A New Beginning: The Breaking Away 

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

 --Seneca, (Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD)

He marches toward me hand-in-hand with his pint-sized peers. They emerge out of the enormous building, built to house my son as he learns and grows over the next thirteen or so years of his life, but right now, that building looks so big, and he looks so small. As they come closer, our eyes meet. His body tenses up and he jumps in the air, squealing, "Mommmyyy!". "Don't break away from the line," I say to myself, over and over, but I know him too well, and I know he will do just that. He jerks his hand away from his walking partner and runs in my direction. With apologetic eyes, I look at the teacher, who nods in my direction that "it's ok", and I'm then embraced by 40-odd pounds of energetic, full-blown boy.

This was the first day of school, "real" school, as he calls it, for my four-year-old son. In Berlin, children typically enter what's called "grade one" the year they turn six, but because my son attends a German/American school, the John. F. Kennedy School, they have what they call an entrance class, which children attend the year they turn  five. My son happens to have a November birthday, so he's still four, which makes him one of the youngest in the class. The difference in age, coupled with his natural "spirit" and energy, created a storm of epic worry and doubt in my mind as I reluctantly agreed to send him to the school. 

Small boy, big school!

I had heard such wonderful praises of the school and all it has to offer, not just in academics, but in the music, arts, and sports departments as well, and one of the best parts is that the school is free to attend. Also, the school is well-established as was started in 1960 for children of the U.S. military and foreign service workers. Even so, when I received word that he had been admitted, I didn't jump all at once. After all, attending that school meant that we would have to move across the city, completely to the opposite corner of it. We'd be starting over by making new friends, getting to know a new area, and facing the daunting task of finding a new apartment and making the move. I stalled and waited, and looked at all of the other options, none of which seemed to be a good fit for Bucker. He's been attending a kita, which is basically a preschool, and he's very resistant to speaking German and hasn't adjusted like I hoped he would. He seems set on moving back to North Carolina and living there for the foreseeable future. So, I hoped the German/American school would be a good compromise. He'll be around other Americans who speak English, but since the school is bilingual, he'll be introduced to German as well, but at a slower pace than in an all-German setting.

I made every preparation I could in advance. I attended the requisite parents' evening, compiled his necessary supplies, filled his backpack, and laid out his clothing the night before the first day. I could hardly sleep that night, and I was a bundle of nerves on the way to the school. I tried to hide it so my son wouldn't sense my angst and become even more nervous himself. We arrived about 20 minutes early so I would have time to take every picture imaginable of him on his first day, and then the moment came for him to go to his teacher and stand with his class.

A piece of the Berlin Wall at the school

He was so excited, he could barely hug me goodbye, and he ran off, his dinosaur backpack jostling around on his tiny back during his sprint. He joined his class, and I waved to him. My throat began to tighten as tears came closer to the surface, and I knew I had to leave right then, or I'd be a sobbing mess of a mother who couldn't hold it together long enough until her son was out of sight. As he turned to walk inside with his class, I knew he had made a sort of "breaking away" from me then, which will be the first of many to come, but in spite of it all, I left with minimal crying and fairly emotionally in-tact, because I felt like he was in a good place, and I saw that I needed to let him go this time. I was proud of him, and of how strong he's been over the last year, and I know he'll be entering into a new, exciting world as he tackles challenges, makes new friends, and learns a new language. I hope sending him to this school was the right decision, and I suppose time will tell, but for now, things are looking up!

And so it begins...

Mom and Dad Take Berlin!

Mom and Dad Take Berlin

There I was, waiting in the Berlin Tegal airport awkwardly holding a too-big bunch of roses and wrestling with knots in my stomach. I was nervous...sick-to-your-stomach nervous. I was over an hour early, dressed "to the nines", and pacing in front of the arrival gate. I had checked and double checked the flight status and the bus route to get to the airport. I had precisely calculated how long the bus ride would take to the airport so that I would arrive well in advance of the flight. I contemplated having a coffee, but decided it would do nothing to calm my nerves. While packing, I noticed that the flight had been delayed half an hour. This, too, did nothing to calm my nerves.

Was I preparing for a reunion with a long-lost friend, meeting my husband after a long time apart, prepping for a job interview, meeting the Pope? Nope. Nothing of the sort. My parents were coming to visit. (Insert "dun dun DUNnnnnn" here!)

After a nearly a year of living in Berlin, Mom and Dad had made the trip overseas from North Carolina to Berlin to visit me and my family. I had been looking forward to this day for months, and I had imagined them being in Berlin so many times. I had planned things for us to do, and prepared a short list of things I'd like to show them. What I did not plan for, however, were my nerves. I was surprised at how nervous I was before their arrival, and looking back, I know I just wanted their approval, and I hoped so desperately that they would love our life and the city that we now call home. I wanted to hear "well done" and "you've made a good choice", and to be reassured that all of the struggles and efforts of the past year were worthwhile.

After the eternity of waiting, they finally arrived, and I saw them through the glass that divides the newly arrived from the rest of the airport world, and I was astounded to see them looking put together, and dare I say, rested? I expected them to be a mess, a falling apart, exhausted mess of matted hair and bad breath and waxy skin and floating-on-the-surface emotion that I always am after an international flight. Instead, they looked down right perky and ready to tackle Berlin. After hugs and welcomes (and no, no one cried) we boarded a taxi together to head to our neighborhood. The feeling was surreal. My parents were a part of my world at "home" in North Carolina, and seeing them in Berlin took some getting used to.

I was ready to draw maps for them from their hotel three blocks down the road to my apartment. I was ready to hold hands and coax them from place to place. I was ready to explain things to them like people do when they talk a bit too loudly to someone who they know speaks another language, in hopes it might help. But I had to do nothing of the sort. After their overnight flight, they went to their hotel room, and I expected to get a call several hours later, hearing complaints of jet lag and exhaustion. Instead, one short hour passed, and my doorbell rang. They had walked down to my apartment and were ready to see what there was to see.

Mom and Dad in front of the Brandenburg Gate

Over the next two weeks, we traveled around Berlin, saw the tourist sites, ate traditional German food, but most importantly, I showed my parents my everyday life here. They figured out the bus system without difficulty, made trips to the grocery store, traveled alone, took the boys to school and picked them up with ease. Now, the trip wasn't completely without a few fun mishaps, including Mom ordering not one, but three bowls of ice in a restaurant, much to the amusement of the other diners, and Dad getting a bit overly paranoid about the gypsies roaming around Alexanderplatz..."look, there's one...look, isn't that one??!" But overall, I learned that I have a lot to look forward to.

My parents weaved themselves seamlessly into the fabric of Berlin, complete with its diversity and history and cultural hang-ups. They arrived with open arms and open minds, and they tasted Berlin at its finest. I was so proud of them, and I can only hope that when my children are grown, I can visit them in another country with the same attitude and unquenchable thirst for adventure and experience that  my parents showed here. My nerves calmed, and in end the end, I realized maybe I didn't need their approval as much as I thought. I really just wanted to see them experience some of what I have experienced, and to have a great time while doing so. Mission accomplished!

In front of Berliner Dom

Yeah, I've got some big shoes to fill!

The Trouble With Leaving

The Trouble With Leaving

The trouble with leaving a place that I call home, at least for me, is that I've got to go back, eventually. And while the leaving was super easy, well, the coming back has been anything but smooth. I'm now back to Berlin after an amazing visit from my parents in Berlin, a trip to the States complete with spending time with extended family, a visit to the Florida coast, and a quick getaway to the N.C. mountains.

After the high of the summer trips and spending time with family, plopping myself back here in the place where I have worked so hard to make our home hasn't been as seamless as I anticipated. In fact, I seem to have gotten out of rhythm, lost my "groove", or whatever you want to call it. I experienced almost the same feelings as when we arrived last August of even dreading to leave the safe haven of our apartment and having to fight to communicate and learn my way around again. I've also thrown a frantic apartment search in the mix since we'll be moving across the city so Bucker can start kindergarten on Friday (more on this later). So, the re-adjustment, and the upcoming move and my oldest son starting kindergarten here at the ripe old age of *4* has had me reeling, and gasping for air. I've never been a person who struggled with depression, but the way I've felt over the past three weeks must be close to what people mean when they say they're "down". Little by little, however, I'm getting back into a better place, and the other day I woke up with a mission. I'm going to have to grow my thick skin back and learn to cope better with losing the "perfect" apartment prospect over and over, being told "no" just because my German isn't what it needs to be, and with the upcoming move and school changes. I am determined to change.

And so I did what any self-respecting child of the 80's would do in a pinch: I cranked up the big hair music. I got a little trigger happy with my eco-friendly non-aerosol organic hair spray (Rave, where are you when I need you??) and I let the music work its magic. Somewhere between Skid Row's "I Remember You" and Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me", I started to feel like my old self again, and I think I'm finally on the road to getting back into the groove here.

I've narrowed the apartment search down to two or three places, we've met Bucker's teacher, who seems to be a perfect fit, and I'm reconciling myself to the fact that I'll need to start packing soon. But that's OK, because I'm looking forward to another challenge, another new adventure, and another milestone to mark in my son's life. I'm back on the blog, and boy do I have some catching up to do and some stories to tell. Thanks for your patience, and for keeping up with us. More to come soon...

The Patchwork: A Thank You to My Friends

The Patchwork

There's a bitter-sweetness to life here. It's a complicated, confusing mess sometimes, but perhaps the ignorance does bring a slice of bliss now and then. I've ventured far, and gambled big, and so far, I must say, I'm not regretting any of it. I felt whole in America, and I was comfortable, and confident. After moving to Berlin, I felt like the pieces that composed the quilt of my being were ripped apart at the seams, and I lay in patches in the floor. In the beginning, I felt this city literally ate me alive at times.

With the passing months, however, I'm being put back together, one piece at a time. Not in the same way as before, but in a different, unique pattern that sometimes surprises even me. And it's not just myself I have to credit for the rebuilding. It's my friends, my network that I've been so fortunate and blessed to create in this new place. I have made more friends than I ever thought possible for introverted-by-nature self, and these amazing people have taught me something, whether showing me a map of my neighborhood and explaining the lay of the land, or guiding me through the kita process. They've shown me how to recycle my plastic bottles at the grocery store for money, and explained traffic rules for biking. They've taken me on car tours around outlying suburbs, and invited me into their homes for dinner. They've included me in lunch groups and play groups. They've put up with my "energetic" boys, and they've been patient with me as I tried my best to adapt to a life with which they are already familiar. I have my friends to thank for my rebuilding, and I don't know where I would be today if it weren't for the friends who were willing to help me and spend time getting to know me and my family.

Yes, making friends took some reaching out on my part, which I wasn't accustomed to, and never had to do growing up around family in the same town, but I've been amazed at what people are willing to do to help if I only ask. As a result, I've found strength I never knew I had, and I've tried new things and different ways of life I never knew I would try. I've seen cultures and people come together to help one another, and believe it or not, I've also seen underneath the frosty German exterior, and what's underneath is warm and kind, and dare I say, accepting (on most days!). I am grateful for learning all that I've learned in the past several months, and I look forward to learning more and growing more in the process. I do still have so very far to go, and with a little help from my friends, I look forward to making the patchwork quilt whole again.

*****

Getting it Right

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

--"Lake Isle of Innisfree", William Butler Yeats

I know many people who believe that their problems and inadequacies as adults are derived from problems and bad experiences in their childhood.

I am not one of those people. 

I had an exceptional childhood filled with love, laughter, and adventure. I grew up in a small town in Southern USA in the 80s with sweet tea and popsicles on our front steps, complete with long summers with plastic pools and slip-n-slides. We had no Internet, laptops, or DVDs, and we got bored, gloriously bored. I had two parents who loved each other and my brother and me unconditionally and provided a stable home  that we yearned to return to at the end of a school day. Our home smelled clean and looked cleaner, and my mother would have a homemade snack and a list of questions about our day waiting for us upon arrival. We ate dinner together as a family every night, and we watched our favorite tv shows together once or twice a week as a treat. I remember catching fireflies at dusk on long summer evenings while my parents sat watching and talking with neighbors sitting in metal lawn chairs. We had magical Christmases with too many presents, delicious food, and family. We made piles of leaves in Autumn and jumped in them, making the leaves fly and watching them make their twists and turns in the air during their descent. We took beach vacations and went on camping trips and told stories which made us laugh many years later. In fact, I cannot think of one thing I would change about my childhood.

With such a childhood, I dreamed of providing my own children with similar experiences, and so far, quite honestly it's been a hard act to follow. I've experienced more "parenting fails" then I'd like to admit, and my children are growing up in an environment that could not be more different than the one from my childhood. Yes, my husband and I love each other and our children more than life itself, but we might as well be from two different planets. We are from different countries, cultures, faiths, and speak two different languages. My children grapple with speaking two different languages at home while trying to learn a third at school just to communicate with the other kids on the playground. Bucker, my oldest, traveled half way around the world to Palestine with Raed before his second bithday. Since then, the boys have accumulated more stamps in their passports in their 2 and 4 years than I had the first 25 years of my life. We moved our children away from everything they knew to Berlin, and live in the middle of a city, in an apartment half the size of our previous home in the States. Personally, I've screamed at my children, completely lost it and cried in public as a result of their behavior (more than once), and have spent far too long on the phone/Internet and watching TV when I should have been on the floor playing with my boys. All of these things my mother, pillar of strength and wisdom driving her Custom Cruiser station wagon (back in the 80s), would never have dreamed of doing. Further, I've shamelessly bribed them on countless occasions and fed them entirely too much sugar. So, all in all, to say we haven't provided the stablest of homes for the boys would be quite the understatement. 

But last week, we got it right.

We went on vacation. My husband and I chose a small rental home in Sardinia, Italy, where we could enjoy the beach for a week. We packed one suitcase, yes one, and took a quick two hour flight on a discount airline. This wasn't any ordinary trip for us. There was no telephone, no television, no Internet, and the house was in a sparsely populated area, so we pretty much had the area and beach to ourselves. Largely untraveled dirt roads led to white sand beaches with sparkling, clear water. It was breathtakingly beautiful, rugged and unspoiled nature. Olive, orange, and lemon trees grew wild, and the air was scented with honeysuckle and salt.

Where we stayed

Running to and from the cold water

 The boys played for hours in the sand, and ran back and forth from the water, which was still far too cold to be comfortable in, squealing to the top of their lungs. We slept easily at night without the lure of the Internet and TV. We ate outside and lingered at the table over ice cream and coffee. We ate cold pizza on the beach for lunch, buried each other in the sand, and spent lazy afternoons in the sun. We dried our clothes on a line outside and cooked freshly caught fish over an open flame in the stone barbecue pit. The boys played imaginary games and my husband and I had time for an actual conversation or two. We built a fire in the fireplace and had afternoon tea and told stories on a rainy afternoon. In short, we gave our children time, time with each other and with ourselves in which we weren't pacifying them so we could be busy doing something else. We caught up as a family, and we saw how present we could be without all of the distractions of modern life. 

During the week we spent there, I thought about how my time is spent on a daily basis, and I realized how distracted I truly am. I came to realize that the majority of the struggles and problems in my life stem from things that distract me from living for "now" and being wholly present in whatever I am doing. Most of the time, I am either planning what to do next or thinking about how I could have done something differently in the past. I realize that life isn't a vacation in Sardinia, but I do hope to have brought home a new understanding of myself and what I need to change to live more fully, gulping in the air of life as it streams by. I hope that we gave ourselves and our children a taste of simplicity, and of quiet, and perhaps it will be one of those vacations that we can talk and laugh about for years to come. I think that this once, we got it right.

*****

Feel free to comment! Tell me about a time when you felt you "got it right". What distracts you from being fully present?

The Long Road Home: Adventures in Urban Living

Today, it takes us 45 minutes to walk the half mile that it takes to get from the boys' kita to home. I have my 2 year old, Zak, holding the handle on one side of the stroller who insists on walking ever so s.l.o.w.l.y beside it, and my able-bodied 4 year old, Bucker, perched in the front of the stroller, legs haphazardly dangling over the tray that's supposed to secure a small baby. Across the back of the stroller is an umbrella stroller, a feeble attempt that morning to encourage Bucker to walk to school rather than adding 50 pounds of weight to an already loaded stroller and getting lots of awkward stares. And just to be clear, my Joovy sit and stand stroller has become my car, my grocery cart, and my mover of all things too heavy to lug through the streets, so I had taken it to the grocery and loaded up on the way to retrieve the boys from kita, which is how I ended up with both the umbrella stroller and the prized double stroller that day.

Underneath the stroller is my loot from the grocery store, including 4 liters of milk, which we always manage to run out of since a liter size is the only size offered, 2 bottles laundry detergent, something that resembles dishwasher tabs that I'm hoping I guessed right on, and enough produce, bread, canned goods and veggies to last at least two days. And that's not all. On the back of the stroller is a package of diapers labeled XXL (a.k.a have you really not potty trained your child yet??) that I picked up from the DM, the local drugstore that I've grown quite fond of, and on my giant hook on the stroller handle, I've shamelessly hooked a 12 pack of "Ja" brand eco-friendly toilet paper. We love the "Ja" brand, as it's usually always the cheapest, and that comes in handy when you run through toilet paper, laundry detergent, and other such commodities as fast as we do. We're also quite embarrassed that it took us several months to discover that the brand is pronounced "Ya" rather than "Jaaa" (with a slight Southern twang on the "aa").

But I digress. During the half mile separating us from home, Bucker pushes Zak for a bit in the umbrella stroller until he fails to pop the front wheels up to get onto the curb and poor Zak is propelled forward onto the pavement. After the screaming subsides from that unfortunate incident, Zak decides he should push Bucker in the umbrella stroller, in which Bucker exceeds the weight limit by about 20 pounds. Unfortunately, Zak hasn't figured out that when pushing the stroller, you must look in the direction you are pushing rather than at your feet, so he crashes Bucker into a flower bed/tree, which is notoriously scattered with dog waste in our neighborhood. We then pass by the bakery where once a week, usually on Fridays, we stop in and the boys are allowed one item, be it a pastry or a coveted "chocolate egg" with a small toy inside. Much to Zak's dismay, today is not bakery day, and he finds it appropriate to sit on the sidewalk in front of the bakery's patrons trying to enjoy a quiet coffee al fresco and scream, "I want a cwoklate eggggg!" After attempting to reason with him and trying my best to avoid eye contact with the coffee sippers, I pick up Zak, screaming and stiff, and haul him under one arm, the loaded stroller with the other, and a snickering Bucker in tow.

Now Zak is a mostly good, kind-hearted child, but he is two, and lately he's having a very hard time accepting the word "no", so he proceeds to scream about the chocolate egg the entire journey home, his screams echoing between the old apartment buildings that line the cobblestone streets. And then I make another mistake; distracted by Zak's tantrum, I forget to cross the street to avoid the cute bookstore that always has a tempting display of children's books and small toys outside. Bucker is incapable of walking past the store without stopping to look, despite my coach-like chanting "keep walking", "keep walking", so there's typically a scene here since he'll find something he wants and attempts to walk off with it, which inevitably leads to the store manager coming outside and giving us nasty looks (you'd think she would know us by now). Today is no exception, and the cute plush bear sticking his head out of a box was just too tempting to pass up, as Bucker clutches it and attempts to take it home. After prying the bear away from Bucker under the ever-suspicious eye of the store manager, we continue our journey.

At this point, we're a mere two blocks from our doorstep when Bucker spies the park that we pass on our way, fondly referred to by the boys as "the jumping things" park due to it's mini trampolines that they love. Before I can find an appropriate threat to keep them walking toward home, Bucker is off and running toward the trampolines, Zak forgets to continue screaming about the chocolate egg and runs after him, and I'm left standing with the loaded stroller while the groceries inside slowly get warmer in the sun. After conceding to let them play for 5 minutes, I manage to round them up with a bit of bribery, and we make it to the door of our building. Smooth sailing from here on out, right? Think again...

There's a door opener buzzer that you can push beside the building's door that automatically buzzes the door open during normal business hours, and for awhile, I had taught Bucker to push the button and open the door for me. This worked beautifully until Zak realized that he was missing out on pushing the button, so now there's a mad dash to the door buzzer, and a fight over pushing the button before I can manage to referee them, which leads to one of the boys jerking the door open (usually Bucker), and inevitably Zak walks into the tile floored, high ceiling area which is closed off by another set of doors before you reach the elevator and lets out an ear-piercing squeal, which the excellent acoustic qualities of the room magnify to temporarily deafen me and anyone unlucky enough to be passing through with us. There are two more buttons to battle over in the elevator, and then, yes then, we reach our door step.

I open the door and feel the cool Spring breeze flowing through our humble apartment, kick my shoes off and feel the cool tile floor beneath my tired feet, and for a peaceful second, I remind myself how lucky I am that I have the opportunity to experience this life in this place with my two healthy, beloved children, spirited as they may be. As different as my life is now from what it was, I know this is a good place for our family, and we're making our way, one 45 minute walk home at a time.

And then there's a scream over a toy not shared, dinner that needs cooking, and warm groceries waiting....

*******

Do you have any stories to share about a simple task that turns out to be "not so simple"?

In This Great Future

GRASS
Carl Sandburg 

ILE the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo,

Shovel them under and let me work--

I am the grass; I cover all.

 

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:

What place is this?

Where are we now?

 

I am the grass.

Let me work.

It's a lovely view. The small mountain is covered in lush green trees, stone walking paths, benches for a rest. It's the view I see every time I look out of our apartment window, and I enjoy it. I love hearing the birds in the morning and seeing the first rays of the sun hit the trees, illuminating their new Spring hues. What I've recently discovered, however, is that this beautiful view used to be something entirely different, both in appearance and in meaning. While browsing the Internet, I came across some information about the Volkspark Friedrichshian, which is the park we overlook. I happened to see this picture of a view that looks startlingly familiar:

 

This is Große Bunkerberg, the larger of the two Friedrichshain bunkers used by the Nazis in World War II. This image is the bunker in 1949.
Here's my view today; it's where the Kleine Bunkerberg, or the smaller bunker stood, but looks nearly identical to the above, which is on the other side of the park. The only difference is the height of the hill.

 

Here's the view in both Summer and Winter.

So what I'm looking at is a man-made mountain with the rubble of a Nazi bunker buried beneath. According to Wikipedia, in 1946, the GDR director of landscape and park architecture, Reinhold Linger, decided to take the mounds of rubble created by Allied bombing in WWII and make these two man-made "mountains" of out them, so that in time, they would blend with the natural landscape. And I guess it worked! I never would have known what was under the "mountain" if I hadn't come across it on the Internet. A bunker used by the Nazi regime--the regime my grandfather fought in Germany to defeat-- is buried beneath the soil my children play upon today. That, to me, is mind blowing. 

And that's certainly not the only piece of history Germans have decided to bury. Hitler's bunker was unmarked until 2006, and then there was a plaque placed in its location. 

Site of Hitler's Bunker 2005

Sign marking Hitler's Bunker today

In most parts of the city, where the Berlin wall once stood there are simply two lines of brick running along the former path of it. 

Berlin Wall 1986

Berlin Wall plaque marking the wall's former location 

Potsdamer Platz, the border crossing area between East and West Berlin and a no man's land filled with barbed wire and mines is now a sprawling, glittering city center with the Sony Center, the Ritz Carlton, and a mall.

Potsdamer Platz 1963

Potsdamer Platz 2007

Also, Mein Kampf, Hitler's autobiography/ideology is still illegal to copy or publish in Germany. Now I realize that some of these things, namely the Nazi past, are downplayed for obvious reasons so that they don't become shrines to modern day sympathizers, but I was still surprised at how certain parts of history seem to be swept under the rug of collective national guilt. I remember a conversation with the director of Bucker's kita in which he asked if I wanted to sign the waver for the pediatrician to do routine examinations on my child when the doctor visited the kita. As an American, I thought nothing odd about this, and I was actually excited that it might save us a few trips to the doctor for well-checks. When he saw that I was about to sign to consent, he stopped me, and said that most parents don't agree with this because "we still have problems thinking about people standing in lines to be 'examined' by doctors." I realized then what a burden this country still carries from the past. 

 So I've pondered this discovery during the last few weeks, and I remembered the Sandburg poem I used to teach to my students about the question of history, and how we remember it. To me, he is speaking to nature's ability to heal the wounds of the past, but at the same time having the ability to erase the memory of it. Is it our duty to remember and memorialize the past and its atrocities, or is it better to let nature take its course and allow people to move on and possibly forget? I believe there's great danger in forgetting. Of course, we all know Santayana's warning: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Should we memorialize or let the open wound of a battlefield or the crater in the earth from the fallen towers speak for itself? 

I'm not sure if it's even a question of remembering and/or memorializing, but rather perhaps we must educate ourselves and learn from the past. I am trying my best to learn more about the past of this place, and perhaps I'll make some new discoveries that I'll share with you along the way. Until then, I'll echo the words of Bob Marley, "In this great future, you can't forget your past." 

How do you think we should handle the past? Have you ever made any surprising discoveries or learned something you didn't suspect about the history of a place?

Top 10 Things We’ve Learned the Hard Way in Berlin

Top 10 Things We’ve Learned the Hard Way in Berlin

Today is Friday, and if you're like me, you especially appreciate a laugh or two at the end of the week. So, in the spirit of week's end, I've compiled my own “top ten” list of things we've learned the hard way in Berlin. Important disclaimer: I've written this purely in fun, and mostly to make fun of myself, so I intend no offense to my dear German friends or to the lovely German culture! 

1: Do NOT cross the street until the pedestrian crossing light turns green. You may be tempted; there might not be a car in sight for miles; there might be no one watching, but you SHALL NOT PASS until that light turns green. If you choose to ignore this warning, you will be the subject of intense staring, whispered maledictions, and/or just plain eye-rolling. 

The Berlin pedestrian crossing symbol, the Ampelmännchen.  

2: In the buff: When the sun comes out and the temperatures rise above 70 degrees, be PREPARED to see naked people in the park. Men, women, children, regardless of age shed clothing like it's going out of style and bask shamelessly in the sun and/or play in the public fountains. So, just turn your head and keep moving; it's all part of the Freikörperkultur (Free Body Culture) idea/Naturism, which remains quite popular here.

Park across from our apartment: Note: Naked people not shown.

3: Prepare for battle while attempting to board the train/bus: Do NOT assume that people will move out of your way, or be polite and let people with babies and strollers pass or get on the bus first. If you do not elbow your way through and/or attempt to mow through the crowd with your giant double stroller, you'll be the only one left standing on the platform as the train rolls out of sight. It's survival of the fittest here: old folks and children and people with huge strollers beware: you'll have to fight for that bus/train spot!

Our double stroller...my weapon of choice for the battle of the bus.

4: Do NOT discipline your children in public. You will be viewed by some as an authoritarian nightmare trying to push your fascist ideals onto young, innocent minds. Let your children climb furniture in waiting rooms, throw toys, squeal, or have a full-blown meltdown, but by no means should you jerk your kids up to their feet, raise your voice, or threaten them with a torturous punishment. You'll be told that "It's normal here" for children to act like that, so the best way is to quietly attempt to reason with them or just let them run wild. When I inquired about the form of discipline used at my son's former preschool, the director responded, "What do you mean by discipline?"

Discipline? We don't need discipline!

5: Be prepared to pay for EVERYTHING! You'll need to fork out cash to use the bathrooms in many nicer stores/restaurants in the form of putting a sort of tip in the plate of the bathroom attendant. Most of the time, this is a practical way to ensure the upkeep of the bathrooms. Other times, there are signs quoting the "price" of the trip to the toilet. You'll also need to pay to use the diaper changing facilities at some public restrooms. A stinky diaper will set you back about 1 Euro. 

 Water is another thing that comes with a hefty price tag. As most restaurants deem tap water "unclean" (although it's officially quite healthy and fine to drink), you'll need to buy a fancy glass liter of water (with gas or without gas...I usually choose the later...and sometimes withhold a chuckle) ranging in price from 5-10 Euros, typically. Be prepared to ration out your water supply throughout the meal as the liter of water goes quite quickly with a family of four. Be prepared to leave your meal either thirsty or broke from buying extra water.

6: Get ready to don your socks: It's customary to remove your shoes before entering people's homes, at preschools, and at many cafes that cater to young children (kinder cafes). While I know this is quite sanitary and sensible, for the newly arrived expat, it can be an embarrassing venture. On more than one occasion, I wore my Capri length jeans with my almost knee high boots, which seemed practical as the shorter length allows for an easier zipping of the boot. I also wore my mismatched, threadbare socks, because who sees your socks, anyway? Well, everyone, apparently! Upon removing my boots, I'm left with Capri jeans and ugly mismatched socks. I made quite the fashion statement at a couple of parties and cafes. 

7: Don't be TOO friendly: When we first arrived in August, I was lonely and homesick, and stuck at home with my two boys every. single. day. We made a daily outing of going to the park. I was desperate to make friends, so I'd find another mom on the playground and begin with a quick smile and glance her way. Usually, the response was a quick turn of her head in the other direction. Not to be deterred, I'd usually go over and attempt to start up a conversation with some comment on the weather, or asking her child's age, etc. Typically, one of two things would happen: either she’d smile and pretend she didn't speak English (which perhaps she didn't, but I suspected otherwise!), or she would simply walk in the other direction and look at me with a wary, suspicious look. I'm convinced I became known as the crazy American stalker lady. I even shamelessly attempted to use my children for icebreakers. I'd send them over to play with another child, hoping that it would result in a conversation, but typically to no avail. Now, to the German people's credit, I understand that initially and as a whole, Germans are a bit difficult to "break the ice" with, but once you establish a friendship, they are quite loyal friends. Though I cannot confirm this statement from personal experience, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Score at the end of August: stalking attempts=countless, German friends=0. 

The Creepy American Stalker

8: Love (or annoy the dickens out of) thy NEIGHBOR: Perhaps these faux pas are less a cultural issue and more of a result of our family not being accustomed to apartment living. Apparently there's an unwritten (or it might be written in German??) rule that after about 7p.m. there will be NO hammering on the walls for any reason. When we first arrived, we worked tirelessly to get mounds of stuff put away and our humble abode decorated. Of course, for practical reasons, I waited until my husband, Raed, came home from work to hang the pictures, which was usually around 7, or 19:00, I should say. On more than one occasion while in the midst of picture hanging we'd hear a "bang, bang, bang" from the ceiling above, which apparently was supposed to tell us to "knock it off". We'd always comply, feeling a little ashamed of ourselves. We found ourselves racing against the clock some nights feverishly grabbing hammers and nails to beat the 7:00 cut off and to avoid the scolding "bang" from above. On one shameful occasion, however, we were attempting to hang closet shelving. Both my husband and I lost track of time, and while attempting to drill into thick concrete walls, we didn't hear the fateful "bang" from the neighbors. Suddenly the buzzer phone rang (the phone connected to the doorbell buzzer outside the building). A little excited as to who an unexpected guest might be, we answered the phone only to hear an elderly German gentleman shout "VE VAAANT TO SLEEEEEEP"!!!! After profusely apologizing, we hung up, and hung our heads. Needless to say, it took several weeks to finally get everything hung and drilled.

9: Go ahead, let your children dine with knives, glassware and open flames at school. Maybe Germans just give their children more credit than I give mine. At German kita, or preschool, it’s a common practice at lunch time to allow the group of children, even toddlers, to use real glassware, knives, forks, etc., and to have a lighted candle on the table as they dine. Despite my boys’ typical reaction to such tempting items (i.e. trying to stab each other or set one another on fire), they actually responded quite well and the lunch, I must admit, had a certain charming ambiance to it!

Fire, Fire!

10: Do expect to be stared at. We’re not extraordinarily interesting people to look at most of the time, and I’ve noticed that no one seems immune from this anomaly. Young, old, pretty, ugly, everyone gets a stare. Germans like to stare, and they take the stare to a new level. I’ve been stared at before, but usually when I return the gaze, the staring party looks away. I’ve always considered myself a reasonable contender when it comes to a staring contest, but I think I’ve met my match! Stare away, folks! I wear contacts so I can go a really long time without blinking!

So there you have it. And this is only the tip of the iceburg! Do you have any cultural adaptation experiences to share from other parts of the world? 

The Last Huggie. And so it beings...

So today I put the last Huggie diaper on my youngest son, Zak. As I fastened the diaper, I actually got misty-eyed. It was the last diaper we shiped from home. The last snipet of our life in the States that was familiar, easy, and uncomplicated. And it wasn't just the diaper, of course. It made me question our life here in Berlin, the struggle, the price of it all. After all, we went from living two miles from my parents, a half hour's drive from my brother and sister-in-law and their precious daughter, Addie, to this unfamiliar place where neither my husband nor I speak the language or know the culture. We left a cozy home, with neighbors I had known since I was a child. Yes, we are still a world away from my husband's side of the family, but now we're somewhere in between, on a sort of island with no connections, no friendly faces, no familiar.
But it's getting better. As the last Huggie sunk into the depths of the Diaper Geenie, I realized we are making a transition--cutting the proverbial cord from our old life and diving into what lies ahead here. I'll be buying diapers from the local drug store like everyone else here. I'll be making new friends and the unfamiliar will become the familiar. And what happens then? Does this become home? Perhaps. What roots will we establish here? Will I become misty-eyed when I toss the last of the "DM" drug store Berlin diapers when we move next time? I hope so.

Hallo!! (as the German greeting goes...)

I suppose I should begin with a bit of background information here. I'm a native of Hickory, North Carolina, and my husband is from Palestine. We met while in college, and fourteen years, three houses, and two children later we've landed in Berlin, Germany. In August 2011, we moved here from the quiet North Carolina city of Hickory for my husband's career, and we are continually attempting to adapt and learn how to "thrive" in this new world. While I'm beginning this blog eight months into our life in Berlin, I'll  reflect now and then on stories and experiences from when we first arrived, and from our trip to Palestine in September. We're attempting to "swim with it" as the title suggests, and to learn and grow from our experiences here. I look forward to sharing our life in Berlin with you!