As the bells toll and the fireworks are popping off, some people might dread that which is to come in a few hours. Namely, the Relative Fight Fest.That occasion when everyone gathers together, tensions mount and you begin to understand within seconds why it is that you normally don’t hang out, unless a “family occasion”…
Tag: expectations
The People Watcher Revisits Some Principles on Mourning
It is that time leading up to All Saints and All Souls, which brings with it the customary cemetery visit to honor those passed before us. And like most people with enough freedom to do so (and with a desire to avoid crowds), we decide to go a few days in advance. Because while it…
The Cynical Non-Pole-With-Polish-Roots Observes Preparations for the Next Polish Event and Provides Her Opinion
It’s that time of the year again, where spring cleaning coincides with First Communion prep, embedded into attendance at church, last minute shopping and that final, mad desperate rush for presents. It’s not just about the family being together, it’s also about being seen – at church, in the neighborhood and perhaps most importantly at…
On the Misleading Concept of Friendship – a post in honor of Finnish Friendship Day
Finns pride themselves on many things, and one of the things they will humblebrag on – alongside their claim to honesty, drinking capabilities and high tolerance of cold temperatures (due largely with the aid of the former) – is their concept of friendship. “A Finnish friend is a friend for life,” they will tell you….
Road Trip to Silesia IV – on friendship(s) (and) final thoughts
Road Trip to Silesia IV – on friendship(s) (and) final thoughts There is an epilogue to all this, because there always is an epilogue to all this once you’ve come back, decompressed and attained the benefit of hindsight. It helps that you are not dependent on anyone or any circumstance in that particular situation. The…
Silesia II – An Interlude on Relationship Dynamics
Then there was the issue of the club. She really wanted to go there because it spelled freedom for one night. That was the main reason she’d asked us along on this trip, more than chipping in for gas. Her husband was tending to their infant, which translated into frantic phone calls from home every…
(Im)Perfection in Polish Beauty – the Avon Lady (and her partner)
Her (perceived) youth was her calling card and what kept her alive in society, because it helped her cement her place by showing that despite her divorce and teenage child, she was still able to snag and keep that other most desired commodity – the reason a perfect figure and beauty was needed in the first place – a man by her side, if not for real then at least for the optics.
Christmas Stress and Other Lovely Occurrences – 6 types that stress you out
When I was younger, I didn’t really think about it that much, because Christmas was Christmas and between my neighbor’s mom and mine they had a whole plan cooked up when it came to Christmas Eve. I’d be in my room with my parents, the doorbell would ring and then my mom would announce that…
On the Conundrum of Recognizing Nationalist Rhetoric Before Others Become Aware of It
As the child of a Holocaust survivor (and a war child delivering goods to the ghetto) your mind naturally wanders off in all sorts of directions and goes off on all kinds of tangents, one of them being, what were those times like? Were there any signs and – perhaps more importantly – how would it have affected me and what if anything would I have done? We all want to be the heroes in the stories we dream and live but when it comes to generational guilt and trauma, those wishes and ideals intensify.
Fulfilling Other People’s Perception(s) of The Countries You Identify With
. . . most people where we lived seemed to be getting their ideas of what a French person was / should be from the German translations of Enid Blyton’s books, and the occasional show with a French person depicted on TV (ironically, a French actor – Pierre Brice – portrayed their national idol, Winnetou, a fictional character brought to life by Karl May who had never set foot anywhere near the Wild West . . .
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