Pink Sneakers on the Go

Footprints, Imprints, Inspiration and Fate – Returning to Latvia

Posted by Nora K ,

It’s the little things that you remember and hold dear.

Stories shared and re-told time and time again.

Footsteps re-traced along well-worn paths.

Imprints of roads never traversed.

Yet here I was, in my ancestral land, meandering the cobblestone rues and reminiscing.

Imagining. Appreciating. Understanding choices. Questioning fate.

Constantly asking “Why” and “What if?”

Two powerful questions with answers both opaque and crystal clear.

They say that in beauty there is also sorrow.

But I was looking ahead to tomorrow.

Because I was here, in the country of my mum and pap’s place of birth, celebrating.

Imagining. Appreciating. Understanding choices. Forgiving fate.

Crickets chirping. Chickens clucking. Cows grazing. Birds serenading.

Simple. Ordinary. Nature. Blooms.

A few weeks ago, I was asked a question: “Who inspires you?”

Someone famous? A movie star? An author, or perhaps a King?

Not even close.

The answer was simple.

The trails and paths traversed by ordinary people on their extra-ordinary journeys.

Each footprint leaves an imprint, a legacy and a memory to share.

Generations lost. Families dispersed.

Yet, courage and resilience forges stoically on.

How I long to once again hear the voices of my parents recount the stories of their youth.

I am now here. Singing with my ancestors. Their voices, loud and clear, are joined with mine in melodic harmony.

This was their story. Now it is mine.

Side note: An informative read with a tad more detail. My post from March 2018 about re-tracing the past in Esslingen. Returning to Esslingen and re-tracing the past.

Next post: In two/three weeks, around the weekend of June 22^nd, if not a tad earlier. Stay tuned!

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Putniņš (little bird) on the Go - A serenade for lunch in Pūre

Posted by Nora K ,

The early bird gets the worm. But why settle for those unappetizing grubs when you can instead feast like a hawk on Michelin five-star cuisine? It just takes a bit of talent, a whole lot of dexterity and eagle-eyed courage to swoop and scoop your way to a smorgasbord of gastronomic delights. The world is your oyster if you’re up for the challenge. Just stake out your game and name your delectable prize.

Putniņš (little bird) was on a mission: To score some dinner and take-away whatever is left over. After all, she’s got a family to feed, a nest full of hatchlings squalling for their next meal. First plan of action is to scope out the real deal and zero in on the steal. It’s in her best interest to reside within close proximity to the next meal so that she can quickly zip in and out and be back in seconds for the third and fourth course.

As birds of a feather know, it’s all about location, location, location.

City birds fare quite well, sitting pretty with a plethora of dining options on offer. Pizza, sushi and international cuisine cater to a melange of tastes, so if one’s tummy is grumbling and if not that picky, a Big Mac is quite the yummy late night snack.

Then there are the privileged ones, born with a silver spoon in their beaks, where life is breezy and the snatching is easy. Whether one fancies indulging in hors d’oeuvres and crudités at black-tie events or feasting on fish and chips whilst catching rays on a yacht at sea, the horn of plenty is far from empty.

The country birds that make their home away from the hustle and bustle of the frantic pace of 9 to 5 have no choice but to resort to slightly more ingenious methods to grab dinner from your table. A plate of crumbs will not suffice and pecking on grains of rice is just not nice.

Hence, the highly recommended swoop and scoop preferred method of snack.

It’s as quick as one, two, three. Target. Spotted. Going in for the Snatch.

A skilfully engineered swoop of a scoop of my late afternoon brunch…

And there you have it. Putniņš (little bird) dining on the catch…

Side note: When I was a young lass, perhaps 4 or 5 years of age, I declared that my new name was now Putniņš (little bird) and I would no longer answer to the name of Nora. My parents had no choice but to comply and for the next year or two, I chirped and danced and pretended that I was Putniņš (little bird) and all was magical in my Mary Poppins world.

So, when I travelled to Pūre on the outskirts of Tukums (the birthplace of my mum) in Latvia, last summer, I found it strangely comforting to be trailed by one persistent bird that was on a mission to make her presence known. I had journeyed to Latvia numerous times before, but this was my first visit to my mum’s place of birth in Pūre. My emotions were all over the map as I sought to re-trace my mum’s footsteps and perhaps catch a glimpse of her soul as I meandered along the gravel path in front of her childhood abode.

And with a melodic chirp of a serenade, Putniņš (little bird) welcomed me home.

Next post: In two/three weeks, the weekend of June 1^st, or perhaps a tad earlier. Stay tuned!