Life

Deconstructing Walls

~ Deb Vilas ~ 1 Comment

IMG_4263IMG_3999

Earlier this week, I blogged about teaching play techniques to students and professionals in the Czech Republic. I find myself still processing everything I saw and heard while in this beautiful country, and I am reluctant to leave it all behind, even as I prepare for my next journey abroad which is rapidly approaching in a few weeks.

“What one thing really stuck with you?” a friend asked me yesterday. It was hard to pick one thing, as so much is still reverberating. And the words to describe what I experienced are flitting just out of reach somewhere in my jet lagged brain.

IMG_4070
Czech countryside

I keep coming back to our three-hour road trip to the nursing school in Nový Jičin. Jiri is driving, and I ride shot-gun, the windshield framing the Czech countryside that slips by us, leaving swaths of  wild poppies, rich green pastures and elven forests and  in our wake. But it’s not the view that resonates with me. Continue reading →

Tilling

~ Deb Vilas ~ 2 Comments

imgres-2

A cluster of school children spill onto the bridle path from an entrance on the upper west side of Manhattan. They emanate pent-up energy and their voices crescendo as they discover the reservoir vista. I register some mild annoyance at their squealing, but it only takes me a moment to recalibrate and appreciate their excitement. They overtake me and I walk for a bit beside the noisy group, eavesdropping on their exuberance and their teacher’s failing attempts to curtail it.

“Stop walking that way. Walk like this. Pick up your feet!” Continue reading →

Remembering Margaret

~ Deb Vilas ~ Leave a comment

DSCF2009

It took a long time for Margaret to warm up to me. After all, not only did she see me as a rival for her first born’s affections, but I was a Shiksa with a minister for a father. That was a hard pill to swallow for someone who survived the Holocaust at such a tender age. And I took some time warming up to her as well. I was 22 years old when I met her, immature and insecure.  I was resentful of her complicated relationship with Jeff.   I felt helpless in the face of her traumatic history and suffering. It overwhelmed me. I kept a defensive and wary distance.

But thirty years is a long time. On weekends and holidays, I sat at her table, and she sat at mine. I enjoyed her soup. She critiqued my Thanksgiving turkey. And I don’t know if it was the psychotherapy we each had or the passing of time, but something shifted over the years in subtle and big ways. Continue reading →