Off to Ireland

We're heading out tomorrow for Ireland for a week. In Dublin and the surrounding villages/countryside we're hoping to follow in the footsteps of some of those cool Celts--St. Patrick, Bono . . . oh, and Ryan mentioned something about some chap named Guinness . . . We'll see how our wee lass does on this trip and report it all to you later. 'Tis quite exciting.

Cologne

We went the cathedral in Cologne today. I'd not been to such an ancient (1200), enormous structure and was rather awed by it. (The stained glass pics are for you, Daniel, but of course they do little to convey the enormity and beauty we saw. ) We ate a very German meal on the banks of the Rhine while being serenaded by an accordian player. The heaviness of the meal slowed down our walking a bit. My meal--one of just a handful without sausage--advertised that it had spinach and mushrooms and cheese. I wasn't sure what to anticipate, but took comfort knowing that at least I liked the prominent ingredients. It was, simply, a big bowl of creamed spinach and sliced mushrooms absolutely swimming in cheese. Once again, I was struck by how the midwest really seems to take a lot from Germany. In MN and neighboring states, we'd maybe try to jazz up that casserole with a little Campbell's cream of _______ and maybe a few of those Durkees friend onions on top, but we'd still slather on the cheese. There was also a sign for a restaurant that simply said "meat and potatoes" (in German) with an arrow pointing down to the door. Enough said. But there's something oddly relaxing about the familiarity we feel Germany, a place we've never been. Even odder are the "sightings" I keep having of friends/family. These are instances when I see people on the street who look so alarmingly like someone at home, that I kind of gawk. Normally these occur in the Netherlands and are connected to Ryan's family (who are all Dutch, so it figures). So far in Maastricht I've seen Marla (the closest match yet), Stacey and Grandma Betty. Today in Cologne I saw Paul from Memphis. Are you perhaps German, Paul?

the balcony and mindfulness

Mindful

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.

It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.

Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

~ Mary Oliver, from Why I Wake Early

Ellie and I are enjoying the rare treat of sunshine today. As Ellie slept I slipped out onto our balcony with a Mary Oliver book and a cup of tea. I read this poem moments before Ellie woke and, watching her play with water, didn't have to look far to see delight. School, by the way, went quite well yesterday. As my friend Gretchen said, it's a delight to watch your children do well all on their own.

Choo-choo

The weekend brought beautiful weather and we jumped at the chance to tour the surrounding countryside via old-school train. We passed through bucolic scenes of orchards, villages with church spires poking up out of valleys, and cows everywhere. We failed miserably in taking pictures of the scenery, but here are a couple of the train. The sitting compartments and the way they pushed carts with candy and drinks for sale through the train brought to mind Hogwarts Express. Speaking of--Ellie starts her new school tomorrow--we're hoping for an enthusiastic response. Sending love to all.

Europe old and new

Here we are in Monchau, Germany, with our Maastricht friends from Minneapolis. (That's Kai with Ellie, and in the next shot Gretchen is holding Emerson.) It's a gorgeous village set in a valley that drops suddenly from the middle of a flat forest. Gretchen and I took the kids there just for a change of pace last week. European tourists--many on motorcycles--flock there, but we seemed to be the only Americans. A couple things cracked me up: 1. I love the hodgepodge of old and new we find all over Europe. The mod gigantic foot just plunked down in a centuries old village square. 2. If you go inside the restaurants that surround the square, you would swear that you were in New Ulm, Minnesota. Everything from the smell of what was cooking (meat and potatoes), the faces of the folks sitting down for lunch and the decorative kitsch of wooden dolls and figurines of girls pushing wheelbarrows full of flowers was shockingly reminiscent of German small-town Minnesota. To be more correct, German small-town Minnesota is shockingly reminiscent of village Germany. I didn't know people could duplicate the externalities of culture that precisely. Perhaps this is because Monchau tries to retain a certain centuries-old feel for the tourists (pure speculation here) and is stuck about the time that all those folks brought their culture from their German homes to their new American homes. 3. Germany felt quite different from Holland. I need to go back to figure this out more, but my impression was that it was a bit more serious and less quirky than Holland and, well, more like a stoic small town in Minnesota. More on this when I can get back and see non-tourist Germany.
It's late--nearly midnight here--and Ellie's finally well again and sleeping soundly. In a few minutes it'll be August 10th, Ryan and my fourth anniversary. Thinking of that day a few years back, of all the good eggs surrounding us in Lanesboro. We feel so grateful for you all, and for all the new good eggs that are now in our lives. And we remember those sweet ones who aren't with us now. Thank you all for your accompaniment. Much love to you.

Health, Home, Things and Peace

Today at the park I watched a sparkling tow-headed toddler with all her baby chunk still on fall down and cry for her mother. A woman who must have been her mother's friend picked up the child and brought her to a frail young woman who was obviously battling cancer. The mother could not hold her daughter for long. The contrast between mother and daughter struck me cold.
Ellie has croup and has been feeling rotten and sounding worse. She'll be fine, this isn't too serious an illness, but watching her struggle with breathing after she's exerted herself with a laugh, cry or a little running is hard. She's not been sick much at all, and it's a new thing to look at her with an awareness of life's fragility. And, of course, the bridge in Minneapolis fell down. The war in Iraq, Darfur, Afghanistan, Congo . . . .
These things have been on my mind as we've worked to call our new apartment home. We love our space--the light, the neighbors and location, having a downstairs and up, the balcony, the patio. And yet and yet. We find we're struggling without a few amenities--no way to play music except piping it through the TV via the DVD player, no shelf for our books, no light that would allow for reading after dark, a bed for our guest bedroom (I can hear some of you reading gasping in the hopes that we get one soon--I think we will), etc. etc. And I have really been wanting some black boots--the bossy looking kind that all the European women wear with skirts, pants, always-- even tucking their jeans into them. Is this just a way we have learned to think? Always looking for the next thing to have, to wear--hoping for contentment to arrive with our next purchase? It's hard to sift through what would make our life here in Maastricht richer, and what is just the habit of wanting. I know this is not purely an American habit, but we seem to have perfected it. Pondering these things, I thought of Wendell Berry's "We Who Prayed and Wept":
We who prayed and wept
for liberty from kings
and the yoke of liberty
accept the tyranny of things
we do not need.
In plenitude too free,
we have become adept
beneath the yoke of greed.

This weekend we were to go to Dusseldorf, Germany, but Ellie's sickness prevented that. Instead, we puttered around the house and biked around Maastricht and greater Maastricht, Ellie asleep in the Burley. It was beautiful weather, so welcome after a rainy summer. Everyone was out--just sitting on the banks of the river, having picnics, riding bikes, sipping coffee and wine, savoring the sun in the company of friends and family. Our next door neighbor, a Dutch woman, said that of all the places in the Netherlands, Limburg (our province) is most known for slowing down, enjoying life. She's dreading her upcoming medical internship in the north, where the pace and priorities are different. After watching the Limburgers enjoy their days in the sun, I think they've nudged a little closer to the things that make for peace. I am sure the mother at the park has learned those things. And I'm sifting through them as well. In the end, we'll find we can do without some of what we thought we needed. Ellie will be well soon and I'll probably even get some black boots. (Anniversary in a few days.) But I hope this year, like my time in Tanzania or spent among family and friends, continues to nudge me closer to knowing, being grateful for, and choosing the things that make for peace. So peace, peace, to the far and near.

Minneapolis

Such scary, sad photos from Minneapolis. And the stories of survival (the school bus!) . . . amazing. Ryan woke me up this morning with the news and I've been waiting until a reasonable time to call folks, make sure all are well--Dan reports that all are accounted for. So odd to be here. I'm brought back to the Embassy bombings in TZ and Kenya--Lindsay and I, feeling at once far away and only miles away, watching the surreal footage from a dusty bar in Monduli that happened to have a satellite that week, wizened old Maasai warriors expressing their condolences as we translate what CNN is saying. West River Road was my calming commute for the last 2 years in Mpls--unbelievable that 35W is now lying on top of it. The Minnesota stoicism--the accents, the optimism, the understated amazement, the efficiency and willingness to help--it's all coming through CNN. What a great city, beautiful people--we miss you. Thanks to those of you who are checking in via e-mail--keep it coming. Thoughts/prayers/love to all.