Going Back

I never considered Germany to be home in any way, shape or form. Ever. Unless you count the time before I knew we would move to the US for the first time. We’d gone before, but it always seemed like a vacation. Just another destination among the countless other destination we had been to. In…

Home Is Where The Swearword(s) Live(s)

Except, how do you know which ones? They say that you revert to your native language when you count, which was a myth I believed in for a long time until I realized that – with my stronger languages at least – I’d just count in the language I was speaking in. And in a…

Back to School – what’s in a name (especially when it’s yours)

… my mother’s boss decided to address me as Adelheid. It threw me off for a minute because my middle name was nowhere close to what she was calling me, phonetically or through any stretch of the imagination when it came to meaning. As it soon transpired there was a more sinister element to her bestowing such a Germanic name on my poor teenage self.

The Avon Lady Makes An Appearance, Albeit by Proxy

We’ve been back in the neighborhood for four days and so far we’ve been avoiding the Avon Lady just fine, though with the instinct of the truly calculating she must have sussed something out because she is sending her son over for Russian lessons from someone in the household who is truly qualified and should…

When Finnish Independence Day and the Xmas Spirit Collide

As Finnish Independence Day comes and goes the city is ablaze with Christmas lights Finnish style. Which means, more reminiscent of a traditional country Christmas than the neon lights seen in most capitals and cities of importance. For the record, I love and embrace both (much more than the concept of snow beyond Epiphany).  The…

Ode to a Lost Friendship Polish Style II

Click here for Part I The thing with broken kids and kids from broken homes, we always recognize each other. What we do with that information is one thing. But there really is an invisible bond, accessible via the subtlest of signals that brings us kids together. Perhaps Babette was broken, too, but that didn’t…

Ode to a Lost Friendship Polish Style I

He came to me fully grown as a seven-year-old boy about to turn eight, so that’s how I always saw him, as the boy who lived below us in my building and was a year and a month younger than me. There were three of us on our side of the building, so that there…

The Author Contemplates a Childhood Friendship Lost

Meeting Ethnic Kin M. would kill me if she found out I was writing this. I can say this for sure because when I wrote a fun piece about our friendship and tracked her down to ok it, she took months to reply and then told me that the reason she did was she was…