More Signs and Stuff

Every once and awhile I put up photos of signs I appreciate. One sign is at the entrance to our friendly neighborhood graveyard (it instructs dogs to stay outside). Guess they don't want to take any chances with dogs getting into the bones...



















Mr. Mais (the corn guy) welcomed guests to a recent Wurstfest in Bad Durkheim. Now he's someone I wouldn't want to encounter in a dark alley. He's grinning a little too widely...or is he gritting his teeth? Slightly crazed look.

Just Clarifying...

Well, guess I need to clarify, since Beth asked--the previous photo taken at Schwetzingen Schloss is of David and Anna. This is a photo of David and me, taken on the castle grounds. I have a few pounds on Anna...but we do have a similar smile, at a certain angle! Anyway, I have a phobia about posting pictures of myself most of the time. Here's your photo for the year.

Schwetzingen Schloss

Toward the end of August, David, Anna and I visited the Schwetzingen Schloss--it's close to our little town and rivals Versailles. We had fun strolling the grounds, staying away from the predatory swans (no joke), and finding new hideaways in the maze of paths and shrubbery.

First Lines

I've been searching the books on my shelves, trying to pick out authors who've started with what I consider some attention-getting first lines. Here are a few I've found so far:

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. -- C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

When I was little I would think of ways to kill my daddy. -- Kaye Gibbons, Ellen Foster

If I could tell you only one thing about my life it would be this: when I was seven years old the mailman ran over my head. -- Brady Udall, The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint

"Where's Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast. -- E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

When the lights went off the accompanist kissed her. -- Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. -- Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

Also, if you're so inclined, American Book Review has listed what they consider the 100 best first lines from novels. Ha Jin's sentence certainly qualifies!

Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu. -- Ha Jin, Waiting

Festive, Hand-knit Hats For Dogs

This you've got to see. Dooce has a daily link on the left side of her page to festive hand-knit hats for dogs. I wonder how Murphy would look, dolled up in one of these? I can definitely see him going for this one...

See Below

See below for Tick Tack, Cuckoo. Couldn't figure out how to get my post to today's date, if I saved it as a draft on a prior date. So much for my blogger know-how.

Important People

August 27th is a special day. My mom and Jeff's mom both celebrate their birthdays today. So, Happy Birthday, Mom! Since I can't be there in person, I'll drink a cup of Burundi tea in your honor.













Also, I was in the States during July and didn't get a chance to tell Danielle, our oldest, Happy Birthday on this blog. So here's one for you, Dani. You're an amazing young woman and I love you! Also, I appreciate your moments of silliness, like dressing up in Anna's old Halloween costume (poodle skirt and all) and shooting funny pics in the backyard. Miss you and hope you enjoy your senior year in college. Let me know how German 1 and Swahili 1 turn out.

This Summer

This summer I:
* Flew on a long trip to Oregon and for the first time felt as if I needed to use the handy "motion discomfort bag" provided by my airline (fortunately, I recovered, and saved the unused bag for a gag birthday bag).
* Bicycled more than I ever have before in my life. It helped that Bruhl, the town I cycled through most often, has an Italian gelato shop with the best Malaga ice cream around (a rich egg custard ice cream flavored with rum and raisins, for the uninitiated). Also, it didn't hurt that Germany has an astounding array of bike trails in all directions.
* Neglected to vacuum up dog hair often enough. As a result, Jeff, the kids, and I sometimes find corgi hair in our cookies, our bath water, and our suitcases. We like to say that Murphy, our corgi, will remain with us long after his eventual death...the omnipresent hair, that is.
* Took a ferry to Victoria, Canada, where the customs lady almost turned my daughter and me away, because I didn't have a note from "the other parent" authorizing me to take Anna (13 years old) out of the country. That, after we'd already flown from Germany to the US!

That's all for now. Lightning interrupts my thinking. Maybe there will be more tomorrow.

Tick Tack, Cuckoo

A few weeks ago, Jeff and I visited Triberg. We ate at a restaurant called the Tick Tack Stube, near our hotel. My food was ok--the standard cheese, pork and blumenkohl (cauliflower) with brown sauce. But what made my evening memorable? Our waiter.

First of all, when he came for our order, I got flustered trying to track down my choice among pages and pages of entree options. "It's ok!" our waiter smiled, and waved his hands broadly, as if calming troubled waters. After a sigh, I relaxed. While we waited for the food, Jeff and I checked out the wall of cuckoo clocks behind us, ready to go off in unison at any minute.

Soon, a German family walked in and took a nearby table. The same waiter approached and chatted with them for a few moments. He made a special fuss over the two kids, finding them suitable chairs and explaining the menu at length. Finally, they ordered and he brought out drinks, staying to converse longer.

Then, it turned seven o'clock, and the clocks on the wall began their show. One after another, each opened, cuckooed the time, and wound down. Every bird sounded slightly different--some whistled with a high pitch, others as if they'd finally made it through puberty. I simultaneously wanted to clap my hands over my ears and to beat on cymbals, the noise was so deafening and exhilarating. Afterwards, the two children called the waiter, gesturing and waving their arms. It was obvious they were excited about the cuckoo clocks and wanted to see more.

Mr. Waiter beckoned them over to the back wall, near us. Then he leaped up on the cushioned bench seat and began to reset each clock. He wound the hands around so that each one would strike the hour again. Pulled the metal weights hanging below, tricked the clocks into the future.

And then it began. Ding! Dong! Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo! A whole wall of sound. Little wooden figures slid out of Alpine houses and danced in circles, then returned to the inner workings of their clocks. A carved rooster crowed the time. Painted cows grazed in laquered grass. And the children's faces... Our waiter looked on like a child himself, delighting in their glee. Finally the cuckoos were cuckooed out, and all was quiet again.

I don't think I've enjoyed a meal so very much in a long time.

Crossing the Border

Last Sunday, after a night in Triberg, Jeff and I crossed the border into Colmar, France. A few pictures from that visit:

Flowers everywhere...
Interesting smells on the cobblestones.
Crême glacée and warm coconut macaroons!

Saturday, Jeff and I drove south a few hours to Triberg, a small town in the Black Forest, where we spent the night. We hiked up to the waterfall, which reminded me somewhat of Multnomah Falls in Oregon. One thing that astounds me often in Germany--the large numbers of young men out hiking with lit cigarettes dangling from their mouths and a trail of smoke in their wake. Enhanced lung capacity? Huh.
On the way down, we stopped in at an open-air museum with farm houses built during the 1600s and later. Can't you imagine Heidi prancing down this slope?
Quite a nice weekend. We wanted to take advantage of big sister's presence to watch Anna, since leaving a thirteen year old alone for twenty-four hours is not a wise move. David is off backpacking in the Alps near Berchtesgaden, so he's on his own adventure.

Happy Birthday, Spidey!

生日快乐, 蜘蛛
с днем рождения к вам
alles Gute zum Geburtstag liebes spidey,
joyeux anniversaire !

To someone who impresses me with her love of languages and for the way she cares deeply about people.
Have a wonderful Spider-mas. Wish I could drop by for a coffee with you!

For Jeff

I'm happy to be home in Germany again with my family. This poem is for Jeff:

SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN HEIDELBERG

Strolling the Hauptstrasse, baguettes
and brotchen in the basket, your hand
on my arm. The fine glinting
spokes of a bicycle passing, pebbles
sparking. We struck fire too, you and I,
through children, taxes, the cold frost
mornings in Oregon, cut emerald
lawns. Not an inferno—fire
trucks clustered, globe lights flashing—
but the warm center of a midnight
campfire, hands toasted over open
coals, the melted goo of a marshmallow
coating your scalded, pink tongue.

Soap of Many Colors

This will be my only post from the U S of A. Enjoying myself immensely, by the way!

Real Live Preacher is someone I've read for awhile. He started out blogging on Salon.com, and now has his own site, which you can find on the links to the right. Gordon's trying to make a living as a writer, and now his wife, Jeanene, is pitching in and selling homemade soap via the internet to supplement their income. Check out their natural soap -- Dragon's Blood ( Sangre de Grado) and Honeyed Amber sound especially interesting -- or maybe, since I'm a tea freak, the Iced Black Keemun Tea. Hmm. Hard decisions.

A Good Kind of Busy

This last week has been "a good kind of busy" because Allison, one of my college room-mates, stayed at our home along with her three children. Lisa, if you're reading this, you need to come and visit next! We drove all over Germany and Paris, laughed an extraordinary amount, and generally caught up on the last seventeen years of life since we've seen each other. I couldn't believe how easy it was to connect, even after all that time. Allison retains a few of her New York habits, including walking faster than anyone else in the group (except me), and signaling the waiter for a bill before the meal arrives. The waiter in Paris thought Allison was joking when she asked for the check before we'd even finished our baguettes...

On Tuesday, I fly to Oregon with Anna, our thirteen year old. We'll spend six weeks visiting family and friends. I'm a little curious whether she'll go through any culture shock--it's been two years we've lived in Germany, and this is Anna's first time back to the States. Anyway, my postings may be sporadic for awhile. And it'll be because I'm back in my favorite state of the whole USA!

I've Seen It All

Kitsch is one of those great words that's made its way into the English language. So, you decide, is this the definition of kitsch? And if so, then this would be the ultimate in kitsch. I don't have strong feelings about this or anything... Maybe if I hadn't seen the pictures plastered all over kleenexes, pencils, sticky notes, and what have you.

Tintin Thoughts

Growing up, my brother and I read Tintin whenever we could get our hands on a new publication of these comic strip books drawn and written by Herge (I'd put an accent over the last "e" in his name, but can't figure out how to do that). Herge's plots are full of twists and turns. Tintin's fox terrier, Snowy, whom I wanted to adopt, accompanies Tintin on his global adventures. And the pictures are perfect; colorful, sharp and clean. I read about Tintin in Tibet on thinkBuddha's blog today, and it got me wanting to dig up this particular book. I read most of the series many years ago, but don't think I ever came upon the Tibet comic, and it's supposed to be a classic. I might have to drive to Belgium to find one. :)

Jerusalem

Tomorrow Jeff, David, and Danielle leave Jerusalem to return home. I'm looking forward to hearing all about their trip. I last saw Jerusalem at the age of ten, enroute to the States. Most of all I remember the Dome of the Rock shining golden in the sun and a stream of people from many countries passing through that holy place, heads covered in respect. I saw (and maybe touched?) the rock where Isaac might have been sacrificed, if God hadn't provided a ram at the last minute. And I walked Jerusalem's narrow streets with my parents and brother and sisters, breathing in the air of a place that I'd heard about since toddlerhood.

Here's a fragment from a poem about Jerusalem by Yehuda Amichai. He's a beloved poet in Israel and throughout the world, for good reason.

And there are days here when everything is sails and more sails,
even though there's no sea in Jerusalem, not even a river.
Everything is sails: the flags, the prayer shawls, the black coats,
the monks' robes, the kaftans and kaffiyehs,
young women's dresses and headdresses,
Torah mantles and prayer rugs, feelings that swell in the wind
and hopes that set them sailing in other directions.
Even my father's hands, spread out in blessing,
my mother's broad face and Ruth's faraway death
are sails, all of them sails in the splendid regatta
on the two seas of Jerusalem:
the sea of memory and the sea of forgetting.

Winged Victory

Winged Victory of Samothrace
at the Louvre in Paris

My favorite piece in the entire museum.
Freedom. Motion. Grace.

Another Beautiful Voice

Milton at Don't Eat Alone touches on many topics, but this week I took a closer look at the music he recommends--and have gotten hooked on Diane Zeigler. She has a voice I could listen to day and night, based on excerpts from the "Paintbrush" album and "December In Vermont." Listening to her songs, I experienced a mix of deep longing and precarious joy. Not a bad mixture. If I can do half of that with some of my poems, I'll feel successful.

Blue

Tonight I'm feeling blue, not for any particular reason, I guess. Maybe it just goes along with having a temperament that swings between enthusiastic and melancholic, with not much ground in between. And it's funny, I tend to not want to write about those down times on this blog. Don't know if it's part of growing up with the feeling that I'm supposed to "Be a Sunbeam for Jesus" (a song on a record I had as a child) or just the idea of public exposure and possible criticism.

Anyway, I am looking forward to seeing people I love in Oregon--just 22 days and counting. And I'm really happy to have our entire family of five together for part of this summer (though Jeff and the two oldest are in Israel at this moment on a trip--I'm glad they can tour some of the places like Jerusalem and Jericho that I got to see when I was ten, on the way back from Africa to the States). I have lots to be happy about.

On the flip side, I wish I knew where we will go a year from now. Back to the northwest, I hope, but nothing is certain. Also, these last two years have been utterly draining for me. Sigh. Moving to Germany, I assumed I'd be the one making the adjustments more easily than anyone, after all, wasn't I the one who grew up in another country and has always appreciated diverse cultures? Ha. Assumptions suck, especially in the aftermath.

I do know that God is here with me. Just wish I felt God more in the day to day moments.

Memorial Day 2006

Sculpture in London, England

Journey With Jesus

Just added a link to a website I've been enjoying lately -- Journey With Jesus -- essays, books, film, poetry, and music. Found a good poem on their site by Anna Kamienska, "Those Who Carry." In fact, the entire index of poems is worth checking out.

The Latest

Currently reading: "The Dark is Rising" by Susan Cooper and "a Generous Or+hodoxy" by Brian McLaren.

Currently listening: Nickel Creek

One of the advantages, as far as I'm concerned, of having older children (in the thirteen to twenty-one year age range) is that they introduce me to books and music I might not otherwise encounter. David saw Nickel Creek in concert this last year at college--he's been playing their songs and I especially like "Ode To A Butterfly." Can't help tapping my feet when that's on...

Five, Plus A Canine

Our kids are all home--huzzah! David, with his usual luck, almost got upgraded to business class, but didn't sprint to the counter fast enough and missed extra leg room by a microsecond. It's nice to be five at the dinner table again (plus the dog, lurking underneath).

News Flash

Pure deliciousness = A Jolly Rancher green apple lollipop.

In other news: Danielle arrived safely, having survived an enforced seating next to a man who hogged the joint armrest, stuck his feet into her small space, and emitted numerous gaseous clouds during the nine hour flight to Frankfurt. But she's still alive. Her hearing might not be intact, since she could hear rap music playing at full blast through his headphones (I hate to think what the decibel level was cranked up to).

A Different Kind of Mother's Day

Yesterday was a unique Mother's Day for me. Anna and I started the morning at church (Jeff was gone on a retreat), and the pastor certainly chose an interesting text--Luke 7:36-50, where Mary washes Jesus' feet with her tears, then dries his feet off with her hair and lovingly annoints them with perfume. Try preaching that story on a day dedicated to moms! He did a good job, and I appreciated his realization of the fact that some come from homes where mothers might have been absent or even done harm to their children, and that others in the congregation might be dealing with an inability to become a mother or the loss of a child. The emphasis was on Mary's heart of love, and how we all, mothers or not, can grow towards loving God more.

After that, Anna and I grabbed lunch, then drove to Heidelberg and hiked my favorite spot in the city, Philosopher's Walk, which overlooks Old Town and the Schloss (castle) . On Sunday, Germans typically get out and stroll with extended family and friends, and yesterday was no exception. We took Murphy along, and as usual, everyone stopped to pet and coo over him. Dogs are always good ice-breakers. Fragrant flowers and bushes were in bloom and blackberry scents drifted across the path when a breeze shifted our way. I think I'd like to do the same thing again next year.

For dinner, we went to an open-air cafe, ordered spargel (white asparagus) soup and dipped french bread in the creamy broth--spargel's in season at the moment, and a great delicacy of this region. There's even an asparagus sculpture in the main square of Schwetzingen! I'll try and remember to take a photo of it.

World Relief News

On May 2nd, I blogged about the current situation in Darfur, Sudan. Here's what World Relief is doing there to help Sudanese women and communities maintain and repair their own clean water sources.
I'm familiar with World Relief because my brother Dan and his wife Tam work with the same organization in Burundi, Africa.

Nose Washer Deluxe

Here's the photo I promised--it goes with my last post. Looks like fun, eh?

Hayfever Season Beginneth

OK, I confess it--until I bore a daughter who suffers immensely from hayfever symptoms, I had very little empathy (read, none) for people with sneezes, itching, and general misery during the pollen and grass season. Danielle's tried everything, from benedryl to zyrtec, and a few years ago, allergy shots, which she reacted to several times with a swollen-up throat and hives and all manner of scary side-effects. So, at the moment, she's existing on a lesser remedy of pills and eyedrops, hoping for a scientific breakthrough in the next few seconds or weeks. The air cleaner sits in a place of honor in her room, awaiting her arrival in exactly five days (YAY! I'm excited! And David flies back the day after!)

Why are thought of airborne allergens crossing my mind? This has been the craziest week ever as far as pollen, here in the Heidelberg area. My van is entirely covered with a coating of light green dust, and if we dare leave our windows open, it wafts in through cracks and settles on the coffeemaker and toaster and anything else immobile. Never in my life have I actually been able to see the usually-invisible culprit. I hope the worst is over before Danielle returns. I did take the step of buying a plastic nose-washer for her (on sale at the local Penny Markt)--it looks like an ear trumpet, at least what I imagine one might look like. Later I'll try and post the box cover photo, of a woman sticking it up her nose and blasting out the pollen with a saline solution. Highly amusing, but if it works, it's worth a little humiliation and teasing from your family (right, Danielle?).

A Good Question

Tuesday, Lorna blogged about how "each of us have two or three key aspects of God locked in our hearts," and asked later in her post, "what are those two or three revelations of God that are imprinted on your heart?" I liked reflecting on that question, and came up with a few of my own key verses and passages:

* “I can do all things through him who strengthens me,” (Phil. 4:13).
* Also, I’ve always liked Genesis 16, the part where Hagar calls God “the God who sees me,” when she’s alone and at wit’s end in the desert.
* Revelation 1 pictures Christ, with “eyes like a flame of fire… his voice as the sound of many waters.” The entire book of Revelation is filled with so many startling and beautiful images--a sea of glass; the tree of life; a multitude of nations, tribes, peoples, & tongues, standing before the Lamb's throne; the stars of heaven, falling like figs...

I could go on, but that’s a good start! Thanks to Lorna, for making me think, as always.

Ice Box

My daughter's friend, Lizzie, rides a school bus daily from town to her American school on base. Each morning, now that the weather's turned warm, the German bus driver greets all the kids as they file into his air-conditioned bus -- "Vell-come to the Ice Box!" in a thick Bavarian accent. Anna and I have had fun intoning those words at odd moments of the day. I think maybe we're amusing ourselves a bit too much. Can someone send us a new phrase to obsess over?

Seasons

"For everything there is a season...a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted..."
Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 Today seems to be a day to plant. The sun has overtaken the drizzly south German rain (not unlike Oregon) and green things are springing up overnight in our pocket-sized backyard. Grass, clover, and a new type of nettle, so far. My miniature rosemary bush is sitting by the wall, waiting to be unpotted and given its own spot of honor. I have gladiola bulbs somewhere in the house--hope it's not too late for them. And, as for me? I'm putting down a few tentative roots in this place. At least for the moment.

Looking to Darfur

D., another writer I met last week in Michigan, sent me an email with a link to the Save Darfur Coalition, where his daughter works. He describes the Sudan situation--"hundreds of thousands have died there, and many more are endangered by militia attacks, disease and starvation. The U.S. government has spoken out against the genocide, but their words are not enough. Your words, however, can be crucial: as Senator Paul Simon said about the Rwanda genocide a decade ago, if only 100 people from each congressional district had contacted their Senators and representatives, Congress would have been galvanized to action."

Here's a prayer from the resource section of the Save Darfur site. I know that my prayers must be linked with action, and my actions with prayer, to make any difference in life. Now I'll be looking more closely at the Darfur crisis, with an eye towards what I can be doing to help my brothers and sisters in that African country.

A Franciscan Benediction
May God bless you with discomfort,
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
So that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger,
At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,
So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears,
To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war,
So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness,
To believe that you can make a difference in this world,
So that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

Amen.

Another Way of Seeing

Last week, I had the privilege of sitting in on an interview with Makoto Fujimura, an artist who lives and works in the center of New York city. He spoke with thoughtfulness and humility about painting, writing and life in general.

A few quotes from that interview:

"Artists can be the leaders and peacemakers of the world."

"Epiphany takes place, even in ground zero. It's the responsibility of the poet (painter/ musician/etc.) to respond and be open to that epiphanic experience."

"Reconciliation is not possible. But God calls us to it, and it happens through generations."

"Each painting is a sort of confessional to me--usually dealing with issues that I'm dealing with spiritually. My heart becomes transparent."

For My Pirate Friends

Picture taken in Venice, Italy. Had to chuckle when I saw this boat--so here's a photo for you, all my Real Live Pirate friends!

Back from Michigan

Just got back this afternoon from Michigan, where I combined a couple of vastly pleasureable activities--visiting our two children in college at Calvin, and attending the Festival of Faith & Writing. An amazing smorgasbord of writers and artists. I especially enjoyed Mary Karr, Gary Schmidt, Lauren Winner, Salman Rushdie, Han Nolan, and Makoto Fujimura. But they're just a small sampling. I returned home with new ideas of people and places to write about, so that's good. Something about being around the mix of energy and enthusiasm whenever a bunch of creative types get together...

As a side note, on Monday I took my daughter's car key to a little Sears kiosk to get a copy made. Happened to mention to the attendant that I was from Germany, and flying back later in the day. He leaped to compliment me, " You have such a great accent! Your English is really, really good!" I was tempted to just say "thank you," and let him think I was the world's latest linguistic wunder-kind. But I didn't.

Frohe Ostern / Happy Easter

I set my alarm to go off at 5:00 am, because I wanted to drive downtown to the Holy Ghost Church for organ music and hymns in German. But at the last minute I decided I didn't want to venture out in the dark without an assured place to park and another person beside me if I had to walk through sketchy areas of town (Jeff had to stay home with Anna) . Anyway, I ended up sleeping late after tossing and turning all night, possibly from a disguised dose of caffeine. It turned out for the best, though, since our neighbors V. and S. came to a 10:00 service at our regular church with us, along with their little boys. V. is from Ghana, and S. is German, so we have fun asking them about customs in both countries, and comparing notes on Africa. They're blending two quite different cultures in their marriage, and it intrigues me, how they make it work. Afterwards, we went out to eat together, along with another couple, and just laughed and talked. The food was forgettable, but the company was memorable. That's much better than the other way round! Thank God for friends.

Karfreitag

Dachau concentration camp--chapel

Palm Sunday

We are traveling today, but I didn't want to forget Palm Sunday -- so I found a link to a poem, The Donkey, by G.K. Chesterton. It's a little different take on the day, written from the perspective of the donkey that Jesus rode.

I'll be back on Good Friday.

Happy, Happy Day

Since we'll be gone on your birthday, have a happy, happy day! To my youngest Eeyore, with loads of love.

The Best Bakery

I've made an official decision about the best bakery in our area--it's called Backerei Rutz.

Reasons that Rutz is the best:
* Plates of coffeecake and cinnamon roll samples are always out.
* The counter workers actually understand my attempts at the German language and smile at me.
* Jalapeno baguettes!
* A good selection of tea.
* Nice tables for people-watching.
* Newspapers available to read while sitting.
* Attached to a grocery store, so I can shop after stocking up on bread and other baked goods at Rutz.
* It's always mobbed with customers.
* Buttery cookies.

Not Just Any Fieldtrip

Today I accompanied my seventh grade daughter's German class on a fieldtrip to Schloss Freudenberg, near the town of Wiesbaden. After an hour and a half of riding, everyone tumbled off the bus and we entered the gates of the Schloss. This place has an intriguing history--by turns, it has served as "a private home, a hotel, a Nazi home for unmarried mothers, an American soldiers' recreation center (legend has it that Elvis once played in the center's Jazz Club), and as the headquarters of the International Pentecostal Church." Now, the building houses the Nature and Art Society.

I found it interesting, especially the many interactive stations designed to help us "unfurl the mind and senses" -- the kids loved clashing numerous plate-size cymbals, mounted on two sides of the music room, and each of us stood in line several times to rub wet palms on either side of a smooth brass bowl, filled with water -- as we vigorously rubbed, the bowl gave off a high pitched musical hum and the water surface ruffled on the edges from static electricity.

Most unusual? The "Dunkel Cafe," or "Dark Cafe." We entered through heavy curtains, into a room of complete darkness. Everyone felt around for a seat at the bar, then the waitress came to take our orders. We ordered drinks or cake, for 2 euro apiece. Our entire snacktime was utterly without light, and I could tell the three boys in the group felt most awkward at first, commenting, "hey, J., get your hand off me!" and so on. It's strange to think we never even saw our waitress' face the entire visit. When it came time to pay, the girls panicked at first, "oh no, how can I tell if this is a ten euro or twenty euro bill? Oops, I dropped my coins on the floor and can't find them!" We found out later the waitress is almost totally blind, which explains her comfort in the Dark Cafe. It was nothing new for her, but for us, it was a brief (and memorable!) experience, functioning without our usually taken-for-granted sense of sight.

The weather was near freezing outside, but our group braved the cold, walking on the "barefoot path" through the woods to feel paving textures of smooth pebbles, bricks, stones, wood, and other materials. I only regretted that we never found the Aeolian harp (named after the Greek god of wind) which is played as wind blows between the strings. But, overall, quite a worthwhile day!

Rosen Garten

Roses in Skansen park, Stockholm, Sweden

Praise the Unlikely

I wrote this poem a few years ago, in response to an assignment given by my Portland writing group. Wendy said, "why don't we write a poem in praise of something unlikely..." and I thought of the incubator where I spent a month as a newborn. Not that I remember anything -- but my parents recall plenty and have shared the details with me. So here it is.

IN HOMAGE TO AN INCUBATOR

You’ve seen old-fashioned isolettes—
glassed-in box, simple warming element,
spartan decor. Ohio, the Bucyrus Hospital
nursery for premature babies. In JFK’s
and Jackie’s era; their son Patrick, born
early, lost to hyaline membrane disease.

Oxygen piped in, titrated, but the outcome
uncertain on infant retinas. Bleach scrub,
pHisohex, the whiff of dirty diapers,
and my newlywed mother, permitted only
to stare at her naked infant— flushed,
bawling. The nineteen-fifties, when preemies
were to be seen, not touched. Echoes of
that lady from church & her pronouncement,
“your baby could be blind, or slow, or both.”

Finally, a month later, mom lifting
Laura, hardly bigger than a hamster,
from the incubator – peach fuzz hair, powdered
flesh – dressing her daughter for the first time
in a pink smock, embroidered socks,
rubbing each scrubbed knee and toe, making sure
to memorize every curve, every bump
before the long drive home to Oregon.

Light and Beauty

Inside St. Peter's -- Rome

Instead Of TV

When I was a kid in Burundi, we didn't have a television or phone. About the most advanced piece of technology in our house was a shortwave radio--on which my folks listened to news and received word of missionaries or nationals needing medical attention. My father worked as a doctor at the Murore hospital, and since medical facilities were far and few between, people from hundreds of kilometers around came to Murore for surgery, lab work, and any necessary care.

After mom finished a morning of homeschool with me, I often ran down the path to the brick hospital, greeting dispensers and nurses, weaving through lines of brightly-clothed mothers with toddlers and babies waiting for immunizations. If dad was in surgery, I scrubbed up, put on sterile coveralls and face mask, and entered the operating room to watch the latest childbirth, skin graft, or hernia repair taking place. Much more entertaining than television! There was a wooden crate which I'd drag over to the operating table, turn over, and stand on--that way I could see better. It never occurred to me to be squeamish. Dad kept my interest by describing "now we're cutting through the fatty layer of skin" or "to sew her up, I'm going to use a special suture..." and it looked like the human anatomy pages in Worldbook Encyclopedia, come alive.

Looking back, I realize the unusual privilege of being able to observe how each person is "fearfully and wonderfully made," of seeing patients in life and death situations, and watching a team work together to repair wounds and bodily pains. At the time, it just seemed normal. Maybe that's why in college, I started out pre-med, although after the first year I switched majors. I wanted to recapture some magic from my childhood...and, truth be told, I just need to close my eyes, and I'm in the O.R. again, hearing the anesthesiologist calling out the level of sedation, watching the young man's chest under the green drapes, rising and falling, rising and falling in rhythm, as steel scalpel and gloved hands flash before me in a steady pattern.

This Is The Sun's Birthday

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
--e.e. cummings

This is how spring makes me feel. Thank you e.e., for writing poetry! I walked beside freshly plowed fields this afternoon, passing other individuals and couples out for a stroll in the unexpected sunshine. An old man wearing a black beret and dark sweater cycled slowly past, sitting straight and tall on his rusted bicycle. At his age, I hope to be doing the same.

A Book I've Been Waiting For

Currently Reading -- Unrooted Childhoods: Memoirs of Growing Up Global -- this just arrived in the latest mail, and I can hardly keep my hands off it! Authors include Isabel Allende, Pat Conroy, Pico Iyer, and Ruth Van Reken. Once I'm done with the book, I'll let you know what I think.

Spring Has Sprung?

It’s finally sunny again after a few weeks of snow and mushy grey clouds. Yay! Even though I’m fighting the tail end of a flu-ish cold, I walked to a small grocery store a mile away, just to savor the fresh air. Normally, there’s an Edeka shop a few blocks away which I prefer, in part because I enjoy the two elderly women tending shop and their good-natured banter, but today was a day for stretching the legs…At the rival store across town, I browsed among numerous sausages in the fresh meat case, including plain bratwurst, herbed bratwurst, lamb and beef sausage, and about ten more varieties, for good measure. Germans and their bratwurst addiction, what can I say. The counter woman was patient with my still-halting Deutsch, explaining ingredients and helping me figure out how long to cook each piece of meat. That done, I added fresh sesame brotchen (rolls) to my cart, passed by the always-extensive wine aisle (we have plenty left at home), and bought a pack of Wrigley’s grapefruit mint chewing gum, something I’ve never seen in the States. On my way home, I noticed crocuses are beginning to bloom. This is the time of year I love.

Another sign of spring: the miniscule gelato shop up by the markt platz just re-opened, and soon we’ll be taking evening strolls (after dinner, of course) for a serving of spaghetti eis – strands of vanilla ice cream squeezed out of a machine to look exactly like noodles, topped with pureed raspberry sauce (resembling tomato sauce), then sprinkled with shavings of white chocolate (the parmesan!). A silly and marvelous taste treat.

Like A Child

A few days ago, I bought a children's song book in German from the local thrift store--and I've enjoyed browsing through it, recognizing words here and there, looking up many others in my handy compact dictionary. It's easier for me to retain new words when I see them printed, with an illustration alongside as reinforcement. Hence, picture books make up a big chunk of my new Deutsch library! (a great excuse to continue buying them, now that my youngest is thirteen in April...).

A few of the books I have in German:
*Meine allererste Bibel -- My First Bible
*Die Entdeckung -- The Discovery (a graphic novel from the Anne Frank Haus)
*Mein Schneemann -- The Snowman (a wordless book by Raymond Briggs; ok, this one is purely for the illustrations!)
*Madeleine -- good old Madeleine, she sounds a bit different when she's speaking German instead of French

Now, I need to find a good children's poetry book in German. Any suggestions? Ideally, one that's originally been written in German, not translated from English or another language. I guess the best place I can start is by asking my neighbors, "what did your mom and dad read to you when you were growing up?"

Cool Signs

Garmisch, Germany
from toy museum--Munich, Germany

Where I'm From

I found a great poetry assignment at Blogging In Paris -- you might like to try it yourself. Here's my attempt so far, it's been fun thinking back on my origins:

WHERE I’M FROM

I’m from deep-fried samosas,
sweet potatoes and manioc root.
From the northeast border
of Burundi, high hills,
papaya trees, red dirt.
I’m from the clock-making Mauthes
and the China mission Cornwells.
From “Practice your piano!”
and “God is great, God is good."
I'm from Hyena Cave hikes
and Mount Bachelor weekends,
from Grandma Dorothy's
crossword puzzles
& Grandpa Dan, speaking German
at home, English at school.
I'm from anise-seed wafers
at Christmas, fresh string beans,
stir-fried kale with tofu.
From the antique cookie jar,
the brass Buddha in a corner,
and Dad's Africa slides --
malaria patients and burn victims
cheek by jowl
with burnt sienna sunsets.

And The Snow Continues

Here it is March, and we still have snow. OK, I admit it, I'm a cold-weather-wimp. But it can't be long until the first flower bulbs start to pop up, right? A few days ago, a lot of pavement spots had invisible ice...anyway, Jeff took it slowly on the autobahn entrance, but accelerated and spun out on the hidden ice at the end of the ramp, hitting the guardrail a few times--the car did a 180. His car has dents front and back, basically totalled it, but Jeff's alright, so that's the best part.

Yet Another Diversion

For you Calvin and Hobbes fans, here's Calvin and Hobbes en Español -- I like those two in any language.

Strange Occupations

There's this boy in my daughter's class whom I really enjoy, in fact I've been thinking he's a great kid since last year, when he was in my group for the Christmas market fieldtrip to a nearby town. We spent a few hours walking around the market, looking at candles, pottery, woven scarves, and a ton of other gift choices. The entire time, K. (the boy) kept saying, "I want to find just the right present for my mom. We can't leave until I find something good." Eventually, he settled on a framed silver and black etching of zebras, and carried it onto the schoolbus, making a victory salute to his buddies. And that, of course, won my heart--ever since then, I've had a soft spot for K., because he loves his mom and *gasp* talks about it in public. Pretty unusual for middle school boys.

A few days ago, my daughter came home from school and told me what the seventh grade did this week for language arts: pairs of students interviewed each other about what they wanted to do when they grew up, and then reported to the class. "And you'll never guess what K. is going to be!" she said.
"What?" I was really curious.
"Well...(long pause)...he wants to be a poet." Oh, I knew I liked that boy!
"Or else... an assassin."
"What!?"
"And if he can't be those, then a psychologist."
Hmmm. Might be needing one of those in the future.

Waterfall

To live in the mercy of God.

To feel vibrate the enraptured

waterfall flinging itself
unabating down and down
to clenched fists of rock.
Swiftness of plunge,
hour after year after century,
O or Ah
uninterrupted, voice
many-stranded.
To breathe
spray. The smoke of it.
Arcs
of steelwhite foam, glissades
of fugitive jade barely perceptible. Such passion--
rage or joy?
Thus, not mild, not temperate,
God's love for the world. Vast
flood of mercy
flung on resistance.

from To Live In The Mercy Of God -- by Denise Levertov

Learning to Read...

Yes, I'm learning to read...utilities, that is. And I do feel like a five year old trying to piece together lines on a page to form a word or two!

Having been raised in the tiny country of Burundi, Africa, I thought I had a good amount of empathy for people who move to America and start an entirely new life there--after all, hadn't I entered American society first as a ten old, clueless to many of the customs and expectations in "my" culture? Well, yes, that experience certainly made me more understanding of those who must adjust to a strange land and to new ways. But I'll tell you, after moving to Germany a year and a half ago when I was forty-six, I have even more admiration for the many who immigrate to the US and begin anew, especially grown-ups. It's just harder to do as an adult. Also, I knew English already when my parents returned to the States--a big advantage.

For example, this is my project today: I'm trying to decipher various key words in a letter from the local German utility company. Fortunately, the letter has color illustrations and an example, helpfully filled out. And I've consulted my Heinemann/Harrap German dictionary multiple times. Everything just takes three times as long to accomplish! When I'm more fluent in the language, it will be easier. But for the moment, I muddle along. Here's what I'm working on:


Also, my German neighbor, Frauke, has been of great assistance. She willingly translates letters and papers for me, and answers queries such as, "Do German doctors mind being asked lots of questions about their plan of action & diagnosis?" (She says "yes" in case you wondered.)

Oh, there's an online translater I like as well--BabelFish.

Time to Rant

Ok, a little rant in the next few paragraphs. Because this is on my mind, and I haven't been able to shake it. To set the scene, since January, I've been going to a women's Bible study in English. Which is very good and fine, and I think it's helpful for me to be there, overall. Especially because looking into the Word gets my mind off myself (which is where it's tended to focus quite often the last year and a half) and onto paying more attention to God and other people.

But. There's something that's been bugging me. And I don't quite know what to do about it. Two very vocal women attend the same study. And when we split off, about a month and a half ago, into smaller groups, they just happened to pick the same small group which I'd chosen (I didn't know this ahead of time).

The first woman, J., is a bit older than me, but not much. When she mentioned the college from which her daughter recently graduated, I said, "Oh! I went there too!" excited that we had something in common. Immediately, J. asked me, "Don't you think they've become really liberal? It's such a shame," and so on, and when I responded that I didn't really think my alma mater was moving down the path towards *intake of breath* liberalism, she continued to speak disparagingly about a college that I respect and of which I have fond memories, even if some of their stances are more conservative than mine at this point in my life. Then, a few weeks later, I heard J. telling another woman how fortunate she is that her son attends Bible school, rather than Wheaton! Excuse me? Aren't we as followers of Christ supposed to serve together, and "they'll know we are Christians by our love?" Am I being too idealistic?

My second beef: another young woman in my small group, L., is constantly letting the rest of us know that her Bible is the "only truly correct version." I believe that L. means well--but, unfortunately, so do some chefs, who then serve overdone fish and wilted lettuce. A few Thursdays ago, L. handed out a little pamphlet talking about how every translation but the King James Bible is a perversion and will lead us astray. I tried to dialogue with L., and mentioned how important it is to go back to the original languages to understand a passage fully, but she basically told me, "Why would I want to do that, when I have the version where it's already been translated the most accurately?" Aargh...I could shoot myself sometimes. (not really, don't get worried, hyperbole). L. each week leads the discussion away from the main question and back towards her favorite topic of how God has shown her the best Bible, and so we should just throw away our NIVs and NRSVs and any other versions, right now. The leader, sadly, doesn't seem able to divert L. and redirect the group to the current verses under study.

It's not that I avoid controversy. I'm just tired of conflict over silly things! Especially by Christians against other Christians -- who are also trying to obey God and live in this world in a way that faithfully reflects Jesus.

I'm still trying to decide whether to even engage further in disputes with the two women, or to just let it go and laugh (internally) if they start standing on their particular soapboxes. The latter route's the one I'm tending towards at the moment. What would you do? At first, I wanted to stop going, but that's a cop-out.

Addendum: As I read over this post later, I hope it doesn't come across whiny or arrogant. Frustrated would be the tone I'm wanting to communicate...And also, just so you know, I don't really like the terms "liberal" and "conservative" as a way of putting someone or something in a box; just couldn't think of another way to say it.

Snuffleupagus

Ok, I'm tired already of this sore throat and cough. It's keeping me awake, even with Vicks cough syrup. Ugh. Think I'll go drink some hot lemon and honey water (Mom's remedy), and see if that helps. As a last resort, maybe gargle with salt water (Jeff's mom's remedy). At least there's no shortage of accumulated folk wisdom in our combined families.

HAPPY 19th, JAVIER!

And now, I pause to say -- ¡Felíz cumpleaños! Javier -- I will love you forever and a day.

Red Beets & Pickled Eggs

Today I'm eating red beets in honor of my mother. Or, more specifically, rote bete--gekocht und geschalt, sliced in neat little rounds. Beets always make me think of Mom, along with pickled eggs, because she often had them in the fridge when I was growing up. Now I'm seeing how many of Mom's special food-loves are particular to Germany, at least this southern region. Hmmm...coincidence? No, I doubt it, since many of her roots are here! But I never made the connection before. Also, sour cherries were high on Mom's list, especially in a sour cherry pie baked with cherries fresh off our backyard tree on Clinton street. Yum! And guess what, I've seen more sour cherry items in the grocery stores here than I ever found back in the States. Sauerkirsche jam, for example. Bliss, poured over vanilla ice cream.

What foods make me think of my father? A big bowl of ice cream, with milk on top (sort of a cereal bowl type of shake). Doesn't matter what flavour (correct me if I'm wrong, Dad). When we lived in Africa, one of the best treats we could have was home-made ice cream, turned and turned forever, the ice and salt eventually freezing the cream mix inside a metal cylinder. Dad usually took charge of the entire operation, and we all got a chance at the crank. I think we often had a circle of bemused Burundians watching, wondering what these crazy Americans were up to. As far as other foods, brownies and cookies never failed to please him. Come to think of it, any type of sweet! I do remember at Christmas, once Dad built up a medical practice in Oregon, he and Mom sent out packs of almonds--cheddar flavor, smoke flavor, plain salted--to other doctors, nurses, and assorted friends and family. Dad put aside a pack or two for the family, and he snacked on those as long as they lasted, which wasn't long with four children constantly snatching tastes.

Well, the beets just took me down this trail of reminiscing. Interesting, the place to which a simple root vegetable can lead the memory.

Parade Time

Quite the spectacle...

Luxembourg in the Rain

We drove back from Luxembourg today; this morning we walked around the city until it started raining.
I liked these angel door-handles at the entrance to Cathedrale Notre Dame.

Anna and I happened upon the Saturday food market in a central square--browsing the stalls, we both suddenly stopped and inhaled deeply--the booth next to us had at least fifty roast chickens slowly revolving on rotisseries, and the smell was heavenly, along with roasted potatoes and herbs for sale. On the other side, a vendor offered pots of olives, green with garlic cloves in the middle, black olives "nature," and many more varieties. I would have lingered, but we were due to check out at the hotel. As we left, I shot a picture of the tulips below, glistening from their recent rain shower.

Testing Newfound Knowledge...

If I write someone's name, like this, Betsy, can I link to their blog without typing the entire long web address? Testing, testing... thanks to the Real Live Preacher chat room.

Yay, it works! Read "Blog from Brussels" for another European perspective--and thanks for the books I got in the mail today, Betsy!

Fasching Parade This Weekend

We're driving to Luxembourg in the next few days, but plan to return by Sunday, because Anna really wants to be back in our little town for the annual Fasching parade. Just so you know, in the South of Germany, carnival is called Fasching.

The narrow streets are crammed with people of all ages, candy and other goodies are thrown off floats, and both parade participants and spectators continuously yell "Ahoy!" Last year was the first time we got to see this display of craziness--most of the kids dress up, and surprisingly to me, one of the more popular children's costumes is to go Native American, feather, fringes, and all.

A few photos might illustrate Fasching better than words... definitely the only time I've ever seen marching wine bottles in my life.

New CD in the Mail

Currently listening: A Collision CD by the David Crowder* Band

"When our depravity meets His divinity it is a beautiful collison."

A Thought About Chocolate

Friday, when I wrote about shopping for Valentine's Day, I forgot to include something--a few days ago, Milton's blog, http://www.donteatalone.blogspot.com/, listed some facts about Nestle and other big chocolate brands and their connection with child slavery in the Ivory Coast. Since then, I've decided to try and buy only Fair Trade chocolate as much as possible. One brand I've seen here in Germany that uses fair trade policies when buying cocoa is Zotter; it's easy to tell, because the candy wrapper has a fair trade logo. To find out more, go to www.fairtrade.net , and also to Milton's post, "We Are What We Eat." You might be surprised at the policies you're supporting in the simple choice of a chocolate bar--I know I certainly was.

Strolling the Hauptstrasse

I live near the German town of Heidelberg. Quite a beautiful place, with the Neckar River running through the middle, plenty of cobblestone streets, old churches, and bicyclists. And perched on a hilltop above the Old Town sits Heidelberg Schloss (castle) in all its ruined glory. It's always fun to walk in downtown Heidelberg, people-watching and stopping at the backerei for Brotchen or Vollkorn Brot.

Today I met a friend and we went out for Indian food. I was overjoyed, because since David left for college, it's been hard to find someone who appreciates spicy hot food as much as he does! Vegetable curry and hot milky chai, along with good conversation... Afterwards, I shopped for Valentine's day, I've already sent care packages off to college for the two older kids, but there are still my youngest and Jeff to consider. Galeria Kaufhof store had scads of chocolate, and I spent a few euros there after deliberating-- will it be the extra bitter Hachez bars, the creamy Lindt truffles, or maybe some Guylian chocolate seashells?

All in all, a nice day. I think I need to do this more often.

The Thing With Feathers

"Hope" is the thing with feathers --
That perches in the soul --
And sings the tune without the words --
And never stops -- at all --
-- Emily Dickinson





Picture taken by Danielle's friend, Elise, at the Schwetzingen Schloss gardens in Germany

Objects in Our Desk Drawer

A random sampling of items from our middle desk drawer (next to the computer):
1. Celestial Seasonings tin with alphabet beads inside
2. Metallic silver Sharpie pen
3. Old USA 32 cent stamp picturing the Statue of Liberty
4. Business card for Hundepension REGENBOGEN (dog kennel in Schwanheim)
5. UnderArmour keychain
6. One shilling piece from Republic of Kenya bearing Moi's profile
7. "Four Paws" doggie thumb toothbrush
8. 125V/250V black adapter plug with Chinese instructions
9. Fake fly in plastic ice cube
10. Stainless steel lab tweezers from my father's medical office
11. Two Rico clarinet reeds and a cloth clarinet swab
12. Kickstand grease
13. Drug company's logo--"Doxidan in the P.M. for a B.M. in the A.M."
14. Judo (or TaiKwanDo?) pin from Atlanta Olympics 1996
15. Box of 100 "Non-Skid" Jumbo Gem paper clips

That was amusing, found quite a few things I'd forgotten about! I'll pocket the icecube and slip it into Anna's glass of water at supper. She's our child who loves to buy sneeze powder and pretend blood and all that good stuff. Turnabout is fair play...

Daily Oliver

Silly Oliver! He brings some lightness to my day. Check him out at http://www.textism.com/oliver/daily/ .

Changes, Changes

Well, my last post talked about holding things loosely...and not becoming too attached to a specific outcome. It's interesting I wrote about that theme on Tuesday, because later that afternoon, I received a letter from Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, the publisher with whom I'd signed a contract last February for a children's picture book--to be printed around 2007. The editor informed me that their board had reviewed book projects, looking for places to cut costs in the future, and had decided not to proceed with my book due to budgetary reasons. Upon reading those stark words, I began my official "Week(or Two or More) of Depression." Sure, I'd just written all about leaving everything in God's hands--but saying that in the abstract is far different from living it firsthand. And it began to feel as if more was being ripped from my grasp than I could handle. Family and friends in Oregon, house in Aloha, cat, and now, my future book.

Today, a few days along, I'm feeling less fragile. I only obsess about "blast, all those people I told!" every once and again. And the questioning and doubting, "am I really supposed to be doing this, when my writing is a load of crap," recurs less often than the evening after I ripped open the envelope. But, though I fully believe and continue to stand by Tuesday's post, my confidence has been shaken--and it will take some time to recover. Fortunately, my husband understood the depth of my disappointment, and took an hour off work Wednesday for lunch and listening to my monologue. Thanks, Jeff. You were more than wonderful to me!

Holding Things Loosely

Like many Orthodox Jews, my grandfather never made an appointment or spoke of any event in the future without adding the words "God willing." So whether someone said "I'll see you next Tuesday," or "We will have dinner in an hour," Grandpa would invariably respond, "God willing." God might, after all, end the world sometime between now and the chicken soup. There was never any fear in his voice when he said this, just a simple reminding of himself and those around him of the nature of things.

Life required us to hold things loosely, not to be attached to a particular outcome. The lunch appointment, the pot roast, the graduation, or the marriage--all were in God's hands. To be alive was to wait for the will of God to reveal itself. And one waited with curiousity. A sense of adventure. Much the way you read a detective story at bedtime, struggling to stay awake in order to discover what is true, to see how things will turn out.

--from "My Grandfather's Blessings" by Rachel Naomi Remen

This woman's writing always speaks to me and helps adjust my perspective. She's written other books too, I read one at the Oregon coast a few summers ago and keep meaning to order it. The excerpt above is timely, as we wait to see what happens with the house, and also as Jeff will be coming up on decision time with his job not too long from now. I'm trying to remember!

Adieu, Dear Home

We're in the midst of selling our home in Oregon, while living in Germany. Our renter is buying it, so at least we aren't going through the entire marketing process (thank you, thank you!), but the next few days are complicated, what with a nine hour time difference, and faxing papers back and forth, and consulting by phone with a real estate lawyer. And that's just the start! But in about a month, we should be finished, if all goes as planned.

I think I've mostly mourned the fact that I'll no longer be tending to my lavender, rosemary, and tarragon plants. And that the tulips and lilacs each spring will now be blooming for other owners. We do need to alert them to the presence of doggie graves in the backyard ("don't roto-till near the upper fence--you might bring up a Golden Retriever or German Shepherd skeleton..."). It is time to sell, I believe that, it's just all the memories connected with this house. Danielle, our 21 year old, moved into the place with us as a tiny seven month baby. All three kids learned to ride their bike in the cul-de-sac, David flipping over his handlebars in the process. Anna climbed the cherry tree every summer with Briana, from next door. And so on.

So, I look forward to whatever's ahead--but I did love that home and neighborhood. Adieu, dear home. May you be blessed with good raingutters and solid beams. Most of all, may the love and good times we experienced within those walls never be forgotten.

P.S. I know, this is a bit sappy, but that's how I'm feeling.

We Are All Falling

AUTUMN

The leaves are falling, falling as from way off,
as though far gardens withered in the skies:
they are falling with denying gestures.

And in the nights the heavy earth is falling
from all the stars down into loneliness.

We are all falling. This hand falls.
And look at others: it is in them all.

And yet there is one who holds this falling
endlessly gently in his hands.

By Rainer Maria Rilke
(Translated from the German by M.D. Norton)

China On My Mind

This last week, I've been thinking frequently about the country of China. Partly because Spidey ( http://whatspider.net/ellaquint.html ), whom I met via Real Live Preacher, is taking a Chinese class. And also because I have two great-grandparents buried in Chefoo, China. George Cornwell, my great grandfather who founded the Temple Hill English school in Chefoo, contracted cholera and died August 26, 1909. My great grandmother, Mary Cornwell, died six days after him. They were buried in Chefoo (I'm not sure if the name has changed, I'll have to look that up).

Ten year old Laura, my future grandmother,was sent back to New York with her brothers and sisters, to live on an aunt and uncle's farm. Later, after she grew up and graduated from college, Laura married and returned to China with my grandpa Dan. They worked in Changsha and Tungjen, both marked on the map below. When I was a little girl, grandma Laura told me many stories of her childhood in China--and I still plan on visiting there someday.

My First Meme

I copied this meme from Stacey at http://firstyearminister.blogspot.com/ -- thanks RevStace!

Four Jobs I've Had in My Life
1. Hostess & Dessert-maker for King’s Table Buffet
2. Live-in Staff at Youth for Christ Girl’s Home (for thirteen to sixteen year old wards of the court)
3. Mental Health Therapist in Hospital Psychiatric Unit
4. Writer

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over
1. Winged Migration
2. Lord of the Rings movies
3. 7 Up documentary
4. Riverdance

Four Places I Have Lived
1. Brussels, Belgium (I was only two, so barely remember anything)
2. Murore, Burundi
3. Kijabe, Kenya (Rift Valley Academy)
4. Portland, Oregon

Four TV Shows I Love To Watch (this is tough, I hardly ever watch t.v…)
1. Candid Camera
2. Almost anything on PBS
3. The Messiah and other Christmas classical music specials
4. A Charlie Brown Halloween (love that great pumpkin)

Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
1. Lake Kivu, Rwanda (this is the place I learned to swim, on a missionary retreat with my family)
2. Paris, France
3. Seattle, Washington
4. Rome, Italy

Four Websites I Visit Daily
1. Real Live Preacher
2. Calvin College (our two oldest children are there)
3. Yahoo.com (for email)
4. BBC News

Four Favorite Foods (feel free to send care packages!)
1. Lindt dark chocolate truffles
2. Tazo Earl Grey tea
3. Spicy chicken curry
4. Indian chai

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
1. In Oregon visiting friends and family
2. At Powells Bookstore browsing the shelves
3. Sipping a mocha at Coffee People
4. Visiting my brother in Bujumbura, Burundi

Consider yourself tagged if you read this, and leave a comment to let me know, so I can read your responses.

Vive la France!

I always enjoy crossing the border into France. Conversation comes easily, even if I've forgotten much of the past and future tenses. And I can't forget the wonderful bakeries... did I mention the bakeries? Pain chocolat cures a variety of ills.
Madame Hertz-Meyer, our eighty-six year old hostess, lives in a huge house surrounded by riesling grape vines. She encouraged us to take many "promenades" around the quiet town of Eguisheim, situated on Alsace Lorraine's wine route. It was cold enough that all the vines were frosty, but the sun was shining. What more could we ask?

Step by Step

Here it is January, and I'm trying to get motivated. I've completed part of a collection of poems about Africa, and want to finish more so I have enough to submit to a children's book publisher. But this isn't happening quickly.

I ask you, what is it about some people, they seem to have the energy of ten? And to subsist on five hours of sleep a night? That's not me. When I was seven years old, maybe. But definitely not now.

Oh well. I'm closer to my goal than I was a month ago. And I've researched publishers online and in the Writer's Market book. Step by step... I have a feeling Abraham and Sarah might have been wishing things moved more quickly when they set off for the promised land. How many years did they travel? I'll have to look it up, but it was longer than Sarah'd planned, I'm quite sure.

"To everything there is a season." Yeah.

More Amusing Signs

Well, as promised, here's a further series of signs I found amusing--these photos were all taken in Salzburg, Austria during our December trip.

The man himself invites you to try "Mozart-Kugeln" (marzipan chocolates)
It's Sound of Music land, beware of painted bovines And you thought gore-tex was only for humans...
This sign is supposed to make me want to drink beer?

Von guten Mächten wunderbar geborgen

--Written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, confined in a prison cell, December 1944.

Von guten Mächten treu und still umgeben,
behütet und getröstet wunderbar,
so will ich diese Tage mit euch leben,
und mit euch gehen in ein neues Jahr.

Von guten Mächten wunderbar geborgen
erwarten wir getrost, was kommen mag.
Gott ist bei uns am Abend und am Morgen
und ganz gewiss an jedem neuen Tag.

(I've only posted part of it, there are 7 stanzas altogether).