanks Bob

By Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Bob was always quite great

We’ll never forget him

He’s always  our first mate

We’ll always remember him

Concealing him in our hearts

 AFTER…………

Scrapping away his parts                                                                                           

By Lucas Martinez

AND now for some Haiku – A nod to Bob’s Japanese roots.

The only car dad

Would  allow me to drive - gone

Run into the ground

By Joseph and Diane Martinez

Work horse, strong, driven

Treasured family member

Limitless road, Bob

By Johnny Martinez

SANTA OR SEX

 

    

   Oddly enough telling our children that we have been playing Santa for the past ten years and telling them about sex, seems to developmentally occur around the same time.  This year my younger son (fourth grade) did not write a letter to Santa, did not set out cookies and milk and seemed relatively unthreatened that Santa was watching and he better snap to.  At the same time, he and all of his friends are all ears, giggling when the word sex is mentioned and his eyes are glued to the screen during  kissing scenes.

       Hence – my dilemma – Santa or Sex.  Which do I tell him about first?  As luck would have it, I have a fifteen year old and can draw upon that experience five to six years ago to guide me.  I recall discussing both Santa and sex with my older son but I cannot for the life of me remember which one‘s truth was first revealed.

        The Santa discussion I believe was in the fall, before Christmas and I encouraged him to now be a Santa for his younger brother and sustain his belief.  He took it pretty well, with a little surprise but I thought he understood until Christmas Eve when he frequently kept checking the Santa tracker on TV.  I remember thinking, didn’t we just go over the existence of Santa and why is he constantly checking on Santa’s whereabouts?  I didn’t mention it at the time and by the next year he seemed to have adjusted.  Perhaps, he was in a transitional phase.  Understood.  I’m still not over it.

       The sex discussion, I believe was the following spring near the end of school after his 11^th birthday.  I went to the library and after looking over several books on “breaking the news” I selected one that was “middle of the road.”  Some were all about the egg and sperm and really skirted the intercourse issue by saying “when the Mommy and Daddy hold each other really close.”  Hmmm.  At the other end of the spectrum, there were books that were committed to discussing the pros and cons of a variety of condoms.  Okay – we weren’t there yet.  In the end I selected something that described some of the biology and got down to it with a paragraph that described intercourse.   At last – the defining paragraph. 

  

     I brought the book home and set up a time to read it together with my older son;  quite a change of pace from our usual morning ritual of reading Harry Potter together.  Nonetheless, I was committed to sharing the good news.  He took it all really well and seemed a bit bored actually until the “defining paragraph.”  Although the date escapes me, I recall him saying –“Could you read that paragraph again?”

After rereading the paragraph, I asked him if he had known that.  He answered honestly that he had not and then came the classic question “Do you and Dad do that.”   Despite my relative ease with the topic, I owned up to it only happening  once by saying,  “We had your brother didn’t we?”  My older son is adopted so that answer would make sense to him but it also opened up a new door about his biological parents.

       The ensuing discussion went well focusing on the reproductive qualities of sex rather than the pleasure factor.  My husband promised a follow-up discussion but that did not happen for at least a year.  In the meantime, I had my own follow-up discussions covering such topics as protection, masturbation,” no means no”, legalities, i.e., you are seventeen and your girlfriend is sixteen.   Many of these topics were covered on car rides when my son and I were alone, he was seated up front and I unfairly had a captive audience. Whenever, I embarked on one of my information sessions, I usually got an “Oh Mom,” but I did notice how sweet and attentive he was with his girlfriend a couple of years later. I tried to have a tone that communicated a healthy but responsible attitude towards sex.  Somewhere along the line, I think he now knows that we had sex more than just the time we conceived his brother.  Whatever.

       I believe as a child I may have learned about Santa first.  I recall my Mom telling me about Santa and confiding that my older brother, David, already knew and had been keeping up the charade.  As to sex, I recall pestering my Mom about how one became pregnant.  When she broke the news calmly about intercourse, I was shocked, really shocked.  One would think that I would have had an inkling.  After all, my mom had already informed me about menstruation and how babies were born.  Furthermore, we had a small farm and there was a virtual sex arena in our backyard as the cows gave each other “piggyback rides”.  One would think, but no I was shocked.  The conversation did not stop there.  I beleaguered my mom with question after question.  My brother had apparently heard the news and walked away without a question.  I think there could be the same outcome in our home: my older son took it quite calmly and my younger son will be filled with questions.  And why not.  It’s worth questioning.

       So – Santa or Sex.  I’m not sure yet but perhaps next fall as my younger son is in 5^th grade and Christmas is around the corner, an opportunity will present itself and my dilemma will be solved.  You see, it truly will be  Santa or Sex;  somehow, the topic comes up at the same time.  But if I had my druthers, there would be a Santa and then my problem really would be solved.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Backstage at the Thanksgiving Show

   

Husband and Guest doing a frogstand

      I’m not quite sure how it started.  How the first germ of an idea came to be or how it developed into the extravaganza it is today.  Perhaps it was the Adirondack family fitness challenge, which could do the most sit-ups, push-ups and pull –ups that provided the spring board.  Maybe it was the constant climbing/ dance lifts my niece Cara did onto my now husband then boyfriend’s back that clearly needed a performance opportunity that spurred us on.  Or maybe the fact that Grandpa Dave, mom and I would sometimes casually sing together provided an inspiration.

        Whatever it was led us down the path of the annual post dinner Thanksgiving show. No sitting around after dinner regretting our gluttonous intake with our belts loosened; we were ready for action. It started small with my niece Cara singing the repetitive song Mr. Pumpkin, followed by one of my brother’s twin sons Jeremy executing his hand stands.  Next, Grandpa Dave would take out his harmonica and play something down home like the “Swanee River.”  To bring back the vaudevillian flavor of our program, my brother and I would then perform the family frog stands on the rug.  Those who could like my husband’s nephew Tommy, the twins Jeremy and Greg as well as my husband Johnny joined us.  Cara and Johnny would perform a few ballet lifts and we would finish off the show with an uplifting rendition of “Amazing Grace.”  Grandpa Dave, my mom and I would sing the first verse and then everyone would join us on the remaining verses.

      I think you see where we are going with the show; nothing too typical, nothing professional, the unusual was favored.   We used our lesser talents and brought forth are parlour tricks, if you will.   My husband and I are professional dancers and performers but have never used that as an act; we prefer to do frog stands or acts of flexibility.  An Argentine Tango just wouldn’t fit in.  In addition, I produced the show yearly and Johnny was our unflappable MC.  I seem to have the talent of creating something out of nothing, putting a spin on it and justifying it.  He, on the other hand, had the talent of communicating this to the audience with conviction, comedy and drama.

       What kind of family puts on these yearly events?  Well, “the show” never occurred until I met my husband and his family and we started having our annual Thanksgiving celebration up at our camp in the Adirondacks.  We all slept there for two to three nights so perhaps our personalities coupled with cabin fever provided the right atmosphere for our theatrics.  My husband’s family is artists of varying talents, and my brother’s family is divided between sports for the three guys and dance for my niece and her mom Bonnie.  On top of this each family possesses some circus like abilities; my husband’s family is extremely flexible through the hips and my brother’s family has unusual balance.  As the producer, I have exploited both characteristics to provide comedy and oddness for our annual shows.

       Over time new family members arrived and with the new additions, the show altered. As the creator and producer, I was thankful for the additions, as putting a new and interesting spin on Mr. Pumpkin and a frog stand every year had become challenging.  Tommy’s girlfriend Melissa (now wife) joined us in 2000, and my family expanded to include two boys Joey and Lucas in 2002.  Thanksgiving 2002 included the mystery of the stolen prince that involved my 10 week child and somehow tied the whole thing together.  Tommy was always fun by himself but now with the addition of Melissa they would add an act that entailed art.  No slouch in the athletic category, Tommy also participated in the flexibility category while last year Melissa somehow sustained her yoga headstand next to my flailing headstand that lasted all of 2 seconds before falling three times.  Persistence is one of my strengths and downfalls, as I continued to say “I got it, just one more try.”

       Sadly, the theater was black in 2008 when Thanksgiving was in New York City without my brother’s family and we were uninspired with half the cast missing.  However, in 2009 we were back together in Vermont and the New Yorkers made the six hour trip up to Stowe, Vermont for the Holiday.  I’m going to say that this was one of our better shows.  Grandpa Dave had written his own introduction for his musical performance and had a costume, Tommy and Melissa had planned some camera flashing in the dark outlining the body act, the flexibility acts with the Martinez hips and my head to toe touching flexible back were impressive and the dog obedience act outdid itself.  We were back.

Son executing the frogstand

       Of course no show is complete without an audience and we were lucky to every year have Uncle Freddie, Johnny’s mom Carmen and Cream Puff (Uncle Freddie’s dog) as our consistent fan club.  My brother was also in the audience but annually made his walk to the stage with dignity to perform his requisite frog stand and his wife Bonnie (also in the audience) was frequently involved in a dog act.  My mom, sitting in the audience, rose every year to sing the finale “Amazing Grace” with solid harmony. The rest of us were running around backstage in the dining room and kitchen readying ourselves for our barely rehearsed acts.

       Thanksgiving 2010 was filled with joy to be together but tinged with sadness as the Adirondack house was for sale and we were quite sure it would be our last Thanksgiving there. Nonetheless, the show must go on and we received new inspiration that year in the form of the neighbors.  We had just found out that new friends (the Maxwells) in Saratoga had a home down the road from us in Speculator and they were joining us for dinner.  They took their food and theater seriously, bringing all sorts of goodies to eat and arriving for the show with a violin and a reading from Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales.”  I’m not sure anyone quite knew how to take the first thirty seconds of Otis’s reading of “The Canterbury Tales” in Middle English wearing a unique hat, but within minutes, we realized that it fit the 19^th century salon theater style we craved and embraced it.  Hence, we had ushered in a new era of “the dramatic reading.”

       The Maxwells were not the only new performers that year.  Logan Blaise Martinez (heir to Tommy and Melissa) had entered the world and was debuting at the age of eight and one/half months.  Actually, he was in two acts; the first being a series of unusual baby sounds assisted by Tommy and he opened up the lift act.  I am practically proud of this further development of Johnny and Cara’s lift act which had grown a little predictable and needed a new spin.  I called this act – the unaware, the bizarre and the classical.  Tommy and Logan did some interesting poses in which Logan unaware of his participation was highly cooperative.  Lucas and I on the other hand worked our butts off.  Lucas and I frequently do lifts at home and it was time to bring it to the public combining my strength and sense of drama with Lucas’s flexibility and passion for the bizarre.  We concluded the lift segment with some classical ballet lifts with Johnny and Cara who has now grown to 5 foot 7 inches.  As always, the frog stand is done as both a nod to the tradition of our show and a nod to vaudeville.  Amazingly, it never gets old.

       To bring you up to date with our most recent show, I’m going to say that it was one of our most casual shows.  With our beloved Adirondack home now sold, we hosted Thanksgiving this year in Saratoga. Additionally, it was my birthday, so my energy was high but I started to slow down after dinner and had not given the show as much forethought.  Unfortunately, we were missing my brother’s family but I did have many people from which to cast the show from.  Providence prevailed and the arrival of some new guests and presence of the Maxwell’s violin and dramatic reading script pushed me into action.  Within fifteen minutes, I had auditioned a hoola hoop participant, secured some audience participation on the frog stand and put together a show order.  I notified the sound man (Joey), the MC (Johnny), cleared the living room floor of the Greco/Roman pre-show act going on by the four young boys and organized the audience.

       Somehow the show always comes together and this year was no different featuring a wonderful harmonica act, a hoola hoop act, a poem, a violin and piano duet, a Thanksgiving reading, a gymnastic feat of cart wheeling into the chair, a piano solo, a reading of the menu from the Thanksgiving dinner at the NYC Delmonico Hotel in 1888 and of course our closing song “Amazing Grace.”  New audience members appeared simply stunned after some of the acts before clapping. We aim to please.

        Perhaps not our best show, but entertaining nonetheless and after the music, the solemn readings and the comedic physical acts, we bring it all together with the singing of the song ‘Amazing Grace.”  As we face each other and sing our thanks with moist eyes, I am touched by our ability to do our show in any location.  In past years our strains of Amazing Grace drifted across the quiet Adirondack lake and the solemn November landscape. Now our voices carry out into the Saratoga Thanksgiving evening and a passerby can look in and see a group facing each other with meaning and grace.  No television, cell phone or computer required.  Just us and our many “talents.” It is a time worth revisiting.  It is a time worth preserving.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Author performing the frogstand

m

ONE TOO MANY SOCK FIGHTS

       I thought I had hit an all time low when I was wearing one Halloween sock and one Christmas sock last week, but no, I was capable of going lower.  Saturday evening, I had a performance at a benefit; I was to dance a Tango solo with my husband, Johnny, and a group Latin piece with two other dancers in our company Tango Fusion.  In my preparations of gathering together my costumes, my three pairs of dance shoes, my jewelry, hair products, gloves, thong and fishnets, I added red toe nail polish to a small bag of make-up.  After doing our run-through at 7pm, I had one hour and fifteen minutes before show time, seemingly enough time to do make-up, paint toe-nails and don my costume. Please note, that my Latin costume required open toed shoes and decent polish was a must as my August pedicure had seen better days.

       So – I go to polish my nails, only to discover, that the little bag that held the polish, had been left behind along with two bracelets and some make-up.  No one had polish so one of the dancers suggested red magic marker.  Excellent idea and since we were dressing in a pre-school room with art supplies my luck was returning.  Simultaneously another dancer’s gaze and mine went to the top of a shelf and we saw  a container with art paint.  Its contents revealed a number of containers of red paint featuring an array of colors.  I chose a straight forward red that we’ll call “lipstick red” selected for its’ hopeful potential to wash off.

       So there I was, with my foot propped up, tissues separating my toes, using a small  art paintbrush to color my nails with watercolors.  In and of itself, not so bad, but after being down to one pair of daytime earrings and one pair of evening earrings for the last couple of weeks and after being able to only pull together one Halloween sock and one Christmas sock to wear with slacks, I felt I was at a very low point in regards to accessory organization.  In my defense, I am high functioning: mother, wife, family gal, friend, dance teacher, dancer, choreographer, writer, volunteer, cook, gardener, tennis player, book lover, assistant soccer coach and party thrower extraordinaire – so something has got to give.

       I had recovered fairly well from a huge sock fight that we had in the spring; most of my socks made it back to their original pair.  (In the heat of the battle, many pairs come undone) But our last skirmish in late September left me undone.  My younger son was in charge of repairing the socks and although capable of organization, this was not one of those times.  Couple the sock fight with the fact that we had yet to really put everything back in place from our summertime rental   http://dianelachtruppmartineznocompromises.blogspot.com/2011/09/exit-strategy.html  and you have the recipe for missing clothing, accessories, paperwork, etc.  Upon entering your home at the end of the rental season, you are filled with high hopes of maintaining the order that you thrust upon your home for the rental; you vow to put the contents of packed away boxes in their place.  Then school and fall activities start and your goals are pushed aside; boxes remain unpacked and the socks that you didn’t take with you are difficult to locate.

      

 As I wait for my toe nail polish to dry, I reflect on what socks and earrings have in common.  Ah – they are in twos.  This leads me to wonder what else comes in twos on my body and what will be the next jeopardized accessory.  Let’s see, I have two eyes, but fortunately the contact lens case connects the two lenses so that helps.  I have two breasts and as luck would have it the bra cups are attached, so no mismatching there.  Oh-oh –shoes, yes shoes I believe are next.  They are not attached when not on my body.  Well - I am forewarned.  Wish me luck.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez



THE WATER STATION



Prepping for the next onslaught of runners

“Do you have the water poured?”

“Did that earlier.”

“Is the music playing yet?”

“Working on it.”

“What time are they coming?”

“Now!”

“Now?”

“Now!”

“I thought I had three more minutes.”

“Nope. The lead runners are out there now.  Is our eldest up yet?”

“Not counting on it.  I’ll try.”

“See you out front.”

       Two minutes later, I burst out our front door to see scores of runners passing our front porch on White St.  I see a friend running past and yell out, “Uwe.”  He turns to me with a smile, a wave and a “Hi.”  It is one of our favorite times of the fall, the Melanie O’Donnell 5K and half marathon run.  The race goes right by our home and this was the fifth year that we had provided a water station.

       Five years ago, we awoke on a Sunday to find the race in progress and decided to set up an impromptu water stand.  My husband set up the speakers on the front porch serenading the runners with the Rocky Theme Song as they passed.  It brought a smile to many as they passed and to others gave them the boost they needed to keep going.

       We set up a folding table with hard plastic cups that we would fill with water from our storage of spring water.  Johnny would pour and the boys and I would stand on the street and do the hand off to the runners.  As the race continued, we experienced a variety of hand-offs.  Some runners smoothly take the water from our outstretched hands without a glitch and others manage to douse both us and themselves. When we ran out of cups, I would run inside, wash them and start all over again. We stayed until the last runner walked by, our voices sore from yelling encouragement and our clothes wet from sloppy hand-offs.

       The next day, our doorbell rang and a member of the Melanie O’Donnell 5K committee dropped by with gifts for us.  Apparently, many runners had mentioned our stop as being inspiring and memorable and they wanted to thank us with four excellent tote bags.  We had been unofficially voted – “Best Water Station.”  We didn’t do it for the recognition but our family was thrilled by the thanks and totes.

       Over the next two years, our water station grew.  Now we had more cups, placed the garbage can more strategically and started to perfect our hand-offs.  In addition, some of the neighbors came to expect our station and would drop by to help out.

       There are several different hand-offs: 1) the water bearer stands with the cup in their outstretched arm and the still moving running takes the cup as they pass, 2) the runner actually stops to take the water from us and then starts up again and 3) we (the water bearers) run alongside the runner for the hand –off without a second of running time being wasted.  It is the most challenging hand-off and the most satisfying for me.  However, be warned that the front runners are usually not interested in water and you should waste little of your energy and theirs inquiring.

       By the fourth year, we were invited to be an official stop- we had arrived.   The committee provided the table, the cups, the garbage bags, the water, the Gatorade and the exciting addition of bananas.  We provide the road space, the manpower and our signature tunes – Rocky’s Theme still being a favorite.  At some point, a half marathon had also been added, so we were busier for a longer period of time.

       This past year, (September 18, 2011) for some reason became confusing. We didn’t have our eye on the date of the race and the committee forgot to call us.  Late Saturday night, before the Sunday race, we agreed to have the water station.  During the early dawn hours, my husband and I heard the supplies being delivered to the front of our home and then went back to sleep.

       Since the race wasn’t completely on my radar, I overslept and experienced the panic of throwing on clothes, checking in with my husband (who was on it and already had sliced bananas) and running outside only to find out I had missed the first 30 runners or so.  However, all was not lost as the committee had in addition to all the supplies, also sent us a water station staff.  Perfect.

       While the staff (Dave and Jake) was holding down the fort, I ran inside to wake my sons.  When I woke my younger son by telling him that the runners were coming –NOW- he summed it up by saying, “It’s the best thing we do in September, next to my Birthday.”  He jumped out of bed, dressed and ran outside to join the fun.  My older’s son response was less enthusiastic, as he grunted, rolled his eyes and rolled over.

       Now that our household was mostly up, I ran outside again to work the station.  Jake and younger son were pouring two gulp size portions into cups and I joined Dave in handing out our beverages.  I suggested to him that we each take a side of the street and announce our wares.  Over the next 30 minutes, we yelled out “Water here” and “Gatorade there” indicating each other’s product.  I recognized many of the runners and many of them recognized us from years past.  Apparently, when I was inside, a runner asked Dave, “Where’s that woman who is usually here?”   People counted on our water station for our enthusiasm and music.

       At some point there was a lull before the half marathoners came and we foolishly thought that the bulk of the runners had gone by us.  Not so!! A biker came by us to let us know that the leaders were 5 minutes out.  No big deal.  We got this. Normally, the 5K is the larger of the two categories.  Not this year.  The half marathon had hundreds of runners and we were about to be swarmed.

       The first half marathoner runner went flying by us politely refusing a beverage or banana – all business.  It was the same with the next 25 runners – beverages are not a priority.  We looked west on White St. towards Nelson and saw a horde of runners heading for us.  We were down to 20 pre-poured water glasses and about 15 pre-poured Gatorades.  To add to our crisis, the large vat of water with the spigot was almost out and we were left with pouring water from bottles which is significantly slower.  My 9 year old ran in the house in to fill the pitcher and I left my hand out position to just pour with Jake. 

       Fortunately, back-up had arrived as well in the form of my teenage son and a neighbor who had just finished the 5K with his young son.  My younger son, Jake and I poured intensely and my older son, the neighbor and Dave hawked the drinks.  There were times, when we were pouring a drink and handing it straight away to be handed out.  Soon, we were 50 waters ahead and 50 Gatorades ahead and I went back to handing out. (My favorite position)

       Interesting enough, we discovered that the runners in the earlier part of the half-marathon wanted water and people halfway back and more preferred Gatorade.  We were constantly adjusting to meet the needs of the athletes.

        Soon, another issue reared its’ ugly head – the trash.  The trash barrel was overflowing and mis-thrown cups were all over the road.  My teenage son stepped in to help out and some smaller neighborhood children helped pick them up.  Many runners were concerned with making the garbage can with their toss.

        By 9:30am, business had become intermittent.  But – I still like to be out there for each runner offering water, music and words of encouragement.  I stepped away for 15 minutes to run my kids to religious instruction.  They were unhappy as they enjoy participating to the end.  When I came back, Jake and Dave said that we were down to a runner a minute.  Soon the last runners came by followed by the monitoring bike to announce that it was over.  I cleaned up, sad that it was over.

        The next day in the paper we read to the statistics to say that there had been 500 5K runners and 800 half marathoners. That explained a lot.  What a great way to interact with so many people so quickly and so meaningfully.  The runners are all appreciative with a smile, a wave or a thanks and I am always touched by the neighbors who drop in and start helping unasked.  No words are needed.

Author's older son executing the water hand-off.

A SPECIAL TONGUE

A view in the southern Czech Republic town of Znojmo

 By - Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Special to the Times Union  

     Explaining that you have gluten and dairy allergies to a waiter is challenging enough but asking for gluten-and dairy-free meals in Czech takes it to another level.  Preparing for a recent trip to Czech Republic with my mom, who speaks a little Czech, and by brother, who speaks none, I knew I’d need a better knowledge of the language than my one Czech song, if I was to avoid the socially averse physical reactions of food allergies and, possibly, a trip to the ER.  I thought preparation, good manners and charm were needed to ensure that I could get food that I could eat.



Gluten-free meal on Delta Airlines.



      First the airlines.  We asked our travel agent to request a gluten-and dairy-free meal.  That being done I decided to start working on my Czech pleasantries so that I could garner waiter cooperation.   Food is important to me and I wasn’t interested in an endless parade of grilled chicken on a mixed green salad.  I wanted the real deal -local Czech food.  I consulted my Czech dictionary and found out that please is “prosím” and that thank you is “dĕkuji  vám.”   Further research revealed the phrase “I am allergic to…” “Jsem allergicka na…” and I looked up the word for wheat “pšenici” and milk “mléko” to finish my phrase. 

      Before going, I searched for useful web sites and I found these useful for information: www.travelglutenfree.co.uk (for restaurant suggestions), www.praha.eu (for purchasing gluten –free products) and www.glutenfreeglobetrotter.com for articles about traveling gluten-free in different countries including the Czech Republic.  Most of the web sites were geared to Prague and had little regarding some of the smaller cities that we would be traveling to.

      As a final preparation, I took along some gluten-free bread and crackers and some rice cheese.  While getting settled in your new digs, you may not have time to search for the closest health food store or market.  I always travel with my bread and cheese, so I can enjoy a sandwich anywhere and toast with my eggs.  My go-to snacks are hummus, nuts and dried fruit.  While other travelers may be able to grab a quick yogurt, health bar or cheese as a small meal, I am limited.

      Once on our way, we found Delta had honored my request as a gluten-and dairy-free passenger and delivered to me a respectable dinner of flavorful chicken, rice, vegetables, salad and a fruit salad.  Before landing in the morning, they provided me with a rice cake, fruit and meat and cheese.  Truth be told, my food looked better and fresher than my fellow passengers who were dining on the regular fare.

      But, I had yet to be put to the true test.  After checking into our hotel by the Charles Bridge, we ventured out for lunch.  We happened upon a Czech/Austrian restaurant in an open square.  I tried out my phrase  ” Jsem allergicka na pšenici ” on the waiter and he tilted his head to the side in confusion.  I repeated it several times and eventually he understood, broke into his excellent English and corrected my phrase to include the word for gluten “lepek” as opposed to wheat.  Our waiter,  Hanza, was generous and tweaked and rehearsed my phrase.  My pronunciation of the word for dairy had been so laughable Hanza suggested I stick with the word for milk to express myself.  After a tasty meal of boiled beef, grilled fish, potatoes and vegetables, I left the restaurant with a satisfied tummy, a new confidence and an invaluable piece of paper that now read “Jsem allergicka na lepek” and “Jsem allergicka na mléko.”

      The following day we stopped for lunch at a small restaurant in Staré Mĕsto (Old Town) where they were offering beverage, soup and bread for 75 Korunas about $4.50.  After a couple of tries with my new allergy statement, the waitress understood and said in Czech that the lentil soup contained no lepek or mléko.  Without prompting, she added a rice cake to the side of my bowl.  Although it was one of our simplest meals, I was touched by her thoughtfulness.  We communicated through my one sentence in Czech, her 10 words of English and my mom’s understanding of a few words.

      Our final morning in Prague, and after two days of eggs and toast, I decided to try and communicate a favorite meal of mine to the staff at our hotel.  The buffet breakfast was lovely with fruit, eggs (no milk) sausages, smoked meats, cheeses, yogurts, croissants and an assortment of breads.  It was heavy on dairy and gluten, so I was limited.  I brought my bread and rice cheese down to the dining room and tried to ask that it be grilled panini style.  After a couple of minutes of incomprehension,  the dining room staff sent me to the kitchen to talk to Tatiana, the cook, who spoke absolutely no English.  After five minutes of pointing to pans, butter and my bread and rice cheese, we were making a grilled cheese sandwich together.  Thrilled with my communication and my new breakfast, I headed back to the dining room, my mother and brother wondering what had happened to me.  

      About halfway through our trip my brother,  frustrated with witnessing my thrice daily long communications with the wait-staff, suggested I simply write it down.  Of course that’s a great idea for those who are shy to try the language, but I wasn’t.   I was there to take in the culture, eat the local food and try to speak their language.  I was meeting with great success with my sentence and, as a result of my allergies, was enjoying great experiences with the local Czechs.  He suggested his idea more than once and I ignored it more than once.

      While staying in the small town of Mikulov, near the Austrian border, we decided to go for lunch in the nearby chateau town of Lednice.  Soon after arriving, we received directions to a local restaurant; and local it was.  Our waiter spoke not a word of English, the menu was completely in Czech and my trusty allergy phrase seemed to mean little to him.  After a five minute futile discussion of the menu, the man at the table next to us could not take it a moment longer and broke into our conversation and offered his help.   We welcomed it and soon were eating a delicious gluten-and dairy-free meal of roast pork, potatoes and vegetables.  We sent a round of beer to the helpful man and his table companions and enjoyed our conversation with them which……. would not have occurred if I did not have food allergies.

      As to shopping for food, the large markets in Prague contained gluten-free products and dairy alternatives.  In the small city of Znjomo, I found a health food store that had a number of gluten-and dairy free-products, a helpful proprietress who spoke only Czech and a friendly customer who stepped in.  Gluten-and dairy-free issues are definitely on their radar.

Gluten-free bread from the health food store in Znojmo
Note the wheat symbol crossed out in the upper right corner.

 

     So- go forth and travel with your food allergies to the Czech Republic.  Remember  to contact the airline and hotel in advance and practice your Czech pleasantries.  If a molecule of gluten is an issue for you, stick to the restaurants listed on the web sites.  If your allergy is not as severe, then dine in mainstream restaurants, practice your phrase with enthusiasm and a smile and expect cooperative waiters and shopkeepers.  If  you must resort to English as your means of communication, ask politely if they speak English. Don’t assume.  Finally, take satisfaction in the fact that there are many wonderful Czech meals to be had without gluten and dairy.