Red Tent Blog

Redistributing/ Rechannelling Guilt

2007-10-18T18:00:00.000+02:00

from bindi of the epossums blog

Susanne wrote recently of a mother's guilt. Her post has given me cause for reflection for a couple of weeks. Today my ideas crystallized...

I have been working hard this week. I am lucky in that my husband will take the children to school in the mornings and cook dinner in the evenings if I can't. Today I left as he was making the school lunches using pita bread from the freezer.

“Oh, no fresh bread!”, I remarked. “I hadn't realised we were close to running out because I didn't make the lunches yesterday”.

Notice here that my comment was motivated through guilt. Usually, stocking up the pantry is my domain. The result of my guilt-motivated comment was to subtly shift blame from myself onto him. The implicit message is, if you knew we were running low why didn't you buy some more bread, or even inform me? It is not my fault.

His reply was, “Yes, you have been absorbed in you own world lately”.

How did his comment make me feel? Slightly angry. It definitely fed my guilt.

As I drove off to work, I decided not to let his comment touch me. In my heart, I know he thinks I'm a good mum. The comment was pitched at the perfect level to push my buttons for the sake of argument, and that is all. It was a response to my attempt to redistribute my guilt. He is excellent at fighting fire with fire.

... I agree with Susanne. Guilt affects us all. However, what I hope to illustrate in my example above, is behaviour motivated by guilt. I think it is important to be able to make choices about the way we live.

Understanding how guilt motivates us is the first step towards being able to make the choice to live a different way.

Mommy guilt is not personal

2007-10-04T14:49:00.000+02:00

from susanne of creative.mother.thinking

I know I have written about "mommy guilt" before but I want to try to put it together this time. For years I had thought that I wasn't suffering from it. After the first few months of being a mother where I was feeling guilty for going to work and not participating in any mother-and-baby-groups, or baby swimming or not massaging my son every day, I decided I had enough of that, that he just had to live with his life as it was and that he at least wasn't growing up being totally dependent on me. And so I proudly announced that there was no mommy guilt for me.

Only I did still feel guilty from time to time. Because I'm not the mother I want to be, because other mothers do different things with their children, and because - to be frank often I try to sneak away and do something on my own. Like computer things. And when you're a mother that's Wrong.

I read about mothers feeling guilty all the time on blogs even if the mothers I meet in real life rarely talk about it. But even if they don't talk about it you can feel it. Every time when two or more mothers meet you can sense it. And it isn't triggered by competimoms only, every single, innocent remark can, and probably will, trigger someone's guilt. "Look, we made cupcakes and decorated the room." someone says, and the likes of me think about how they never bake anything, and that their method of decoration is to give their children paper and scissors and afterwards saying, "That's really nice, of course you can tape it to the fence." On the other hand I then say, "Oh, my son isn't going to music class, but he likes to bang on the drums and piano, and walk around with the guitar pretending he is a rock star." and immediately all the other mothers feel guilty for not creating such a stimulating creative environment for their children, while I feel guilty that my son who is the son of two musicians grows up without any musical training. The list can go on and on. Someone says, "Oh, we go to the playground every day." and I feel rotten because I never go to the playground and my poor son has no peers to play with, and then I say, "Oh, we just open the door and let him out in the garden." and the other mother feels rotten because her son has to grow up in a tiny apartment without his own sandbox and swing.

In the end we all feel rotten, those of us who bake cupcakes, those of us who grow their own food, those of us who let their children watch TV, those of us who don't, those of us who work, those of us who stay at home, every single one. Every mother who cares about her children (and I'd say there are only very few who don't and they probably don't blog about it) feel guilty and like she isn't doing enough or doing things wrong.

I recently read a post by Chris Jordan on this: "The Modern Mother". She quotes her mother-in-law who said being a mother was easier fifty years ago. It might have been but I recall the stories my mother and my mother-in-law tell and they always had the feeling that they were not good enough as a mother somehow, plus they were feeling rotten because they wanted to work outside the home, and they couldn't.

So, I don't think that going back fifty years is the solution (and neither does Chris Jordan, by the way). I just think that when every single mother in the Western Hemisphere (or maybe only most of them) feel guilty about the way they are treating their children, this is not a personal phenomenon, this is social. And it is always a good thing to remember that societies are made by human beings and that the rules therefore can be changed by human beings too.

I have been reading the sentence, "I better start saving for my child's therapy bill because I ..." (yelled at her, lost my temper, have let my child down in any way) so often. And every single time I'd like to write a comment and say, "Cool down. If that's the worst that ever happens to your child it is very fortunate indeed." All this implicates that mothers should be somehow superhuman. Patience personified. Never making mistakes. Never treating their children unfair. We all have this image in our heads of the loving mother surrounded by her children, nurturing always. At the end of the day she sits in the midst of her children who all are smiling with perfectly brushed teeth wearing their hand-sewn pajamas, and reads them stories before tucking them in their beds. Do you realize that this is propaganda that is more than a hundred years old? Propaganda that got resurrected in the 1950s and that's still sitting in our heads? Only now we have to be hot, sexy, intelligent, self-reliable and making money too.

In 2005 I read "The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women" by Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels and it opened my eyes. We all have this image of the ideal mother in our heads, and it is blasted at us from all media too. Imagine a celebrity saying that she is overwhelmed by new motherhood! Somewhere inside of us we secretly still think that becoming a mother is the most fulfilling and joyful thing we can ever achieve. And in a way it might be but then we don't always feel fulfilled and joyful all day long. Blogs are giving us the opportunity to see real mothers in real life who also talk about the less joyful aspects of it all. Still we think that nothing we can ever do will be enough. Still we think that we are the key to our children's happiness. That we alone hold their fates in our hands.

Well, it's time to stop this. Our children are their own persons. They determine their own fates as much as the people around them. We should always be grateful that we live in places where we have the energy and time to worry about whether it's good for our children to have swimming lessons or too much cake. All the children of the people who read this have enough to eat, a roof over their heads, clothes to keep them warm and mothers and/or fathers who love them and care for them. Mommy guilt is a luxury problem that harms us and our children.

I have a little task for you: every time you catch yourself thinking, "I'm a bad mother." or "My child will need therapy because of me." or something similar, replace it with, "I love my child and trust him (or her) to turn out okay" or "Being myself is all I have to do.".

Okay, I don't seem to be good at making new slogans against mommy guilt. I'm afraid you have to help me out here. What will you be replacing your old mommy guilt phrases with?

A Few Good Rules

2007-10-02T12:20:00.000+02:00

from charlotte of charlotte’s web

I’ve just finished reading Nineteen Minutes - Jodi Picoult’s version of the American school shooting phenomenon, in which she attributes the shooter’s act of vengeance to years of systematic bullying. Picoult spins a good tale, broad, encompassing, but never deep. Lionel Shriver’s novel We Need To Talk About Kevin, deals with the same subject matter - what makes a teenage murderer, how a community responds, how parents of a murderer feel - but far more provocatively and urgently. Her tale of a mother who fails, despite every good intention, to love her unlovable child, is chilling. If I had to choose between the two, I would recommend the latter. I admire Shriver’s brutal honesty and her determination to tackle deeply unpleasant topics.

Shriver’s story posits that Kevin, the teenage murderer, arrives on the planet evil. This alone, without the story’s horrific denouement, is hard to digest. We want to believe that babies are innocent, until we slowly imprint our weaknesses on them. We want to believe that the parents of an amoral child did their best to teach him. And we certainly want to believe that such a child might take revenge his schoolmates but never on his own family.

The murderer in Picoult’s tale starts out as an ordinary child, perhaps one who is more sensitive than most. On his first day of kindergarten, the bullying begins and it never stops. Each day at school is one of humiliation, shame and beatings. One part of the story I found hard to accept is that the adults around him, his parents and his teachers, are never aware of the extent of the bullying. His parents try to make him more acceptable to his peers by forcing him to play soccer, but continually compare him to his brother Josh who is socially competent, academic and sporty. Josh also teases his brother at school, calling him a “freak”, and how this fails to pan out in the family is never addressed.

In comparison to Shriver’s meaty broth, Picoult’s novel is a thin gruel, competent but never entirely satisfying. However, it did make me think a little more about bullying and how children loathe difference. When Lily arrived in her little German school class last year, she was swiftly dumped by the one child from her own kindergarten (they have since reconciled) and was left to face the hordes on her own. After two weeks of hearing that no-one wanted to play with her at break-time, I went on a playdate offensive, inviting children round, baking welcoming muffins and letting them see that while Lily may be a little different from the German norm in that she comes from an English/South African background, she is loved and cherished just like they are. Now she has lovely little friends, from whom she remains slightly independent, as is her way. Had I left it, perhaps she would have managed on her own, but perhaps she would not have. I’m just glad I acted swiftly.

However, with bullying on my mind, it was interesting that she came home today with list of rules for good behaviour at school. The children have cut them out and stuck them in their work books, and they are discussing them in class with their teacher. The rules are:

We listen to each other, and to the teacher

We don’t laugh at anyone when they make a mistake

We don’t blame each other

We help each other

We don’t run in the classroom, only in the playground

We speak politely to each other

We let each other finish our sentences

We keep our desks tidy

We work quietly, so as not to disturb each other

We solve our conflicts without violence

We wait our turn quietly

We put up our hands when we want to speak

I don’t know if this is school policy, or just the policy of Lily’s teacher, but I think they are a great set of principles, ones according to which I’d be happy to raise my children.

Temporarily Suspended

2007-09-26T20:35:00.001+02:00

I'm temporarily signing off of the Red Ten Blog. Hopefully, temporarily, but it depends upon what conversation develops with the other authors of this blog. We all would like it to continue, but not necessarily in the same form.

Any suggestions?

End of a School Year

2007-07-09T18:02:00.001+02:00

This Friday, Friday the 13th, is the end of the school year in northern Germany. The last weeks have been very hectic. This happens every year and yet, I don’t seem to cope any better with all the various obligations and events. An underlying tension is, of course, the up-and-coming report cards. Will the marks be fine? Who is going to have to repeat the year? Who is dropping out of school?

Sara, completing grade 6, will be graduating from the “orientation” years. High school starts with grade 5 and goes to grade 13 in the academic high schools (up to grade 10 for the trade high schools). They don’t fail any of the students during the orientation years, to give them time to adjust to the new system. A good idea, but it means that there is quite a fluctuation of students at the end of grade 6.

Julien is graduating from grade 10, which is also the end of an era, as it were. Students who don’t have the academic qualifications to complete their Baccalaureate leave the school to go into three-year trade apprenticeship programs, those whose marks are weak, repeat the year, others use the year for an exchange year.

The teachers I talk to worry about the students that are being left behind. The parents are worried their children are not succeeding academically. The students are frustrated with the whole antiquated system. What to do?

I read Leslie Madsen Brooks article in Blogher, Failure in the Classroom, this morning and I can’t stop thinking about why so many students fail to achieve academic success.

Have you all seen this video or presentation of Karl Fisch’s “Did you know” talk? There is so much here to reflect, discuss, and act upon.

Interesting Women

2007-07-02T22:08:00.000+02:00

charlotte from charlotte’s web

I’ve always found the short story to be the novel’s poor relation. I love a fat book, groaning with characters and rich with parallel storylines, and in comparison short stories have seemed meagre and slightly disappointing (with the except of Raymond Carver). This weekend, I read a collection of short stories by Andrea Lee called Interesting Women, which is rich in its observations, its eccentric characters, its sensual images and wit. Almost every story was as satisfying as a novel.

I came to the book knowing nothing about Lee. After reading it, I googled her and discovered that she is an American living with her second husband, an Italian count, in Turin. She is the daughter of a Baptist minister from Philadelphia, and has said that living in Italy as a foreigner is akin to living in the USA as an African-American, where she felt like a foreigner...(more).

A Special Deal

2007-06-10T13:30:00.000+02:00

It being Sunday and a very sunny warm one at that, I want to offer you a special deal. I have in the last months bought and read two very interesting mystery series:

The Maisie Dobbs mystery series (4 paperbacks), by Jacqueline Winspear

and,

The Erast Fandorin mystery series (4 paperbacks), by Boris Akunin

The former takes place post WWI London and the later towards the end of the 19th century, in settings all over the European continent and beyond. I find the development of both protagonists many faceted and, as far as I can judge, historically authentic. I also enjoyed that all the books were interesting piece of writing in their own right.

If any one is interested in reading one of the series, please let me know and I will send you the four paperbacks by pony express. It doesn’t matter where you live, the books are light and if you are willing to wait for the package to arrive, I’d be delighted to pass them on. The only condition to the offer is you pass on the books after you have finished.

After note: Nomad Son has been sorting through his bookshelves yesterday and today. He is using the program GuruLib to aid him in this endeavour. He has just put in the first 100 books, but I think it sort of gives you a sense of why such a program might be nice to use.

The Post Birthday World

2007-06-03T14:40:00.000+02:00

charlotte from charlotte’s web

I just finished Lionel Shriver’s The Post Birthday World. For anyone who hasn’t yet read an online review of the book, it tells the story of a woman, Irina, who goes out for dinner with a friend - a snooker champion called Ramsey Acton - while her husband Lawrence is away on business, and at the end of the evening, either does or does not kiss Ramsey. The plot then forks, one strand following what happens if she does kiss him and the other what happens if she doesn’t. Shriver builds a parallel universe and each chapter alternates between each story strand. It’s a style that could be pedantic in the wrong hands, but in Shriver’s it’s gripping...(more).

Anmutig altern: Trauer

2007-06-02T22:32:00.000+02:00

christine von luebeck, deutschland

Meine Freundin Klara war leicht – sie brachte nicht viel Gewicht auf die Waage. Aber meine Freundin aß, wenn ihr ein Gericht zusagte, mit gutem Appetit. Meine Freundin verwandte nicht übermäßig viele Gedanken an modische Kleidung. Sie konnte sich aber sehr schick anziehen, wenn das aus irgendeinem Grund, den sie anerkannte, nötig war. Meine Klara verzichtete auf viel Make-up. Aber es kam vor, dass sie elegant geschminkt erschien. Klara erschien etlichen Beobachtern als emanzipiert- intellektuell. Dass sie familienorientiert und warmherzig-spontan sein konnte, fiel weniger und wenigen auf.

Meine Freundin konnte analysieren und abstrahieren. Sie besaß die Fähigkeit, komplizierte Sachverhalte zu vereinfachen (aber nicht: zu simplifizieren). Sie konnte, um ein Beispiel zu geben, das verzwickte Geflecht einer Shakespeare-Tragödie ins Moderne projizieren und die inneren Strukturen klar sichtbar machen. Hier fanden Transformationsprozesse ohne persönliche Ambitionen statt. Klara diente stets der Sache, der Problemlösung, dem weiterführenden Gesichtspunkt. Sie selbst als Person schien dabei weniger wichtig zu sein.

Meine Freundin konnte ungekünstelt und herzlich lachen – und was sie auch konnte: deutsche Volkslieder singen, - und zwar strophenweise und textgetreu. Ich habe all das erlebt.

Meine Freundin zählte zu den wenigen Menschen meines Freundeskreises, die das un-ambitionierte Understatement lebten, wobei „unambitioniert“ und „Understatement“ einen Pleonasmus darstellen. Gespräche mit ihr waren immer interessant und ertragreich, gleichgültig, worüber man sprach. Ein von ihr gern verwendeter Bibelspruch lautete sinngemäß. „Du musst Rechenschaft ablegen über jedes gesprochene Wort.“

Klara konnte intensiv zuhören – eine heute fast versunkene Tugend, aber beim Zuhören konnte sie plötzlich einhaken, insistieren, nachfragen, nicht lockerlassen – diese Linie hatte sie auf mindestens eines ihrer Kinder weitergegeben, nämlich ihre Tochter.

Bei dem Zugunglück von Eschede vor neune Jahren wurde meine Freundin mitsamt ihren beiden Kindern aus dem Leben gerissen. Ihr Mann versucht seitdem (vergeblich), ein Leben zu führen, das kein Restleben ist. Ich werde mein Leben lang dankbar dafür sein, sie gekannt zu haben, und darum trauern, dass wir nicht gemeinsam alt werden durften.

Ein Jahr in den Ozark Mountains

2007-05-23T13:34:00.000+02:00

Buchbesprechung von Caterina aus Lübeck

Sue Hubbell

Ein Jahr in den Ozark Mountains

Ich habe gerade dieses Buch gelesen und bin ganz eingetaucht in die wunderbaren Naturbeschreibungen und das Landleben in den Ozarks. Sue Hubbell hat einen ganz eigentümlichen, ruhig gelassenen Stil gefunden über die Tiere, Pflanzen und auch die Menschen ihrer Umgebung zu schreiben... (mehr).

Gedichte der Monate März und April

2007-05-14T20:18:00.000+02:00

Beruflich bedingt, habe ich eine Schweigepause eingelegt, aber keineswegs eine Erich-Kästner-Pause! Unser neunjähriger Sohn ist fasziniert von den Kinderromanen Erich Kästners...

Ich könnte noch manches andere Beispiel bringen, will mich aber den Gedichten zuwenden!

Hier sind sie... (weiter).

Mother’s Day, Peace Day

2007-05-12T15:34:00.000+02:00

Tammy from Ann Arbour, Michigan, just sent me the text to Julia Ward Howe’s “Mother's Day Proclamation”. Julia Ward Howe was a social activist and poet. She wrote the proclamation in 1870 as an appeal to the women of the world to unite for peace. Tammy, as an American, sent the piece because she couldn’t help but notice how contemporary Ms. Howe’s message is.

Mother's Day Proclamation, by Julia Ward Howe

Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God -
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

A few days ago, I wrote how my celebration of Mother’s Day over the years usually followed the Hallmark company guidelines and, thus, they were very unfulfilling. After watching the video and reading the text, I decided this year to celebrate Mother’s Day as whole-heartedly as possible, in a manner that will, hopefully, encourage and create peace. So, while walking around town this morning, I came up with the following list of possible ways to celebrate tomorrow in a somewhat grander way than I’ve previously done, back in my Hallmark company guideline days:

As a woman: spend some time reading the words of other women engaged in the courageous act of giving counsel (here and here),

As a mother: tell my children how much I love them and how their beings light up my life, cook a tasty meal, say a prayer of thanks,

As a wife: express some gesture of acknowledgement for his loving and generous nature,

As a friend: go out on a long walk with my walking buddy, call up a friend whose life is miserable and listen (this time) with patience and understanding, write some letters to dear friends far away,

As a daughter: spend some solitary time consciously contemplating/ remembering the good times spent with my mother, pick out a jewel of a moment and share it back with my mother,

As a member of my local community: spend some time in the school this week helping a class with their new blogging project concerning special needs children, invite my neighbour’s daughter over whose mother has to work,

As a member of our global community: send some (monetary) encouragement to those living in countries that have suffered or are suffering the rages of war, who are working hard for economical and financial independence (here).

And for a complete history of Mother's Day, which is interesting reading for any who have time... (here).

Everyman’s Photography

2007-05-07T19:26:00.000+02:00

There is so much happening in the field of photography, for any one to use. I thought I’d link you to a few of the new applications or tutorials and gadgets for fun. When you have a selection of photos, there is so much you can do with them... here.

Was ist der Hospitality Club?

2007-04-12T18:00:00.000+02:00

Caterina Rex aus Lübeck, Deutschland

Erste Erfahrungen als Gastgeber

Seit Dezember 2006 bin ich Mitglied im www.hospitalityclub.org. Das ist eine internationale Organisation, deren Mitglieder sich gegenseitig weltweit kostenlose, private Unterkünfte oder auch nur anderweitige Hilfe anbieten.

Nun hatte ich über Ostern zum ersten Mal Gäste bei mir zu Hause. Tarmo und Sigrid, ein estnisches Studentenpärchen, das zurzeit für zwei Jahre in Kopenhagen studiert, haben von Karfreitag bis Ostersonntag bei mir übernachtet.
Wir haben uns zunächst Freitagabend in meiner Bücherstube getroffen und sind zusammen zu Fuß zu mir nach Hause gegangen. Nachdem ich ihnen meine Wohnung gezeigt hatte, gab es für uns alle bei meiner Mutter, die gleich gegenüber wohnt, Spagetti und wir konnten uns bei einem ersten Gespräch kennen lernen. Da es für beide Seiten die erste Erfahrung mit dem Hospitality Club gewesen ist, war es für alle eine aufregende und spannende Sache, zu sehen, worauf man sich da so eingelassen hat.

Die Verständigung klappte mit etwas holperigem Englisch (vor allem meinerseits) sehr gut. Tarmo studiert Ingenieurwissenschaften für Akustik und Sigrid etwas im Transportwesen. Wir haben uns über Reiseerfahrungen ausgetauscht und Lübeck mit ihrer Heimatstadt Tallinn
verglichen. Bevor die beiden noch zu einem Abendbummel durch die Stadt aufgebrochen sind, haben wir noch schnell die Betten gebaut.

Nach einem gemeinsamen Frühstück am Samstagmorgen, sind Tarmo und Sigrid losgezogen, um sich den ganzen Tag Lübeck anzusehen. Abends waren die beiden dann noch in einem Jazzkonzert.

Am Sonntag habe ich sie mit dem Auto ganz früh zu ihrem Bus nach Kopenhagen gebracht.

Die beiden sind so nett und bescheiden, dass es wunderbar war, ihr Gastgeber im hospitalityclub gewesen zu sein.

Man richtet auf der Homepage eine eigene persönliche Seite ein, auf der man ein wenig von sich erzählt und einige Angaben zu seiner Person macht. Das System ist sehr gut geschützt. Man erhält kein Spam und auch keine direkten Anfragen. Die ersten Kontakte laufen zunächst immer erst über die Seite vom hospitalityclub. Man kann dann selbst entscheiden, ob man demjenigen, der eine Anfrage schickt, trauen will und einen direkten Kontakt über Email beginnt.

Als zusätzlichen Schutz muss der Gast seine Passnummer angeben, die man beim ersten Treffen kontrollieren kann.

Nach einem Besuch können beide, Gastgeber und Gast, im System Kommentare und Bewertungen abgeben, damit auch andere Mitglieder sich daran orientieren können.
Dieses erste Mal Gastgeber zu sein, war eine großartige und interessante Erfahrung. Ich bin schon gespannt, woher meine nächsten Gäste kommen werden.

Mir gefällt die Idee, sich auf diese Weise gegenseitig zu helfen und reisefreudige, nette Leute kennen zu lernen.

Man ist zu nichts verpflichtet; kann seine Gastfreundschaft so gestalten wie man möchte, mit mehr oder weniger Service drum herum, je nachdem, wie viel Zeit, Lust und auch finanzielle Mittel man investieren möchte. Die Gäste suchen eigentlich nur ein Dach über dem Kopf für die Nacht. Man kann nur Gastgeber sein, nur Gast oder auch beides.

Es wird nichts gegeneinander aufgerechnet. Es gibt schon mehrere tausend Leute, die weltweit Mitglieder sind und bereit sind, sich zu helfen. So findet man, wo immer man auch hin reisen möchte, immer eine Unterkunft.

Eine Einladung von Tarmo, ihn und Sigrid auch einmal in Kopenhagen oder Tallinn zu besuchen, habe ich schon.

Emanzi

2007-03-31T18:51:00.000+02:00

There is a commonly used swear word in German for a feminist, Emanzi. It is a shortened form of the word emancipist: stemming from women’s emancipation. Sometimes it is said ironically or with humour, most often not. I don’t know if there are any parallel words in other languages or countries.

You have to understand that Germany has, except superficially, not followed the wave of social or political changes when it comes to promoting women in business, as has happened in the States or Canada and some European countries. When I came to Germany twenty-five years ago, about 6% of women were in management. Now, all this time later, there has not been any noticeably positive development.

As far as I know, over 90% of managers in German companies are German men: then there are some German women: a smattering of foreign men managers: I’ve never heard of any foreign women in management posts, though they must exists.

About seventeen years ago, I got involved in a professional women’s group in the company I worked in at that time. The first three or four years of working in the group were very exciting. We managed, with the extensive support of the company, to start up kindergarten and day care, change the company’s union laws to permit a seven year leave of absence for employees on extended maternity leave or those needing to care for ailing relatives (guaranteeing re-employment), introduce a flexible office/home work model, set up some summer camps for employees children, amongst other things. And along the way the company won a lot of public and media recognition.

Unfortunately, when it came time to see what could be constructively done about promoting equal career opportunity for women within the company, the group quickly ran up against some walls of resistance, and eventually, inner group intriguing rendered the group useless. After seven years, the group dissolved. This saddened me greatly. The experience of seeing this once vitally active group dissolve into a squabbling mess, made me realise that I never wanted to become politically involved in any large group or party again.

I decided instead, to take my political conviction back into my home, my circle of friends, and amongst those I work with. My words and my actions are what make me a feminist. My husband’s words and actions make him a committed feminist sympathizer. And I hope that our daughter and son will be positively influenced as a result: learning to treat others with respect and dignity, and, equally important, to treat themselves with respect and dignity as well.

What breaks my heart sometimes is knowing that even though many good changes occurred through the feminist movement, equal opportunity and equal pay does not exists today. Like Bindi in the article below, I’ve also met younger women who do not know what changes were made by their mothers’ generation and at what cost. This is a shame. Equally, some young women do not believe there is any acute need for change facing them currently. How wrong could they be?

Feminism versus Activism: Personal Or Political

2007-03-24T10:21:00.000+01:00

Bindi from the epossums blog

This is a synopsis of a conversation I had with a young woman in my book club a couple of years ago. She was twenty-two at the time and had recently been married. We were discussing the book ‘Anything we love can be saved’ by Alice Walker at this particular meeting. Alice Walker is a feminist activist and the book focused on issues such as female genital mutilation, and her active role in its prevention. Feminist were portrayed in this book as activists.

Older woman: I enjoyed the book. It made me reconnect with feminist issues.

Younger woman: Do you mean that you took up feminist issues or that you reconnected? Were you already a feminist or did the book start you thinking along feminist lines?

Older woman: Um, I mean reconnect.

Young woman: Well, I don’t think feminism has had an impact on my life!

Older woman: But, things have changed a lot for women as a result of the feminist movement. Have you spoken to your mother about it?

Young woman: My mother stayed at home with her children. I think it’s perfectly natural for a woman to stay home with her children when she has them. This is what I intend to do also!

Older woman: When you have children, the power relations in the family can subtly shift. I took ten years off to raise my children. Despite the fact that we feel like we are free to choose, I have found that when you become a mother, power relations between couples can shift. Women can feel as though they are in a less powerful position and that their options do become limited.

When I married and had children I held the belief that parenting roles in my marriage would be equitable. I acknowledged that I was the one who could breast feed and took it as my duty to stay home with the children in the first years of their lives. I believed that my husband could take over the full time parenting role when my job was done, or that we could alternate some how. This never eventuated, partly because we had subsequent children. I ended up either pregnant or breast feeding for eight years. After that time, if I chose to go back to my teaching job, I would have been on the same salary I was on prior to taking leave. However in those years, my husband had become a senior manager in his field through a series of promotions. To afford to be able to pay our mortgage and feed four children on my salary, we would have had to sell our house, down size and move out of our inner city area, which by this time had become our community through associations with playgroups, kindergartens and primary schools. It just did not make sense to do this. My husband became the breadwinner and I became the house wife. This was stressful for both of us for different reasons.

A month later, at book club again, the conversation continued. The younger woman had been thinking about things in the meantime:

Younger woman: I had a chat to a friend of mine who has had children and she agrees that she feels less powerful in her marriage because she is no longer earning her own money and she feels that when decisions are made about how money will be spent she consequently has less of a say than her husband. So I do agree with you now that there is an issue there, but I don’t know what the solution is.

I don’t know what the solution is either, but I think this snippet of dialogue does raise a few questions about feminism and its project. Here are a few off the top of my head:

Why was the young woman oblivious to the ways in which her life has been shaped by the feminist struggle from a historical perspective?
Who can call themselves a feminist?
What is the project for young feminists in modern western society?
Does the feminist project need to move beyond the woman as an individual and look at social practices, such as work place practices and conditions, parenting norms and different way to do parenting, measures in society that support parenting options?
Does the feminist project need to broaden? For example, should fathers be enlisted in the struggle?
How does it and how should it affect our lives as women?

No Time To Play

2007-03-18T20:04:00.000+01:00

A few years ago, I read an interesting article in the New York Times about how busy our society had become. The journalist described how his five year old daughter talked to her imaginary friend on an imaginary cell phone and how they (the daughter and her imaginary friend) were forever making and breaking play dates because they were either “too busy” or “didn’t have time” to meet.

I found the article so interesting, not because it sadly exemplified a current social malaise, but because it reminded me of my younger brother’s imaginary friend, Dobby, and how the two of them used to play together day-in-and-day-out. Endlessly long days. The two of them were inseparable. Wherever my brother played, you’d always find Dobby. (Perhaps I was a bit envious; for who wouldn’t want a friend who always is there when you need him?)

Reflecting on the difference between the cell-phoning-date-cancelling New York imaginary friend and my brother’s ever-faithful Dobby, I was overcome with a sentimental yearning for times long gone. Times when we would “take time” for family, friends, or important activities, creative activities: all of those precious integral parts of our lives we now so often neglect. Times when we “had” spare time, or even, horror of all horrors, when we sometimes wasted time. Times when our lifestyles included concepts such as meandering, setting a leisurely pace, feeling as though time had stopped, anticipating an event (e.g., Christmas) far in the future… the list goes on.

Now we need the Slow Movement (here and here), Slow Food (here and here), and Slow Sex (sorry didn’t want to navigate my way through the links from Google with these search words) to jolt us out of our madness. And we are mad to choose to live the way we are living, there’s no doubt about that.

The Stay-At-Home Feminist

2007-03-10T09:08:00.000+01:00

charlotte of charlotte’s web blog

I am a feminist because without feminism women would not have the choices they have today. I am a feminist because I feel patriarchy, and its nasty little brother sexism, as dark and heavy weights that need to be lifted from the planet. I am a feminist because I care about fairness and equality and opportunity for all. And I’ll be a feminist until women and children are no longer abused and raped. Until a certain kind of man stops acting out his fear of women as violence. Until a certain kind of man can recognise all women as his equal, and not use a holy book, or a stick, or his body to beat them down.

I recognise my feminism as a process. I’ve come a long way, from competing with men, from trying to play as hard as them, from using them, from being virulently angry with them. I clearly remember the point when I let go my anger and decided not to bother with men until the right one came along. Falling in love with him softened me. It opened my eyes to the fact that there are good and kind men in the world, who also want fairness, non-violence and equal opportunities, and who not only pay lip service to those words but actually act on them. Having been around so-called “progressive” men who were just as sexist and idiotic as the next unreconstructed dude, it was completely refreshing to love a man who didn’t mess about with principles, but who was - and still is - kind.

So having found my love, it was an easy decision for me to choose to stay at home with our children. Much of it was circumstantial - had I been still in South Africa, where we would have been locked into a mega-mortgage that needed two salaries to service it, where home help is affordable, where grannies live, I think I would have stayed in the workplace. When we left, I was about to enjoy a promotion to editor of the inhouse magazine I worked on, and I imagine, had I stayed at that company, I would have make steady progress upwards.

Instead to my shock, I find myself a stay-at-home mother in Germany of all places. Instead of setting goals and dealing with politics and motivating employees, I’m raising three children, cooking nourishing meals, keeping things tidy without being obsessed, making sure people have clean clothes to wear and shopping for food. I am doing the jobs I once ridiculed and which I once saw as degrading drudgery. Yet I’m happy and I’m still a feminist.

How do I manage to reconcile all this? It helps to have a partner who does his bit domestically. Sometimes he has to be asked, but he never says no. It helps to have an astonishing cleaning lady who comes once a week and makes things sparkle. It helps to have part-time work that earns some money and gives me something else to think about during my day. It helps to have wonderful, inspiring, interesting friends who are doing fascinating things with their lives, who are trying to be positive and creative parents, with whom I can talk books, movies, life, men and the best cheesecake recipe. It helps to blog and have made fascinating and varied blog friends whose ideas inspire me daily.

It also helps to have a role model in my mother-in-law who went back to work in her late forties, started her own business in her fifties and now, twenty years later, still puts on her spiffy business clothes and goes to the office. Her success inspires me. We seem to think it’s imperative to build a career in our thirties. Not so! I’m delaying that gratification until my forties. I know without doubt that it will happen.

I think it’s possible to have it all. It’s just not possible to have it all all at the same time. That road leads to madness, or extreme dissatisfaction. With that knowledge, I am happy doing the jobs I do now, knowing that in ten years time the jobs I do will have shifted. I had my me-time in my twenties, and believe me, I’m going to have it again. Until then, I remain the stay-at-home feminist. And a happy one, at that.

Gedicht des Monats Februar

2007-03-01T17:11:00.000+01:00

Emil Erich Kästner wurde am 23. Februar 1899 in Dresden geboren und als Sohn von Ida und Emil Kästner registriert. Die Legende, Sohn von Emil Kästner zu sein, verbreitete Erich Kästner zum Schutz (des Rufes) seiner Mutter selbst weiter, unter anderem in seinem Werk „Als ich ein kleiner Junge war“, durch das er seiner Geburtsstadt, dem barocken Elbflorenz, ein zauberhaftes Denkmal setzte.

Meine nächstjüngere Schwester und ich haben Erich Kästner in unserer Kindheit regelmäßig zum Geburtstag geschrieben. Und jedes Jahr bekamen wir jeweils eine Antwort! Von ihm selber handgeschrieben und persönlich an uns adressiert. Ich hebe diese freundlich- zugewandten Grüße wie kleine Schätze auf … (more).

Climbing Precarious Heights

2007-02-18T12:24:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago, Tammy wrote about how parenting seems to get harder the older our children get. There’s a German expression that goes, “small children, small problems, big children, big problems”. Which I certainly didn’t think was true when my children were small. Taking care of babies and small children consumed every minute of my day, many moments of my nights, my thoughts, my intelligence… every bit of my heart and soul. I just couldn’t see that how raising older children could be more strenuous, worrying, nerve-wracking than trying to keep your young child alive, fed, comforted, and challenged.

Now that my two children are older (12 and 16), I still don’t know whether Tammy and popular German saying is right. Is parenting harder now than it was ten or twelve years ago? Are the problems bigger?

The only thing that I know to be true is, children, no matter what age only seek challenges where the outcome is uncertain. It seems part of human nature: don’t go after an easy catch.

Small children climb on furniture that is precariously high, they play with complex stereo equipment capable of intimidating any adult, and they willingly wash dishes only if they are small enough to fall into the sink while standing on their highchair. As a mother, every time your small child goes off on an adventure, you have to ask yourself “Can she or he survive this?” Survive, in the sense of, will-we-be-calling-the-ambulance type of survival.

Currently, some of my friends have babies and small children, and while I cringe to see the two-year old child running in the direction of a glass door (does he see it, will he stop, arggh, that must have hurt), the mother makes an executive decision about whether or not the child will survive the experience if he doesn’t stop soon. And, then she nonchalantly picks up the crying child and calmly kisses the bonked nose, and off the child goes on his next adventure.

Larger children also set out on various innocuous adventures every day, which parents have no control over: bus rides to school, shopping with friends, school trips to the big city, Friday night parties, travelling to visit their father on weekends, chat rooms in the Internet… Yes, as responsible parents we should try to supervise our children’s activities, minimise the risks, and talk about the dangers, but whether our children will survive these adventures is unknown. And that scares the bejeebies out of us.

A wise and wonderful friend of my mother once told me… there comes a time when your child no longer wants you as a protagonist in theatre of their life. They don’t even want you as one of the silent but mighty spear-bearers standing in the back of the stage. They might, just might, be willing to have you sit in a front row seat in the audience: cheering them on when they succeed, weeping at their disasters, and glowing with pride when strangers applaud.

Quality Time

2007-02-14T11:00:00.000+01:00

Don’t you love it when a conversation with a friend leads you to a new understanding of some old dilemma? This is what happened to me yesterday, during a conversation about quality time and a three year old boy’s ability to make life difficult.

My friend was bemoaning the fact that her son refused to come to the dinner table, eat his dinner, change into his pyjamas, brush his teeth, and wash his face, every evening without making it into a Huge Production. Her three-year old son uses every means of procrastination… whining, ignoring, being belligerent, crying, screaming… wasting the precious time he and his mother have together. This exhausts his mother: who has been at work the whole day.

She just can’t understand what to do about her and her son’s difficulties. She is frustrated by the fact that the two or three hours she gets to spend with her son each day is, in most part, taken up in an endless petty battle and not edifying, playful, fun activities. Three quarters of their time is taken up with bickering and one quarter with cuddle up and read a book time.

And then it hit me… the reason Quality Time is such a farce is because no matter how much or how little time you spend with your children, three quarters of the time is spent “raising” them, and one quarter in pure enjoyment of them. There is just no way to change this balance. You cannot walk into a home to bathed, powdered, and pyjama-wearing children and expect their inner or emotional beings to bathed, powered, or pyjama-wearing. No, their inner child is whiny, stubborn, crying, and needy: relentlessly demanding the three quarter time before settling into the last short moment of pure enjoyment.

P.S. This piece, in no way, is a statement about the pros and cons of working moms versus stay-at-home moms.

being and becoming

2007-02-11T11:29:00.000+01:00

maureen from grenada, caribbean ... I think to myself, the only way I am going to move into my passion of writing is to write and to take on these new innovative writing projects. I have taken on a writing project here in Grenada that involves writing with a writing partner. Every Monday evening Joachim, my new writing partner, drops by to write. We do timed writing exercises and then write poems from these unedited pieces... (more).

Poetry: Les Murray

2007-01-31T20:33:00.000+01:00

Been listening and reading poems on the Poetry Archive. What a ray of sunshine on this grey winter day.

Most particularly, I listened to the wonderful Australian poet, Les Murray, read his poems:

The Tin Wash Dish (here)

He talks about “lank poverty, dank poverty; what it is, where it comes from, and how, having left it behind, it still has the power to draw you back.

The Last Hellos (here)

This is farewell to his father who died three months before he wrote the poem. Not in the least sentimental. Beautifully touching.

Times are a changing

2007-01-26T12:14:00.000+01:00

If any of you are looking for information/inspiration about what sort of things should be happening in your schools (if you are an educator) or your children’s schools (if you are a parent) take a look at this. If you do not know what Jeff Utecht is talking about in this posting, then it is time you started informing yourself about how education could be.

What I particularly like about this posting is the following.. (more).

Parenting Just Gets Harder

2007-01-25T07:41:00.000+01:00

tammy from Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA

This year, my 12-year old daughter wrote our annual family Christmas letter. She made this comment: “My mom and dad learned this year that parenting only gets harder.” I’m not entirely sure what she based that observation on, but I think it is a fair statement. When our three children were much younger, it was physically hard to care for them – diapers, baths, feeding, etc. Now that they are old enough to feed, cloth and bathe themselves, there’s less physical involvement day-to-day. What I find more difficult than the physical labor is the emotional, spiritual, and intellectual labor. It is increasingly difficult to provide a balanced moral and philosophical framework from which they make their choices in life. I find myself worrying about their intellectual and physical explorations. Explorations can be a dangerous thing in the teen years – many current choices can limit or greatly redirect future choices, e.g., early pregnancy, substance addiction. I find myself constantly struggling to find the balance between curtailing exploration into potentially dangerous directions without preventing necessary experiences or curbing their independence and zest for life. I wonder if I have done enough in their early years to give them the best chance at being sensible in their explorations. Parenting is not an easy business at all.

Gedicht des Monats Januar

2007-01-23T08:43:00.000+01:00

christine from lübeck, germany

Erich Kästner ist als Autor von Kinderromanen bekannt und beliebt, weniger bekannt sind schon seine Romane für Erwachsene und noch weniger bekannt sind seine Gedichte. Dabei waren es Gedichtbände wie zum Beispiel „Herz auf Taille“, die den jungen Autor in den zwanziger Jahren des letzten Jahrhunderts schlagartig ebenso berühmt wie umstritten machten... (mehr).

Patchwork Creativity

2007-01-20T23:14:00.000+01:00

After reading Charlotte’s article on handicrafts, I experienced a mental shift. She talks about how arts & crafts, homemaking, handicrafts, hobbies, are wonderfully creative art forms. They are expressions of “love, love of beauty, and love of family traditions”. Patchworking, baking homemade bread, creating scrapbooks, sewing your own wedding gowns are such divinely wonderful art forms, and yet, they are often viewed as insignificant. Could this be because the origins these art forms come from our mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers?

Like Charlotte, both my grandmothers were highly creative. My maternal grandmother was the Baking Queen of our family, she knitted mittens for church bazaars and customers from neighbouring churches would come to buy them, she embroidered, crocheted quilts, and the precious objects she made for her dowry attest to other skills as well. My paternal grandmother painted in oil and watercolours. My mother sewed our clothes for us when we were young and living in countries where there were no department stores. Or who knows, perhaps there were department stores, but none we could afford.

It is so odd, but I was raised to believe that homemaking activities, all of my grandmothers’ creative endeavours were done out of a sense of economy, or a vain indulgence (in the case of my paternal grandmother, who didn’t like housework and tended to “go painting” as many retired men “went fishing”). How ridiculous this belief is. I wish right here and now to apologise to my grandmothers for this oversight. It might have taken me a long time to finally see the light, but I am convinced their forgiving heavenly spirits will feel the sincerity of my remorse.

How could I have been so blind? Of course baking, knitting, painting, embroidering were just some of many creative ways they used to express their love and beliefs. On some sub-conscious level, I must have known this because I write, cook, make collages, knit (on occasion), and quietly explore other artistic venues. I learnt from my grandmothers that it not as important to be recognised as an artist, as it is to feel creatively alive.

Somewhere down the line, we seem to have misplaced this modest goal in life: to live creatively. Guess it got squished out, or swept away in our rushed lifestyles: struggling to keep deadlines, got-to-go-got-to-go telephone conversations, and we-really-should-get-together-soon wistful promises. Which is odd, for I know deep down that all of my insignificant artistic endeavours keep me (mostly) sane; they give me a sense of purpose when all else appears confused; and, in the last years, allow me to pass on traditions to my own children from family relatives they didn’t have the privilege to meet.

From the Heart

2007-01-20T22:52:00.000+01:00

charlotte of charlotte’s web blog

Charlotte of Charlotte’s Web blog very kindly allowed us to reprint this entry of hers in the Redt Tent blog.

Back in the days when I wore suits, was known to give a presentation or write a report, and even enjoyed some business class travel, I was deeply, thoroughly, scathingly mocking of women who stayed at home and made stuff. To me, crafting and baking and - God forbid - knitting were tragic signs of averageness, for why make something when you can buy something shinier and prettier, why bake something when you can buy something tastier and why knit, period. To me, hand and homemade objects were sad and tatty versions of the lovely objects found in the temples of joy known as The Shops, and spending time making them was wasting hours that could be spent in restaurants, watching films or reading books.

Perhaps it was a partial rejection of where I was from, for most of the women of my family were practioners of genteel arts. My British grandmother was a milliner in Thirties London until she met her dashing young South African lawyer and, on the eve of the war, left her flourishing business to raise children and dogs in humid Pietermaritzburg. While she made herself the odd hat, for the races or for a wedding, she channelled her creativity into sewing, embroidery and cooking. She made entire wardrobes of dolls’ clothes for me and my cousins. My maternal grandmother was a talented seamstress, but a truly wonderful watercolourist. My mother’s home is filled with her beautiful paintings. As children, we would arrive in her home and the painting things would all be set up on the floor ready for us to splatter our artistic energy everywhere. All the women of my family were painters, embroiderers, bakers.

Somehow, though, when I was in my twenties, that was something to mock. I was too busy fighting racism, sexism and the over-arching patriarchy to waste my time with twee handicrafts that were too redolent of the Women’s Institute and getting third prize for the marmelade. There were bigger things to grapple with. Once I started working, I was too busy dealing with temperamental bosses and sleeping off the stress at weekends to do anything creative. When we moved to Germany to work, I made one friend who, puzzlingly, quilted and another who sewed herself clothes. While shopping with the latter (who went on to sew her own beautiful wedding-dress) in London one weekend, we ended up on the fourth floor of Liberty’s and, without knowing how or why, I found myself buying an embroidery kit. Perhaps Liberty’s reminded me of my English granny, who always kept her latest creative project in one of their lovely dark blue shopping bags, or maybe I was connecting to the young, glamorous milliner who had once had London at her feet, but there I was, fighter of the patriarchy, buying some violets to embroider.

Clumsily, lovingly, over many months, I turned those violets into a cushion and, when I next visited South Africa, presented it to my mother, who has a room decorated with pictures of violets and violet-decorated porcelain. She was so stunned she had to sit down, and I think I cried. There was something in that gift that said not only I love you, but I love your love of beauty, and I love the traditions of our family. I think it said fighting the patriarchy and having a great career on another continent is all very well, but my family and where I come from is also important to me.

And now that I am a mother, and have a family of my own, I’m starting to look at handicrafts and the skills that women pass to each other through the generations with new eyes. For me, there’s something about connecting with the women of my family who cooked, baked and sewed for me. There’s something about love, about beauty, about thriftiness and about the pure joy of making something good, whether it’s a pretty muffin or a scarf. I’m finding new levels of friendship with friends who’ve crafted and made things far longer - and far better - than me. While staying at home with my children is my choice, making something for them is my outlet for that energy that I used to give to my career or fighting the patriarchy.

People who’ve known me for a long time are still stunned that I might bake a cake. My husband is terrified that I might start sewing for him, and rightly so, because I’ve knitted everyone in the family a scarf and he’s up next. I expect my produce to be eaten or worn, and he may have to complement his chic working gear with a ratty homemade scarf, but he can always take it off in the car. My mother-in-law almost fainted when I made her a birthday cake last year. My girlfriends in South Africa, who may or may not be reading this, will laugh hysterically at my paean to handicrafts. As I fire up the knitting needles, I do enjoy a postmodernist cackle on my own behalf, because a little bit of irony goes a long way during a not-so-desperate housewife’s day.

However, between finishing one scarf and starting the next, I had the pleasure of teaching Lily to knit. Despite being left-handed, she picked it up quickly and made a scarf for one of Daisy’s dolls. There it was: her satisfaction in learning well and fast, in making something lovely, in giving it away for someone else’s pleasure. And I had taught her a skill that my mother taught me, from the heart. It felt good.

What Madame Bovary and Stephanie Plum Have In Common

2007-01-11T21:35:00.000+01:00

charlotte of charlotte’s web blog

Charlotte of Charlotte’s Web blog very kindly allowed us to reprint this entry of hers in the Redt Tent blog Book Corner.

I’ve recently read two very different books, one set in the nineteenth century and the other set now, with two apparently very different protagonists. The first is Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, which I found surprisingly accessible, and, despite the tragedy, often amusing. The other is Janet Evanovich’s Eleven On Top, which is the eleventh novel in her series about bounty hunter Stephanie Plum. It’s the only one of the series I’ve read, but a colleague recommended the Evanovich books to me many years ago as an example of witty crime writing. I remember thinking, “You’re German and you’re a man, what do you know?” which wasn’t entirely fair. If only I’d listened to him, I’d have had a decade of fun with Plum.

While the two are on opposite ends of a continuum of modern women, I found similarities between them... (more).

The Art Of Cooking (Part 2)

2007-01-03T14:19:00.000+01:00

A year or so ago, I decided to do a sound-seeing tour (a podcast of sorts) for my family and friends. It was called, The Diary Of A Notorious Café Goer*. The idea of the sound-seeing tour was to mix music, stories, poems, and background sounds and create an audio collage about my love of cafés.

(*I actually suspect that I didn’t move to Germany after finishing my university studies for professional reasons, but for the opportunity to spend an eternity sitting in wonderful cafés. The only downside to German cafés is that they are still smoked-filled. If ever, this country’s laws forbid smoking in restaurants and cafés, I will be living in paradise.)

While doing the podcast, I interviewed Dirk, one of my favourite cooks at a restaurant we love to go to. When I asked him what he loves to cook more than anything else he said “meat”, which for the vegetarian I am, was a bit of a let down. When I asked him what he thought of coriander as the queen of all spices, he poopooed this suggestion and said only wushes used coriander.

What I realised after interviewing him, is that he is a meat person. Thus he loves the meatiness, the muscle, the blood, the bones, the subtlety and substances that meat has to offer. For each season of the year, each mood of the moment, he thinks of meat and how to prepare it creatively. After reading Ms. Glaze (here) for the last year, it seems that meat is the nonplus-ultra of many chefs.

I, on the other hand, am an every-sort-of-lettuce, beet, pumpkin, couscous, spicy, hot, and yes, occasionally, coriander type of person. I’m what is growing locally at this time of year, what do I have in the refrigerator, and what-the-heck let me just throw it all together type of cook.

What I am not is the type of person who says “Let me look in a cookbook and see if I can find a recipe that uses the condiments presently available in my cupboard and my short supply of patience to produce a fantastically good meal”. No, what I need is a cookbook that allows me to choose what to cook according to my present mood. If my mood is light keep the food light, if heavy, than heavy.

I want a cookbook that tells various stories, suggests the appropriate background music or possible topics of conversation, pampers me when I am feeling vulnerable, or spurs me on to take risks when I am feeling bold and reckless. The chapters wouldn’t be divided up under meats, fish, soups, salads, but melancholy, joyful, flippant, or, jazz, candlelight, salsa. Just as I choose what book to read, music to listen to, what movie to watch, according to my present mood; I’d like to choose what to cook as well. Does that make any sense to you?

When you think of it, there are many fictional books written, whose narrative development are centred around or are accented by food: Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg, Like Water For Chocolate by Laura Esquivel, Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler, Apricots on the Nile: A Memoir with Recipes by Colette Rossant, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl, to name only a few that spontaneously come to mind. And movies, a whole slew of them: Mostly Martha (one of my all time favourite films), Strawberry & Chocolate, Babette's Feast, Bread and Tulips, Eat Drink Man Woman.

If food can be an integral part of a movie or book’s storyline, why can’t cooking be meshed in storyline, mood, atmosphere, and music? It’s just a thought.

The Art Of Cooking (Part 1)

2007-01-02T16:45:00.000+01:00

Many years ago, nearly thirty years ago, I made a conscious decision to learn the art of cooking. I wanted cooking to be a part of in my day-to-day life: as a creative gesture, ritual, practice.

This decision initially stemmed from the sad experience of witnessing my grandmother try to starve herself, after she lost interest in life. She just did not see the sense in cooking a meal only for herself. She told me that she spent all of her adult life cooking for others. That was what cooking was for… for others. She stopped cooking then eventually she stopped eating. Nothing I said would convince her that she was worth cooking for. To this day, I do not know if her loss of interest in living caused her to stop cooking, or whether having stopped cooking she lost interest in living.

I was in my early twenties. Living alone some of the time. Sharing living quarters with other students the rest of the time. Cooking was just something we did to fill our stomaches. Eating did not hold any cultural, social, or artistic relevance. Drinking, smoking, dancing, studying, working, yes. Eating, no.

The experience of trying to understand my grandmother’s dilemma and then witnessing her detrition without the ability to help her alter her course, made me want to do differently in my life. I decided that no matter if I lived alone or with others, I’d always cook. And, I did the whole time I was single, which those of you who know me was a longlong time. No matter whether it was just for myself or for a group of people, I came home after work and made a nice meal.

When I was alone, I set the table, lit a candle, put on good music, and enjoyed my simple meal as best I could. Sometimes it was lovely, sometimes lonely. But, no matter what, it was my way of telling myself “you are worth it”.

Since having children, cooking has taken on a whole new meaning and importance.

When Nomad Son was a baby, I read an magazine article stating that babies didn’t have the necessary mechanisms to combat the adverse effects of environmental pollutants and chemicals in their foods. I will not go into details about the results of study cited in the article, but it very convincingly stated if you want to try and give your young baby a fighting chance to grow into a healthy and happy child, be conscientious about what your child eats.

So, for the first time in my life I started eating organic food, even though I was somewhat sceptical about integrity of the produce. Whatever it took to raise a healthy child, I was willing to give it a try.

Surprisingly, we found that, even though the organic food didn’t look so picture perfect, it tasted better than anything we ate from the mass grocery shops. So, we continue eating a lot of these produce even after our two babies grew into healthy and happy children.

In the last years, cooking our nightly meal has become one of my most creative contributions to my family’s wellbeing. We are all very much involved during the day in our individual pursuits; school, school, work and work. When I arrive home after work, Nomad Son and Nature Girl are often off to music lessons, gym classes, etc. Their extra curricular activities are varied, and sometimes I fear too many (this is some material for a later blog entry). When they and my dear Limpet finally arrive back into the secure nest of our home, a miasma of aimless disjointed unrest permeates our place.

The cure to this situation occurs the moment I start cutting up some fresh vegetables, putting on some Basmati rice to cook, or when I start sautéing some onions and garlic in a frying pan. I can literally feel how all the others breathe out the lingering trails of the day and settle into our comfy cosy family culture. Nearly every evening, one or the other of my family, comes in while I am cooking for a chat, or just briefly to touch base.

It is cutting food with sharp knives, mixing up different types of lettuce, hearing the sizzling sounds, setting the table, sharing a warm meal, looking at the mix of appealing wonderful colours, smelling and tasting many spices… it is all part of what makes cooking a creative art. Cooking, eating, sharing the daily going-ons over dinner, these more than anything else are what epitomises our family culture.

I am not a good cook, though I love to cook. I have never learnt to cook from cookbooks or recipes. Yet, I find blogs (here) or blog entries (here) concerning cooking fascinating. They do not necessarily motivate me to change my ways. But who knows, maybe one day I’ll take down and browse through any of the numerous cookbooks that sit tranquilly, completely unperturbed in the living room bookcase. What these passionate cooks do is make me think about the joys of cooking, and that is a lovely thing too.

Books, Books, And More Books

2006-12-20T08:04:00.000+01:00

Oh, what a delight… booklists (here, here, here (Dec. 18th entry), and here (Dec. 18th entry)). Maybe a bit late to put on the Christmas list for this year, but definitely worth browsing through and making a choice selection for the long, dark, cold winter. My toes get all tingly just thinking about all the good reading waiting ahead.

Dorothy of the Books and Bicycles blog wrote an interesting article on Dec. 19th about how blogging has changed what and how she reads.

A Spot of Bother

2006-12-17T10:00:00.000+01:00

charlotte of charlotte’s web blog

Charlotte of Charlotte’s Web blog very kindly allowed us to reprint this entry of hers in the Redt Tent blog Book Corner.

I’ve come over all warm and fuzzy, and it’s not only because I’ve been overdosing on the Christmas chocolates. It’s really because I’ve just finished reading Mark Haddon’s A Spot of Bother. Haddon is the author of the hugely successful The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a tale of a boy with Asperger’s Syndrome who has to work out how there came to be a dead dog with a fork in it in the neighbour’s garden. It was marketed to both adults and children, won a slew of awards, was the book everybody was reading and talking about for a couple of years, and was voted best book-club book of all time by the Swindon Swingers’ Alternative Reading Group (okay, that bit I made up, but it was very, very, VERY successful, even in Swindon, where it is set).

Haddon is a prolific writer (and cartoonist and artist), and has written many children’s books and scripts for children’s TV. Although Curious Incident was intended for an adult audience, his publishers also marketed it to young adults. So A Spot of Bother, his recently published second novel, is arguably his first book for adults. It is immensely readable; like Nick Hornby, he has an ear for dialogue and how different kinds of people speak. The narrative rockets along in short, sharp bursts, during which he alternates between the points of view of the four main characters. I have read novels where this doesn’t work too well and you’re always struggling to work out who’s speaking next, but with Haddon this is crystal clear... (more).

New Perspectives and Orientation

2006-12-09T17:45:00.000+01:00

The up-and-coming year is going to bring about a lot of changes. In particular, I will be looking for new employment. The present work contract with the university runs out in February and, unfortunately, the possibility of receiving extra funding for a new research project does not seem likely. In all likelihood, I’ll not only be changing employers, but I’ll be changing career direction as well.

From ballet dancer, to electrical engineer, to scriptwriter and project coordinator for e-learning modules, to researcher and project coordinator for interactive multimedia school projects: doesn’t quite make sense if listed on paper or in my CV, but in the grand scheme of things, the changes were logical. I never would have thought that I’d do so many different jobs once I “grew up”; yet in the near future, I’ll be facing my fifth career change.

Having to establish myself in a new work field at Almost Fifty is, in those dark early morning hours, a rather daunting and bleak prospect. Yet, in the more positive moments like this one, I see that this situation is not unique among people of my generation, nor am I without optimism.

It is odd, but at the time I was studying, it was the university graduate who did the career planning and not economical circumstances, company restructuring, or new social political trends. We were taught to make astute career changes by considering calculable financial gains and potential promotion. Yet, what has occurred in many of my friends’ and acquaintances’ professional lives has been anything but this. We have learnt to cope with the strain on personal relationships through long workweeks: how to dodge financial disaster when companies restructure or fold: how to battle with the responsibilities of having to accept handed-down responsibilities from other less fortunate, those who were made redundant even though the work they did still needs to be done: how to accept the inevitability of certain (hopefully brief) periods of unemployment: and how yield a tenacious, yet creative, will in finding new employment.

For some this means holding on to jobs that do not fulfil them, but they bring in the necessary income to keep a roof over their heads and a meal on the table. For others it means immigrating to far off countries, where the job perspectives are better, though family and friends must be left behind. And others, like myself, it means trying to find new employment, new direction, every few years or so.

It is not easy to appear calm and I don’t wish to give the impression that I’m without fears; for this is certainly not the case. But this present situation is, unfortunately, the same one that our children will face over and over again. And so, maybe, in some skewed but brilliant way, my present journey has meaning.

A Virtual Advent Calendar

2006-12-09T17:44:00.000+01:00

Been trying to think of what to write this month on the media safe 101 page. Unfortunately, nothing has hit me as yet. I am presently doing a virtual Advent calendar on my other blog. So, feel free to check out the various links.

I’ll be back, the gods willing, at the end of the month with something new and fresh.

Caterinas Bücherzettel Winter 2006

2006-12-02T15:58:00.000+01:00

Caterina von Luebeck, Deutschland

Caterina has written (in German) up a book list for all of you looking for something nice to read... (more).

Letzte Reise, Anna Enquist (here)

Meine Frauen-WG im Irak, Susanne Fischer (hier)

Tag und Nacht und auch im Sommer, Frank McCourt (hier)

Lesen, Isolde Ohlbaum (hier)

Aminas Restaurant, Michael Lüders (hier)

Östlich der Sonne und westlich vom Mond, Die schönsten Kindergeschichten
Hrsg.v.Paul Maar, Illustr.v.Philip Waechter (hier)

Die kommende Welt, Dara Horn (hier)

Lob des Golfstroms, Erik Orsenna (hier)

Mutige Menschen, Frauen und Männer mit Zivilcourage
Hrsg.v. U.Kühne, Vorw. V.Ulrich Wickert (hier)

Leihst Du mir Deinen Blick?, Eine e-mail-Freundschaft zwischen Jerusalem und Gaza (ab 14 Jahre), Valerie Zenatti (hier)

Trickling Back

2006-11-30T18:59:00.000+01:00

Well, some of us have been away from the Red Tent Project for a while now. We are slowly trickling back in. I decided, very spontaneously, to participate in a blogging event called NaBloPoMo. This took me on a journey of sorts, writing an entry into my yum yum café blog every day of November.

It was both a good learning experience, as well has been a hoot, but I am glad not to writing under such constraints any more. Though, having said this, one of the positive things I did discover was, the more I wrote the more ideas came to mind. Not necessarily all good ideas, but heck, no sense in analysing every endeavour.

Tammy and I want to write our thoughts down about our daughters’ transitions from childhood into their teens. We have “talked” (exchanged emails) on the topic somewhat and will mull the topic around more before writing in down in this blog.

A dear friend, American who lived for many years in Germany, once said that American children remain children a lot longer than European children. But, American teenagers “play” at being adults earlier than European teenagers. She observed this about twenty years ago, so I am not so sure whether it still applies, but in my limited experience, it is not far off the bat.

There was an interesting post (here) in BlogHer. A lot of stuff to ponder on in the next weeks.

Three writing projects

2006-11-23T10:16:00.000+01:00

maureen from grenada, caribbean

Chant for Peace

Once again I return to creative musings here on the page. Getting to the canvas these days seems challenging. My body is in front of the canvas but my mind is on writing. I realize one of my writing blocks has to do with waiting for the opportune time to write. I realize now there will never be an opportune time to write and I have to be more proactive. So now I take back the time, thief the time and write whenever, wherever. So now I write while I wait for the spaghetti to boil, just before hanging the clothes, a few minutes before I begin to paint for the day, just before I go to bed, while I am waiting for the bus, or my tea to cool. I still hunger for more direction; more focus but am confident that will follow. I need to listen more from the inside and let go of this incessant fear of getting it right rather then getting it down on paper... (more).

Husten

2006-11-08T20:17:00.000+01:00

Husten, eine oft lästige Begleiterscheinung von Erkältungskrankheiten

Sicher kennen das alle: ein Familienmitglied, ein Arbeitskollege, oder sonst jemand in der unmittelbaren Nähe leidet an Husten.

Dieses ständige „Bellen“ ist nicht nur ein Erkältungzeichen und für denjenigen, der daran leidet häufig schmerzhaft und auch erschöpfend, sondern es zerrt auch an den Nerven derjenigen, die das als Außenstehende erleben... (mehr).

An Artist Hero Of Mine

2006-11-08T19:51:00.000+01:00

Imagine how wonderful it would be to start a blog entry with “Maira Kalman is one of my favourite living artists, and also a friend (though she was a favorite artist before we became friends)”? That’s exactly what Stephen Dubner of Freakonomics did (here). What an enviable man.

Maira Kalman is one of my artist heroes and you can look at her spectacular artwork for free on the NYT Select section this week. I allowed myself to be bullied/enticed into paying a yearly subscription because of Maira Kalman (admittedly, also Bob Herbert, Maureen Dowd, Thomas Friedman, and Judith Warner as well). If you want to to brighten up your world, horizons, and/or spirit take a look here.

Book Corner: An Interesting and Provoking Idea

2006-11-05T13:10:00.000+01:00

I am reading the book, Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt. As with Angela’s Ashes, I am overwhelmed with the eloquence of style and his forgiving nature. It is hard to imagine someone who has suffered a childhood such as his growing up and becoming an elderly (he was 66 years old when he published Angela’s Ashes) man with such a grand and generous heart.

He wrote one of the most brilliant prologues in Teacher Man. It starts with:

“If I knew anything about Sigmund Freud and psychoanalysis I’d be able to trace all my troubles to my miserable childhood in Ireland. That miserable childhood deprived me of self-esteem, triggered spasms of self pity, paralysed my emotions, made me cranky, envious and disrespectful of authority, retarded my development, crippled my doings with the opposite sex, kept me from rising in the world and made me unfit, almost for human society…

… I could lay blame. The miserable childhood doesn’t simply happen. It is brought about. There are dark forces. If I am to lay blame it is in a spirit of forgiveness. Therefore, I forgive the following: Pope Pius XII, the English in general and King George VI in particular…”

Frank McCourt

… (more).

Frachtschiffreise: 11. Tag

2006-11-03T09:24:00.000+01:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

19. August 2006
Ostsee – Kieler Förde, bewölkt, Windstärke 2-3, Abschied

Am nächsten Morgen heißt es in der Kieler Förde Abschied nehmen von der „Anna Sophie Dede“ und ihrer Besatzung. Ich habe in diesen zehn Tagen viele neue Eindrücke gewonnen und Erfahrungen gemacht, über das Leben auf See und auch wieder über mich selbst gelernt. Man passt sich dem Rhythmus auf dem Schiff an, nimmt Änderungen des Zeitplans (mehr oder weniger) gelassen hin, kann interessante Gespräche führen, sich aber auch zurückziehen und die Seele baumeln lassen. Die eindrucksvolle Mischung aus Naturgewalt und Technik, das Miterleben des Alltags der Seeleute und die Einsamkeit und Ruhe (seelische Ruhe; an den Lärmpegel an Bord muss man sich erst gewöhnen) machen die Besonderheit einer Frachtschiffreise aus.

Caterina Rex

Frachtschiffreise: 10. Tag

2006-11-01T21:49:00.000+01:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

18.August 2006
Sankt Petersburg – Ostsee, Sonne, Windstärke 3-4, Feuer- und Rettungsbootübung

Statt abends legen wir aber doch erst am nächsten Morgen wieder ab; einer der großen Hebekräne war nachts kaputt gegangen. So kann ich die lange Ausfahrt durch enges Fahrwasser vorbei an Peterhof und der Insel Kronstadt bei Tageslicht auf der Brücke genießen.

Da wir jetzt auf der Rückfahrt Richtung Südsüdwest fahren, ist auf meinem Deck immer Schatten. Ich suche mir mit einer Wolldecke und Buch unterm Arm seitlich wechselnde Sonnenplätzchen um die Wärme und das gleißende Licht auf See zu genießen. Ab und zu muss ich der Crew ausweichen, die jetzt die gesamten Aufbauten sehr gründlichen abspritzen, um das Schiff von der salzigen Gischt und dem sich angesammelten Schmutz zu befreien.

Inzwischen habe ich mich gut in den Tagesrhythmus eingelebt, aber leider ist bereits der letzte Tag auf See angebrochen. Morgens um 10.30 Uhr ist eine Feuer- und Rettungsbootübung angesetzt. Übungen werden immer vorher angekündigt! Diesmal ist die Alarmsirene wirklich laut! Die Küche brennt! Zwei Matrosen werden mit Hilfe ihrer Teamkameraden in Feuerschutzanzüge inklusive Gasmasken gezwängt und löschen den Brand. Danach schnappen sich alle eine Schwimmweste und wir klettern in das winzige, enge Rettungsboot. Mein Platz ist ganz vorne. Hier fühlt man sich wie auf einer Raketenabschussrampe.

Kapitän und Chief haben beim Frühstück zum Glück doch nur geflunkert und das Rettungsboot bleibt in seiner Halterung und wird nicht ins Wasser katapultiert. Auf See wäre diese Übung zu gefährlich und es würde zuviel Zeit kosten, das Boot wieder einzusammeln. Das wird nur gemacht, wenn das Schiff länger auf Reede liegt.

Frachtschiffreise: 9. Tag

2006-10-30T16:49:00.000+01:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

17. August 2006
Sankt Petersburg, leichte Bewölkung und Sonne, 25 Grad Celsius, Landgang

Am nächsten Tag habe ich auch noch einmal Zeit für einen Landgang; aber diesmal bringt mich Maksim nur bis zur nächsten Metrostation und ich muss allein zurechtkommen. Ohne Sprache (deutsch und englisch spricht hier kaum jemand) und ohne irgendetwas lesen zu können, schaffe ich es dennoch in die Innenstadt und kann noch einmal drei Stunden zu Fuß die Atmosphäre der Stadt in mich aufnehmen. Pünktlich zum verabredeten Zeitpunkt bin ich wieder an der vereinbarten Straßenecke und auch Maksim kommt eine Viertelstunde später und bringt mich zurück an Bord. Ich hatte ja doch etwas Bedenken, ob alles klappt; ich darf ja mein Schiff nicht verpassen.

Does Media Beget Misbehaviour?

2006-10-28T19:58:00.000+02:00

A friend and I are off on an escape weekend: her from her hectic job and me from any form of family obligations. Today we had a very interesting conversation about how possibly media, particularly cell phones and blackberrys, beget social misbehaviour. The reason we started talking about this topic was because of this article I read on BlogHer today.

The gist of my friend’s and my ensuing discussion is that we are convinced that all the different forms of communication media isn’t helping us to communicate better and it is also possibly resulting in poor social behaviour. And this, purely because social etiquette instructions are missing in all the devices’ operational manuals… (more).

Frachtschiffreise: 8. Tag

2006-10-28T11:29:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

16.August 2006
Ostsee – Sankt Petersburg, leicht bewölkt, erster Landgang

In Sankt Petersburg angekommen, müssen wir zunächst an einem Wartekai anlegen bis unser Entladeplatz frei wird. Hier werden gerade alte Lagerschuppen mit einer Abrissbirne und Schaufelbaggern platt gemacht. Der Chief kommt mich auf meinem Deck besuchen und entschuldigt sich, dass das ja nicht gerade ein toller Ausblick auf Sankt Petersburg sei. Aber ich finde auch das von der erhöhten Perspektive des Schiffes aus äußerst interessant, die Menschen bei ihrer Arbeit zu beobachten und zu sehen wie schnell man etwas, dass sicher einmal vor langer Zeit mühevoll errichtet wurde, einreißen und zerstören kann. So sieht es sicher auch nach einem Bombeneinschlag aus.

Nach mehreren Stunden können wir an unseren Liegeplatz wechseln. Nach weiterer Wartezeit kommen der russische Grenzschutz und Zollbeamte an Bord. Viele, viele Papiere werden geprüft und gestempelt. Und diesmal wird auch eine Gesichtskontrolle von allen an Bord verlangt. Das ist nicht immer so. Also findet sich die gesamte Besatzung einschließlich mir in der Messe zur Passkontrolle ein.

Darüber ist es Abend geworden. Trotzdem hat es der Schiffsagent Maksim noch geschafft, für mich eine erste Besichtigungstour zu organisieren.

Maksim holt mich vom Schiff ab und bringt mich mit dem Auto über das weite Hafengelände zur erneuten Passkontrolle; ein sehr heruntergekommenes, kleines Durchgangsgebäude, dass alle Seeleute, die in die Stadt wollen, passieren müssen. Auf der anderen Seite sammelt Maksim mich wieder ein und irgendwo an einer Straßenecke treffen wir dann Natalie, meine Fremdenführerin, und ihren Fahrer Mikael, die mir in der Abenddämmerung drei Stunden lang die Höhepunkte Sankt Petersburgs zeigen. Wir kommen an so vielen Kirchen, Palästen und Plätzen vorbei und Natalie erzählt mir so viel über Zaren, Architektur, Künstler und historische Ereignisse, dass mir bald der Kopf schwirrt. Aber es ist ein wunderbarer erster Eindruck und Überblick von der Pracht und Größe der Stadt.

Frachtschiffreise: 7. Tag

2006-10-26T22:38:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

15. August 2006
Ostsee – Finnischer Meerbusen, Sonne, Windstärke 3-4, starker Fährverkehr

Inzwischen haben wir den finnischen Meerbusen erreicht und der Schiffsverkehr nimmt stark zu. Es gibt viele Fährverbindungen zwischen dem Baltikum und Finnland, die unsere Route kreuzen. In der Nacht muss man das Radar genau im Auge behalten und auch häufig mit dem Fernglas kontrollieren, ob sich nicht ein kleiner Segler in der Nähe befindet, der nur sehr schwer auf dem Radar zu erkennen wäre. Es gibt auch auf See richtige „Straßen“, die in den Seekarten eingezeichnet sind und an die man sich zu halten hat, um nicht auf Untiefen zu geraten und um das hohe Verkehrsaufkommen zu steuern.

Tagsüber sind zweimal Vögel (ein Brachvogel und eine Schnepfe ? Jedenfalls Arten, die ich von unserer Küste nicht kenne) auf den Containern gelandet. Sie haben sich ausgeruht, einer hat sogar eine Stunde geschlafen, und sind dann wieder aufgebrochen und haben ihre Reise fortgesetzt.

Bei einem späteren Spaziergang an Deck landet ein kleiner Singvogel beinahe direkt vor meinen Füßen und pickt sich Insekten vom Boden. Er bleibt eine ganze Weile an Bord und schafft dann den Abflug problemlos, trotz des starken Windes und den Luftwiderständen durch die Geschwindigkeit des Schiffes. Am nächsten Tag entdecke ich, dass wohl nicht alle Vögel so viel Glück haben. An Deck liegt ein einzelner, zerfetzter Flügel.

Frachtschiffreise: 6. Tag

2006-10-24T21:43:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

14. August 2006
Nord-Ostsee-Kanal – Ostsee, lockere Bewölkung und Sonne, Windstärke 4,
keine besonderen Vorkommnisse, nur Himmel und Meer

An den Abenden auf der Ostsee gibt es wunderschöne Sonnenuntergänge zu bestaunen. Jeden Abend wieder mit völlig unterschiedlichen Wolkenformationen und Lichtverhältnissen. Nur an einem Abend versinkt die Sonne direkt im Meer.
Wir fahren ungefähr 17 Knoten und verbrauchen am Tag 30 Tonnen Kraftstoff.

Frachtschiffreise: 5. Tag

2006-10-23T21:45:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

13. August 2006
Rotterdam – Nordsee – Elbeinfahrt, morgens Nebel, später Sonne !, Windstärke 3-4, Curry mit Huhn

Erst gegen Mitternacht brechen wir wieder auf Richtung Nordsee und Nord-Ostsee-Kanal. Inzwischen klart auch das Wetter auf und die Sonne kommt durch. Die Seekrankheit habe ich überwunden und so kann ich die Tage auf Nord- und Ostsee auf meinem kleinen privaten Sonnendeck im Liegestuhl genießen. Ich komme längst nicht so viel zum Lesen, wie ich mir vorgenommen habe, da der Blick immer wieder aufs Wasser und in den Himmel schweift, und man sich an dem wechselnden Farbenspiel und dem Glitzern im Wasser nicht satt sehen kann.

Heute Abend gibt es das traditionelle Seemannsessen Curry mit Reis : Hühnchenfleisch in Currysauce und dazu auf extra Tellern ganz fein geschnitten zum dazumixen Ei, Zwiebeln, Rote Beete, Käse, Salami, saure Gurke und Mangochutney. Köstlich!

Frachtschiffreise: 4. Tag

2006-10-22T20:46:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

12. August 2006
Hafen Rotterdam , Wolken, Regen und Gewitter, Gespräche und Lesetag

Nachts um drei Uhr wache ich von einem ziemlich lauten Rumps auf. Das Be- und Entladen erfolgt rund um die Uhr und in diesem Moment sind die Container direkt vor meinem Fenster an der Reihe. Auch wenn die Kräne mit großer Präzision arbeiten, schlagen die Container auf dem Weg nach oben schon mal an die Wand des Brückenhauses. Da ich nun sowieso wach bin, schaue ich eine Weile beim Entladen zu und bald ist zum ersten Mal der Boden des Schiffes in Sicht. Bis zu acht Container können übereinander gestapelt werden. Sie sind mit speziellen Bolzen, die von Hand einzeln an allen vier Ecken der Container angebracht werden müssen, miteinander verbunden und werden zusätzlich auch noch mit Diagonaltrossen am Schiff verankert.

Auch den gesamten nächsten Tag über wird geladen, so bleibt Zeit für längere Gespräche bei den Mahlzeiten und gemütliches Lesen in der Kabine, da es den ganzen Tag regnet und gewittert.

Frachtschiffreise: 3. Tag

2006-10-21T18:13:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

11. August 2006
Im Hafen von Rotterdam, Regen und Gewitter, Be- und Entladen an verschiedenen Liegeplätzen , Schiffsbesichtigung

Am nächsten Morgen zeigt der Chief (1. Ingenieur) mir seinen Maschinenraum. Bevor es mit Kopfhörern geschützt die steile Stahltreppe hinunter zur Maschine geht, kommen wir zunächst in den Kontrollraum. Alle Wände sind hier mit großen Schaltschränken ausgefüllt, die alle Vorgänge voll elektronisch überwachen. Hier sind alle aktuellen Werte jederzeit ablesbar. Wenn irgendein Wert von den Vorgaben abweicht, gibt das System Signal oder Alarm; nicht nur im Kontrollraum, sondern auch in der Messe, auf der Brücke und in der Kabine des Chiefs.

Im Maschinenraum befinden sich außer der Hauptmaschine mit 11.500 PS noch zwei Generatoren für den Hafenbetrieb und diverse Pumpen, Filter und Kühlungen. Das Schiff verfügt über eine eigene Trinkwasserversorgung. Aus dem Seewasser wird zunächst Kondenswasser gewonnen, das zusätzlich durch mehrere Filter geht und dann zum Abschluß auch noch durch blaues UV-Licht geleitet wird, um auch noch die allerletzten Bakterien abzutöten. So können täglich 12 Tonnen Frischwasser hergestellt werden.

Inzwischen wurde auch mit dem Entladen begonnen. Hier in Rotterdam, dem größten Containerhafen der Welt, geschieht dies beinahe ganz und gar ohne Menschen. Nur die hohen Entladekräne, die die Container vom Schiff heben, sind noch bemannt. Alle anderen Vorgänge werden aus dem Computerkontrollzentrum voll automatisch gesteuert. Es ist schon faszinierend zu beobachten, wie die Container ganz allein zunächst auf Trailern abtransportiert und dann ein Stückchen weiter von anderen etwas kleineren Kränen aufgeschichtet werden. Nur der Computer weiß, wo sich welcher Container befindet.

An Bord ist der Erste Offizier für die Ladung und damit auch für die statischen Berechnungen am Computer zuständig. Die Schiffsbesatzung weiß zwar längst nicht immer, was sich in den einzelnen Containern befindet, außer bei Gefahrgütern, Chemikalien oder Kühlcontainern, die ihr eigenes Kühlsystem haben und während der Reise regelmäßig kontrolliert werden, aber das Gewicht jedes Containers entscheidet über die Lage an Bord, damit die Statik des Schiffes erhalten bleibt, es möglichst optimal im Wasser liegt und die Container das Schiff bei Sturm nicht aus dem Gleichgewicht bringen.

Nachmittags weist mich der Zweite Offizier in die Sicherheitsvorkehrungen ein; zeigt mir den Fluchtweg von meiner Kabine zum Rettungsboot und die Kiste an Deck mit den Schwimmwesten. Ein Alarmsignal siebenmal kurz, einmal lang bedeutet allgemeiner Alarm, erstmal alle am Sammelplatz zusammenkommen und hören was los ist. Ein Alarm durchgehend abwechselnd kurz lang: sofort ab ins Boot!

Da es inzwischen wieder in Strömen regnet, mache ich es mir in der Kabine mit einem Buch gemütlich. Nach einer Weile höre ich ein Signal siebenmal kurz einmal lang; recht leise zwar, aber immerhin. Aha, die machen wohl eine Übung, ob ich auch alles verstanden habe. Schnell Schuhe und Anorak an und runter zur Sammelstelle. Dort treffe ich auch wirklich den Zweiten Offizier an, aber der lacht nur. Was ich gehört habe, war einer der großen Kräne, der an Land nur signalisierte, dass er auf seinen Schienen ein Stückchen weiter zur nächsten Containerreihe fährt. Wenn das Schiff Alarm gäbe, sei das viel lauter und mit Sicherheit nicht zu überhören. Das sollte ich dann am letzten Tag der Reise auch noch erfahren.

Gegen Abend geht es zum zweiten Liegeplatz im Europort von Rotterdam. Nur innerhalb des Hafens sind wir dafür fast zwei Stunden unterwegs. In der Ferne kann man erkennen, das schon wieder neue Flächen im Meer aufgeschüttet werden, um den Hafen zu erweitern, da nicht genügend Liegeplätze für alle Frachter vorhanden sind. Das Schiff hat zwar Seitenruder, so dass es auch quer gesteuert werden kann, aber trotzdem ist es sehr beeindruckend zuzusehen, wie sicher und einfach der Kapitän die „Anna Sophie Dede“ rückwärts, seitlich in eine sehr enge „Parklücke“ bugsiert. Die Abstände zu den Schiffen vor und hinter uns betragen nur wenige Meter.

Frachtschiffreise: 2. Tag

2006-10-20T08:15:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

10. August 2006
Nordsee - Rotterdam, Wolken und Regen, Windstärke 5-6, kappelige See, seekrank

Das macht den besonderen Reiz einer Frachtschiffreise aus : Man ist jederzeit auf der Brücke und auch im Maschinenraum willkommen; darf und braucht zwar nichts mit helfen und arbeiten, aber wenn die Zeit es erlaubt, erhält man ausführliche Einblicke in Nautik, Navigation und alle Abläufe auf dem Schiff, für die man Interesse zeigt. So habe ich in kurzer Zeit gelernt, die Position (vom GPS ablesbar) des Schiffes auf der Seekarte zu bestimmen, einen neuen Kurs zu berechnen oder auf dem Radar etwas zu erkennen.

Bordsprache ist englisch, aber bei den Mahlzeiten und auch auf der Brücke unterhalten sich Chief und Kapitän untereinander und mit mir deutsch, so dass ich von vielen Interna und Tagesgeschehnissen, aber auch über viele Erlebnisse der beiden auf anderen Schiffen erfahre.

Beim Aufwachen am nächsten Morgen ist es mit der ruhigen Fahrt vorbei. Wie ich später im Logbuch nachlese sind es zwar nur Windstärken von 5-6, für die Seeleute also gar nicht der Rede wert, aber ich habe bereits zu tun, aus dem Bett und bis ins Bad zu kommen. Das Schiff schlingert in alle Richtungen. Wir befinden uns inzwischen auf der Nordsee und bekommen die kappelige See eines vorübergezogenen Sturmes ab. Am Abend hatte ich mir bereits mein Knie aufgeschlagen, weil ich nicht daran gedacht hatte, dass das Bett eine erhöhte Holzkante hat, damit man im Schlaf bei Sturm nicht herausrollen kann, und ich wie üblich mit Schwung hineingehüpft bin. Nun ist es gar nicht so einfach die Morgentoilette zu bewältigen. Ich muß mich immer mit einer Hand irgendwo festhalten.

Das kleine Fenster über meinem Bett ist mit Containern zugestellt, aber vom Wohnraum aus kann ich seitlich ausgucken. Der Himmel ist dicht bewölkt und regnerisch.
Obwohl sich bereits die ersten Anzeichen von Seekrankheit ankündigen, genehmige ich mir ein reichhaltiges Frühstück mit Rührei, Nutellatoast und Tee. Offiziers- und Crewmesse liegen rechts und links neben der Küche. Die Messen werden sowohl der Gespräche und Stimmung als auch wegen der Kost getrennt gehalten, obwohl der Umgang zwischen Offizieren und Mannschaft sehr locker ist.

Cookie serviert uns sehr gute deutsche Hausmannskost, während die Crew eher asiatische Gerichte erhält; alles ist penibel sauber und ordentlich. Die Lebensmittelvorräte werden für drei Monate eingelagert und nur frisches Obst, Gemüse und Eier werden zwischendurch ergänzt. Es gibt zwei riesige Tiefkühltruhen und einen Kühlraum ein Deck tiefer, wo sich auch die Krankenstation, mit voll ausgestattetem OP und Bordapotheke, die Umkleideräume, ein Waschraum mit Waschmaschine und Trockner und der Aufenthaltsraum für die Crew befinden. Hier finden ab und zu Karaoke- und Videoabende statt.

Das Frühstück will leider nicht lange bei mir bleiben. Ich schaffe es gerade noch rechtzeitig zurück in mein Bad. Auch Akupressurarmbänder und homöopathische Mittel helfen nicht. Ich bin den ganzen Tag seekrank; bleibe den Rest des Tages warm eingemummelt auf meinem kleinen privaten Sonnendeck im Liegestuhl sitzen oder versuche etwas zu schlafen. An Lesen, geschweige denn an Essen ist überhaupt nicht zu denken.

Gegen Abend kommt Land in Sicht. Wir nähern uns der niederländischen Küste.
Sobald die See wieder ruhiger wird, geht es mir gleich besser. Ich traue mich auf die Brücke und genieße die zweistündige Einfahrt zu unserem ersten von drei Liegeplätzen in Rotterdam.

Frachtschiffreise: 1. Tag

2006-10-18T22:19:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Frachtschiffreise auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“

9. August 2006

Kiel, Schleuse Holtenau – Nord-Ostsee-Kanal, sonnig bis wolkig, Windstärke 2 Logbucheintrag auf der MV „Anna Sophie Dede“ : Passagier Caterina Rex kommt an Bord

Im Seemannsheim an der Kieler Schleuse treffe ich George, einen Musiker aus Paraguay, der sein Schiff, einen französischen Kreuzfahrer auf dem Weg von Helsinki nach England, verpasst hat und hier nun darauf wartet, zusteigen zu können. Er ist nach den langen Flügen sehr müde und geht nach kurzem Gespräch schlafen. Sein Schiff kommt erst morgen früh.

Um 17.30 Uhr läuft die „Anna Sophie Dede“ ( 133,5 m lang, 11.200 BRT) in die Schleuse ein; an Bord 468 Container.

Da zunächst alle mit dem Schleusengang beschäftigt sind, gibt es für mich erst einmal Abendessen in der Offiziersmesse. Auf dieser Fahrt Kiel-Rotterdam-Kiel-St.Petersburg-Kiel bin ich einzige Passagierin. Das Schiff hat einen deutschen Reeder, fährt unter der Flagge Antigua und ist für drei Jahre von einer russischen Firma für diese Strecke gechartert.
Kapitän und Chief sind Deutsche, Erster und Zweiter Offizier Russen und die acht Crewmitglieder einschließlich Cookie, dem Koch, sind Philippinos. Seit drei Wochen fährt außerdem noch ein sechzehnjähriger deutscher Schiffsjunge mit.

Meine Kabine auf dem C-Deck, genau auf mittlerer Höhe zwischen Brücke (drei Treppen rauf) und Poopdeck(drei Treppen runter), auf dem sich die Messen und Küche befinden, besteht aus einem kleinen Schlafraum mit angrenzendem Duschbad und einem Wohnraum mit Eckbank, Tisch, Kommoden und Kühlschrank. Alle Möbel und Gegenstände sind fest mit dem Boden oder den Wänden verbunden. Selbst der Papierkorb hat eine Halterung; auf den Ablageflächen liegen rutschfeste Matten.

Während die Reise inzwischen in geruhsamem Tempo auf dem Nord-Ostsee-Kanal beginnt, meint man noch, diese Vorkehrungen seien doch wohl etwas übertrieben. Der NOK hat eine Länge von 99 km und stellenweise nur eine Tiefe von 9,5 m. Da unser Schiff einen Tiefgang von 9 m hat, müssen wir allen kleineren Schiffen Vorfahrt gewähren und sehr häufig in den Wartebuchten die entgegenkommenden Schiffe vorbeilassen. Bis zum Einbruch der Dunkelheit bin ich das erste Mal mit auf der Brücke. Außer dem Kapitän sind noch zwei Lotsen und ein zusätzlicher Kanalsteuermann an Bord gekommen.

Frachtschiffreisenden: Warum?

2006-10-18T19:28:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Vom 09.08.2006 bis zum 19.08.2006 habe ich eine Frachtschiffreise auf der Nord- und Ostsee unternommen. Ich liebe das Meer, mache gern Strandspaziergänge und genieße den weiten Blick über das Wasser zum Horizont. Da kommt schnell Fernweh auf.

Im Jahr 2001 habe ich mir bereits einen Traum erfüllt und bin mit der QE II (Queen Elisabeth II) von Southhampton nach New York gefahren. Das war natürlich Luxus pur. Mich hat allerdings mehr das Traditionelle des Schiffes und die historische Auswandererroute England-USA interessiert als das Kreuzfahrterlebnis an sich.

Nun wollte ich gern einmal den Kontrast dazu auf einem Frachtschiff kennenlernen. Ich habe mich schon einige Jahre mit Reisen auf Frachtschiffen beschäftigt; Bücher und Reiseberichte von anderen Reisenden gelesen, Dia-Vorträge von Frau Freitag, einer passionierten Frachtschiffreisenden, die auch schon zwei Bücher veröffentlicht hat, angesehen und immer wieder im Internet gestöbert, um Angebote von Agenturen (oder hier und hier und hier) und Reedereien zu vergleichen.

Es ist sicherlich noch einmal eine andere Erfahrung, wenn man wirklich über Monate um die ganze Welt auf einem Frachtschiff mitreist; aber einen sehr guten kleinen Eindruck erhält man auch schon auf einer kurzen Mitreise. Meine Erwartungen, etwas vom Alltagsleben der Seeleute mitzubekommen, eine Menge über die Seefahrt zu lernen und gleichzeitig Wasser, Wind und Wolken, Licht und Ruhe zu genießen, haben sich jedenfalls erfüllt.

Lia hat mich auch nach dem Höhepunkt der Reise gefragt. Aber, einen einzelnen herausragenden Höhepunkt kann ich gar nicht benennen. Jeder Tag hat aufregende, neue Erlebnisse gebracht, sei es auf See das Wetter, die Lichtverhältnisse, die Entdeckung der Vögel, das erste Mal die Position des Schiffes auf der Karte zu finden oder in den Häfen, der Landgang in Sankt Petersburg (hier und hier) oder das Be- und Entladen der Container in Rotterdam (hier).

Media Communication

2006-10-06T22:02:00.000+02:00

A few years ago, I looked at Oprah’s website and read the summary of a show she did on computer games. (I’ve never actually “seen” one of her shows on television, but I’ve read about the shows on her site. Don’t ask… it’s too complicated to explain.) She was asking parents what they felt about their children playing computer games. Did gaming create aggressive or antisocial behaviour? Was there any redeeming behaviour that could be associated with this form of entertainment?

The only part of the show that I remember was a father saying his wife’s attitude of gaming being a complete waste of time, and Oprah and the audience’s somewhat sanctimonious rejection of the possibility that gaming might even encourage communication, was, in his opinion very wrong. He went on to explain that this whole women ritual of sitting down at a table with a nice cup of coffee and chatting about all-and-everything-in-between, might be fine for some, but for a lot of guys it just doesn’t work that way. He went on the recall all the hours he and his sons sat in front of the computer while one of them played a computer game, and how, yes, they would often discuss the strategy and going-ons of the game, but they would just as easily talk about other matters. And, occasionally, he says, they would Really Talk. And that one true pearl of a conversation made all those hours spent in each other’s company talking about the gaming details worth it.

Last week Tammy sent me this text in an email... (more).

Communicating with a Non-Communicator

2006-09-20T21:05:00.000+02:00

In the next few months we, the co-authors of the Red Tent blog, have decided to write about parenting. I thought that I might first write about learning to communicate with children whose nature does not appear to be communicative. Ok, I’m talking about my Nomad Son.

When Nomad Son was young, in kindergarten, the standard answer to any question about his wellbeing, the going-ons of the day, the birthday party he just attended, was, “Fine”. Now, sixteen years later the answer to nearly all my questions is still the same. At times, I find this really difficult to accept.

My difficulty stems from the fact that I was raised in a family where everyone talked. Talk, talk, talk, the whole day through. My mother, my two sisters, brother, father, and I were constantly competing for centre stage. What do you expect? We have Irish blood flowing through our veins! Gossip, banter, storytelling, complaining, worrying were all things just waiting to be shared with the next person who entered the room. They were not things that could be kept inside.

So, imagine this scenario... Nomad Son enters my life and proves to be someone with a huge heart, a quick intellect, and quiet curiosity and no need to talk. At two, he hums his way though the day. At three, he learns to speak, but talks only when he needs something to eat or drink. And so he is to this day: a kind, intelligent, curious, quiet, non-communicator.

You might think being in Nomad Son’s company would be a wonderful contrast to the noisy verbosity of everyone else. And, 99% of the time it is so. But, there is the small matter that he is a teenager now, and like all teenagers experiencing, experimenting, searching, and bumbling his way through various new situations.

As a mother, I’d reallyreally like to know how he is doing. And, “Fine” just doesn’t make the cut as a response to my concerned probing. I’d like to know how he is coping Deep Down Inside, and not just in passing. Yes, there is a possibility that he doesn’t know the DDI, and there’s even a larger likelihood that he has no inclination to communicate this knowledge with his mother. So, what am I left with?

What I’ve come to realise is that I have to sharpen my senses. I must try (even if I’ll only succeed rarely) not to interpret or hyperbolise what he says. Instead, I must look at the quantity and frequency of communication and not the quality and intensity. Does this make any sense?

Even more importantly, I have to, as I did before he learnt to talk, learn to read between the lines of his Spartan verbal communication: the tone of his voice, facial gestures, ease of eye contact, and readiness of laughter. For talk is talk, but an image is worth a thousand words. Seeing Nomad Son smile and laugh at some ridiculous family joke will just have to pacify my fearful mothering heart for the moment.

Parenting (September thru to November)

2006-09-20T20:46:00.000+02:00

We have decided on the topic of parenthood and parenting for the next few months. We’d love to hear what you have to say about…

…Instilling confidence and responsibility in our children. We know we could profit from the ideas of other parents along these lines. Some possible themes could include financial responsibility, time management, and dealing with friendship/inter-personal conflicts... (more).

Infekt im Anflug?

2006-09-20T20:43:00.000+02:00

Der Herbst steht ins Haus und damit einhergehend häufig schwankende Temperaturen bei zunehmender Feuchtigkeit, die für unser Immunsystem oftmals eine Herausforderung bedeuten.

So möchte ich heute ein paar Maßnahmen und Mittel vorstellen, die in Zeiten der erhöhten Infektanfälligkeit, sowohl für Kinder als auch für Erwachsene, sehr nützlich sein können... (mehr).

Ein paar Buchtipps zum Thema: Frachtschiffreise

2006-09-18T15:48:00.000+02:00

caterina von luebeck, deutschland

Ich habe vor wenigen Wochen eine Frachtschiffreise unternommen; durch den Kanal nach Rotterdam und über die Ostsee nach Sankt Petersburg. Ein- und Ausstieg war die Kanalschleuse in Kiel. Ich schreibe gerade an einem kleinen Reisebericht darüber; da es aber noch etwas dauert, bis der fertig wird, hier schon einmal vorab ein paar Buchtipps zum Thema… (mehr).

Poem of the Month (September)

2006-09-16T14:05:00.000+02:00

No other poem reflects the moods of the month September – at least in this part of the world - better, I think, than the poem “To Autumn” by John Keats... (more).

Gedicht des Monats (September)

2006-09-16T14:03:00.000+02:00

Kaum ein Gedicht gibt für mich die Stimmung des Septembermonats (in diesen Breiten) so gut wieder wie das Gedicht „To Autumn“ von John Keats. Leider habe ich keine deutsche Übersetzung des Gedichts gefunden... (mehr).

Best But Not Only

2006-09-16T13:00:00.000+02:00

Christine responded to my effusive praise of listening to poets read their poems, versus reading poems, with the following comment.

“I find Lia’s opinion that listening to the author is the only way of understanding a poem a bit extreme. What about the poems of authors who died long ago? No chance to understand them? What about music, by the way? Would the only way of understanding Mozart’s music be listening to him playing? Interpreting poems and interpreting music is very much the same thing, basically, and listening to the author can give interesting hints. But how much pleasure can be gathered from trying to seek the truth behind words or keys of music written down long time ago.”

I didn’t mean listen to the poets is the “only” way to understand a poem. It was intended as an exaggerated way of saying it is perhaps the best way, if the opportunity arises. As perhaps fashion conscious women say the only way to understand fashion is to go to the fashion shows in Milan, London, Paris, or New York City.

When I was originally trying to come up with some sort of allegory about how marvellous and entertaining the audio recordings in Poetry Archive are, I did consider for a moment using reading music and hearing it. But, the problem is, composers don’t necessarily play their own music. And, for most people, looking at a sheet of music does not awaken the sounds in their brains.

The fact is, the words in poems stir up images, introduce nuances, and tease or elude us in meaning. Then comes the poet and recites the poem and instantly fills our ears and hearts with all of the afore-mentioned and more.

A Simple Truth

2006-09-10T18:28:00.000+02:00

“Poetry’s a zoo in which you keep demons and angels” Les Murray

A while ago, my brother sent me this link of a poetry website called, The Poetry Archive. An explanation of the site goes as follows:

“The Poetry Archive is the world's premier online collection of recordings of poets reading their work.”

It is a revelation to hear poets recite their poems. It might be apparent to you all, but listening to poems in the last weeks has made me aware of a simple truth, and that is, the only way to live or experience or understand a poem is to hear the author’s speak the words… (more).

Poem of the Month (August)

2006-09-04T23:05:00.000+02:00

Whoever read my entry „Metamorphose der Pflanzen“ might fear that I know no other poems but those by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. That is not the case, though.

I selected this famous poem about the oldest existing species of trees for several reasons:

All through this unusually hot summer I was pleased to see how untouched by any summer tress our little Gingko tree continued to thrive and unfold its interesting leaves. A good reason for me to try and draw attention to this plant... (more).

Gedicht des Monats (August)

2006-09-04T22:56:00.000+02:00

Wer meinen Eintrag “Metamorphose der Pflanzen” gelesen hat, könnte jetzt befürchten, dass ich keine anderen Gedichte kenne als die Johann Wolfgang von Goethes. So ist es aber nicht.

Ich habe dieses berühmteste aller Gedichte über den ältesten Baum der Erdgeschichte aus mehreren Gründen für den Monat August ausgesucht:

Immer wieder war ich in diesem sehr heißen Sommer erfreut, wie unberührt von allem Sommerstress, den die Pflanzenwelt zu erleiden hatte, unser kleiner Gingkobaum seine interessanten Blätter entfaltete... (mehr)

Book Recommendations For Young Children

2006-09-02T18:15:00.000+02:00

Just went through my daughter’s bookshelves and sorted out the many children’s books for young children. Some of these books are from my childhood, some I bought as an adult because I’ve always loved illustrated children’s books, some were bought fifteen years ago, when my son was a baby, and some in the last eleven years since my daughter was born. Oh, what wonderful books they are and what happy memories they hold; lying in bed at night reading them to my children.

I will pass a good amount of them on to kindergartens, grade schools, and friends with young children, but some I will hold on to. They are the type of books I will read over and over again. And, might I risk making a wish, to read them to my grandchildren in years to come?

Please go to the Book Corner if you are looking for recommendations of good books for young children... (more)

Dropping Knowledge

2006-08-28T17:19:00.000+02:00

sibylle from luebeck, germany

Today I came across the website of the "dropping knowledge" project, a very ambitious project about making people more aware of their world, to start asking questions.

I watched several of the films and commercials and ads at this website and I was very touched by some of them. I am not sure about the founder of the project. Is he just smugly or is he (like he prefers to see himself) a messias on the way to a better world? And does it matter? He managed to touch me with his films, to make me think. Isn't his enough? Otherwise: I was touched because the pictures, the music and the people in the films are beautiful. Is it bad to start caring about a problem because you learned about it through highly aesthetical pictures? Would I have listened and watched otherwise?

Apart from these questions, the films on this website are probably inspiring for many people in one way or another. In one of the commercials I learned to know Uma Thurmans father and his questions. I always assumed that Uma Thurman is "not only" a great actress but also an interesting personality and her father definitely supports this assumption.

In many of the films you just get a glimpse on how other people live. Inspiring and agitating - just go and see for yourself! What are your questions?

Passing The Time Away

2006-08-18T17:22:00.000+02:00

My daughter was at her friend’s house this morning and so I spent a few hours catching up, as it were, in the blogsphere It is not that I’ve been Internet-deprived these last weeks during summer holidays. It is just that I haven’t had the time to listen to longer talks (here and here) or meander through some of my regular blogs (here, here, and here) or get a taste for some new blogs (topic blogs: here and here, personal blogs: here and here, and one in between: here).

Odd, but I got the feeling that, though the time spent reading and listening was not a waste of time, it was a suspended, listless sort of passing of time. Not something that I usually feel; which could be due to the fact that there were none of the normal regular household interruptions occurring. Or it could do with the fact that I hadn’t actually done anything with my day before I sat down with my tea and blogroll (droll, just couldn’t resist).

Interesting enough, I read a very interesting article (here) a day or two ago where the author recommended that we all not read our emails the first thing after arriving to work, but an hour or two after firing up our computers. How radical! I tried to think if I knew anyone who didn’t spend the first half-hour or so at work doing this tedious task.

Yet, once I took some time to digest this suggestion, it is not only brilliant but also self-evident. If, in the first hour of work, we channelled our energy and creativity towards tackling important and, hopefully, interesting tasks than there is a fair chance we'd feel as though we had accomplished something wonderful even before most of our colleagues arrive in their offices. And, feeling so, when the interruptions arrive, as they inevitably do, our deposition towards the interruptions would be other than they usually are: more of a bring-it-on-bring-it-on than a god-not-another-wipe-out-day. What a thing that would be!

So, I guess the hours spent in the blogsphere this morning were well invested after all.

Die Ringelblume – Calendula Officinali

2006-08-15T18:30:00.000+02:00

susanne from luebeck, germany

Die so wunderbar in kräftigen Gelb- und Orangetönen weithin sichtbar in den Gärten leuchtende Blume, hat an Heilkraft einiges zu bieten. In erster Linie werden die Blüten der Ringelblume gesammelt und entweder frisch zubereitet oder für die spätere Verwendung getrocknet.

Ich selbst habe sie und ihre Wirkkraft zu schätzen gelernt, als mein Sohn das Laufen anfing und es hin und wieder zu Schürfwunden kam, die dann versorgt werden wollten. So ist die Ringelblume, in ihren verschiedenen arzneilichen Zubereitungen, in meiner Hausapotheke zu einem der wichtigsten Bestandteile in all den Jahren geworden.

Die Heilwirkung auf die Haut ist sicherlich der bekannteste Effekt der Ringelblume. In vielen Salben findet sich ein Auszug aus den Blüten wieder. Insbesondere für den wunden Kinderpopo ist die Calendula-Salbe von hohem Wert.

Hier folgt nun eine kleine Zusammenstellung über die Anwendungsmöglichkeiten und die verschiedenen Aufbereitungen der Ringelblume in der Hausapotheke... (mehr)

French Mistress

2006-08-07T09:34:00.000+02:00

Germans folk are a funny sort of people sometimes. Not, haha funny, but I-can’t-grasp-this sort of funny. For instance, I heard the most wonderful story today about a fickle German stork husband that cause a great outcry by taking on a French mistress (a female stork from Alsace) and how the whole human population followed its development…

You have to realise that a lot of attention is given all over Germany to its migratory stork population. For those of you who do not know storks tend to be monogamous, and they also tend to return to the same nest every year to bear their young. Any house or farm considers themselves extremely lucky to have storks nesting at their place. And the house owners often build platforms (equipped with web cams) specifically for the convenience of their storks.

Thus the storks are not only watched closely by the scientific society, and the various village communities where the storks roost; their mating and egg laying and the hatching of their young, etc. are followed by many over the Internet from the web cams installed on the mast of the nests.

In Erlangen, in a wonderful traditional family beer brewery and terraced beer garden, a scandal occurred this year between the resident male and a French floozy. The male stork arrived in Erlangen from its winter vacation in Africa a week earlier than his partner (the first suspicious occurrence).

Promptly after he arrived, a French female stork arrived in his nest (suspicious occurrence II). Ohlala! And then, and then, the two storks proceeded to “amuse themselves” (quote from front page of the local newspaper) for a week before the female stork arrived.

Then, and then, the loyal wife appears! The city residence wondered what would happen? Oh ha, it’s hardly fair, the poor female stork comes home from a long journey from Africa to find her partner in bed with his French mistress. Well, the newly arrived female stork takes one look at Madame I-just-happened-to-drop-by and with no further ado throws the floozy out of the nest.

Does she go back to France? Non, bien sûr! She goes around the corner and builds a nice new nest for herself with a terraced view of her lover’s bedroom window. The hussy!

I lie not. This all occurred this year in Erlangen to one poor bloke (stork) who thought he could pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. His Big Mistake was not realising that Big Brother is looking at you…

Why I Love The Deutsche Bundesbahn

2006-08-04T11:30:00.000+02:00

I would like to do is recount an experience I had travelling on a train one time from Wuerzburg (between Frankfurt and Nuremberg) to Erlangen (just outside of Nuremberg). This is one of the many experiences that I' ve had with the Deutsche Bundesbahn (DB, national railway), which made me a great fan of this company.

This story takes place about twenty years ago. I went off on a Zen sesshin, or week’s retreat, at a Benedictine monastery situated on the hills of Wuerzburg (wine-making region of Germany). The sesshin ended with an early breakfast on Easter Sunday. I walked down to the train station with my backpack full of dirty laundry and my head in a strange mind state and stepped into the first train heading south.

Ten minutes out of the station the conductor comes and asks for my train ticket. This fellow was a typical Bavarian: wide-of-girth, grumpy disposition, and spoke loudly in a broad Bavarian dialect. Something only the Bavarian employees of the DB have the courage to do, all the other employees speak (some well, some not so well) in the “Hochdeutsch” or high German.

The conductor takes my ticket, looks at it and then lets out a few tongue clicks of disgust. “Don’t you know that you are on the Easter Special?” I give him a blank stare that would make any teller of a “dumb blond” joke proud. He goes on to explain, “This train doesn’t stop until we reach Munich. It’s the Easter Special, which takes all the rich residences of Frankfurt’s and Wuerzburg’s high society to Munich for their Easter Sunday brunch and afternoon classical concert and then takes them back again later this evening”. Still getting a blank look from me, “The train doesn’t even go through Nuremberg, let alone stop off there”, he rumbles at me.

Slowly, it dawns on me that I might be in a bit of trouble: not only is the train not taking me where I want it to, my ticket, a normal rate, probably doesn’t cover the exclusive Easter Special, which means that I might have to purchase such a ticket as well as a one way ticket from Munich back to Nuremberg. My mind finally kicks into gear and I desperately search through all my dirty laundry for my wallet. I have to figure out if I have any money to pay for the new train tickets. While I am doing this, the porter barks, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back!” He leaves the carriage with my ticket in hand.

I sat there somewhat subdued because I discovered to my dismay that even though I might have enough to pay for the trip from Munich to Nuremberg, there was no way I could pay for the Easter Special ticket. So I was contemplating what I could do; wash dishes for the train restaurant, sign over ownership of my rusty bicycle… when an announcement came over the train’s loudspeaker system, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mr. Schmidt your conductor. I hope you are enjoying your journey with the Deutsch Bundesbahn this sunny Easter Sunday morning. I would like to announce that we are going to make an unscheduled stop in Treuchtlingen. I sincerely hope that this will not inconvenience you. Thank you for your understanding and a pleasant further journey”.

Treuchtlingen is a tiny station whose only claim to fame is that it is a crossing point for various train routes through Germany. Slowly, a horrible thought entered my head… unexpected stop… this train doesn’t stop in Nuremberg. And sure enough, five minutes later the grumpy conductor opened the door to my carriage with the biggest grin on his face. “So what do you think? You know everyone in their fat fur coats and their fancy hats are going to be curious to see who can stop the Easter Special.”

I turned beet red and stuttered to him in disbelief, “You are stopping the Easter Special to let me off?” “Yup”, he continued, “and not only that, I’ve called my colleague at the Treuchtlingen station and he will personally escort you to your connecting train back up to Nuremberg”. And with that he gave me back my ticket, which now had handwritten authorisation that I could travel back to Erlangen without any further costs. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; I was so touched at his gesture.

We quickly neared Treuchtlingen. The conductor carried my ragged backpack down the corridor to the train’s exit. When the train door opened, the stationmaster handed me down, took my backpack from his colleague, gave him a big wink, and nobly escorted me along the station platform. The whole time, the three of us kept serious expressions on our faces, and pretended not to notice how all the windows of the train had been pulled down and hatted men and fur-coated ladies, stuck their heads out to discover the identity of VIP that stopped their Easter Special.

Extra, Extra, Read All About It!

2006-08-03T12:07:00.000+02:00

Karen and Chritine decided what our blog needed was it's own page dedicated to the lives of us working gals. Please take a look, A Day in a Life...

Karen, from Williamstown, USA has written the first article:

I work in an art library in a small museum in a small town in Massachusetts (USA). Though the museum and the town are small, the library is not; it occupies four floors, has 250,000 volumes, a staff of twelve, and a healthy acquisitions budget, and is a major player among art libraries in the US. One of the things that makes it a wonderful place to work is that it serves many different kinds of people; the library serves the museum staff and scholarly programs, it serves a graduate program in the history of art, it serves undergraduate students and faculty at a sister liberal arts college, and it is open to the public from 9 to 5 each weekday. This means that as the library’s only reference librarian, I get to work with curators, visiting scholars-in-residence, graduate students, undergraduates, college and graduate faculty, and visitors to the museum who want to find answers to questions about artists and works of art.

In addition to providing reference service, I also do Interlibrary Loan, and on a daily level these are the two main parts of the job. Students, scholars, and faculty send me requests for books they need that our library does not have, and I request them from other libraries. During the day I am available to help anyone who comes in, phones, emails, or sends a letter to ask a question.

November 30^th, 2005 was such an interesting day that I kept a record of the course of the day. I am always fascinated to know how people spend their working days; what kinds of tasks they do, what kinds of decisions they have to make, how they interact with colleagues and customers or patrons. My hope in writing this piece is that others will be inspired to keep logs and describe their working days. This day is not necessarily a typical day, but it gives a good picture of what it is like to work in an art library... (more)

Complacency, Comfort, And Security

2006-07-28T15:54:00.000+02:00

About twenty-five years ago I attended a reading of a Polish author, who’s name I have unfortunately forgotten, who wrote a trilogy of her war years in the Warsaw ghetto, her escape to Paris, and then her years of resettling first in Australia and then England. During the question session at the end of her reading, a person in the audience asked her why she chose to write her books in English; for it was her third or fourth language. The author said she wrote in English for the same reason she chose to remain living in England instead of returning to Poland, and that had to do with not wanting to become complacent or comfortable.

As a foreigner in England, or as a foreign writer writing in English, she was confronted every day with situations, bits of conversations, colours, fragrances, sounds that shattered any opportunity for her to become complacent. She believed complacency, comfort, security acts as a drug; it stops you asking questions, being aware of changes in political and social trends, and allows you to sit back believe all is well. That is why she preferred to remain a traveller instead. She’d lived for many years in various countries, but she still considered herself a traveller.

You must be wondering where I am going with this… I was reading a posting in blogher about reading travel blogs. Pam, one of the editors of blogher, kindly wrote a list of her current favourite travel blogs. Interesting enough a commenter to Pam’s entry and a blogger in one of the blogs Pam recommended (The Paris Blog) talk about bad experiences they’ve had recently with taxi drivers.

The one blogger is a woman in Paris receiving unwanted and unwarranted sexual attention from the cab driver in the early hours of the morning. The other is an American tourist in Vietnam who gets taken to the wrong hotel by the cab driver, who hopes to get a commission for the scam.

What was interesting was to see their reactions to the incidents. Though the type of incidents could be argued as being cultural, the reactions of the bloggers were very personal.

The one blogger, the woman passenger in Paris, is happy to have gotten out of the incident in one piece and is angered at the cab driver for his behaviour and at herself for not copying down the driver’s name. The other, a tourist in Vietnam, seems to be royally pissed off at all taxi drivers in Vietnam who try to scam tourists.

Virtual Friendliness

2006-07-25T19:33:00.000+02:00

This month’s Media Safe 101 is about virtual friendliness. This whole business of participating in the virtual blogosphere is rather confusing. What is so puzzling is how the behaviour and language codex of this community or society differs from the real world, or at least the world that I have lived in for the last forty-nine years.

How can I behave friendly towards someone who I have just met virtually without signalling that I consider that person a friend or that I am looking for a friend? That vast pool of knowledge we usually communicate through our senses (e.g. facial expressions, tone of voice, body language, and verbal inflection) now is communicated through written words or an occasional photo. And this form of communication seems wrought with inadequacies and misinterpretation... (more)

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail III

2006-07-25T18:50:00.000+02:00

from gabi in burgos, spain, 19.07.06

Hola Lia!

Qué tal? Slowly I am understanding more Spanish and can also ask necessary questions along the way. My feet are full of blisters still, but they are healing! I'll try to reach Burgos the day afer tomorrow. It's nice to meet up with people again that I've met before. The shine shines brightly, but I really like it!

Love, Gabi

Inappropriate Advertising

2006-07-22T15:46:00.000+02:00

There is an optician’s shop down the road that sells glasses for children: mainly subscription glasses, but also sunglasses. My eleven-year-old daughter pointed out a huge poster advertisement in the shop’s window the other day with a half-naked (tiny bikini) woman on it. She (rightly) asked why do children need to see a half-naked woman in order to buy glasses.

The incident reminded my about Tammy’s posting a few weeks ago.

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail II

2006-07-22T15:08:00.000+02:00

from gabi in los arcos, spain, 16.07.06

Dear, Lia

The countryside is truly beautiful. If I wear my cap I get the feeling that I might miss seeing something. Today though was so hot I had to wear my cap the last 7 km of the way, which made me worry that I might overlook the tail signs. I was lucky and arrived safely at the pilgrim hostel. I was assigned bed no. 35 (this might be in reference that she was given the last bed in the hostel) – freed a small bird that was trapped – reached my day’s goal of 34 km!

Love, Gabi

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail I

2006-07-22T15:07:00.000+02:00

from gabi in cirauqui, spain, 14.07.06

Dear Lia

I’m running every day and I feel good. Today I met Cetrin from Denmark. She cut off my blisters and disinfected them. The sun shines bright, but it’s not too bad for me. Then the world belongs to me because only few people walk after twelve o’clock!

Love, Gabi

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail

2006-07-22T15:06:00.000+02:00

Gabi, from Luebeck, Germany, is momentarily hiking along the St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail for a few weeks. This is a gift she has given herself; for Gabi went back to university a few years ago and she just graduated (education) and signed a work contract to teach at a primary school in Luebeck.

When Gabi told me that she wanted to spend five or six weeks hiking along the trail between France and Spain, I asked her whether she would write me some postcards I could put into the Red Tent Blog. Nothing spectacular, just day-to-day occurrences.

Two postcards arrived today. Enjoy!

P.S. According to the weather map, temperatures are between 30-40 degrees C, no rain, hot sun… more hot than your body temperature, you get the picture.

Poem & Lyric

2006-07-19T20:15:00.000+02:00

Christine suggested that we do a new monthly special (see sidebar on the right) for poetry. This has received general applause from authors and readers alike. So, if any of you wish to post your favourite poem, please write it out and include a paragraph or two about why this poem means so much to you. Send the text to us at virtualredtentAtyahooDOTcom (the reason I write this address so strangely is because we received a lot of spam mail when it was written properly).

Look at the right sidebar for a new page for the poem & lyric section.

Metamorphose der Pflanzen

2006-07-19T20:11:00.000+02:00

Wenn man dem Rezitator Lutz Görner glauben darf, gibt es in Deutschland ungefähr 200.000 Menschen, die sich regelmäßig mit Lyrik beschäftigen. Ich gehöre zu diesen Menschen. Wir sind also eine ziemlich große Gruppe – und stehen auch nur 79. 800.000 Deutschen gegenüber, die sich nicht für Gedichte interessieren. Wer sich für Gedichte interessiert, kommt am wohl größten deutschen Dichter und Denker, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe nicht vorbei. Eines seiner Gedichte, die Metamorphose der Pflanzen, geht mir, besonders im Frühling und Sommer, viel durch den Kopf. Bevor ich es aufschreibe, möchte ich aber ein paar Gedanken zu Goethe festhalten.

Der größte deutsche Dichter und Denker? Wohl ja. Gibt es eine Heinezeit? Eine Droste-Hülshoff-Zeit? Eine Fleming-Zeit? Nein. Aber die Goethezeit gibt es. Schon das mag ein Hinweis sein. Goethe war Schriftsteller, Jurist, Gärtner, Maler, Naturwissenschaftler, Theaterregisseur, Minister in verschiedenen Funktionen, Frauenliebhaber, Schillerfreund, um nur einiges aufzuzählen. Den letzten Beweis für die Richtigkeit der Evolutionstheorie Darwins … fand, was nur wenige wissen, Goethe – den menschlichen Zwischenkieferknochen. Eine Arbeitsgemeinschaft auf höchstem Niveau, wie es sie nie wieder gab: Goethe und Schiller. Eine Liebebeziehung ganz besonderer Art: Goethe und Charlotte von Stein.

Nun aber zu dem Gedicht. Als Goethe es niederschrieb, hatte er, in ganz groben Zügen, folgendes Leben hinter sich. 1749 ins mittelalterliche Frankfurt am Main geboren, wuchs er in einem großbürgerlichen Hause auf. 350 Jahre hätte ein einfacher Arbeiter leben müssen, um das zu verdienen, was Vater Goethe in seinen Sohn investierte. Aber es war ja eine Investition, die sich lohnte … Goethe studierte Rechtswissenschaften, übte diesen Beruf aber, wie so viele Juristen, nie aus. Mit Anfang zwanzig schrieb er den Weltbestseller „Die Leiden des jungen Werthers“. Wenige Jahre später rief ihn Carl August, Fürst und Herrscher des winzigen Reiches Sachsen- Weimar, an den dortigen Hof. Goethe war 26 Jahre alt, als er nach Weimar ging, der Herrscher Carl August 18 Jahre. Fest entschlossen, nur wenige Jahre in dem winzigen Nest, „ … von allen Fürstentümern eines der elendsten“, zu verbringen, blieb Weimar für den Rest seines Lebens der Mittelpunkt von Goethes Leben. Er übernahm verschiedene Ministerämter, war zehn Jahre lang mehr Politiker als Dichter, und stand in enger Beziehung zu Charlotte von Stein, die großen Einfluss auf ihn hatte: „Träufelst Mäßigung in meine Seele, warst mir Schwester oder Braut ...“. Und dann begannen die Intrigen, das Feilschen, die Politik ihn mehr und mehr anzuwidern:

„Der du von den Himmeln bist, alle Qualen stillest,
den, der doppelt elend ist, doppelt mit Erquickung füllest.
Ach, ich bin des Treibens müde, was soll all` die Qual und Lust?
Süßer Friede, komm, ach komm in meine Brust.“

Um diesen Frieden zu finden, floh Goethe in einer Nacht- und Nebelaktion aus Weimar nach Italien, wo er zwei Jahre lang unter einem Pseudonym lebte. Der Herzog Carl August, sein Freund, gewährte ihm nachträglich Urlaub und zahlte in diesen zwei Jahren sein Ministergehalt weiter! Zurückgekehrt nach Weimar verliebte er sich in die lebensfrohe, lebensvolle und viel jüngere Christiane Vulpius, mit der er neunzehn Jahre in wilder Ehe lebte. Bei der Hochzeit war der gemeinsame Sohn August bereits achtzehn Jahre alt!

Das Gedicht Metamorphose der Pflanzen ist, auch wenn das nicht ganz leicht zu erkennen ist, ein Liebesgedicht auf Christiane, auf die Liebe und das Leben. Gleichzeitig ist es eine Auseinandersetzung mit naturwissenschaftlichen Fragen (gab es eine Urpflanze oder nicht?) – und mit literarischen Fragen. Das Gedicht reimt sich nämlich nicht! Damit greift Goethe auf alte griechische Formen zurück und verweist gleichzeitig – trotz seines für uns ungewohnten Sprachgebrauchs - auf die Moderne.

Hier ist es:

Metamorphose der Pflanzen

Dich verwirret, Geliebte, die tausendfältige Mischung
Dieses Blumengewühls über dem Garten umher;
Viele Namen hörest du an, und immer verdränget
Mit barbarischem Klang einer den andern im Ohr.
Alle Gestalten sind ähnlich, und keine gleichet der andern;
Und so deutet der Chor auf ein geheimes Gesetz,
Auf ein heiliges Rätsel. O könnt` ich dir, liebliche Freundin,
Überliefern sogleich glücklich das lösende Wort!
Werdend betrachte sie nun, wie nach und nach sich die Pflanze,
Stufenweise geführt, bildet zu Blüten und Frucht.
Aus dem Samen entwickelt sie sich, sobald ihn der Erde
Stile befruchtender Schoß hold in das Leben entlässt,
Und dem Reize des Lichts des heiligen, ewig bewegten,
Gleich den zärtesten Bau keimender Blätter empfiehlt.

Einfach schlief in dem Samen die Kraft; ein beginnendes Vorbild
Lag, verschlossen in sich, unter die Hülle gebeugt,
Blatt und Wurzel und Keim, nur halb geformet und farblos;
Trocken hält so der Kern ruhiges Leben bewahrt,
Quillet strebend empor, sich milder Feuchte vertrauend,
Und erhebt sich sogleich aus der umgebenden Nacht.
Auch einfach bleibt die Gestalt der ersten Erscheinung;
Und so bezeichnet sich auch unter den Pflanzen das Kind.
Gleich darauf ein folgender trieb, sich erhebend, erneuet,
Knoten auf Knoten getürmt, immer das erste Gebild.
Zwar nicht immer das gleiche; denn mannigfaltig erzeugt such,
Ausgebildet, du siehst`s immer das folgende Blatt,
Ausgedehnter, gekerbter, getrennter in Spitzen und Teile
Die verwachsen vorher ruhten im untern Organ.
Und so erreicht es zuerst die höchst bestimmte Vollendung,
Die bei manchem Geschlecht dich zum Erstaunen bewegt.
Viel gerippt und gezackt, auf mastig strotzender Fläche,
Scheinet die Fülle des Triebs frei und unendlich zu sein.
Doch hier hält die Natur, mit mächtigen Händen, die Bildung
An und lenket sie sanft in das Vollkommenere hin.
Mäßiger leitet sie nun den Saft, verengt die Gefäße,
Und gleich zeigt die Gestalt zärtere Wirkung an.
Stille zieht sich der Trieb der strebenden Blätter zurücke
Und die Rippe de Stiel bildet sich völliger aus.
Blattlos aber und schnell erhebt sich der zärtere Stengel
Und ein Wundergebild zieht den Betrachtenden an.
…
Wende nun, Geliebte, den Blick zum bunten Gewimmel,
Das verwirrend sich nicht mehr sich vor dem Geiste bewegt.

Jede Pflanze verkündet die nun die ew`gen Gesetze,
Jede Blume, sie spricht lauter und lauter mit Dir.
…Oh, gedenke denn auch, wie aus dem Keim der Bekanntschaft
Nach und nach uns holde Gewohnheit entspross,
Freundschaft sich mit Macht aus unserem Inneren enthüllte,
Und wie Amor zuletzt Blüten und Früchte gezeugt,
Denke, wie mannigfach bald die, bald jene Gestalten,
Still entfaltend, Natur unseren Gefühlen geliehn!
Freue Dich auch des heutigen Tages! Die heilige Liebe
Strebt zu der höchsten Frucht gleicher Gesinnungen auf,
Gleicher Ansicht der Dinge, damit in harmonischem Anschaun
Sich verbinde das Paar, finde die höhere Welt.

Spaces Between The Notes

2006-07-19T10:24:00.000+02:00

There was an excellent posting in the blog, Creating Passionate Users, about how to live and appreciate the spaces between the notes. Silences, pauses, white backgrounds, they are all part of what makes life precious. This is a good lesson for all of us too-busy-to-button-up-our-flies sort of people.

Fashion Flair

2006-07-14T22:36:00.000+02:00

I was raised in Canada at a time when all bright, intelligent, motivated, educated women were told to go out and conquer the world. Unfortunately, not the fashion world. No, we were all told to go into medicine, computer science, or electrical engineering, heavens, even rocket science was better than going into the fashion industry. It is therefore, with a glean vicarious pleasure that I tell you about a wonderful fashion blog, The Satorialist (here), which makes me grin and swoon regularly. Take a look, but just not once, but let’s say over a few weeks time. I guarantee the addictive factor will have set in by then.

For persons of 9 to 99 years of age.

Bücher zum Thema Israel/Palästina

2006-07-11T21:11:00.000+02:00

Caterina aus Lübeck

Heute möchte ich einige Bücher zum Thema Israel/Palästina vorstellen, da ich mich immer mal wieder mit diesem Konflikt und dem Leben der Menschen in dieser Region beschäftige. Das gleiche gilt für die Länder Afghanistan und Irak, die ich dann beim nächsten Mal mit einer Buchauswahl vorstellen möchte... (mehr)

Here's a new Book Corner entry from Caterina with six book reviews concerning the Israel/Palastina conflict.

Extra, Extra, Read The All About It…

2006-07-08T18:56:00.000+02:00

When it comes to online radio programs, as many of you know, I love all that has to do with audio entertainment on the Internet. I am a self-confessed audio addict. So, I wanted to share with you a new alternative for creating an online radio program tailored to your tastes or moods.

There is marvellous program that allows you to do this, Pandora. In brief, you set up a radio program by writing down the name of a few artists or song titles you like, and then just press “play”. Then, theoretically, an endless string of songs will play; all tailored to your tastes. There are songs not only by your favourite artists, but also other artists of similar styles.

You can imagine it as being something like the function Amazon offers its customers when they say “people who bought this book also liked the following books”.

Pandora is nothing other than an intelligent search machine with access to over 95,000 song titles. The program play songs it thinks you will like based on the information you give it: favourite artist list and your song ratings (one click: thumbs up or thumbs down). The longer you play your program and rate the songs Pandora chooses, the better the songs get.

Even 95,000 titles are not if they are just 95,000 pop titles. But, there are actually quite a few artists on my list (e.g. SEEED, Cheb Mami, The Slackers) that I’m surprised are in the data bank.

So, for all of you at home or at work, who like playlists like Radio Déliro, take a look at this. You can set up as many programs as you like: your Monday Morning Blues program, or you TGIF program, or even, the Children Are Asleep And The Night Is Young program.

Enjoy.

Joan Anderson, Spaziergang am Meer

2006-06-28T19:51:00.000+02:00

crx aus luebeck, germany

Hallo, mein Name ist Caterina. Ich habe vor drei Jahren eine kleine Buchhandlung in Lübeck eröffnet und Lia hat mich gebeten, ab und zu einen Beitrag für die Bücherecke des ROTEN ZELTES zu schreiben. Da mir die Idee dieser Internetseite sehr gut gefällt, will ich es gern versuchen. Als Erstes ist mir sofort folgendes Buch als wunderbar passend eingefallen:

Joan Anderson
Spaziergang am Meer

Joan Anderson verabschiedete sich für ein Jahr von Alltag und Ehe und verbrachte diese Zeit in einem Cottage auf Cape Cod. Diese Auszeit beschrieb sie selbstkritisch und ohne zu beschönigen, in tagebuchartigen Aufzeichnungen, die stark an Anne Morrow Lindberghs „Muscheln in meiner Hand“ erinnern, in „Ein Jahr am Meer“. Hier nun erzählt sie die Geschichte einer außergewöhnlichen Freundschaft...(mehr)

Von heilenden Händen und anderen Tipps bei Bienenstichen

2006-06-28T13:08:00.000+02:00

Was also tun, wenn man gerade noch fröhlich barfüßig über die sich wohlig anfühlende Wiese stapft und dann durch den plötzlichen Schmerz je gestoppt wird?... (mehr)

Here is a new entry (in German) in our House Aphothecary about what to do with a bee sting... (more)

Book Corner: Best Travel Books

2006-06-27T22:27:00.000+02:00

Here is a link to an entry of an interesting blog, Marginal Revolution. The blogger wrote about his favourite travel books. Ok, he references a list, from WorldHum, but as far as blogging is concerned that is very much allowed.

The only books I would add to their lists are... (more)

Now Things Get Serious

2006-06-23T21:55:00.000+02:00

(collage of preliminary round games, photos from the BBC coverage)

So, the preliminary rounds are over with the soccer World Cup. Now things are going to get serious. And, to be honest, I sort of hope the German soon lose. Not in this next round (it’s called the one-eights, don’t know what the round before the quarterfinals (is that even the word for the round before the semi-finals?) is called in English) against Sweden.

Well, actually, it won’t be so bad if the Germans lose tomorrow from a personal point of view, because I am due to fly up to Sweden next week and if the Swedes lose, there could be a rather cold welcome. My friend, Susanne, who is flying over with me, says she will pretend to be a (half) Canadian and she will line up at the “Others” (i.e. non-EU citizen) custom line-up with me to avoid the frosty looks from the Swedish custom officers… She is married to a Dane and she knows how nationalistic the Scandinavians can be… but that’s another story.

Personally, I would like the Germans to lose in the quarterfinals against Argentina. Argentina is a strong team. The Germans would save face.

Then the Germans could get back to their main duty of the moment: hosting the world’s biggest and best wedding ceremony (the soccer World Cup). The further they get in the series, the more the likelihood the bride and groom are going to get drunk and disorderly and make an absolute ass of themselves before all their guests. Guests, who’ve spent an enormous amount of money and time coming to the party and who, frankly, expect a good return on their investment. You also have to take into account the unruly and socially embarrassing relatives (hooligans), they will only stay locked in the back closet with a case of beer for so long. Once they get out, all mayhem will break out.

Don’t get the wrong impression; I love the fact that the championships are being held here. So far, I think (hope) the Germans have done an absolutely super job of showing the rest of the world what generous, well organised, and graceful hosts they can be.

It is even better than Athens (last) or London (next) hosting the Olympic games. The Olympics take a lot more money, are an organisational nightmare, and they usually end up bankrupting the city hosting the games and doesn’t get half as much publicity as the World Cup. Germany only has to throw a few stadiums together and voila, it’s done. (Slight understatement there.)

So, here’s a prayer that these cup championships continue without averse incident and may the best man (team) win. But, please let it be Brazil or Argentina or someone coming up from behind.

What do women want... when it comes to gaming?

2006-06-20T19:42:00.000+02:00

Just finished giving my presentation at the institute on the theme “What do women want…. when it comes to gaming?” The presentation went quite well I think; at least I had fun giving it. Tried a new presentation strategy of using lots of graphics and practically no written text. It was the first time that I just spoke freely and though this was initially quite a terrify leap for me to take, I did better than I thought I would.

In a nutshell the presentation develops as follows: most women like content/storyline (e.g. television drama series, so called “chick flicks”, women literature and magazines); guys like action and interactivity (e.g. see the majority of computer games); in an ideal world content/storyline and action/interactivity are the two essential components for enjoyable gaming; most media today (print, film (DVD), television, Internet, and gaming) promotes some successful products which contain both components, though obviously of different proportions concerning storyline development and interactivity; my concept for a successful women’s game does not emulate the current computer game experience but rather, it is simular to the experience of watching American television (60-70% viewing film (storyline development), and 30-40% gaming elements).

Think the fact that there wasn’t any text made it hard for some of the (male) audience to understand what I was talking about. They found it hard to listen. They also found it difficult to understand/accept/internalise some of the topic material. You could even say that some of them got a bit huffy about some of the ideas I presented.

The female audience unanimously said they loved my gaming concept and they want to play my Talkshow Rivals game or any other game that has this concept, the moment it is out on the market. (Only the gods know when that will be).

After the presentation, I talked things over with two colleagues and it was surprising how much the fellows just didn’t understand, even material that I stated slowly and clearly. Was this because I did not present the material succinctly enough, or I did not repeat myself enough at relevant moments in the presentation, or, was it just the fact that the guys turned off their ears and minds the moment I said the talk was about creating computer games for women? They obviously “got” what I was saying on some level, but there were a few questions and observations posed which demonstrated just how difficult/provocative they felt the presentation to be. Oh, well, tant pis.

What Makes A Good Bookseller?

2006-06-20T19:11:00.000+02:00

So, we are still waiting for Marie (here) to write us something titillatingly interesting for our Book Corner. A promise is a promise Marie.

I also talked to Caterina, the owner of a travel book bookshop just down the road from where I live, about writing something, in German, for our Book Corner page. And she agreed!

Don’t know either of the women well: one virtually (Marie) and the other (Caterina) the last few months since I started ordering German books for the children at her shop. My impression is that they are both very intelligent, have a passion for books, and a fine instinct when it comes to matching the right book to its reader.

For instance, I ordered some books for my 11 year old daughter (three in the Mary Poppins’ series, by Pamela L. Travers, and The Invisible Friend, by Louise Arnold) and in the same batch of books, Caterina ordered Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones, and The Goodfellow Chronicles: The Sacred Seal, by Judith Christine Mills. So, when we came to pick up the books, she asked my daughter, “Do you know these books?” And, yes, they were perfect, and, yes, she sold them to us on the spot as well as the ordered. Excellent business all around: whether I am admiring her ability to figure out what Sara likes in books after getting only a few clues, or her ability to judge me as a mother who will (almost) pay anything to let her children read, is the question.

(For those of you who wonder why I am buying German translations of English books for my children… they prefer it so. German is their native tongue and speak English well, but not fluently enough that they can cobble up books at the same speed they can German books.)

And though I haven’t had quite the same experience yet with Marie, I have this feeling that she possesses this talent as well.

So while we, readers of the Red Tent Blog and books in general, are waiting for Marie and Caterina to write something for the Book Corner, take a look at some summer reading lists (here and here) to pass the time away that I got out of the Culture Vulture blog.

Raising a Daughter in a Male-dominant World

2006-06-19T11:39:00.000+02:00

tammy (presently) from Amstelveen, Netherlands

“Mom, why do most women take the man’s last name when they get married, but men never seem to take the woman’s last name?”

“Why do so many advertisements have women with practically nothing on?“

“Hasn’t there EVER been a female (American) president?”

Mom, am I fat?”

My daughter is beginning to understand. The questions began at age 7 and have intensified as she has grown. Now at age 11, it is clear that she is becoming increasingly aware that she lives in a world where women are often objectified and are largely denied places of power and authority. For now, her questions come from a place of curiosity. What she observes doesn’t seem to make sense, so she is asks to be sure she is seeing correctly. And she wants to know why.

Part of me aches with her emerging awareness. While it is simply a curiosity for her now, I know that she will eventually come to understand that women are thought of as “less.” I know that she will have struggles trying to demonstrate to others, and more importantly, to herself that she is NOT less. At some point, she will confront the full horror of what many women in the world endure, and have endured over past millennia, simply because they were born female. Thus, the time will come when her curiosity turns to frustration, sadness, even rage. She will hurt because of this.

But another part of me is deeply pleased by her emerging awareness, and I work to cultivate it. I want her to accurately perceive inequity between the sexes when she sees it and not be afraid to voice it. I want her to feel a sense of righteous indignation that anyone would consider her to be less human because she is female. I want her sense of justice to remain intact, rather than have her handle the unpleasantness by turning away from it – by pretending it isn’t there.

Far too many women tell me they never think about women’s issues. They have established a comfortable niche for themselves with a relatively non-sexist partner and they feel sufficiently powerful in their own sphere. There is a sense that the world is too big to change and they are comfortable – why think about it? But they are raising sons and daughters, too. Can they afford not to think about it? Can they afford to not help their children become aware? It is true – I cannot change the world. But I can help my daughter to perceive it accurately and to live in it with courage.

Sensitise your Vibes

2006-06-18T21:40:00.000+02:00

Exploring my interior with Julia Cameron’s second book “The Vein of Gold” continues to be a great source of creative exercise. The past month I have been writing narrative timelines... (more)

Maureen's next entry into her page, Maureen's Way is fresh off the press. Please read and leave her any comments you have on her subject of inspiration and creativity.

Naivety and Tenaciousness

2006-06-12T23:02:00.000+02:00

Or Why I Chose To Become An Electrical Engineer

Many years ago I decided to give up my first profession, as a ballet dancer, and go to university and study for a second profession. I wasn’t quite certain what I it was that I wished to do with my life, but it sure wasn’t the arduous, narcissistic, poorly paid, fickle, competitive-ridden, food-depraved, boring, jubilant, sublime art of dance.

When I was in high school I had a Hungarian math and physic teacher. She was perhaps one of the few teachers I ever encountered, who not only had a calling as a teacher, but she was impassioned mathematician and physicist. She believed that mathematics was not the art of mixing numbers or memorizing formulas, but music of the rarest form. She instructed us in the field of mathematical theory, but she also took the time to tell us who discovered each theorem, and about the lives of these men and women, and most particularly, how their theories were rarefied works of wonder.

So, when it came time to choose a field of study I naively considered studying mathematics. I invited my father to lunch one day to discuss this decision. His reaction was, quit ballet– fine, study mathematics–not so fine. His logic was… why would you study something for four or five years only to end up an unemployed math teacher? (This was over twenty-five years ago and the professional choices for math graduates were limited).

Instead, he asked me to describe the type of life I envisioned after leaving university. I wanted to have my cake and eat it too: enough of sacrificing everything for art. I wanted to live in different countries; have the time to travel; my job should be steady and well paid; I wanted to work with interesting people on interesting projects, etc. And math and physics should be the main portion of the study curriculum. We ended up compromising with electrical engineering.

The culture shock of “higher education” was brutally, instantaneously, apparent when I discovered myself in the middle of a crowd of locomotive-hat-dawned first year engineering students: watching them partake in various infantile initiation rituals (e.g. streaking through the campus with nothing on but their locomotive hats and cloth diapers), as well as not so infantile rituals (e.g. beer throwing, food gobbling contests at the local pub with amateur strippers hired from the student faculty).

Once the initial rush of indignation settled down, I realised that all my fellow students had spent the last years studying feverously and not, as I had done, on point shoes dancing from one end of the stage to another. The disparity of academic background couldn’t have been greater.

Completing my electrical engineering degree was a dance requiring a fair measure of self-discipline and ornery tenaciousness. If it wasn’t for the mathematic courses (magical) and professor Wang (quantum physics and laser theory), I don’t think I would have persisted.

Professor Wang was the PhD. student studying under the two scientists who received the Nobel Prize for discovering the transistor. Rumour had it, that much of the work that professor Wang did as a PHD student was the basis for this discovery. The next rumour was, that professor Wang was generally disappointed with the applications that had subsequently been developed using transistors. Thus he specifically chose to teach quantum physics and the non-military use of laser theory as a statement of his disapproval. This probably was all a piece of nonsense, but it inspired me to see that there is also an ethical choice to be made in where I move professionally.

He held a fascinating two hour lecture about Chinese acupuncture and future medical applications, which completely changed the direction I had been considering: from telecommunication to medical engineering. He also mentioned a branch of Siemens in Germany researching such systems. After my studies were completed I packed to bags and headed over to that branch of Siemens, and so ended the one story and the next one began.

Desperate Housewives Gaming Concept

2006-06-11T15:17:00.000+02:00

Just picked up the first series of Desperate Housewives on DVD. I’ve haven’t watched anything but the weekly highlight on their Internet site. Must say, so far (episode 9), there is nothing relevant in the DVD that I haven’t already seen in the highlights. OK, obviously there is a little more detail, but as far as the progression of events, who-did-what-to-whom, each forty-minute episode can me condensed down to a five (?) minute sequence.

Astonishingly fact once you consider that the show (I believe) runs for an hour. The actual storyline is broadcasted in under forty minutes. Then, the amount of relevant information is conveyed in four minute. Not that I am saying you can reduce the Desperate Housewife experience down to those four minutes. Just that there is a lot of room to move with the development of the main storylines.

The reason I bought the DVD, was because I recently read that they (here) are in the process of developing a computer game for the series. A lot of newpaper hype, but if you are looking carefully about what they are saying, they do not envision anything new or innovative for the new game. It is such a shame that the only thing the game industry can come up with is a Sims-like clone. That is just not going to cut the rope with the target audience.

I am giving a presentation at work next week which posses the question “What do women want… when it comes to gaming?” I was fanaticising how lovely it would be if I could give the presentation to the product development and marketing department of Buena Vista Games. Not being one to indulge in wishful thinking, I’ve decided to write up a game concept for Desperate Housewives and see whether there is any possibility of getting someone to look at it. It’s worth a try.

New Author On Board

2006-06-09T18:24:00.000+02:00

Marie from Crockatt & Booksellers, in London, England, has kindly agreed to liven up our Book Corner blog page in the future. We all feel very happy to have her on board. Marie not only helps run the store together with Matthew and Adam, she helps plan and host literary evenings, writes in the shop’s blog, and adds many insightful comments to her colleagues’ blog entries.

Here, as way of an introduction, are two book reviews she wrote for the shops online newsletter…

Being a Visitor and not a Tourist

2006-06-09T15:06:00.000+02:00

My family and I have come to relax at a lovely holiday apartment in northern Germany. Rabenholz, is a village about forty kilometres away from the Danish border, and just a few kilometres away from the Baltic Sea coast.

We have come here numerous times in the last five years and feel very much at home with the couple who run the holiday apartment, as well as with those running and serving in the cafés, restaurants, grocery stores, etc.

The native north German has a reputation from being reticent, sparse of speech, resilient, stubborn natured. Whether this is true or not, I can’t say. The visits we have made here, have been highlighted with encounters with people of generous spirits, who radiate a calm, no-nonsense, positive attitude to life and though they posses a certain reserve, they are willing to express personal opinions, political viewpoints, and relate aspects of their lives and family going-ons that it is positively refreshing. What they do not have, is a persistent neediness, or will to sell themselves, their land, and their culture at any price, which you unfortunately find in many countries dependant on tourism.

There is no denying that this area of Germany is highly dependent on tourism, even though the agriculture industry is still active. But, like most such places, farmers have it hard. The roots of the region’s wealth historically lay in fishing, farming, and other trades and they are, to various extents, still practiced today. Yet, tourism is something nearly everyone does on the side. Those of us, who come here year in, year out, are not as much tourists to be catered to, but rather visitors who are expected to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

Once you except this fact, the beauty of the arrangement becomes apparent. As a visitor, you get glimpse into the lives of those you are surrounded by. Each party has their sphere of privacy, but often, particularly on sunny summer evenings, everyone spontaneously brings some food out into the garden and share a meal together, or if the weather is stormy and miserable, you share a glass of wine in the owner’s home and talk about all the events that have transpired in the lapse of time between visits. And these encounters occur naturally, whole-heartedly, out of sympathy, often seemingly by chance. Certainly, they do not happen because the event is posted on some bulletin board outside of a hotel casino or cruise ship sports facility.

I am writing this entry in a beautifully restored thatched-roof café; a delightful place that bake exceptional cakes and serve a hot pot of tea that is reminiscent of my Irish boiling-on-the-back-burner-the-whole-day-through brew. To find out what cakes are available, you go into their kitchen and take a look at what is sitting on the various counters. It is essential to take in a deep breath upon entering the kitchen, the heavenly fragrances and the sight of they diverse colours and forms of the cakes tantalise your senses.

I worked up quite an appetite by taking a long walk along a beach, which is part of a nature reserve. Fantastic coastline. Across the water, you can see the Danish islands. The long walk was really just an excuse to spend an hour in the café. Ah, the simple joys in life.

Give Yourself A Treat

2006-06-08T18:44:00.000+02:00

If you only have the time to read one blog entry or news article today, read Garr Reynold’s blog (Presentation Zen) entry, “You are creative (who the %$#@! says you're not?)”. In it, he summarises the advice Brenda Ueland wrote in 1938 in her book, "If you want to Write". Apparently, what she wrote about writing can be extended to any form of creativity or inspirational activity.

Anruf bei meinem Onkel in England

2006-05-28T22:00:00.000+02:00

Den Beitrag von Maria habe ich gelesen, nachdem ich mit meinem neunundachtzig Jahre alten "Onkel" Arthur in Sutton Coldfield telefoniert hatte, um zu fragen, wie es ihm geht. Seine Frau, mit der er sechzig Jahre verheiratet war (ja, die Queen hat gratuliert), ist im letzten Jahr gestorben, darum geht es ihm natürlich nicht gut, darum freut er sich, wann immer der "German branch of the family" anruft. German branch of the family?

Im Jahr 1963 kam ein junger Engländer nach Hamburg, um an der Schule, an der mein Vater stellvertretender Direktor war, ein Jahr lang als Assistant Teacher zu arbeiten. Bald entwickelte sich eine Freundschaft zwischen meinen Eltern und Pete, und meine Schwester und ich begannen, ihn fast als eine Art großen Bruder anzusehen. Petes Eltern, Arthur und seine Frau Sue, waren von der Aufnahme ihres ältesten Sohnes in unserer Familie so angetan, dass sie uns alle einluden, sie im Sommer 1967 zu besuchen,. So kam ich im Alter von neun Jahren das erste Mal nach England (auch eine Reise, die mein Leben veränderte). Das war damals etwas so Besonderes, dass meine Mitschüler förmlich zusammenzuckten, als ich in der ersten Stunde nach den Sommerferien in der Schule davon erzählte! Wir waren drei Wochen ununterbrochen mit dieser englischen Familie zusammen. Erst in dieser Zeit wurde mir so richtig klar, dass Pete nicht ein Deutscher ist, der etwas seltsam spricht, sondern aus einem ganz anderen Land kommt. Zur Familie gehörte auch Judith, Petes zukünftige Frau. Die erste Frau, die ich je in meinem Leben mit langen Hosen gesehen habe ...

Ich war nach den Ferien in England völlig gierig darauf, Englisch zu lernen und fing bald an, Judith und Auntie Sue und Uncle Arthur Briefe zu schreiben. Ich erinnere mich an folgende Jahre, in denen es wechselseitige Besuche gab: 1970, 1972, 1975, 1976, 1980, 1981, 1985, 1988, 1990, 1994, 1996, 1998, 2001, 2004 - das sind die Besuche, bei denen ich beteiligt war! Nicht gezählt sind die Besuche, die meine Eltern allein gemacht haben. Inzwischen ist es nämlich so, dass die Beziehungsfäden zwischen meinen Eltern und Arthur und Pete und Judith, zwischen mir und meinem Mann und Arthur und Pete und Judith und zwischen unserem Sohn und Pete und Judith laufen - eine Länder und Generationen überspringende Familienfreundschaft, an der sich leider die Kinder von Pete und Judith nicht beteiligen. Und es gibt endlose weitere Beziehungsverzweigungen, die hier aber nicht wichtig sind.

Manchmal denke ich es ist schon erstaunlich: mein Schwiegervater und Onkel Arthur haben wahrscheinlich nicht aufeinander geschossen, weil sie zwar im selben Alter waren, aber an ganz verschiedenen Fronten standen, als die Welt um und um gewühlt wurde. Und jetzt haben wir den Stand, dass ich schon eine alte Waschmaschine in Sutton entsorgt habe und Judith Creme für unseren Sohn gekauft hat, weil er ausgerechnet bei ihr seinen ersten Zahn bekam! Wir haben es geschafft, jetzt über vierzig Jahre hinweg eine lebendige Freundschaft aufrechtzuerhalten, an der sich beteiligen konnte, wer mochte - und die lange Pasuen ausgehalten hat. Maria, ich glaube, auf der Basis gemeinsamer Interessen und dem Bemühen umeinander gibt es eine gute Chance, dass es deinen Kindern und Sara und Julien ähnlich ergehen wird.

Red Tent Blog

Redistributing/ Rechannelling Guilt

Mommy guilt is not personal

A Few Good Rules

Temporarily Suspended

End of a School Year

Interesting Women

A Special Deal

The Post Birthday World

Anmutig altern: Trauer

Ein Jahr in den Ozark Mountains

Gedichte der Monate März und April

Mother’s Day, Peace Day

Everyman’s Photography

Was ist der Hospitality Club?

Emanzi

Feminism versus Activism: Personal Or Political

No Time To Play

The Stay-At-Home Feminist

Gedicht des Monats Februar

Climbing Precarious Heights

Quality Time

being and becoming

Poetry: Les Murray

Times are a changing

Parenting Just Gets Harder

Gedicht des Monats Januar

Patchwork Creativity

From the Heart

What Madame Bovary and Stephanie Plum Have In Common

The Art Of Cooking (Part 2)

The Art Of Cooking (Part 1)

Books, Books, And More Books

A Spot of Bother

New Perspectives and Orientation

A Virtual Advent Calendar

Caterinas Bücherzettel Winter 2006

Trickling Back

Three writing projects

Husten

An Artist Hero Of Mine

Book Corner: An Interesting and Provoking Idea

Frachtschiffreise: 11. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 10. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 9. Tag

Does Media Beget Misbehaviour?

Frachtschiffreise: 8. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 7. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 6. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 5. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 4. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 3. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 2. Tag

Frachtschiffreise: 1. Tag

Frachtschiffreisenden: Warum?

Media Communication

More on Parenting (September thru November)

Communicating with a Non-Communicator

Parenting (September thru to November)

Infekt im Anflug?

Ein paar Buchtipps zum Thema: Frachtschiffreise

Poem of the Month (September)

Gedicht des Monats (September)

Best But Not Only

A Simple Truth

Poem of the Month (August)

Gedicht des Monats (August)

Book Recommendations For Young Children

Dropping Knowledge

Passing The Time Away

Die Ringelblume – Calendula Officinali

French Mistress

Why I Love The Deutsche Bundesbahn

Extra, Extra, Read All About It!

Complacency, Comfort, And Security

Virtual Friendliness

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail III

Inappropriate Advertising

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail II

Postcard from along St. Jacob' Pilgrimage Trail I