The John Stevens Family

Bonn Ami

2012-01-31T14:49:00.000-08:00

Beethoven in Bonn

On Saturday we saw a little bit of Bonn, the former capital of West Germany. In the morning we visited the Beethoven House where Beethoven was born in 1770. We walked around the tiny house for almost two hours, listening to our audio guides. Our son, Mr. Numbers, made sure he listened to every track on his guide, all 32. Elisabeth stopped periodically to draw pictures: the organ Beethoven played in a nearby church, two of the pianos he owned. She said she wanted to go home and write music. I was moved by the account, in Beethoven’s own words, of his hearing loss and his intense inner struggle. We heard portions of his 5th and 9th symphonies as he would’ve heard them at the time they were first performed. It was a barely audible muffled sound. Though Beethoven wanted to take his own life, he felt he could not, because of his burning desire to to the work he had to do, to write the music that was in his mind. As a memento, John bought sheet music copy of the Moonlight Sonata. I look forward to hearing him work on it, and one day, Elisabeth as well.

After another good lunch, we visited the Haus der Geschichte, the House of History. This is a great collection portraying the history of German and life in Germany since World War 2. I was hopeful to learn a lot to fill in the gaps of my knowledge, but there was so much that I got overwhelmed. There wasn’t very much in English, and since it was our second museum for the day, we sort of hurried along. We saw lots of old cars, a train outfitted for the German chancellor, a cool record player and many other 1950s objects. There were also several times when I had to pull the kids away from something I didn’t want to explain: Munich Olympics 1972. People being shot at, trying to cross the Berlin wall. So we saw what we could, and then hopped back on the tram to find a playground. I think, if it had been our first museum and if the kids were about five years older, it could’ve been a really great stop (and maybe if we had a German friend along to explain some things).

Playing tag in Cologne

Both Friday night and Saturday night we stayed in Bonn with Sigrid, a friend of a friend, a woman in her 70s who put us up for the weekend simply because she is hospitable and we have a friend in common. She fed us well and the beds were homey and comfy, but more than that, John and I delighted in our two evenings of conversation with Sigrid in her sitting room, drinking glasses of wine and warmed by a wood fire. While the children slept upstairs, our conversation ran the gamut, ranging from homeschooling to environmental issues inherent in oil and gas exploration to cooking techniques and good fruits for jam making, to travel in the U.S. and Europe. An unforgettable story was her memories of life in post-war Germany. She was 4 years old a few months before World War 2 ended, and she remembered leaving a small town near Berlin and heading west because of her father’s job relocation. They disembarked from the train and were greeted by the sight of a city in flames, recently bombed. Having been in a small town, she had been spared this sight until now, at the mature age of four.

They set up house with no furniture because there was no way for them to bring it from their old house yet. “But it was the women who were so strong in those days,” Sigrid said. “They were so strong and brave.” After using cardboard boxes for tables and sleeping on the floor for months, Sigrid's mother took her two younger children (including our hostess) and made her way back to their old town. She got all the furniture from her aunt and uncle and loaded it onto a wagon and then onto a boxcar. Sigrid's mother and the children rode in the boxcar with the furniture, but at each station her mother had to get off to make sure the boxcar was going along with the next train. Sigrid remembers moments on the boxcar with no mother and wondering when she would come back. All the furniture and children made it safely to their new home.

I asked a question that has been simmering in my mind since I first visited Warsaw last July and more so after our visit in December, as I stepped off the train, back in Germany, pondering the huge changes that have occurred here since the horrors of the 30s and 40s. How did the people change? I told Sigrid that when I talk to my children about the war, I can’t bear to say, “the Germans” did this and that, but instead say, “the Nazis.” Sigrid agreed. She spoke with sadness about what happened in Poland and elsewhere. She talked about the social experiments that have been done since, that show how quickly people can be swayed to do horrible things to strangers or even classmates. But as to how things changed: a new generation grew up. Her generation. Sigrid and her peers saw the horrors of the war and the recovery involved. They didn’t want it to happen again. So they made sure it wouldn’t.

She talked about “that wonderful American general” who engineered the “Luftbrücke” or Berlin Airlift. I recalled learning in 8th grade about the Berlin Airlift, rather confused because I didn’t know my geography, but grateful that the Americans were being the good guys. Seeing Sigrid speak with such love in her voice for the pilot who was so brave and good to do this, I realized I didn’t know the half of it.

I asked Sigrid about when the Berlin Wall came down and the expression of joy on her face showed all. I had just told her how I remembered where I was when I heard the news, and I always thought that I could identify in the Germans’ happiness. But seeing her face made me feel like an outsider who pretends to know, but can’t really know. To me, as a senior in high school, the wall coming down was the happy ending to a fairy tale that had been dark for as long as I could remember. But to our hostess, it meant she could easily see her grandparents again. It meant the rejoining of something that had been too long separate. She could repeat to us verbatim the words spoken at the press conference that day in 1989, which she had been watching with rapt attention: “And when will this go into effect?” “Immediately.”

On Sunday we returned to Cologne briefly, to gaze on the cathedral again and spend a couple of hours at the Wallraf-Richartz Museum, an art museum with works from the Middle Ages to the Impressionists. The kids received scavenger hunt booklets which kept Elisabeth very involved, and gave Henry something to draw in. I suppose it was a museum-heavy trip, but we were glad we could see so much and enjoy it together. No, it was not whining free, but neither is our ordinary life.

Henry’s highlight of our trip will be the playground we found in Bonn on Saturday. Elisabeth’s will be climbing the cathedral tower. But they both loved having a home to come to each night of our stay. I wonder what they will remember, five years from now. It will be fun to find out.

Köln Today, Bonn Tomorrow

2012-01-31T14:37:00.000-08:00

Kölner Dom

I couldn’t help thinking of this little pun while we were exploring Bonn on Saturday, but it was already one day late. Actually, I think Germans don’t pronounce Bonn to rhyme exactly with “gone”--the short o vowel is shorter in duration somehow. These days if I’m not sure how to pronounce something, I ask Henry. He seems to be a pretty good gauge.

Elisabeth didn’t have school on Friday, so we took a 2 1/2 hour train ride to Cologne (Köln in German) and spent the day there. In truth, we spent most of the day in and around the cathedral.

It was everything I wanted it to be, and more. I had heard from John and several others who had been there that it is great to go to Cologne by train because when you get off the train you are right there at the cathedral. What they didn’t tell me is that the church dwarfs the train station. The windows of the station are huge, and allow only a portion of the cathedral to be seen. It was other worldly, and I’m having trouble doing it justice. The facade is black with age and pollution, but it in no way diminished its grandeur.

We left our luggage in a locker and began walking to the church, approaching it from the north: up the steps, gazing up and up as high as we could, then around to the main entrance on the west side. People dressed up like Roman soldiers, chilly angels, and even a dog in a kennel, cluttered the square in front of the church, hoping we’d ask them for a picture and give them a contribution. After being in Europe for over a year I’m jaded to their attraction. And on a cold day like Friday was, they weren’t very good at holding still like the statues they were meant to imitate.

Viewing the flying buttresses from above

Since a prayer service was about to begin in the cathedral and we didn’t want to disrupt it, we decided to do the hard work first and climb the south tower. I’ve climbed many church towers, and this one started out quite similar--up a stone spiral staircase. We passed stones dated 1865, showing the final completion date of the cathedral which was begun in the late 13th century. Imagine an unfinished construction project waiting for hundreds of years to be completed. But the cathedral was completed according to the original 13th century plans. As we climbed, we could look out tiny windows and see close ups of gargoyles and finials, all the intricate details that were fashioned down below and installed hundreds of feet up. Suddenly we came out of our spiral staircase and entered into a large, circular room, the base of the conical tower. This one had a metal staircase with switch backs. Henry counted the levels and Elisabeth marveled at the beauty. She satisfied her parents by being duly impressed. We were in mid air, and the bells tolled twelve o’clock.

Then we were as high as we could go, 97 meters. We walked around the spire itself and John photographed the inside of the very top. So high up, and everything was still so carefully fashioned. Flying buttresses have a special attraction to me. I love their shape, their purpose, their ornaments. I pointed them out to Elisabeth and talked about their importance in the construction of the church. From our high vantage point we looked out on 4 or 5 other churches and discussed whether they were Gothic or Romanesque in construction. I appreciated her enthusiasm for one of my delights.

Looking up to the inside of the spire

Henry, the ever-hungry timekeeper, told us it was time to go down. I could’ve stayed longer. The switch back stairs were one-way, so we had to descend a different way via a spiral staircase. I thought about doing the “mid-air” section again, just to experience it one more time, but as my legs were getting a little wobbly, I decided we should all stay together and descend.

After a hearty and delicious lunch at Oma’s Kuche (Grandmas’ Kitchen)--various versions of wurst, cabbage and potatoes--we headed back to the cathedral, this time to explore the inside. Again, our eyes were raised up, up and up. The space is huge and the light of the crisp January day shone through the stained glass windows, reflecting their colors on the stone walls. I alternated between my teacher persona and my pilgrim persona--wanting to explain things and figure out what this or that meant or how it was constructed, and then suddenly being caught up by the immensity of it all. I felt small. I couldn’t help but look up. But even when I looked down, I was likewise amazed by the huge mosaic that covers the floor all around the choir (the front of the cathedral).

Stained glass windows on a sunny day--made possible by sun and flying buttresses!

Later we went to the Schatzkammer, the treasury which held objects from the church, used in important ceremonies. The sun was still shining brightly, but we were descending underneath the church. I began to feel restless, although seeing the walls that used to form Roman houses was intriguing. We saw case after case of goblets, staffs and other ceremonial objects whose names I can’t remember. Then another room of garments worn by the bishops or archbishops. I was annoyed. How could there be so much wealth pored into this storage area? Finally I said to John, “I just don’t really get it.” He looked at me and said, “That’s because you’re looking at them as religious objects. Look at them as art.” It’s funny how quickly that changed my perspective. Is it because as religious objects, I saw them as something man was making to impress others or to impress God, but as art I could see it as something simply designed to express beauty? They became joyful offerings. The robes were so intricately embroidered. A bishop’s cape stretched out to about 3 meters wide and was full of embroidered birds, leaves, flowers. I even managed to get Henry interested in examining the magnificent garment. So the visit was not a complete loss to us.

We left the church (finally! according to Henry) and wandered around to the old market square, stopping for a coffee and afternoon snack. Eating inside is important for us on these sorts of trips, and we needed a warm place to sit down. Then we found one more church (not another church!) to look at, mostly for comparison purposes. At least one child is starting to get into it with me.

Thoughts on Taking Down the Christmas Tree

2012-01-14T12:52:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday it was time to take down the tree. I was ready for it to be gone--the needles were beginning to drop and there were spider webs from the top of the tree to the ceiling. Maybe those are always there, but this time I could actually see them close up because the tree was nestled against the stairs and the top was clearly visible from the second floor.

Three Kings Day . . .Epiphany . . .Heilige Drei Könige had come and gone.

John and I pulled the boxes down from the attic and the kids began removing the ornaments from the tree. But this time I wanted to pack them more carefully than usual because they would be traveling across the ocean again. And that made me sad.

I thought of Christmas two years ago when we were still in The Woodlands and oblivious to the upcoming move. I packed the ornaments up quickly and we shoved them in the back of our “closet of doom”--the one you can’t stand up in and goes way, way back. They sat there until August when the packers pulled them out, taped up the boxes and put them on the moving van.

It’s amazing that there weren’t more ornament casualties. Last Christmas we unpacked only one broken ornament and it was salvageable. For the past several years we’ve added to our ornament collection 3 or 4 at a time (3 before Henry was born). It started with John and me buying ornaments, for each other and for the children, that represented something significant about the past year. The year that we dog sat for 2 or 3 months he got me an ornament of a woman walking a dog. Elisabeth maintains that the ornament represents Miss Amy--dentist and owner of the dog we took care of-- because the woman is wearing a lab coat and the dog is a golden retriever. That’s just fine. It makes me smile and fondly think of her. We have a gymnast for the year Elisabeth took gymnastics, a ballet dancer for one of the years Elisabeth took ballet, farm house for the year Elisabeth learned to sing Old MacDonald. The tradition changed a bit last year as we let the children choose their own ornaments. Henry ended up with a small wooden “Laufrader”--a walking bike--representing the year he learned to ride his bike (but without pedals). This year he found a very fragile cement truck. I’m not sure what it represents, but we will remember who it belongs to.

The ornament that we found broken last Christmas was a painted glass house that represented God’s protection over us during Hurricane Ike. The back of it was knocked out, but it still hung together. We hung it up again this year nevertheless.

So all of these particularly fragile ornaments I wrapped in bubble wrap or set aside for the movers to pack. I didn’t want to trust to chance another overseas shipment.

But I could hardly bear to do it. The process took so long--I couldn’t figure out why, until I realized that this is the first of our packing to return to the U.S.

All the ornaments were finally off the tree and John hauled it outside. Then he and the kids lugged it down the street the half mile to the spot where all the trees are collected.

While they were gone, I collected the last few items around the house and pushed them into the boxes. I recalled my mom’s comment the day before and her reference of the church calendar: “It’s Three Kings’ Day . . .the end of the Christmas season. . . I’m ready for Ordinary Time.” We’ve had Advent, and then Christmas, and now, until Lent which begins mid-February, it is Ordinary Time.

Yes, I agree, I was ready for Christmas to be over, but I didn’t think I was ready for Ordinary Time.

During our first few weeks here I became weary of friends in the U.S. referring to our “adventure” here, and how great it was that we could have this “adventure.” In a moment of frustration and transition fatigue I wrote in an early post, “I am ready to drop the ‘adventure’ word from our vocabulary. This is our life now and while we may look back on it as an adventure, it doesn’t feel that way. Adventure is something you have when you go backpacking for two weeks, or when you get a flat tire in the rain, or when you go white water rafting; something that has a high level of unrelenting excitement and is relatively short term. Our time in Germany, while we view it as finite, does not have an observable end and it feels more like ordinary life with a great number of adjustment.”

It’s strange to read that again, because I was just right in my prediction. Now I can say that it’s been an adventure. A brief one with an observable end . . .late May we’re returning to the Houston area. The unrelenting excitement did wane a bit, but no matter how settled we are here, we’re still outsiders. Things are still different to us. Many mysteries remain. But I’m so glad we came.

And so it’s back to Ordinary Time.

John and Elisabeth with festive Berliners on New Year's Eve

Yesterday I went to the dentist and hung my coat on a coat rack before sitting down in the waiting room. That’s something we don’t have in Houston. Granted, in the north I guess there are more coatracks, but we still wear coats in Texas some times and we have no place to hang them. So I will miss coatracks.

And a few other things. Here’s a list I started while waiting for the dentist:

Coat racks
Insurance cards with information chips--perhaps some may find this freaky, but I find it so nice just to hand in a card and not have to give a ton of other information on forms 3 times over.
Trams. I can’t text and drive, but I can check email and read a book on the tram.
People calling me “Frau Stevens”
Leberwurst, Bratwurst, Schinkenwurst...
capitalizing all Nouns in a Sentence, regardless of where they are and whether they are proper Nouns or not
Not being rushed into and out of a restaurant
Seeing people biking in the rain with huge ponchos that cover their hands and legs
Beautiful shopping baskets of all kinds
Elstar apples. I have never seen them in the US but they are my favorite

Grünkohl (kale) and Bregenwurst during Advent

I’d like to thank a 12- or 13- year old girl for putting into words my conflicted feelings about returning to the U.S. After living in Russia for five years and preparing to return to the U.S., she said, “I feel like I’m tugged in two ways and I have no idea what to do. That’s the one problem with living abroad: you end up getting those weird feelings like, oh I can’t leave, I can’t stay, I can’t leave, I can’t stay.”

Arden Dressner Levy, age 13, in “My Family’s Experiment in Extreme Schooling”

Just another day in the Adventure: a stop in Berlin on the way home from Warsaw

Language Update

2011-12-15T06:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday on the way home from Kindergarten Henry cheerfully told me, “Mama, I got to eat in the kitchen and do Tisch Dienst.”

I thought I was Mommy.
What is Tisch Dienst?

This happens more and more often as our son is immersed in Kindergarten five days a week and I can’t help but think it is cute. However, being the educator that I am, I usually repeat things back the proper way. This time first I had to ask what Tisch dienst was. It means setting the table--literally “Table Service.” I asked him to tell me what he had to do to set the table and I was hoping he would tell me all the utensils in German, but amazingly his mind made the switch and it came out easily in English. And so very cutely. I’m rather enamored by my son lately.

Here’s one of my favorites:

“Today Emil was before lunch abgeholt.”

In German if you have a verb with 2 parts--here it is past tense--the second verb is always the last word of the sentence. It makes for some interesting translation if you aren’t careful. Hence Henry saying, “Today Emil was before lunch picked up.” It kind of reminds me of early English, and perhaps there is a reason for that, given our mutual ties with the Saxons. Alas, my History and Structure of the English Language class was many years ago.

Another time Henry saw some cherry tomatoes on the counter. He loves them. I wonder if he thinks they are candy. He looked up at me with a gleam in his eye and said, “Darf ich?” “Ja,” I replied. Then, “Darf ich zwei haben?” “Ja.”

He’s picked up a north German accent lately, leaving out the final vowels in both German and English, so we hear things like “When will you put the chick’n in the ov’n?” My German friends don’t always hear it, because they are doing the same things. I love it. “Mama, can you op’n it?” “Darf ich zwei hab’n?”

The mothers at Henry’s kindergarten have told me that he speaks German without an American accent. It always makes me feel proud: “Oh, yes, my son speaks German so well.” But that’s just silly. He couldn’t help but pick it up, and it is thanks to the kids and adults at Kindergarten that he’s learned what he has. Besides, with his up-front and I’m-boss personality, he had to learn it fluently so he could really be himself.

A few weeks ago we had, at Henry’s insistence, a Christmas party. He invited three friends and Elisabeth invited three friends. It was a sweet little affair, in both senses of the word. Fortunately, after the sweets, the 4 year olds (3 boys and 1 girl) decided to play outside in the 5 PM darkness. As they were putting on their boots, coats, hats, mittens and scarves, Henry was “saying” in in oh-so-loud inside voice, in German, “Now, this is how it’s gonna be! We’re gonna play tag and . . .” This a far cry from the boy last January who cried all the time in Kindergarten.

I’m sorry for Elisabeth’s sake, as she reads over these notes in future years, and she wonders, “Why did she write so much about Henry and not me?” Elisabeth has learned German in school, and I’m impressed with the program. But she is shy to speak it and really doesn’t have many friends to practice with, since all her friends who speak German fluently also speak English fluently; therefore they speak English together. Oh--sounds kind of like me. But when we are with Henry’s young friends who don’t speak English, she does come out of her reticence, and that’s when I get to hear how much she’s learned--think of the things a mothering 8 year-old would say to her little brother’s friends--that’s what she’s mastered. But it will never be as natural as it is for Henry. That being said, I wouldn’t trade what we’ve gained through the International School.

While John dutifully does his German grammar homework two or three times a week to keep up with his German class at work, I get most of my practice these days on the field--the grocery store, the telephone (yes, sometimes it must be done), at Kindergarten, and with other mothers from Henry’s Kindergarten. The other night I joined six other mamas (it’s mama here, not mommy) for some Gluhwein at the Christmas market and then dinner. It’s a fun group and I’m swept along by the lively conversation and window into other people’s lives, but the window was rather foggy last night. I could usually tell what the conversation topic was, and bits and pieces of what was being said, but it was difficult to keep up. It’s the sort of conversation that, if recorded and played in a language class, would have to be played back about 10 times and slowed down, if possible, for the students to figure out what was being said. I just had to be on guard in case all eyes went in my direction and I was expected to enter in. When I did enter in, it felt like the world was moving in slow motion as my words got all jumbled on my tongue. But the patient and expectant looks were enough to keep me going.

Gluhwein with John; Hot Chocolate for the Kids

Learning to Give

2011-12-13T06:23:00.000-08:00

Our hearts have been stretched, we recently found out, but it happened slowly.

Poverty, food shortage, contaminated water, starvation--these words bring images to my mind of children with bulging bellies and scarred skin. They were problems a million miles away that I thought could do nothing about, so I put up a mental wall of protection. If I saw pictures or heard pleas for help, I would ignore them, thinking it was too big of a problem for me to deal with, or I justified my inaction with the idea that the funds were most likely not going to get to those who needed the help, and even if they did, it would be a drop in a bucket. I had heard for years about “sponsoring a child” from Africa or India or the like. It never moved me.

When I was 33 and our daughter was almost two years old, I suffered a miscarriage of twins. At the time it was the most devastating event of my life. My husband and I mourned their loss and couldn’t help but think of what could’ve been. My parents were living in Vietnam at the time, and longed to be with me, to comfort me and help me in my recovery. Since they could not, and since they could never heal the hole, they memorialized our loss by giving a year of education to two children in a developing country. I received a card from World Vision that read, “This gift, given in your name through World Vision, will help ensure that two children in a developing country have the resources they need to enroll in school and build a brighter future.” I thought about our two tiny tiny babies, whom I could no longer help, and I thought of these two children who were benefitting from my parents’ generosity and creative giving. My heart was moved. I still wanted to cry over our babies, but I could also look forward for these children and the new life and learning they would receive. My skepticism was beginning to wane.

Less than two years later, my older brother Tim died. My sister-in-law requested that gifts be given in his honor to World Vision, because this was an organization that was dear to his heart: one that desired to show compassion to the poor and bring justice to the oppressed. Because of my deep respect and love for my brother I was eager to participate in this act of giving in my his memory.

And so World Vision became a part of our lives. We began to receive information in the mail from them, and slowly I began to read it. The needs discussed and the possibilities of help I could offer began to soak in.

That Christmas, the first for our son Henry, we gave a gift of chickens to a hungry family. We got a little bookmark with prayer requests on the back, and our little four year old Elisabeth was happy to “pray for the chickens.” And we also prayed for those who received the chickens.

During this time I also began noticing small, orange magnetic picture frames on friends’ refrigerators. I found out that these were pictures of children they sponsored through World Vision. I began to think seriously for the first time about sponsoring a child. I read about it on the World Vision website--you could choose a child or be assigned a child in their program and send World Vision $35 per month. This money would go towards education for the child, adequate food, as well as community programs.

Meanwhile, our children were growing up in an upper middle class neighborhood with easy access to just about whatever they wanted. John and I decided that we should broaden Elisabeth’s horizons by sponsoring a child. It would be good for Elisabeth, nearly five years old, to see how other people live and even to interact with a young girl through letters. We wanted Elisabeth to learn to be generous.

So just before Elisabeth’s fifth birthday I went to the “Sponsor a Child” section of the World Vision website. On the website we could search for sponsored children by gender and birthdate. In an instant the face of a brown girl with short, skinny braids appeared. She was born on the same day and in the same year as Elisabeth. She lived in Ethiopia. It was not love at first sight, I must confess. I did not think, “Oh look how beautiful and sweet you are.” Actually I thought her name was so strange. Gedamnesh. I wasn’t sure if I could pronounce it. But I selected her and we committed to sponsoring her. We sent $35 per month to World Vision, and began writing letters.

At first, letter writing was awkward for me. What could I write about that didn’t involve my personal possessions, so vast in comparison to what Gedamnesh owned? I found it was easier for me to type my letters and then copy them out by hand. By the time I wrote to Gedamnesh it was nearly Thanksgiving. Elisabeth had already sent a note and some pictures. I wrote about a couple of our favorite dishes for Thanksgiving, and I wrote about the kids playing in the leaves. Usually our letters crossed in the mail, so it was difficult to keep track of which letter she was replying to. Her letters were full of gratitude and warm greetings to my family and friends.

Warmest greetings to you and your respected family! How well do you get along with your family? My family friends and I are so well.

At the end of the letters were always these words, “Written by project worker as your child speaks.”

The first Christmas of our sponsorship we wanted to give an additional Christmas gift, and we had read online that if we sent a gift of money for Gedamnesh to World Vision, they would send the money to the local project in Ethiopia, and the project workers would discuss with Gedamnesh’s family how best to use the money. Elisabeth was disappointed that she could not pick out something from the World Vision gift catalog and have it sent to Gedamnesh--she wanted to send chickens--but I explained to her that the project workers would find out what she needed most. I imagined it would be a set of clothes and maybe something for the household. We had to wait a long time for the letter from World Vision telling us how the money was spent. I was so curious to find out what we had gotten her for Christmas. Finally in February or March we received this letter:

Dear Laurel Stevens,

How are you and your beloved family doing? I hope you all are doing great. Here my family and I are doing well. Thanks to almighty God.

Recently, we have received a kind gift of 150 USD through project worker of World Vision. It is equivalent to 1485.35 Ethiopian Birr, which is a lot. Thank you very much.

After holding through discussion together with the project worker how to use the money. Thus we purchased the following list of items according to our prioritized needs.

One heifer
One complete set of clothes
One pair of shoes
One blanket
One pair of socks

Oh how I appreciate your gifts. Your help makes a change and improves our life. Now our life is changing and improving. What we can give you in return is that praying to your God. He can repay you back. God bless you. Hoping you peace.

Your sponsored child,

Gimbaru, Gedamnesh

Written by project worker as your child speaks

***

I stood there holding the letter, staring at the words, “One heifer” over and over. I was humbled. We had begun this experience by committing to send money and write letters so our daughter would learn about another way of life, and learn to share. Now I was seeing just what a little bit from us could do. It began great things. I suddenly felt more invested in Gedamnesh than I ever thought I would. This wasn’t just piddling around. This was buying an animal for her family that would in turn produce other animals and give them milk.

The letter came with a picture of Gedamnesh wearing her new clothes and holding a blanket. Her father stands with her. He is holding a rope and in front of them both stands the heifer.

We continued this tradition of sending money for a Christmas gift, and each year Gedamnesh and her family received a heifer in addition to clothes and other items for Gedamnesh.

When Henry turned four years old we decided that we would sponsor a second child and I looked for a boy with Henry’s birthday. I looked in Ethiopia for one born on the same day and year as Henry, but instead we were presented with Tigist, born on Henry’s birthday, but just a little younger than Elisabeth. In the intervening months we have received one letter and are working on building up our relationship with Tigist.

In May of 2011 Elisabeth’s class was studying cultures of children around the world, so I asked if I could talk to the class about the children we sponsor in World Vision. I compiled the letters we’d received from Gedamnesh and wrote down some highlights. Elisabeth drew a picture illustrating all the things we’d learned about Gedamnesh’s life. The children of Elisabeth’s class asked good questions and the teacher was delighted to learn (to her surprise) that World Vision, a Christian organization, helps children of all religions and cultures all over the world. Afterwards I realized that working on and making the presentation showed me how attached we had become to Gedamnesh over the past three years and how much we’d learned about her.

Then in October we received shocking news. Due to government changes in Ethiopia, World Vision was no longer able to continue its relationship with Gedamnesh’s project. The project in her village was closing. I received a farewell letter from Gedamnesh and shortly thereafter, the news from World Vision of the closing. I wept and wept. And then I wondered how I could’ve become so attached to a girl I’d never met. She is only just now 8 years old. I was angry at the government that they couldn’t keep up this vital relationship that would only serve to help their people. What would happen to Gedamnesh? Would the projects that were started bear fruit? She had told us in a letter that she wanted to become a nurse. I was so happy to be watching this little girl grow up and to see possibilities of helping others. Now I wondered if she would reach her goals.

I realized, however, that though our letters would not reach her anymore, our prayers will still reach God. We know how to pray for her, and she has opened up a new world for us. I exchanged some emails with World Vision and read some more on their website to answer some of these questions.

While we were sponsoring Gedamnesh, she received our letters, and the money helped her to be able to go to school, but the money also helped her entire community. During the time we were sponsoring her, a new water well was built so women could get clean water closer to their homes, and a new school was constructed. Knowing that the community was being built up gives me hope that the work begun will continue to be carried out.

I take comfort in rereading her letter and seeing her appreciation of what has been done in her community and the lasting nature of the projects.

Dear Stevens, Laurel

How are you doing? We all are doing well, thanks to God.

After many years of relationship, time is come to end up our relation. And I want you to know that you did great job here.

I have benefitted a lot from World Vision in various ways. . . It is you who supported us via World Vision and enabled us to live good life. So, I would like to say thank you.

God bless you all.

I wish you love, peace, joy and health.

Gedamnesh

When Gedamnesh’s project closed, World Vision assigned us a new girl to sponsor. She is four years old, born just a few days before Henry. We haven’t received a letter from her yet, but we look forward to watching her grow from afar, just as we got to see Gedamnesh grow from a tiny tiny five year old, to an 8 year old who wants to be a nurse.

What else can I say? This is a good way to give. It brings great joy, but it also hurts. Isn’t that a little bit like the gift that God gave us?

For more information follow these links:

World Vision Child Sponsorship

World Vision Gift Catalog

Confessions of a Sponsorship Skeptic

Part 2: Nikolaus Tag

2011-12-07T12:43:00.001-08:00

Henry woke up early on St. Nicholas' Day. John was upstairs so he was the one to talk with Henry and send him back to bed, as it was not yet 6:30 AM wake up time.

“Daddy, I had a bad dream.”

“Aww, did you?”

“Yes. Daddy, is St. Nikolaus dead?”

John answered that yes, he is dead.

“Oh. Then who will put something in my boot?” he asked worriedly.

“Well, who else loves you?”

With a bright smile, “Mommy and Daddy!”

Then he went back to bed. John related the story to me before Henry got up again, and I was relieved that all our uncertainties of the night before were resolved. I guess I imagined that since he knew we loved him, he knew we had filled his boot.

Elisabeth was not such an early riser as Henry, but nor was Henry overly anxious to check his boot. I had to remind him that it was available. I managed to have him and Elisabeth get dressed before they went downstairs--it was still a school morning after all. Dressing didn’t take long and they were soon downstairs, exploring their boots. I didn’t keep in mind the size of their boots, and perhaps did go overboard--each had a small lego package and a Lebkuchen heart--something you see at the Christmas markets here. Lebkuchen is gingerbread, but it has taken me a year to get used to it because it tastes spicier than American gingerbread, I think. The hearts were about as big as one of John’s hands, so they sort of poked out of the open boots. They had lots of icing on them and a string through them, so kids can wear them around their necks. Henry’s read, “Mausi”--Mousy; Elisabeth’s, “Du bist suß”--you are sweet. Even John got one, because when I was buying them I recognized on a heart a word I had just learned: “Mein Held”--my hero.

The children were happy with their treats, but I was waiting for a thank you. Perhaps Elisabeth thanked me, but I don’t think so. If you’re playing along with the farce that someone else brought all these things, then who is there for you to thank? But I let it go for a little longer.

He's really not crying here--this is one of Henry's "big smiles"

Henry, apparently, was still sure that St. Nikolaus brought the things, even though he was dead. He referred to what he got from Nikolaus at various times during the day. He had a playdate with a 6 year-old boy that afternoon, and Henry asked him what he got from Nikolaus. Nothing, was the boy’s reply, followed by something I’m not sure I understood correctly--he wasn’t nice enough to his mom. I am sure there is more to the story here, but I’m not sure how to delicately find out.

I was glad to have the angst of the previous night behind me. All day Henry was singing a little song he had learned at Kindergarten:

“Wustig, wustig, twa wa wa wa wa, heut’ ist Niklausab’nd da”

Turns out “wustig” is meant to be “lustig” which means happy. Tra la la. Today it’s Nikolaus Eve. It applied to the day before, but I will enjoy his singing any day.

Tuesday night after the kids were in bed I ran across a blog post about Christmas, Santa Claus etc., and I realized that I am not the only person who doesn’t want her children confused about what is true and what is imaginary. I think this was the sort of encouragement I needed for the next day.

December 7th:

It was time for Henry to go to Kindergarten and he was putting on his boots. “Mommy, why didn’t you put your boots out?”

I had to think of the proper response once again, but decided to just be out with it.

“Henry, do you know who put the things in your boot?”

“St. Nikolaus,” he replied.

“No, I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I love you and I wanted us to think about St. Nikolaus and how he loved the poor people.” Even as I was speaking this seemed rather like hog-wash. Henry’s not poor. If I wanted to honor St. Nikolaus, I should be filling other people’s shoes.

But Henry interrupted my thoughts with, “Well, St. Nikolaus still did it.”

This afternoon they were eating their Lebkuchen hearts (it was the 2nd eating session). Elisabeth said, “Mommy, why didn’t you get yourself one?”

Henry didn’t seem to be noticing the conversation.

“Well, I just saw them and I thought of you.” Real answer: I buy sweets for myself all the time.

Somehow Henry did notice what we were talking about, so I looked at him and said, “I put those in your boot.”

“You did? Where did you buy them?”

I explained how we were at the Christmas market in Celle and I snuck off and bought them because I thought they would enjoy the cookies.

He seemed intrigued this time. But I think it was sinking in, because at dinner he suddenly asked, “Did you put the legos in my stocking too Mommy?”

“Yes!” I said with a big smile. I mean, it’s fun to give gifts, right? I was having fun.

“Where did you buy them?”

I thought about saying that it was a secret, but I just said I bought them at a store, at that was it. He seemed to be mulling this over for a while, but we had no further conversations about it for the rest of the evening.

So, we continue our little journey. I know Henry has lots of questions to ask and answer in his life. I don’t think I’m being a kill-joy or a spoil-sport by removing the veil from St. Nikolaus and Santa Claus, (by the way, Henry seems to have no uncertainty that Santa is not real). Instead I hope to be making the way clear for Elisabeth and Henry to see the amazing miracle that really did occur one night in Bethlehem--when God became a man and lived with us.

From the words of “O Magnum Mysterium”

O great mystery,

and wonderful sacrament,

that animals should see the new-born Lord,

lying in a manger!

As we light the Advent wreath each night we have been singing one verse from “O Come O Come, Emmanuel.” Each week we add a verse. After a week and a half, Henry asked tonight, “What’s Emmanuel?”

I was happy to be able to tell him so simply: It means God is with us.

Sankt Nikolaus and the Boots

2011-12-05T12:54:00.001-08:00

This evening I was fixing dinner and suddenly Henry cried out, “You have to clean my boots!” I said, “I have to? I think you have to.”

“Okay, but can you help me?”

He went and got Elisabeth and I gave them a brush and a rag, and they got to work. I thought it was a really cute scene, the two of them cleaning their boots for St. Nikolaus. I’ve never made it a point to foster our children’s belief in Santa Claus, but the St. Nikolaus tradition somehow seemed more grounded in reality, maybe because his name wasn’t changed around so much. Last year Elisabeth asked if she could put out her boots and I said sure. So this year they took it for granted that they would do so again, and so did I. I just sort of figured they knew I filled the boots.

Boot Cleaning

The kids were cleaning away, and I’ve never seen Henry so concerned about the cleanliness of his boots. Then suddenly he cried out, “What if my boots aren’t clean enough and I don’t get anything in my boot?” I didn’t know what to say. Truthfully they weren’t perfectly clean, but it was certainly good enough for my standards. I helped him pull out some white threads that had attached themselves to the velcro, and I showed him how to brush the velcro to get out any hidden sand. But we didn’t get all the threads and he was still anxious.

“What if they aren’t clean enough?” and he began to cry.

I wanted to tell him the truth, that I would put something in his boot, but something stopped me, and I think it was in part the fear of people (!!) and in part the desire to let him figure it out for himself, hopefully sooner rather than later. I had only a couple of weeks ago had a frank conversation with Elisabeth about elves and Santa Claus. She told me a friend of hers had an elf, a real elf, and she wanted one too. I couldn’t believe that Elisabeth actually thought the elf was real. I said, “Elisabeth, we can be honest. What questions do you have?” She said timidly, “If people have been to the North Pole, why haven’t they seen Santa Claus?” I asked her what she thought the answer was. “He’s not real so he’s not really there.” I nodded, albeit rather sadly and sheepishly. Why did I feel sad and sheepish? I’ve always pointed out that the man in the red suit holding the infant Elisabeth is really Grandpa. I’ve always labeled the presents, “From Mommy and Daddy.” So why did I feel sheepish? Because there was part of her that was believing a fairy tale and I grounded her in facts.

So since my eight year old only just realized that it’s a fairy tale, how could I expect my four year-old son to understand as well? Apparently his teacher at Kindergarten had told them all to clean their boots really well so they would get something in it. With Henry’s tears I was getting a little upset about that. Elisabeth didn’t help matters by reminding us that if you’re good you’ll get something in your boot. If you’re not good, you’ll get sticks. Truly if Henry had gone with other children to visit St. Nikolaus today or yesterday I can imagine him being one of those children who get sticks.

So how to answer Henry’s earnest question, what if they aren’t clean enough? What if I don’t get anything?

Should I tell him, “Well, then you’ll learn your lesson and clean them better next year.” or “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” “They’re good enough, and you’ve been a good boy this year. You’ll get something!”

But I couldn’t.

Henry has not been good this year. Just last week he was telling us that he was “Bewegungsraum Verboten”--he was forbidden for a week to play in the movement room at Kindergarten because he didn’t listen to the teacher. He got one day of play, then he broke the rules again and got kicked out for another reason which he refused to divulge. He’s often in time out and I’m even more often telling him “No” and “stop that.”

So telling Henry that he’s been good enough is very confusing. Telling him his boot is clean enough is vague. If I do so, I’m turning a free gift into an earned reward, and I’m not being honest either, since he didn’t really earn it. I want my children to know the difference.

So what do I say? I wish I had just come right out and said, “Henry, St. Niklaus is dead. We honor his memory in what we do tonight, and so I’ll put something in your boot, like what St. Niklaus did for the young women who needed money for their dowries so long ago.”

Instead I tried to figure out the best way to explain it without really giving it all away. It’s not that I didn’t want him to know the truth. I just didn’t want him to go to Kindergarten and tell everyone they were wrong.

I asked Henry, “Have you been good all day long?” “Yes,” he replied. Oh, this wasn’t going as planned. “Have you never had a time out or never done something to hurt someone?” I wasn’t being as patient with the process as I would’ve liked, but eventually we established that he had done wrong things. Then I pointed out that we’ve all done wrong things, so none of us deserve to get anything in our boots. “So do you know why you will get something in your boot?” “Why?” “Because someone loves you!” And that time he did get the cue right and said, “You love me!” “Yes! I do.”

That was fine for the moment, but later John asked him who St. Nicholas was. He had no idea, so I pipped in, “Maybe Daddy could read you a book about St. Nicholas tonight.” I had forgotten that all the good books I’d read to Elisabeth about St. Nicholas were from the library so none was quickly on hand, but Elisabeth found a story in a Christmas book she’s been reading and gave it to John. I came in Henry’s room while John was reading and Henry had a very sad and perplexed look on his face. It wasn’t really a story of who Nicholas was as much as it was a story about how kids celebrate Christmas AND St. Nicholas Day, so it got rather muddled.

John said he would read Henry and Mudge and I promised to come and tell Henry a story about St. Nicholas after I read to Elisabeth. So here’s my version, compiled from what I’ve read of the man and brought to a 4 year-old’s level:

Once, a long time ago, there was a man named Nicholas. He loved Jesus very much. So much that he wanted to give that love to others. In his town there were two young ladies who wanted to get married, but they didn’t have enough money for their weddings. They were so sad.

One evening, after they had washed their clothes, their shoes and their stockings, they set them all out to dry, and then they went to bed. Late that night, while everyone was sleeping, kind Nicholas came to their house and tossed some money through the open window. It landed in their stockings, or was it their shoes? I don’t remember. In the morning, when the young ladies woke up and saw the gift, they saw that it was just what they needed to get married. But they never knew who gave it to them.

Henry was smiling and giggling with the secret. “But we know!”

So on December 6th we honor St. Nicholas. . .

But he interrupted: “I will always know who puts things in my stocking or in my boot.” Ah, I thought, with a big inner smile, he does know it’s me! and he continued, “On December 6th it’s St. Nikolaus because it’s Sankt Nikolaus Tag, and on December 25th it’s Santa Claus. I won’t get it mixed up. I have a good memory.”

Oh great.

I must have said something that got him thinking again, because he started looking worried and asked about his boots. As the grown up, I can see the cool imagery--dirty versus clean, earned rewards versus true gifts--and I thought maybe, maybe I could teach this to Henry.

“Henry,” I attempted, “Jesus loves you so much. It’s like your boots were so very dirty and you couldn’t clean them, so Jesus gave you his really clean boots and took your dirty boots for himself.”

A brief pause, a thoughtful look, and then a question, “So will Jesus give me his boots if mine aren’t clean enough?”

I obviously don’t understand the concrete stage my son is in.

It was late, and I wanted to give Henry assurance of boot-filled-ness, so I wrapped up by saying, “Henry, you will have something in your boot, because I love you.”

Let’s hope that one day he’ll figure out what I’ve been trying to say.

Mountain Wanderings

2011-11-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

Reflecting the Setting Sun (photo by Meredith Stone)

Our trip to Süd Tirol feels like a long time ago now--John has left for two trips since we returned from our family trip. We are getting back into our routines again. But in my mind’s eye I can still see the light gray Dolomites surging up against the backdrop of a blue sky, green mountains spreading down in the foreground.

Our Approach Road (see first post about Süd Tirol)-photo by Meredith Stone

Rittnerhorn Summit (photo by Ralph Stone)

We took a few hikes with the children. The one I most wanted to do turned out to be only the prelude to what became my favorite. We took a cable car to the start of the hike, and then hiked the rest of the way up to the 2260 meter summit. We had a gorgeous day for this, but it turned out to be steeper than I had thought. Elisabeth had no trouble. Henry kept on pretty well but I was quite grateful that he needed to stop and rest as much as he did. I was getting winded. After about an hour or so we reached the summit. It was not a steep, tiny summit, like I think of when I think of hikes in the Rockies. Rather it was a wide area with a little restaurant, a radio tower etc. It is usually a nice thing to be able to hike to a restaurant--something I remembered from my visit to Süd Tirol 14 years ago with my mom, but this summit was just too busy for me. We made our way to the back side, the side of the summit with a less friendly approach to the top, and ate sandwiches while gazing at the panorama of the Alps. We chose a different route for our descent which was not so steep, so I was able to look around more, rather than making sure I was putting my feet in the right places.

Another Scenic Swingset

But the highlight of the day for me came when we decided, after taking the cable car down again, that instead of waiting an hour for the bus to come, we would walk the rest of the way to our farmhouse. We had our map with us, which showed the numerous trails in the area. Unfortunately the first part of our hike took us along a road. The scenery was nice, but we were too close to the cars for my comfort. After about 20 minutes though, we were in the middle of the woods. The mountains came in and out of view amongst the trees. The hike was easy for the children and the topography varied.

Cairn City (photo by Ralph Stone)

A typical marker for a trail is a “cairn” or pile of rocks set up to point the way. We came upon numerous cairns on our trip, and then we rounded a bend and saw what looked like a castle sculpture of cairns. Walkers and hikers had come by to leave their mark in elaborate variations on the theme. The kids tried their hands at making their own, but I was mostly afraid they would knock down the ones already there.

The Hike Home

The bright sun was getting lower and lower, and by the time we reached Klobenstein it was nearly 5:30. But we were all glad we’d taken the long way home. That’s the nice thing about vacation--you can take longer to do things and it’s worth it.

Mountain Morning

2011-11-07T13:37:00.000-08:00

On our first morning in Süd Tirol, the kids woke us up at 7 AM. It was very dark in our apartment, since we had closed the exterior shutters, and there were no night lights, so we were all sort of stumbling around. The bathroom is one step up from the rest of the apartment, and there are thresholds to step over from one room to the next. Any bruises we have may be a result of that. The next nights we didn’t bother to close the shutters. Those of us living on the plains need reminders of what a mountain morning in October is like. There’s no bright sun streaming into your room at 7 AM.

Once we were up I suddenly had a brilliant idea that we should go outside to see the sunrise. I quickly made coffee, got dressed and everyone bundled up so we wouldn’t miss it. Our hostess, Maria, saw us leaving and commented on our early rising. When John told her that we were going to see the sunrise, I wonder if she laughed a little.

There we were, all bundled up and there was the sky--perfectly clear and growing a little lighter. It got lighter and lighter, but no, it wasn’t the spectacular sunrise I expected. There was no sun. I felt a bit chagrined as I realized where we were--up high in the mountains, with higher mountains around us. The sun would have to come up quite high before we could see it.

Nevertheless it was certainly a peaceful time of morning. We went over to the barn to watch the farmer milk the cows--cleaning the teats, attaching the machine to each of the cows, hearing the chug, chug. We followed the pipes to see where the milk went, and saw a big round metal tub. Later we had milk from those cows--my first taste of raw milk. Good stuff.

After our little walk I was ready to cook and eat breakfast: eggs and milk from the farm, and rolls from the bakery from down the road. The rolls were Semmels, something I remember from my days in Vienna. They look like what we call Kaiser rolls, but no seeds on top. The highlight was the jam that Maria made--fresh apricot jam from a tree out our window. Later she was telling me about all kinds of local specialties that are made from that fruit, but I got lost in the German.

Meanwhile, Sunday morning we didn’t really see the sun shining over the mountains until about 9:30 when I was washing the breakfast dishes. Then I had to go get my sunglasses as I finished washing up.

Stevens in Süd Tirol

2011-10-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a week in Süd Tirol, Italy. Americans say, “Where?” Germans say, “Oh, I went there last summer” or “Oh, I grew up going there.” Or, “Oh, we have been there every year for the last 3 years. The kids love it.” So along with all the Germans we went to the German speaking part of Northern Italy. Süd Tirol used to belong to Austria, hence the German. Everyone said the German would sound different, and sometimes I really noticed the difference, but I don’t speak German well enough to be able to point out the different words. I think perhaps it is similar to a European noticing a Texan accent. I might get some flack for that.

Our view from Sallrainhof

We left Hannover at 4 AM. By the time the sun rose we were in Bavaria. We were all quite awake for those three hours, so it was exciting to finally be able to see where we were. About 6:30 we rounded a bend on the autobahn and the beginnings of a sunrise were in clear view. The orange, pink and purple sky was nestled between hills. The black silhouette of a castle rose to the left. It was the first of innumerable castles we would see. We were finally in the part of Germany that many Americans picture--hills and castles. We were finally away from the plains.

A few hours later at the border of Germany and Austria the sky clouded over and the sunny day was gone. Then we went through a tunnel and entered Austria. As we exited the tunnel, immediately the sky was clear and mountains shot up around us. John and I stared in wonder, and then I looked back at the kids, happy that they too were looking around in wonder, not buried in books or drawings. It turns out we had taken the slow way through the mountains, but I’m so glad we did. Every turn brought new wonders. The juxtaposition of mountain peaks and farmland is not something I’m used to. At one point John suddenly turned off the CD (Beethoven’s 9th, although we decided the 6th, the Pastorale, would’ve been more appropriate) and opened the windows. A local church was chiming the noon hour. Bright and happy, holy and inviting. Soon we were behind a slowly moving tractor and we could savor it all the more.

After another hour and a half, we were making the last ascent to the Ritten Plateau, our destination. I have great confidence in my husband’s driving abilities and of course the care and attention he pays to driving. And I’m sure he was doing a good job up all those hairpin turns, but I confess there were times I wanted to close my eyes. He passed not one, but two tour busses during our ascent. And once or twice I had to give myself a stern talking to so as not to picture us all hurtling over the rocks at the edge of the turn. Nevertheless we arrived safely at Sallrainhof, just outside of Klobenstein.

Our destination was a farmhouse, one of many on the Ritten plateau. Why the Ritten is a plateau, I can hardly say, except that perhaps my understanding of a plateau is false. Once we got to our farmhouse, we couldn’t go anywhere except by going down. That meant that coming home meant up. And up and up. But it was worth it. Out of every window of our farmhouse apartment were fantastic, I-have-to-pinch-myself views. There was no dishwasher, but I could see the Dolomites with every dish I had to wash. The kids loved going outside and swing on the tiny swing set. I have never seen a more scenic view from a swing. And real people live there. Our hostess Maria, the farmer’s wife, was born in Slovakia and has lived in Italy for about 20 years. She is mother to two lively boys, and married to a man who’s family has lived on the Ritten plateau for generations. His dad worked this same farm, and his grandfather was from a farm down the road. It wasn’t long before we were enjoying a glass of local wine with Maria and the other guests (also from Hannover). Later, after a trip to the grocery store, we had coffee and Krapfen, a local sweet specialty, baked by Maria. And that was just the first day.

Pony riding on Monday

Just a little bit of news

2011-09-19T23:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I heard a first from Henry--he was telling me what was on the Kindergarten lunch menu for Thursday and he said, "It gives Pizza on Thursday!" He was so excited, I had to ask him to repeat himself to see if he really said what I thought he said. He directly translated the German phrase into English. In German you say, "Es gibt am Donnerstag Pizza!" I thought it was pretty funny. I wasn't sure if I should correct him or not, and I didn't until later. I figure it will all get sorted out at some point.

Yesterday morning Henry asked me, "How do you say 'tomorrow'?" "Morgen." "How do you say 'Grandmere'?" "Oma or Grossmutter." Ah, then I realized--he wanted to tell everyone that Grandmere was coming tomorrow! This morning on the way to Kindergarten he said, "How do you say 'today'?" He's got some news to tell.

Riding to German class through some orchards and gardens.

I've been taking a 5 week German class, 4 days a week, 4 hours a day. It pretty much changes my schedule around. For the last 2 weeks I've been biking there, which is a lovely ride in this cool fall weather. I ride through the woods, down some streets with shops and apartments and then along the Mittelland Canal.

I would like to say that my German has remarkably improved, but I can't say that is true. I have learned some grammar which has been lacking, but I think I would need to take the next 2 or 3 classes to really get going. But not right now . . .

Speaking of which, I better sign off or I'll be late.

Lüneberger Heide

2011-08-29T13:59:00.000-07:00

Intriguing Walk

I’m in love with the heath. In the guide book this place kept grabbing my attention from our earliest arrival. Finally as my birthday approached I told the family that is where we would go to celebrate. So, against German custom (celebrating early is bad luck) we drove to Lüneberger Heide for my “birthday outing” as our family is beginning to term these little trips.

It started out poorly. In spite of my enthusiasm, I hadn’t planned well. I just figured we would go exploring. There is a large nature park that encompasses part of the heath (Heide), so during the one hour drive I was looking at the website on my iPhone and telling John where to go, continually revising our plan. Nevertheless, we arrived in good time and parked.

But was it chilly! I guess the house was warm when we got dressed, and the sun was shining, so half the family left without coats, and only one fourth of the family had a jacket that might repel rain. Another fourth did bring an umbrella (but I didn’t know that then). I was anxious. And exhibiting qualities I would not like my children to emulate. Finally (with my husband’s cheerfulness and commitment) I decided that I was determined to enjoy the day, come what may, so we set off, Henry riding his bike and wearing my brand new sweater--a lightweight green shrug that at least gave him a bit of warmth, while I wrapped my scarf tight around my neck and zipped up my jacket. I looked longingly at the Germans wearing parkas much like the ones we had left at home.

A single heather plant is not outstanding. It is humble. It looks lonely and not very colorful even in bloom. I thought I had hoped for too much. But then we passed some more trees and began to see the heather stretching out in bloom in front of us, filling up the rolling hills and bringing grins to all our faces.

The Heath

The ride was at times challenging for the kids, but also rewarding when they reached "the top" over and over again. It also gave John and me time to talk and enjoy the scenery together and wonder if it would rain. Times to finish one’s sentences are to be treasured.

We walked to a tiny village of thatched roofs and cobblestones, then retraced our steps for a bit then branched off to make the left side of the circle home. This brought a “swervy” downhill, to use Henry’s word. The kids were stopping often to wait for us, but with this first big downhill we couldn’t see them for a few minutes. I looked around at the full and darkening clouds, with patches of light brightening the landscape, the purple fields beckoning me, and decided I would not worry. I would enjoy this moment. And of course, the kids were fine, laughing and excited at the independence they were gaining.

Thatched roofs everywhere

We had biked/walked for about two hours and hoped to make it to a restaurant for a late lunch. Henry was beginning to lose his cool, when we came upon a shepherd with his flock of sheep and goats. The skies opened at last and John brought out his special treat: the surprise umbrella. So during the downpour we huddled together, helmets bumping, leaning against a rock, and watched the sheep romp and eat and be moved along by the sheep dogs. We were envious of the shepherd’s mantel and wool hat as he graciously allowed us to take his picture. I longed to ask him, “Are you for real?” I didn’t ask, but I like to think he was. He gave commands to his dog and I asked Henry what he was saying. “Go farther.” Good words for a kindergartener to know.

Enjoying the rain

The rain stopped and the sun shone brightly. About twenty minutes later we arrived at a Gasthaus and had a big lunch of pork and Pfefferlings, a local seasonal specialty (kids had fish sticks or potato pancakes). Too full for dessert, we continued our way to the parking lot where we’d left our car. But before we could drive home, we had to go for one more walk. We learned that if you want to get kids excited about taking a walk, make them ride their bikes for three hours first! This terrain had the familiar heather, but we were on the side of a hill, walking amongst the scrubby trees. It was beautiful once again, and the sort of walk that I think the children will remember--in and out of groves of trees with low hanging branches and knobby roots. There seemed to be a beetle migration going on as many black beetles were individually crossing the path. Many were hindered in their efforts and Henry was nearly in tears at all the crushed beetles. So we spent some minutes in trying to rescue those in transit. Their undersides were a brilliant iridescent blue.

At last it was time to return home, and so we joined thousands of Germans returning home from the weekend vacation and our fifty minute outward trip took one hour and forty minutes in return.

It is Monday night and I am still glowing from our Sunday outing. We saw only a glimpse of the heath and of the nature park, but it was enough to open our imaginations, to fill our minds with new images, and to make us want to continue to explore this beautiful and amazing world God has made.

http://www.naturpark-lueneburger-heide.com/

A few Warsaw Views . . .here, as in Germany, W is pronounced "V"

2011-07-10T06:51:00.000-07:00

Warsaw is a beautiful city. I must say, though, it took me a few days to appreciate it. Sunshine helps too. I've learned that big cities scare me for a few days and then I start liking them. So here are a few shots from our wanderings around the town on Saturday. Weather being unpredictable, I carried around an umbrella and raincoats all day yesterday, under a bright blue sky. Today, Sunday, dawned sunny and bright as well, so I pulled all the rain gear out of my backpack. Thus, after church, the rain poured down. After a wonderful lunch at Kino Kultura, we took a taxi back home.

The gardens atop the University Library--we're walking all over the roof!

Climbing up the roof

A rare close up

A view from the Palace of Culture and Science--Warsaw's old town is the area of red roofs.

Here Dad is showing Henry models of Polish army tanks, howitzers, etc. etc. Dad did not mince words and explained that these things kill people, but that we should trust not in these things, but in God. After a few minutes of thoughtful contemplation Henry told Dad that when he grows up he wants to be an army guy.

Chopin's memory and influence is everywhere!

Where where these busses from? I saw 3 of them. Henry wanted a ride.

Downtown Warsaw: Dad's office building

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church

2011-07-10T06:34:00.000-07:00

In Germany we have visited a number of German speaking churches--Lutheran, Reformed and Evangelical Free, but today in Warsaw I went with my parents to what they already, after one month of being here, refer to as "our church." It is the Church of England in Poland, meeting in a Catholic chapel called Res Sacra Miser, pictured here.

There were certainly a lot of things for the kids to look at, a big change for these Protestant kiddoes. Elisabeth sat on the pew with my parents and the three of them filled it up, so Henry and I sat behind them. The liturgy was printed on 2 sets of paper and it was a bit tricky to follow along, but it was so good and so needful to hear the word of God. In my own language. I don't think I realized until I looked at the liturgy, how hard it has been to not be at an English speaking church. In truth I was refreshed.

We read together the Nicene Creed, which is more in depth than the Apostles Creed, which even in most Presbyterian churches is less and less often read or recited.

You may think of creeds and liturgy as empty and hollow, but for me it was just the opposite. "We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church"--I thought of the several places we have worshipped in Hannover and how we have received grace there, even though it did not fill every need, God's word is preached and sung. Our vocabulary has grown, and our kids have learned Bible stories in German. I thought of our church in The Woodlands and how we are one body together, Warsaw, Hannover, The Woodlands. I was reminded that even in our disagreements we are still one Church, one in Christ.
"We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins." I looked down at my son sleeping in my arms, and remembered his baptism and mine, grateful for the forgiveness of sins that we had recently committed just trying to get out of the apartment this morning--arguing, putting down each other, being selfish. "We look for the resurrection of the dead" thinking of Tim, Grandmother, others, "and the life of the world to come." Grateful that our worship is a foretaste of what is to come. Grateful that we are held in God's hands, here, there and everywhere.

After the sermon we shared the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper together. Dad carried Henry as we walked up front to receive the bread and wine, as Henry was still sleeping. Elisabeth received the blessing from the priest, "May the Lord bless you . . .now and forevermore." The assisting priest, from Nigeria, gave the wine and looked me in the eyes as he shared those simple and powerful words, "The blood of Christ, shed for you."

The closing hymn pointed us to Christ once again, with the words, "Christ is made the sure Foundation, Christ the Head and Cornerstone; chosen of the Lord and precious, binding all the church in one."

I am glad that we can worship the Lord in Hannover, and I'm glad that my parents have a place to worship here. Today I needed more than anything to be reminded of the glory of God, his majesty and power, and of the guidance that comes from his word, and the forgiveness of my sins in Christ.

Life in the Big City

2011-07-09T08:03:00.000-07:00

At a playground a couple of days ago in Warsaw, near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Henry was playing on a merry go round with a little Polish boy. Instinctively Henry began speaking German to him. It rolls off his tongue so easily . . ."Das geht so schnell!" "It goes so fast." Other times I hear him telling me things in German just as if he were speaking English. I'm glad at least one of us keeping up his German while we are away. On the train from Berlin to Warsaw we were in a compartment with a Polish woman who spoke Polish and German, so Henry had a very easy time conversing with her and showing her his cookies, his coloring book etc. She was charmed.

Waiting for a bus in the rain

The kids and I are in Warsaw visiting my parents for a week. John is in Germany flitting about between cities that begin with D. Every time I talk to him I assume he is in a different time zone, but no, he's only 8 hours away, by train.

View from window

Warsaw is a big city and I realize how small Hannover is by comparisons. In Hannover we ride tram #9, but here we've been riding the 35. I am dizzied by the number of trams I see. Outside my parents' window (they are on the 10th floor) is a traffic circle with trams running around it. Across from that is a mall. I walked through it this morning saying, "Ooh, aah." They live in the city and have so much available so close! But we didn't buy anything except a birthday present for my dad at the English bookstore. Shh.

You can't see the noise in this picture.

The main destination was the fountains outside of the mall. The kids wore their swimsuits so they could get wet with abandon. It lasted about 20 minutes, and they hope to go another time. They haven't been swimming since they were at a hotel pool in November.

I have no concept of money here. It is like I am starting all over again. Poland is not in the Euro zone--they use Złoty. There are about 30 zł to the dollar, so looking at prices doesn't mean much to me. At a restaurant I kept thinking, "Wow, this is expensive." I'm really not sure.

Marketing

The trams are narrower and have fewer seats than those in Hannover. There is only one aisle of seats along each side of the tram. They get really crowded so that we are bumping backs or bags, but Henry is nearly always offered a seat, for which I'm grateful. I have also seen seats readily given up to pregnant women and elderly women. But often the only people in the seats are elderly women, so if another one comes on, there is no seat to be offered. So tiny women who seem so frail that a bump would knock them over manage to negotiate these crowded rocking trams across the city. I do not know how it is possible. On my first day I fell back so hard and would've fallen to the ground but Mom held onto me. It took me a few moments to be able to stand back up. Henry was immediately offered a seat, so I plunked down and pulled him onto my lap where he promptly fell asleep.

View from my parents' window--after an afternoon of heavy rain, mist was rising from the woods. The church is at the National Cemetery.

Henry and Elisabeth have both enjoyed Zurek, a local traditional soup which is called "sour rye" in English. It contains bits of sausage and cabbage and a hard boiled egg. I also enjoyed a cold soup that looked the color of Peptobismal, but that is where the similarity ends. It is made with yogurt, pickled beet root, and cucumbers. Delicious. My dad says, "The bottom line is, while in Poland, enjoy the soups." That's what he said about Vietnam too. He knows how to appreciate where he lives.

All-You-Can-Eat-Strawberry Shortcake

2011-06-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

A delicious tradition that I married into happens at least once a year in early summer. It's a night of All-you-can-eat Strawberry Shortcake. So with an "Erdbeer Hofs" (pronounced Erd-bear)--"Strawberry Huts"--popping up all over town, it was time for this extravaganza.

I bought 2 kilos of strawberry, not wanting to run short. On our way home on the tram the luscious red strawberries sparked a conversation with a friendly lady we were sitting with. She asked how much I paid for them, and since they were from an Erdbeer Hof, I knew they were more expensive, but better than what I would find at the grocery market. These were from Laatzen, a town just southeast of Hannover.

After Dinner Crash

We've had a fabulous crazy weather day, alternating fierce thunderstorms with brilliant sunshine and blue skies. We made it to the zoo this morning, beating the crowds by arriving at 9:30, half an hour after opening. We've noticed that around here people don't seem to rush to get going on Saturday mornings, so if we can get out before eleven or twelve, things are quieter.

In the farm area there was a day-old colt. His long legs and jittery gait entranced Elisabeth and me, while Henry kept running over to the nearest tractors and climbing.

We saw the birds of prey today, a section of the zoo we hadn't visited before. We saw some North American noble birds: the bald eagle and the turkey. But the most engrossing specimen was a type of vulture. While we were watching several different kinds of birds in a large caged area, suddenly a huge vulture flew towards Henry and me. We both suddenly doubted the integrity of the fence and Henry darted away. I was frozen. But rather than crashing into us, the vulture headed to a pig carcass to dine. We were transfixed watching this gruesome and intriguing exercise. Then he noticed us, and as we began to walk away, the bird hopped and walked along the fence next to us. There was a clearing in the bushes and we realized we could walk right up to him. It would've been very easy for a curious toddler to stick his finger into the fence for that curious bird. I held on to both children, rather afraid they might be snatched away. Elisabeth snapped a few pictures:

Unfortunately we could never get a good picture of the huge wingspan, but suffice it to say that Henry seemed very small next to that bird.

10 o'clock Dusk

2011-06-14T14:09:00.000-07:00

Sunset: 9:45 PM
Sunrise: 4:58 PM

John and I took this picture at about 10 PM Sunday night. We wanted to show all our Texas friends how light it is at these northern latitudes this time of year. We are at 52 degrees north. Houston is 29 degrees north.

My bare feet were getting cold on the grass, he he he.

Pentecost Pilgrims

2011-06-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

Monday was the day after Pentecost and in Germany it is a holiday. Some people get together with family, some go out of town for a long weekend or take the whole week off (if they don’t have kids in school) and some just hang around the house like we did.

After a late breakfast we got out for some exercise. John and Elisabeth headed out first, John running and Elisabeth on her bike. They wended their way through the neighborhood and then onto some trails to eventually end up at a playground at the edge of the woods. Henry and I took the direct route to the playground, he on his bike and me on my speedy feet (walking). As we went by the Lutheran church where Henry attends Kindergarten we saw a large group of people who seemed to be leaving the church. I assumed there was a Pentecost Monday service. We took a different route so we wouldn’t have to ride right through them, but encountered them again a few minutes further into the woods. I noticed many with gray hair, dressed nicely in suits, but also a smaller group of black men and women, dressed to the nines. Snatches of what sounded like hymns met our ears. Henry kept pedaling and soon we were in their midst. Two women walked their bikes and chatted. Some people carried water bottles in their purses. We stayed amongst them as the black singers of the group walked through the tunnel underneath the autobahn. This dark tunnel sometimes alarms me as we once encountered a man who had fallen in a drunken stupor from his bicycle, but this Monday morning the darkness was filled to overflowing with the rich bass and tenor sounds and full soprano sounds of a the four or six men and women who were singing an unknown hymn. I couldn’t make out the language or the tune, but I sang along. I just had to. Then we exited the tunnel into the daylight again. The singing had given me courage to learn more so I one of the bicycle women, “Was machen Sie heute?” What are you doing today? She replied in German that they were making a church pilgrimage and were visiting three churches. “Was ist die Nächste?” I asked in my broken German. “Nathanael Kirche. Kommen Sie mit?” She invited me to join them with a smile that warmed me to my toes, so that for five minutes after I had said no I wished that I had said yes, just to stay in that place of joy and purpose. Instead my joy and purpose was in playing at the playground with Elisabeth as she challenged me to doing flips on the bar that I was too afraid to try when I was her age. A day later my arms are still sore and I have a callous on my hand, but I cannot forget the joyful pilgrim singers or my happy daughter with her hair hanging upside down towards the ground.

Spring Tidbits

2011-05-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

Ready for the woods!

My neighbor asked me if I had someone to clean my windows. I wondered if that was a hint. I cleaned them in 2 rooms and then went for a bike ride. It was a good morning.

A German friend, Evie, who married an American and then lived in the US for seven years was telling another German friend, Steph, if she’d heard of “German Chocolate Cake.” “What?!” Steph looked bewildered. Evie explained: “It is a chocolate sponge cake. You know how American cakes always have an icing on them? Well this icing is a mixture of pecans and coconut.” Stephanie looked disgusted. I guess it would be like telling a Frenchman about “French Toast.”

Zooming! He was so excited about it that he rode it in the rain.

Henry got a new bike. We were fortunate to buy it second hand from a Kindergarten friend who noticed that his was rather small. So now 3 of the four of us are zooming around on German bikes. His is complete now: not only reflectors and a kick stand, but fenders, a bell, and a rear rack. He’s only had minor falls so far.

Off they go into the woods. Henry is holding the teacher's hand.

Note the nice chain guard and rack! Very important here.

Elisabeth will be taking a field trip to the airport on Monday. It is a good thing this comes before our intensive summer travel in July and August. I think she’ll be about sick of the airport by then. Or maybe she’ll be even more interested in it, having had a “behind the scenes” view.

Last week Henry spent four mornings in the woods. The Kindergarten closed up for the week and everyone had “Wald Woche” together. The first 2 days it rained all day and was about 40 degrees. But they were troupers (I give the teachers the most credit!) and at least it kept the mosquitos away until the third day. Henry never told us much about it, but his boots usually came back filled with leaves and on the second day he had a nice big scratch on his face. He never would let me get a picture of his dirty face each day, so you’ll have to imagine it.

Great grass for Leapfrog!

We have been riding our bikes to a “Frei Evangelische” church the last few weeks. We ride through the woods, and if we miss a week, there is still so much change in the woods that I sometimes don’t recognize it. We came when the leaves were on the trees, but soon falling, and then bare. Now they are back in full force and getting thicker still. I love the weather here and I love experiencing four distinct seasons! We had a yard full of dandelions but now their season is done, and we have wonderful grass you can play in barefoot without fear of ants. One of these days we will need to put some screens on our windows, but that day hasn’t come yet.

The view out our bedroom window--unobstructed

Koninginnedag

2011-05-16T03:10:00.000-07:00

In February when I was making reservations for an apartment in Amsterdam, I made a phone call about a canal apartment. The owner, an American, told me, “Oh no, that’s not available. That’s Queen’s Day weekend. You know it’s Queen’s Day, right?”

No, I didn’t. What was Queen’s Day? The only thing I could gather from Ms. Marshall was that it would be a crazy day celebrating the Queen’s birthday, and everyone would be in Amsterdam. Luckily, her other apartment was available so we booked it.

Later, when talking to our Dutch friends we told them we’d be in Amsterdam on Queen’s Day. The husband’s response was exuberant: “Oh you’ll be there on Queen’s Day? That’s terrific. That’s awesome. You’ll love it. That will be great.”

The wife’s response was a bit more subdued. “Well, you could go to a smaller town where there will still be a celebration but not as crowded as Amsterdam.” She also told us places in Amsterdam where we could take the kids. “It won’t be dangerous, but it will be crowded.”

Early in the day. Canal is clean and nearly empty

We read various things on the internet about Queen’s Day, but reading can only prepare you so much. http://www.traveladventures.org/continents/europe/queens-day01.shtml

Our plan was to head out mid morning to Vondel Park, where children set up areas to sell old toys, clothes, or to perform. One of the biggest things on Queen’s Day is the “Free Markets”--only on Queen’s Day can anyone sell anything without a permit. You can also “busk” or be a street performer. The other two important things we heard about were beer and wearing orange, orange being the national color, as you may know.

About 9:30 we left the apartment, backpacks full of lunch and water. We ran back in moments later to grab sweaters. The sunny day was cooler than it looked. The streets were fairly quiet at this hour, but we saw signs of the previous night. Queen’s Day was Saturday, but the tradition starts the evening before when bars open and everyone goes out to start the celebration. Then they all go to bed to get ready for the full day. So we beat the crowds in our neighborhood. Elisabeth and Henry were good walkers that day--the trams don’t run on Queen’s Day--not that I would’ve wanted to ride them, given how crowded they were on ordinary days. With kids it was about a 30 minute walk to Vondel Park, then we continued to stroll through the park for another half hour or so, looking at all the children selling their wares and performing. John saw a young violinist playing her heart out only to be shortly drowned out by a drummer, who was then also drowned out by a competing drummer. A young accordion player was faithfully playing his tunes. One of my favorites was two girls riding unicycles, their stringy waist length hair constantly being pushed out of their eyes as they rode over ramps, spun hula hoops and avoided passersby. Henry must have learned then what you do when you like street performers, because earlier this week he was playing in the kitchen, dancing or something, and he said, “Now you can give me money.”

We finally found a playground and lingered there for a while. After eating our lunch and resuming our strolling, it seemed that the number of pedestrians in the park had doubled. By the time we neared the center of the park, we were pushing through crowds. Elisabeth, perhaps because she was small, was convinced she knew where to go, so she just kept pushing and going through the groups of people even when the people were not moving. All this time I kept marveling to myself, “Wow, this is cool. Everyone comes out for this. The whole city.” It was not even one o’clock. I hadn’t seen anything yet.

Preferred Headgear

We exited the park, Henry in Daddy’s arms By then you could see people streaming in the direction of the Museumplein, the location of the largest gathering and an all day concert. I was glad we were heading back to our quiet apartment to relax for the afternoon. I was getting used to the press of people, but it wasn’t too bad. We paused for some pictures near the Leidesplein, another large gathering area, and then it started getting to me. Too loud. Too many people. Way too loud. Way too many people. My eyes were hurting from all the orange. I started walking faster and was glad to find some quieter

On our way out of Vondel Park

streets on our way back home. The kids ran along without a care. By the time we got home it was two o’clock, and our anticipated quiet haven was quiet no longer. Boats were on a never ending parade through the canals, sound systems blaring, loud people singing. We took turns at the windows, people watching, Heineken from the fridge in hand, of course.

Watching the Crowds

After less than an hour, John was getting restless and was ready to go see more of the city scene. I was ready to stay home, but being the faithful companion that I am, I agreed to go with him. Actually, I went because I was so shocked that my quiet husband was the one who wanted to go out. Usually I am the one ready for action and crowds (that is, if either of us is ready, I am). The problem was, Elisabeth didn’t want us to go so I said she could come. Big mistake. After 2 minutes of walking down our street we reached an impasse: a block of people partying outside someone’s house. We started to force our way through as we had at the Vondel Park, but the music, the fleshiness, the smell of alcohol forced me to turn around. Perhaps if Elisabeth hadn’t have been with us I could have done it, but I thought, “What am I doing here with my 7 year old?” It was another block before I could be heard, telling John, “I’m sorry, I just can’t stay out anymore.” I asked Elisabeth if this made her want to go to a dance party. “Only if the music is not so loud!” she shouted. So we went home, played cards, read Harry Potter. John was disappointed, but understanding (as always). I also thought back to the difference in responses from our Dutch friend--the husband and the wife. I understood them even better.

Outside Our Window-- a pretty good drum core

We had all planned to go out for dinner that night to celebrate John’s mom’s birthday a week early. This decision was based on a faulty interpretation of the word “night.” Upon our arrival in Amsterdam we asked the apartment owner’s assistant about Queen’s Day and going out for dinner etc. His words, to the best of my memory were, “Friday night is the night that everyone goes out and it is really busy, but Saturday night things are slower.” Slower, quieter, calmer, is what I pictured. I envisioned the party winding down around 4 or 5 pm, allowing us to go out for a nice dinner on our last night in Amsterdam. I would’ve done well to take into account the differences of our situation. To me, night means “after dinner” or 5:30 plus. To a young single man in Amsterdam, night must mean “11 PM or later.”

Nearly Home

Canal View: 2 PM

But we had decided on going out, we had no decent food in the house, so we braved the streets at 5:30. They were still roaring. I can’t say that anything was slowing down. We took a different route than John and I had taken three hours earlier, but we merely encountered yet another wild party, the narrow street crammed with people. John held Henry, putting his hands over his ears, I stood behind Elisabeth, my hands over her ears, and we pushed through the crowds. I did not enjoy it. I wondered how our children would look at this years from now, and thought perhaps it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, unless this meant future hearing loss for them. We had to walk carefully when we crossed the streets--they were nearly covered with glass bottles and other debris. I had warned Elisabeth not to walk in any liquid. Even though there were urinals aplenty, sometimes that just isn’t enough.

Free Market and Boats

Sporting Orange

Fortunately the restaurant we had picked out had an upstairs, and it was a bit quieter than the street, ah, but not really. We were all ready to get home soon I think. I asked Dad what his plans were for the next day. John, the kids and I were taking a 10:30 train back to Hannover, but Mom and Dad had one more day in Amsterdam, their flight leaving early Monday morning. They had thought about taking a train to Harlem, but when I asked Dad about it his reply was, “I’ve lost my sense of adventure.” I completely understood. Elisabeth hadn’t lost hers though, and she enjoyed her pasta with salmon. It went well with the orange theme of the day. Mom enjoyed her Amsterdam gifts--a windmill charm, of course, and some buttons from the button shop across the street.

Our Birthday Queen

The way home was just like the way there. We were glad to reach our apartment, hearing intact. Staying up late yet again to read Harry Potter, I heard the street cleaners around 10:30 PM. They were working hard. In the morning some streets were completely cleaned, but the canals were filthy. I wondered what the queen really thought of her birthday party.

I write all this with a bit of trepidation, that it may come off as a lack of appreciation for Amsterdam and for the Dutch people. But that is not my point. As I said at the beginning of my Amsterdam posts, I was glad to be in a big city and not feel strange for being a foreigner. I enjoyed hearing a greater variety of languages. I saw unforgettable glimpses of history and art. We all enjoyed the peace that the water brings. But for most of us, Queen’s Day was just a bit too much. We’re glad we live in a smaller city. I asked Elisabeth yesterday what she thought of Queen’s Day. “Nah,” she replied. “They littered too much.” Well, that’s what happens anywhere when you get a bunch of people out partying. It was something to see, that is certain, and I think we got a nice rounded out view. John and his dad say next time maybe we should rent a canal boat. “Nah,” I replied. Next time we’ll be somewhere else.

Vincent Van Gogh

2011-05-04T06:05:00.000-07:00

Quote by Goethe in the Keukenhof

Thursday morning we took the tram to the Van Gogh museum. Elisabeth chose to do a treasure hunt offered by the museum. She was busy searching paintings to answer questions, and writing about which were her favorites. John and I shared an audio tour, passing the headphones back and forth while we kept our eyes on the kids in the ever thickening crowd. Henry was listening to a children’s audio tour that was for ages 6-12. It was a bit beyond him, but it kept his interest. By the way, in The Netherlands they pronounce Gogh like “Goch,” the ch being a sort of guttural sound.

I have always enjoyed Van Gogh’s paintings, but never thought much of the artist himself. I knew there was some crazy story about him cutting off his ear, and that did not endear me to him. In my mind I chalked him up as another artist with problems.

When I read the introduction to his self portrait I read for the first time that he had shot himself in the chest and died a few days later. I was stunned. He committed suicide. Maybe I had heard that before, but I never really thought about it. I notice things differently now. I moved through his early works which have a sort of muddy quality. I didn’t see much that drew me to them, but between reading, listening, and observing the paintings, I felt like I was getting to know Van Gogh a bit better.

Then I came to the Almond Blossom, pictured here.

http://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/vgm/index.jsp?page=3128&collection=1282&lang=en

Immediately the blue background of the canvas reminded me of my Grandmother, Elisabeth Kraftson. This blue was her favorite color. Her kitchen cabinets were painted this color and it always makes me think of her. As I read on about the painting, I learned that Van Gogh painted this upon hearing the news that his nephew, Vincent William was born. It is a painting of hope, the promise of spring coming. The postcard I bought of it and the computer image don’t do it justice of course. The blossoms and branches are nearly coming off the canvas. I wanted to stare it at for hours. I listened to the audio tour and learned that even as Van Gogh was working on this image of hope and promise for his nephew, he was struggling with depression that had led him to admit himself into a mental hospital. He had painted Almond Blossom and many others of his greatest works while in the hospital. I sat down on the bench and tried to hold in my tears.

I moved on and looked at another painting which Van Gogh made while he was hospitalized. Apparently Henry was listening to his audio tour because he told John that “the man was in the hospital and no one visited him.” He wanted to leave. He was lonely. But he also felt that he could not cope with his depression on his own. There was a sense of hopelessness that his situation would never change and he would never find his way out of this sense of desperation and pain. And yet, he continued to paint. He continued to look for beauty and seek out colors that would “make people happy.” He had been strongly influenced by Japanese prints and had left the muddy colors behind.

The tension was too much for me and too familiar. I thought of my brother Tim, dying as his nephew was about to be born. But even more than that I thought of Tim struggling against the sense of hopelessness that worked at destroying him. Like Van Gogh he loved beauty. He gave hours to fine tune the production videos of vacations, weddings and times with friends that continue to bring us joy. He reveled in good music, the truth of the Bible, and the truth found in other books such as The Lord of the Rings. But also like Van Gogh there was a grueling battle raging inside.

I kept trying to keep the tears back, but finally sat down again and sobbed, as 50 or more people milled around me. Henry sat down beside me and I told him to go get John. John came and at last I could pour it out in words as he put his arm around me. He too had been touched by what he had seen and heard. After a few minutes I got up again, wondering what to say to my children, if anything. They had seen me sobbing at an art museum. Elisabeth finally asked why I was crying and I simply said, “I miss my brother Tim.” I wondered if one day Van Gogh would help me explain my brother to them. It seemed to me that Van Gogh helped me understand Tim better, and perhaps Tim helped me to understand Van Gogh better.

As we left the museum we passed through the gift shop, but my stomach turned as I saw the mugs, shopping bags, puzzles and key chains attempting to portray Van Gogh’s work. It all seemed to cheapen the masterpieces. I would rather carry a memory of a painting and the story behind it and hope to gaze upon it again one day.

Amsterdam Wanderings: By Foot, By Bus, By Boat

2011-05-04T05:54:00.000-07:00

The children in particular loved the canal house. Henry and Elisabeth were on the top floor and took great pleasure in having their own room together, something I was a little nervous about. While I was still scoping out the place, Elisabeth had neatly placed all her clothes and Henry’s clothes in two separate dressers and set her book on her nightstand. Soon they were discussing a plan as to how to share the bed and not wake each other up too early. We sealed the deal by offering them a movie night if they could have good nights and good mornings for two nights in a row. Our expectations were obviously low, after their time of sharing a bed in Celle, but now they have raised them. We heard, rather than saw, sibling love at its best--our room was directly underneath them. Their arrangement was that they would stay asleep until 6:30 or at least stay in bed, some sources say. If Elisabeth was still asleep at 7:00, Henry could wake her up. They could both wake us up at 7:15. This was all discussed in their serious and matter-of-fact voices which are quite endearing.

The first morning, at 6:15 I awoke to great giggling noises, and loud laughter from Henry. I was not amused at the time, but in retrospect, it was sweet. Apparently they were in bed and were making tents. I guess we forgot to say they had to be quiet. I tried to fall back asleep, but about 20 minutes later I heard sliding and banging. They were opening drawers and getting dressed. Elisabeth must have helped Henry with his shirt and socks. That’s where the sisterly love comes in. She can be very helpful with Henry when she wants to.

With all the noise I had given up on sleeping by 7:00 and desired to go one floor lower to make coffee and have a bit more quiet. But about 7:05 Elisabeth was downstairs. “You’re early!” I nearly growled. Not the reception a mother should give her daughter, but I was tired and grumpy (the good perspective on it all came later). She very sweetly replied, “Oh, I’m just getting our activity books” and books in hand, she flitted back upstairs. I felt rather guilty after that.

The following mornings were quieter, minus the loud tent making, but with the continued drawers sliding. As the days continued we marveled that the kids could get along so well and so sweetly in the mornings, but couldn’t walk down the sidewalk without pushing or colliding or refusing to hold each others hands or smile in the same picture. So we heard a side of them that was delightful. Maybe they should share rooms more often!

The first evening after dinner we decided to explore the neighborhood a little. While it was picturesque to behold, walking on narrow side walks with a four year old was difficult to accomplish peacefully. It seemed that one of the adults was always yelling at Henry to hold a hand or stay on the sidewalk. I rashly resolved that this would be our last city visit. Small towns only after this. But by the second day Henry was much better at holding my hand, and I pointedly instructed him on the difference between sidewalk and street. “This is a sidewalk.” walk, walk. “Now we are crossing the street. Now we are on the sidewalk.” Sometimes the only difference between the two was a different color of bricks or a half inch step down. A tough concept for a four year old.

Wednesday morning, our first morning in Amsterdam, we headed with masses of tourists to one of many tour agencies. I had reserved a tour ahead of time entitled “Van Gogh in Bloom.” It included a trip to Keukenhof, the famous flower gardens, tickets to the Van Gogh Museum, and a canal boat tour. Given the lines at museums and the craziness of the train station, we were happy to get on a tour bus and have a smooth drive to the gardens which were about an hour outside of Amsterdam. A friend had recommended the tulip gardens to us, and said that they stayed for 2 1/2 hours, but wished they had stayed longer (you could reserve a bus tour that lasted 2 1/2 or 5). At the time I thought that was crazy--how could our family stay at the gardens for 5 hours? I don’t know, but 2 1/2 wasn’t quite long enough. It was a little chillier than we expected, but the sun was bright, the grass emerald green and the tulips-on and on they went. So many colors and varieties, such beautiful settings. As our week in Amsterdam progressed and I got more settled in the city, I still found myself thinking longingly of the peaceful time in the gardens. We all got the bug for taking pictures, even Elisabeth and Henry. Elisabeth is showing some promise in her photo taking, and Henry is still figuring it out. see example below.

Henry: the Early Period

That afternoon we took the canal boat tour, which again provided ample opportunity for picture taking. We saved the Van Gogh visit for Thursday morning.

Since we were renting a house, we only went out for dinner two times while we were there, and once for lunch. Our favorite restaurant was a tip passed along to us by our tour guide after we returned from Keukenhof. She said, “You must go here”--and pointed to a small restaurant up ahead: De Keuken van 1870. “They have a 3 course meal for 9.99 euro. It is where all the locals go.” That sounded great to us, so at dinner time we made our way back there. The waitress was grumpy, but we each ordered the daily menu, and she gradually warmed up to us. We started with cream of mushroom soup, an unlikely choice for kids, but they both enjoyed it and we loved it. Next came guinea fowl and french fries. Amazing. It was like the best chicken you’ve ever tasted. For dessert we had vanilla pudding. Henry refused to even try a bite, but there was no problem in getting it eaten by others.

Amsterdam

2011-05-02T04:42:00.000-07:00

Our lovely two week spring break just ended yesterday. The first week we spent showing John’s parents bits of Hannover, Hameln (aka Hamlin as in the Pied Piper of) and Celle, our erstwhile home in Germany. Then on the Tuesday after Easter we took the train, along with John’s parents, to Amsterdam.

View of "our" canal

Elisabeth asked me on the four hour train ride, “Is Amsterdam bigger than Hannover?” The answer was quickly revealed as we exited the train into a much busier train station than we are used to. But what I missed right away was the German penchant for orderliness in street crossing. I used to think Hannover had a lot of cyclists. Now I know it is small potatoes compared to Amsterdam. There is a huge triple story parking deck for bicycles by the train station. I heard it can take an hour to find your bike. The trams seem to run willy nilly in front of the train station and I felt like we were about to get run over several times by bikes or trams as we went back and forth finding a place to buy tram passes, city maps and yes, Starbucks.

From the station we took tram number 5 about five stops to Konigsplein. I gave everything a German pronunciation, but I’m not sure that was right. I could recognize many words in written Dutch, but hearing it, I recognized very little. However, during our first 4 days in Amsterdam I heard just as much English, French or German as I did Dutch (more on the 5th day later). At one point Elisabeth said to John, “Daddy, why are you speaking English?” Some things I did enjoy about a big city: not feeling bad for speaking English, and not feeling noticed for carrying a camera or looking American. Everyone looked different so we all fit in.

I did not like the trams though--they were narrower than what we are used to, and much jerkier. We learned that it is best to remain seated until you reach your stop, or you might tumble. But someone should stand up so that he or she can push the button that alerts the tram driver to stop, if indeed that is what those buttons did. Some things we never did quite figure out.

After getting off the tram, we followed the very detailed directions from Susan, the woman from whom we rented an apartment. We arrived quickly and easily at our canal house on the Herrengracht, --gracht is canal and we later learned that the Herrengracht was one of the main canals and was the gentlemen’s canal, or home of the bourgeouis in the 18th century. The houses looked very impressive from the front, but were narrower. Sometimes the fronts were taller than the actual house.

Our Canalside Home with Grandma and Henry (not always so busy)

Opening the door, we were led up a steep stairway to the first floor (remember, we count floors differently here--ground floor, then 1, 2, etc.) But this was not to be the steepest staircase we would encounter. The stairway to the 2nd floor curved a bit, and the stairway to the 3rd floor, where Elisabeth and Henry would sleep, was nearly a ladder in its steepness. Unfortunately I did not get a picture of it, but suffice to say that I preferred to climb down it backwards, with shoes on. The first night I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried the kids would get up in the middle of the night and fall down the stairs. But that did not happen until the second evening when Henry, wearing socks, slid down about half of the stairs. I screamed and called for help so everyone came running. I was relieved that he had landed on his knees, and did not bump his head, just his body. He recovered quickly as always, and there was no fear of them trying to go down the stairs in the night. He was ordered afterwards to take off his socks when descending, and always have someone below him, although that could’ve been bad as well.

Overall it was a great apartment, and in itself gave us a picture of canalside living in an old house--sloping floors, water out the front, old toilets, and best of all, easy access to the city but not too noisy (except on certain days, more about that later).

Getting Around

2011-04-08T05:32:00.000-07:00

Today Henry and I accompanied Elisabeth to school. We used to do this daily, back in the fall, until Elisabeth got hooked up with some 8th grade girls. Now we meet one or two in the morning at the tram stop and Henry and I head home. But today Elisabeth is going to spend the night at a classmate’s house, so Henry and I thought we would go in the morning. A couple of months ago Elisabeth would ask me, “Why can’t you take me? Can you please take me?” But this morning I saw why she is not asking me so much anymore. One of the girls held the tram door open for us as we were running late. If you hold the door open, the tram cannot go. Sometimes this is quite annoying when local school kids hold the door open for so many people and we sit for a long time, but this morning we weren’t causing any delay and it was just nice to see this small act of kindness. Then Elisabeth sat down with the three eighth grade girls and Henry and I sat across from each other. One of the girls was drawing a picture for Elisabeth and wouldn’t let her see it. I could see it, and there was fine art in progress--an intricate Celtic type of cross with scrolling flowers around the edges. Henry wanted to color, so she lent him markers and all three girls delighted, as only 14 year olds can, in Henry’s picture of a zoo. When we arrived at our stop and began the “long for Henry” walk to school, Elisabeth and the girls got more and more ahead of us. I smiled inside, happy that she has found such a niche and such kind companions. One girl had found a broken off daffodil and they were passing back and forth. Elisabeth tried to put it in another girl’s hair. By the time Henry and I arrived at school Elisabeth was paling around with her second grade friend and was ready to say good bye to me. Henry played with the big kids on the playground until the bell rang, then cried when all the kids ran to line up for school.

Then it was time for a few errands. Normally I don’t like to run errands on Fridays with Henry, but he only went to Kindergarten 2 days this week because I had to take him to the doctor on Monday and the hospital on Tuesday for a chest x-ray. That is another post.

(a picture from February that Elisabeth took on the tram)

But today we had to go to Ustra so I could renew my transportation pass. We rode the bus with friends from school to our stop and I nearly missed our stop, so busy was I in talking about kids and sweets. As I walked to the bakery, and then back tracked to the bank, killing time before Ustra opened, I scolded myself for not having planned the morning better. The sunny and crisp morning had turned cold and cloudy and it was getting to be a lot of walking for Henry. I thought perhaps I could manage this transaction in some other way rather than in person-by mailing in the form maybe. Fortunately we walked past a sort of garden of hedges, so Henry ran through them and around them, which helped to warm him up. Finally we reached Ustra, our destination. I found out that I couldn’t simply renew my six month pass, but rather I had to fill out the entire form again (good thing I had my back account information with me). But the staff was pleasant, and my German was good enough to get my that far. I sat on a bench and filled out the form while Henry looked at tram models and colored on a picture an employee had given him. When I had filled out the form there was no wait, for which I was grateful. Henry had been waiting very patiently and I didn’t want to push it.

No, the picture doesn't go with the blog, but I have no new ones. Spring abounds, but I haven't taken out my real camera yet.

Grandmere and Elisabeth on the tram

It didn’t take long for the employee to realize that I was not German. He asked in German if I came from the UK (common question). When I told him no, America, he answered, “Ah! America! How are you?” Then he was happy to practice his English with me, which he claimed he learned in two months of living with some people from Dubai. “No teacher. Just them and me, like this, talking.” And he motioned back and forth between the two of us. He made sure I filled out the form correctly, but I had left a few things blank because I didn’t understand them. He was eager to explain to me a feature I never knew about: if I check a little box, then I can share my pass with someone. Imagine! And it doesn’t cost any extra. So on Saturdays I can give my pass to John so he can take Elisabeth into town or whatever. Additionally, regardless of checking the “ubertragner” box, with my pass I can bring John and the kids with me on the weekend and they don’t need tickets. I never knew! I don’t want to add up the cost of all the daily tickets that John bought. We chatted some more and he gave me information about transportation cards for when John’s parents come next week. Finally we left, but I realized how it paid off to do things in person.

Now we are home, Henry is napping, and the sun is shining. In 20 minutes it may be completely clouded over, but I will enjoy it while it is here. In an hour we are going to a kindergarten friend’s house. It will be all in German, so perhaps I will do some quick Rosetta Stone to get me in the right grove.

Soup and Shopping

2011-04-08T05:25:00.000-07:00

Frau Kranz lives across the street from us. She is in her early 70s. Her husband is seven years older. We often see him out walking, probably takes a couple walks a day. Several weeks ago Frau Kranz saw me at the grocery store and asked how I got there. I told her I walked there with friends. She said, “next time you must ring the doorbell and I will bring you. You must.” I smiled and agreed, but I was wondering how I could possibly do that. I didn’t want to be a bother. I was too shy. She would see what I was buying. I might take too long. When I was paying for my groceries she asked if she could take my things home for me so I wouldn’t have to carry them. Oh dear, I thought, she really does want to help! I said no, I could take them myself and thanked her.

But for the rest of the week I procrastinated going to the store, thinking she might see me there and wonder why I hadn’t asked her to bring me! I kept thinking of her saying, “You must!” And I thought, “Oh I must!” So finally a week later, after I took Henry to kindergarten I was considering ringing her doorbell--klingen--but I didn’t know if it was late enough. It was nearly 9 AM. Was that okay? If I waited too long I might miss the chance to go, but if I went too early it would be embarrassing. Just then I saw someone ring her doorbell and go in, so I got up the nerve to ring the bell myself. Frau Kranz and he friend were still standing by the door, and Herr Kranz smiled and waved his cane at me and I noticed that he still had on his robe. But Frau Kranz was very happy I came by and said she would leave in 30 minutes. Exactly 29 minutes later her car was out in front of my house and I hopped in with my bags. We chatted in a mixture of German and English. Once at the store she encouraged me to take my time while she went to the dry cleaners and then did some grocery shopping. At the end of our little trip she had filled one small basket and I had filled 4 or 5 large bags.

***

Today’s lunch: a Pump Duck Brotchen -- a wheat roll covered with cheese and toasted pumpkins seeds--and a bowl of Tomato Soup from “the soup man” who comes to Kurze Kamp Strasse every Wednesday. I had seen this truck several times, but not knowing anything about him, I did not trust the cheap plastic table, dirty white umbrella, and plain white van that had in small print, “Isernhagen Menu Catering” on the front door. But when my neighbor, Frau Kranz, started driving me to the grocery store every now and then, one day she said, “Today I go at 10:30 because the man sells soup at 11:00.” Always ready to try new things, I went along and got my first bowl of Hochzeit or wedding soup. This is a basic noodle soup with “Fleishebälle” or meatballs made from “Mett.” (I still haven’t quite figured out about Mett-sometimes it seems you eat it raw, sometimes cooked. The other day I asked for “Rindfleish” in the ground meat section and she asked me if I wanted Mett. I said sure. It was good. But I did cook it.) I asked Frau Kranz if Hochzeit Suppe was served at weddings, and she chuckled and said it is a traditional farmer’s soup and if I understood her right, it is given when a couple gets married (traditionally, which could mean, not so much anymore). I brought the soup home, 2 generous portions for 5 Euro, and ate it for lunch for a couple of days. On the third day the kids ate it with me and enjoyed it, perhaps because I pointed out that the noodles were stars. This week it was Tomato soup, and thinking of an old favorite at La Madeleine, I ordered it eagerly. As I saw him dish it up, I was able to adjust my expectations. He grabbed a ladle from the front seat of his car (Frau Krantz and I have been his first two customers the last two weeks. If he is five minutes late, we know it!) and dipped into the huge pot that sat in the van. The soup was full of vegetables, Fleisschbälle, and of course tomatoes. Of course it was the freshest tomato soup I’ve ever tasted. This Wednesday soup man will quickly become a habit I do believe.

Clocks, Bugs and Birds

2011-03-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

Time for Sun Hats!

Last night we changed the clocks and sprung forward. Tonight I am realizing that we truly are in the northern latitudes and we will have a lot of light nights! It is 7:55 and the sky is blue, though slowly darkening. The sun set just 10 minutes ago.

It doesn’t seem like very long ago that I was writing about the darkness that fell so rapidly, so that Elisabeth was home from school for less than an hour and it would be getting dark. In January we walked together to her piano lessons at at 5:20 it was already dark. Now here we are 2 1/2 months later and I am thinking perhaps I should’ve gotten the special darkening shades for the kids’ rooms, and perhaps even for my room. Because after all, it is only March, and we’ve got til June before the days start getting shorter. While I may sound a bit anxious about the sleeping part (oh, there goes Henry again, coming out of his room) I am overjoyed by the sunshine and look forward to sitting out on the patio with John, drinking a glass of wine and watching the sun set at 9 PM. Because the kids will get used to it. They just will.

I am rather bemused that I am so surprised by what is a fact of nature that has existed this way for eons.

I have been noticing bugs. Insects. I think perhaps I missed them, or at least was so surprised by their absence. In Texas we have someone from pest control come four times a year to spray for insects: cockroaches, earwigs, spiders, you name it. But here we just open the windows and let the air in, not worrying about anything. A few weeks ago a fly was in our kitchen. “Look!” I shouted to the kids, “A fly!” I hadn’t seen one since August I think.

Wednesday was a startlingly sunny day and I noticed two yellow sulphur butterflies flitting under our awning. It is a clear glass or plexiglass awning, so they were full in the sun, just bumping against it trying to get out. I knew they would manage at some point, so I just enjoyed seeing their bright colors, greeting the spring.

Yesterday I took the kids outside with journals and pencils and said, “Let’s look and see what birds come in our yard.” But of course we made so much noise getting out that we scared them all away. Instead we listened (well, Elisabeth and I listened while Henry drew an owl). It was a chorus of different voices--I could pick out the mourning doves or pigeons like we have in Texas, but there are many new ones I haven’t yet identified, but I see them when the kids are safely away from the backyard. I purchased a small bird book for kids in German, but haven’t made much progress with it yet.

Our Spring Boy, opening presents

Today I was looking through the ads, trying to make my grocery list for tomorrow, when I saw this ad and was just struck by its beauty. If anything will make me want to eat healthy and work in the garden, this will!

Henry with his 2 race car cakes for Kindergarten. He's been talking about these for months.

Up the Brocken

2011-03-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

The Stevens in Wernigerode March 19th!

We celebrated Henry’s birthday in a grand way this weekend. Not all of the events were motivated by his birthday, but I’m glad it worked out this way. For starters, both my parents were able to be there. With Dad’s work and travel schedule, this was an on again, off again thing, and I was so excited and warmed to have him work so hard to get here.

Then we had great weather. This was our third visit to the Harz mountains and we got sunshine this time! Lots of it, and warmer temperatures. Friday after school Elisabeth, Henry and I took the train from Hannover to Wernigerode (say each syllable, no silent letters, and the W is a V. It’s easy). After checking into our hotel we set off to find a playground. Sometimes I wonder why we work so hard to take our kids places when they just want to find playgrounds! But it was a scenic one--with a castle in the background.

The Happy Four Year Old

Then we wandered back into town to find dinner, ending up eating crepes at Creperie Loretta. Elisabeth shows her continual maturation by trying new foods--crepes with eggs and cheese--but still you have to start somewhere.

By the time we were finished with dinner, John and my parents had arrived by car, John picking them up from the airport. See, we can’t all fit in our car, so someone has to go by train.

Enjoying the views from the Brockenbahn

Map or Schedule questions? These are your men

The next morning we set off to find the Harzer Schmalspurlbahn--the narrow gauge steam railway that runs through the Harz. It was everything I imagined and more. To a family who sings the songs from Thomas and Friends, this was pretty exciting stuff. On our 2 hour trip we became accustomed to the smell of coal, the shadows made by the thick clouds of steam, and the clickety clickety of the train over the tracks. Elisabeth made my day by exclaiming over and over as we gently climbed up through the mountains, “Wow! Oh wow! Look at that!” She had been nervous before we got on the train, asking how steep the train would be going, and what it would be like. All in all it seemed a gentle climb to her, but she loved the views of the valleys below and the landscape dropping away from us. Henry was attached to the train schedule, loving the numbers as always. At one of our longer stops (11 minutes or so) we walked by the engine and I wanted to study it and see all the parts. Henry was a bit disconcerted by the noises and was ready to go back to his seat.

Several times John and I took the kids out on to the platform at the end of the car. Many passengers would do this, and at the beginning as we travelled through trees with level ground on both sides it was nice. But towards the end of the trip as we made our final ascent up the Brocken to our destination, I found myself clutching Henry’s jacket and ordering him to hold on. The ground was dropping off to one side here, and it was exhilarating, but I was also getting nervous about the kids. By this time the trees were more and more sparse and the snow was deeper and deeper. When I was finally cold enough we headed back inside.

As we disembarked from the train we entered a new landscape. A wind and ice storm had evidently preceded us and we could see horizontal icicles from any and all objects. Some of the not-yet-adjusted-to-the-cold-north types were cold and in spite of the glorious sun, we soon headed indoors to eat lunch in and old tower, no made into an observation deck and restaurant.

The Advance of the Trees!

The Brocken has an interesting history. We didn’t have time to go to the museum, but I think we’ll be back. The Brocken was in East Germany and the Soviets had posted listening devices on the top of the mountain. The area was off limits, but after the Berlin wall fell, protest were held to free the Brocken. Now it is getting a lot of tourism, and areas of the summit are roped off so that the ecosystem can recover.

Thus ends part one of our trip!

Some un-edited thoughts on March 17th

2011-03-17T02:13:00.000-07:00

Every time I see the date today it brings a stab, a thrust of pain. We have come so far in the past four years, but we have also come farther each day from my brother. I see a picture of Tim with baby Elisabeth and I wonder how he would’ve played with Henry. I hear Henry “reading” to me the directions for a game saying, “This game says mommies must clean up the game and put it away” and I think of a story often told about Tim and me: he is 2 or 3 and we are fighting over a ball. He reads “words” off the ball and says, “This ball says, ‘Only boys can play with it.”

I’m wearing my “Not all who wander are lost” shirt. Elisabeth is wearing her “You are My Sunshine” shirt and Henry’s got on his “Life is good” shirt. Life is good. Tim, you did not save anyone any pain by going when you did. Life is good. I miss you. We all miss you. And we love you like you wouldn’t believe.

***

For you, O God, have proved us; you have tried us just as silver is tried.

You brought us into the snare; you laid heavy burdens upon our backs.

you let enemies ride over our heads; we went through fire and water; but you brought us out into a place of refreshment. Psalm 66:9-11

***

When Henry was born, even perhaps the day before he was born, I was sure that he would live under a cloud of sorrow. He was born in sorrow. I needed oxygen during labor. When they put the mask on my face I cried and cried and thought of Tim. And moments later, a boy was born. And we cried and we laughed.

In those first few dark, dark months after Tim’s death and Henry’s birth, and when Henry turned one, I wondered . . .would we always mourn at the time of Henry’s birthday? Will his birthday be overshadowed by our grief? But this morning, it was the other way around. I do mourn, I grieve, but there is Henry, bopping around the kitchen, saying, “Only 2 days til my birthday! 2 days!” And I rejoice. We do not talk to the kids about what this day means to us. One day we will, but we talk about Tim all the time, so we hold this day carefully in our hearts. For the last 3 years, we have gathered for dinner, just the grown ups, with my parents and brothers to remember Tim. This year we are in 3 different countries on this day, so we will not be able to do that. And I miss that. But this morning I thought of a silly little recipe that Tim put in a box of recipes given to me before my wedding, so I think we just might be eating this tonight, with a few adjustments: (typed exactly as he wrote it)

From the Kitchen of: Tim Stone

The Awesomest Sandwich

2 slices Rye Bread

Mustard

Processed Cheeze Spread

Salami

Provelogne Cheese

Ham

Toast bread to liking. Spread thin layer of cheese spread on bread. On one piece of bread put two slices of salami. On the other, put 1 slice of ham. On top put mustard. On both pieces put one slice of provologne cheese. Then broil these until they look good. Put one on top of the other get a plate sit down and eat.

Well at one time (15 years ago) I thought this was good. I don’t feel bad if you never try it!

Preparation time: a few minutes

Servings: 1/2

Dear Tim, I’m sorry, but I just can’t bear the thought of processed cheeZe spread. The other things are good, but I haven’t found Provelone here yet. But we will eat and laugh and miss you.

***

by Samuel Wesley

Behold the Savior of mankind

Nailed to the shameful tree;

How vast the love that him inclined

To bleed and die for me!

Hark how he groans! While nature shakes,

And earth's strong pillars bend!

The temple's veil in sunder breaks,

The solid marbles rend.

It's done! The precious ransom's paid!

"Receive my soul!" he cries;

See how he bows his sacred head!

He bows his head and dies!

But soon he'll break death's envious chain

And in full glory shine.

O Lamb of God, was ever pain,

Was ever love, like thine?

A Letter

2011-03-17T01:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Elisabeth,

The first time Uncle Tim heard about you he was dressed in warm clothes with a warm hat and even gloves. He was getting ready to go ice fishing. He and his friend Charles would go to a lake, cut a hole in the ice, and put their fishing lines down it. They were hoping to catch some fish. But first they had to buy some bait—something that the fish would want to eat. So they were at a bait shop. Then Uncle Tim’s phone rang. This is what happened:

“Hey Laurel!”

“Hi Tim, how are you?”

“Well, I’m at a bait shop.”

“A bait shop? Why?”

“I’m getting ready to go ice fishing.”

“Really? Well, don’t fall in the ice. I need you to be an uncle.”

“What!”

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

“Are you going to have a baby! Wow! My sister’s having a baby!” I could hear him telling his friend Charles, and I imagined all the customers in the bait shop laughing with him in his happiness. We chatted for a bit longer and the whole time he was so happy for me, for you, for all of us.

I want you to remember this story.

Love, Mommy

A Glimpse of Goslar

2011-03-15T14:31:00.000-07:00

Grandmère and Elisabeth at the Kaiserpfalz

We wanted to show my mom a bit of Germany, a bit more than our regular routine, so we headed south to Goslar, a town in the Harz mountains. It was our second visit to the Harz Mountains and Goslar, and our second visit in the clouds. I have written down some notes about its history and the interesting (and not so interesting) museums we visited, but the part I’ll remember for the longest happened at the end of the day. We had seen two museums each, separated by a long and very German lunch (a whole post in itself), there wasn’t anything else on our to-do list and the kids found a playground. I was sure we’d be too cold to play, but the kids were game, so I thought, why not? I wanted to go back into the town and find some shops to look at but I thought first we could let them play.

I chatted with Mom, John pushed the kids on the swings, then I convinced Mom and Elisabeth to come with me to the top of the Zwinger tower, a tower that was part of the old wall. John and Henry had already been up. It was a steep walk up the stairs, and through a nondescript door, and we were on the roof, looking out over Goslar. I had just read The Door in the Wall, a children’s book in which part of the action takes place in a castle in England. The clouds were spilling over the mountains, and I felt like it was straight from the book. We could hear Henry way down below, laughing and yelling as John played with him. We went back down again because we were cold, and rejoined the boys on the playground.

Henry tries on armor at the Zwinger Museum

Elisabeth atop the Zwinger tower, overlooking Goslar

After I watched Mom, John and the kids play hide and seek, Elisabeth somehow managed to convince me to join in. And perhaps because of the surroundings, I for once joined in whole heartedly. My first hiding place was behind a giant fallen down tree. My whole body was hidden just by crouching. Next I was even more adventurous and I ran up the side of the old wall, which is now grassy and tree covered. Elisabeth could not see me, but she had peeked while counting (!!) and saw that I had run up high, so she was sure there must be a way up. I was breathing hard, trying to make sure she didn’t see me. She missed the moss covered steps and set off further down the hill to find a way up. Soon we were all scampering around the wall, trying new ways up and down, slipping down the decayed bits of rock. Just after this picture of the foursome was taken, Elisabeth pushed her way through some juniper bushes, Henry and I following, and we found ourselves, Narnia-like, in a new place. But this place was a war memorial to the fallen in both world wars. My playful attitude evaporated as I cautioned the children to avoid stepping on the plaques, to which they were oblivious. The number of dead was astronomical, but every town and village in France or Germany has one of these memorials, and it always catches me off guard, no matter how many times I’ve seen them.

We returned to our playful world and I realized that I didn’t care so much about finding a shop in Goslar anymore, or finding another museum. My impression of the town was fixed--it is old and it is fun. It has obvious attractions and hidden secrets to discover. We went home a cheerful bunch, and enjoyed finally seeing the sun emerge from behind the heavy clouds as we re-entered Hannover.

Head Over Heels Henry

2011-03-01T05:23:00.000-08:00

Make sure you know what your children are reading! Here we have The Daring Book for Girls and The Dangerous Book for Boys

Finally posting this a week and a half after the fact:

It was another beautiful sunny day here in Hannover yesterday. Watch out! Those are days of unseen adventure!

We decided to stay home from church. Henry was coughing and sneezing still and, well, frankly it is hard to be consistent these days. So we had a nice morning at home--enjoying our togetherness, our last day together before routine resumes (see, I have still skipped the sight seeing!) We had pancakes, and then we read a Bible story and acted it out together. The kids were coloring pictures and I was reading. But it was too nice to stay inside, so we went for a brisk and cold walk together. I was so happy to be walking and having energy! It felt good to get fresh air.

We came back home, Elisabeth headed upstairs to tend to her dolls and stuffed animals. They have been reading lots of books on her bed lately. John began playing the piano and I did some cleaning for a few moments, when there was a loud crash. Now of course I knew it was Henry because it is always Henry. But this time it was really loud. I rushed into the living room where our computer is currently set up near the piano. Henry was lying on the floor but this time was different than others. Blood was spilling from a cut in his head and John was leaning over him. I screamed and ran out of the room, yelling, “What happened? Oh, what happened?”

The Scene of the Catastrope

“He was climbing on the desk chair and it tipped over. He hit his head on the piano bench.” Oh agony. If we hadn’t moved the desk this never would’ve happened. I should’ve been watching him. We have let him climb all over the furniture. This was bound to happen. The thoughts raced through my head.

Later Henry asked, “Why did you run away when I fell?” Oh, what a question! At first I couldn’t remember why I ran out of the room, but I think it was because I went to get a towel for him. In fact I’m sure of it. But with all of my emotions that followed, I started to doubt my good intentions and wondered if I really just wanted to get away. But John was in control, so I concentrated on completing tasks for him, rather than looking at Henry’s head or trying to condemn myself for “letting” this happen.

Me, tersely: “Here’s the towel. What else do you need?”

John, calmly: “Bring me a damp towel.”

I rushed to the kitchen and looked at the towels, picking out a bright red one so the blood wouldn’t show.

Me, tersely: “Here’s the towel. What else do you need?”

John, calmly: “I need the first aid kit.”

I rushed to the kitchen and brought the puny first aid kit that hasn’t been resupplied in a while.

John, still calm but deliberate: “You’ll need the bigger one.”

Me, rather anxiously: “I don’t know where the heck it is.”

I ran off to find it because I did remember immediately that we had put it in the schrank (wardrobe) by the front door for some reason and brought it back.

John: “Now, I need a butterfly bandage.”

Me, holding out a joint bandage: “Is this it?”

John, still calm: “No, not that one.”

Me, finally finding the butterfly bandage: “This one?”

Now, what was John doing all this time? I don’t really know because I was afraid to look. But he started with keeping Henry lying down, something I might not have done because I would’ve wanted to hug and comfort him. Later he told me he was cleaning up the blood and applying pressure. Ah yes, that brings back vague recollections of high school first aid classes.

Henry was crying and wanting to get up and then suddenly I was able to switch to Henry comfort mode, rather than mommy panic mode.

Henry: “I don’t want that bandage!”

Mommy: “Oh Henry, I had these once. I was so excited to get a butterfly bandage. I thought it would be all colorful just like the butterfly that landed on Mira (a doll in a story). But they aren’t. Just white.” (why I thought that was comforting, I don’t know. Maybe I just needed to show myself that I could be calm.)

Then John wanted another bandaid to put on top and he was set. I asked what else we needed and with his usual calm, John said, “Pack a couple sandwiches and we’re going to the emergency room.”

The emergency room! That dreaded place! Many times have I agonized over whether or not to simply call the doctor, and just the other night I was wondering if we needed to take Elisabeth in to the ER because of her high fever. But now here it was broad daylight and we were going to face the unknown of the ER. John’s calmness and sense of determination gave me no need to doubt, so I started making sandwiches.

I called out to him, “Two or four? Are we all going?” He didn’t answer right away and I thought, “Well, maybe just John can take him and I’ll stay home with Elisabeth. No need for her to go.” But then I thought, no, a mother must go! How could a child go to the ER without his mother? And as John pointed out in the car, he also needed me--to help navigate. When Elisabeth was sick he had programmed the address for the Children’s Hospital into my phone so we were up and on our way in no time, along with my bulging backpack full of sandwiches, books to read, water, diapers . . .when in angst, bring everything you can think of.

Henry wanted me to read the book in the car. He had picked out a collection of Tanya stories--Tanya is a little girl who loves to dance. I am always tickled when he picks out what I think of as Elisabeth books. But they are sweet stories, so I cannot complain. John did not want me to read until we were on the autobahn and he knew where we were going, so Henry had to wait.

It took us about 20 minutes to get to the hospital. At last we were there, but we couldn’t read what the signs were telling us. Where should we go? Eventually the large U driveway was enough of a clue, so John dropped us off and went to park. I carried Henry part way, but if he isn’t clinging to me, he is very heavy and difficult to carry. Once in the hospital I was unsure of where to go. I did not see a “Reception” sign or “Emergency” sign. Finally I noticed a little office with a glass door. The sign on the outside read something like, “One person at a time please.” I shyly entered and said, “Er hat gefallen.” I think that means “He fell.” The receptionist made a face, a face that said, “Oh, that’s dreadful, he looks dreadful”--definitely not the disinterested look of someone you often meet at hospitals. She rattled off directions but it was too fast for me. So I asked her to say it slower or in English. So she repeated a simpler version in English: “You go down the orange hall and take him to the table.” I wondered if I would put him directly on a table for observation or if that was just a fault in her English. The orange hallway lead to a reception desk, so table must’ve meant desk--an easy mistake. I was given papers to fill out. Just then John arrived so I handed the clipboard to him and sat down with Elisabeth and Henry.

It was a relatively quiet hallway that we sat in. I looked around for signs for something like a waiting room, but I never saw them. After John turned in the clipboard and our insurance card we sat together in the hallway for a while, watching children with various ailments walk by with their parents. I began to wonder if we were waiting in the right place. “John, can you go ask someone?” But the person at the desk was leaving as if to go home. He ran after her and she said, in excellent English, that yes, we could wait here. There are just a few people ahead of us. So we kept waiting. I passed out sandwiches but of course John didn’t eat. He never eats when he’s stressed. When I am stressed I eat. And the kids were genuinely hungry as it was nearly 1:00. It was a delicious salami sandwich that I ate, but no sooner had I finished it than I had dreadful stomach cramps. I felt like I needed to be admitted somewhere. I tried walking around a bit, I dried squatting on the floor, labor style, but they didn’t go away. Finally I wandered off to find a bathroom, where I noticed for the first time in Germany a sign about the importance of hand washing. Before I left I washed my hands carefully in the frigid water and read the sign in German, English and Arabic. Soon after I returned to the family, a nurse came and directed us to the surgery room. That seemed to take care of the cramps.

The man who greeted us in the surgery room didn’t look like a doctor at all. He was wearing a lovely argyle sweater--no scrubs or coat. I had to look way up to him as he spoke to us. He began speaking in German, and we answered in kind for as long as we could, but he soon switched to English for our benefit. Thankfully his English was perfect. He instructed me to put Henry up on the table and started asking questions.

“So,” he asked, “What happened here?”

And I started to tell him, but then I turned to John and said, “You tell him.” After all, he was the closest to the incident.

“He was climbing a chair with wheels and he tipped over and hit his head on the piano bench.”

“Ah!” said the doctor. “Any vomitting, any dizziness . . .” the questions continued. Fortunately the answer to all of them was “no.”

While the doctor was still asking questions the nurse was beginning to pull the very sticky bandaids off Henry’s head and Henry began to cry. Then the nurse started cleaning it and oooh, I had to look away. But I was right there next to Henry and I realized that when it came to comforting him I could do the job. When it came to making decisions about medical things, I could not. He cried the whole time they were working, but he was brave. I have a childhood memory of my dad comforting me and cleaning me up after countless roller skating accidents--messy, scraped up knees and lots of tears. I know my mom helped me lots of times too, but I remember my dad always saying, “You’re very brave.” I always wondered how he could say I was brave when I cried so much. I don’t remember if he told me, or if I just made up my own conclusions . . .that the reason he knew I was brave was because I didn’t scream and carry on. I cried because it hurt but I didn’t react badly. Henry never tried to push the doctors hands away. He just pulled my hands closer to him. It is a posture I should remember.

After taking a quick look at the cut the doctor said to our relief, “Okay, it looks like we can just glue this shut.” He spoke to the nurse in German and she brought a tiny tube of clear liquid glue. The doctor squeezed the two sides of Henry’s forehead together and the cut shrank from half a centimeter to less than a millimeter and the nurse squeezed the glue from bottom to top. It seemed to gunk together near the top of the cut in a gray blob. The doctor said something to the nurse and I wondered if she was supposed to get that blob off, but she never did, so he must’ve said something else. I wondered for days if it was going to heal okay or what that little blob was.

The doctor explained to us what signs we should watch for--confusion, grogginess, trouble waking, vomiting. . .If we saw any of these things we were to bring him to the hospital to be admitted and observed for 48 hours. I couldn’t bear the thought of taking Henry to the hospital for 48 hours, but I was confident that that wouldn’t be necessary. The doctor told us to take him to the pediatrician on Tuesday to make sure it was healing okay. I meant to ask him if Henry could attend Kindergarten in the morning, but as often happens, I forgot one of my key questions. John assured me later that since he didn’t say we needed to keep him at home, it was fine for him to go.

We drove home, a bit livelier than on the first trip. “Now Henry,” John began, in a fatherly tone of voice. “Have you learned a lesson from this?”

“No. What?”

“What were you doing when you fell?”

“I was getting into the chair.” Hmm, this was different than our earlier hypothesis. We had both assumed that Henry was climbing in the chair as in playing. But if he was simply getting into the chair, that seemed a different matter.

“Well Henry,” I said, “From now on you need to ask for help to get into that chair, okay?”

But inside I was thinking, “That will never happen. Maybe we need to rearrange the furniture.”

We were nearly home and John said, “Well, we can look at the piano bench and see if there is any blood on it!” Henry immediately replied, “I thought it was called a forehead.” We all laughed and laughed so of course he joined in, not caring that he didn’t know what we were laughing at. Apparently “forehead” was a new word for Henry because at the hospital he had pointed to his forehead and said, “I thought this was my head.” “It is your head, but that part of your head is called your forehead.” Now here we were calling it a piano bench. When John explained what he meant, Henry was quite curious to check for blood.

I don’t know if they were disappointed or not that there was no blood on the bench. We finished our lunch at home, with prayers of thanksgiving, and John took Henry up to bed.

The recovery during the week went just fine. On Sunday, a week after the accident, John pulled off the tapes that were covering the wound. I couldn’t look. Henry started to cry because the pulling hurt (who likes to have a bandaid taken off?) so I promised him a chocolate after it was done. That worked like a charm of course. The bottom part looked like a scratch but at the top, where the blob of glue had been, there was a larger scab. I kept waiting for it to split open again, but again, with his calm confidence, John assured me that it was healing fine.

That is nearly the end of my long winded tale, except for a word of epilogue. Mothers, imagine my horror when on Saturday Elisabeth sat down to play the piano and I went to look for Henry. There he was, kneeling backwards on the very same chair he had fallen from six days before. It didn’t take much for the alarm in my voice to work on Henry: “Henry! Get down!” as I scooped him up and off the chair. “Don’t you remember that is how you fell?” He began to cry and I asked him if I scared him. “Yes,” he said tearfully. “I needed to scare you Henry, because I don’t want that to happen again. Let’s find somewhere else for you to sit. What were you doing?”

“I wanted to watch Elisabeth play the piano,” he continued, in a pitiful and teary voice.

I pulled the ottoman close to the piano, and that is his new location from which to watch a pianist.

I hope.

One week later--running around like crazy

The Sick Chronicles

2011-02-21T05:27:00.000-08:00

ed note: not meant to be a pity post, but just filling you in if you wanted to know what we've been up to. I should be writing about our sight seeing, but sorry, you get this first!

(pictures have nothing to do with the story here--just good color!)

It is the first day back to school for Elisabeth after a week long February break. The first half of it was spent recovering from illness, illness that started during the last few days of school for Elisabeth. It was sort of a repeat from right before Christmas break, only worse.

My scariest moment through the whole ordeal, well, there were at least two. The first was last Thursday night when I heard Elisabeth up at about 1:30 AM. She wasn’t calling for me, but she has changed since her last sickness (December, right before Christmas break). She doesn’t necessarily wake me up just because she is up and uncomfortable. That is nice, but it also alarms me sometimes. This particular time I checked her temperature and it was 107 with the temporal scanning thermometer. Shocked, I checked it again and it was 106.7. I asked her where it hurt and she said her head, so I got an ice pack, and gave her Tylenol. I made her drink some water and pulled covers off of her. Still I was afraid to leave her, afraid to turn the lights off. I stepped away for a few moments to read online about fevers of 107. I was wondering if we needed to go to the Emergency Room and I didn’t even know where to go. What I read was alarming and guilt inducing. Phrases like “can endure fevers of up to 107 degrees without harm” and “fevers over 107 degrees may result in brain damage. . .” I kept moving the ice pack around her body, but it was uncomfortable for her. After a while I checked her temperature orally and it was no more than 103. After the ice pack had been off for a while I tried the temporal thermometer again and it was down to 104. But still I wondered what the temperature really was. Meanwhile I was starting to feel my body slide into fever again. John and I had sat on the couch together that evening after putting the kids to bed and I felt nearly normal, eating a piece of pizza and a few sips of beer. I thought I was on the road to recovery. But lying in bed next to Elisabeth I realized I was not out of the woods yet. I started getting up to go back to my bed and Elisabeth said, “Stay!” Oh the tug on my heart. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to sleep in my bed. I told her I needed to rest but that daddy would check on her later. Then I went back to bed and finally woke up John to tell him about the temperature. He agreed that yes, we needed to take her to the doctor tomorrow, but no, we didn’t need to go tonight. But for a long time I lay in bed thinking of those numbers, 1-0-7, 1-0-7. I pictured my daughter’s brain melting away, her mind, her precious, brilliant mind, changing to one that didn’t work quite so well, losing her ability to calculate so quickly, to read long books, to remember interesting facts she’s read in passing. I cried as I saw her taken away from me, then I thought about my brother Tim and how my mom had to lose him. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct your paths.” I repeated the familiar words over and over until I fell asleep, struggling to rest in God’s care for us.

The next morning John got up to go to work. I felt awful. My shoulders ached, my head ached. I could barely lift my head. I stretched out on the bed towards his departing figure trying to get him to read my mind, “Don’t leave! Don’t go!” But I couldn’t form the words, and he was thinking that we would walk down the street to a family doctor I took Elisabeth to in December. I hadn’t told him that my friend Bettina had tried to call this same doctor once and there was no answer. But I wanted to be strong and away he went. After 30 minutes or so the kids came into my bed and we read Beatrix Potter books as Henry has been enjoying those lately. Then we headed downstairs and I drank some coffee and tried to eat some cereal, but couldn’t manage to read a book at breakfast as we normally do. Instead I set the iPad on the table and they watched favorite scenes from Toy Story I (we’d watched nearly the whole thing the night before at dinner, only that time we sat on the couch and watched it on the big computer). About 8:00 I dragged myself over to the phone to call the doctor down the street. No answer except a message saying this number was out of service. I tried to think of what to do and how I was to get us to the pediatrician that was a walk and 4 tram stops away. I called John but there was no answer, so I called Bettina, who happened to have the car that day. I felt foolish asking for help for getting to the doctor--like we should’ve planned ahead for this and had a car that I could drive so we could get to the doctor. But I guess I felt sick enough that it overrode the foolish feeling. Bettina called the pediatrician that everyone around here goes to and made an appointment for Elisabeth for 11 AM. I called John and used more than telepathy to let him know I needed him to come home. He was able to arrange his meeting with Houston so that he could carry it on by phone from our house. He arrived home around 10:00 and took Elisabeth to the doctor, while Bettina drove me to a sort of walk-in clinic.

I waited for about an hour which was pretty painful--I just wanted to lie down. I noticed that when anyone came into the waiting room they said, “Guten Tag” to everyone. Fortunately there was no handshaking, which is common practice here. Then when someone left the doctor’s office he or she said goodbye to everyone. I felt too disgusting to even manage that, I’m afraid to say. I was afraid to breathe or touch anything and spread whatever awful disease had taken over my body. Finally someone called my name and I walked towards the direction of the voice and sat down on a chair in the doctor’s office. There was a bed on one side of the room, but I sat at a chair on the other side of the desk. I was confused about where the doctor was or how many desks the doctor had. We get used to things being a certain way in the US--even if doctor’s offices are different, they usually have common elements--when you go sit in the exam room there is a sink, some supplies and a bench or bed. But here the doctor sat behind her desk and talked to me for a few moments. I had not filled out any paperwork, but had only given them my insurance card which has a chip on it so I don’t know what information they already knew about me. She instructed me to stand and take off my shirt and she listened to my chest. Then at last, oh blessed bed, I could lie down. She didn’t ask any questions about history or allergies, only asking if I was pregnant. I didn’t understand the word she used so when I asked she pointed to my stomach and said, “Baby?” I described to her my symptoms as best as I could in German. I had been looking them up on Google translate while I was waiting, and Bettina had told the receptionist some of them as well. Then after the examination the doctor wrote down three prescriptions on a piece of paper. Antibiotics was the first so I asked why she was giving them to me. Then she explained that I had Bronchitis. I asked if I could also have the flu and she said that it could have come with the flu. This is all approximate, as it was in German and I was ill so I am guessing that is what she said. She told me the second item was for the “schmerz”--for the pain. Just take it when I feel pain, one pill, no more than three times a day. I later found out that this medicine was the German equivalent of Tylenol, and the maximum dose she told me to take was about half of what is considered the maximum by US standards. Later at home when fever came back I quickly decided to forgo the German standards and resume my intake at US standards. Sorry, liver or kidneys. I just wanted to feel good. The third medicine was for upset stomach, which I hadn’t really felt until I was waiting in the doctor’s office. She said to take 10 drops three times a day. I didn’t know how these drops worked, but when I got home the only way I could figure to use it was to put the bottle right in my mouth and one drop at at a time would slowly come out. It tasted terrible but it did the trick.

Bettina walked with me to the Apoteke where I quickly filled my prescriptions. Everything is already boxed up and on the shelf so there is never a question of coming back later to pick it up (well, that did happen once with Elisabeth) but my Amoxicillin was ready to go and Bettina drove me, shivering, home, handing me a bag of groceries she had picked up for me while I waited at the doctor’s office.

As I put the groceries away I heard John’s car coming down the street and I rushed, or tried to rush, to get myself into bed, knowing that once the crew came home it would be harder to make my way there. And then, ah the rest of a mom whose husband is home! At last I could sleep or lie there or whatever, not thinking about when Henry would be up from his nap or when Elisabeth needed to be picked up from school. I did a lot of thinking in bed and much of it was profound, I am sure, albeit quite narcissistic.

Elisabeth had a good visit to the pediatrician. He spoke quite good English and said Elisabeth probably had Swine Flu, which he confirmed in the morning following results of a culture. He said we should bring her back in if she did not improve by Monday. She was full of energy that afternoon and did well on Saturday.

By Sunday I was ready to think about life again, but Elisabeth was back to having high fever. All day, even with Tylenol or Ibuprofen (prescription medicine here) her temperature didn’t get below 103. I resolved to take her back to the doctor and felt encouraged when I remembered that I could call a taxi to take us there. Even in the morning she was so miserable as I was reading to her in bed. I decided to read from the Bible story book we’ve been reading through and the story happened to be about Jesus healing many people. So many were gathered to be healed and waiting for him that they didn’t leave to eat. He was concerned for them and then ensued the miracle in which he fed 5,000 from just a little lunch. His concern for the sick and hungry people touched me to the core and gave me hope for the our weakened family.

That night we watched Toy Story 3 together and had pizza--probably not the best sick food. The pizza upset my stomach a bit and the movie was just a little too heavy for kids. We skipped some of the scary parts, but the evening left me with a low feeling and a sense of loneliness as well. Not only was I far from home, but all my friends here were off on vacation. No, not all, just the ones from Elisabeth’s school. But as any expat will tell you, there is something about the expat community that solidifies friendships quickly. We are the ones that have moved around and we need friends fast, good friends. Mothers from Henry’s kindergarten have been kind to me and we are becoming friends, but we haven’t established that bond that allows you to call them at 8 in the morning and ask for help when you are all sick. For the first time since we arrived (as far as I can remember!) said to John, “I want to go home!”

Thankfully Monday morning Elisabeth woke up with renewed energy and a temperature below 100. As the day progressed it stayed that way and we worked on some cleaning and even cut out hearts out of some pie crust I had (it was Valentine’s Day) but I still spent a good amount of time in bed. I kept Henry home from Kindergarten in case he hadn’t had the flu yet. He bounced off the walls all week, coughing, runny nose, but full of energy. John had gotten a flu shot when he was in the states so he got away with a few days of feeling crummy and that was it. I have found out that yes, they do give flu shots here, so I will be getting one next fall.

We had planned to go to Munich on Wednesday and had put off the decision about keeping or changing our plans until Monday. With Elisabeth’s renewed energy I started thinking we could go, but then I thought about how far away we were planning to go (a four hour train ride) and how much was involved in getting out the door, so we cancelled our reservations. The kids were sad --- Henry cried, “I want to go to a castle!” but we promised that we would go somewhere. Finding a decent place to stay overnight was tricky, so we ended up going to Bremen for the day. More on that later.

Thus ends the sick chronicles for now. Elisabeth is back at school today. Henry went to Kindergarten this morning and I’m trying to catch up on things. It is a gorgeous sunny day, but quite cold. I was shocked this morning at how light it was when we left the house at 7:25 AM. It has been nearly two weeks since we left the house so early and we are getting longer and longer days.

Ich Bin Die Kleine Katze

2011-02-08T08:48:00.000-08:00

Elisabeth wrote this poem yesterday, with a little bit of spelling help from her German friends. You can probably get the gist of it and see some similarities between English and German. I was just a bit tickled, if you can't tell!

Ich Bin die Kleine Katze

Ich bin die Kleine Katze.

Ich bin nicht groß

Ich bin nicht schwarz.

Ich bin klein und Ich bin braun.

Ich bin die Kleine Katze.

Ich esse Fleisch und Wurst.

Ich trinke Milch und Wasser.

Ich bin die Kleine Katze

Ich leibe meine Familie.

Die leute in meiner

Familie sind:meine Schwester,

mein Bruder,meine Mama und

mein Papa.

Ich leibe meine Familie.

Kinder and Language Update

2011-02-07T06:25:00.000-08:00

Some of you have heard me complain and cry about Henry’s Kindergarten experience. It has certainly had its ups and downs. But right now we are in an UP and I’m grateful. For the last week or so, as soon as we come back from taking Elisabeth to the tram to meet her middle school buddies who accompany her to school, Henry asks me, “When can we leave? Will I have time to play?” Morgenkreis or Morning Circle is at 9:00 and that is the official beginning of Kindergarten, but he can arrive any time after 7:30. It starts getting busier between 8:20 and 9:00. So these days we are sure to leave the house by 8:30 and sometimes earlier so Henry has “time to play.” It makes me chuckle because he has time to play all morning, but there is something special to him about getting there before the bells ring. I asked him if he wanted me to bring him right after taking Elisabeth to the tram. That would be a bit before 8:00, but I think he still enjoys the little bit of time we have to read a book together, empty the dishwasher and do a puzzle. Lately when I leave him at Kindergarten he’s almost forgetting to say good bye to me, or he tells me good bye as an afterthought as he runs after Emil or Charlotte (pronounced Charlotta) or another friend. Today his teacher Frau S. who was sick for a week, said he is understanding more German and speaking more German. Sehr toll. Great! I’m glad she noticed the difference as well.

This morning I told Elisabeth it was going to be warm enough to forgo jeans and wear a skirt and leggings. She chose nylon tights and a skirt but it was colder than I thought. Then when we got back from walking her to the tram, I saw her water bottle sitting on the bench. It took me a lot of talking to myself to keep me from emailing her teacher and asking her to remind Elisabeth to buy something to drink with her lunch card, or dropping off her water bottle at my friend B’s house so Elisabeth would have water when B picks her up this afternoon. I resisted. We’ll see shortly how she’s survived.

The sun is pouring through the window and Henry is still napping. By the time he wakes up the best sun of the day will be gone, but the days are getting longer. Perhaps this week it will even be light enough in the morning for him to ride his bike (he still scoots on it without pedals) to the tram. It will make our walks faster.

In my last post I wrote about language learning but I didn’t write much about John or me. We have learned a lot, it is true, and yes, we do know more German than our children. I have good days and bad days. On Saturday on the tram I heard people speaking German (as usual) but I thought to myself, “I do not like that language.” Other times it is is intriguing that I am able to converse in a new language. Last week two friends from Henry’s kindergarten group came over for a play date. As they are young, their mom and 6 year old brother came too. I assumed the mom spoke English, but we had arranged the play date all in German. Perhaps she was just letting me practice, I thought. I kept waiting for her to tell me, “We can speak English, it’s okay.” But she never did, so the slow conversation began. I later learned that she had studied English as all Germans do, but later she had studied in Holland and had learned Dutch, and it is hard to stay fluent in three languages unless you are really using all of them (or unless you are a really amazing person). So after that afternoon German lesson I skipped my Rosetta Stone for the rest of the week. We did manage to keep up a sort of conversation, but we could never go very deep into any subject. She was very kind and her smile encouraged me at every step. Her children are dear and have helped Henry in his transition. I don’t think I told her how much I appreciate them.

Vive les Vowels!

2011-01-25T02:30:00.000-08:00

I’m marveling over our budding bilingual boy. It’s true that he is not bilingual yet, but I am fascinated by the changes going on in our household. This happens all the time, I know, but it is a different feeling to experience it first hand. I guess I feel like the parent of a newborn who exclaims, “She pursed her lips and cooed! It was so amazing!”

I have known several bilingual children over the years--friends who grew up in Mexico and whose children have always been speaking Spanish and English, friends who moved from the Netherlands to the U.S. when their oldest was two are among those was around more. I remember when he didn’t know any English, but then gradually he knew more and more, but I didn’t get to watch it so close up. In these two examples the parents were already fluent in English, so it only seemed natural that their kids would become fluent in English. They told me they didn’t speak English at home, but I don’t think I really believed them.

As late as 2 weeks ago, Henry said, “I don’t speak German” yet over the last few weeks he speaks it more and more in play, whether it is solitary play or with the rest of the family.

I came upon him last week playing with little trucks. “Danke schön.” “Bitte schön” they were saying to each other, over and over. With growly voices. Another time we were working on a puzzle (a poozle, per Henry) and he said, “Das geht hier und das geht hier.” This goes here and this goes here. Then a few moments later, “Möchts du brot?” Do you want bread? He’s like a toddler learning to speak, playing with words. I don’t think he talks to other kids much yet, but again, toddlers can talk nonstop at home and say nothing when around other children.

The most fascinating to me is how he is beginning to view the languages equally. We had been reading him short prayers from a prayer book for kids by Phyllis Tickle. Then I was at Fairkauf, a local thrift store, and I picked up a few friendly looking children’s books. One of them turned out to be a prayer book for children. So now, instead of the prayers in English, he wants the German prayers. He doesn’t understand them, but that doesn’t really matter. The words are starting to be familiar: Gott, danke, gebeten (pray), Kindergarten, meine mutter . . .and he hears it so much 4 mornings a week, so why not assume that he too will master it one day, just like he is heading towards mastering English.

There is also the pronunciation pickle. Even though I know I should learn by hearing, I still remember things better if I see them written down, or at least have them spelled out loud. But this can later cause problems with my pronunciation even if it helps my vocabulary building. The German oomlaut changes the sound of vowels. (öäëü)

Hat, or stocking cap like kids wear in the winter is called a Mütze, so when I say the word, I picture the u, and think, short u sound, but I know it has an oomlaut, so I sort of purse my lips and try to change the vowel and say “Mütze” --here’s an explanation from German Made Simple by Arnold Leitner, Ph,D.:

“ü No equivalent sound in English. It is like the French u. To make long ü, hold lips firmly in the position for ū (oo) and try to say ī (eel). The result will be long ü.”

So I am thinking about all these things and I think “Mütze” comes out pretty well, but Henry says, “No, it’s Mitze” (his lips, are they pursed? I keep forgetting to check.) This sounds more like a short i to me. I want to hear more u, but to Henry he just says what he hears, plain and simple.

I laughed and said to John, “It’s all about the vowels, John!”

Later, John was asking Henry about one of his Kindergarten Erzieherinnen (like a teacher) saying something about “Sylvie.” Henry said, “No, you have the vowels wrong. It’s SilbEE” Here I think Henry’s perception mislead him. In Germany V’s are still vvvv. But I liked how he thought he knew all about the vowels.

The kids laugh and laugh about “Handschuhe”--the word for gloves and mittens. They are like shoes for your hands! Henry thinks “Mütze” should be the word for mittens because it sounds more like mittens (to him).

Elisabeth has much more reluctance with the language, given that she only has German class four days a week for 45 minutes or so. She has lots of friends who speak German fluently, but they usually speak to her in English. She participates in after school sports on Wednesday where they play a variety of games. The instructor gives directions in German and the other kids translate for the few who don’t understand German. In this way Elisabeth had learned a few words for body parts and other things. I like the integrated nature of the school. While they are reading and writing fairy tales and folk tales in the classroom, they are reading German fairy tales in their German class and acting them out. When they learned about the human body in the classroom they learned body parts in German. She still is quite hesitant to speak to anyone in German, but we are not pushing her. She was excited to learn it before we came, but once school started she says she doesn’t like her German class (though sometimes her stories about class belie this truth). But one day I asked her if she wanted to do Rosetta Stone with me (our German language program on the computer) and she was obviously much more at ease with it than she was in June or July in The Woodlands.

She just finished her third piano lesson with a teacher I met through Henry’s kindergarten. Elisabeth is this teacher’s first opportunity to teach piano in English. And now she is adding to Elisabeth’s homework by teaching her the German words for musical terms, something I think it excellent. So far it is very simple--half note = die halbe note; whole note = die ganze note.

Her piano lessons have also been an opportunity for my language practice. For 2 weeks I played board games with the teacher’s children. They speak a few phrases in English, but we speak German together. They taught me the games first. It was quite fun, but I must confess that I mostly learned by watching rather than hearing the instruction. In time, in time.

Tchüss!

Frohes Neues!

2011-01-16T05:31:00.000-08:00

On New Year’s Eve we were invited to the home of a family from Henry’s kindergarten. While I was a bit nervous about attending our first German social gathering, it turned out to be quite relaxed and comfortable. We had two kinds of soup for dinner, plenty of champagne, fire crackers at 6 PM for the kids, and then a couple hours of conversation while we waited for midnight.

I had told this friend how we had bailed early on a New Year’s Eve party a few years ago, and that was the last one we had been to, but I promised to make a good effort to stay until midnight this year. We put the kids to bed upstairs, so they made it quite easy to stay late. We enjoyed comparing stories of how we met our spouses, differences in Kindergarten vs. preschool vs. keeping kids at home, politics and potty training. The time flew by and soon the t.v. was on, showing us the concert at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. At midnight our new friends called out, “Frohes Neues!” which means “Happy New!” short for Happy New Year! The fireworks at the Brandenburg Gate were tremendous, and considering the history of that location, I found it quite moving. Then we were going outside again for more fireworks. I was a little leery of leaving the kids asleep and even more so when we opened the door and saw the sky exploding with fireworks being set off up and down the street. The other mothers had baby monitors (baby phones here), so I assuaged my anxiety by listening to the monitors in case I heard my own children. Elisabeth told us later that she woke up from the fireworks, but pulled the blanket over her head to muffle the noise. Henry didn’t budge. I have seen fireworks on the street before, but this was something else. It seemed that everyone was out, setting stuff off, in the street with cars 5-10 feet away. At one point a launched rocket came down right next to John. When the kids were with us we did the small stuff --a package of fire crackers with the words “Kids Club” printed on it. But at midnight the rockets were flying high and brightly. And this wasn’t in the heart of the city. I was glad we weren’t any closer in.

By the time we got home it was 2 AM, and our kids were awake again at midnight Houston time, 7 AM here, but it was worth it nonetheless.

O Christmas Tree

2011-01-16T05:19:00.000-08:00

It was time for Christmas trees to be collected this week. I had heard that there was a day that they would be collected and assumed I would need to drag it out to the street, like we do in the U.S. A week or so after Christmas near church I saw piles of trees, but I thought, “Well, that’s in the city. The people that live in apartments need to bring theirs here.” I saw several piles around the city that day, and one on the way home from our tram to our house. That evening I asked my friend B what day we needed to take our trees out. She explained that from the 13th to the 20th or so, trees would be collected . . .from the pile I had seen walking home. So rather than dragging it to the street we would need to drag it oh, a half mile. Now, true, we could’ve put it in our car. But what do you picture when you see a month old Christmas tree in your car? A mess. So, after seeing the pile of trees grow and grow, and even seeing some trees being dragged down the street, the kids and I tried our hand at it.

I went to the shed to get a pair of work gloves and by the time I came out, Elisabeth and Henry had taken the tree from our patio to our gate--they had carried it. I was both impressed and encouraged about the trip ahead. It turned out to be a delightful romp down the street with the kids taking turns carrying the tip, while I carried the stump. Sometimes I thought I could do it easier on my own, so I asked them to drop it while I dragged it. But the truth was, they were really helping. After about fifteen minutes we were at the big pile of trees. The kids laughed and laughed at all those trees lying there. Henry was sad that they were going to take away the trees but I tried to explain about how they could chip it up into bits and that we would get a new one next year. That made him feel better.

Some of the trees had wax on them. Many people really do put candles on their trees and light them every night from Christmas Eve until January 6th, Three Kings Day (or Epiphany). My friend M had a bucket of water near her tree at all times, and each day had new candles on the tree. Keep in mind also that in the U.S. people are buying trees (if they buy fresh trees at all!) the day after Thanksgiving that often have been cut and shipped from far away. Here they buy trees much closer to Christmas (traditionally the 23rd or 24th) and they are more local. Our tree was the greenest we’ve ever had. It drank water for a month and the needles it dropped over the whole period would’ve fit in one hand. After seeing M’s tree with the candles I thought maybe we could try that next year . . .a tree with candles and a goose for Christmas dinner.

One Man's Trash . . .

2011-01-16T05:05:00.001-08:00

Henry was coloring with the markers in the new pencil case he got for Christmas from our landlady. Something about the picture didn’t please him, and in a fit of anger and frustration he cried out, “I’m not going to color this any more! I’m going to throw it away.” He ran over to the trash can in the kitchen and cried out, in the same urgent tone, “Which trash can does it go in?”

In the first picture, from left to right: paper and card board, "Gelber Sack" or "Yellow sack" for plastic and metal, "Restmüll"--everything else, except for the compost which I will spare you.

I am always impressed that when our Restmüll is picked up once a week, it is rarely full, and see how cute it is? The container with the blue lid is for paper. The container on the right is for Restmüll.