Protland-2. Anne took me to an upscale, hip, young part of town, just the sort of place a couple of ageing hipsters could fit into. We walked the streets and eventually made our way into a cool looking house that had been turned into a shop housing Polish pottery. Don’t ask what led us there but we met a very interesting young lady who told me her story. She grew up in Bielsko-Biala, Poland and her name is Ania Kocourek-Williams. Her great grandgather joined the anti-Nazi crusade in Romania after the fall of Poland. He was captured and spent the rest of the war in slave labor camps in Germany. Although married and not having seen his wife in years, something about the terror of his experiences caused him to find his way to America. He called his wife and asked her to come but she refused. He was in Portland and was working in a monastery. After many years she finally said she would come to America but arrived just in time to see him die. She returned to Poland and much later when Ania heard his story she felt compelled to come to America. She was told it could never happen. But she believed in never saying never, in fact to say never was to inspire her to do things. She was poor and needed to get a drivers license and learn English in order to travel. For a while this was out of reach for her until her grandmother won a small lottery and helped her finance her learnings and trip.
She found a host family in Portland and came. She works at a school for Iconography at the monastery where her great grandfather is buried, one of the few non monks buried there. I don’t know much about iconography but would like to. She said the images are mysterious and are made to draw us into the mystery. As my journey would have it, she is married to a Native American but I sensed from her that I shouldn’t go there. Although she was very ebullient throughout our discussion, when it came to talking about her husband and potential family (she has no children) there seemed to be a little sadness to her. Most of the Slavic old world people I have met seem to have moments of this world weary resignation. These thoughts and the irony of her working where her great grandfather is buried kind of haunts me. It is a mystery I won’t solve in reality or my imagination.
The next day Anne and I go to the Saturday market, despite the fact that it is Sunday. We see a lot of stuff, including more tattoos than I’ve ever seen in one spot. I also saw Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley hanging out with pirates and other performers. Later we have ice cream at a Ben and Jerry’s. While there we strike up a friendship with three children and a mom, one child is hers and two belong to her boyfriend. She is a teacher and is holding a weeks old miniature Pug. After having fun acting stupid with the kids (I sure miss my little ones) we promise to send the photos we took to her facebook site. I taught them one of my very best ugly faces and they were impressed. In the evening I cook dinner for Anne and we talk more of our days as superheroes. In the morning it is time for the beginning of the long trek home. I am a little weary, I miss my family more than I can say. I have learned and experienced so much that I am sure most of my time driving will be spent synthesizing.
Anne: We were young once and operated in a unique place in the time-space continuum. There were fun times, hard times, crazy times and you have helped me face a hard truth from those times. To see you again was to feel I had just seen you last week and I am so pleased I came. You are still the Anne we knew (a little more aged like me) and your zest for life is undiminished. Our moments together of pure immature silliness are going to become a priceless memory to me. We will see each other again because we are forever friends. Jon