This weekend we enjoyed the best of autumn in Germany. Oh, it was rainy and gray. That is normal. But the leaves have changed color, people are wearing their wooly sweaters, and it’s fall festival season. If I suspend realization that fall is the opening act for the long cold winter, I can live in the moment and really enjoy the gifts of this time of year.
Saturday Dave and I attended a regional market and fest in Tübingen while the kids were in a theater workshop. Tübingen is one of our favorite towns, with its gorgeous bridges, old Fachwerk (wood-beam) houses, cobblestone streets, and willows bowing into the Neckar River. It’s a university town, so it is truly international and open, maintaining that delicate balance between progress and tradition. There we bought some goat cheese, farmer’s bread, candied quince, and Hollunder (elderberry) blossom syrup to mix with fizzy water for one of our favorite drinks. Oh, and I got a fabulous new pair of red high-tops, just to enlighten anyone who may have suffered from the delusion that I'd grown up.
On Sunday we went to the Holzgerlingen town fall festival and flea market. There we enjoyed drinking fresh apple cider (known here as Most, pronounced “m-OH-sh-t”) straight from the old wooden press. We walked through the town museum, chatted with local friends, and enjoyed eating shrimp scampi, fish ragout and calamari. At the flea market, Luke was thrilled to find a 530-piece (I kid you not) race track set with remote control cars. That afternoon he and Dave spent nearly four hours setting the thing up. Then we had to move furniture around to make room for it to stay up since once it gets taken apart, I doubt it will ever be put back up again.
Monday Dave was off for Columbus Day and the kids had school, so he and I spent the day filing and converting old home videos into DVDs. I laughed and cried watching babies learning to crawl, school concerts, Christmases and birthdays, long-gone pets, and family reunions. I saw us as young, sparkling new parents with that luster of idealism and energy about us. I’m not complaining, but it truly is sobering to realize how much the kids have aged us in eight years. Or maybe it was Iraq that did it. Or Hurricane Katrina. Anyway, we looked much sweeter back then.
Seeing those films of Luke and Claire as toddlers felt like reuniting with loved ones from long ago. It’s funny how much I’d forgotten exactly how my kids looked and sounded when they were small. It’s like at the end of each day my image of them gets shaken away like an Etch-a-Sketch, only to be replaced the next morning by a new image. After a while it’s hard to remember the earliest versions of them. It helps if I remember that growing up really doesn’t mean leaving childhood behind. Instead, it means growing new layers like an onion, so that somewhere in the center of each of us is still that very small child that needs love, attention, and affection. So when I tucked the kids into bed last night, I hugged each one a little tighter and said a thankful silent prayer that even when I am 99, they will still be my babies.
I was also reminded that I really need to take more video of us nowadays. It’s easy to think that we’ll never forget all of our rich experiences living in Germany. But with my memory as holey as a colander, I know better.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
The King of the World and His Schultüte
On Friday Luke celebrated his Einschulung, or first day of first grade. And when I say, “celebrated,” it is no exaggeration. I’ve never seen anything like this in America.
But let me back up a little. First, just like when Claire started at German school, we had to spend a minor fortune on school supplies, including his new Schulranzen, or sturdy tank-sized industrial-strength backpack with ergonomically correct back supports and reflective safety strips. These are expensive (70 to 150 Euros seems to be the norm) but extremely well-made and expected to last through the entire Grundschule experience (first through fourth grades). Then we had to buy folders and book covers in European sizes (even their paper is skinnier than ours). Then we finished up with glues, colored pencils and watercolor paints that are more like what we would buy in art shops in the States. Again, it’s top quality that is expected to last. Not much is disposable. When a color is used up in the watercolor set, you can buy individual color refills to snap in. The kids use nice pens (fountain pens in second grade and higher) with refills. There is a little elastic strap for each colored pencil, pen, pen refill and eraser in a zip-up folder called a Mäppchen. And Luke’s teacher color-codes the book covers and folders for every subject, which really appeals to the teacher in me.
So, after getting supplies in order, we had to make a Schultüte (Shool-toot- eh) or Zuckertüte. This is a long cardboard cone that parents fill with candy and toys for the children to carry to their first day of school. Luke and I used a pattern to make a cool monkey one. Some kids had really elaborate Schultüte with things like 3-D robots, ballerinas, soccer players, flowers, feathers, and superheroes.
The day before the Einschulung, we went to get Luke’s hair cut and the barber put in blue temporary hair dye. He loved it so much that he wanted to keep it in for the first day of school. The next day when we woke up, though, most of the dye had rubbed out. So I took blue finger paint and mixed it with hair gel and reworked it to his satisfaction. He then continued to fuss over his hair like a teenage girl all day, and worried that if it rained his new do might fall flat.
Okay, now, let me get back to the first day of school. In Germany this is a really big deal. Daddies take off of work. Grandparents drive in from out of town. In our town, the festivities begin in the town church, where there was an ecumenical blessing and prayer service to start the school year. The local churches gave each child a hard-bound picture bible, made with pictures of crafts and drawings done by local children, many of whom are friends of ours.
After the service, we all processed to the city hall for a brief presentation by the principal and parent group president. Then the older kids in the school choir sang some international songs (in several languages) to welcome the new students. Then the classroom teachers took the kids to their classrooms for half an hour to get settled while the parents had coffee and cake in the courtyard. Each child was presented a hardbound story book by one bank, a lunch box by another bank, and a fresh-baked pretzel by the town bakers.
But that’s not all. All of the neighbors gave Luke gifts that day too. He got a mini Schultüte full of candy and school supplies, 15 Euros, a packet of alphabet noodle soup, a fresh-baked raspberry torte, and a gift certificate to a book store. It felt like a birthday. We were all amazed.
That night Luke put on his gold cardboard crown leftover from his sixth birthday party, with his blue hair poking out of the top. He crawled into bed and said, “Mom, today I feel like I am king of the whole world.”
How wonderful that starting school made him feel special and empowered instead of intimidated. And how absolutely refreshing it is to see a community really celebrate education. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting beginning to a school career.
But let me back up a little. First, just like when Claire started at German school, we had to spend a minor fortune on school supplies, including his new Schulranzen, or sturdy tank-sized industrial-strength backpack with ergonomically correct back supports and reflective safety strips. These are expensive (70 to 150 Euros seems to be the norm) but extremely well-made and expected to last through the entire Grundschule experience (first through fourth grades). Then we had to buy folders and book covers in European sizes (even their paper is skinnier than ours). Then we finished up with glues, colored pencils and watercolor paints that are more like what we would buy in art shops in the States. Again, it’s top quality that is expected to last. Not much is disposable. When a color is used up in the watercolor set, you can buy individual color refills to snap in. The kids use nice pens (fountain pens in second grade and higher) with refills. There is a little elastic strap for each colored pencil, pen, pen refill and eraser in a zip-up folder called a Mäppchen. And Luke’s teacher color-codes the book covers and folders for every subject, which really appeals to the teacher in me.
So, after getting supplies in order, we had to make a Schultüte (Shool-toot- eh) or Zuckertüte. This is a long cardboard cone that parents fill with candy and toys for the children to carry to their first day of school. Luke and I used a pattern to make a cool monkey one. Some kids had really elaborate Schultüte with things like 3-D robots, ballerinas, soccer players, flowers, feathers, and superheroes.
The day before the Einschulung, we went to get Luke’s hair cut and the barber put in blue temporary hair dye. He loved it so much that he wanted to keep it in for the first day of school. The next day when we woke up, though, most of the dye had rubbed out. So I took blue finger paint and mixed it with hair gel and reworked it to his satisfaction. He then continued to fuss over his hair like a teenage girl all day, and worried that if it rained his new do might fall flat.
Okay, now, let me get back to the first day of school. In Germany this is a really big deal. Daddies take off of work. Grandparents drive in from out of town. In our town, the festivities begin in the town church, where there was an ecumenical blessing and prayer service to start the school year. The local churches gave each child a hard-bound picture bible, made with pictures of crafts and drawings done by local children, many of whom are friends of ours.
After the service, we all processed to the city hall for a brief presentation by the principal and parent group president. Then the older kids in the school choir sang some international songs (in several languages) to welcome the new students. Then the classroom teachers took the kids to their classrooms for half an hour to get settled while the parents had coffee and cake in the courtyard. Each child was presented a hardbound story book by one bank, a lunch box by another bank, and a fresh-baked pretzel by the town bakers.
But that’s not all. All of the neighbors gave Luke gifts that day too. He got a mini Schultüte full of candy and school supplies, 15 Euros, a packet of alphabet noodle soup, a fresh-baked raspberry torte, and a gift certificate to a book store. It felt like a birthday. We were all amazed.
That night Luke put on his gold cardboard crown leftover from his sixth birthday party, with his blue hair poking out of the top. He crawled into bed and said, “Mom, today I feel like I am king of the whole world.”
How wonderful that starting school made him feel special and empowered instead of intimidated. And how absolutely refreshing it is to see a community really celebrate education. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting beginning to a school career.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Laying to Rest
Yesterday I attended my first funeral in Germany. Cancer had defeated Herr Weber, the gentleman who lived across from us. All of us neighbors gathered to support his wife. Together we bought flowers for the funeral, signed a card and collected money for her. Then we all went to the burial yesterday. I couldn’t believe how many of us neighbors came. Once again I was impressed with the community spirit of my little neighborhood.
My friend Steffi told me it is traditional for every guest to bring a single flower to throw into the grave, so I cut a lovely red rose from our garden. I worried that the color might be inappropriate since red roses are to me a symbol of romantic love. But my neighbor Monica said that the man would have loved it.
It was a cold, rainy day. But during the indoor part of the service, a solitary ray of sunlight illuminated the white lilies and roses by the casket. It was lovely. Then while we were gathered outside for the burial, a hawk kept flying circles above us in the sky. I found that poetic, too.
After the burial we went to a local hotel for cake and coffee, and among my friends the conversation turned to burial traditions and our own ideas about death. They seemed okay with my expression that I don’t want anyone to wear black at my funeral. I said I would want folks to celebrate both my life and my arrival in paradise. I want joyful music, colorful displays of photographs, and lots of great food.
But when I said I wanted to be cremated, I sensed disapproval. I learned from my friends that cremation is not very common in Germany and that for a good many the practice is still taboo. Funerary practices are strictly regulated here, and scattering ashes is illegal. A little more common is the burial of ashes at sea. My friend Astrid used to work in an urn factory, and she explained that urns made for that purpose are formed out of a sort of bread dough. Interesting.
Also very different is that most burial plots are leased here for thirty years at a time. If a family doesn’t renew the lease, the remains are dug up. I couldn’t get an answer about what happens to the body after that. That makes cremation sound even more logical to me.
My friend Sara watched the kids while I attended the funeral, but I could tell that they were affected by the idea of it nonetheless. Luke kept asking me about what funerals are like and what happens to bodies when we die (incidentally, he wants to be fed to fishies, but like our neighbors, he is horrified by the idea of cremation). And Claire woke up last night in tears because she had a nightmare that she was lost and couldn’t find her parents.
Coincidentally, yesterday was Dave’s and my fourteenth wedding anniversary. There is nothing like watching a widow grieving to remind a couple to value every minute together. Of course, unless we pull a “Thelma and Louise” and die together, one day one of us will have to carry on living without the other. Dave says he’ll probably go first since he is seven years older than me and because women usually live longer. But I say he’ll probably live longer because he is in better shape and I’m the one with high blood pressure and a lethal chocolate and French fry addiction. But either way, it’s good to have a bag full of memories to sustain whichever one of us is left, until we are reunited on the other side. That is good to remember when we get annoyed with each other, as all couples do.
So the four of us celebrated both Herr Weber's life and our anniversary by candlelight, eating homemade tortilla soup served on Sesame Street placemats. It may not have been all that romantic, but it made sense to include our children as an expression of our love for each other. And it was nice. Nobody even spilled their milk or had to be reminded more than twice to use their napkin.
At the end of the day, I think every one of us felt like we needed a hug. And those I was more than happy to provide.
My friend Steffi told me it is traditional for every guest to bring a single flower to throw into the grave, so I cut a lovely red rose from our garden. I worried that the color might be inappropriate since red roses are to me a symbol of romantic love. But my neighbor Monica said that the man would have loved it.
It was a cold, rainy day. But during the indoor part of the service, a solitary ray of sunlight illuminated the white lilies and roses by the casket. It was lovely. Then while we were gathered outside for the burial, a hawk kept flying circles above us in the sky. I found that poetic, too.
After the burial we went to a local hotel for cake and coffee, and among my friends the conversation turned to burial traditions and our own ideas about death. They seemed okay with my expression that I don’t want anyone to wear black at my funeral. I said I would want folks to celebrate both my life and my arrival in paradise. I want joyful music, colorful displays of photographs, and lots of great food.
But when I said I wanted to be cremated, I sensed disapproval. I learned from my friends that cremation is not very common in Germany and that for a good many the practice is still taboo. Funerary practices are strictly regulated here, and scattering ashes is illegal. A little more common is the burial of ashes at sea. My friend Astrid used to work in an urn factory, and she explained that urns made for that purpose are formed out of a sort of bread dough. Interesting.
Also very different is that most burial plots are leased here for thirty years at a time. If a family doesn’t renew the lease, the remains are dug up. I couldn’t get an answer about what happens to the body after that. That makes cremation sound even more logical to me.
My friend Sara watched the kids while I attended the funeral, but I could tell that they were affected by the idea of it nonetheless. Luke kept asking me about what funerals are like and what happens to bodies when we die (incidentally, he wants to be fed to fishies, but like our neighbors, he is horrified by the idea of cremation). And Claire woke up last night in tears because she had a nightmare that she was lost and couldn’t find her parents.
Coincidentally, yesterday was Dave’s and my fourteenth wedding anniversary. There is nothing like watching a widow grieving to remind a couple to value every minute together. Of course, unless we pull a “Thelma and Louise” and die together, one day one of us will have to carry on living without the other. Dave says he’ll probably go first since he is seven years older than me and because women usually live longer. But I say he’ll probably live longer because he is in better shape and I’m the one with high blood pressure and a lethal chocolate and French fry addiction. But either way, it’s good to have a bag full of memories to sustain whichever one of us is left, until we are reunited on the other side. That is good to remember when we get annoyed with each other, as all couples do.
So the four of us celebrated both Herr Weber's life and our anniversary by candlelight, eating homemade tortilla soup served on Sesame Street placemats. It may not have been all that romantic, but it made sense to include our children as an expression of our love for each other. And it was nice. Nobody even spilled their milk or had to be reminded more than twice to use their napkin.
At the end of the day, I think every one of us felt like we needed a hug. And those I was more than happy to provide.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Ch ch ch ch ch ch changes...
I was biking back from the market this morning when it occurred to me just how much life has changed for us in the 16 months that we've lived in Germany. We’re living greener, less privately, and a whole lot slower. It's all good.
Take shopping, for instance. Back in Colorado I drove my big SUV (well, it was an Aztek, more of a big ugly half-breed between an SUV and a minivan that my uncle called “a Birkenstock on wheels”) five or ten miles to a grocery store, loaded up my cart while drinking a Starbucks coffee, checked out with credit card and let a bagger stuff my items into plastic bags. Now I grab my canvas shopping bags, my backpack or my bike basket and I cycle or walk a few blocks to the local farmer’s market or grocery store, where I pay cash and bag my own groceries in reusable bags and go on my merry way.
Back home I used to drive my kids to school. Now they walk.
There if the kids wanted to ride bikes, we had to load them up in the car and drive them to a safe, flat area that wasn’t on the side of a mountain. Here, the first thing the kids do after school is jump on their bikes or scooters and go riding on the bike path by our house. Oh, and Dave and I bike nearly every day too. We hadn’t done that in years.
We can’t be so loud living in a Doppelhaus (duplex). That's hard for us.
In the mountains we had tons of storage space, so I squirreled away tons of craft supplies, gift wrap, clothes and junk in our many closets. Here, in a house with no closets, we live cleaner, more simply, with less stuff. But it is still more cluttered than any German house I have been in.
Walking around half-dressed was not a big deal in a country house with huge trees and wide spaces between me and the neighbors. Now I have to wear a robe and pull down the shades so the neighbors can’t see in.
I used to have a cat and a dog to cuddle, feed, play with and clean up after. Now I just have the kids and Dave for that.
My calendar was filled with volunteer obligations. I was always at MOPS, at the church, or at the schools. Now my calendar is filled with errands, kids’ school activities and travel plans.
Dave hated stumbling over coils of pipe and tape when I owned Hoopdydoo. Although I made a lot of hoops when we first got here, I haven’t in a long while. I don’t even get out to hoop much anymore, which is evident by the jiggle in my middle.
I always used to have a deep freezer full of local bison meat and roasted chilies from the Chili Festival in Pueblo. Now I have a tiny freezer and I barely have room for ice cubes (which we don’t really use anymore either).
I’m not taking nearly as much medicine for my blood pressure.
If I kept my workout clothes on all day back home, nobody thought anything of it. People don’t do that here. If I am still in my tennis shoes or yoga pants late in the day, my friends always ask me if I’m just going to work out.
Colorado had two seasons: blue skies with snow on the ground or blue skies with grass. Here we have four distinct seasons: a brilliant, bursting spring; a green, often rainy summer; a colorful fall; and a cold, gray winter. I don’t miss the surprise June snowfalls, but I love the variety.
And that’s just scratching the surface. The biggest changes are in us. Now Claire is completely fluent in German, and Luke and I are getting there. Dave is trailing, but studies when he can.
We get to travel to fun places like Malta, London, Spain, and France. As a family we get to experience new foods, traditions and cultures together.
Best of all, our marriage is as strong as ever. Dave and I have much more time for each other now that he doesn’t travel nearly as much. We play, laugh, connect and have fun together. I think part of that is living in a rented new house instead of an antique one that needed lots of constant TLC. Our free time is ours, and we spend it without a hammer and paintbrush in our hands.
But I think it’s also getting to neutral ground where we had to start over and reinvent ourselves in a new place. For two years after he returned from Iraq, we couldn’t seem to shake that weird dynamic that our friends, home, and life were mine and that he had to somehow figure out how to reintegrate back into all of it. It’s a common post-deployment problem that we somehow thought we’d be immune to. But that's gone now. We make friends together, make choices side by side, and hold equal parenting authority. That is huge, and it makes life sweeter for all of us.
So yes, I’m homesick sometimes. I miss my family and feel really bummed when I miss out on weddings, funerals, birthday parties and reunions. I miss my friends. I miss my gourmet kitchen. I miss using credit cards, shopping on Sundays, and being allowed to volunteer in the kids’ schools. I miss saying, “Hello, pretty mountain” every day when we passed Pikes Peak. Sometimes I wish I could run errands without having to lug my German-English dictionary around. I would give my left pinkie toe for some decent Tex Mex.
But all in all, we’re having the time of our lives. I don’t want to blink and miss a second of it.
Take shopping, for instance. Back in Colorado I drove my big SUV (well, it was an Aztek, more of a big ugly half-breed between an SUV and a minivan that my uncle called “a Birkenstock on wheels”) five or ten miles to a grocery store, loaded up my cart while drinking a Starbucks coffee, checked out with credit card and let a bagger stuff my items into plastic bags. Now I grab my canvas shopping bags, my backpack or my bike basket and I cycle or walk a few blocks to the local farmer’s market or grocery store, where I pay cash and bag my own groceries in reusable bags and go on my merry way.
Back home I used to drive my kids to school. Now they walk.
There if the kids wanted to ride bikes, we had to load them up in the car and drive them to a safe, flat area that wasn’t on the side of a mountain. Here, the first thing the kids do after school is jump on their bikes or scooters and go riding on the bike path by our house. Oh, and Dave and I bike nearly every day too. We hadn’t done that in years.
We can’t be so loud living in a Doppelhaus (duplex). That's hard for us.
In the mountains we had tons of storage space, so I squirreled away tons of craft supplies, gift wrap, clothes and junk in our many closets. Here, in a house with no closets, we live cleaner, more simply, with less stuff. But it is still more cluttered than any German house I have been in.
Walking around half-dressed was not a big deal in a country house with huge trees and wide spaces between me and the neighbors. Now I have to wear a robe and pull down the shades so the neighbors can’t see in.
I used to have a cat and a dog to cuddle, feed, play with and clean up after. Now I just have the kids and Dave for that.
My calendar was filled with volunteer obligations. I was always at MOPS, at the church, or at the schools. Now my calendar is filled with errands, kids’ school activities and travel plans.
Dave hated stumbling over coils of pipe and tape when I owned Hoopdydoo. Although I made a lot of hoops when we first got here, I haven’t in a long while. I don’t even get out to hoop much anymore, which is evident by the jiggle in my middle.
I always used to have a deep freezer full of local bison meat and roasted chilies from the Chili Festival in Pueblo. Now I have a tiny freezer and I barely have room for ice cubes (which we don’t really use anymore either).
I’m not taking nearly as much medicine for my blood pressure.
If I kept my workout clothes on all day back home, nobody thought anything of it. People don’t do that here. If I am still in my tennis shoes or yoga pants late in the day, my friends always ask me if I’m just going to work out.
Colorado had two seasons: blue skies with snow on the ground or blue skies with grass. Here we have four distinct seasons: a brilliant, bursting spring; a green, often rainy summer; a colorful fall; and a cold, gray winter. I don’t miss the surprise June snowfalls, but I love the variety.
And that’s just scratching the surface. The biggest changes are in us. Now Claire is completely fluent in German, and Luke and I are getting there. Dave is trailing, but studies when he can.
We get to travel to fun places like Malta, London, Spain, and France. As a family we get to experience new foods, traditions and cultures together.
Best of all, our marriage is as strong as ever. Dave and I have much more time for each other now that he doesn’t travel nearly as much. We play, laugh, connect and have fun together. I think part of that is living in a rented new house instead of an antique one that needed lots of constant TLC. Our free time is ours, and we spend it without a hammer and paintbrush in our hands.
But I think it’s also getting to neutral ground where we had to start over and reinvent ourselves in a new place. For two years after he returned from Iraq, we couldn’t seem to shake that weird dynamic that our friends, home, and life were mine and that he had to somehow figure out how to reintegrate back into all of it. It’s a common post-deployment problem that we somehow thought we’d be immune to. But that's gone now. We make friends together, make choices side by side, and hold equal parenting authority. That is huge, and it makes life sweeter for all of us.
So yes, I’m homesick sometimes. I miss my family and feel really bummed when I miss out on weddings, funerals, birthday parties and reunions. I miss my friends. I miss my gourmet kitchen. I miss using credit cards, shopping on Sundays, and being allowed to volunteer in the kids’ schools. I miss saying, “Hello, pretty mountain” every day when we passed Pikes Peak. Sometimes I wish I could run errands without having to lug my German-English dictionary around. I would give my left pinkie toe for some decent Tex Mex.
But all in all, we’re having the time of our lives. I don’t want to blink and miss a second of it.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Back on the Wagon
For the past few months I’ve had some sort of weird mental block when it comes to blogging. Maybe it’s partly because a girlfriend showed me a semi-nude photo of herself that she had framed as a gift and said, “You aren’t going to mention this in your blog, are you?” (which I guess I just did, but I didn’t use her name and I won’t tell you who she is, so don’t ask). I started to worry that I was talking too much about people’s personal lives and I didn’t want to be a space invader. Or maybe it was that winter depression thing. My brain mimics the sun. When the sun shines, so do I. When clouds cover the sun, then my mind fogs up too. It was a cold, gray winter and we have had a lot of gray summer days too. But no, that’s not really it. I think that my mother really nailed it when we talked the other day. I was whining about “needing to blog but not having time” and she said, “It’s Facebook. Now you tell your stories on Facebook so you don’t have to blog.” By George, I think she’s on to something.
Nearly every day I catch up with friends, update my profile, or upload pictures to Facebook. Because I have told my stories in snippets to various people, I feel like I have told them to everyone. But each person I speak to only gets a facet of the tale. I need to sit down and write a narrative of these special years so we can look back later on. I’m just too busy living this life to write about it. Or so I tell myself.
So let’s see...highlights...
Well, we went to Malta in November, which was fabulous. We spent nine days and just barely saw everything we wanted. My only recommendation would be to go at a warmer time of year. We did enjoy two good beach days, but the rest of the time was gray and windy. More on Malta another time.
We got to the States over Christmas, which was great but exhausting. We crammed five states and seeing both sides of the family into a three-week trip. Add that to the fact that we had to lug half of Santa's sleigh in our suitcases, we had to pack for two climates (Wisconsin and Alabama) and the fact that Claire had to go back to school with jet lag the day after our return, and you have one tired family. We decided that this year we’ll stay here in Germany for Christmas and visit the States in the summer next time (sadly, not until 2010).
We spent a week in Italy, including Venice. That was a dream come true. And we loved our week in Malaga, Spain this May. We spent time on the beach, in the mountains, and at Alhambra and other amazing historical sites. That was exactly the "chillaxing" kind of vacation we wanted.
The exciting news is that many of our loved ones have been able to visit us this past year.
In March enjoyed a visit from Dave’s brother Chris and his family. They stayed for nearly two weeks and we took them on excursions to Bavaria and Switzerland. Luke and Claire loved playing with their cousins. They were sad to see them go. Then my folks came out for three weeks in April. We also took them to Bavaria and to Strasbourg, France, and I planned a train trip for them to Vienna and Venice. They had a ball. I cried like a baby when they left, knowing it would be a year and a half until I'd see them again.
Then our niece Alice (Dave’s brother’s daughter) is coming for the month of August. She has offered to be a live-in babysitter in exchange for travel opportunities. I’m not sure yet what adventures we’ll take her to experience, but we are looking forward to seeing her.
My sister says she is trying to plan a trip here, and my cousin Patrick is coming here next year too for a sporting event. The Newberry Inn may not be five-star, but it’s clean (mostly) and comfortable. The food is pretty good (if I say so myself), and you can’t beat the price (helping with dishes). So y’all come. We’re still keeping the steins cold.
Okay now, I'm gonna post this before I lose my nerve. It's like dieting or exercise: You just have to start somewhere. So here I go.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Dying and Living
This week I found out that my good friend from high school died suddenly of unusual complications from the flu. Laura Lee Carter Myers was one of the bubbliest, most positive people I ever knew. Homecoming queen, parents’ pride and joy, mother of two young daughters, beloved high school teacher, talented baton twirler, Sunday school leader, loving wife, woman of faith. She was 37. My age.
I’ve been thinking about Laura a lot. I’ve thought about how it had been a year since I’d been in touch with her and how I should have written to her again. I’ve thought about her husband and the grief he must feel without the love of his life. Mostly, I’ve thought about her two little girls.
It’s hard to imagine a young girl not having her mother to talk to when her body starts to change. Or going to her high school and college graduations and hoping that mom would have been proud. It’s sad to think of her wedding day without a mother to check her makeup and reassure her before she walks down the aisle. I think about her being denied that magical moment of watching her own baby lie in the arms of the one who gave birth to her. I imagine a future generation of grandchildren who would never know their grandmother.
Then, as is the self-centered nature of humans when we are reminded of death, I thought about my own mortality.
I do not fear death, not really. I have believed in God my whole life, and I am secure in my belief that beyond this life lies a better, more complete one. I believe in letting people die with dignity and not being selfish about wanting to hold them here in this life when God has different plans. But when I became a mother, I also gave birth to a lurking anxiety about ever leaving my own children motherless. The thought of not being there for them is too much to bear.
And yet yesterday I had a small “aha” moment. Like most of my epiphanies, it is something that I somehow knew all along but had not yet brought to consciousness. It is this: If I am doing my job as a mother, although my children would miss me, they should actually be okay without me when I die.
Don’t worry. I don’t plan on going anywhere just yet. I love my life and I have a lot more living to do. But it’s like the philosophy that I’ve had about teaching for years, that a great teacher should become less and less necessary as she shares her knowledge. A secure, mature teacher knows that it doesn’t really matter what students think of her. What matters is what they think of themselves as a result of what she taught them. It’s not about teaching kids facts. It’s about teaching them the why, how and so what about those facts, and even more importantly, how to learn for themselves.
So it should go with motherhood. If I am raising secure, confident, able children, they should become more independent every day. I love that the German word for independence is “unabhängig” or “not hanging on.” But in order for them not to hang on me, I also can’t hold them back. I have to let go. I have to let them fail to learn those hard life lessons. I have to teach them self-care, mentally, spiritually and physically. I have to guide their choices but let them make them. If my daughter wants to leave the house dressed in plaids mixed with florals, it is okay. It is not about me. If my son wants to learn to cut his apple with a sharp knife, I should teach him instead of telling him to wait until he’s older. My kids should learn to play alone sometimes instead of needing me for every game, book, puzzle or art project they want to do. I need to not seem so indispensible.
I have to fight the part of me that wants to hang on to their babyhood, to do for them, to protect them from every nick, scrape, and disappointment. It’s also important that I not avoid the hard questions they ask. I look back and realize times when my weakness caused me to evade being totally truthful with them. Like, when we left the cat in America when we moved to Germany, we never should have agreed to an open-ended arrangement in which the cat’s caretaker could keep her or send her to us, “whichever worked out best.” It was easier to say, “we’ll see” than to be forthright and say that it was just too hard on our very nervous cat to fly her here. We didn’t want to be the bad guys breaking the bad news. That was a mistake and a disservice to the kids.
Kids are so much braver than adults sometimes. I am amazed at how fearlessly they chatter around in German, not worrying about whether the verb goes on the end or if a noun has the right article. In the time it takes them to plunge in and forge a new friendship in the park, I am still on the bench trying to formulate the perfect sentence in my head to speak to the mother.
I don’t want them to inherit my insecurities. I believe that insecurity is truly the root of all evil. So many atrocities are committed by people who are confused about who they are and don’t believe in their own worth. Because of low self-esteem, bullies hit, great novels don’t get written, cruel words lash out, wars start, the cosmetics industry thrives, dreams wither. Insecurity causes us to overeat, overspend, over-commit, and overload. Being insecure means not enjoying the pool because we look too fat in a swimsuit. It means eating a steak that is too rare just because we don’t want to make a scene in a restaurant. It means not saying “no” because we fear not being accepted. And it means not speaking up or speaking out for fear of confrontation.
Secure people are happy people. They don’t steal because they realize that all is God’s anyway and are grateful for what they have. Secure people know who they are and where they belong. They are people who don’t need to start fights to prove themselves. They are people who find strength within instead of looking for it in drugs, alcohol, sex or money. They are kind people who value all persons because they know their own value is neither more nor less than anyone else’s. Secure people are not afraid to ask for what they need, to fight for the oppressed, or to demand justice. They are in control of themselves and their own impulses and don’t try to control everyone around them.
So what does all of this have to do with Laura? Well, her death shocked me into the realization that I have wasted too many years living in fear for myself and my children. Faith in God and in ourselves means freedom to try and fail and still know that we are loved and worthy. That is so hard to believe sometimes. But then I think about how deeply and unconditionally I love my children and I realize how that is exactly how God loves us and how we are supposed to love ourselves. And they can’t learn that from me if I don’t show them.
So it is time to take some baby steps back to myself. Somewhere inside me is still a teacher, a writer, a lover, a dreamer. If I dig deep and let go of the fear that I won’t be liked or loved or approved of, maybe I can live a little before I die. As my five-year-old son said to me recently, “We get a little bit deader every day, and then one day we die.” That may be true. But I’d rather spend my life every day than to save it for a rainy day that may never come.
See www.kwtx.com for Laura's story: Sudden Death Of Popular Teacher Stuns Students, Friends And Colleagues
I’ve been thinking about Laura a lot. I’ve thought about how it had been a year since I’d been in touch with her and how I should have written to her again. I’ve thought about her husband and the grief he must feel without the love of his life. Mostly, I’ve thought about her two little girls.
It’s hard to imagine a young girl not having her mother to talk to when her body starts to change. Or going to her high school and college graduations and hoping that mom would have been proud. It’s sad to think of her wedding day without a mother to check her makeup and reassure her before she walks down the aisle. I think about her being denied that magical moment of watching her own baby lie in the arms of the one who gave birth to her. I imagine a future generation of grandchildren who would never know their grandmother.
Then, as is the self-centered nature of humans when we are reminded of death, I thought about my own mortality.
I do not fear death, not really. I have believed in God my whole life, and I am secure in my belief that beyond this life lies a better, more complete one. I believe in letting people die with dignity and not being selfish about wanting to hold them here in this life when God has different plans. But when I became a mother, I also gave birth to a lurking anxiety about ever leaving my own children motherless. The thought of not being there for them is too much to bear.
And yet yesterday I had a small “aha” moment. Like most of my epiphanies, it is something that I somehow knew all along but had not yet brought to consciousness. It is this: If I am doing my job as a mother, although my children would miss me, they should actually be okay without me when I die.
Don’t worry. I don’t plan on going anywhere just yet. I love my life and I have a lot more living to do. But it’s like the philosophy that I’ve had about teaching for years, that a great teacher should become less and less necessary as she shares her knowledge. A secure, mature teacher knows that it doesn’t really matter what students think of her. What matters is what they think of themselves as a result of what she taught them. It’s not about teaching kids facts. It’s about teaching them the why, how and so what about those facts, and even more importantly, how to learn for themselves.
So it should go with motherhood. If I am raising secure, confident, able children, they should become more independent every day. I love that the German word for independence is “unabhängig” or “not hanging on.” But in order for them not to hang on me, I also can’t hold them back. I have to let go. I have to let them fail to learn those hard life lessons. I have to teach them self-care, mentally, spiritually and physically. I have to guide their choices but let them make them. If my daughter wants to leave the house dressed in plaids mixed with florals, it is okay. It is not about me. If my son wants to learn to cut his apple with a sharp knife, I should teach him instead of telling him to wait until he’s older. My kids should learn to play alone sometimes instead of needing me for every game, book, puzzle or art project they want to do. I need to not seem so indispensible.
I have to fight the part of me that wants to hang on to their babyhood, to do for them, to protect them from every nick, scrape, and disappointment. It’s also important that I not avoid the hard questions they ask. I look back and realize times when my weakness caused me to evade being totally truthful with them. Like, when we left the cat in America when we moved to Germany, we never should have agreed to an open-ended arrangement in which the cat’s caretaker could keep her or send her to us, “whichever worked out best.” It was easier to say, “we’ll see” than to be forthright and say that it was just too hard on our very nervous cat to fly her here. We didn’t want to be the bad guys breaking the bad news. That was a mistake and a disservice to the kids.
Kids are so much braver than adults sometimes. I am amazed at how fearlessly they chatter around in German, not worrying about whether the verb goes on the end or if a noun has the right article. In the time it takes them to plunge in and forge a new friendship in the park, I am still on the bench trying to formulate the perfect sentence in my head to speak to the mother.
I don’t want them to inherit my insecurities. I believe that insecurity is truly the root of all evil. So many atrocities are committed by people who are confused about who they are and don’t believe in their own worth. Because of low self-esteem, bullies hit, great novels don’t get written, cruel words lash out, wars start, the cosmetics industry thrives, dreams wither. Insecurity causes us to overeat, overspend, over-commit, and overload. Being insecure means not enjoying the pool because we look too fat in a swimsuit. It means eating a steak that is too rare just because we don’t want to make a scene in a restaurant. It means not saying “no” because we fear not being accepted. And it means not speaking up or speaking out for fear of confrontation.
Secure people are happy people. They don’t steal because they realize that all is God’s anyway and are grateful for what they have. Secure people know who they are and where they belong. They are people who don’t need to start fights to prove themselves. They are people who find strength within instead of looking for it in drugs, alcohol, sex or money. They are kind people who value all persons because they know their own value is neither more nor less than anyone else’s. Secure people are not afraid to ask for what they need, to fight for the oppressed, or to demand justice. They are in control of themselves and their own impulses and don’t try to control everyone around them.
So what does all of this have to do with Laura? Well, her death shocked me into the realization that I have wasted too many years living in fear for myself and my children. Faith in God and in ourselves means freedom to try and fail and still know that we are loved and worthy. That is so hard to believe sometimes. But then I think about how deeply and unconditionally I love my children and I realize how that is exactly how God loves us and how we are supposed to love ourselves. And they can’t learn that from me if I don’t show them.
So it is time to take some baby steps back to myself. Somewhere inside me is still a teacher, a writer, a lover, a dreamer. If I dig deep and let go of the fear that I won’t be liked or loved or approved of, maybe I can live a little before I die. As my five-year-old son said to me recently, “We get a little bit deader every day, and then one day we die.” That may be true. But I’d rather spend my life every day than to save it for a rainy day that may never come.
See www.kwtx.com for Laura's story: Sudden Death Of Popular Teacher Stuns Students, Friends And Colleagues
Friday, October 31, 2008
Feeling like Hallo-wieners
Well, we’ve been busy around here. Dave is swamped at work, I’m busy with school and mothering and wifing, and the kids are busy being kids.
We finally got the Mini this week. We’re a little sad that it is not the Bimmer we had planned for, but it is adorable. And it gives us freedom that have missed the past seven months with only one car.
A couple of weekends ago we managed to get to Bavaria to Oberammergau. Dave and I had been there in 1997, but we thought the kids would love to see it. It is the quaint little old town in the hills where they perform an amazing outdoor passion play every ten years as a way to thank God from sparing them from the 1633 Bubonic Plague (which a teacher friend’s student in Texas once referred to in an essay as the “Bluebonnet Plaque”—but I digress). We want to go to the 41st performance in 2010 if we can still get tickets. They sell out early, even though the play is performed for five months while it is warm enough outside.
So anyway, we rented a small apartment for the weekend. We arrived at night in the pitch dark, so we couldn't see the area, but we could hear the cowbells coming from all directions. When we awoke the next day we were astounded by a breathtaking view of mountains, hills, and brilliantly colored changing leaves. It looked like God had spilled a bag of Skittles with all of the reds, oranges, yellows, greens and purples in the trees.
We spent our time hiking, taking a cable car to the top of a mountain, and visiting Schloss Linderhof, another one of Mad King Ludwig’s castles. It is a cool one, with plenty of ornate rooms, fabulous gardens, big fountains, play houses shaped like mosques and temples, and a secret grotto with a lake inside where the king would paddle around in a swan-shaped boat and play dress-up. Like Neuschwanstein, which we’ve not yet taken the kids to, its décor is based mostly on fairy tales and Wagnerian operas. It’s sort of like Disneyworld without the rides.
The following weekend we went to the Krauterfest (cabbage festival) in Echterdingen. That was fun. I’ve never eaten so much sauerkraut in my life. Awesome. The next weekend we strolled along the Neckar River in Tuebingen, taking in the relaxing views of willow trees hanging over the water as gondolas floated by. There we went to a jazz festival for kids in the city library, then let the kids jump in giant leaf piles in the park. I wish I had taken my camera. I’ve never seen such expressions of glee on my kids' faces.
So we’ve had some fun. Still, I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit that I’ve had to beat off some encroaching depression that threatened to pull me under this past month. I can’t really say what it was that had me so down. Maybe it was watching the warm summer slide past. Perhaps it was that my allergies have kicked in like they haven’t since I was a kid. Maybe it's a little homesickness. It could be worry about the upcoming presidential election. Or maybe I was just overwhelmed.
I realize how stupid it is that I set myself up for stress with ridiculously high expectations for myself. What else is new? This time it is about my language program.
I am working hard, and I feel like I am at the top of the heap in my class. But several neighbors have decided that I have until Christmas and then they will no longer speak English to me at all. It makes me feel lousy since I’ve not even been here eight months (most of which were spent getting settled and adjusted) and I’ve only been in a class for one month. The only German I knew before I came here was how to order a beer at Oktoberfest. They all studied English in school as kids, did studies abroad in England, Canada, and America, and speak my language better than I do. I’m already so self-conscious about the fact that they have to speak English to me, but I’m even more embarrassed to speak German to them. I know they are just trying to show support, but they don’t know how much pressure I already put on myself. I hate being in linguistic limbo, where I understand enough German not to be able to play dumb, but not enough to actually sound smart. I understand about half of what I hear, and I can only make a few grammatically-correct sentences. How the heck am I supposed to be fluent by Christmas if we won’t even cover all of the cases in class before then? I may just have to hide from my friends until I can make sense when I talk.
So today is Halloween. Last week we put out some cute but tacky yard decorations, just little purple and green goblins on tombstones. The neighbor kids were very curious about them. Some even poked them with sticks and backed away quickly in case they jumped up and said “Boo”.
The commissary ran out of pumpkins, so we will miss out on our tradition of carving jack-o-lanterns, roasting seeds in garlic butter, and making fresh pumpkin muffins. The kids are really disappointed about that.
I had heard that Germans are starting to do more trick or treating, but to be sure I asked my German friends. Oops. I think I hit a nerve. I got responses like, “We feel like that is just another American thing that comes over here like a tidal wave. We don’t have to do all of the things Americans do.” Or “But we are Christians. We don’t celebrate evil things.” Or “It’s only American commercialism that makes Halloween a holiday.” And “I think it is rude to teach children to ask for candy! Especially with a threat to do tricks on you if you don’t give it to them!” Surely they don’t imagine little five-year old Cinderellas and Power Rangers TP-ing houses if they don’t fork over the Gummi Baerchen.
I explained to them that we are Christians too, and that we always saw Halloween as a way to make light of evil, to make it less scary and to show it that it can’t have power over goodness. I hate the gory scary stuff myself. But the holiday has a sense of humor. The tradition of people dressing up started as a way to “trick” the evil spirits into passing them by. It is good, innocent fun. The word “Halloween” means “holy evening”. It is to All Saints Day what Mardi Gras is to Lent. I mean, I’m not saying it hasn’t gotten out of hand and commercialized over the years (like most holidays), but it is our tradition. I certainly don't expect them to partake in it since it is not a German tradition. But it is sad to me that I can’t share this celebration with my friends and that they feel so negatively about it. Dave had wanted to have a Halloween party and have the neighbors over to bob for apples, drink cider, and play games. But I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or feel like we were trying to take over with our obnoxious American-ness. Sigh. When in Rome and all that.
So instead, we are going to go bowling at Panzer because it is free to anyone in costume. Dave is going as King Arthur, I am Morgana (the witch in the King Arthur story), Claire is a Spider Witch, and Luke is Spiderman. Then we are going trick-or-treating at Patch tonight. Early on I had invited a few German friends to come, but nobody wanted to. Go fig. Anyway, we came up with a twist. This afternoon before bowling, we are going to knock on our neighbors’ doors and GIVE AWAY candy. We made up little orange and black baskets full of candy and toys to wish them a Happy Halloween. I just hope they won’t mind the gummy eyeballs and chocolate severed fingers. Surely they will get the humor. And the good intentions. I hope.
We finally got the Mini this week. We’re a little sad that it is not the Bimmer we had planned for, but it is adorable. And it gives us freedom that have missed the past seven months with only one car.
A couple of weekends ago we managed to get to Bavaria to Oberammergau. Dave and I had been there in 1997, but we thought the kids would love to see it. It is the quaint little old town in the hills where they perform an amazing outdoor passion play every ten years as a way to thank God from sparing them from the 1633 Bubonic Plague (which a teacher friend’s student in Texas once referred to in an essay as the “Bluebonnet Plaque”—but I digress). We want to go to the 41st performance in 2010 if we can still get tickets. They sell out early, even though the play is performed for five months while it is warm enough outside.
So anyway, we rented a small apartment for the weekend. We arrived at night in the pitch dark, so we couldn't see the area, but we could hear the cowbells coming from all directions. When we awoke the next day we were astounded by a breathtaking view of mountains, hills, and brilliantly colored changing leaves. It looked like God had spilled a bag of Skittles with all of the reds, oranges, yellows, greens and purples in the trees.
We spent our time hiking, taking a cable car to the top of a mountain, and visiting Schloss Linderhof, another one of Mad King Ludwig’s castles. It is a cool one, with plenty of ornate rooms, fabulous gardens, big fountains, play houses shaped like mosques and temples, and a secret grotto with a lake inside where the king would paddle around in a swan-shaped boat and play dress-up. Like Neuschwanstein, which we’ve not yet taken the kids to, its décor is based mostly on fairy tales and Wagnerian operas. It’s sort of like Disneyworld without the rides.
The following weekend we went to the Krauterfest (cabbage festival) in Echterdingen. That was fun. I’ve never eaten so much sauerkraut in my life. Awesome. The next weekend we strolled along the Neckar River in Tuebingen, taking in the relaxing views of willow trees hanging over the water as gondolas floated by. There we went to a jazz festival for kids in the city library, then let the kids jump in giant leaf piles in the park. I wish I had taken my camera. I’ve never seen such expressions of glee on my kids' faces.
So we’ve had some fun. Still, I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit that I’ve had to beat off some encroaching depression that threatened to pull me under this past month. I can’t really say what it was that had me so down. Maybe it was watching the warm summer slide past. Perhaps it was that my allergies have kicked in like they haven’t since I was a kid. Maybe it's a little homesickness. It could be worry about the upcoming presidential election. Or maybe I was just overwhelmed.
I realize how stupid it is that I set myself up for stress with ridiculously high expectations for myself. What else is new? This time it is about my language program.
I am working hard, and I feel like I am at the top of the heap in my class. But several neighbors have decided that I have until Christmas and then they will no longer speak English to me at all. It makes me feel lousy since I’ve not even been here eight months (most of which were spent getting settled and adjusted) and I’ve only been in a class for one month. The only German I knew before I came here was how to order a beer at Oktoberfest. They all studied English in school as kids, did studies abroad in England, Canada, and America, and speak my language better than I do. I’m already so self-conscious about the fact that they have to speak English to me, but I’m even more embarrassed to speak German to them. I know they are just trying to show support, but they don’t know how much pressure I already put on myself. I hate being in linguistic limbo, where I understand enough German not to be able to play dumb, but not enough to actually sound smart. I understand about half of what I hear, and I can only make a few grammatically-correct sentences. How the heck am I supposed to be fluent by Christmas if we won’t even cover all of the cases in class before then? I may just have to hide from my friends until I can make sense when I talk.
So today is Halloween. Last week we put out some cute but tacky yard decorations, just little purple and green goblins on tombstones. The neighbor kids were very curious about them. Some even poked them with sticks and backed away quickly in case they jumped up and said “Boo”.
The commissary ran out of pumpkins, so we will miss out on our tradition of carving jack-o-lanterns, roasting seeds in garlic butter, and making fresh pumpkin muffins. The kids are really disappointed about that.
I had heard that Germans are starting to do more trick or treating, but to be sure I asked my German friends. Oops. I think I hit a nerve. I got responses like, “We feel like that is just another American thing that comes over here like a tidal wave. We don’t have to do all of the things Americans do.” Or “But we are Christians. We don’t celebrate evil things.” Or “It’s only American commercialism that makes Halloween a holiday.” And “I think it is rude to teach children to ask for candy! Especially with a threat to do tricks on you if you don’t give it to them!” Surely they don’t imagine little five-year old Cinderellas and Power Rangers TP-ing houses if they don’t fork over the Gummi Baerchen.
I explained to them that we are Christians too, and that we always saw Halloween as a way to make light of evil, to make it less scary and to show it that it can’t have power over goodness. I hate the gory scary stuff myself. But the holiday has a sense of humor. The tradition of people dressing up started as a way to “trick” the evil spirits into passing them by. It is good, innocent fun. The word “Halloween” means “holy evening”. It is to All Saints Day what Mardi Gras is to Lent. I mean, I’m not saying it hasn’t gotten out of hand and commercialized over the years (like most holidays), but it is our tradition. I certainly don't expect them to partake in it since it is not a German tradition. But it is sad to me that I can’t share this celebration with my friends and that they feel so negatively about it. Dave had wanted to have a Halloween party and have the neighbors over to bob for apples, drink cider, and play games. But I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or feel like we were trying to take over with our obnoxious American-ness. Sigh. When in Rome and all that.
So instead, we are going to go bowling at Panzer because it is free to anyone in costume. Dave is going as King Arthur, I am Morgana (the witch in the King Arthur story), Claire is a Spider Witch, and Luke is Spiderman. Then we are going trick-or-treating at Patch tonight. Early on I had invited a few German friends to come, but nobody wanted to. Go fig. Anyway, we came up with a twist. This afternoon before bowling, we are going to knock on our neighbors’ doors and GIVE AWAY candy. We made up little orange and black baskets full of candy and toys to wish them a Happy Halloween. I just hope they won’t mind the gummy eyeballs and chocolate severed fingers. Surely they will get the humor. And the good intentions. I hope.
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