Pretty Woman
It was a quiet day today. I am alone most days, but today it felt even quieter and lonelier than usual. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “You look like an old hag!” I definitely needed a pick-me-up. I called the beauty salon and made an appointment. The salon is on the main street, one block away. I felt much better after I had a cut and blow dry. It was late afternoon when I got back. I made myself a late lunch. The day seemed to be dragging. I could not concentrate on reading, so I started surfing the channels. Have you noticed how bleak and depressing the news has been recently? I needed something upbeat. Aha! Jackpot! One channel had the movie Pretty Woman playing. I love that film and never tire of watching it. I have watched it numerous times. My mind flashed back to twenty-something years ago. It was winter. Peter had business in Poland. He took me along with him. We flew to Krakow and drove up the foot of the Tatra Mountains to Zakopane, at the foot of the Tatra Mountains. When it snowed, it seriously snowed. We had been invited, with about seven other couples, to our hosts’ home for two special Polish dishes: bigos, which consists of a mélange of sauerkraut, cabbage, and steak tartare. I did not realize that steak tartare was a Polish favorite. The crowd was happy. They kept quaffing vodka and getting more and more boisterous, laughing and chatting in Polish. As well-meaning and nice as they all were, as usually happens when there are foreigners who do not speak the native language, this group soon reverted to their comfort zone and began to speak in Polish. After a while, Peter and I got up to leave. Our hosts quickly phoned for a horse-drawn sled. Why that mode of travel, you might ask? Winters in Zakopane meant layers upon other layers of heavy snow. No one shovels the snow on the streets. It just keeps piling up. No one wears dress shoes outdoors in winter. Boots! The heavier the boots, the better. Moreover, horse-drawn sleds are the most reliable mode of traveling. When our sled arrived, we were seated and amply covered with layers of fur skins. Peter and I had worn warm fur hats to keep our heads warm. Our necks, part of our faces, and chests were covered with thick woolen scarves; our gloves were fur-lined. Our boots were heavy and warm. Each boot must have weighed two kilos. They were heavy. Weeks after we returned home, there still were red, irritated marks around my ankles. The night air was quite cold. The snow was coming down fast and steadfastly. The bells around the horses’ necks jingled merrily as the horses slowly made their way up the frozen mountain roads. Their labored breaths formed cloudy vapor in the night sky. Every once in a while, their driver gently brought his whip down on their flanks to urge them to continue at that steady pace. We had previously used this mode of transportation, but never at night and not while it was snowing. It was magical! One could almost hear the musical theme of Dr. Zhivago playing an accompaniment to the horses’ jingling bells. The horses trotted up the quiet, sleeping, and winding streets. At last, we arrived at our hotel. Winter was the ski season. On the weekends, the hotel was filled with skiers, but during the week, there was hardly anyone there. The lobby was empty. We went up to our room. After the sleigh ride, the room felt nice and warm. We shed our coats and walked to the window. It faced the Tatra Mountains. The view was magical. Snowflakes were coming down at a slow but steady pace. The snow-covered mountains glistened on the mountaintops. The two of us stood silently admiring what was in front of us for a while, then turned and got ready for bed. It was a spacious room with tasteful, old-fashioned furniture. Two deeply cushioned armchairs and a table stood at one end of the room. At the other side was a huge bed with sumptuous bedding and covers that I wished I owned. A dressing table and its own tabouret stood next to an old-fashioned carved armoire. We quickly prepared for bed. To tell the truth, we were cold from the trip, and the bed was so welcoming. We were not ready for sleep. We plumped up our pillows, cuddled together, and sat up in bed. We flicked on the television and soon found the film, ‘Pretty Woman.’ We settled down to watch it one more time. We had seen it in English several times. On the Lago Maggiore, in Northern Italy, we had seen it in Italian. And now, in the middle of a snowy winter night looking out at the snow-covered Tatra Mountains, we watched it in Polish. It did not matter that we did not understand the language. We already knew the film by heart. The bed was welcoming. It was warm, soft, and comfortable. We soon fell asleep. When we woke up in the morning, the sun was streaming into the room past the undrawn curtains. The snow-capped mountains happily greeted the new day. It was exhilarating to wake to such a morning. A long time has passed since then. It is a spring day as I write this. I am sitting on the porch, sipping my ever-present cup of tea. The birds are singing joyfully in the trees; the gardeners in the neighborhood are mowing the lawns. As I sit here, my mind flies back to the 1990s. I remember that winter night, I remember that sleigh ride, and I feel the magic of that moment. I feel the cherished presence of my beloved late husband, and I smile…