Living Under the Influence

We like to think of ourselves as autonomous beings, that our personalities are our own, independent of others and their influence on us. But really, we live under the influence of everyone around us. Did your mother ever tell you that you were playing with your best friend too much and were behaving too much like her?

As fallible human beings with malleable psyches (albeit some less malleable than others and stubborn as mules), we tend to adopt the characteristics of those we spend time with--coworkers, parents, friends, significant others, spouses, lovers. We all steal verbal, physical and even psychological mannerisms from each other, and so our personalities are not purely our own. We are molded by the people in our environment.If you're involved in healthy relationships with healthy people in healthy environments, then you're cooking with gas. But if you find yourself entrenched in an unhealthy relationship or marriage, immersed in an unhealthy environment, then, even if you are a strong, stable individual, your odds of coming through the other side of that relationship unscathed are ZERO.

I often hear myself say, "I don't like who I become when I'm around my husband. This isn't me. This isn't someone I want to be." But it wasn't until recently that I began to suspect just how deeply his behavior and our mutually created, unhealthy relationship has affected me. In addition to a certain degree of PTSD I've recently struggled through (and there's more to come, I'm quite sure, once I take the leap and divorce the man), I've noticed that some of the habits I've picked up from him are creeping into my relationships with those I care deeply for.

For example, after a weekend of defensiveness and bickering, I may begin my Monday seemingly well. But while IMing a dear friend and things are starting to get tense between us, I'll quickly realize I'm bringing my weekend behavior into a treasured relationship I want to nurture. I often step back at that point and say to my friend--a gentle, tender soul I never want to hurt and who I've just stung, a person who truly makes me want to be a better person--I say to him, "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I had a bad night/weekend, and I'm carrying that over to you." And then I can more or less turn it off, while I ponder just how insidiously learned behavior can corrupt our lives.

Somtimes, I see my husband's behavior reflected in my son's, and it stops me in my tracks. I'm quick to point out the undesired behavior, and for good or bad I link it directly to my husband.

"Do you like it when Daddy does that?"

"No, Mommy."

"Then why are you doing it, too?"

That solves the problem very quickly.

It scares me how deeply my personality has been altered, in that negative way. It my not be a dramatic change, but the change runs deep. I know that, if I don't leave this relationship, I will continue to morph into the part of me I don't like. And I will lose that other relationship I treasure so deeply. And likely others, as well. Contentiousness will become my modus operandi, and I will become profoundly lonely, bitter and unhappy. I might even become a woman very much like my mother-in-law, a thought that makes my blood run cold.

Equally prevalent is the knowledge--and the dread--that once I do leave this relationship behind, I will experience PTSD very likely more intense than what I've already been through. (The first was brought on by leaving Germany--a place where I survived alone and with only remote support from my mom by phone--and returning to the US, a place of safety and security, and within easy reach of my entire support system.)

It's a struggle, sometimes, to keep that negative influence at bay. But at least I recognize it when it makes me ugly, and that's half the battle.

Biding my time...

Every day of our marriage, when my husband was working and I stayed at home, I met him at the door with a smile on my face and a hope in my heart that he would be in a good mood and stay that way through the night. Most of the time, he was pretty Jekyll/Hyde, and every night started out pleasant enough, but quickly deteriorated. I eventually realized that I couldn't expect more. So I didn't. And I dealt with it.

Now that we're stateside again, we're both working. As a sourcing agent for some large European companies, he works overnight to coincide with the European work day. That means he is already home when I get home from work and, for reasons unknown to me, still wide awake. Only twice, however, has he met me at the door with any kind of greeting. Or even greeted me from wherever in the apartment he's roosted. So, when I get home today, he is sitting at the computer in the living room, his back to the door I've just walked through, and he says not a word to me until I greet him as cheerfully as i can manage. "Hi! I'm home!" I think I sound pretty convincing. "Unh," he says in return. All right, fine. Can't expect anything more. And I don't. So I move on.

I go right to the bathroom, then change my clothes and head immediately for the kitchen to get dinner ready. Beef stroganoff from the slow cooker. I make the salad, cut the bread, set the table and call everyone to dinner. As usual, he waits until that moment to get ready for dinner. It takes several minutes for him to get to the table, and we have to wait. Can't expect more from him. And I don't. So I grumble a little because it still irritates me after all these years, and then we move on.

My husband begins to fill his belly and starts talking. Just a little verbal jab toward me at first. One easily ignored. But that isn't enough. We bicker. That's pretty status quo. I can't expect more. And I don't. So I deal with that, too.

But he keeps on, digs a little deeper and my tolerance is broken and I give him what he wants. I call him an asshole. He kicks me in the butt. I kick him back. He kicks harder. I throw the bread at him. He slaps at my face. We have a little face-off (haven't had one of those in a while), and I flinch when he raises his hand as if to hit me. I'm more angry than I am afraid and I call him a baby and that he needs a mother, and that I won't be one for him anymore. He says I'm dumber and weaker than he is and a product of my culture, so therefore beneath him. I said, "If that's so, what're you doing kicking me in the ass?" I say he may be smarter than me, but he is uneducated, and it shows in the garbage that comes out of his mouth...

See what I'm reduced to? It used to be much much worse between us, but this still sucks. This isn't me. This isn't me, at all. I don't like being like this. I don't like being around people who bring out this side of me. And I don't like how it influences my relationships with other people.

But just you wait. I'm only biding my time...

Read here nothing worth writing about...

How do I get back into the habit of writing?
What do I do with all those writing lists I've re-enlisted for and just don't have the time to read? What about that writing-prompt list?
Why aren't I writing anymore?

Well, the answer to that, I suppose, isn't hard to guess.

But even if I write drivel about not writing, it seems that's enough for now.

Just let the words flow, and maybe something worthwhile will come forth...

Just passing through...

still alive, still raking through the muck. still wondering in which direction i should point my shoes next... which is right, which is true, or can i do it all?

in this time that i should be making concrete decisions and moving forward, i feel oddly unmotivated and even reluctant.

follow my heart, you say? sure... but my heart hasn't led me to happy, productive places... except maybe when i auditioned for the ren faire 14 years ago.

not a very good track record.

i seriously doubt my heart can be trusted... or my decision-making skills.

which is right?
which is true?
stay or go?
wait or move on?
search or learn?
none or all?

what do i do???

In short, in general, in a nutshell

Life has certainly been taking me for a ride, that's for sure. Since coming back to Chicago, I've reacquainted myself with many old friends. My relationship with my husband is fast deteriorating, and I'm struggling to maintain my own identity.

In the meantime, an old friendship with a married ex-boyfriend is complicating itself. Someone I've known for nearly 20 years... It had been nearly eight years since we'd seen each other (since shortly before my own wedding, as a matter of fact, a friendly dinner and a long chat), and some very very disturbing issues have surfaced. Oh, why do things have to be so complicated???

My family and I are moving from my parents' home next week, to our own apartment the next town over. I had other plans concerning our living together, alone. I had meant to not leave this house with my husband. I had meant to let him go on alone. I had meant to leave him behind.

But the situation here prevents that from happening at this time. Now, I have to regroup and replan. And struggle with a divided heart on two fronts. I have lots of guilt about wanting to leave my husband, which makes the deed so very difficult, tho it's what my heart wants.

I believed in a fairy tale, and now I'm paying the price... and so is my family. I need enormous strength straighten out this mess. The frightening part is that the hardest part still lies ahead...

It's been far too long...

I don't know what to write about these days that isn't about my husband and marriage.

Things are crazy, and it's all the same crazy stuff.

Feeling distraught, stressed, depressed, elated, confident and in dire need of validation--all at once.

It's a regular rollercoaster ride, here.

Wish I could skip ahead a few years so I can bypass this unpleasant time...

Who said it's boring?

I'm not really sure what to write about today; I've really gotten out of the writing habit. The new job is going very well. By the end of this week, I'll have been there two months already, and will have then moved out of my probationary period.

My husband is working nights while searching for a position more suitable to his experience. He has one very good possibility lined up and is in the midst of arranging for his second interview. He has another interview coming up at the end of the week for an even more suitable position that pays quite well. Good for him.

I'm in the midst of personal flux, myself. As I said, the job is going well, and I'm still trying to decide if I want to go back to school. See, the idea of it makes me really really tired. And, who knows if I will find a teaching position after I get my certificate???

Aside from that, I'm quite certain that when it comes time to strike out on our own... Well, let me say that I'm very very apprehensive about living alone with my husband again. He won't change his ways. He'll always drink. He'll always be controlling. He'll always...

I won't go any further. I've said it all before, and there's no point in rehashing it. If we buy a house or rent an apartment together after this, there will be a honeymoon period when things are great and new and exciting... and then they will decline into their former state and I'll be as miserable as before, if not more so. I don't want to live like that again...

And that's why I wanted to return to the States.

What I'm trying to say, without saying it, and am going to say it anyway, is that it's very likely that I'm going to leave him in the coming months. I fluctuate between hating him when he's crazy and feeling guilty for leading him on when he's sane... It's a terrible roller coaster ride.
I'd be lying if I said that I didn't plan to leave him sometime after we returned to the US. Of course I planned to. But I also thought it would be a few years down the road. But the longer I'm in the position of exercising my individuality--my independence--when not under the thumb of dear hubby (and as long as we live in my parents' home, I'm not under this thumb anymore), the more it depresses me to even think about sharing a household with him again. Once we leave, he will work swiftly to put those old constraints back into place.

But, before I drop the bomb, I want to make sure he's employed and able to take care of himself. I don't plan to do that until I can't persuade him to wait any longer to leave. By then, I'll have gotten my own ducks lined up and an attorney retained... He won't contest a divorce. But things might get dirty when it comes to custody. As soon as I tell him, he'll insist on taking our son with him when he moves out. He's already threatened to do so.

Also, I've been rewriting someone's autobiographical novel. That's been up and down, as well, and keeping me quite busy.

My son is doing really well here. He's adjusted easily to school, and enjoys it very much. It's wonderful to see him beginning to read and taking a delight in books and sounding out the words he's trying to write. His ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher called my husband the other day to say how phenomenally well he's doing in her class. That's what she said, that his progress was "phenomenal". We're very proud of him. He gets frustrated that he can't spell very much, yet, and that when he writes me or his grandpa a note, we need help deciphering his words. But I reassured him over and over this morning that learning new things takes time, and that one day it will be easy for him as long as he keeps practicing.

He's going to be Batman for Halloween this year.

I'm glad to be home.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me, "So, do you miss Germany, yet?"

And I said, "No way. Every day I remember why I wanted to come back, and I'm ecstatic to be here again."

And it's true.

This is where I belong.

So. It's been that long, has it?

My husband arrived three weeks ago, Tuesday. Things have been pretty good since then. We've had two fights so far, the second of which my own mother started, and both of them involving my husband's behavior. He wasn't drinking when he first arrived, but he's started again by sneaking into my parents' liquor cabinet. He wasted no time sniffing out the alcohol, that I can assure you. My parents don't drink cola, so he was reduced to diet lipton's and water.

But since I started working again, he's been to the store to stock up on beer and Coca Cola. That weight he lost in the last few weeks will be on again in no time, and I'm dreading having to confront him about spending our money on crap like that when we still owe my parents so much and we have to save.

On a different topic, the week hubby arrived, our son started school. He's been adjusting very well and seems quite happy these days. He's befriended the three kids from next door, all a year younger than he, and everyone at school is very curious about his Germanness. He appears to enjoy school, which is a relief for me and my husband. Picture day is already next week, and so are the orders for next month's Fun Lunches. It's been kinda fun arranging for all that as a parent. I remember those things so clearly...I also applied for a job and interviewed it, the week hubby arrived, and snagged it the very next week. Tuesday was my first day, and I've been enjoying the experience of working again in a friendly environment.

I'm a proofreader for a slide-chart company, located just around the corner from my copy editing job at the magazine publishing company I left seven years ago. And here's the ironic part: I'm working with a designer with whom I also worked when I left that company. He's pretty new here, too, having started in May. Isn't that wild? I brought my husband to the Faire, and I was happy to find out that he really enjoyed.

It was important to me that he see that part of me. He's also seen a strong, independent part of myself that he'd never known. At first he liked it, and told my mom so in a private conversation. But this week, beginning Wednesday in fact, he's been distant and rather like he's always been to me. In fact, our fight two nights ago stemmed from the return of his old behavior. He was in a bad mood and spoke to me disrespectfully, to keep an old story to a few words.

I said some hateful things (I called him a fucking german nazi. My mom said that if he treats me the way he does, then he must really hate me. My husband responded by saying he doesn't hate me, or he wouldn't have married me. I said we'd known each other for only six weeks before he proposed, how could he know? I said if I'd known him any better than I had, then I wouldn't have married him. That really hurt him, but I was angry not just because of his behavior but because we had finally gone back to square one. Honeymoon phase is over.), but later we all said sorry to one another. And since then he's been as distant toward me as ever.

The timing of the fight was pretty on-target. That afternoon as I drove home, I was feeling bad for having felt badly toward him, and for not feeling more loving and not even wanting to. I was wondering what would happen even if he made a permanent change for the better. Would I be able to accomodate that? And then my question was answered the moment I walked through the door and met him in the kitchen. He won't change. He'll keep drinking, he'll keep being rotten toward me when my parents aren't around.

But aside from that, things have been very smooth and life seems to have taken a turn for the better. I feel empowered. And I hope that my husband finds some happiness in our family's change, too.I really do.and no, I didn't proufreed my post befor posting it. I often dont.

Life is good

Life is good

I'm living in America again.

My son is loving his new school.

I have a job.

I have a brand-new MP3 player for my job.

I still have Blogit.

Life is good, don't you think?

Looking looking looking...

Looking for a job is the pits. It really is. Last week, I sent out ten resumes. I heard back on one, but only so far as to say that they had received it and will contact me if I meet their requirements. So far, I haven't heard back from them. Which is a shame, because it was similar to what I had done before (copy editor/editorial manager), but maybe a half-step up. And the commute would be do-able. And really, no matter what you see on these pages, I really am good at what I do, and I really liked the idea of working for that place.

So today, I finally bit the bullet and registered with three local temp agencies. One of them is Manpower, and I registered with about seven local offices. How convenient that I could do it all online. I found my last job, which turned out to be exactly what I was looking for, through one of those temp agencies. Back then, I just registered with one as a walk-in. And now I've registered with nearly ten offices--and I didn't have to leave my bedroom.

Ideally, I'd like to have a work-at-home position. Telecommuting is way attractive to me right now, though I wouldn't count on getting one.

What would your ideal job be?

What I didn't say...

What I didn't say when I said what I did last time about that one day...

Returning to the ren faire last week was special in more ways than just the run-in with the unrequited crush. The whole day had this magical aura for me, probably much as it did that summer fourteen years ago when I decided I would audition for the following season. And it was probably as magical for me as it is for many long-time faire-goers.

But I'm not really what one would call a Rennie, those people who go every weekend, dressed in garb of all sorts (and not always historically accurate), often without a real grasp of the era those at our faire try to recreate (the reign of Elizabeth I). When I worked there, I was a contracted musician. I had a job to do. Yes, I got to design my own costume and wear a corset under several layers of clothing, and indulge my love of Renaissance England and of the music of the time. But there is just an air about it that leaves me at peace. Perhaps it's the people... The core actors and musicians are still there after all these years. Or perhaps it just the distinct spirit of the place. I don't know. But I know I'm not the only person to feel that way.

People have asked me if I would ever go back there to perform. Maybe, I tell them. Maybe I would, if I had something worthwhile to offer after all these years, and probably not until after my son is older.

When I was there last week, all my fears and insecurities about being there were put to rest. Everyone I cared about recognized me. I didn't have to say, "Hey, it's me. Remember me?"

And everyone seemed as pleased to see me for the first time in eight years as I was to see them.

That was gratifying to an unparalleled degree.

I stayed there from opening gate, until closing gate. A solid ten hours. I packed my son into the car and slid into the driver's seat not a bit sleepy-eyed. My feet didn't even hurt! During the drive home, I followed my old route through northern Illinois and was filled with the most profound sense of peace and contentment. It was, truly, a perfect day. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

My husband is arriving in Chicago Monday afternoon. My weeks here without him have been largely peaceful (barring the spats we've had over the phone), and I'm really not looking forward to his arrival. I feel a little bad about that, considering he's giving up his life in Germany to raise our son here in the States. But I don't relish resuming the power struggles, especially here on my own turf where I've always been an independent thinker and doer. My husband will expect to resume all control over our family, and I don't want to go back to that way of life.

He expressed interest in seeing the faire, and I'll take him--probably next weekend. I don't expect him to understand the influence it had on me, or to acquire a deeper understanding of me as a person separate from him (he hates the idea of me being an entity separate from him). So I'm glad I had the opportunity to visit on my own, and to get in touch with an essential part of myself that got pushed into a dusty corner, so long ago. I will probably need to draw on that strength more than ever in the weeks and months, and even years, ahead.

What a gift that day is, in so many ways!

Home-coming. It's nice to be here. But nicer not to have to go back.

I've been back home in Chicago for two weeks, now. If you're a subscriber to the view that good things are worth a little effort, then the flight over would be right up your alley. Our plane had been delayed three hours because of a medical emergency between Newark and Frankfurt.

That meant I had to change my connecting flight from Newark to Chicago. By the time we landed in Newark and I had claimed my baggage and gotten in line to check it in again, I had missed that connecting flight, and had to catch another one... to Midway, instead of O'hare. And
I had only a few minutes to catch that plane, two terminals away.

We made it, though, and even managed to squeeze in a quick call to my dad. "I missed my flight. We'll be at Midway at 10, not O'hare." So, 29 hours after our journey had begun, my son and I were finally snug in bed in my parents' home, air conditioning humming softly in the background.

My son handled it all brilliantly. He is the perfect traveller--better than most adults. Scratch that, he is the perfect child.

In the meantime, my husband is still in Germany, tying up loose ends. We don't know when he'll be here, but the target is by the end of the month. That may or may not happen.
I've been taking things slow. The first thing I did was register my lovel boy for first grade.

Then, last Sunday, my parents threw a Welcome Home/Birthday Party for me (36 years old). It was supposed to be a surprise, but I suppose the effort of keeping it that way was too much to handle, so my mom spilled the beans just a day or two after our arrival. It was a wonderful party, with family and my best friend, J. My husband managed to put a damper on the festivities by overreacting to a conversation he'd had with my mom the day before (about behaving nicely to her daughter while he's here), and called just as we were sitting down to eat to order me to pack up and come home.

He was irrational and after calmly telling him this wasn't the time to discuss it several times, I hung up on him. I told my mom what had happened, desperately trying to control my tears and outrage. She told my father, and seconds later the phone rang again. My dad answered it, chewed out my husband, told him to shape up, and about ten minutes later was off the phone again.

Later on, my dad told me to give my husband a call. He thought things had been worked out. So, when I had a moment of privacy a couple of hours later, I called (though I didn't want to) and my husband was humble and sweet and said he'd misunderstood the purpose of my mother's call. There was no apology, however. And none was expected. The damage was done. He'd managed to sabotage my birthday party (I hadn't wanted to tell him about it, but our son had leaked the information to him that morning), which, way deep down, was probably very satisfactory for him.

The following Saturday, just a few days ago, I met J and her man at the renaissance faire I used to work at as a musician. That experience deserves its own post, so I'll write more on that later. It was a really wonderful time. I couldn't have asked for a better day.

Yesterday, I applied for five proofreading jobs. I didn't find them in Sunday's paper. Rather, I found them on CareerBuilder.com. I have no idea if anything will come of them. Most of them are rather far away, close to Chicago. Since I'd like to stay in the area we're in now, that could be a problem. But I'll cross that bridge IF I come to it. Ideally, I'd like a proofreading/copy editing job that isn't high pressure and tight deadlines. Been there, done that. It's fine when you're single and working long hours doesn't affect much more than your sleep. A very big part of me would like a desk job that's dull and predictable, but gets me home at the same time every day feeling sane, and with enough energy to fit in some classes to earn my teaching certificate. Like data entry. Any data entry jobs out there that pay between $30-40,000 per year? Didn't think so.

Today, I'm visiting an old high school friend of mine. I have to wake up my son so we can be on our way.

...Oh! And how cool is it that I'm actually writing within three time zones of most readers here?

Wow. I'm really here...

I thought I'd have more time...

It's ending so fast. I thought I'd have more time than this...

Tonight is my final night on the computer. As soon as I write this, I'll be restoring it and closing it down forever. I won't be writing again until after our arrival in Chicago on the 25th. I'd hoped to respond to everyone's comments and return everyone's visits, but it just can't happen until the move is over.

I wish everyone happy, light and peaceful thoughts until after I get back. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you soon!

Wish us luck!

It's ending so fast. I thought I'd have more time than this...

Tonight is my final night on the computer. As soon as I write this, I'll be restoring it and closing it down forever. I won't be writing again until after our arrival in Chicago on the 25th.

I wish everyone happy, light and peaceful thoughts until after I get back.

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you soon!

Wish us luck!

A Welcome Change of Pace

I have the whole day to myself. What a gift! My visiting mother-in-law took the car and my son into Stuttgart today to attend to some personal business, leaving me all alone, without a care in the world (almost), without having to disrupt my musings to pick up son from kindergarten or make lunch, except to bring up the laundry every hour or so to dry in the sun in the backyard... It's a day of peace much craved for.

We have these birds that soar the sky around our house. I've wondered all this time what they are. They aren't hawks, of that I was certain. Could they be eagles? I couldn't find anything to compare them to on the Internet, except for a few mp3s of eagles' cries. These birds sound pretty similar to what I heard, so I decided they must be a type of eagle indigenous to the area, which delighted me. We don't have eagles in the Illinois flatlands, where I come from.

My husband thought they were small for eagles. And a recent close-up view of a circling bird showed that the tail was not straight across, as an eagle's tail feathers should be, but scooped in the middle. I finally had to admit that the birds were not eagles.

Last week, I ran into a neighbor who was cutting his lawn with a scythe. He doesn't really have a lawn, per se, if you define a lawn as having an expanse of smooth green grass soft enough to walk barefoot on. Neither do we, for that matter. Instead, his yard is typically hip-deep in weeds of varying types. Our co-neighbors, an old couple in their 80s who keep a very large vegetable garden and chicken coop to sustain themselves, had recently complained to him about his weeds infesting their garden with baby weeds. So he was out in his yard the next day with a scythe, the only tool that not only would cut it all down, but that would fit through the opening to his yard and could be carried up the hill to do the work.

My next-door neighbor, coincidently, is American who hails from Maine. He's been in Germany for 20 years or so. Came here while he was in the Navy, and stayed to work. We don't run into each other often, but our chats sometimes run long when we do. I remembered, during the course of this one, to ask him what those eagle-like birds are.

"I don't know," he said in his distinctive Maine accent. "I only know the German word for them, which someone told me when I asked a few years back. They're called, Milan."

And that was exactly the information I needed to find out what name I might know them by. A quick reverse-search on the Internet--I googled Milan on the german google.de to find out the latin name then English-googled the latin name to find out the common name in English--revealed that these birds are Red Kites.

And to my gratification, they are related to Hawks and Eagles. So I wasn't so far off the mark as I might have been!

We've Settled on a Date!

After a year of quiet, white-knuckled uncertainty, it's finally official. On July 25, just two days before my 36th birthday, my son and I will return to the Chicago area once and for all, with my husband following behind shortly after.

It'll be good to be home again.

In the meantime, I received a giant e-mail from my best friend in Chicago, who recently returned from a trip with her hubby to Central Mexico, where they experienced an intense religious ceremony conducted by a local sha-woman, involving a specific type of mushroom. My friend told me what knowledge she had walked away with, comparing it to a similar South American rite they'd participated in last year. Reading her letter made me experience an intense gush of love for this woman, reminding me how important she's been during the decade (lifetimes) of friendship we've shared. How much I'm looking forward to being closer proximity to her again, I can't convey.

Things have gotten dramatic in the house since last I wrote. Hubby tried to throw MiL out last Thursday, but none of the other brothers would take her in (isn't that sad and scary and pathetic all at once?), so here she's staying for the next two weeks, with no relief in site. After that big scare she's been on super-good behavior, but the tension in the air is thick, and it's only a matter of time before there's another blow-out.

I'm trying not to feel put-upon that during my final two weeks in this house I'll have to pack up and say goodbye to the house and the scenery around her constant presence, struggling to take my peace where I can and to ease the obvious strain on my son.

But then, my family and I will soon be descending upon my parents in much the same way, won't we? I like to think we're nicer and easier to get along with than MiL, but it'll still be a strain, and probably most significantly on my mom and husband, for reasons of their own.

Must be tolerant. Must learn from this experience...

But at least we're going to Chicago... I thought I'd reached Nirvana when my husband had given me a digital camera for my birthday. But this return to my stomping grounds is the present of a lifetime. I only hope my husband's emigration proves to be as rewarding to him, as this move means to me.

The calm before the storm?

The July 4 cookout went quite well. I did explain to MoL that we were having an authentic American meal: Hamburgers and hotdogs that each builds him/herself with onions, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, or whatever captures you imagination (my son topped his hamburger with potato chips!), chips, corn on the cob... MoL made tzaziki, which is a garlic dip made with sour cream, several garlic cloves, and cucumbers. Europeans seems to eat what we consider dip with a spoon or fork, often without the benefit of bread, crackers or chips. And then I told her why I made so much, so there was some pleasant conversation on that topic, and she informed me that Greece also has a couple of similar national holidays that are celebrated. Our meal was big, and my dangerously crabby husband lightened up considerably after weighting down his belly with huge helpings of everything.

In last night's World Cup game, Germany lost against Italy when Italy scored twice in quick succession during the second-half of the overtime of a 0:0 game. It was a blow to Germany, and we're now out of the finals. It's now down to France against Portugal (who beat England in the quarterfinals and sent the Tommys back home, alas. I had been holding out for England, anglophile that I am) tonight. The winner of that game, I guess, will play Italy, determining the winner of the World Cup. We're feeling a little sour about Italy right now, so we're rooting for France.

I had an interesting conversation with MoL during breakfast this morning. I had told her that I was accustomed to eating our big meals at lunchtime (a German custom), so when I hadn't had lunch yesterday and then ate my hamburger at 7 pm, it was way too much for me. My belly hurt. I couldn't finish my corn on the cob or drink my wine. I was uncomfortable for hours afterward. That opened it up for her to say that she's surprised that I have such a difficult time losing weight. I eat less than she, and yet... She asked if I had ever gone to the doctor to have something-or-other tested. I didn't catch what she said, but I guessed what she meant. I gestured toward my throat, and said, "Schilddrüse?" Thyroid? She said yes, and before I could answer her (and I didn't get the chance to answer the question at all), she corrected me by explaining that the thyroid isn't just in the throat but in the belly and thighs, as well, and then she moved on to another topic.

When someone else's information conflicts with my own, I often give it the benefit of the doubt in the moment I hear it, then later on check the validity of my own information to see what I might have mistaken or misunderstood. In Wikipedia.de, I looked up Schilddrüse, because it could be very possible that my understanding of the German word might have been inaccurate. I already know very well that the THYROID is located in the throat, in front of, and on either side of, the windpipe. But maybe I've been misunderstanding SCHILDDRÜSE all this time?

What I didn't get to tell her was that, yes, our village doctor had drawn blood to test my thyroid, but she didn't believe the results were significant enough to send me to an endocrinologist to do further testing. She just told me to walk around more, be more active. I didn't explain to her that I walk my son to and from kindergarten most days, which involves a hike up a steep gradient, and that, in fact, I had walked to her office that morning, as well. I'd decided to just leave it for when I could handle my health in my own country, in my own language.

Anway, after consulting Wikipedia.de, it turns out my information or translation wasn't mistaken.

My husband has barraged me over the years with a whole catalogue of misinformed health facts. While his education might have been... incomplete, even though he attended gymnasium and later aquired a certificate equivalent to a BS in business and internation trade, I lay the blame mostly at his mother's feet. She had had to drop out of school in Greece when she was 12 years old. She has a quick mind, but no education to back it up. I'm not criticizing her, I'm just pointing out a fact.

I considered whether I might print up the Wikipedia thyroid information, but then wondered what good would it do? But then, she might take it the wrong way and be insulted. And is it really worth it? I certainly don't want to do it do boost my own ego, to score a point against her... But might she want to know?

So things are calm here, now, and I'm grateful for it. I like peacefulness and harmony and quietude. But from years of experience, it's an ordeal of walking on pins and needles worse than when it's just my husband and myself. An explosive fight eventually breaks out between hubby and MoL, which results in MoL moving on to another son's home, where another fight breaks out, and she either moves on to the third son's home, or she hops on the next place back to Greece. That has been the pattern. She's been taking anti-psychotic and anit-anxiety drugs--at least she had been when she was here during the winter, though I've seen no evidence of them now, and I'm not about to snoop--and I see the difference in her even from last February.

Maybe that's helping keep the peace...? I've got my fingers crossed that all remains as peaceful as it has been the last 24 hours, and that this isn't the calm before the storm.

But then, a purely selfish thought just occured to me: The sooner she leaves, the sooner we will get stateside. Hmm. Maybe I will print up that article, after all...

A thank-you to everyone...

I just wanted to post a general thank you to everyone who has commented, especially the lovely ones concerning not my last post, but the one before, and my newest poem. I'm basically out of the reading and commenting circuit for the time being, and what stolen moments I can find are dedicated to writing "quickies" of any type: blogs, poetry, frozen scenes between people that get stuck in my head.

As soon as I can get back into the swing of things, I will return each and every comment in kind.
The Bad News: The atmosphere continues to thicken around here and we've had our first major scene late last night... Unfortunately, it was between me and my husband, resulting from a half-bottle of whisky he'd quietly, yet efficiently, poured down his throat; his bad mood; my having forgotten to record yesterday's Tour de France etappe, save for the last hour; and my MoL criticizing hubby about his bad behavior toward me.

The Good News (and perhaps the most disturbing): The mother-in-law and I have come to a better understanding of one another. Unfortunately, it's come under unpleasant circumstances... and it doesn't absolve her of her ceaselessly selfish behavior.

I did feel confident enough, however, to question why she doesn't switch her health insurance from Germany to Greece, thereby eliminating the need to make dozens of dr appointments every time she visits and putting her family out (namely me) to drive her all the way the heck into Stuttgart, to spend the day chauffering her to them all--and having to drag my kid out of kindergarten to do it. Her response, "Well, the insurance is better from Germany." My response, "But you LIVE in Greece, and you put everyone out to accomodate you and to conduct your personal business for you (a touchy issue separate from the health insurance one)..." And besides, no one ever asked ME if such and such a day is a good one for me to take the day off to drive her around all over der Vaterland...

Maybe this time my husband will let her take the car. I doubt it, but I can hope.

Or maybe she'll take the train, though I doubt hubby will let her.

Oh, and by the way, Happy 4th of July to all you fellow Amis out there. I've got a cookout ready to start. I hope it goes peacefully and the the only fireworks I see tonight are the ones from the few other Americans in our community lighting the skies.

It's getting emotional around here...

My mother-in-law is walking to the Rathaus (a rather telling name for a town hall, isn't it? Rat house?), accompanied by my son. She has some unfinished business there regarding her status as a resident of our village and our house. Each time you move, you have to register your new residence and all household members with the local Rathaus. For specific purposes, my mother-in-law, who really lives in Greece, got my husband to register her as a resident of our household.
A few weeks ago, my husband un-registered her because of our impending emigration. But now, she's over there, tending to her own business, (for once not making my husband do it for her), and what it involves specifically I'm not sure. No one in our community knows yet that we're leaving, for reasons of my husband's own, and there some concern MoL will let something slip while she's at the rat house... oops, I mean Rathaus.

So, MoL has been here since Saturday. Things have been going fairly smoothly, I suppose. I've gone out of my way to be accomodating and to at least meet her somewhere between what she wishes I were and what I am. I'm gratified that for once she knows her place as a guest and doesn't walk around here with the attitude that it all belongs to her. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that she's no longer an official member of our household. It might also have to do with the dramatic parting between her and my husband last February and that she no longer has the hold on him that she used to. And it might even have something to do with a certain amount of drama and line-drawing between me and her, as well. Or maybe I'm simply being territorial, but I don't think that's entirely it, either. You have to witness it to understand it.

I did notice that, starting on day one, she speaks low to my husband when I'm out of the room, diving headlong into her campaign to convince my husband that moving is a bad idea. She either thinks that I can't hear, or that I don't understand. She's said a few disparaging things about me, as usual, centering around my feeble German skills (though not as feeble as she likes to think), comparing me with how when she was as a fresh immigrant from Greece at age 17 or 18. In some ways, she's right, in others she's being unfair. She sees me as the prime mover behind our emigration, and she's right in the sense that, if her son hadn't married me he wouldn't be doing this. But it's a decision we've come to together.

Sunday, I could tell that my husband was beginning to feel a bit strained by his mother's murmurings, and Sunday night, he asked when she's leaving. He'd told me earlier that day that she'd said she was going to stay a week, at first, but now it's indeterminate. It's indicative of her narcissitic nature to constantly change her plans, as if they don't affect anyone else. It's very straining on everyone around her, and my husband has had plenty of experience with this type of behavior from her, even before I came on the scene.

This morning, my husband left for work and I prepared breakfast for her and my son. I ignored the fact that, just as I got out of the shower and was towelling off, MoL walked right into the bathroom without knocking to wash her hands. If I hadn't heard her coming and had a hunch she might "forget" to knock, and jumped back into the tub behind the shower curtain, she would have gotten quite an eyeful. Part of me wonders how much her neglect was passive aggression, and how much of it was her thoughtlessly assuming that I might not mind another person just walking into the bathroom while I'm butt-naked. I left it for another day, in the event she does it again.

While we ate, she very defensively broached the subject of our leaving. I have the utmost sympathy for her, and a certain amount of empathy, too, because I've been living in the position of complete separation from my family for seven years with absolutely zero support on this side of the Atlantic. I know how my mother has felt being separated from her eldest daughter (the more stable one, to boot) and her only grandchild. Understandably, MoL is very upset about our moving, and disagrees that it'll be the best thing for us. When I pointed out that I and my family have had to deal with the separation, as well, she said that at least my mother has my sister.

What I didn't mention is that my sister suffers ADD, has been a very large handful even now, as a young adult (25 years), and that MoL also has two other sons and two other grandchildren in Germany, and that maybe she'll have to rethink her priorities, set her pride aside, and work a little harder to maintain a semi-harmonious relationship with those sons and their families.
I was cold towards her, which is generally unlike me, although I was shaken by her burst of emotion and tears. But I knew from experience that she very deftly could turn this around to make the situation all about herself.

Before we got involved in the discussion, I prefaced my initial response with, "I don't want this to be an emotional conversation..." And I didn't. I needed to protect myself, and I wanted to keep things on an even keel for the sake of my son, who was munching away on his Nutellabrot between us. MoL likes drama and can really turn a situation upside down, and I needed to stamp out the fire I saw beginning to smolder.

She didn't like it when I pointed out that she only visits us twice a year, anyway, and what's the difference between visiting us in Germany, or visiting in America. She said she's 61 years old and didn't like the idea of sitting in a plane for hours on end. That she's travelling alone, and that at least my mother has my father to travel with. She said that when she comes to America, she doesn't know the language at all. I said my mother's 60. My father was in Germany once before, seven years ago. The other times mom had visited, she had been alone, too. (My dad actually came a second time, too, three years ago, but I'd forgotten about that. It wouldn't have helped my argument, anyway...), and that my mother doesn't speak a word of German, besides Danke. How is the situation different?

Like I said, I have a lot of sympathy for MoL's situation. I know it very well. But I was irritated, maybe unfairly so, that she has never once given a single thought to how my side of the family has felt, all this time.

At the end, I pointedly told her that I don't want to hurt her, and that our decision to move isn't about her. It isn't about me alone, or my parents or any of my other American family. It's about our own little family, me, my husband and my son, and what we think is best for the three of us as a whole. And that was the end of the conversation.

I tried to be really nice to her after that. I told her I'd bought a big lump of pork roast and that I would really like it if she would show me how she makes her delicious Goulasch. And after complaining that it's too hot to make Goulasch (never mind that it's too hot to boil and fry up big meals in pots and pans, anyway), she said she would.

Tomorrow, perhaps somewhat cruelly, I've planned an Independence Day cookout. I'd be lying if I said that the cookout hadn't put an evil gleam in my eye when I considered the timing of my MoL's visit and her reason for being here (to say goodbye). One might say it's an expression of my own passive aggression, but the party has been planned since before we knew she was coming. I'm really not that mean-spirited.

And anway, after this morning's conversation I've decided not to mention the reason for the mid-week grill party at all.

Just short of a cloudburst

It's thundering, as I write this. The weather is at just my favorite, when a cold front moves through and a storm brews in the near distance. The air is charged with energy, and it energizes me. I feel it tingling along my skin, prickling along my scalp, and my creativity surges. Words and images ricochet in my mind and I have to scramble to capture them. I feel content, yet restless, like a tiger in a cage. I'm grateful I'm alone so I can release some of the energy in my writing. 

 I just took this photo. I liked the look of the white clouds against the bluing clouds behind them, and wanted to share it with you. The crows were cawing in a mad caw-caphony as the thunder rumbled through, and they are now suddenly silent. I think the storm will pass us over, though it's possible another will mosey along and drench us in a little while. My aching limbs cry of rain and drama, and through the discomfort I welcome it. I love this weather.