Tag Archives: past

Old Heros

…and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
– Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Winter Games of Childhood

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant – Anne Bradstreet

We are having one of the coldest winters in Germany in a long time and it reminds me of the cold winters in Minnesota when we were kids. My mother would paint snowflakes on the windows when we were small and one Christmas she painted the three of us on the window kneeling at a crèche. I haven’t thought of that in years. Makes me have a different feeling about her when I remember it.

When we were smaller before my Dad got his first snow blower, the snow would pile up on the boulevards to what seemed like great mountains. We would try to tunnel from one end to the next or build “forts” in the highest snow near the driveways and have snow ball fights with the neighbor kids. I remember it feeling like a great adventure. It was different with the snow blower; the snow doesn’t pile as much.

We used to go sledding on the hill across the small river behind my parent’s house that we called “the Crick”. The hill was basically covered with trees but that was part of the fun, dodging between them to get to the bottom. Once we didn’t make it and the fancy toboggan my dad had bought had a wonderful dent in the front curl. But like with all things, he found a way to fix it for us and we used it a long time.

The Crick is where I remember skating, shoveling off the snow to make a rink but I think we learned to ice skate on the Lagoon, which was organized and you had to pay to skate there at least during the day. I have a vague memory of the whole family skating on the lagoon, even my Dad but that maybe wrong. I don’t remember how long it took me to learn to ice skate either. Funny that. Maybe it wasn’t so hard. We all wanted to be Peggy Fleming and glide like an angel over the ice. I know I never achieved that but some school mates got pretty good. When I got older I would go to the Lagoon alone at night and skate. That seems pretty much like craziness now but it was a simpler world back then or at least it seemed like it.

The ice on the Crick was also a hockey rink at least for the boys. I remember my younger brother coming home with a mouth full of blood, minus most of his two front teeth after a hockey stick missed the puck and found his face. Great drama and stainless steel caps. As we all got older, I don’t remember us spending much time on the ice. It was mostly my older brother playing football on the snow covered field around the corner. I remember feeling privileged to stand in the freezing cold and being the line marker for where the ball was supposed to be since there were no lines in the snow. Silly really but being a part of it was all that mattered.

The last winter in Minnesota that I remember is the one when my dad died. Ten days later was Christmas Eve and I remember the temperature being minus 95 degrees with the wind chill. I don’t think I really noticed.

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beech treesThe beech tree forest by my house

Into the Woods

We have such a brief opportunity to pass on to our children our love for this Earth, and to tell our stories. These are the moments when the world is made whole. In my children’s memories, the adventures we’ve had together in nature will always exist.
― Richard Louv

The house I grew up in was near a small river surrounded by some woodland. It was actually called Turtle Creek but in Southern Minnesota no one would every pronounce it creek and we always just called it „the Crick“. We skated on it in the winter when it froze – my younger brother lost his front two teeth playing hockey there – and I remember playing in the long grass and on the bank in the summer. There was even a swimming hole in one bend but I don’t remember ever swimming there. I think my mother thought is was dangerous. I just remember thinking it was too scary to swim there and watched other kids do it with the hair standing up on the back of my neck.

We never played down by the crick at night. There were animals in the area, mice and deer, I am sure, opossums, I think. I know there were at least grass snakes because I kneeled on one once and got my sock all full of blood. I promptly burned my sox because I was in the long grass smoking my mother’s cigarettes – I must have been about 8 at the time – and I didn’t want her to know I had been there. Somehow she never noticed the missing sox. At least I don’t have a memory of getting yelled at.

I remember climbing trees and playing hide and seek and watching the water. I think we spent quite a bit of time there, at least when we were younger. At some point the marsh and river lost their mystery and we played mostly in other peoples yards – kick the can, capture the flag and war were the usual choices. I only remember that we didn’t go down to the crick anymore. No real idea why not.

Now I live again near a woodland, this time with a small stream. Again there is wild life in the woods, foxes and deers. There is also wild boar but they mostly sleep all day. And mice and snakes but the snakes aren’t poisonous. There are also large toads and salamanders because there is a marsh around the stream where they breed. And all the other miriade of creatures that populate nature. What there are not is children. In the five years I have lived here, I have never seen any child playing in the woods. Not a single one. And I walk in the woods a couple of times a day.

Some of the teenagers in town go into the woods to drink but rarely. I sometimes see their garbage laying in out of the way clearings. Maybe they don’t need to hide their drinking from their parents as much as we did. Underage drinking seems to be tolerated in Germany maybe in part because they can only get a driver’s license when they are 18. At any rate, of all the children in this little town who are the age we were when we spent virtually every free moment outside and racing through the woods, none of them do it.

Has the world changed that much? Are the things you can do at home, watch TV, play on the computer, talk on the computer, are all of these things more interesting to children these days than they were all those years ago? Is the fantasy and mystery of nature something you only see from the comfort of your living room even if the real thing is just outside your door?

Or is parent’s fear of what could happen to their children if they are not within sight gotten so great that they don’t allow their children to play in the woods? There are „dangerous“ wild animals and the local hunter seems to hunt pretty often but still. I never see them at the edges of the forest, exploring the stream, looking for salamanders, catching toads. Never. It might be a cultural thing. German housewives (can you use that term anymore?) are very conscious of dirt. Actually, I mean OCD about dirt. Our neighbor behind us hoses his dog down in the yard every time he takes it for a walk because otherwise it would bring in too much dirt. (Imagine that in an area where it basically rains every day so all the paths are mud tracks and you know how much work that man takes on!) Maybe the kids aren’t allowed in the marsh because they would come home covered in dirt – God forbid!

It is for me a „puzzlement“. But maybe the world has just changed so much I don’t recognize childhood anymore. Could be.

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Small World on a Fence Post


When I was a child I was afraid of ghosts. as I grew up I realized people are more scary. – Sushan R Sharma

I realized last weekend that I am and always have been what the Germans call “a-zi” (pronounced ah-zee), which means “anti-social” but implies much more than that, more not nice things. I was at a class with a friend and she was surprised how fast I was out of the seminar room. She even thought I was going to leave her behind (I drove us both). She suggested the people in the class were probably thinking I don’t like them. That rang a bell because just a couple of weeks ago, someone else told me that friends of his who had attended a concert for my students thought that I didn’t like them. I hadn’t exchanged a word with them but they were very sure I hated them.

All this brought up to me how I have behaved all of my life. I would have told people that I was shy. In fact, I think I did sometimes but I stopped after a while. Nobody seemed to believe me. I have realized that deep inside I am scared to death of people. Funny enough I only realized last year at a different course that I fundamentally don’t trust people. Maybe that is why I am afraid. This fear is very deep seated and has caused me to do things that other people find funny or weird or awful or – “a-zi”. I don’t see people to greet them when they greet me; I turn away from people at parties, I walk away from companions (a friend screamed at me and told me he would never attend a concert with me again because I left him in the dust when exiting the hall). The thing is I don’t “get” it at the moment. Later maybe, when I think about it, or somebody complains to me about how I have behaved but not while I am behaving that way. I just feel impelled to do what I am doing. The truth is I am lost in thought, obsessed with my own inner world. Do I have a slight case of Asperger’s?

It’s a funny thing that I chose such a “public” profession when one of the things I hate most in the world is to meet new people. Oh, the number of times I should have been chatting and making small talk at parties and events to forward my career and all I was doing was measuring how long I would need to stay and when and how soon I could leave, measuring my escape plan and thinking of how to avoid saying goodbye.

At any rate, I believe that I have burned a lot of bridges in my life unintentionally by this kind of behavior. Over time, I have worked hard to learn to speak to people at parties and events, to at least be aware where my companions are when in company and I succeed most of the time. But when I am tired the only thing I can think of is “get me out of here”. Thank goodness my husband makes a joke out of it. At least most of the time.

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Rose HibiscusRose Hibiscus

Old Soul, Young Soul

Getting older is a struggle. I always feel that just under the surface of acceptance and enjoyment of the ageing process is a terrible hysteria just waiting to burst out.
– Michael Sheen

There is this idea that people are reincarnated, that they have lived other lives in the past. And there is this idea that there are some people who are “young” souls just beginning this path and that there are “old” souls who have gone through the cycle many times. I don’t know if I “believe” in reincarnation but I have always had the feeling that I am a “young” soul. Every time something would happen in my life it came as such a shock. Small things, big things, more likely than not I would be totally surprised as if I could never have imagined it would be as it was. And I am not talking about a slight surprise consciously or emotionally. I am talking about an existential bomb going off for me that fundamentally shakes what I think about life.

In a way, I “aging” is like that for me and I observe it as if it is happening to someone else. I have to admit that my intellectual connection to my body has been a tenuous one. I mostly feel like a brain that is being carried by a machine that I hardly know but seemed to always “work”. But now that things are starting not to work so easily, I find it surprising and confusing in a way. I mean, I know that I am getting “older” and some of these things one should “expect” from getting older but still. Some of this is weird.
For example, I have been watching my knuckles grow for years. I noticed a long time ago that there were deposits building up and I used to try and massage them away. Now on some of my fingers, the knuckles are disproportionately large and the first knuckle of my left index finger has taken on the family gene and bends extremely to the left. And the end of my nose has changed. It used to have corners that I really hated. Now it is nearly round and it isn’t from drinking too much or scars. It has just changed. Weird.

Mostly, when I look at myself in the mirror it feels exactly to me like Liv Ullmann once said in an interview, “My mirror is very kind to me” and what I see in the mirror is not very different from what I have always seen. It is when I see myself in a photograph or out of the corner of my eye in a shop window I think, do I really look like that? One day a couple of years ago, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my stomach had dropped several inches. I was shocked! I thought something was terribly wrong and I would need to go to the doctor. After a few minutes, it occurred to me that it was probably just “old age droop” but it seemed to happen not gradually but over night. Weird.

And when I lie in bed and look at the skin on my arm that is paper thin, almost translucent and starting to wrinkle like crepe, and I observe this as if it belong to someone else. Not as if it is a part of me. I think, who does that belong to? Who is this old woman, who I have become? When did she turn up? I am totally surprised.

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