prague once more.

 Back in Prague for 48 hours, I wonder if Europe has at last lost its magic. I remember the excitement of those early adventures - seeking out every last lane and footpath in Durham, hearing Welsh with delight as Phillip and I ended a long car journey in Caernarvon, gleefully dodging buckets of rain in Barcelona and wondering if my camera's memory would last the day, let alone the week. The details were overwhelming - the beauty, the history, the languages, the people (NO a la guerra!), the food, the secrets that seemed to be around every corner. That day in Provence Bryan and I stopped by a farmer's market, then drove until we found some rocks by a clear blue river to have a simple but gorgeous meal of fresh bread, cheese and olive oil (he had salami too - I was still vegetarian then) - nothing seemed better and as things 'ought' to be.

Footage of Greek riots and endless news - no longer news really - about the recession and demise of the Eurozone drive it home that Europe has had its heyday. The buildings are in constant need of repair, the water mains are antiquated and these beautiful old city centres have become entire wonderlands catering for tourists who arrive by the coach-load. Horse-drawn carriage tours, caricature artists on the bridge - the whole lot. Overpriced restaurants and souvenir shops abound, and I wonder where the 'real' people are.

But I guess this is reality now - tourism is a reliable source of income, so why not bend to that? To what end should we resist culture becoming commodified? Marionettes, garnet jewellery and Kafka postcards - they lap it up so they keep getting produced. Fair enough. I shouldn't be so arrogant to think that they have sold out - everyone has to make a living. It's nothing but pride that makes me shudder when I hear loud Americans - oh I'm so much more cultured, I'm so sensitive and tuned-in - they don't really understand or even try to. I'm not a tourist - I'm a traveller! You know exactly what I'm talking about :o) What is it about aesthetes and intellectuals that make them (us) so proud?

Because the fact is I'm sitting in a lovely little cafe in the Staroměstská (because Prague IS beautiful! Why would I wander around the bleak suburbs?), it's full of Brits and Germans and all the staff speak English. And I'm glad they do because I don't speak Czech and they make really good hot chocolate.

So I'm going to pay, put my sunglasses back on and wander through the streets discreetly taking photos on my phone and trying to blend in as much as possible (good luck to little Asian me!). I really must stop being so cynical and just enjoy being here.

By the way, the photo above is of the escalators in the metro. I liked the colours and starkness of them, and every fifth step was numbered. I don't know why.

grace

As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. Psalm 103:15-16

Elizabeth... went to a window to enjoy its prospect... Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight... 'And of this place,' thought she, 'I might have been mistress!' Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Odd pairing, but both came to mind this weekend. Huw took me to see the house that he has found for us to live in after we're married, and it's not easy to be humble and thankful for God's grace toward us. Of course we have a house! We can afford it. We need space and comfort. We want to entertain. We forget that we don't inherently deserve anything, and that the very word 'gift' assumes a giver and receiver – whilst enjoying good things, we must remember that we are the latter and not the former.

What does one look for when searching for a home? A good location (convenient, quiet, safe, good neighbours), space (spare room, storage, front and back gardens) and aesthetics paired with convenience and comfort (paint colour, wallpaper if applicable, condition and cleanliness) – including, of course, a nice view if you can afford it. Now Mirfield is not the rolling hills of Derbyshire, and 30 West Royd Avenue is certainly not Pemberley. It sounds obvious, but it's surprisingly easy to forget. Already I have my eye on a wall that needs repainting, a bit of front garden that needs replanting and other such visions crowd my mind.

How easy it is to make a building a castle, and to crown yourself mistress. We must naturally have a longing for belonging and permanence – eternity even – perhaps knowing instinctively that death was never part of the original plan. But Christians are aliens on this earth – I must keep knocking that into my head daily – and we must remember that our true home is yet to come and isn't in green English countryside. Huw and I will only be in Mirfield for two years, and that will be good for us. Good for me especially – I get so attached to things and enjoy being queen. But it will be good for us to learn not to be rooted in things that don't last.

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever. Isaiah 40:8

So rather than dreaming about a lulling, pleasing picture of a green lawn and bright blooming flowers, perhaps I should spend more time looking out of our lounge window now. We have a clear, unobstructed view of the Royal Free Hospital and we hear sirens half a dozen times a day. I always think what a nuisance they are, but really I should be grateful! A daily reminder that our days on earth are few, and that not one should be wasted or taken for granted.

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

yayoi kusama @ the tate modern

i've been seeing a lot of depressing art these days. above: a letter from georgia o'keeffe to yayoi kusama, on display at the tate modern. i love kusama's passion and commitment to her art - if i were half as committed to my so-called 'art' i might actually call myself a writer. but as someone once said, baking a cake once a month doesn't make you a baker so i guess i can't call myself a writer anymore/yet. the thing that made me sad about kusama's art was that it felt so obsessive and escapist. maybe most art is? maybe her need to escape japan and the various ways in which she felt repressed helped to feed her art - in fact, i'm sure it did. but can art ever replace human relationships? we're all born with holes in our hearts, and i'm not convinced art, in and of itself, can fill it. not that she didn't have meaningful human connections, but her alienation from her family and her self-admittance into a psychiatric institution kinda got me down.

the last bit of the exhibit was a blacked-out room covered - walls, floor, ceiling - in mirrors and filled with thousands of tiny little hanging bulbs that slowly changed colour. it was beautiful.