When I was 20, I lived in the UK for a year. We were a group of friends
from all around the globe and we had the vision of a world of
friendship, Of a world, where people from different cultural backgrounds
and religions live together and learn from each other. We cooked the
food of our countries and we shared our music and our songs. This idea
has been in my head and my heart since then. And I am not giving it up,
because "worried citzens" follow right-wing pied pipers and call
people like me names.
This was one of the songs I learned
Fayrouz: Chadi
A sad and moving song about love and war and senseless violence sung by Lebanon's greatest singer.
Friday 23 September 2016
Sunday 20 April 2014
Easter Miracles
Before I tell my stories, I want to explain that in Germany we have an "Easter Bunny" that goes around and hides coloured eggs and sweets for the kids to find them. Well, in my days we looked for eggs and chocolate, these days the kids get iPhones ...but I did not want to complain. I wanted to tell you two Easter Sunday stories.
Number one goes back to when I was a child. We did not live in a house with a garden, so the Easter treasures were hidden somewhere in the flat - which made my mother find some very old chocolate egg in the settee half a year later, but that is another story.
Anyway, one Easter custom was the walk with my parents. My sister and I were delighted: in the grass to the right and left of the path there were coloured sugar eggs. And chocolate eggs. We collected them, brought them back to our parents and ran off to find more ...
And even years later, when I knew that my father had dropped the treasures while we were walking along - also dropped those, that we already had found, a second or third time - it did not change the Easter Miracle.
Searching and finding was more important than owning. And I think the most important treasure was the experience that you can find all sorts of good things next to your way - and they are even more precious when someone who loves you dropped them there.
The second story takes places decades later - my son was about four or five and he was a very rational little fellow. Santa Claus ... no, never, that was Daddy . And, of course, he was highly sceptical about the Easter Bunny, too.
That year we had come back from a short holiday by car. We had driven through the night and when we arrived early Easter Sunday morning, my son was peacefully snoring on the back seat. So my husband jumped out of the car and quickly hid all the sweets in the garden.
Then we woke up our son who was firmly convinced that he had not slept and had had total control over his parents' actions.
He spotted the big chocolate Easter Bunny sitting under a tree immediately ... and who describes the wonder when he found more eggs and chocolate things under flowers and strawberry plants .
"Now I do get some doubts..." - he said.
Even years later, when he realized how it had worked, he insisted on having been awake all night thus having been the witness of a true Easter Miracle.
Maybe we humans need "miracles" from time to time. The belief in someone holding and guarding us. Someone loving us.
I wish you all a hopeful Easter - remember, we celebrate the victory of life over death on this day.
Number one goes back to when I was a child. We did not live in a house with a garden, so the Easter treasures were hidden somewhere in the flat - which made my mother find some very old chocolate egg in the settee half a year later, but that is another story.
Anyway, one Easter custom was the walk with my parents. My sister and I were delighted: in the grass to the right and left of the path there were coloured sugar eggs. And chocolate eggs. We collected them, brought them back to our parents and ran off to find more ...
And even years later, when I knew that my father had dropped the treasures while we were walking along - also dropped those, that we already had found, a second or third time - it did not change the Easter Miracle.
Searching and finding was more important than owning. And I think the most important treasure was the experience that you can find all sorts of good things next to your way - and they are even more precious when someone who loves you dropped them there.
The second story takes places decades later - my son was about four or five and he was a very rational little fellow. Santa Claus ... no, never, that was Daddy . And, of course, he was highly sceptical about the Easter Bunny, too.
That year we had come back from a short holiday by car. We had driven through the night and when we arrived early Easter Sunday morning, my son was peacefully snoring on the back seat. So my husband jumped out of the car and quickly hid all the sweets in the garden.
Then we woke up our son who was firmly convinced that he had not slept and had had total control over his parents' actions.
He spotted the big chocolate Easter Bunny sitting under a tree immediately ... and who describes the wonder when he found more eggs and chocolate things under flowers and strawberry plants .
"Now I do get some doubts..." - he said.
Even years later, when he realized how it had worked, he insisted on having been awake all night thus having been the witness of a true Easter Miracle.
Maybe we humans need "miracles" from time to time. The belief in someone holding and guarding us. Someone loving us.
I wish you all a hopeful Easter - remember, we celebrate the victory of life over death on this day.
Friday 2 August 2013
The Joe Pickett novels - a personal review
A few months ago I started reading a new detective story. You kow how it is with detective novels: you must read carefully from the start or you might miss something that could be important later on. So I memorised the names of the two characters, I learned by heart who was young, who was old, who was married, who was single --- and just, when I felt well prepared for the rest of the novel, I reached the end of chapter one and they were both shot.
I sighed and started chapter two, which luckily introduced some characters who survived.
That was the beginning of "Breaking Point", number 13 in the series of the detective novels around Wyoming game warden Joe Pickett, written by C.J. Box. I couldn't stop reading and after a few days I reached a point that was so breathtakingly exciting that I thought for a moment of calling in sick and not going to work, so that I could find out how it ended. Well, I didn't, Joe Pickett would not have approved.
But I got the other 12 books of the series, because I noticed that despite the fact that all stories could stand on their own, there was the development of the hero and his family and some connecting storylines. So for weeks I have read one book after the other and am still as fascinated as I was by my first introduction to Joe Pickett and his adventures.
One thing I like is the setting: never before have I read a book about rural Wyoming, about the Rocky Mountains and the people living there. The main characters love it - the wilderness, the force of nature and the freedom they have. It makes me want to go there and have a look myself.
I particularly like the fact that I am confronted with new ideas that make me think. For instance the story of the "Miller's weasel" (a fictitious extinct animal) and the impact of too much public interest and "protecting" an endangered species that can be more lethal to the poor things than a change in their environment. On the whole, a lot of the stories shed new light on "environmentalists", who seem to be more interested in their own fame than in the animal they want to "protect".
And of course, the characters. Joe Pickett, who gains experience and does things he would never have thought possible. He is a very human hero, not without faults, but always true to himself. His family, particularly the kids growing up and sometimes being part of the story. His wonderful wife - and I like to think that the auther models her on his own wife; after all, all his books are dedicated to her, too. Bureaucrats that make me boil with anger because of their stupidity and arrogance. Warm-hearted and wonderful people who help Joe. And the mysterious Nate who seems to have come directly from the old West, taking the law into his own hands, if necessary, thereby personifying his own archaic form of justice.
Still ... weeks and weeks of reading about murder and bloodshet is not without bad side effects: I see murderers everywhere and catch myself looking for my gun before I take off on a lonely journey to the supermarket ( after all, a 5-minute-drive). I think, when I am finished I will have a period of romantic love stories... until I can get hold of the next Joe Pickett novel.
PS: You can find C.J. Box on Facebook and here is his website http://www.cjbox.net
I sighed and started chapter two, which luckily introduced some characters who survived.
That was the beginning of "Breaking Point", number 13 in the series of the detective novels around Wyoming game warden Joe Pickett, written by C.J. Box. I couldn't stop reading and after a few days I reached a point that was so breathtakingly exciting that I thought for a moment of calling in sick and not going to work, so that I could find out how it ended. Well, I didn't, Joe Pickett would not have approved.
But I got the other 12 books of the series, because I noticed that despite the fact that all stories could stand on their own, there was the development of the hero and his family and some connecting storylines. So for weeks I have read one book after the other and am still as fascinated as I was by my first introduction to Joe Pickett and his adventures.
One thing I like is the setting: never before have I read a book about rural Wyoming, about the Rocky Mountains and the people living there. The main characters love it - the wilderness, the force of nature and the freedom they have. It makes me want to go there and have a look myself.
I particularly like the fact that I am confronted with new ideas that make me think. For instance the story of the "Miller's weasel" (a fictitious extinct animal) and the impact of too much public interest and "protecting" an endangered species that can be more lethal to the poor things than a change in their environment. On the whole, a lot of the stories shed new light on "environmentalists", who seem to be more interested in their own fame than in the animal they want to "protect".
And of course, the characters. Joe Pickett, who gains experience and does things he would never have thought possible. He is a very human hero, not without faults, but always true to himself. His family, particularly the kids growing up and sometimes being part of the story. His wonderful wife - and I like to think that the auther models her on his own wife; after all, all his books are dedicated to her, too. Bureaucrats that make me boil with anger because of their stupidity and arrogance. Warm-hearted and wonderful people who help Joe. And the mysterious Nate who seems to have come directly from the old West, taking the law into his own hands, if necessary, thereby personifying his own archaic form of justice.
Still ... weeks and weeks of reading about murder and bloodshet is not without bad side effects: I see murderers everywhere and catch myself looking for my gun before I take off on a lonely journey to the supermarket ( after all, a 5-minute-drive). I think, when I am finished I will have a period of romantic love stories... until I can get hold of the next Joe Pickett novel.
PS: You can find C.J. Box on Facebook and here is his website http://www.cjbox.net
Monday 11 February 2013
The Flight of the Dragon
For 22 years we were connected.
I remember vividly the moment of his birth - and even before he was born, I got to know him, heard his heart beat, felt his kicks. I could not sleep at night or had to go to the toilet every half an hour, but I knew that things would not get easier after the great day.
Since then I have sat by his bedside countless nights, have comforted him, have watched his sleep when he was sick. I sang for him, read stories to him, taught him to speak, taught him what is right or wrong.
I spent days in the ER of the local hospital, was worried sick when he had to have an operation, looked after his wounds. I also had to care about his eye sight and his teeth - even against his will.
When he came to school, it was me who practised reading with him, fought for treatment of his dyslexia, practised reading and English vocabulary.
I nourished him ... first with my own body, then by carrying the food into the house.
Even a few weeks before he moved out, we hat do sit in the ER after a car accident. And a few days before he left I had to shut down his computer, as there was a DVD making a lot of noise while he was softly snoring.
For 22 years I was responsible - can you imagine that now I need a few days to get used to the fact that from one day to the other I only have to look after myself ?
When he was small, I gave him roots - when he grew up, I gave him wings.
Now he has spread his wings and is flying. I know this is how it must be - it is good this way.
And I am slowly getting used to it ... I am learning to fly into this new part of my life, too .
I remember vividly the moment of his birth - and even before he was born, I got to know him, heard his heart beat, felt his kicks. I could not sleep at night or had to go to the toilet every half an hour, but I knew that things would not get easier after the great day.
Since then I have sat by his bedside countless nights, have comforted him, have watched his sleep when he was sick. I sang for him, read stories to him, taught him to speak, taught him what is right or wrong.
I spent days in the ER of the local hospital, was worried sick when he had to have an operation, looked after his wounds. I also had to care about his eye sight and his teeth - even against his will.
When he came to school, it was me who practised reading with him, fought for treatment of his dyslexia, practised reading and English vocabulary.
I nourished him ... first with my own body, then by carrying the food into the house.
Even a few weeks before he moved out, we hat do sit in the ER after a car accident. And a few days before he left I had to shut down his computer, as there was a DVD making a lot of noise while he was softly snoring.
For 22 years I was responsible - can you imagine that now I need a few days to get used to the fact that from one day to the other I only have to look after myself ?
When he was small, I gave him roots - when he grew up, I gave him wings.
Now he has spread his wings and is flying. I know this is how it must be - it is good this way.
And I am slowly getting used to it ... I am learning to fly into this new part of my life, too .
Friday 21 December 2012
Apocalypse ... when ?
Today is the day ... the one that media and party goers all over the world have been waiting for: the end of the world. According to some Maya calendar ... supposedly ... we don't believe, of course .... but it is so wonderfully spooky.
I have heard people making jokes - and I have seen wonderful satires about it on the Internet. On the other hand I read about those who have been preparing themselves, their homes and their families for months. And there are those, who know that only God knows the time, so why worry now?
Actually, the end of the world happens every day, is happening right now. Every day somebody's world can collapse from one minute to the other. A phone rings to tell you that your father is in hospital and dying. The routine check-up with your doctor ends up in a serious talk about your fatal illness. A car accident finishes your dream of becoming a dancer. A child dies.
Today I am thinking particularly about the families and students of Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut, for whom the world and life will never be the same again. Twenty children and six adult staff members died. Twenty-five families for whom the world has already ended.
My thoughts and prayers are with them.
It is no use to expect the Apocalypse - we are never prepared. We can only live our lives as well as we can NOW. Live, love, forgive. Give kindness. Enjoy what we can enjoy. Hold the hand of someone who needs it. Be grateful for what we have. But also cry, mourn, feel pain and pray. Accept when something is given to us.
Live - and do our little bit that others can live, too.
Maybe this way we can save the world.
I have heard people making jokes - and I have seen wonderful satires about it on the Internet. On the other hand I read about those who have been preparing themselves, their homes and their families for months. And there are those, who know that only God knows the time, so why worry now?
Actually, the end of the world happens every day, is happening right now. Every day somebody's world can collapse from one minute to the other. A phone rings to tell you that your father is in hospital and dying. The routine check-up with your doctor ends up in a serious talk about your fatal illness. A car accident finishes your dream of becoming a dancer. A child dies.
Today I am thinking particularly about the families and students of Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut, for whom the world and life will never be the same again. Twenty children and six adult staff members died. Twenty-five families for whom the world has already ended.
My thoughts and prayers are with them.
It is no use to expect the Apocalypse - we are never prepared. We can only live our lives as well as we can NOW. Live, love, forgive. Give kindness. Enjoy what we can enjoy. Hold the hand of someone who needs it. Be grateful for what we have. But also cry, mourn, feel pain and pray. Accept when something is given to us.
Live - and do our little bit that others can live, too.
Maybe this way we can save the world.
Wednesday 4 July 2012
Money Stories
Well, these past weeks and months I very often had to do with money. Bills had to be paid, subscriptions and insurances had to be cancelled, forms to be filled in to claim money we are entitled to ... and finally my parents' bank accounts will be closed down and the money divided among us heirs. Not that I am filthy rich now - but when I travel to China one day I will think of my parents who made it possible by saving money and passing it on to us.
I miss them. Now I am no longer anybody's child - I have finally grown up. But I grew up with their love and care and I am grateful for it.
When I went through my parents' empty house with the landlord, he found a German Deutsch Mark Pfenning. The Deutsche Mark was the currency before the Euro was introduced and one Pfennig was the smallest coin. People used to keep one for good luck - so I keep my Good Luck Pfennig, which is like a greeting from my parents.
And the other day , when I tidied up my son's bedroom, I found a lot of small change that he said I could keep. I put it into the box with other stray coins I have collected during the past year and took it all to the bank . The total amount was about 50 USD which I donated to Jackie Chan's Build a School charity.
Money can make you desperate, particularly when you need some to feed your family or pay for your children's education. It can poison people's hearts, make them greedy, thrifty and hard. People kill for it, commit crimes, exploit , deceive and lie for it.
But money can also be connected with love. Like my parents' love for us. Like the small coins that get together to help.
If you have enough or more than enough money, don't let it rule you. Let your heart rule over your money.
I miss them. Now I am no longer anybody's child - I have finally grown up. But I grew up with their love and care and I am grateful for it.
When I went through my parents' empty house with the landlord, he found a German Deutsch Mark Pfenning. The Deutsche Mark was the currency before the Euro was introduced and one Pfennig was the smallest coin. People used to keep one for good luck - so I keep my Good Luck Pfennig, which is like a greeting from my parents.
And the other day , when I tidied up my son's bedroom, I found a lot of small change that he said I could keep. I put it into the box with other stray coins I have collected during the past year and took it all to the bank . The total amount was about 50 USD which I donated to Jackie Chan's Build a School charity.
Money can make you desperate, particularly when you need some to feed your family or pay for your children's education. It can poison people's hearts, make them greedy, thrifty and hard. People kill for it, commit crimes, exploit , deceive and lie for it.
But money can also be connected with love. Like my parents' love for us. Like the small coins that get together to help.
If you have enough or more than enough money, don't let it rule you. Let your heart rule over your money.
Saturday 7 April 2012
... and the bridge is love ...
Thorton Wilder's novel The Bridge of San Lui Rey ends with these words:
"There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
Two weeks ago my father died - aged 90 he died a quick and easy death. He could live at home, looked after by wonderful people, until the end. It is sad - but it is good the way it is.
I spent all last week in my parents' house, which I will have to empty and give back to the landlord by the summer. It is not the house where I grew up up in, but my family has lived there for more than 30 years and it is full of memories. And the fact that both of my parents are now dead, means that a part of my life has come to an end: I am no longer a daughter. In a way, it marks the final end of childhood.
However - if I look at things properly, I see that I ceased to be the child years ago. Gradually, I had to take over tasks for my parents, had to look after them - and even make decisions for them. I have already grown up.
And the house, which during the first weekend after my father's death was so filled with his "spirit" that I thought I could feel his presence, is becoming a stranger. It is a place where I sleep and work when I am there. Of course, in the end all the things that made up my parents' lives, will be thrown away.
But they are only THINGS. I have the memories in me, everything they taught me, all the laughter we shared, all the worries and the care they gave me. I carry their love in me and my love for them.
I am ready to let go - and it does not leave me sad or desperate.
"... and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
Happy Easter to those, who celebrate it. The Christian holiday that celebrates the victory of life over death. The victory of (God's) love over death.
"There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
Two weeks ago my father died - aged 90 he died a quick and easy death. He could live at home, looked after by wonderful people, until the end. It is sad - but it is good the way it is.
I spent all last week in my parents' house, which I will have to empty and give back to the landlord by the summer. It is not the house where I grew up up in, but my family has lived there for more than 30 years and it is full of memories. And the fact that both of my parents are now dead, means that a part of my life has come to an end: I am no longer a daughter. In a way, it marks the final end of childhood.
However - if I look at things properly, I see that I ceased to be the child years ago. Gradually, I had to take over tasks for my parents, had to look after them - and even make decisions for them. I have already grown up.
And the house, which during the first weekend after my father's death was so filled with his "spirit" that I thought I could feel his presence, is becoming a stranger. It is a place where I sleep and work when I am there. Of course, in the end all the things that made up my parents' lives, will be thrown away.
But they are only THINGS. I have the memories in me, everything they taught me, all the laughter we shared, all the worries and the care they gave me. I carry their love in me and my love for them.
I am ready to let go - and it does not leave me sad or desperate.
"... and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
Happy Easter to those, who celebrate it. The Christian holiday that celebrates the victory of life over death. The victory of (God's) love over death.
 |
| (photo: Guillermo Macias, Mexico) |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)