Signs of the times - 2

“Home is where the heart is”  and other notes

I know that I am not of the norm.  Living outside the United States, in a foreign country keeps me living outside the average lifestyle of Americans.  There are people, though, that are born, live, and will die in the same town.  Their family and friends are close.  Their lives circle around the dynamics of one community.  You could consider them the lucky ones but in these times they are also the exception not the rule.  

During the 50s and 60s and maybe even into the 70s this live-in-one-place life was still the norm.  It has slowly become the standard for families to split up, move apart, to live great distances from each other.  I was going to use my family as an example of this slow change in family dynamics, but really it also has not ever fit into the normal either.  For our family, starting in 1944 and 1946, my two oldest sister were born in two different states while my father was still in the Army.  They may correct me at any time but I am sure at least that they were not born in our ‘hometown’ of Adrian.   Then Judy and I were born in ‘48, ‘50 in Adrian, Michigan.  Then the two brothers in (or around) Kingman, Arizona and the last, the baby in Cottonwood, Arizona.  My family lived in Cottonwood and area until I was a freshman in high school then we all seemed to gravitate back to Adrian. 

When I married and had my children, my husband and I lived in Morenci, Michigan; moving all of 20 miles away and only living there for 3 years.  Then we lived in 3 cities in 3 years:  Phoenix, Virginia Beach, Dallas, and finally landed in Houston in the mid 70s.  I left there in 2003 for Brasil.  Twenty-eight years in one place, a miracle.  In a few more months, I will have been in Brasil for 9 years.

My daughter and her children still live in Houston,  my son is in Phoenix, my mother is now back in Adrian living with Candy, one of the ‘older’ sisters.  Candy is one of the lucky ones, having lived in Adrian for the past 45 years.  All her children live within a max 4 hour trip home.  I also have a sister in Virginia, one in S. Carolina, a brother in Colorado, and a brother in Prescott and a sister in the Phoenix area.  Where all of their children and grandchildren are is a list too long for me to type into one sentence.   You can start to see my dilemma for where I would call ‘home’ or to define that place as ‘where the heart is’. 

The longer I live in Brasil the more transparent the concept of HOME becomes.  Slowly, I am moving away from who I was, and what my life was when living in Houston.   Friends have died, left or lost their spouses, remarried or just moved away.  The large group that I used to meet to dance has disappeared, the ones left have gotten old..... OLDER – sorry!  Not me, of course.  This visit to Houston I have felt almost disoriented trying to fit myself back into the feelings of being HOME.  Shopping hasn’t seemed as much fun, I’m not driven to see and eat everything.... well that’s not completely true – but creative license allows me some wiggle room.  Now I find myself visiting Patty’s home versus returning home and have to conclude that this is just another sign of the times.

Signs of the times....

I have been at Patty’s for a week now.  Coming from Adrian and my sister’s household to Patty’s holds the same level of culture shock as when in Brasil Camillo and I go from the quiet and serenity of Friburgo to Rio with its chaos and confusion.   The schedule here is total craziness.  Schedules for two adults (three jobs), schedules for before school study groups and after school training activities, volley ball practice, volley ball games, Saturday tryouts for club volley, a weeknight trip to the mall to shop for a homecoming dress, and amidst it all, meals – did I mention homework assignments? Everyone is in their beds by 9 and up by five to do it all over again. 

Needless to say, I have had difficulty with the sleep schedule more than anything else because Camillo and I pretty much adhere to a bed at midnight - up at 8 type of schedule, with maybe 3 or 4 parties or dinners A YEAR mixed into the quiet pace of three sit-down meals at home, a choice of going to the gym and to the grocery store for supplies, a few hours of TV a day, and playing on the computer or reading to pass the rest of the daytime hours. If you ever wonder why you don’t hear from your kids regularly, you have to go and live in their homes for at least a few weeks, become immersed in their lives, and then you will have a complete understanding that this silence isn’t about them not loving you but is a sign of the times.

It is possible that my days when the kids were young were of similar chaos, but I don’t remember them like this.  When Pat and Marty were in high school in Houston, we lived about 3/4 of a mile from the school and they road their bikes to school – no hauling back and forth or fitting my schedule to theirs.  Okay, I might not have been the best parent, totally involved in their activities as parents seem to be today, but I got up and went to a job every day, bought groceries and cooked dinner each night, and like my daughter kept my own home and gardens cleaned. When they were on the swim team, I made their home competitions but not the away.  I thought what parents did was to provide a bed and cloths, and a place to study, good foods and quiet times and the rest was up to the kids to figure out.   The way of those times.

Yes, Marissa is a highly motivated teenager. Giving her as much support as possible is the right thing to do.   I am just saying that life today is a grueling list of things to do, and activities to get past.   Just saying, thank God there is only one teenager in this household and for one or two months a year I can step in and be a part of the chaos (and then step out again).

Proud to be an American, Part 11

The plan for the mini vacation that Camillo and I took here in the USA was a drive from Washington DC to Poughkeepsie NY,  then a three day drive up the Hudson valley, then across to Lake Erie and along the Lake to Adrian.  Pretty ambitious when you consider the miles involved.  We ended up reaching Poughkeepsie, spending one day in that area and then heading straight across Pennsylvania and into Ohio and up a few miles north into Adrian – except for one small exertion into the farmland, all by expressway.  The initial plan also included lots of fall color, a few waterfalls and the tasting of a few New York Wines.  It ended up that fall color was just beginning - not a disappointment by the way, the variation of faded greens, gold and touches of reds was beautiful -  the first planned waterfalls were closed for maintenance, the vineyards we located were closed for a special function and the other’s restaurant was only open for weekends this time of year, and I ended up with a really bad goldenrod allergy attack.  Don’t get me wrong the goldenrod that lined the highways, edged the farm fields and rimmed the forest is really beautiful, but my head locked up, gripped me, blurred my eyes – shortened my temper.   The shortened temper causing more problem then the rest, of course.  

While in the Poughkeepsie area we ate in one really good bar, Camillo ate a prime rib sandwich and a wine, and I a hamburger and a coke (designated driver).  The owners were friendly and helpful, giving us good food and instructions to a decent hotel.  The next morning it was raining but we drove up to Hyde Park to visit the home of FDR and their neighbors the Vanderbilt's.  The instead of finding a hotel for the night we backtracked and finding a freeway, headed west. 

Family home of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt:

  

   

  

Vanderbilt Mansion:

    

 

Proud to be an American....

Camillo and I travel back and forth to the USA, a lot, but have not really taken a trip cross-country since when we lived in Houston and then those trips were pretty much limited to Texas.  Since living in Brasil, some 9 years now, we fly into Houston, visit family and friends, fly to visit my mother and then fly home.  There has been no real sense of the US, its size, its people and the changes that are occurring.  We have traveled in Brasil, in France and in Italy more often and for longer periods.  This trip I wanted to show Camillo the real America. 

Looking back over my photos from the drive from Washington DC to Adrian, Michigan – by way of the Hudson Valley, I could feel, again, the lump in my throat that rose up  when we exited the subway station in Washington and saw the flags flying high along the roof tops, over the doors and window, and all along the sidewalks.  The lump attacking again, and again as we viewed the monuments that line the National Mall; as we admired the circle of flags at the base of the Washington Monument and while standing beside the beautiful Vietnam Women’s Memorial, and as I turned to watch the long line of mourners passing beside the Vietnam memorial, stopping to touch the name of a loved one as they moved slowly along.   Was it the cool, whet wind blowing that made my eyes overflow with tears or feeling, in that moment,  so proud to be an American?  

As we traveled Southwest to Northeast, passing through countryside filled with well maintained farms, small lakes, tall forests turning from muted greens to the bright colors of fall, and driving along grand highways, and even more, small curvy country roads, in my mind the pride I’d felt in my homeland persisted.  And by the time we arrived in Adrian the emotions had changed once more.  My thinking went from pride in the memorials we’d built to our heroes, to the wonder at the architecture that had stood the test of time and weather, to a renewal in my understanding that what makes The United States great is the heart of its people.  Their politeness, their willingness to go beyond duty to help, to guide, and their ability to show kindness to strangers.   This is what makes America strong

A Special thanks to the ‘volleyball goddess’ of Bethlehem, PA – who after finding us (completely) lost in an Allentown parking lot, our Google map having led us a merry chase, took one look at our exhausted faces said, “follow me” leading us to our destination instead of merely rattling off ‘go left, right, left...’ directions.   (There is that dratted lump again.)

And More:  The shuttle van driver in Rockville MD – the young man taking the long way around, off his route, to drop us at a drugstore, making sure we know how to get to the subway station from there, worrying that he needed to do more to make sure we were safe and on our way.   

And the night clerk in the Bethlehem hotel offering to order Pizza in for us, looking through her maps to find our next days route, asking other’s staying there to find us change for the laundry, offering a big smile to end our day. 

 

Many other bits and pieces of kindnesses that made our trip memorable.... thank you all.

        

A partial Story : For Mom

We left Friburgo last Wednesday, Rio on Thursday, arrived In Houston on Friday morning and was there just long enough to run through passport control and to catch a very early flight to Washington DC.  Washington’s Dulles airport is small but pretty disorganized.  We got the impression that as it has grown, new wings and buildings have been added without really anticipating the flow of passengers.  For example, we were offloaded out on the tarmac, then walked and walked, and walked and dare I say walked some more to get to baggage pickup and the kiosk said conveyor 5 – about 10 minutes later the speaker said, “Houston...... CO.....  #^#@&^ two.  You know how you can’t hear anything they say, but I started walking from one end to the other to see if the bags were coming in on two or five..... finally arrived about 20 minutes later on two..... Needless to say, the ground crew at Dulles needs some training. 

The rental car and a drive of about 45 minutes, and one (the first) miss direction from Google Maps put us at our Hotel in Rockville by 2pm.  A full 24 hours from the time we left the apartment in Rio.  After a quick shower, we walked to Rockville’s city center had lunch, called the hotel shuttle for a ride, and crashed for an evening in front of the TV.  Just like home.

First day:  Washington DC, the National Mall. 

   

   We walked from the Metro Center – over 3 blocks and down one – popping out  beside the treasury building.

  Camillo’s first comment, “At least its not flying the Chinese flag...yet!”

Walked past the white house, Camillo sat a few times while I went to take photos of the old federal building, .... etc..  In the end we only made it from the Washington Monument, past the WWII, the Korean War and the Vietnam memorials to the Lincoln memorial, and back but it was a good day and gave me a desire to go back for just Museums, maybe a capital tour. 

For Mom, the Lincoln Memorial in more detail.

     

It rained, I got a sunburn on my chin, our feet hurt pretty badly, lunch was too heavy – the monuments spectacular - a 30 minute trip back to the hotel via the metro train and we were in the hotel in front of the TV for the night.