Ohne Titel

     
I was at the weekly outdoor market today, hunting for afternoon snacks. Kindergarten pick up time was half an hour away, and I had bread and strawberries on my mind.

In the middle of a short line at the bakery stand, I watched idly as a woman made her order.

"What's inside the Borek?"

"Cheese in these here, and spinach, and ground meat." The proprietress's tongs hung over the pastries in expectation.

"Spinach and ground meat in this one? Together?" The customer half smiled, confused. "Are they all combined, or are they..."

"No no... I use commas," said the proprietress. "Cheese - comma, spinach - comma, ground meat - comma."

Everyone in line laughed, including the customer and the proprietress. I did, too. "Grammar!" shouted another woman, her hands flung in the air.

I made my order and headed over to the produce stand - strawberries and white asparagus. Bags in hand, I popped over to the coffee shop for a small cup, to go. The women from the bakery line were there ahead of me - oh, they all knew each other! Crowded in the small entryway, we waited in the middle of comings and goings to place our orders. An employee eventually grabbed my eye.

     "Coffee? Regular?"
     
     "Yes, to go please!"
  
     "With milk?"

     "Yes please!"

     "Sugar?"

     "No, no."

I paid for my coffee and headed outside. A street musician was playing an instrument like a clarinet to accompanying music on a CD player. The sky was cloudless, and the street was full of the bikes, baskets and rolling shopping bags you see at a market. I felt like I had suddenly expanded and was floating up into the sky.

The language

 
The summer after I finished kindergarten, I read Little House in the Big Woods. That's my go-to reading anecdote, and it has been relevant in a surprising number of conversations in my life.

*Oliver and I discuss our childhood educations* - "You started school when you were 7? You didn't read until you were 8? I read Little House in the Big Woods the summer after kindergarten!"

*Discussing lifelong love of reading with friends* - "I can remember the first "real" book I read; Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods."

It's a tiny detail I look back on fairly often. Sitting in the family van on a long vacation road trip, nothing to do for hours and hours... I can picture the seat reclined back, and remember my mounting excitement as I realized "Yes! I am doing this!" A switch was flipping and a whole new world was opening up for me.

It's such a good feeling, that switch flipping.

I've got a bit of that going on right now, actually. I'm 150 pages into Eat, Pray, Love. It's an honest-to-goodness grownup book, and it's in German. I am reading a real book in German. I don't understand every word, but I am in it 100% and giddy at how much I can do. Yes! I am doing this! Is this what it was like back on that road trip? Did I miss words in every paragraph, but piece it all together and teach myself new things out of nothing but my own excitement?

I had this glorious moment somewhere around page 100. Liz and her boyfriend had been having problems, and the third paragraph on the page opened with her boyfriend proposing a "crazy idea." What? What was this crazy idea? I wanted to know, but only got half of it on the first pass. Okay, so read it again. And again. And again. What's this word, "miteinander?" Hm... Liz and her partner weren't sleeping "miteinander" anymore...

Wait.

mit = with
ein = one
ander = other / (another?)

With one another! With one another! They weren't sleeping with each other anymore! High five.

Wait. There are so many other words...

Ineinander (Intertwining one another)
Hintereinander (behind one another)
Voneinander (from one another)

I am a long way from fluent, but where I am right now is fun. I know enough to start making all sorts of connections, and that excitement can only inspire me to do more, right? Maybe soon a whole new world will open up? Feels like it's close.

And just like that, it was easier

      
We didn't do a lot of traveling last year. On the one hand: duh, of course. We had a three year old and a one year old, we had just moved overseas and had to assemble a household, we were brand new to Frankfurt and had to orient ourselves in many ways...

But on the other hand, what a shame. As I've said before, we're not here forever. (Another shame, but that's a whole other post) We'll probably never live here again (at least, not until the kids go to college?), and thus it will never again be this easy to travel around Europe. To "waste" a whole year of that time not traveling, then... shame.

A totally understandable, one might even say necessary, shame.

Still a shame.

Okay, we didn't do nothing. There was a long weekend in Rothenburg ob der Tauber and Nuremberg:







There were a couple day trips to towns on the Rhine river:



We took visiting family down to Bavaria:



And we spent a week and a half in Italy at Lake Como.







That's pretty ambitious on its own, isn't it. Okay, when I look at all these photos it seems like a lot. Still, it was much less than we had imagined. Germany has so many long weekends! In addition, Oliver gets SIX WEEKS of vacation a year! We're not here forever...

When it came down to it though, I didn't want to travel last year. It had become too overwhelming. There were two kids, and two young kids required a lot of work. Bedtime was painful, our sightseeing options were limited, and the need to constantly keep an eye on the baby and comfort her when she inevitably started crying about something trivial... it wasn't fun.

Whatever. So we don't travel much while we're here. You can't have every experience, so let's just focus on what works for us (staying in Frankfurt) and make it fun. There's no shortage of German culture here, so no loss.

Then, in February, we went to Cologne for Karneval. It's Germany's Mardi Gras, and Oliver booked us a trip as my Christmas gift. Mardi Gras? With kids? I was skeptical and hopeful at the same time. Maybe it would be a craptastic weekend, and maybe it would be fun. I was fully prepared for either option.

Turns out it was the latter! Nils and Liv caught parade candy by the sackful, and Oliver and I put on "costumes" (we don't reeeally do costumes) and had a bona fide cultural experience. We kept it simple, and were grateful for whatever we got out of the weekend. Everyone was happy.







The memory of Cologne was still with me then, when in April Oliver had to go to Munich for work. Hey, do you guys want to come down a day later? We can spend the weekend there together. I thought about it, about rustling the kids onto a train and riding alone with them for 3 and a half hours, about navigating a city for a couple days... it sounded like something I could do. It appealed to me, even.

On the ride down, we shared the "family compartment" with another woman and her two sons. She was also traveling alone, and her boys were three and one. I watched her with them, watched her constantly holding / attending to her one year old. She pulled things out of his mouth, held his hands while he walked unsteadily on a moving train, rocked him back and forth when he got tired and fussy. I then looked at my own kids, coloring, playing with trains, and rolling around on the floor while howling like wolves (God bless the sliding, soundproof door on that family compartment!)

Thunderbolt from the sky: things are so much easier than they were last year, because we don't have a baby anymore! Liv doesn't eat dust off the floor anymore. Both kids go to bed like, well, kids now. Our options in any given place are still limited, but Liv's ever-increasing autonomy gives us so much extra space, it feels like someone has come into a room full of windows and flung each one open.

We had a great time in Munich. Like Cologne, we kept things simple. Just like in Cologne though, everyone got something out of the trip.

I think we might start doing a little more of this stuff. We're not here forever, you know.

Minimalish?

     
I had a couple Germans over some time back, and at some point in the visit mentioned my "really small kitchen." I got a couple weird looks. Small? What do you mean? This isn't a small kitchen.

Here's our kitchen:

Cute, right? See that tall cabinet at the far left of the photo? The top half is our fridge and the bottom half is our freezer. Well, to be totally accurate, one-third of the freezer portion is actually non-freezer shelving for our cookie sheets and the like. This, I am told, is a standard German fridge. Tiny, right? But you know what? I have never once felt inconvenienced.

When I think about it, what was my weird, mumbled, half apology for my "small" kitchen? This is my perfect sized kitchen. I cook in it every day, I bake on the weekends, and it all goes off without a hitch. Why did I ever think I needed more?

Would you also like to see our dryer? We have two, actually. Here is our spring-summer-fall dryer:

And here is our winter dryer:

We had to buy our own laundry appliances when we moved here, and it seemed silly to buy a dryer. We're not here forever, we reasoned. We'll just have to go through the hassle of selling it when we move. If we really need one we can buy it later... let's just see what happens without one. 

You know what? It's no problem! Shouldn't it be a problem with two kids and all their dirty-kneed pants? Hanging probably takes longer than tossing a pile into a machine, but we don't mind so far. Will there come a day when we mind? Do kids use even MORE laundry as they get older? I ask myself questions like these every day. How much do we need? What can we do without? What will we need in the future? Can we lean towards minimalism now and get bitten in the butt later?

Here are some things I would, ideally, never have in my possession:

A car
A house
A yard

I think about these three things every day, I kid you not. Not having any of them brings me so much joy, but at a certain point all three seem inevitable. (Woe is me, right?) Not to bore you with details, but we see ourselves living closer to family at some point, and "family" is in a place where cars are not optional. Houses too, it seems, if you want to live near other families / near good schools, etc. Tiny house in a nice neighborhood? One car and dedication to cycling? Tiny front yard full of ivy / perennials? It's a puzzle we could solve.

Something to think about, I guess.

Observations

We've been here for a year now. A year! I feel totally immersed in and simultaneously completely removed from the culture here. That's what happens when your German skills are at the intermediate level, I suppose. I've collected a few observations... mind if I share them?

1. Closed for Urlaub.

Okay, so it's a given that Sundays are a little painful here. The shops are all closed, most of the restaurants are closed... the country basically shuts down. I love this, because yes! Time off! Thank you Germany, for understanding the importance of slowing down! Yes yes, let us spend time with our friends and families! Hm... where should we go with our friends and families? To the park / playground, perhaps? Can't really go anywhere else, since EVERYTHING is closed.

How about the coffee shop, says the friend.
Yes, that's the ticket. Let's get a coffee. We can sit for a bit, maybe have a slice of cake while we're at it.

"We make vacation."

Crap.

Smaller businesses here regularly take time off - a week or two at a time seems to be the norm. This is sometimes super annoying - "What?! Our favorite bakery is closed for two weeks? What are we supposed to eat?!" - but I get it. The American in me is concerned about the loss of income, but good on ya, Cafe Coo Coo. Enjoy your time off.

2. Are you washing darks? Whites? Colors?

Please enjoy this snapshot of my neighbor's washing machine. This is pretty standard for my laundry room. There are separate bottles of detergent for colors, darks, whites, delicates, etc. Painting a nation with really broad strokes, I'd say that Germans like to be well equipped. Why use only one bottle of detergent when so many others have been engineered to meet all your laundry needs? Why just walk in the park when you can use 15% less energy with your nordic walking poles? German children seem to be dressed in a complicated system of layers - tights under pants, undershirts under regular shirts under sweaters, slippers over socks. Depending on where you are (home? kindergarten? outside?), they will wear all or a few of those layers. Maintaining optimal comfort, I suppose. Why wear one shirt when three can be used in combination to make things that much better for you.

3. They are just not into signage

This, below, is a really nice store. I bought a fancy pair of jeans here, and they seem to do a really brisk business. Look at that sign, though! What is that? The "E" in "Elite" has been missing for MONTHS. And look closer. Do you see the other letters held up by duct tape? Duct tape! 

Maybe this doesn't come across so dramatically in writing, but the signage / ambiance thing here is so strange to me. Don't you want to whisk me away to a fantasy world where your product makes my life so much better? How are we supposed to get there together when your sign is being held up by duct tape? Maybe I'm missing something here.

4. People say everything is so expensive in Europe

That might be true. Many things are very expensive here. You know what, though? I can think of three things off the top of my head that are very reasonably priced:

• Medicine
• Food
• Childcare

If you have a prescription for medicine for your child, the medicine is free. If you are a family on the lower end of the economic ladder, you child can go to a quality kindergarten (read: preschool) in Frankfurt for 40 Euro a month. I like that.

Also, did I mention that women get a year off after the birth of a child? That a job is held for them for up to three years? That men get paternity leave? I like the priorities here.

5. Someone engineered my muesli. Really.

I was pouring muesli into a bowl the other morning, and noticed that the cornflakes, dried strawberries and puffed rice came out in perfect proportion to the oats. Next day, same thing. Day after that, ditto. Don't certain ingredients always pour out first, and other sink to the bottom of the container? I truly believe that someone at Seitenbacher took the time to figure out how to get the perfect pour every time. So many items in our daily life have that same tinge to them, the "German engineering" feel. I should really start making a list.

Silent Night

     
We had a St. Nicholaus Day party at Nils's kindergarten a couple weeks ago. I really enjoy these little festivals - giant (kids') tables with cake, cocoa, oranges, and sweets. Songs and little games, nice conversations with the other parents.

Nils, Liv and I left at a moment when no one else was on their way out, and as we pushed through the door from light, energy and warmth to silence, darkness, and cold, I had one of those moments. Supreme peace, supreme happiness. All is right with the world for five precious seconds.

As an introvert, I love time alone. As a Midwesterner of Scandinavian descent, I love the cold. And as me, I love the dark.

For years, my childhood / family's church had a specific ending to the Christmas Eve service. Silent Night. Three stanzas. They dimmed the lights for the first stanza, lowered the organ volume for the second, and completely cut out the accompanying music for the third. Flickering candlelight, air heavy with emotion, voices and voices alone. Oh my lord, it was so beautiful! We filed out afterward into the dark Wisconsin night, sometimes without a word.

I sing to Liv every night before bed. My typical set list is heavy on the old-timey songs. Simple Gifts, Tennessee Waltz, all the stanzas of Home on the Range (!! Can I talk about how much I love this song? Another time...), Big Rock Candy Mountain (Sigh. Guess it's time to take out the alcohol references)... but lately it has been all Silent Night all the time. I'm trying to learn the German version, and Liv lies patiently in her crib while I practice. Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht...

You know what, though? I think I'm trying to pass it to her, that feeling of supreme peace and the sound of Silent Night sung a cappella. Cutie Pie, do you get it? This is the holiest time of the year for us, and it is also the darkest. Do you think that's a coincidence?

The kids over here

 
We had the little man's 4 year checkup today, our first official checkup in Germany. Nils did great - hopped on one foot like a champ, properly identified all the pictures on the vision chart, weighed in at 17 kilos. He named all the colors they asked him to, identified and properly enunciated a slew of pictures, and drew a person.

Actually, there was a problem with the person.

"Draw a person," said the friendly physician's assistant shortly after we got settled in the exam room. Nils pulled a face and poured himself into my lap.

"I don't want to."

He's not a "drawing people" kind of kid. His art, when it is not heavily focused on cutting up paper into tiny pieces and glueing strange things together, is mainly trains, tracks, vehicles, letters, and the occasional ghost. So here we are at the doctor; am I supposed to force him to draw a person?

"Sweetie, just draw a person. Can you draw the head?" I asked, hoping I could help him break down the task into manageable pieces. I got a sad-but-determined shake of the head in response. 

He ended up, after much cajoling and a couple pictures of other things, drawing a blobbish, abstract person. Cool.

Only at the end of the appointment, after the walking on tiptoe and the hearing test, the doctor gave me a stern look. "He needs to draw a person. He did not draw the person properly. Please bring a drawing of a person with you the next time you come to the office."

Really? Really? 

I come across a lot of things like this. You know, a different culture looking at children in a slightly different way.

* I see it when Liv and I go to open gym at our version of the YMCA, and she is the only toddler not running around in a pair of tights. German children must wear tights in the winter. Tights, and apparently only tights. Come on inside! Take off your son's pants! It's tights time! Wait... I'm so confused.

*I see it at Nils's kindergarten (kindergarten being the place you send 3 to 6 year olds) when one little boy falls off a window ledge and spends two days in the hospital. When his parents ask the teachers to create a barrier of some sort, the reply is "the children must learn this on their own. If we put up a barrier, we are keeping them from teaching themselves this lesson." Okay, I actually think that's kind of cool. I also know that German hospitals are really into keeping patients for longer than necessary, so there is more to this story than you might think.

* Again at Nils's kindergarten, there are two beverage options: sparkling water and herbal tea. Nils, back in September when he started, did not drink either of these beverages. Does any three year old drink sparkling water and tea? A teacher approached me a few days after his arrival and asked what we drink at home. "Still water and milk, " I replied, glad that we had solved this mystery together and that my sweet, dehydrated child would now have access to tap water. "Ah," she said with a smile. "He will learn."

(A sidenote here. In October Nils had a small procedure done. No big deal, but he was put out all the same. When the anesthesia wore off and he woke up, we poured him a cup of water from the jug a nurse had placed at his bedside. It was sparkling. Of course.)

*A friend of mine was reading to her daughter in public once, and an older woman approached her. "Don't teach her to read too quickly! It's not good for her." Needless to say, there is no "read aloud to your child 20 minutes a day" campaign here.

All in good fun. I love a lot of things about raising children here. Germans want their children to be independent and autonomous as soon as possible, and I like that. Their kindergartens are also much more low-key than the American counterparts I have seen.

German kids don’t learn to read until they are 7. 7! I read Little House in the Big Woods when I was 6! Nils’s kindergarten has no alphabet on the wall, no “counting to 10” poster posted somewhere prominent.  There is 1 story per day, and oneish art project per week. There aren’t too many toys, either. I looked carefully – there is one doll.  There are no field trips.

The kids are there to socialize. They are there to learn how to function in a group, and how to find their place in it. Teachers are keeping an eye on things, but kids are in charge of sorting out their conflicts more or less alone. There are puzzles and games and toys and such, but they are… props?

Oh good lord, doesn’t that all sound so deliciously German? One doll, a directive to find one’s place in a group, an insistence that a 3 year old solve his own conflict with a 6 year old. (Ve vill not help you!) No, really. Trust me. We love his kindergarten.

What I like the most, I think, is that parents are expected to handle a good deal of the education. You want your kid to take field trips? Take them yourself. The school day ends at 2:30. Want to read more stories? Great. Go get some books. The American / Brooklyn style of schooling would have been great too, but something about this bigger-picture-let's-not-worry-about-the-details German style suits me.  **The alphabet: details!**  It also helps, of course, that I am home right now and can do all those field trips and stories.

Good stuff, I tell you. Good stuff.

Good ones

    
We've been here for seven months, and we still talk about New York. I figured NYC would be a distant memory by now, but Olli and I regularly say things like "Aw, I miss ________" or "do you remember when we ___________? Man, that was great." We make a lot of comparisons, sometimes to the detriment of Frankfurt - say, when I want to run a couple errands on a Sunday and TOO BAD, because nothing is open on Sunday... nothing. Or when I have no energy to make dinner but soldier on, bitterly, because I no longer have 100 delivery options at my fingertips.

Some things catch us off guard though, and give us moments of "you mean life can be like this?" There was a weekend back in late summer, for example. On Saturday we decided to bike to the waaay other end of the metro area, to the Altstadt of Hoechst. Within 15 minutes we were out in the countryside, and after about 30 we came to a perfect spot in the Nidda River to go for a splash. 

Wet clothes and undies flapping in the breeze, nearly naked children safely seated in the bike trailer, we pressed on. We arrived in Hoechst just hungry enough to head straight for the food. You see those tables up ahead? That was the main platz, and we grabbed a spot for Flammkuchen and apple wine. Easy breezy.

The next day, Sunday, we met up with friends in the afternoon to check out this little patch of countryside about 15 to 20 minutes from home. The blackberries were ripe! Someone had seen bushes out there! Bring your tupperware...

The bushes were full and the place was empty. Not another soul to be seen under the quickly darkening sky. We picked and picked, amazed that these bushes were just here, and that we could just sidle up and take what we wanted. Where were the crowds? Where was the struggle? Were we really this close to all this beautiful, open space?

I am not bubbling over with love for Frankfurt every day. We are not steeped in magic here. Some days though, some days are full of simple things that leave us a bit stunned. Can we really live in a city and still do these things? 

These are the good years, aren't they. 

Building

Nils has loved trains for about two and a half years now. Two and a half years! He cannot remember a time he didn't love them.

He loves building things, too. He's been a little builder for a long time now, and he will often slip away to his bedroom, close the door, and build cities and railroads on his rug. (Woe to us all the day Liv learns to open a door.)

Art is a much more recent development here, but he has been "all in" from the day he decided to give the crayons a try. He sits for long periods of time in deep concentration, and I have loved watching his creations go from scribbles to abstract designs to actual things. He drew his first train this weekend. Wheels, cars, smoke, windows... very cool.

Trains, building, drawing; these things often go together. He sweet talked me into giving him a big sheet of wrapping paper today, and when I checked in on him, he had done this:

 Can you see all the tracks colored on the sheet? There's a big, circular train track spinner thing up near the fox, and it leads to the extra tracks he drew and cut out of little pieces of paper. Nothing dramatic, but all by himself! Straight from his imagination!

Gol, I just love this sort of thing. I love, love, LOVE the fact that he goes off by himself and can't stop himself from creating something, that he saw wrapping paper and thought "I can make something awesome out of this!" Aren't three year olds the coolest? I sat next to him this evening, watched him draw more tracks and build more walls along the outer perimeter, and I started thinking about his future. What are the odds that he will stay this way? Will he keep "building", testing, doing, and thinking, or will he lose the spark and stop?

I have some say in this I guess, but I don't think it's a very big one. Encouragement? Example? Limits? A bit of tough love on occasion? Will I be able to figure out the best way to reach him? What other complicated things - things I cannot even imagine right now - will get in the way? 

I sat there next to him tonight, saw how his little footie fire truck pajamas were already getting too small for him, and thought "Sh**********t. This is why they say parenting is so hard, isn't it.

Flowers?

   
I noticed something last week. I was at a funeral, and it was a big-moment-in-your life funeral. It was much more Oliver's big moment in life than mine, but still. Still a big deal. German funerals have a  slightly different protocol than American ones, and I got the rundown just before the service. Approach. Men drop down a handful of dirt, women toss in a handful of flowers. When it was our turn to go up, I approached, flowers in hand, and didn't see any flowers in the burial pit. Okay, I was only the second woman to go forward... had I misunderstood? Had the previous woman misunderstood? Was I supposed to drop these flowers or not?

"Oliver," I whispered. "What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to hold on to these flowers?" His mind on other things, Oliver didn't answer right away.

"Flowers?" I asked in a whisper, feeling strangely frantic. How long could I stand here before people started to get annoyed? Was I doing this wrong? Was I taking away from someone else's moment of reflection?

"Do I drop them in?"

*     *     *

Something similar happened at our wedding. When it came time to do the rings on fingers bit, Oliver put on my ring upside down. There, in another one of those big moments in your life, I was totally distracted. "Wait, it's upside down... no no, never mind. We can just leave it like this."

Do we all do this? Were these two moments in my life just a coincidence? Was I glad, both times, to pull away from the enormity of the moment and focus on something different?

Bike people

    

When we lived in Beijing, Oliver and I bought bicycles. They were dirt cheap and broke down a lot, but they took us everywhere. This wasn't such a big deal for Oliver, since he came from one of the most bike-friendly cities in one of the most bike-friendly countries in the world... but for me? It was something of a revelation.

I had always wanted to be a bike person. I had never wanted it enough though, to go out and make myself into one. I needed a little nudge, and once I had it I was hooked. We biked two hours to a tea market once, just because we could. Bikes! We dodged buses and melted into crowds of cyclists. In the course of my rides to all corners of town, I discovered that biking allowed me to feel like I was a part of every place I traveled through. In cars I have always been impatient and frustrated, wishing I can get to my destination and regretting that I can't connect with any of the things I'm passing. Biking changed all that, and made the journey every bit as desirable as the destination.

When we moved to Canada we bought "real" bikes, and Oliver rode his to work most of the time. I did too once in awhile, but I was back to public transit as my default and cycling as a weekend hobby. New York was even harder, and each baby put a one year hold on any rides we would take.

But then - but then! - we moved here. The babies were kiddos, and the streets were screaming at us. "Get on your bikes!" Grandmothers, families with bike trailers, two year olds (I am not kidding. Two year olds)... everybody was on a bike. The city was set up for it, the streets were safe for it. We decided not to buy a car, and bought a bike trailer instead. And I'm going to try and say this now, though I warn you it may take me a few tries to do it without squealing:

We are bike people!

Oliver rides to work every day, even in torrential downpours. The kids and I ride every day - to the zoo, the pediatrician, playgroup. On the weekends we head out as a foursome, sometimes for a 20-mile trek to a cool Altstadt, and sometimes just 15 minutes down the road to get some currywurst.

The happiness I get from this is multi-layered, and sometimes as I'm flying downhill on a sunny morning with the promise of a good outing before me, layers peel back and I enjoy many of them at once. I am a part of this place! We are keeping things simple! Wheeeee, so fast! My kids think biking is the default!

Will they love it the way I do? They're certainly on their way.

No answers needed, thankfully

    

Two times last week, we were still out on the road when the kiddos started napping. Instead of biking frantically and yelling things like "no sleeping on the road!" and "Nils, poke Liv for me!", I gave up on making it home. We live very close to Frankfurt's largest cemetery, and I decided to pull over and just sort of hang out for awhile.

The cemetery is something of a notable place. Lots of old graves - Schopenhauer's being the best known - and big trees. The kids and I bike through it all the time, and if you don't count the time we saw a bulldozer ripping out gravestones of those whose families no longer pay for upkeep, it's a calming place. 

(I know, right? There is something so deliciously (horrifyingly?) "Germany" about bulldozing graves. Story for another day.)

My favorite spot is the section dedicated to the Second World War. It's right on our bike route, and there is never another soul there. 

This statue, too. The first time I saw it, before I ever looked at a grave and saw "1944", I knew. The slumping shoulders, the grief and guilt and total defeat... this couldn't be about anything else.

There are signs that I could read, but I've never stopped to read them. I like leaving it all a bit of a mystery, and piecing things together as I pass through again and again. The section of Russian and Eastern European names, for example. Was there a battle of Frankfurt? There must have been, why have I never heard of it?

And who leaves the flowers and candles? There is always something when I pass through, and I wonder who remembers who, and who still feels what. What about Elise Zeh? She died at 60 in 1944... who planted the flowers at her grave? No one else has those... is someone still mourning her loss?

I like the fact that I can't come to easy conclusions here. As Nils and Liv napped last Friday, I wandered back and forth in a section of graves for civilians who must have died in an Allied bombing raid. My mind kept wanting to assign labels like "innocent victim" and "evil fascist," but I couldn't. The young couple buried together, he with military honors and she a month after he passed... who were they? Ardent nazis or scared young people with no choices? The 5 year old boy... okay, it's pretty easy to label him "innocent victim". The 80 year old woman: innocent? Informant? Okay, and say she was a racist, fascist, all those terrible things. Do I get to say it was "correct" that she died when her city was bombed? 

Hmm... guessing that one's a bit above my pay grade.

There is a family grave, too. Father, mother and daughter all gone in one day. When I look at it I can't help but remember a trio of memorial stones I saw for a Jewish family.

This is a complicated place, and I am a pretty simple person. I'm going to sigh with relief that it's not my place to decide who deserves what then, and just keep biking through. I think I should also leave some flowers. I could put them at the feet of that statue.

     

Angle of repose

   
We nailed it a couple Wednesdays ago. NAILED it. The day started with a healthy breakfast, then led us to the sunshine of the park. We stopped in a little side field where the kiddos literally ran in circles together, laughing and singing while they picked little white flowers. 

After that we played in the park, got a nice little lunch at the park's outdoor cafe, then came home for Liv's nap. Nils and I sat outside while she slept, drawing and coloring together. He even asked me to read "the artist book" to him, because "I'm an artist, too!" (Oh hey there, book I bought more than 10 years ago, imagining a child would someday say those very words to me!)

When Liv woke up after a really, really long nap, the three of us biked out, again in the sunshine, to Bornheim Mitte for the farmer's market. We bought some fruit and veggies (Mama, get some peppers! I love peppers!), and paused for a sausage. 

After that it was a quick stop at the library for some stories, home, and dinner on the outdoor space. Well fed, the two of them played nicely together:

and went to bed without protest.  Liv waved goodbye as I closed her door, and Nils asked for a few more stories before drifting off himself.

Nailed it.

Oh, and then there are days like today. I'll spare you the details; let's just say there were bodily fluids involved, sibling-on-sibling crime, harsh words, slammed doors (oh, the sass!), aborted trips to the park (rain, our playdate's sudden fever), and a big fat glass of wine at the end of the day. Should it bother me that I drank alone? It doesn't.

In the middle of the worst part of our day I started to think "good lord, what a bad day," but before the thought was even finished I knew it wasn't right. No, today was a day. Just a day.

It's all balancing out for us now. The good and the bad roll at me and I can make them both work. Gone is the despair of last winter, those days I can't use any verb but "slog" to describe, the time I was actually brought to tears by the thought "17 more years? I can't. I can't." Things feel normal now. We sleep at night; that probably helps. Days are hectic but I get to stop every night and have a couple hours to do whatever I want. Ahhh, that feels good. We have fun together. Most days are somewhere between park-flowers-cafe-market-library and the-things-today-which-shall-not-be-named, and that's great. I'm not looking for bliss. I just want to enjoy myself here at my angle of repose. I'm done tumbling now, and it feels good to rest quietly.