William the Great, Great, Great

We went on a mission recently. It was six generations in the making. Three generations have passed leaving three to accomplish the mission. It wasn't my mission but I like an adventure, so I went along too.

Since I like to count trains and buses, it took one bus, four trains, and a taxi ride. Each way. Unlike Rome, the taxi ride was not the best part. Partly because several taxis drove right by and one just refused to take a child.

Passed many brilliant fields of gold. Quite certain they weren't the ones Sting sings of. Still pretty though. Turns out they are rapeseed. Canola oil and bio diesel fuels can be made from it. Must be a lucrative crop; there were many of them.

Bremerhaven was the final destination. Way up there. Close to Denmark. Sunset was about 9:15. Days were chilly and windy. Bremerhaven was all but destroyed in WW2. Not much of anything original is left. And what was built afterwards is devoid of charm. But it is on the North Sea and has a huge harbor (why the bombing I suppose- important harbor for German submarines).

Walking around the harbor it reminded me of Baltimore, a city I really like but unlike Baltimore, there isn't much beyond the harbor shops. Two outstanding museums though. One was all about the path the 7 million emigrants took when leaving Bremerhaven.

Caroline waiting with her "family" to board the ship.

The other, all about climate change (it's predicted Switzerland won't have any glaciers left in 100 years!)  and what lies on the 8th degree longitude globally. Sadly, we missed seeing the main body of the museum ENTIRELY.  Have no idea how that happened really...

Afterwards, I found out Baltimore and Bremerhaven seem to have a sister city thing going on. It seems that Bremerhaven may be modeling itself after Baltimore. Hope it gets there. It has potential.

What it doesn't have is any records pre-WW2. They were destroyed apparently. The genealogical trail went cold. A few bits were discovered but nothing significant. The pub the kids' great, great, great grandfather owned was long since gone. No idea where it might have been.

Like father, like daughter. Like Great, great, great grandfather?

Pearl and Ruth found Bussestrasse (though Ruth almost got clipped getting to it). But at least they've seen where their family originated from.

Personally, I think the story only gets more interesting once they emigrated. We think Great, Great, Great (William) emigrated when he was a single man. He kept an apartment in NYC which he visited when he was in port. He worked as a cook on a ship. Newly emigrated and a young man, he fought in the Civil War and was given the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Later he returned to Germany, married, and had two children- both boys. The family decided to return to the US where they had three more children; two girls and a boy.

In 1899, his wife, Catherina, was boiling water to wash clothes (we think), it spilled and she died as a result of the burns.  For reasons unknown, William was unable to care for the children and the three youngest children were sent on an Orphan Train out west. 

Before the US had foster care, there were two organizations that "re-homed" the nearly 250,000 homeless, abandoned, or orphaned kids found in the nation's bigger cities. The Children's Aid Society was the original. The New York Foundling hospital came along later. Seems this program wasn't without its critics.  Children often lived as little more than indentured servants. Some found loving homes.

The two oldest children were old enough to fend for themselves.  The three youngest; two girls and a boy, were gone.  Put in a train car (only the babies rode coach) and adopted by families.  Somewhere out west. 

When the second oldest boy had the means, he went out west and didn't stop searching until he found them- all three of them. I wonder if my kids would do that for each other. I hope so. We know he found them and the family was reconnected but are uncertain if any returned to the New York area. Incidentally, at least two governors were Orphan Train riders, as was Billy the Kid.

By the way, the best part of the trip from a transportation point of view?  The ride back.  I sat near a handball team from Germany (handball sounds fierce; no gear, kind of like rugby, big contact sport).  The team was bored and tired. When they got sick of playing Angry Birds on the communal iPad, they drew smiley faces on their sleeping team-mates faces. 

A highlight for Pearl and Ruth was the new friend they made on the train.  A police officer who investigates cyber crime, she knew a family of the same name from Bremerhaven. She offered to make the contact.

Maybe the story doesn't end yet. 

Yodeling (Come on...you all knew this was coming)!

Today I went on a job interview. Technically, it was my second interview. The first was pretty normal; held in an office, lots of questions and answers.  This one was a "working" interview. I went on a field trip.

The first stop was a small primary school.  Beautiful. I couldn't help being jealous walking into the teacher's lounge.  School was charming and welcoming. No gate keeper at the entrance. Walked right in. In fact, I have no idea where the main office even is...Hallways were decorated with sculptures. Coat rooms were outside the classrooms. "Outside" shoes tucked under benches beneath their coats.  Murals on the walls above.  The teacher came out to greet us but not before we were spied by a third grader..."She's here already!" he reported back to the class.

We went in.  18 kids. Evenly split between girls and boys, all ready to practice their English. I had tried very hard to look "American" that morning. I had on an American flag pin on the outside of my jean jacket.  And flip flops.  Yes, flip flops. Very, very sparkly flip flops.  She said, "Come as you are." I wear flip flops and jean jackets. Hire me if you want to. Don't if you don't want to. I really like this approach to job hunting.  More investigating than hunting.  I'm confident in my abilities. I know what I have to offer- either I fit in or I don't.  And...it's okay if I don't.  But I'm wearing flip flops if I do. By the way, the job description is perfect for me. English speaking with no knowledge of German.

We played a game involving naming (in English) musical instruments. Somehow yodeling came up. One little girl admitted to being able to yodel.  Then she outed three other yodelers.  She was shy though and didn't want to yodel but then she came up with a plan. She ran to her desk and pulled out her music folder. The other kids quickly picked up on where she was going with this. They all got up and ran to their desks. Turned to a song about yodeling. The teacher grabbed her guitar.  Out of her back pocket, under the desk, I have no idea where that thing came from.  But she started playing and they ALL started singing a song complete with the sweetest yodeling. Fan-tastic.  I clapped. So, they sang another song, this time in English, "I love the mountains, I love the daffodils, etc." I never heard it before but it was perfect I learned this song sung in English in Switzerland by 18 of the cutest Swiss kids.

Next stop was a combined 5th and 6th grade classroom set in the mountains in an older, very tiny school. Parked at the stone church with the littlest grave yard. The field full of wild flowers next door. The cows grazing on the hill nearby. A mountain about 6 inches away rising straight up. Lake Luzern far below. A farm to the left date stamped 1647.  These kids from this little village that isn't even big enough for separate classes, are all on their way to trilingual at 11 and 12.  French, German, and English. Not to mention the kids that speak an additional language at home.  They prepared three restaurants and were ready to take our order and serve us- all in English.  Chaotic and fun.  I ordered 'off' menu (nachos). They rolled with it. Next thing I knew I had colored paper nachos and green tissue guacamole (with a glass of white wine).

Best job interview ever.

FRESH OUT

I am fresh out of blog ideas.
Anyone need something investigated, scoped out, photographed, made a mess of, researched- light on the research please, attempted or ascended? Please don't forget I'm a chicken.
Jen

30 Days

A year is a long time. Too long. I want to go home. Just for a little bit.

Home

Sold the useful car.  Going to dust off the Miata.  I'm going to need to learn how to charge the battery and I don't especially care if mice may have chewed the brake lines, I'm driving it anyway.

Then I am getting a cup of coffee. I want a scaldingly hot cup of coffee from Dunkin' Donuts. I want to sit in my car and drink it. Except I sold my car, remember? You might be thinking, "Drive the Miata, dummy." Here is why that won't work- too low. Awkward at drive thrus. So, gonna have to borrow someone else's car. Or rent a car. I will do my best not to spill it.

After I get a cup of coffee, I'm going to collect my pets. Hope they have some idea of who I am. I miss the dog sleeping next to me (on the floor that is) and the cat sleeping on my feet. 

Fisher

Hope they both understand they have a job. And we are all sleeping on the floor this time.

Next is Shady Glen. There are some things in Connecticut that aren't found in Europe. Like Shady Glen cheeseburgers. That is on the list. Maybe hold the burger and just get an order of cheese. Wonder if they do that?

I'd like to take a very long drive. A few hours maybe. Be nice if a lot of it was flat. Nebraska flat. I really get excited when I see flat countryside. I don't know why really. My town isn't flat. Being hemmed in by mountains may have taken a toll.  Most days it's beautiful. I don't realize I miss flat until I see flat. Funny how that works.

I want to order a whole pizza and take it home. Only done that once here. Feels weird. I want to restock my makeup at CVS. I want to spend hours in CVS. So does Lauren. I want to pull weeds and trim the roses and rip out the irises. Invasive beasts.

 

Not these! These I like. These are called, "Wedding Dress", I think.

New Dawn and Etoile Violette Clematis

Except unless it's a cool summer, it will be hot. I hate gardening when it's hot. Perhaps I will make an exception.

Then I'm calling Lena. I'm all done with this hair color. Lena can fix this.

Lastly, I'm going to make a gigantic pitcher of daiquiris, invite anyone who wants to share, and sit on my back porch. Bring your own chair (and maybe one for me?). The porch furniture is in Switzerland. I will have 29 days left. I am open for suggestions.

Location:Vacation Plans

Road Trip Rules- For My Children (and one for my husband)

Time for some rules. More may follow.

1. Once everyone is on a bus, plane, train, tram- no one is allowed to disembark until we've reached our destination. No one. Not even your mother. Even if she wants one more picture, tell her no. Firmly.

The picture that caused all the trouble.

1a. If you are on the bus as it is pulling away (without your mother on it), try not to look too happy.  Look sad. Look horrified.

2. No one gets a 12€ gelato unless you've finished your lunch. Everyday since 2009.

3. Whining to go back to the hotel, then complaining you're bored, is a federal offense.

4. Complaining your mother isn't in enough pictures, then commenting on her inability to photography well, is dangerous. In retaliation, she may be tempted to take out a full page ad in your yearbook with a picture of you of her choice.

5. Do not take the drain plugs out of a drain. They serve a purpose. And the toothpaste cap is exactly the same diameter. Sweet.

6. You brought four stuffed animals. YOU sleep with them if they are lonely.

7. You eat free at breakfast. Squirrel up. That is a commandment.

8. Never pass a public bathroom without asking yourself the obvious question.

9. When I say run, RUN. The opposite is equally important.

10. Do not tell your mother your throat is swelling if it's not. I carry your EpiPen and I'm not afraid to use it. You've been warned. If you thought it might mean you wouldn't have to hike the Forum, you were wrong.

10a. Shouting "Bee!!" to watch your brother go nuts, is mean. Unless of course, there is a bee.

10b. Pushing your sister backwards over a railing- also mean. Even if it was an "accident".

11. Do not take my camera and take 19 pictures of the same duck. In the same position. Ever again. It is also a bad idea to to videotape your mother when she is tired and lost. Your multimedia rights may be revoked.

12. I'm never going to say you can rent a movie in the hotel room for 11€. Never. It's the principle of the thing.

13. If you have glasses, wear them. Trips are expensive. We are not coming back because the whole thing was blurry.

14. Birds poop. When you agree to let a street vendor place them on your head, there may be consequences.

This bird encounter went fine. Not so for a different child.

We've been gone 36 hours.

15. Napping on the tram may result in overshooting your stop by 17 stops.

16. It is always a good idea to put the hotel's business card in your pocket/purse. It will be a big help when you are lost. Again. Other hotel's desk staff are very nice.

17. When you've booked a car rental, it's a good plan to remember to pack your license.

18. When your wife has been ungraded to pilot, it is unwise to criticize her ability to drive a 6 speed through the streets of Rome, especially since she accomplished this without killing anyone.

19. Do not interrupt the tour of the Vatican to tell your mother your sneakers are too small. Unless you see Converse for sale in the gift shop, it is a pointless conversation.

21. Running through the streets of Rome in the dark is not a great idea. You will scare the driver of the car who thinks she's just hit a boy. You were fine, she is probably still shaking.

22. Confusing the toll ticket with the parking garage ticket will ensure you pay the maximum amount possible. 10.80€. They all look alike and they are all in Italian.


Those are enough rules for now. Like Sheldon Cooper's Roommate Agreement, they may be subject to revision (to my benefit only).

Location:Road Trip Rules

Rome with Kids. And Pompeii and Sorrento!

First stop was Rome. Two buses. One train. One plane and one very expensive taxi. But the taxi ride was the best. Sunset past the Colosseum.

 

Too late to do much when we got there so we went out for pizza. Found a friendly basement eatery and ordered. Doug got a double dose of red wine. He perked up. Kids and I ate pizzas. Caroline gave it a thumbs up.

The next morning we had an early start at the Colosseum.  A couple hours there. Touching. Standing. Antagonizing one another in an arena 2,000 years old. Lots of blood was shed there- no Dziekan blood though. 75,000 people could fit in there with the women and the kids only allowed in very top section.  The inauguration of the Colosseum was marked by 100 days of 'games'. 24 hours a day. The author of the Hunger Games may have been inspired by the Colosseum. A fight until death might get you a wreath. Though apparently they didn't have any interest in killing the gladiators every time. It was expensive to train them. Super.

A gladiator on his iPhone.

We also had tickets to the Forum and the Paladine. I still have no idea which was which. It was all cool. And old.  I had sort of thought I could rely on my son, Sam, to tell us where we were and what we were seeing. Apparently he likes certain periods in history- not all of them. We muddled along. Met a really nice young family from the States. Her husband is in the service stationed in Italy.  They had five kids- all under 7.  Talked life in Europe, sending kids to public schools for the language immersion, and what to do with them when we go back to the States- how do you keep a foreign language going when you know the schools don't offer it?  Weather was beautiful.  Kids hunted lizards in the Paladine and then we moved along.

 

Not one of my kids holding a lizard. This little girl was fearless.

 

Through the gardens with hedge mazes (there is a name for those things- just can't remember it). Past the orange trees with all the low hanging ones gone already.

Then a weird thing happened. We started talking fondly of Switzerland. The clean, reliable transportation that was on time. The city pride- how clean and safe it felt. Then it got a little confusing when Caroline said she wanted to 'go home'. She needed to clarify. Home as in the hotel in Italy? Home to our flat in Switzerland? Home to our house in the US? Turns out it was the hotel. My kids are turning into nomads.

The next day began even earlier with an 8:30 tour of the Vatican. I was starting to really enjoy having done NO research for this trip. Besides the bits and pieces of information learned in elementary and high school, I knew next to nothing about the places we were visiting. It was all a big surprise. Kids liked the Vatican. We were all surprised by the huge wall that separated Vatican City from Italy.

 

It was a long tour but they hung in there. I had no idea painting the Sistine Chapel was Michelangelo's first time painting fresco. The guide said there is so much art in the Vatican it would take ten years if you spent only one minute with each piece. We then spent about an hour addressing and sending postcards in the Vatican post office. One pen. 9 postcards. Takes awhile. Especially if one of you still writes rather slowly. We had a picnic lunch in one of the courtyards.  No one else was picnicing but the Vatican pigeons were helpful and pecked up all the crumbs.

 

The man in the center is Raphael, the painter. He admired Michelangelo. Michangelo didn't admire him. So, Raphael painted this gigantic painting (The School of Athens) with both of them in it.

 

 

Here is Michelaneglo in the same painting. He looks bummed out to be in it.

Vatican exit

 

Off to the Trevi Fountain.  Wasn't expecting that! We all enjoyed it. All 1,000 of us. It's pretty popular.

Trevi Fountain

 

Had dinner nearby with tables essentially set up in an alley.  Caroline was sitting on the end. When cars went by, we just checked to make sure she wasn't going to become a hood ornament. She survived.  Enjoyed it even. Spaghetti with an element of danger.

Spaghetti drunk

Picked up our rental car and headed further south to Pompeii. Pompeii is a confusing little town.  You have the ruins- a huge area- which was a very sophisticated and wealthy little town by the way. Bakeries, cloth manufacturers, theaters, parks, a city center, brothels, anything you want.  We wandered but Lauren got a little tired of our haphazard approach to touring. She got out a map and drew up an itinerary.

 

While she was doing that, a middle school trooped into the amphitheater.

 

They were all dressed in togas.  Teacher gave some sort of lecture in Italian and they left. Pretty good field trip (there was also a field trip at the Vatican and one at the Paladine).  Last stop in the ruins was the Villa Misteri, which shall remain a mystery, as the kids quit at that point.

Interior painting at the Villa

Then there is the small town of Pompeii which has a really pretty Main Street.

 

Venture too far off though, it can get a little sketchy. But you could get your car blessed. That was a first. 

 

 

So many stray dogs. Narrow streets with people driving like maniacs and even more maniacal, the moped drivers.  Those drivers must completely skew the charts of life expectancy in Italy. We had planned on visiting a museum in Naples housing many of the more interesting artifacts from the Pompeii ruins but I had no interest in driving in that city. Tons of garbage everywhere. Literally tons.

Last stop was Sorrento. Loved Sorrento so much full sentences aren't even needed.

 

The cliffs.

The pastel colors.

The turquoise blue ocean.

 

When a wave came in, it was like looking through green sea glass. Gelato; banana, lemon cream, pineapple, chocolate, Nutella, strawberry, and melon- our collective choices. An elevator through the cliffs to the tiny beach below.  Caroline and Doug wading. Lauren did handstands.  The wedding we stumbled on.  Driving the curvy highway along the cliffs. All along the streets were orange trees laden with fruit.  What a beautiful day.

I have to go back.

Trust me.

Sam was invited by a friend to join him and his family in a one day archery course at a local club. 10 hours later he came back very excited and begging to join the club. Had the club's web address for me to investigate it. I tried. It was all in German.

I emailed the person I believed to be in charge. We had a google translate conversation. I'm confident we were both a bit perplexed. He threw in the towel first. I decided to just show up with Sam at the next scheduled club meeting. I made arrangements to meet his friend and his family there as well. His dad speaks German fluently and was willing to be a translator. Amen.

We talked bows and quivers. The men running the club reminded me of dads in the US who volunteered to help run a club their kid likes. One had his 12 year old with him. I finally just decided to trust (what on earth do I know about bows and quivers?!). They assured me they would set him up with good beginner equipment. Perfect. And they would bill me.

Everyone bills you here. I remember calling the number on a vacuum cleaner bag to order more.

"Sure, no problem. Address please. Goodbye".

"Wait! How much and how do I pay you?"

The answer was I'd be billed.

I'm getting ready to leave archery. Sam is going to stick around. I asked what paperwork I needed to sign. Head scratching.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't you want his name, his complete medical history, six ways to contact me, my insurance information, and me to release you of liability in case he winds up the target?"

"No."

"But what if he gets hurt?"

"We take him to the hospital- but no one gets hurt."

"Oh."

The end of that conversation. I left but not before sputtering a bit about not understanding this whole process. Sometimes, with things here it's like I'm driving along and I hit a road block. That's it. Just stop. No where to go. It's a familiar route but now it's closed. Turn around find another route.

Another route. Another way to understand. Fair enough. Hard when it's your kids though. Grocery shopping, ingredient substitutions- fine. Kids? Harder.

It was a similar experience with enrolling Lauren in gymnastics. Emails and phone calls weren't having any effect at all. I just told her to find a leotard and we'd drive there. Coach looked at us.

"Does she have a dress on?"

Huh? She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Turns out "dress" is what they call a leotard.

"Okay. She can join. See you."

That time I just wouldn't leave. I sat on the gym floor for three hours. I did that four times a week for two weeks. Caroline finally said, "No. I'm not going anymore." She was right. I was secretly relieved and home we went.

I guess I just thought that was a fluke. It wasn't. People still trust and this is not a litigious society. People don't sue like they tend to in the US and if they do, it's not always supported. Just recently I read an article about a postal worker. He disregarded the train's warning beeps that the doors were going to close. He wanted to unload one more package . His arm got caught in the doors. He was dragged three kilometers to the next stop. He lost part of a foot but otherwise recovered. The court ruled the railway wasn't at fault. He seemed ok with putting it behind him. Said he'd already trained for a new job and had moved on. He had his medical bills paid and that was it. It's a different philosophy here.

Anyway, Sam loves it. I love that he's found something he really looks forward to. I'm delighted it's a local club. Very low key. Just bad news for the world's (stuffed) meerkat population. He shot one from half way across the gym floor.

Flying Solo

We've had a visitor all week.  She's been such a trooper. She got on a plane in NYC and got off in Switzerland. No big deal.  Of course, I didn't sleep all night. I worried I wouldn't hear my alarm and she'd be stranded.  My alarm, in fact, didn't go off but I was awake anyway. 

Got to the airport hours early. Gave me lots of time to people watch.  And dog watch. So many dogs at the airport. Big ones, little ones in handbags. Tired ones riding luggage carts. Puppies in baby snugglies. I got distracted. My daughter didn't. Next thing I knew Lauren was on the wrong side of the waiting area greeting her friend.  All smiles.

Poor thing. Probably thought we'd lead her to the car, tuck her in and drive home. Instead she was herded to the train, another train (don't fall asleep yet!), and a bus. 

Weather didn't cooperate.  One afternoon of sun in the whole week. She either didn't notice or care.  We did the best we could. I watched her eyes glaze over (and my daughter's eyes roll to the back of her head) as I launched into all my Swiss trivia- at this point, I've got tons. From the mundane, how many cantons?, to the slightly more interesting...did you know in 1454, or thereabouts, there was a landslide that sent a bunch of buildings lakeside straight to the bottom of said lake?  There is a monument somewhere. I need to find it. 

She wasn't impressed by the architecture but letting her and my daughter take the bus to the local mall to meet a friend, won rave reviews. She likes Easter pie, doesn't like Rivella, and a grill cheese made with Gruyere cheese was requested three times. She thought the milk was especially delicious.

She thought tubing at 10,000 feet was a good time. Walking in a giant ice cube was entertaining. We gave her some German lessons. Took 300 pictures. We made sure she tested all methods of transportation; planes, trains, cars, gondolas, tubing counts, right?, funiculars, mini buses, and double buses. Oh, and fair rides.  Bumper cars. My neck is killing me.

One of the best (and most unexpected) parts about having a guest was watching my kids get excited about where they live.  A visit to their school was a half day adventure. It involved purchasing bus and funicular tickets, reading schedules, and acting as a local tour guide.  In the process, all sorts of interesting trivia about their school came from my son, such as, during WW2, their school was used as an infirmary for wounded soldiers, treating both the allies and the axis due to Switzerland's neutrality. Rumor has it there's a ghost.

I did get one call from the top, "We think we missed the last bus down." A bus was running because the funicular wasn't. I told my daughter to go figure it out. She did. The bus was gone because the funicular was operational again. Down they came.

It was a pleasure to watch my kids as they showed her the things they are beginning to take for granted.  I watched my kids struggle for eight months. Trying to make sense of the culture and the language, grapple with why their parents did this to them, and at the same time be expected to operate at a much higher level of independence than they ever have.  They were handed a very full plate and not given much room for failing.  But I really think that all three have done it and I'm hoping they got a glimpse of themselves through another child's eyes. 
 
I have to admit though, that keeping up with a teen, two preteens, and an 8 year old left me excited that my mother-in-law and her sister are coming to visit next. I'm really hoping coffee by the lake sounds good to them because it didn't to the tween crowd. Though, Chloe set the bar pretty high as house guests go.  She didn't need anything before 9 am, she ate what was in the fridge, and she even made a cake. She can come back any time at all. 
 

Happy Birthday (to me)!

 
What every girl wants for her birthday...My friend Chris and I debating on where to walk.

Let's crash the hiking club.  They even bring their dogs. Sounds like fun. What? They are hiking Zugerberg? They say it will take 1-2 hours. (Please, I know better. I’ve done this once already. The day I was lapped by the nun). Let's go anyway.

We invited another friend. But the morning was rainy and dreary and cold. I texted Donna and Chris- "I'm out". Chris suggests a walk in the sunshine on her side of the lake and maybe cake. Donna says, "I've been up since 6:30. I'm eating me porridge. I've had me vitamins. It's looking like someone needs a butt kick." It's been decided.

Met about 9 or 10 other women. All looking pretty snazzy. Hiking pants. Gaitors. Water bottles. Dogs. Okay...We start. Uh oh. It's a different trail than I've been on previously. Start tripping over small dogs. Half an hour later, Harry (a lab-like looking dog) goes missing. Group stops. Much debate. Rather unlike Harry. Harry! HARRY! No Harry. A third of the group turns around to find Harry. The rest of us march on.

The marching turns to slogging. So much slippery, oozy mud. I fall further and further behind. The gazelles leap to the front. The herd has separated into three distinct bands. The gazelles, the flat landers- those that question their cardio fitness levels, and those on the quest for a missing dog.

Then I decide yogurt before a hike is a terrible idea. Coffee with whipped cream an even worse idea. I propose a new law. When it's your mother's birthday, you MUST leave her enough milk for her coffee. Too late now.  I sit and concentrate on breathing. Summon all my Jedi training (focus), all my Karate Kid wisdom (wax on/wax off). Just focus.

This conversation between Luke and Yoda plays in my head...

Luke: I can't. It's too big.

Yoda: Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship

Then it starts to blizzard. Sideways.  Out of nowhere (the gazelles are surely at the top having coffee by now). I put on my hat (it's pretty- with loads of sequins), my hood, and my other hood. I have no more hoods. I am now breaking out into a cold sweat. And the Harry search and rescue party overtakes us. I forgot my phone. Can't even facebook my misery. Donna has even left us to join the gazelles.

I sit again. On the sloggy ground. Two-thirds of the way up this beast. I contemplate my options. Die here. On my birthday. Roll my way to the bottom. Slog my way to the top. I am a card carrying member of the Daughters of the American Revolution (Okay, not really but I could be. There is just so much paperwork and you probably have to host a luncheon). Time to get up. Summon the "force".

We slog on. We pass a 'closed for the season' restaurant. Contemplate knocking. I tell Chris I have 50ch. Let's go. She responds with she has a whole walletful of cash. Credit cards, too. Idle talk. We slog on. Past the spot where I saw the nun.  Past the sign which we think says 'no littering'. Is a dead body litter?  Past the sign that marks the exact center of canton Zug.  I decide that is an excellent reference to give to search and rescue. Past the horses. Have they been broken yet? Could we steal one? Over the next hill. I can see the top now.  To the top, past my daughter's classroom where she is hanging her head in shame hoping no one recognizes her mother but that sparkly hat is so sparkly. I'm noticed. I make sure to wave to my older daughter's friend as I stumble past.

And yes, they are all drinking coffee snug in the restaurant at the top. No, I will not be joining them. Then, one pops out to inform us they'd thought we'd given up and gone back down.

Just for that, I am going on the next hike. Given up? Why on earth would we do that? I'm offended.


   

Jill's Story

Jill, a photographer, lost her mom very recently, and as she sat with her in her hospital room watching, counting the minutes they had left together, she took the same photo- not every day but often-of the view from her hospital window. The last photo was a black and white. Stark and lonely.
.

                          

Her mother died a few days later. After her funeral, she shared the last song she played for her mother..."93 million miles".  Not the first time she let music speak for her.

And as she began to let her grief take over, the pictures she'd taken in those last few days began to seep out. She and her mom sharing a hug after another round of bad news, her mom's hands manicured and lovely but still. The endless bottles of pills that in the end mattered little. The tangle of IV drip bags. A confusing cocktail of who knew what. That is what cancer looked like to her.

So she documented it. Because this is what she does. She brought you with her. Down the hall. Past the curtains. And you found yourself in her private moments. Grief palpable. Confusion, impotence, anger, love. It's all there.

As is the picture of her mom holding her as a newborn. Her mother loving her into the world and Jill loving her mother out of this world.  One circle complete.

In the lonely weeks following the death of her mother, she began to organize her memories. Sorting through pictures of her mother, she couldn't believe the pictures she didn't have. She found only one recent photo of her and her mom and none of her mother, herself, and her own daughter. A void she can never fill.  Always the photographer, rarely the subject.

Jill wants to turn her sadness into a way to help others. She's offering a reduction in her normal portrait fees to help defray the expense so others can have that picture that she's missing.

Check out her website http://www.jelliottphotos.com/. Her work is beautiful. She's located in Connecticut.  She also has a public facebook page showcasing more of her photos... http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Jillian-Elliott-photography/155311427832800

Inside, outside, formal, informal, pets, baseball caps. Just go. She can take your picture reading a bedtime story to your son or daughter, maybe sharing breakfast or be there to document a family gathering.  Tell her your ideas.  Her pricing for this is flexible depending on what you'd like.  Drag your favorite people. You won't regret it.

A portion of her fees will also be donated to helping those struggling with cancer.

Washi what?

I met the South African Martha Stewart.  It's true. She's lovely. Who else can throw a Thursday morning crafting/brunch party and make it look effortless?  Julie is a mom to two little girls and the owner of a web-based store, In Good Company- see link to the right), as well as a storefront in Johannesburg, South Africa and soon another in Cape Town. I've begged her to open a store here. She's thinking about it.


Really, she did this...

Makes orange juice so much more appealing...

 

She has such charming ideas and gets so excited about sharing them, it's infectious. So, I found myself crafting...something I haven't done is a long time. Who knew you could have so much fun with washi tape and glass bottles? Washi tape and clothes pins, washi tape and note cards. Washi tape and twine- no really. Super cute.

 

 

I got a little carried away and washi taped my iphone.  I think it looks kind of cool.  Washi tape is made from rice paper (doesn't taste anything like rice if you're curious) and comes in a billion colors.

A few hours later, people began to pack up and leave. I was still lingering. Washi tape and ribbon can be a little addicting... I couldn't resist telling her I met THE Martha Stewart. I've been in her studio and watched her craft. Ate lunch in the employee cafeteria. Soup was good and she was big on composting. About all I remember. Though, when someone says 'that's about all', that's your clue there is probably more but this blog isn't about THE Martha Stewart, it's about Julie. And washi tape.

Our kids (Julie's kids- not Martha Stewart's kid who is all grown up and did that awful show mocking her mother) go to the same school. She asked if Lauren enjoyed a recent trip- a ski trip to the Alps somewhere. I actually lost the email with the address of where they were going. Just hoped she'd show back up eventually. Julie said her school trip in South Africa was to the "bush".  I guess it was awful but in a good way.  I'm not even sure I know what "the bush" means.  And it wasn't "THE bush"; just the bush. I think I will need her to clarify. In eighth grade, we went to a beach in New London, Connecticut. The bush sounds so much more exciting.

Julie also told me about a trip she took to the US six or eight years ago. For the girl who channels Martha Stewart on a regular basis, seeing Michael's craft store and only being allowed to go inside for 20 minutes sounded like pure torture.  She insisted they stop the car when she saw her first Dunkin' Donuts.  American pizza.  Las Vegas! I loved hearing her talk about the US. Just pure enthusiasm.  Honestly, so refreshing. No politics. No comparisons.

Everyone had a good time. About 10 women all from very different backgrounds having a good laugh taping stuff.   

Follow the Foodie

I went shopping in Germany a few days ago.  It wasn't the shopping I was so interested in (seen one mall- pretty much seen 'em all) but it meant a long drive and lunch out. A friend asked if I wanted to join her. 'Sure' I said.  I'll shop for six months of toiletries if it means I get out of the house and have lunch. This particular friend, Donna, is a foodie. She's an amazing cook.  She just gets it. I don't. So, I am in awe.  And when she mentioned going out to lunch at an "amazing" Turkish place, I was in (she's Scottish and says it with a brogue- so much fun).
 
We left early and drove a bit over an hour to Weil-am-Rhine.  Just over the border. It was warm enough to sit outside.  A wine spritzer in hand, I settled in.  I briefly thought about ordering for myself.  Instead, I let her order. Lunch was as promised. A savory chicken dish...not hot. Just right.
 
On the way home, as we talked of this and that, the conversation drifted to food and in particular, cheese.  And then she described for me the first time she remembers tasting cheddar.  Her mother told her to open her mouth and placed a bit of cheese on her tongue. Creamy and rich, it nearly dissolved. She still remembers the taste of that cheese.  What seemed to be all wrapped up in that memory was a love for her mother and their shared connection to good food.  A foodie was born. 

My Great Aunt Sue, was a bona fide foodie as well; right up until about six weeks before her death at 102.  She loved to cook and loved to eat.  She told stories of sending food through the mail to her brothers fighting in World War II;  frogs legs and ratatouille. Once she came home to find a neighbor rummaging about in her refrigerator.  When asked why, he responded with he had guests and he knew Sue would have something good.  She took that as a compliment.

I stayed with her for six weeks after graduating from college. I'd found a job but no apartment. She welcomed me and kept me fed and entertained.  I'd get home from work to find we had dinner reservations.  She was the best date.  Her kitchen was the size of a broom closet. My Swiss kitchen is also the size of a broom closet.  When deciding whether to take this flat, I didn't let the kitchen bother me. Sue's kitchen was the same size and she could cook ANYTHING in that kitchen. Surely, I could heat up chicken nuggets in mine.

I like food and enjoy fun things to eat.  I have a million cookbooks.  But I much prefer reading them like novels as opposed to using them for any practical purpose.  I don't think I'm raising any foodies either.  All three will have the same lunch (at school, so I have no idea what it was) and all three will tell me it was something different. Sam is the more adventurous eater. He embraced wiener schnitzel and curry wurst right away.  Caroline is the pickiest eater you've ever met in your life.  It's my fault, I know. I take full responsibility but you can't put toothpaste back in a tube.  Lauren is all about comfort food. She loves to bake and is a big fan of cooking shows. I don't know too many 6 year olds who love Rachel Ray.  Now, it's Jamie Oliver. Still, she's not an adventurous eater.

Part of the fun of living in another country is trying new things.  Meeting new people.  Though on the surface it might seem a little nuts to drive to Germany to eat Turkish food, it was a pretty solid plan.  Follow the foodie.


Donna, the foodie, has started her own blog. If you want to know what she's cooking (recipes included), here is a link.  http://justcookswiss.tumblr.com/

How to Make Relocation Stew

Set the oven to broil. It needs to get hot. Really, really hot. When it's too hot in the oven, jump in a frying pan.

Step 1.  One interview at room temperature. When your husband comes home and says, "I'd like to interview for a job in Switzerland",  say "ok". That's an easy one. It's just an interview right? 

Step 2.  When your husband advances to the next round of interviews,  tell your own boss. Not so hard either, I mean who moves to Switzerland? Incidentally, your boss is a really good sport because 'who moves to Switzerland?' and he likes to hike.  It's all good in theory.

Step 3.  Your husband tells you he got the job (this ingredient is exceptionally hard to find and once added, you cannot extract it).

Step 4. Don't tell your kids. Let them overhear it at a party. This is a "surprise" ingredient.  It adds to the stress. The tears and the foot stomping add to the flavor of the stew. Be careful though; it is very easy to add too much of this ingredient. And it's availability is unpredictable. Too much will make the stew tough. So very tough.

Step 4a. TEXT your best friends to tell them you're moving to SWITZERLAND. Again, fairly easy until they realize you aren't kidding. Then this ingredient has a tendency to boil over (you know this because of all the exclamation points) but with a lot of attention and constant stirring, things will settle down.

Step 5.  This is an ingredient which defies a bit of logic;  to be successful you must purge.  Non stop and without mercy.  Nothing is safe except the children essentially. Certainly not the fish. All 42 of them. Good timing for Mama Molly to give birth.

Step 6.  Sign a lease for a home you've never seen.  Another surprise ingredient.  The lease will be in German. Sign it anyway. In the car, in a gas station parking lot, during his lunch hour of which he has 13 minutes left. Sign your name 37 times. Twice. 

Step 7. Visit schools. All three.  Change your mind last minute about the one the kids will be attending.  This is called a "substitution". But make sure your husband's company deposits at the wrong school entirely.  Again adds to the flavor.

Step 8.  Take one ingredient out.  That would be your spouse. Send him early with strict instructions to hook up the Internet (in the new surprise house). You are going to need it to finish this stew.

Step 9.  Let the kids call the US all they want because you got the cable package with free calling to the US (It said so, "Unlimited free calling to the US in your leisure time").  Find out that was wrong. Make a budget substitution based on lack of funds. Leisure time translates to after 7PM and weekends only. Oops. 

Step 10.  Stir and stir and stir. Now go counter clockwise because it's all screwed up anyway (as your kids keep telling you).  Let it simmer 6 months.   You're done.  When it starts tasting a bit 'gamey' add wine, chocolate and PS3.  When you've found you've acquired a taste for relocation stew, wean off chocolate and PS3. Wine as needed.

Serves 5

Expat mysteries

It took awhile before I had any idea what was in my Switzerland refrigerator with any degree of certainty.  The same for the pantry. Now, I'm back to my usual habits. I no longer confuse my US refrigerator contents with my Switzerland refrigerator contents. I think it was the stress of the move.  It all felt rather similar to the Summer of '04. The summer I had Caroline. I don't think I had ever been so tired in my whole life. Should have taken more pictures because I remember nothing (except for the tired and wearing flip flops straight through to October,  most likely because I couldn't  find shoes- or care, and salting my coffee and trying to shift an automatic when I hadn't driven a standard in 8 or 10 years.  Guess I remember more than I thought I did).

The first time I experienced phantom refrigerator contents,  I went to the refrigerator looking for brie. I recalled the package. I recalled buying it.  And I really wanted to eat it. I looked. And looked. Did the same thing the next day. Same results. No brie.  I texted a friend in the US.  Asked her how the brie was. Apparently it was very good. She really enjoyed it.

In the chaos of those last few days in Connecticut, I really struggled. I struggled with packing. I struggled with what to pack, how to pack, and how much to pack (never mind the big, huge giant question, "WHAT WERE WE DOING?").  Combined with prepping the house for renters, I was completely overwhelmed. 48 hours before leaving things looked pretty dismal despite having organized for several months prior.  I'd painted, cleaned, weeded, and mulched.  Got the kids to the doctor, dentist, orthodontist,  and optometrist. Sold cars. Donated cars. Rented cars. Gave away fish and forwarded mail (yes, the US postal service will forward your mail overseas for a year- despite what they might say). Paid taxes and got haircuts.  But I began to unravel those last 48 hours.

Two days prior I had tagged everything in my house; what was to be air shipped (what couldn't we live without for six weeks?), what was being shipped by sea, and what was staying. Overwhelming. The refrigerator was still full. The freezer, too. The things we weren't taking were still scattered everywhere. I was in full out panic mode.And I still had a birthday party to throw for an 8 year old.  Then I just stopped. NO. MORE

That's when a friend called. I explained and then hung up. She showed up the next morning with her mother and her mother's friend. I really wasn't in the mood to entertain anyone. They came in anyway. Put lunch on the counter.  I sat down and had a wine cooler.  Then they opened the refrigerator and started emptying it. Then the freezer. Then closets. Then bedrooms.  About eight hours later, it was done. The house was empty and organized.  Things were in their new homes or their way to new homes; including the brie.   The brie went to live in Willington in someone else's refrigerator.  It was never in my refrigerator in Switzerland. 

I think that week easily qualifies as one of the most stressful experiences of my life. Not surprised I had trouble remembering what I did with the brie.  I'm still  not sure how to explain all the people from Connecticut  I see in Switzerland- but only from the back or the side or on a crowded bus- then they're gone.  Or the mystery pants I found in my laundry.  But at least I know what happened to the brie.

I don't know what happened to Jill though. Jill was the woman I didn't know who showed up that morning.  But Jill, if you are out there, I really, really owe you some chocolates. And not just for the help that day but for the lesson about helping other people, even people you don't know.  There are some really nice chocolates here...
 

Hiking, Wild Animals, and Nuns (again)

I've thought about it. I like hiking.  And the good news is the scenery is so lovely that it's a bonus if you are out of shape because you get to sit and enjoy it a lot. Plus there don't appear to be any wild animals to be alarmed about. Just nuns out for a walk. Nothing alarming about that. 

Hiking wear for Nuns. Who knew?

In Connecticut, in my town, on my street and sometimes in my backyard, you can find...coyotes, turkeys, deer, bobcats, a mountain lion (not him- he's been in someone else's backyard though), flying squirrels, and feral cats.  We had one peeking in our front window when we first moved in (its head was huge) and the occaisional unleashed dog wandering through. Though you can be sure if it's unaccompanied, it will be in my living room and named before I've had chance to shout,"No"! My  kids move fast...I'm pretty confident somewhere within the town radius there must lurk a bear or two. And my neighbor saw a moose on the way to work one day. That was only about five miles down the road.

Once a stray dog wandered in the front door and roamed around the house. Think he was hungry. Problem was my three week old baby was in the dining room napping (she was just about the size of a Sunday dinner ham). He sniffed a few times. I freaked and threw a bagel out the front door. He followed the bagel.   Another time, a stray cat managed to get in my car and take a nap. I didn't happen to notice this cat until it started crying while I was driving to work.  Then I had to pull over and call work explaining I was late because there was a stray cat in my car who wouldn't get out.

Here, I've seen exactly three cats.  Plenty of dogs but all on leashes.  And lots of fenced in farm animals...cows (remember the running cow?) and sheep.  There are deer in a deer park close by. Bears in a bear cage in Bern. Wait- I did see a deer while I was on the funicular going up Zugerberg one morning. Must be more of those. I did hear a story about a man hiking who put his hands behind him to rest and wouldn't you know his hand landed on a pair of mating vipers. Several bites later...I heard he lived. Vipers.

This is all good news,except for the vipers, as I'm wild animal phobic.  I don't want to meet them. Any of them. Makes hiking more enjoyable if I don't have to worry about being eaten. My younger sister has held all kinds of crazy jobs working outside. One was in the Rockies working on trails. She had to be careful where she stepped to avoid rattle snakes. She also had to eat 6,000 calories a day to do the job she was doing.  Her and Michael Phelps.

So maybe it doesn't matter if nuns pass me or very small dogs beat me up the mountain.   As long as I don't need Swiss search and rescue, I think I'm doing okay.

The Nun

A nun passed me while hiking today. In a habit. With rosary beads.  She had some pretty nice hiking boots on.  That's it. That's my whole blog today. I'm going to have to think about that.

P.S. There was a group of nuns at the Tough Mudder last year but this was the real deal.

Counting to 100

Sometimes you need a time out. Go in a corner and count to 100. Maybe by 53 you'll feel better, maybe you need to go all the way to 100. Or like the instructions on a bottle of shampoo when you're in a lather, you may need to lather, rinse, repeat.

I'm learning to count to one hundred in German-again.  This my second round of lessons. I took a break after my initial 5th lesson and forgot how to count- not that I ever really learned much beyond 10.  Have you ever tried to disassemble something that's been together for years and there is no getting that screw to turn? That's what my brain feels like. I try. I do. Counting is hard when your 45. And of course there is a different method to it in German. My house number is 76. You say it 6 and seventy. Hope I don't have to call 911 ( or whatever it is here).  I don't have a prayer of them coming to the right house.

My German teacher finally stopped my last German lesson to teach me to count. I think she got fed up with my completely blank looks when she told me which page to turn to.   1-10 okay. 1-16 okay. Then there is seventeen, which comes out more sevteen (roughly tranlated- "roughly" because I have no idea what I'm doing really).  The rest of the teens follow a nice pattern. I asked her why the shorthand on 17. She had no idea. Moving on. 20 is also problematic. Honestly,  all I can remember is that it doesn't follow suit. I thought I would remember so I didn't write it down- just nodded mutely.  Guess I should take better notes. 

Can't decide why I need to learn how to count anyway. Because guess what?! The shop keepers all speak Swiss German unless they are pretty young, then they speak English.

I had a different idea for a language lesson. Thought my teacher would be interested. She wasn't.  I thought it would be fun if we did a "living" language lesson. Meet at Starbucks. She could teach me how to order a latte in German. You know, useful stuff.  Let's go for a bus ride. Finally, someone who might be able to correctly pronounce the name of my bus stop. I'm talking life essentials here. Let's go to the grocery store and conquer my irrational fear of the deli. Help me fill out my application for a Swiss license. I know I don't suffer from any of the medical conditions they name in German but in case of a pop-quiz maybe I should know what I don't have.

A friend who was living in Poland found an interesting way to communicate with the butcher there. She doesn't speak Polish. So, in an attempt to order chicken breast, she clucked clucked and grabbed her boob. Hey, she got what she wanted AND made a friend. Later she heard that story made the cocktail circuit. An added bonus.

I went with a another friend to check out her language lesson in Swiss German. That was a lot of fun. Her teacher, Harry, is more of a story teller (there is a good chance he would have known why 'sevteen' and if he didn't know a story about that, he would have told another story).  Swiss German has a really interesting history. It's spoken only- mostly. Kids text in Swiss German. But when people try to write in Swiss German, the spelling is all in how it sounds to you. Good luck with that.
60% of the population of Switzerland speaks German (I think it's really Swiss German). I've heard even neighboring cantons may have difficulty understanding each other.  If that's case, I think there is little hope for me.

Though I haven't read a newspaper in 7 months (on-line doesn't count).  I want to read a newspaper again.  So back to German lessons I go.  The next time I'm freaking out about something, I may be able to count to 100 in two languages.  The silver lining to that cloud is by the time I've counted to 100 in German, I will either be asleep or so muddled I will have forgotten why I originally began counting anyway.


Thanks to Lauren for counting in German for me! Check her out...she'e awesome.

http://youtu.be/ZpUK6f_Zahw

A trip to the brocki...

I just never know who (or what) I am going to wake up with. The humans are a constant. My husband and my youngest daughter who weasels her way in a lot. My middle one occasionally, though only when she is feeling very tired or when she's had a bad day, does she like to sleep with me and once in a blue moon, I find Sam. This morning he spent a few minutes curled up on my feet. Then he was gone...leaving me to wonder if I imagined the whole thing.

It's the animals that are the surprise. Today it was Dumbo, a small grey kitten, and "Jellybean"- a puppy. Dumbo is new to the line-up. Whenever Caroline decides to jump in with us, she brings a few stuffed animals with her. Dumbo is a recent acquisition. We got him a few days ago.

We got him at the brocki.  I know, I know. Used stuffed animals- blah, blah, blah. You fight Caroline on that one. She loves those things. It's bigger than me. I have just learned to accept it. She has millions of stuffed animals. We shipped EVERY LAST ONE from the US to Switzerland. That was an accident. I had grand plans to "forget" a few but those movers pack sooo fast. I just couldn't keep up. Maybe a few will ultimately trade in their US citizenship for Swiss...that's going to take a little finessing. They are all named and inventoried fairly regularly.

We have slowed down on the acquisition of our stuffed friends but because I like company on my brocki expeditions, the kids are all pretty comfortable knowing I will cave in on some awful something they have decided must come home with us. Giant wooden pink clothes pins-got 'em. Sims 3- sigh- got it. But we've also dragged home the best sleds EVER (with steering and brakes), an American Girl doll, and some really good DVDs and because we live in Europe, the DVDs tend to come with your choice of language. I decided that falls into the "educational" category. I never say no. Loved "Blood Diamond" by the way. Feel like practicing my German- just switch the language. I haven't but I could...(I have also decided watching "Hollyoaks" is educational. Usually my mouth is hanging open and I have to change the channel when the kids meander by. An English soap opera with NO social boundaries. None. They are bad on that show. Really bad).

The brockis are like time capsules. The Swiss version of the Salvation Army, the brocki may be at the recycling center or a stand alone almost anywhere (zoning here is quirky). Want to know what the Swiss were wearing in 1974? It's all there for you. Want a costume for Carnival?

They had some beautiful ones. I'm certain the fabrics alone cost double or triple what they were asking for in price. I've decided the one item people who are leaving Switzerland are certain to divest themselves of is their fondue pot. Just by sheer numbers alone, this has to be the case. Artwork and light fixtures, china, and toys. One had a carrom board- I really wanted that board. My kids are just the right age for a cut throat game of carroms. I passed on it, then went back to find it. It was gone. It was really nice. The hazards of hesitating. But that is what makes it so fun.

The brocki closest to me is like a little museum. Record albums, china dolls (loads of those), tea sets,

copper fondue pots. Always the fondue pots. Things hanging from the ceiling. I've been watching a cradle. It looks like it was handmade and hand painted. The stencils are fading and the wood is cracking but I want that cradle.What little Swiss babies were rocked in that cradle? Aren't you curious? I think the cradle thing is genetic. My father recently bought a cradle at an auction. He's using it to hold magazines. Brilliant.

My sister has me hunting for charms. Not easy to find but I keep looking. Same way I keep looking at that cradle. It's down to 50ch. From 125! Maybe now the time is right. But they also had this huge armoire. With the right paint job, it'd be a knock out...


Someone else loves brockis too...I found this on YouTube. Pretty funny.