 One would think that having lived and traveled in Poland before, I would be proficient with all cultural interactions and events, but that is not the case at all. Wanting to be more open this time around, or maybe just flexible is the correct label, I was invited to a football match. I’ll be the first to share: I’m not an avid fan, nor do I find it as entertaining as American football. That aside, there is something unique and special about going to local sporting events wherever you live. In Morocco, on game day, I could hear the fans and the drums from outside my apartment, which, frankly, was enough for me. I didn’t need the madness of an actual in-person game, when the flipping guy on the corner was blowing his horn like he was a five-year-old with his new toy to impress his parents. Nor did I want to sit in a glorified hall and stare at a big screen with a hundred strange men. Poland is different though. It requires closer attention and, for that matter, effort. It’s far better to catch a last minute (for me) tram and ride in with the common folk to see a game in person than to sit back as I did in Tangier. Let me be clear, the tram is the real show. That’s where you are around locals who embrace their fandom to the nth degree. While I will get back to them in a moment, we need to backtrack for perspective. Last Saturday when AC Milan and Manchester United played in Wroclaw, I saw jerseys galore in the city center. I saw guys walking off trams, into restaurants, and even meal prepping at McDonald’s. What I didn’t expect to see was the beer drinking on the tram, or on the street, and my favorite, swapping soda for a fifth of vodka. That was funny. This one guy left his burger wrappings on the side, drank most of his soda, and then emptied the entire fifth into his glorified sippy cup. I wasn’t shocked, but I was surprised when I watched him walk off with that and a beer in his hand. Weren’t we taught not to mix beer with hard liquor? I know, I must be an amateur. Last night, when I caught the tram, I knew from my previous weekend that the locals would be thirsty and likely lit. None of them were blackout drunk, but when you’re passing a Stanley knockoff between one another on the tram, and grown men giggle, it gives away the punchline. Come on, strangers, giving those knowing nods, and then sharing sips like they were passing the wine at Sunday Mass, is quite the reveal. The big guy in the front who wasn’t even bashful, carrying a half-gone bottle of brandy, was the real show. I expected the fans to be more riled up based on the ride in, but lo and behold, I guess security only allows the visiting team to bring smoke bombs, flares, and other cool Ultra stuff, while the home team is stuck waving their flags as though they are about to surrender. I will give props to the guy who decided to give me a proper pat down. He made me want to wear my TSA T-shirt. The stadium itself was awesome, dare I say better than King Power Stadium, or other venues I have visited. The sheer size of it alone made me wonder what a monster truck rally would look like compared to the football pitch, but the game itself kept things interesting. It wasn’t as loud as the Boston Garden in its heyday or Fenway Park, but then again I’m likely biased with my Boston-based sports upbringing. Still, even though I didn’t know the cheers and decided it was best to do a converted tomahawk chop with the word “sloan” thrown in for fun, I appreciate the towel waving, the drums, and the sense of community. Even when the teams scored, and all the die-hard fans deemed it time to strip down in celebration, I understood and appreciated the gesture. Seeing that in itself was a reward and a good reminder that sports and sporting events bring connection when we are open and want to take part in the process. I’m not sure when I will attend another game, but I’m confident it won’t be the last. Hockey is next on deck; then again, I hear there is American football in Wroclaw as well. That’s my report for this week. Here’s to more discoveries, opportunities, and embracing whatever presents itself.
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 Cute pillows in Krakow. With my summer vacation effectively coming to an end, I believe it’s time for another round of random musings from my adventures Stateside, Canada, and now back in Poland. These are in no particular order, and there is certainly a touch of sarcasm, just because it’s deserved.
 Wow, the best of the airport! August is now upon us, and true to form for educators, it means some of us have already started classes, and the rest will be shortly. For me, it means the summer reprieve is thankfully ending. I don’t say it in some wanton manner, just matter-of-fact to get back into a routine of sorts, to embrace my new haunt of Wroclaw, and see what this new opportunity is all about. True to form, I’m writing this from the Munich airport, no less, where I have been waiting for my connecting flight, oh nine or so hours. While I would love to focus on the parent who thinks it's appropriate to play soccer with his kids in the middle of the seats, or the guy who keeps walking laps on his phone, talking loud enough so we all know his company business, I’m going to focus on the writing process and personal reflection. While I waited patiently at the airport, feasted on Wiener Schnitzel, and had copious amounts of water to offset my flight over the Atlantic, I also spent four or so hours editing. Forever Poland might be out, but I told myself that before I could start any new projects, I needed to revisit Swimming with Angels and Going Home. At the very least, I needed to read them again.  A proper dinner at the airport. What strikes me as odd is that I must have been in some COVID haze the last time I turned to those projects. Both copies I have on file are from 2021, and for the most part they are a riddled mess. I know I lost the most recent version, which sucks to say the least. I should be bothered, but it’s not like either book has been moving off the shelf in the last five years. To that end, last summer I made some tweaks to Running with Vince so that I could reissue the book on Apple, Google Books, and Barnes and Noble. It only made sense to do the same with these follow-up books even if they are beyond wordy. Yes, that’s my take on my older stories. If I see smiled, nodded his head, or anything not overly descriptive that has a synonym that offers some real variety, I might cry myself to sleep. Then again, I still could. As a storyteller, I will share that I appreciate reading these older works and seeing how my tone, style, and verbiage have changed. I do agree with Stephen King that the more one reads, the more their craft improves. Prior to 2021, I didn’t read as much as I should have. I even had a cockamamie reason that reading other books would impact my projects and I would, in effect, be copying others. That can’t be farther from the truth, because I don’t read books in the same genres I am writing. Even when I do, I know that I don’t write action sequences the way others do, or even describe situations in the same flowing prose. Knowing that Stephen King has a far superior track record, I listened to the master and shifted to reading more, where now I’m averaging forty books a year. I’m not a crazy reader, but I do set aside time because I know it helps. During this summer break, my reading has been more constricted to current projects, but even so, reading old books and wondering how things could change is good for perspective, whether the words are edited or not. I, for one, will be happy to work on the third book in the Stokes series, but it’s okay to wait a few more weeks or even months. Rumor has it that the newest edition of Swimming with Angels is already out.  Manning Lake - the central setting for the Vincent Chronicles. The title for this blog uses Going Home, which is the title of the third book in The Vincent Chronicles. Originally, the book was titled Standing with God, which was intentional with three words like the other two book titles in the series, and the fact that Vincent’s journey goes from twin brother to ghost to angel who helps all.
For me, it’s been a nice exercise revisiting these books, because I am reminded of my lifelong connection to Manning Lake, Gilmanton Iron Works, and the Lakes Region of New Hampshire. Even though I haven’t read these books in years, reviewing them now, I remember where I was when I wrote different scenes, and why I elected to present the story in a given light. More importantly, I am able to focus on home, and on those places in New Hampshire that meant so much to me. As the years have passed, I moved away from that region, for that matter out of the country. Now, when I visit, there are only warm memories, because I realize that for me, I can’t be like Christian and go back, settle, and trust that the universe will take care of everything. Teaching and living overseas has filled a different void, leaving the stagnant energy behind, and forcing me, even in incremental steps, to get out of my comfort zone. With my flight to Wroclaw set to leave in two hours, I’m looking forward to this next challenge, to creating a home that serves and resonates more than my last few stops. My books remind me of good times and a childhood I wish all could have, but it’s also a marker that change is good. As an adult, the best change is taking a risk and seeing what life has to offer. Sometimes, getting out your front door is the biggest challenge and adventure. One never knows… |
Meet Mr. Jon- a traveler at heart who loves a good story and walk. Jonathan has over twenty years experience in independent publishing. While he prides himself on crafting a good story, nothing truly beats an adventure and a camera. 
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