I left there, but I'm not here yet.

"To leave one's country to go
and live in another country
in inferior conditions,
that is, without a safety net
and without recourse of return
to one's native land,
this seems to me to be the last great
human adventure.

I have to explain that people don't eat
the same food,
they don't dress
in the same manner,
they don't dance to the same rhythms,
they don't have the same smells
or the same accents,
and they certainly don't dream
the same way,
but it's up to me to adapt.

I have to explain it all in a language
that is not the one my mother speaks.
That's what traveling means.

[...]

I left there,
but I'm not
here yet.
Be patient, young man, it's only been a year.

I can't tell you
exactly when this city
ceased being a foreign city
for me.
Perhaps when I stopped looking at it."

Dany Laferrière, A Drifting Year (original French version: Chronique de la dérive douce)

I saved this excerpt as a draft in Blogger exactly 1 year and 1 day ago. About two weeks before we arrived in Montreal. While I was packing up my office in our house in Germany, taking notes on this novel for my dissertation.

Laferrière's writing is beautiful and painful, and I knew it would describe my experience in the year to come. I haven't opened Blogger in a year. But I knew this excerpt was here, waiting.

The first month in Montreal, I truly didn't have time to think much less blog or reflect. Each evening was spent apartment hunting, trying to figure out where to buy groceries, and clothes, and school supplies. And find a school for my son at all.

In the fall, I thought about blogging a little. But could only think of all the comparisons I would make between Montreal and Konstanz, Quebec and Germany, North American and European life and cultural norms. How some readers would laugh and nod in agreement. And others would be offended and think, "go back where you came from!"

Then the winter rolled in and with it all kinds of struggles. Finding our feet in my old-new land has been challenging. I had no desire to process it all on the internet. We went to far-away trusted friends and mentors for counsel. We changed our minds about some things. We made some mistakes. We learned. We clung to God alone. Not even close friends or church to cling to now.

We bought our first home, a tiny urban condo smaller than the last 2 homes we've had. Just a bit bigger than the 1-bedroom half-basement that housed us for the first 5 years of our marriage. I've plugged away at my dissertation in the midst of it all, and the end is in sight. My son learned to ride a bike, and understand French, and sing in Spanish. My daughter went from a baby to a fiercely independent child, diaper-free and talking a blue streak. We've made a surprisingly large network of contacts in different neighbourhoods, churches, schools. We've made some decisions, coming back to our true selves and defining our core values.

These last few months, I've realized I miss writing, and am starting to feel free enough to do it again in this space.

I write this on the eve of our first trip back "home" to that beautiful lake and city that nurtured us for 9 years. Where we got engaged, and grew up, and learned to open up in community. City of our children's births.

I guess you could say our feet have found the ground now in Montreal.
When we get back, they can start to grow roots.

Be patient, it's only been a year.

More Things I'll Miss about Germany

I started a little list of the whimsical things I'll miss about my adopted homeland (or should I say married homeland?) when we move to Canada this summer. These things begged to be added:

9. Tax included

Every time I have visited my family in Canada over the past decade I've had that moment, in a store or restaurant of, oh, yeah. This was more expensive than it says on the price tag. Ever since OAC calculus at the end of high school, I don't really *do* math. We all have our strengths. I say that's what fingers are there for. Seriously, the EU's inclusion of sales tax in the advertised price is one of the best things about everyday life in Europe. Picturesque architecture and biking everywhere is great, but tax included is right up there.

10. World Cup mania

Now I know Montreal and Toronto are great cities to experience the World Cup in, home to people from every nation overflowing from pubs onto sidewalks cheering for their country of origin. But there is something I love about the three World Cups I have experienced while living in Germany. The entire country united, cheering for "our eleven." Women, men, children, and grandparents discussing the finer points of soccer, saying "we're playing on Friday", taking ownership of the team. The doctor and her team of assistants greet me professionally, each one sporting a soccer jersey of various teams. (Do fights out in the break room?) Angela Merkel is much beloved for flying to the games in Brazil right now, sparing no expense to root on our team in person. "Public viewing" on big screens in every bar and beer garden, faces painted and jersey's donned, it is good fun to spend summer evenings outside in a friendly crowd.

Even if watching in our quiet village, walking the baby home to bed before the end of the game I know the score by the shouts rising from homes around the neighbourhood. The streets are totally empty during a game, you could hear a pin drop between goals as German nation is glued to the television.

11. Excellent health care

... with little waiting. We have a GP, pediatrician, gynecologist, midwife and other specialists for our family when needed. All take time for us, have a friendly/personal relationship to our family (our pediatrician even came to our house for a home visit 5 days after our home birth for a routine check-up, so I didn't have to go to his office). We do pay more for our health insurance monthly than Canadians do, but I think many there would love the availability of doctors, quick, excellent, and personal care we get in Germany.

12. Kinderbasare

I've gushed about these highly organized, parent-to-parent sales before. We got most of our kids clothes, books, and toys in good quality, second-hand, for only a few Euros. Deal-hunting is the mama's high.

13. The Autobahn

Though I am not big on driving or spending time in the car, by now even I appreciate the freedom of driving the speed you want to get where you need to go. Quick and efficient, those Germans. And German drivers who fastidiously all obey the rules, stay in the right lane and only pass on the left.

14. Wine & cheese for under 5 €

When we visit Canada, the prices of both wine and dairy products take our breath away. In the sick-to-your-stomach kind of way. We've enjoyed the great variety of nice, inexpensive wines and cheeses for a decade and will have to re-orient our diets once back across the pond. Not that we live off the stuff, but I am sure the quantity and variety of cheeses will reduce (not necessarily bad for my waistline).

15. Social expectations/norms

I actually will miss certain ones, I think. There are some unwritten rules (actually, I think they are written somewhere...Knigge?) about how one is to behave, shaking of hands (even with children), greetings, holding of knife and fork, waiting for one another to sit, wishing each other Guten Appetit before eating... This was a steep learning curve for a Canadian farm girl, but these social norms I love. North Americans kind of pride themselves on a mentality of every one do what you want as long as you don't hurt anyone else. I love that table manners, which are in some places a lost art, are still widely taught and expected of all. Sometimes it just helps to know what is expected.
I will not miss being scolded on the street by strangers if I jaywalk on a red light (I mostly broke this habit but did it absentmindedly the other day, with my 3 year old son holding me by the hand. Oh, The Look and frown that old lady gave me!)


I could go on and on about bike paths, the efficient train and bus networks that are rarely not on time. Minimalist design. Cobblestone streets in the old city. Der Grüner Punkt. Cheap cell phone plans. Modern, funky, well-maintained playgrounds with huge wooden pirate ships or giant cat tales for my son to climb on. The accessibility of vacationing in the south of France or Italy for average families.
But of course, what we'll miss most are the people. Germans are famous for not making friends quickly, and taking a longer time than most to use the word "friend" to describe someone they work with, or spend time with in any regular intervals. I've heard it said that once a German calls you friend, they're your friend for life.

May it be so.

Things I'm Looking Forward to in Montreal

To follow up on my list of things I'll miss about Germany, a few random things I am looking forward to about living in Canada after a decade away:

1. Free water
Publicly accessible, free drinking fountains? Yes, please. Water-bottle filling stations in a church? Uh huh. (I actually saw this at my brother's church in Windsor, Ontario). Everyone thinks Germans are so environmentally friendly, and they are in some ways, and perhaps the governments policies are on a large scale, but in my day-to-day interactions there are many ways people I know personally are much less environmentally conscious than in Quebec. I am a rare user of cloth diapers here. Most people buy bottled (usually carbonated) water rather than bring a bottle from home (although that bottle is, of course, recycled!) I saw today, for example, that Concordia University in Montreal bans the sale of bottled water on its campus. In any case I am always thrilled on my visits back to Canada to get free water in restaurants. Not even a nasty eye roll from the waiter!

2. Customer Service
Speaking of waiters. I look forward to customer service again. Note I didn't say good customer service, just any. At all. 
Slight exaggeration. But in most cases, really, no exaggeration. Hey, I'm used to it. My skin got thicker. I was brought to tears several times in my first year in Germany by a rude lady in the pharmacy or a bus driver who screamed at me in front of a busload of people cause I broke a rule I didn't know about. It's often like I am annoying people by coming into their shop. And if I ask them a question, I mean, what was I thinking? 

3. Québec French
Since I was a little girl, hearing and speaking French has always just made me happy. On the very rare occasion I when I still come across a Québec accent you can't wipe the grin off my goofy face.

4. Reverse Culture Shock
I don't know if I am really looking forward to this, but I am curious about it. Germany has really become home to me, but as the months toward our move get fewer (4!) I am really starting to be excited about living in Canada again. I wonder what I will find difficult? What will be shocking? I am eager for my husband to live abroad for the first time in his life. I think he'll get to know me in a whole new way as we reconnect with my culture/s and language/s.

5. Exploring the City
At random times over the past decade I have had the urge to just move away and explore a big city with my husband (and kids. Don't worry, we're bringing them too). Museums, theater, parks, restaurants, cafés...I am thrilled about the variety of new things we'll be able to discover together in Montreal. I get bored easily and as much as I adore Konstanz, the local archaeology museum doesn't do it for me.

6. Multicultural Food
We live in a small city in Germany, quite rural actually. Although it is amazing that many of my son's 3 year old friends are bilingual and we have many international friends here, the choices in multicultural restaurants and multiethnic groceries is very pale in comparison to having lived in Toronto. Very pale.

Pic from Top 10 Foods to Eat in Quebec

7. Poutine
And speaking of food. Real poutine, Québec's most famous dish. (I not-so-secretly prefer poutine italienne, the one from the little diner in St-Joseph-de-la-Rive by the ferry line-up to Isle aux Coudres).


8. Tire à l'érable
Hot maple syrup on snow, for the non-initiated. Stick a popsicle stick in it, wrap it up and enjoy. Best. Winter. Food.
I grew up on a farm where I helped my parents make maple syrup in our woods every winter, so I was born with a tire à l'érable in my mouth, you could say. No fake stuff shall ever pass my lips. Taking my husband and kids to a Quebec sugar shack next spring for some beans and pig fat covered in syrup is already planned in.

Note goofy smile. Someone must have just said something.

He loved it. Bound to be a Québécois.

9. Mountain Equipment Co-op
Old habits die hard. I worked in the Quebec City store when it first opened and also a stint in Toronto and I am still local to the brand. And it doesn't hurt that the quality and prices cannot be beaten by European outdoor gear. I still have (and use) some things I bought there in 2001, when I first got my membership card as a doe-eyed undergrad in the big city. I don't spend as much time living in tents as I used to, but just going to their store (or, gazing at their pretty things online) makes me feel fitter. Healthier. Outdoorsier.

10. Winter
Like, the kind with snow. (Ask me again in a year how this is going.)

Things I'll Miss about Germany

As we prepare to move continents this summer, we say goodbye to living in Germany, which has been my home for almost a decade (and my husband's and children's home their whole lives). What will I miss the most? Let's not focus on the near and dear friends who are like family, the relatives, the loving neighbourhood, the community of trusted caregivers at our children's Kindergarten, shall we? (I think something just flew in my eye, excuse me...)

Here is a random, totally unscientific list of the little things I love and will miss about Germany, in no particular order:

1. Brezeln 
And bakeries on every corner, in every town, for that matter. Fresh, soft pretzels from the bakery are the go-to kid's snack when you are out and about. The high quality and great variety of breads will be missed.

2. Sunday quiet
Now this took some getting used to, this idea that no stores are open on Sundays. But I'm used to it. In our town, our local grocery store even closes at 2 pm on Saturdays. You learn to plan ahead, to make sure you have enough on hand to get to Monday (and if there is a holiday on Saturday or Monday, even more planning required.) Not only is nothing open except the odd gas station or restaurant, there is a generally understood quiet to be had on Sundays. Last summer while visiting Canada, I was shocked to hear someone mowing their grass on a Sunday! This seemed highly rude and disruptive to my German-becoming self. I saw others doing yard work or washing cars with music blasting. No one would do this in Germany, in fact I think there are by-laws prohibiting loud noises on Sundays (and between 1-3 p.m. as well, the universally acknowledged nap time/lunch break). In North America, I think people generally see Sunday as exactly the same as Saturday, both days equal for errands, household chores etc. In Germany, Sunday is for rest, taking walks (all German families take group walks or bike rides on weekends), attending church, having family or friends over for a meal. I'll miss this slower, quieter pace of life (though I probably won't mind the convenience of being able to run to the store at times).

3. German Breakfasts
The classic German breakfast is what we always have at my in-laws house. Imagine a table with a lovely tablecloth, candles and possibly fresh flowers, a basket with 3 varieties of bread and about 8 different kinds of buns, croissants and pretzels; there is a nicely arranged plate of thinly sliced meats, another with several kinds of sliced cheese, as well as a few blocks of both hard and soft cheese; fresh cucumbers and cherry tomatoes. Coffee made to order from freshly ground beans, various sweet spreads (Nutella, jams) and salty spreads (plain and exotic cream cheese).  We usually sit together eating and talking for an hour over breakfast when we visit.
The Germans I know, including our family, generally all sit down and eat breakfast together, even on busy weekdays. Now the spread my not be as elaborate on a random weekday as it would be on the weekend or when having guests, but my German husband faithfully puts every possible spread, meat, cheese or bread product we have in the house on the table each morning. This is definitely a tradition we'll be bringing to Quebec.

4. Friday Afternoons
The German weekend starts at about 2 p.m. on Friday. Most offices, schools and public services are closed Friday afternoons, and depending on your job you will probably stop working sometime between 12-3 p.m., unless it is crunch time. We often spend Friday afternoons strolling the old city, having an ice cream, going to a playground, or like today, heading to the Insel Mainau. Now of course some people may work straight through to 5 or 6 pm on Friday (and those in the service industry of course work late), but I have come to associate Friday after 2 p.m. with weekend.

5. 6 weeks of vacation per year
'Nuff said.

6. Efficiency, punctuality, productivity
All those restful Sundays and short Fridays make Germans a refreshed people, meaning work is done hard and fast. Seriously, I even appreciate the rapid-fire  Aldi grocery clerks who ring up your mountain of weekly groceries and shoot them directly into your cart in under 2 minutes. The stereotypes of Germans are, I think, true: they work hard and know how to relax.

7. High quality children's toys and books
Most of our kids' toys are made in Germany. Most out of wood, non-toxic and all of that. In our city anyway, there are only a few kids' stores and they all carry high quality toys. One thing that surprised me when I first had kids were all the German books with images of German street scenes, recognizable features like German mailboxes, signs, garbage pails etc. I guess this comes from growing up in Canada where most of our books (and toys) came from the U.S. (or China) and did not look like our everyday reality. The generally high quality of German-made products is something that just seems normal now.

8. Recycling in 4 bins
I am very used to separating our garbage into paper, Gelbe Sack (plastic packaging), Biomüll (organic, food waste), and Restmüll (everything else). Plus the returnable bottles to the store and the old glass to the colour-coded glass containers on the street corner. Not that Canadians don't recycle, they do. But not with the same fervor I think.


To be continued...

The Simple Life {Decluttering, Part Two}

So this former tent-dwelling backpacker has acquired a houseful of stuff.

That skinny, salty-water-hair girl would have cringed at the thought, but I've got a basement and crawl spaces, a big second-hand freezer, and a 14-year-old VW. When our former, grandmotherly neighbour shows up on our doorstep with another large kid's toy she wants to give us cause she knows no one else with kids, we say yes, cause hey, we've got the space.

Analogue photos circa 2003. I actually just decluttered that grey vest *today*. This move is necessary. 

And I love it--it is the stage of life we are at, and many of these things have emotions attached to them. In many ways, I'm a different person than the one who left Quebec 10 years ago--we met and married in Europe, our kids were born in this city--which makes the sorting, giving, selling at times painful.

We've lived in this city for 9 years now. At first, it was hard for me to settle down. After 5 years of moving every 4-8 months, from dorm rooms in Toronto to a tent in the islands, from a furnished apartment in Quebec City with a view of the Chateau Frontenac to an attic garret in Austria, to a huge (but freezing) room in Greece one winter with a wrap-around balcony looking out over the Aegean sea. I've been blessed to have lived in some beautiful places, to have met more beautiful people. I got used to leaving, to living a materialistically-speaking "simple life." It was an adventurous period for discovering more of the world, of myself, of people and the faith that runs thick in my veins.

But there came a time to put down roots. To stay awhile. To commit to a place and people, a church family. To let people know me and peel back layers of self-defense and protection, layers of criticism and picking the speck out of your eye while sanding the comfy plank in my own.

After years of the transient life, once it was clear I would be moving to Germany to marry the charming German who swept me off my feet, I gave away dishes, pots and CD player to university friends, leaving a box marked "please help yourself" in the hallway of the dorm I lived in in Toronto for the summer between visiting Europe and living here.

So we planted ourselves in this rich southern German soil, our roots drinking deep from the clear blue Bodensee. Life is no longer simple. Those roots have become a network curling around and enmeshed with hundreds of other lives, not just friends but colleagues, neighbours, church, our children's beloved Kindergarten teachers.
And we're about to yank them up.

This post is the second part in a little series, here is part one.

On leaving the "perfect place to raise kids" for the city

When we moved to this village a year and a half ago, a friend who knows me well was shocked. "You?! But I thought you wanted to live in the city?" We had lived in the heart of our city for over 6 years and loved being able to get anywhere by bicycle within 15 minutes. We hadn't owned a car until our son was about to be born, and even then we rarely used it. I loved being able to walk to the Altstadt, the old medieval part of town where shops and cafés are located in a pedestrian area. 

As soon as the first rays of sun come out, so do the sidewalk cafés. People like to be where people are.

We could walk by the lake or Rhine in the evenings, have impromptu wine and cheese picnics in the summer with dozens of others lining the water at sunset, we studied beside the lake while sunbathing when we were students. Back then, I always admired the families with kids who would stroll or bike over for a quick dip in the water after work.

picnic circa 2009

We love the urban lifestyle, detest driving and don't mind living in small spaces. We love it in fact, as it helps us to limit our possessions, live more simply and spend less time cleaning and less money maintaining (and filling) all that space. 

The fastest (and cheapest) form of transportation in Konstanz: bikes

 So when we moved out of the city to a small town (3000 people) a 15 minute drive away, my friend was shocked. We didn't do it for the reasons most people do, not on purpose anyway. We didn't need to have a yard for the kids, we didn't insist on them growing up in quiet village the same way my husband did. (And I was raised on a farm.) We didn't need our kids to each have their own room (even though they now could, they share a room). The decision was purely financial: we were living above our means and realized we needed to move quickly to get control of our budget and plan wisely for the future. We had our second baby on the way and had a strict timeline for when it would be possible to move house. The housing market here is very competitive with some of the highest prices in Germany, often over a hundred people responding to an ad, and very few places to choose from. We were blessed that our landlords chose us to rent the house we are in now - in our price range, lots of space, a yard, and newly renovated. 

There is a quieter than quiet alley both in front and behind our house, calm residential streets, a few families around the corner. It is only a 5-10 minute walk to the Kindergarten, elementary school, the post office, pharmacy and the store. The city is still only a 15-20 minute drive away, depending on which part of town you want to go to. My husband bikes in to work every day, the 35 minute work out each way gives him space to think and negates any need for a gym membership. There are city buses servicing our town. Lush green forests surround us, there are plenty of trails for walking and biking. The lake with its free swimming in summer is only 3 km away.

Some might call it "the perfect place to raise kids."

It has become home and we do love it. I think everywhere I've lived has a place in my heart (except Marg Ad, a residence at U of T. Shudder.) But now we're leaving it behind to move to the heart of an urban metropolis. In another country. In a language and culture our kids don't yet know (though we're preparing them, and they love an adventure as long as we're together). We're jumping out of the pond and splashing around in the beautiful, messy contact zone of an international life.

My husband and I look forward to big city living, although we also love nature and have enjoyed this quieter than quiet town. You do get used to the (short) drive, but we do miss being able to do "everything" on foot or via public transport. Now my husband is at times gone for 15 hours a day, as it is too far to come home for a break between work appointments. I don't go out with friends very often, as the distance is an extra hurdle (added to two young kids and a PhD), so I have become more isolated and stay home more than I used to. 

I've been reading Life Between Buildings by urban planner Jan Gehl. He states the obvious and backs it up with studies of urban behaviour:

"People are attracted to other people. They gather with and move about with others and seek to place themselves near others. [...] In the home we can see that children prefer to be where there are adults or where there are other children, instead of, for example, where there are only toys." (23)

Any parent of young children knows what its like to be followed from room to room while trying to quickly put away laundry, tripping over her progeny who seem to be still attached by an invisible cord. My dream is to someday shower alone again, without various family members traipsing in and out of the bathroom, brushing teeth, shouting a song to get my attention from beside the tub "Weil ich dich lieb habe!", someone depositing the smelly contents of a dirty diaper in the toilet while I shampoo... (These events may or may not have All. happened. today.)

Gehl goes on to observe: 

"Both in areas with single-family houses and in apartment house surroundings, children tend to play more on the streets, in parking areas, and near the entrances of dwellings than in the play areas designed for that purpose but located in backyards of single-family houses or on the sunny side of multi-story buildings, where there are neither traffic nor people to look at." (Gehl 25)

Yup. That back yard doesn't get stepped in for the colder/wetter 5 months of the year. Especially because of the layout of our house and the location of the next families with kids, we tend to play much more out on the street around the corner with two neighbourhood families. Everyone congregates on the sidewalk/street and more open entryway of another home. Since our kids love being with us anyway (and we love being with them!) I find myself always with them in the yard, or my preference, taking them to a playground, lake, forest, or other outing. In the mornings this town is so quiet I do not see another moving object or person til we get to the Kindergarten. That makes for an eerie sense of isolation. 

We like to be where people are. Almost every weekend we take our kids to the city, go for coffee and Kindercappucino, play on the main square, ride escalators or look at books in a bookstore. The kids love to watch/chase people, dogs, pigeons. They adore street musicians. They learn from what they observe. Even the negative things they might see, we can talk about. My son asking why that man is sitting on the ground with a sign and hat in front of him brings up some good discussions and I can help shape his worldview and understanding of poverty and practice generosity. I know city living is not for everyone, nor does it need to be. But I believe the big city is not a bad place to raise kids, nor is a village necessarily "perfect."

In my next post, I'll share some things which encourage me that the city is a fantastic place to raise children.

Leaving the Boat Behind

We're moving to Montreal this summer.

After a decade in Europe, 9 of those years in this city in Germany, we're packing up our two kids, a few suitcases and our lives and moving back to Quebec. My heart has always been there, he knew that when he married me. And we finally sensed it was time. That there is a small fishing boat leaving the shore and we are to step into it. We're both on board with this, with our whole hearts.

Most of the time.

Then, there are those moments while cooking dinner when I think how much easier it would be to just stay here. To keep my husband's secure job (which he loves) and our friends and our stuff and our life. There are moments of doubt. Moments when I am afraid. When I don't want to take my son away from his little friends and church community and all he knows (but will, after all, quickly forget at his age). When I want the clothes and nice furniture and a vacation and career advancement. The idols in my life of comfort and security loom large and it can be hard to throw them away. We like safety. We all prefer the known over the unknown. There are times like these, I won't lie.

We'd talked about it back when we met, and that first year and a half were so hard for me in Germany. Then came a time when I knew that Germany was where we needed to be, and for a few years my thoughts didn't even go to Quebec much. I knew I needed to put down roots here and live fully where I was in that moment. That if God wanted me there, he would bring it about in his timing, in his way.

Deliberating over the last year or so about whether or not we would go on this journey was exciting. Adventure! Faith! Brave dreams! Step out in trust!
But now that the boat is leaving the shore this ride is starting to feel a little bit choppy. This dory is looking rickety, and I hear some creaking and is that a bit of water seeping through a crack I see?

When my daughter wakes me in the wee hours, I remain awake even after she has gone back to sleep. I wrestle it out with the Author of our story, for hours. In the morning I journal and find peace. I smile at my phone when I see the verse of the day on the screen:

"My soul yearns for you in the night; my spirit within me earnestly seeks you."

 I am reminded again that I really want his plans. That I really want the trust, the faith and the bold dreams. That his ways are always better, not always easier. I am thankful I get to be a part of his adventure. The wind is picking up and we're sensing that some of our plans and priorities might be shaken up, but after a few days' wrestling we're ready to be shaken. We're sensing that our rickety dory's going under.

That we might actually have to do what we said yes to and step out onto the water.

Stumbling Stones {Day of German Unity}

My eye watches for them
and catches their quiet gleam
amidst busy and rush and to-do.

Crowds push,
Swiss shoppers getting
a Euro bargain.

Children pull and run off,
prams heavy-laden.
Dogs snuffle for crumbs.
Spoons clink glass at outdoor cafés,
Air sharp with autumn.

For those with eyes to see
they quietly remind
of tragedies gone by.

Names not quite erased.

How many eyes really stumble across them?
Another century, a millenium from here.

People made in the image
of an eternal God
Taken.
Tortured.
Murdered.

Verhaftet.
Deportiert.
Ermordet.

These words stark and cruel
Interrupt my self-absorbed life.
Imprisoned. Deported. Murdered.

Is it enough
just to remember?
To pause for a moment,
then continue
empyting my purse.
Eyes never have enough of seeing.

Some fled.
Überlebt.
Survived.
A sigh of relief.
Does one cancel out the other?

No.

Here lived Max Braitsch
Born 1901
Arrested as part of the resistance 1939
1940 penal camp Aschendorfer Moor
1944 Pardoned
Survived

Today we celebrate the "Day of German Unity." We are so thankful. Reconcilation, reunification. East and West. One nation again.

Lest we forget what preceeded that division.

One of the things I cherish most about Konstanz is the initiative of artists to lay down Stolpersteine (stumbling stones), small brass stones integrated into the cobblestone in front of the houses (the last freely chosen home) where Jews and members of the resistance lived before the second World War. Their names, dates of birth and death, and what happened to them are straightforwardly stated. If they escaped. The names of the camps where they were taken. Whether they survived or were murdered.

I stop, I pause, I remember. I pray.
Lest we forget.

The school courtyard where my husband teaches.

Here taught
Dr. Hermann Venedey
Born 1904
Fled 1933
Switzerland
Survived

Here lived
Simon Alexander
Born 1901
Arrested 1938
Dachau
Deported 1940
Gurs
Rivesaltes
Murdered September 18, 1942
Auschwitz

These photos from the Stolpersteine Konstanz site: http://stolpersteine-konstanz.de/.

I am from snow boots drying upside down

I am from snow boots drying upside down on the heating vents, warm air blasting away at soggy lining.

I am from a dishwasher that hadn't worked in years and remained as an island for the microwave to rest on, the microwave dishes stored inside.

I am from "the first long lane on the right" and the house with white siding.

I am from doing the dishes with mom every Tuesday and Saturday after supper, from cooling scalding corn cobs in water in that same sink at harvest time.

I am from meat and potatoes and a vegetable on the side. I am from salt and pepper and mom's cherry pies.

I am from humid August nights and crickets hopping across my bedroom floor.

I am from lining up the marshmallows from Lucky Charms before eating, and real maple syrup from our own woods.

I am from the rich Ontario farmland, humus black and sun bright fields. 

I am from hours trailing behind the tractor picking up stones, from days on the tomatoe harvester snatching clods of dirt, weeds, and frogs off the conveyor belt.

I am from jumping in the ditch when we saw the bus coming, hiding so we wouldn't have to run to catch it. I am from huddling in the grey building to keep out of the icy wind.

I am from sliced carrots and celery every day in my lunch bag, and an apple alongside my sisters, catching up after school.

I'm from treat night on Fridays and popcorn after AWANA on Wednesday nights.

I'm from too much prime time TV and too many isolated hours after school.

I'm from sweaty gyms and a sports team for every season. I'm from cross country races in the warm autumn sun, throwing up afterwards from the exertion.

I am from bus 17, from Kindergarten to OAC, rattling around the same gravel country roads.

I am from a small town church meeting in a municipal office, from spinning in the councillors chairs after service. I am from Sunday school in the basement, filling in the ant holes of the dirt floor with the heels of my shiny Sunday shoes.

I am from an Easter and Christmas dress from Grandma and Grandpa and showing off a Grandpa with the real name "Donald Duck."

I am from "push yourself" and "hold your horses," from unspoken apologies and silent I-love-yous.

I am from Saturdays playing card games at Great Aunt Helene's. I am from Bunco and Rook and stories of the Depression.

I am from dressing up in olden days clothes, from living most of my childhood in the 19th century of my mind. I am from Ska-Nah-Doht and First Nations beadwork.

I am from beyond-class enrichment and molding a sculpture at the cultural centre.

I am from the green station wagon and packing the car-top carrier for camping trips, sent up on the roof cause I was the lightest.

I am from the Lake Erie beach, cool between my teenage toes in the evenings, writing and dreaming of life yet to come.

I am from Charles Street West and late-night runs for chocolate cake at Raba. I am from new friends in res and sleeping above my desk. I am from 5 a.m. rowing practice in the choppy darkness of Lake Ontario. 

I am from summer in St-Jos, from fires on the beach of the St. Lawrence and a circle of friends who welcomed me in.

I am from rock scree sliding in the Austrian Alps, from "don't argue, just climb" and "there's a time to be wet."

I am from les îles and sleeping in a tent for 4 months. I am from the smell of salt in the air, fresh pine forest and a transparent screen roof between me and an ocean of stars. I am from cigarette smoke Au Centrale. I am from québécois violin and guitar jam sessions late into the night.

I am from Quebec City winters and tire à l'érable. I am from cold that stings the skin around the eyes, the only bit exposed. I am from a view of the Chateau at night, debating God and politics and existentialism.

I am from German pretzels for the kids and a capuccino every morning made by my husband.

I am from crossing borders and erasing them. 

Linking up with SheLoves today - it's easy and fun, come tell us where you are from.

Why I didn't go to my university graduation

Call me a CanLit nerd, but the Giller Prize longlist came out today and that's cool.

I've always been what you might call a "nerd." I got good marks. I liked reading. I was the kind of kid who dreamt of studying at Oxford, who slogged my way through classics of English literature passed down from my seven-years-older brother when he returned home from university in the summer (for some reason I wasn't daunted by titles like Jude the Obscure and Hard Times). The other kids on Bus 17, trundling around the dusty Ontario countryside with the windows half-open and gravel ricocehting off the rattling sides, had a nickname for me: "Coolness Einstein." I was OK with it.

I don't remember anyone ever trying to help me choose a career when I was a teenager. I had a guidance counselor, but I don't recall any meetings with her or personality tests filled out, although I am sure I must have done something of this nature. I always knew which subjects in school interested me the most, and as I was at the top of my class in several subjects my teachers probably assumed I'd turn out alright and left it at that. My parents have always been supportive of whatever I have chosen to do without trying to bend my interests one way or the other.

This resulted in me leaving the farm for university in Toronto at the naive tender age of 18 without having a specific career in mind. Nor did I know what my majors would be. (We only had to decide in second year, as far as I remember, and I could change these later as well.) This all seems very namby-pamby when told to Germans, where there are 3-year apprenticeships for every kind of trade and a university student must apply for a specific program of study, having chosen her major/minor combination before taking her first class (though this can also be changed later, after a lot of wrangling with German bureaucracy and possibly changing universities).

I arrived at Victoria College in the University of Toronto in September 2000, full of romantic ideas about studying in ivy-covered walls, having signed up for five courses in five different subjects. English literature, French language, the History of European Civilization, Political Science 103 and a special first-year seminar with only 10 students taught by an esteemed professor about Renaissance Rome. It was a phenomenal first year, broad, enriching and with all the excitement of a WASP farm girl in an international metropolis (fellow residents on my floor marveled "Your grandparents lived in Canada too?!" while others corrected my pronunciation of Cal-gary).

The following year I chose a double major, but after spending my third year at Université Laval in Québec City I chose not to return to Toronto for my fourth year. I was in love with Quebec and when presented with an invitation/challenge to stay, I jumped at the chance. I changed my double major to a double minor and suddenly, just like that, I had finished my B.A. My graduation was scheduled for a few months later, on my birthday actually. I weighed the cost of the 8 hour train ride, the fact that I would not be graduating with any of my friends, and that I would only be allotted 2 tickets for guests, and decided not to attend the illustrious ceremony at Convocation Hall in Toronto.

Photo via utoronto.ca

Deciding to not get the four-year "Honours" BA was a challenging decision for my young self who had always placed a great deal of stock in my grades, measuring my self-worth by whether or not I excelled in academics. I was sent a notice to pick up a package at the post office on a cold November day in Quebec City, my boots squeaking on the narrow, hard-packed snow-path that had replaced the sidewalks. When I picked up the sturdy, flat, cardboard envelope, I knew it contained my Bachelor's degree. I didn't open it.

Not wanting to mar it, I carried the closed envelope gingerly as I tramped onwards to my intended destination, a movie theatre in the pyramide. I was a little distracted by the envelope at my feet while I watched Mona Lisa Smile in French. In the English-speaking world, graduations are a rite of passage, a big deal. I didn't celebrate mine, which felt a little strange. I wasn't sure if I should care. I winced knowingly at how the movie's motif was rather à propos to how I had bucked the expectations I had had for my own life. At the time, I thought I was giving up the possibility of ever doing a graduate degree (little did I know I would end up marrying a German, start a Master's degree 5 years later in English literature, and afterwards do my PhD in Germany where there are no 4-year B.A.s anyway. And where just getting your degree sent to you in the mail is par for the course.)

Now I can see that those hard decisions I made at 21, to "give up" my academic dreams and pride to stay in the culture I loved were a necessary part of sifting my character. I needed to learn how to not find my self-worth and value in my performance, in what I achieve, what I do. Finding my value in who I am in Christ, in being simply a child of God, looking at his promises and what his word says about me has proven to be enough, more than enough, and the only thing I can't lose when life doesn't turn out how I planned.

I find myself this week marking undergraduate term papers and attending an academic conference in Konstanz. That confused, -40 winter in Quebec City with my Bachelor's degree in a cardboard envelope at my feet, I would never have guessed I'd be here in Germany, doing this, exactly a decade later. I still have that envelope, it now houses a few more Very Important Things and has proven handy as I traipse across borders. There is an upcoming crossroads, and again my career could take several diverse turns. The pathway to your dream is not always straight or without delays, and sometimes the way you end up taking is the way that took you. Rarely is it the way you once thought would best get you there. The destination, the dream, often grows up along with you.

The closing down of summer {Bringing forth life}

This time of year, the closing down of summer (to borrow a phrase from the great Alistair Macleod, whose prose is so evocative, spare and gracious it makes me want to pack up and move to a barren Cape Breton fishing village), will probably always remind me of my babies being born. 

Two years and two weeks apart, my boy and my girl have changed my life forever for good. Tomorrow our baby girl turns one, and I am full of remembrance of her birth. 

5 days over the estimated due date after one month of pre-labour, contractions slowly building, my body preparing itself to bring forth life. I had thought she might come a few days early, simply because her brother did and because it seemed most convenient for us. Yet birthing something new rarely goes hand in hand with what is most convenient for us. 

I was happy when big brother's great day came and went, relieved that they wouldn't have the same birthday. At least a week between birthday parties, that seemed like a good idea. But as Papa's summer holidays dwindled and the start of a new school year approached, she still wasn't coming. The weekend before my husband-the-teacher returned to work, I made peace with the fact that she would come in her own time, when the season was ripe. 

My first birth had not gone as I had expected. My water broke a week before due date, slowly trickling down my bare leg as I stood in shock in the line at the university library. I was taking care of an errand, trying to return some books. Could this really be it? I actually waited my turn in line, gave the librarian the books but did not wait for my receipt like a good German, saying breathlessly "Can I just leave these here?" As quickly as I could waddle, I went up the stairs, abandoning the second task I had come for. My husband, who was parked illegally close to the door waiting for me in the car looked up from his book, saw me coming and waved cheerfully. I made some kind of frantic hand motions and when I tottered up to the open window gasped, "My water broke!" He immediately burst into tears, the softy.  

We drove home, packed a few things, showered. Called the midwife, a woman I had not yet met as mine was on holiday. She confirmed we could go to the hospital, although I was not having contractions. I'll spare you the details, but our son was not born until 42 hours later. Contractions never came on their own, and because of risk of infection labour had to be induced. 

Thus, the second time around, I was more than willing to wait patiently for my daughter to come when she was ready. I was hoping and praying contractions would start normally on their own, that my water would not break early again. I didn't do any crazy schemes to try to make labour start early. Waiting for the right timing, the right season is always the better way. 

Birthing something new will always push you to your limits, it will call forth all of your strength and stretch your capacity beyond what is comfortable or what you even think is possible. And birthing that new thing in due season is always the less painful route, requiring fewer interventions or painful procedures, fewer last-minute rescues. 

This second birth, I was much more informed about labour and also what I wanted. I had changed to a midwifery practice who were on call for me around the clock beginning 3 weeks before my due date, able to come and support me at home and thus prolonging a trip to the hospital too early. The German system does not allow for a woman to bring her own midwife to all hospitals (only some), but I was hoping to avoid the hospital altogether this time around. We had researched and prepared for a home birth. The weekend before he returned to work, my husband set up the birthing pool we borrowed from our midwives in our living room. 

On Tuesday, the second day of school, I had a check-up at my midwives' office. All quiet on the labour front. I played with my son at the playground, and after his nap in our back alley we kicked the soccer ball around in the shade. I was feeling strange, I told my son, "Mommy needs a drink of water." We went inside, I laid down, drank water, sent my husband an SMS: "Labour might be starting, but I am not sure. I feel strange. Come home as soon as you can." He came home around 5 pm while I was preparing supper, at times gripping the counter through the contractions. I shooed them out of the room to play and tidy up while I finished dinner; I needed quiet. Then I told them to eat while I laid down to see if the contractions would ease up while I rested. I took a shower; they got closer together. I called my midwife, the main thing on my mind was whether or not to call a friend to pick up our son. I thought labour was probably beginning, but surely it would take all night. We couldn't imagine it going quickly. I didn't want to send my son away too early, and I thought him being sent away at bedtime would really confuse and scare him. My midwife came 20 minutes later. Simply by observing my breathing and behaviour she could estimate how far along labour was. She planned to leave again for a few hours, and left the room to make a phone call. My husband and my son were filling the birthing tub with warm water. Suddenly contractions increased in intensity so that I needed to tönen (make deep vowel sounds with a slack jaw, to release tension) through them. My son heard me from downstairs and moaned along with me, matching my pitch. When my midwife saw this, she said she was definitely staying. 

Labour proceeded quickly. My husband put the boy to bed while I worked through the contractions in whichever position was most comfortable for me in the living room, my midwife at my side. When my husband finally joined us (doing all the bedtime routines as usual, even slowly), having not understood how fast things were progressing, it was almost time to get in the pool. He quickly lit the candles, turned on my "quiet birth songs" playlist and put towels in the oven to warm. With my husband and trusted midwife at my side, I stepped into the water. The warmth lapped away at pressure in my lower back and abdomen. There were a few moments of self-doubt, where I felt like please, can't someone else do this?, but my team reminded me that I could, I would, bring forth this life. The uterus, one of the strongest muscles in the body, which had been contracting in preparation for weeks, building up my fierce, mama-strength, pushed through and delivered her.

Twenty minutes later, less than two hours after I had called the midwife, I was able to look down in the water and see baby Annabelle Hope floating peacefully there. 

I lifted her to my chest and we breathed out our hallelujahs together.

Happy birthday baby girl.
Pic via Curtis Hildegrand Photography

She was worth the wait. Worth the 41 weeks of being knit together deep within me. More than worth every second of the stretch, the discomfort of bringing forth life.