Who is Coming to Your House? (Part V)

This post probably doesn't really qualify as being a true "Soap Opera", but as I truly hate to miss the fun at "Soap Opera Sunday", I beg the indulgence of our fearless and brilliant leader 'Twas Brillig and her partner in crime fun Walking Kateastrophe.


For real soapy stories, be sure and read the posts of the other players in our on-going Sunday series by visiting this week's hostess Kimberly of Temporary? Insanity and seeing who else has joined the fun!

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This is one of the last in a series of posts I have been writing about the December traditions found in the Netherlands as they compare to Christmas in the US as well as UK and Germany. Look here for Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV.

With my multi-cultural family I have an "unusual" perspective which has come with its own challenges! My daughters started out in a Dutch daycare and later began in a Dutch public school. But of course we visit DH's family in Germany regularly and occasionally also make the trek back to the US, even managing a couple of Christmas visits. And of course our social circle includes not only Dutch, but many UK, Italian and other ex-pats from different countries.

So how do you explain to curious and intelligent children the differences in all the traditions and still keep the magic and wonderment of Christmas and the local traditions alive? How do you as a family teach some of your native culture to children when their friends are raised with a totally different tradition? The choices are sometimes hard and even heart-breaking. As a parent you don't want your children to be left out of the fun and you don't want to spoil things for them or their friends by debunking the whole drama. And surely SinterKlaas/Santa would not leave someone out just because they are from a different country/culture? But how do you explain that Sint comes on 5.December in the Netherlands, St. Nikolaus on 6.December in Germany, and Father Christmas and Santa Claus on 25.December in the UK and US? And what about their French and Italian friends, who comes to see them? Or is there a different one in every country? So why can't we celebrate 3 times with 3 times as many presents? Or if it's the same person, then why does he talk and dress so differently? And where is Zwarte Piet in the US?

In the Netherlands and in Germany, where exposure to US and UK culture has brought the man in the bright red suit with white fur trim to these countries, they refer to the visitor on 25.December as the "Christmas man" (Kerstman in Dutch, Weinachtsmann in German). He is not generally referred to as St. Nicholas or Santa Claus as these names are so obviously similar to Sankt Nikolaus and SinterKlaas. In the Netherlands they have gone so far as to pretend that Sint and Santa are competing against one another in some television commercials. In some families the story is that they are brothers, with Santa working in different countries and at times coming to visit Sint. This also explains why they look so much alike!

But neither of these explanations would completely satisfy my tri-lingual offspring who are tuned into the differences in the cultures. So in order to keep the myth and magic alive as long as possible in all the cultures they were exposed to, I thought up the following story, adding details as more questions came up through the years. It proved to be very effective as DD1 embellished some of the explanations as she tried to show off her knowledge of the whole affair to her less-informed younger sister! Any ex-pat families facing a similar dilemma are more than welcome to adopt this story into their family traditions.

Here is the story I have told my daughters through the years:

"You see SinterKlaas started coming over to the Netherlands from Spain a long, long time ago when he heard how good the Dutch children were from the sailors who visited his land. He brought along oranges and his faithful servant Zwarte Piet (Black Peter) and his wonderful white horse Amerigo. SinterKlaas saw that the Dutch children were so much fun, that he stayed to celebrate his birthday with them on 6.December. But instead of wanting presents, because he was such a generous and kind man, Sint wanted to give presents to the children. And thus the tradition was started of bringing presents to the Dutch children, riding around on his horse with Piet, and letting Piet climb down the chimney to put the presents beside the hearth. The soot from the chimneys made Piet even darker than he was, which is why he is now so black.

However, Sint learned quickly that not all the children in the Netherlands are nice, and some of them are quite naughty and don't deserve presents. For these children, Sint leaves a reminder that if they don't behave they will not get any presents. But how does he know which children are naughty and which ones are nice? Well, he comes with Piet to the Netherlands a couple of weeks early and starts to update his list. And Piet goes around peeking into windows and listening down chimneys to see if the children are behaving or if they are being rude to their parents or fighting with their brothers and sisters.

And the children through the years started leaving notes for Sint outside the door where they left their wooden shoes at night. They would ask for something special and thank Sint for their presents from the previous year. And sometimes they would leave him drawings and pictures because they know Sint really like such things and took them back to Spain with him to decorate his home there. And as thank you for the drawings Sint started leaving oranges and sweets for the children in their shoes.

However that was long ago, and since then there are a lot more children in the Netherlands, Sint started having to come the night before on 5.December so that by 6th December all the children in the Netherlands would have presents. And because he is magical, Sint made his horse and Zwarte Piet magical too, so that they are able to get into the smallest chimneys and fly up to the tallest roofs. But of course that is a lot of work, so the children started leaving carrots and hay for Amerigo, and sometimes even cookies or a cup of chocolate for Sint and Piet. And after a while it got to be too much for just one Piet, so Sint started to get more and more Piets to help out so that now each Piet has one special job and sometimes more than one Piet are tasked to do the same thing, like go around the markets and schools and see how the children are behaving. At some schools, the children even leave breakfast for the Piets who look into the teacher's records to see what they are saying about how the kids behave at school.

Now the children in some of the other countries also heard about Sint, and asked him to come to their country. So Sint and Piet also started visiting in Belgium. But the Piets did not know how to speak German and got lost on their first visit to Germany and had to ask a poor old farmer for help. This man, Ruprecht, was dressed in rags and a dark cloak and was a bit scary looking, but he was a good and honest man, and he helped Sint out in Germany. So ever since, Sint leaves the Piets to go back to Spain when he is through in the Netherlands, and on 6th December he comes to Germany and goes around with Knecht Ruprecht as his helper there. Knecht Ruprecht looks out in December for Sint to see which children have been naughty and nice in Germany. So the children in Germany should be aware when they see someone on the street in December who looks kind of raggedy and scary, as it might be Knecht Ruprecht who is taking notes! In Germany, they are a little more formal and maybe they don't know him so well, so they call him Sankt Nickolaus instead of his nickname Klaas.

After he finishes in Germany, Sint goes to some other countries in Europe bringing toys there. In each country he has a different helper because he needs someone who knows his way around and who speaks the language to help him out. And other countries also have different names for him and of course Sint speaks the language of each country he visits because he is a very clever man.

After Amerigo has jumped up to all the steep roofs in the Netherlands, he is pretty tired, so Sint lets him return to Spain with the Piets. But Sint uses a sleigh in Germany, which is especially useful in the places where there is lots of snow this time of year. In some other countries he gets around other ways, using a Vespa motorbike in the narrow streets of Rome and other cities in Italy and a donkey in the steep, winding village roads out in the countryside. And sometimes Sint has to change clothes because of the weather and because he wants to be recognized by the people there.

Of course the children in the UK and US also heard about Sint and wanted to celebrate as well. But by then Sint was so busy that even with all his magic he could not be everywhere at once for his birthday. So instead he decided to treat the children when they celebrate the birthday of Jesus on 25.December. So after he finishes his rounds in Europe, you start seeing him in the US and UK where he is making his lists of the naughty and nice children there. Because these are very big countries, Sint enlisted the help of some magical elves who have a workshop at the North Pole. There they make the toys that Sint then brings to the children. Only in the US they call him Santa which is "Sint" in English. And in the UK, they call him "Father Christmas", not because he was Jesus' father, but because he helped to make the Christmas holiday so special as it is today.

Because there are so many children in the US and UK, Santa or Father Christmas needs a magical sleigh to help him get around. And this is pulled by the flying reindeer that we have heard about. And even though there is a time difference between various parts of the US, Santa has to work very hard in order to get all the toys delivered by the morning of 25.December. So he wears more of a working uniform instead of the fancy clothes he usually wears in the Netherlands and Germany. And in some places like Florida and Arizona where it is so warm, he might even wear shorts and sandals!

So even though sometimes in the Netherlands they don't recognize Santa is Sint because he is dressed so different and they might hear him speaking English, we know he is the same person. And he of course knows you and that is why wherever you are, he will bring you presents. So if we are in Germany on 6th December, then Sankt Nikolaus will visit. And if we go to America for Christmas, then Santa will leave you a present there. Now it might night be very big, because he has already left you something on 5.December at your home in the Netherlands. But even if you have already gotten a present, you will still get something so that you know that Sint looks out for you wherever you are."

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Only 3 more days until Sint comes!!

Look for two more entries to come under this same title, including my first "Music Monday"!

Who is Coming to Your House? (Part II)

This post is part of a series I am writing to help my readers understand the difference between what is normally celebrated in the US during December vs the traditions one finds in the Netherlands and surrounding countries. But today is also ...
For more information and links about this great blogfun, visit 'Twas Brillig and company and have fun reading all their great stories. In keeping with the theme I am currently writing about, today I give you tales from my family's experience with SinterKlaas and his helpers.

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As I reported earlier, SinterKlaas is now in the Netherlands, and this legendary figure is also the source of the character we know in the US as "Santa Claus". Like the Saint Nicholas we know in the US, SinterKlaas is a benevolent old man who loves children and even though he wears the clothes of a bishop including the mitre and cape, his festival is celebrated all over the country by people of all religions, ages and backgrounds.

Although based on a real Archbishop of Myra, Turkey, who lived from 271 AD to December 6, 342 AD, part of the legend of today's SinterKlaas is that he is alive today and visits the Netherlands to celebrate his birthday! The other 11 months of the year he lives in Spain. So when he arrives in the Netherlands, you suddenly start seeing in the shops the "apples from Spain" which are actually oranges or mandarines. These are also popular treats given to children in their shoes which they place by the chimney or door along with a carrot or apple or hay for Sint's faithful steed Amerigo. Children also place their wishlists and drawings for SinterKlaas in their shoes. At times you will see Sint in the market in the center of town, accompanied by his faithful helpers (more about them in a later post). Children often line up to shake his hand and give him one of their drawings. And as SinterKlaas is a big fan of music and dancing, there is always a lot of that going on. I think there may be as many SinterKlaas songs as there are Christmas caroles! And every year there seems to be a new one added to the repertoire!

From the moment Sint and company arrive in the Netherlands, children have the opportunity to place their shoes every night by the door in the hopes of getting something (in some families he only comes on the weekends) Often this is a small treat, candy, sweet, piece of fruit, or toy. Sometimes it is something more useful such as school supplies, socks, a warm hat or gloves. But of course very special "SinterKlaas treats" are the pepernoten which are small, hard, round spice cookies (about the size of a large cherry). In flavor they are reminiscent of Gingersnaps or cinnamon cookies. Other treats are various marzipan sweets that come in all different shapes representing luck and various objects associated with this festival. And of course...chocolate. Remember the Dutch were the merchants who brought chocolate to the world, so of course this is an important part of the festival. Tradition has it that every child received a sweetbread that was shaped into the first letter of his or her name. But through the years this has slowly been replaced by chocolate letters in various manifestations. We have not only the typical milk chocolate, but also dark, white, hazelnut, mint, crispy, etc. And in families where the first names often have the same letters, the children often write to Sint to ask that their whole name be spelled out in chocolate letters (Sint doesn't usually go for this!)

In addition to the nightly visits to leave the smaller presents, on the day/afternoon/evening of 5.December, SinterKlaas often makes a personal visit to the children. Sometimes this occurs at school at a big party, sometimes at home in the presence of the assembled family. Of course to arrange such a visit, parents have to book months in advance! Most usually get a neighbor to put the sack of toys in front of the door and knock very loudly. For years we did this with our neighbors who had children older than ours.

One December 5th, when DD1 was 6 and DD2 3&1/2, I had my DH put them in the bath while I got the sack of toys out of the car and arranged for a neighbor to come and knock on our door. While I was outside, who should be walking down our street but SinterKlaas and one of his helpers! They had just finished a visit with one of our neighbors and were on their way to their next appointment. But as they saw me putting the sack by the door, they very kindly asked if they should knock for us!! Well of course! So I quickly got the kids out of the bath and into their robes in time to answer the door. And Sint and Piet brought in the sack and stayed for 5 minutes to take photos. Both girls were very reserved and shy, as I would expect them to be around any stranger. But what an impression! The whole experience was greatly expanded upon and embellished in the telling the next day at school. And of course especially as the presents they found in the sack were somehow exactly what they had wanted and asked Sint for and included some things they had not asked for but quickly fell in love with. The next year they were so excited during this period that every dark figure on the street must have been a Zwarte Piet.

But by the time DD1 was 8, she was starting to already have doubts about SinterKlaas. I had a very good and convincing story to cover the differences between SinterKlaas and Santa Claus (upcoming post), but some classmates at school and older children were telling her there was no such person and that it was the parents that brought the toys. That year I happened to be class Mom and therefore on the morning of 5.December I brought the girls to school and helped out at the party. Therefore I was at school the entire time.

So imagine their surprise when we returned home in the afternoon to find pepernoten and candy strewn throughout the hall, leading to a sack of toys in the living room! In fact, the trail went all the way up both sets of stairs into the top bedroom where I have my office. There were even candies on top of my desk in front of the window which was slightly open! The only possible explanation was that Sint and Piet had visited while we were out because there was no way anyone else could get onto the roof on the third floor and in through the window. And no one else would leave such a mess behind! And since my DH was traveling and did not return home until the evening, and the girls had seen me at school the entire day, the knew it could not have been their parents! So DD1 became a firm believer having hard evidence that she shared with anyone trying to convince her otherwise.

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Future blogs with this title will include more information about Sint vs Santa, Zwarte Pieten, my cover story for the cultural contradictions and my favorite recipe containing pepernoten!

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed...

And yet another installment of ....


I have been a bit heavy with my last story and I apologize here for this. But this time I flashback for another funny (true) tale from my past.

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While I have used this blog in the past to write about my wedding, I did not mention the adventure that involved the preparations for said day. And yes, this deserves its own SOS!

As I had mentioned, we got married in a civil ceremony in the city where my husband was born and where his family still lives. As neither of us is really into organized religion, we did not opt for the additional church wedding which is where the bride gets really decked out. However, since this was to be the only ceremony we planned, I wanted to wear something special for the day and as suits were a fairly common attire for me at work, I decided to wear a pretty dress. Great compromise, until I just could not find anything that really worked for me. Either too formal or too flashy or too casual. I decided I would wait until I got back to Texas to look for something there. As part of the planning, however, I indulged myself and picked up a German bridal magazine. While looking through it I found the perfect dress! A simple A-line, sleeveless shift with a lace cape overlay. And the magazine included the pattern for the dress!

Now I am not a seamstress, but knew that my Mom would help out and so this was the plan. The next good fortune came when I was walking over the local market and came across a stand selling the most beautiful bolts of lace. I fell in love with a simple cream-colored soft lace and bought the fabric on the spot. Back in Texas 3 weeks prior to the wedding I found matching cream-colored crepe for the dress and satin-like material for the lining and I was off. Now the comedy of errors that represents my sewing skills began. But I did not do too bad and only had about 3 meltdowns and tearful tantrums that required my mother's skills to rescue me. I am sure she rues the day she ever taught me to sew. But in the end it worked out fabulous.

How hard could it have been, you ask? Well, for you novices, crepe and satin are very hard to keep in place when cutting and sewing and tend to slip and slide all over the place. And both materials unravel like crazy so you have to be careful with the strings or else end up with bunches and pulls in the fabric (which I did on numerous occasions). And the pattern, while simple, had an elegant trick to it. The skirt had a "lily hem" which was shorter in the front, hitting just above my knee, and long in the back, dipping down to mid-calf. Trying to get both sides symmetrical was harder than it sounds. Oh, and of course the instructions were all in German!

The cape was also harder than it appeared to be initially. We're talking a circle with a cut on one side and a hole in the middle right? Wrong. It too was shorter in the front than in the back, which made it asymmetrical and called for very great care in cutting. I think I pinned the pattern six times before I started cutting. I even made a newspaper version that I tried on and adjusted before I took scissors to fabric. The cutting of lace is a nightmare in itself. And it had only two seams along the shoulders, but in order to sew it I had to use a layer of tissue paper in between and sew it together, then carefully tear out the tissue paper! AARRRGGGHH!! What had I gotten myself into? It finally got done and all that remained was to hand sew a thin satin ribbon around the neckline and add buttons and ribbon loops up the back. It was optional to add satin ribbon around the cut edges of the lace and so I left out that option. Dress finished!

Fast forward to the night before the wedding. When I looked at the dress hanging there I was not happy with the edges of the lace where it had been cut. So I decided to hand sew the ribbon along the edge. Now figuring that the radius of the cape was about 2 feet, that means 2piR is the length of the hem I would need. That's over 12 feet! In very poor light. The night before my wedding. I obviously had lost my mind!! But in fact it helped to calm the pre-wedding nerves and I actually finished by about 2AM.

As if that wasn't enough drama. My parents and I were staying in a hotel downtown while DH was with his family. As I was only in town for 2 nights and we were to return to Holland the day after the wedding, I only had a small suitcase with the basic necessities with me. And of course what I needed for the wedding. Following the tradition, I had "Something old" - a monogrammed lace handkerchief from my paternal grandmother who shares my first initial, "something new" - pretty new pearl earrings, "something borrowed" - I was going to wear my mother's fancy watch, "something blue" - a hand-sewn blue garter from my best friend back in Texas, "and a lucky penny for my shoe" - actually I had two, a US penny from the year I was born from my Dad and a new German pfennig from the year I got married provided by my future father-in.law.

I was all set...until the next morning. As I was packing light, I had thought to wear the bra I had been wearing the night before. Only when I got dressed for dinner I had decided that the black bra looked better under the dark outfit I was wearing. And I didn't pack a white one for under my wedding dress! Granted I was wearing a slip and the dress was lined, but still there was a shadow that I could see and I was afraid a strap might show as the dress was sleeveless. CRISIS!!

My Mom to the rescue. She had an extra white bra with her and while I am shaped very differently, it still worked well enough! And in the rush I forgot to put on her watch. So guess what my "something borrowed" was!!!

I don't usually do pictures, but this result deserves to be seen!

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For more lovely SOS Tales, please check out our hostess this week Jenn-In-Holland at Something to Say:About Life in the Netherlands. And for previous and future installments, be sure and look at 'Twas Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe who surely deserve the blame credit for starting this addictive fun!

Pitiful Parents Anonymous

Yes the SOS players now have button! 'Twas Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe have outdone themselves in their efforts to provide us a place to play on Sundays. Need to know more? You can visit them or this week visit our Soapy Hostess Thalia's Child. Don't miss out on the fun!!

My post this week is about a real-time Soap Opera. This might end up being an on-going story for some time, but I hope it won't have weekly updates!!

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"Good afternoon. I'd like to welcome you all to Pitiful Parent Anonymous. Our first speaker today is Fourier.Analyst."

"Hi, my moniker is FA and I'm the parent of an OCD child. It has been about 12 hours since my last meltdown with her."

"Hi FA", the group responds.

"It is so hard watching your child struggling with something you don't understand and can't imagine. You can't protect them. You can't make it better. No amount of tears or hugs, no amount of understanding or patience, no amount of long, calm (as possible) discussions, nothing leads to any answers, solutions, or relief. And even when you finally acknowledge this is out of your hands and needs to be dealt with by a professional, you are given the information that it might never be really fixed. And that the process to discover what might work will be long and full of dead ends and solutions that don't work.

And so you go on with daily life, trying to get back to some sort of normalcy. But then that unfortunately includes the everyday nagging that seems to cause so much stress. Still, you maintain the requirements of clean clothes everyday, some semblance of body hygiene, regular semi-healthy meals, rudimentary efforts at keeping the chaos out of the living room and the rest of the house, a daily effort at doing homework and an occasional stab at clearing a space in your child's bedroom. And with these come the expected adolescent temper tantrums and vocal responses that grate on nerves and stretch parental patience.

Moans and complaining sessions over coffee with other Moms tell you that this is typical behaviour, but you know that there is a difference. The level of hysteria that comes from a simple question or request is beyond a "normal" response. The escalation into screaming fits, and destruction of property, followed by sullen silences and hiding and the discovery of more wads of hair from an already brutalized head, no, this is not normal. But I'm tired of crying every day, and am sure to do so if I talk about it any further. And so I just nod and sigh and drink my tea without going into further details.

My close friends know the gory details. We hug and cry together, laugh when possible and change the subject when it all just gets to be too much. I'm smart enough to know this is not all my fault, despite how much she tries to tell me it is. I know she doesn't really hate me, though this is very hard to believe when she is screaming it with such conviction. I know she doesn't want to leave home, though I fully expect running away from home to be one of the next escalations of the pattern of behaviour. And I know she doesn't want me to leave and would be sorry if I suddenly died and regret forever her last words to me.

It is taking its toll on the whole family, but most of all on me. My own Fibromyalgia illness makes my body very ill-suited to handling the stress chemicals that are released so often. I am in physical pain for so much of the time that I don't even notice anymore unless it steps up a level. Everyday tasks leave me exhausted and while exercise is the best medicine for me, I can hardly get the strength to get the kids where they need to be and can't even face the prospect of a workout. I am on the verge of tears so much of the time I don't dare face gym buddies I have not seen for a while who would certainly ask how I am and where I've been. And I have been known to have to leave in the middle of yoga class, on days when things were going fairly well, to cry in the bathroom just from the release of tension from holding myself together that I was not even aware of.

So it is a daily struggle that I am resigned will result in more of the same. We are currently on the merry-go-round of specialists who can advise on the treatment that is needed. But it is a slow process in an already over-burdened medical system. She's not yet considered a real danger to herself, though she is clearly on that path if we don't intervene soon. So we have another appointment next week to be followed by a course therapy and very likely a referral and another period of waiting before we finally get on the pharmaceutical roller-coaster and hopefully eventually find some stability.

The hardest part for me as a parent is not the current reality, though I am struggling with that burden. But knowing that this is an ongoing problem that my beautiful child will struggle with for the rest of her life. It is not how I imagined her future and while I know that for the most part she will have a normal, happy life, I worry about the periods of torment. These are the thoughts that keep me from sleep. These are the fears that tear at my heart. These are the struggles that make me shake my fist at fortune and curse the gods who have placed such a trial on one so innocent and full of promise. And at the times when I have exhausted myself with of these thoughts and finally manage quieten my mind, the small "I told you so" voice comes out reminding me of the doubts I had about my ability to be a good mother.

I know I am in the middle of the "grief process". I have battled through the denial of the problem and acknowledged that this is out of my hands and needs professional help. I have raged the "Why me?/Why her?/What did we do wrong?" theme to until it no longer needs asking and I know that there are no answers. I have negotiated all the various efforts to make things better and tried to let things go on without any parental intervention until I realized that this was only leading to more chaos in her life and more stress in mine. There is no bargaining with this condition. It will not wait until after test week or take a break during family vacations. It is here and now. I guess I've reached the stage of depression. It all looks bleak and scary ahead and I am just very, very sad.

But on the other side of this will be acceptance and I'm working towards this. There are worse problems in the world. And I am amazed to hear from other women I admire and believe are living examples of "SuperMom" that they too have been down this path and there is hope and help on the way. So I tell you this tale of my struggle to cope one day at a time and more than ever how fiercely I say the prayer that closes every PPA meeting:"

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.

"The Serenity Prayer" by Reinhold Niebuhr

It's Not Easy Being Green...

Today is Soap Opera Sunday, and Monday when a lot of us do our blog reading is Blog Action Day, so I thought I would take advantage of the regular readership and combine my post for these two great actions (and maybe generate some new S.O.S. readers in the process!). For those of you unfamiliar with S.O.S., please check out the blog of 'Twas Brillig for the rules and other links (our other hostess Walking Kateastrophe is sitting out this week). They are (in)famous for the "recycling" of various tales of romance, drama, heartbreak, mayhem, and various (environmentally friendly) sudsy tales and provide all the links on their blogs. And for those of you unaware of Blog Action Day, this action co-ordinates bloggers around the world to think and write about a single important topic. In this, its inaugural year, the topic is the environment. And what, dear S.O.S. readers, could be so dramatic about the environment that it would generate such a soapy tale? Just read on...

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Several years ago when DD1 was in the Dutch equivalent of first grade, her class got involved in a project to help "Save the Environment" and each child came home with a contract that they were to sign that committed them and their family to doing one extra thing for a whole month to reduce the amount of waste that their family contributes to the environment. While this sounds like a great principle, it created a major dilemma for us as we were already doing almost everything we could to reduce the amount of waste we generate. The contract came with a few simple examples that we had already been following for years:

• Paper recycling - including the brochures and free newspapers, old envelopes, receipts and financial papers that have been shredded, etc. We even took this a step further and re-used gift wrap at least once before putting it in the old-paper bin for recycling. And already for 2 years we had been supplying the school with "scrap paper" for drawing, etc. as my husband collected the cover-sheets from computer printouts at work which had only 3 lines on one side of the paper!
• Glass recycling - food jars, wine bottles, cosmetics containers, etc. Again, we had been doing that for years. And taken it even further by re-using glass jars for leftover sauces and condiments in the fridge. And I had the previous month supplied the school with 2 dozen small jars of similar size and shape for use in one of their art projects!
• Composting - putting coffee grounds, potato peels, banana skins, with leaves and grass cuttings to be decomposed and used on the garden. In our village, every other week the "brown bin" is collected where all the decomposable waste can be put in. And every summer there is an announcement telling the families when they can pick up their 2 free bags of fully decomposed compost mulch for use in their gardens. We have always been very conscious about what we put in the compost bin and this container is usually fuller than the regular trash bin collected on the alternate weeks.

But the idea of the project was to do something more. I wrote a nice letter to her teacher explaining how we were already doing all that we knew how to do and the next afternoon received an even nicer note with a few suggestions of additional things that she thought we could do:

• Clothes and textile recycling - at various locations there are containers that accept clothes, shoes, linens, etc that are re-used, recycled or turned into rags. First of all, our family is a big proponent of hand-me-downs. My kids grew up loving to get clothes their cousin or older friends had worn. And when they were small, I shopped the second-hand stores for many of their jeans, jackets and playtime wear. And I have never thrown any item of clothing away if it could potentially be re-used by someone. Even old sheets and dishtowels become rags and floor clothes. And I have a pile of jeans and T-shirts that are used for patching knees and will eventually become a quilt (following my grandmother's tradition). The final stop for any clothes that cannot really be re-used is the recycle container where they can be turned into rags or filler.
  
• Books - Holland has a number of second-hand stores that accept books. Books that are damaged can also be put in the old paper recycling containers. You should realize I have trouble parting with any of my books and my children have inherited this pack-rat tendency. And I am very familiar with the local second-hand bookstores as I shop there regularly and have on occasion also sold them books. In other words, we do not throw away books. We even pass magazines on to friends and others we share with the school for use in their crafts.
• Toys - Many playthings are that are still in good condition can be donated to charity organizations for re-sale. Again, been there, done that. In fact, I am greeted by name at the local toy re-sale shop. The love getting the US toys and English language books as it offers something different they can sell in their shop!

We were at a loss for an additional idea. We already recycled the water we used for boiling eggs and used it for watering plants. We save our dish washing and clothes washing for evenings and weekends when the electricity and water burden on the networks are less and costs are lower. We have always used environmentally friendly cleaning products. We carpool and bike when possible. And we even took recycling a step further. I have always been known at school as the "Mom to go to for help with crafts". I have collected small bottles and plastic lids, glass containers, toilet and paper towel rolls, photo film canisters, CD's, wooden popsicle sticks, plastic shopping bags, buttons, fabric scraps, even an old mosquito net that has been cut up and used for several different costumes. We rarely use plastic or aluminum foil and almost never buy canned soft drinks or tins of vegetables. We even collect the plastic covers that our magazines come in and use them for storing small items such as toys, rubber bands, etc. A couple kept in the pocket or purse are handy for use at the market when buying vegetables and the standholders are happy to not have to provide them. And plate of leftovers can be stored in the fridge overnight inside one of these bags. I have two collapsible bags with handles in my purse that I use when shopping. I have given a number of them as birthday and Christmas gifts. My kids take their own drink containers to school and I buy fruit juice in larger bottles that are returnable.

And we have always been very careful about chemical waste. Used batteries are stored for when the "Chemical Car" comes to collect about once every two months. This vehicle, operated by the village, also collects any old household rest products such as paint, cleaning fluid, insecticides, aerosol spay cans, old medicines, and small electrical appliances and disposes of them responsibly. We have always used re-chargeable batteries or used an adapter instead of disposable batteries. And vinegar is one of my favorite cleaning products for cleaning glass and removing grease! Where possible we use CFC light bulbs and we turn off lights and electrical appliances when not in use. We use cloth hand towels instead of paper and coffee mugs instead of disposable cups (even at work!).

We have even adapted our gift-giving as often times there is really nothing we need or want and it is difficult to find something to send overseas friends and family. So instead we have a number of websites (listed here) where we can give to a charity in someone's name and they will receive a card describing their gift and how it helps. DD1 loved "adopting" a dolphin one year. One of my favorite gifts from my last birthday was a goat!

In other words, we have always been a very ecologically conscious family and have adapted our lifestyle as far as possible to try and live what we believe in. So when this project came along, it created a major drama (appropriate for S.O.S.) in our family to try and come up with something more we could do to meet the requirements of the contract our daughter wanted to sign and set a good example for her. She was in floods of tears at the thought of being the only one who could not put down something on the contract and my explanation that we were probably the most ecologically-minded family at the entire school did nothing to comfort her! Finally a search on the internet turned up a new (old) idea: re-using eggshells! My husband then remembered his grandmother used to do this!

Almost every Sunday, we each have one or two eggs. And until then we had been putting the eggshells in the brown bin with the other compost. But I read that eggshells were a good way of adding a natural calcium fertilizer to the soil, and this was a good way to help prevent the moss from growing in the garden. All you need to do is dry the eggshells and grind them down to a fairly fine powder...

So this was our solution. We bought a small metal mortar and pestle and it became DD1's task to grind up the shells for use in the garden. Our solution was well-received by her teacher and classmates and in later years when she was in the throes of the "Harry Potter" craze she referred to this task as her "Potions" homework! And we have noticed a significant reduction of moss in our garden!

It's not a big thing, but it is one more small thing that allowed us to need less fertilizer for the grass and still have a nice lawn. And it made my daughter happy! But Kermit did know what he was talking about with the song "It's Not Easy Being Green..."!

I hope I have in some small way helped you to think about the environment and ways you too can "Reduce your footprint"! And I wish you all a great S.O.S. and Blog Action Day!

Newbie Parents' First Night

There has been various talk of children, babies, diapers, etc. on some of the blogs I regularly read, so I was inspired this week to tell one of my favorite diaper experiences. And yes, as are all my Soap Opera Sunday stories, this is very true. New to this blog and don't know what an S.O.S. story is? Well you are in for a treat if you will just hop over to either 'Twas Brillig or Walking Kateastrophe, and follow their links to all the other players and their sudsy tales! Other of my tales are found under the S.O.S label on this page.

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Prior to the birth of DD1, I did what every professional woman does I am sure, and bought a number of baby books and read up on the experience. I also visited the new Moms in my neighborhood, oohed and aahed over their offspring, and listened to stories of deliveries and doctors visits. I talked to girlfriends with children and heard how their lives had changed, and knew it would be the same for me. I was as prepared as was theoretically possible.

I entered into my final month of pregnancy feeling strong and confident and looking forward to the remaining 3-4 weeks, knowing that the "due date" was not an exact science and fully expecting my firstborn to procrastinate coming into the hard, cold world as long as possible. After all, her father was a world champion procrastinator and had not yet set up the baby bed and rest of the furniture.

So of course, our little bundle of joy/frustration/surprise set the pattern of contrariness which she continues to follow (her 12th birthday was Friday), and was born 3 weeks early! I don't really have a horror story so cannot really participate in the great Gyno-Fest "From Behind the Stir-Ups" that is currently being hosted by our lovely 'Twas Brillig and Amy from the Butrfly Garden. Childbirth in the Netherlands is considered a natural experience and over half of all births are in the home. I read one year the percentage was a high as 77%! And the Netherlands ranks as one of the countries with the lowest infant mortality in the world. So while you may see your OB/GYN for pre-natal care and check-ups, you can also book with a mid-wife and see her at the same time. And insurance will cover the costs for both! The theory is that if something goes wrong with the home birth, you would have a back-up and your records would be in the hospital system in case you had to deliver there. And encouraging home births is cheaper for the insurance companies and they are no fools! As an alternative, you can choose to deliver in the hospital but you are not required to stay for any longer than is medically indicated! (Flash to the future, DD2 was born around 3 AM and I was home with her be 10 AM. It would have been sooner but I had to call and wake up hubby to come back and get me!). But I digress...

DD1 was a "complete breach" birth, which means she was born butt first with her feet up by her ears. (I told you she was contrary!) She was a vaginal birth, no Cesearean, which horrified my mother to learn about, but I was very pleased. (Again, the Netherlands has a fairly low rate of C-sections as they are used only when deemed medically necessary!) Due to a potential lung infection and the fact that she was a breach birth and "early", not premature, but not a good birthweight, they kept us both in the hospital for 2 nights.

Finally we were released home on a Saturday morning and were visited shortly afterwards by the "kraamhulp". This is a home nurse who comes everyday for up to 10 days after the baby's birth. Her duties are to look after the mother and child, taking temperature and blood pressure, monitoring how much they both sleep and eat, and excrete and noting this in the charts. She also does light housekeeping and cleaning, prepares meals for the mother and any young children, changes and bathes the baby, helps teach these skills and aids with nursing and feeding the baby and getting both mother and child settled into their new routine. She is present for the first doctor's home visit and reports on any problems she has noticed. And in general helps give new parents the information and training they need in caring for their newborn.

After our helper, Jenny, had visited and helped us change the diaper, we were left to the first afternoon and evening at home as a "family". As DD1 had been a bit jaundiced and was still a rather low birth weight, we were cautioned to notice and make sure that she was nursing enough and urinating regularly. So after the first time of nursing her by myself (success!) we both went upstairs to change her diaper. And we found that it was completely dry. No worries, so we put her to bed and a couple of hours later she was crying again to be fed (we started on a 3-4 hour schedule). Everything went smoothly, but again, the diaper was completely dry. Now the inexperienced motherly concern is coming on. But I did not let myself panic until after the next time I nursed her. Still the diaper was dry. By now it is midnight and I am not about to sleep through the night without getting her checked out by a doctor. My husband's cooler head prevailed and instead of rushing us off to the hospital, he had me call the night service of our family doctor. The doctor on the phone listened to my rundown of DD1's birth and history, and the list of the complications including the jaundice, and concerns and my description of the problem as my voice cracked from the barely controlled rising hysteria I felt.

The doctor listened patiently and then asked me what kind of diaper we were using, cloth or disposable? "Disposable." I replied. "Well," he said," In my experience, these new disposable diapers are so efficient that they may seem to be perfectly dry when in fact, they have absorbed quite a bit of fluid. Take a fresh diaper and put it on the baby scale and weigh it. Then weigh the diaper you have just taken off the baby. If there is more than 100 grams of difference, you can be assured that your baby's kidneys are functioning as they should be. If not, call me back and I will make a house call."

Of course, there was no house call necessary. Funny, how all the books and preparations still did not cover this "emergency"! I don't think I have ever felt more stupid!

Happy Weekend and enjoy the rest of the S.O.S. stories!

Pistol-Packin' Mimmaw...NOT!

Now we all know that every good Soap Opera series has a gun storyline in it. So this week I thought I would oblige with a true story about my maternal grandmother! Don't know what Soap Opera I'm talking about. Well you just have to tune into 'Twas Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe to find out and read the other stories that make this sudsy game so much fun!

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The Panhandle Plains of Texas is a lonely country, even in this day and age. Nighttime photos from outerspace show very little light pollution, except along a couple of major highways. Daytime driving often means miles and miles with no other vehicle on the road.

In the Depression era, this part of the state was even emptier. Farms were large and spread out and required neighbours and hired help during work-intensive periods to get various jobs done. But in-between times the daily chores were ususally managed by one man and his wife and kids. Such was the case with my grandparents. My grandmother's day was full of the kinds of chores that women these days cannot even imagine. There was no telephone or television. And at that time they only had a generator to operate the water well pump and provide electricity. No microwave. No refrigerator! Not even a gas stove! Miss Ruby, as all the folks called her, did her canning and preserving and cooking on a wood-burning stove.

At some point during this time, my grandfather had to take the cotton harvest to be ginned (have the fibers removed from the seeds and husks) and sold. He would be gone for about a week. As the time for him to leave approached he became more nervous about leaving his wife and 2 young children alone on the farm. He'd heard news from neighboring farms about drifters passing through and stealing from these isolated homesteads. A loaded shotgun was always kept behind the door in case of "snakes and varmints" (four-legged as well as two-legged varieties). But Daddy Rob was going to be taking the shotgun with him on his trip, a necessary precaution as he would be carrying cash for selling the cotton crop.

Miss Ruby was not worried. She was very independent and had traveled many a road and spent many a night alone on the farm. But the day before he left Daddy Rob came home from a trip to town with a small pistol. And argument ensued. One of few between my grandparents (that we know about anyway). Miss Ruby was not having such a gun in her house. End of discussion. But Daddy Rob was insistent. He was trying to show her how safe it was and demonstrate how to shoot it. He emptied the bullets from the pistol chamber and then showed her how to stretch out her arm and lock her elbow to steady the gun. Miss Ruby was adamant. She was not having the gun in her house. But Daddy Rob persisted. "It's perfectly safe", he said, lowering his arm, "See",and he pulled the trigger to show her how easy it was to fire.

The gun went off. One round was still in the barrel. It left a small hole through the wooden floor of the kitchen. Miss Ruby did not say a word. Neither did Daddy Rob. He left the house with the pistol which was never seen again. His trip was uneventful as was Miss Ruby's week without him. The subject of a gun in the house never came up again.

But for the remainder of the time they lived in that house, Miss Ruby refused to let him fix the hole in the floor!

Hot Wheels!

Now you might not think that the experience of getting a new car is something that would not fall in the category of "Soap Opera Sunday". Ah dear readers, you would be mistaken. And after you have read through this drama, be sure and check out the other stories found in this weekly event sponsored by the lovely 'Twas Brillig and the ever charming Walking Kateastrophe.


I had recently moved back to Texas and was enjoying the financial freedom that came with my new professional career as an electronic engineer. Maybe it was the influence of all the testosterone that came from working in a primarily male environment. Maybe it was the effect of the California lifestyle. Or maybe it was just that I needed a flash car to go with my sexy status of single female professional. Whatever the influence, I decided I needed a new car, and by "new" I meant brand new. You see up to this point there was no one in my immediate family who had ever purchased a "brand new" vehicle. Yes we had bought cars that were new to us, but usually they were "gently used". And all the vehicles I had owned and driven were "less-than-gently used". I wanted something new. I wanted something fast. I wanted something hot. And I finally could actually afford it!

So I did my research (this was prior to the Internet). I poured over Consumer Reports. I searched through car magazines. I visited the new car exhibits at the Texas State Fair. And I fell in love. She was a Camero Berlinetta




And of course I had to go for the full sports package with spoiler, etc. Now you need to realise that a sports car does not count as a sports car if it is an automatic. Plus the automatics were not rated very highly in the consumer tests. I visited several different car lots and did not find the one I wanted or in the color I preferred. So I calculated what price I should have to pay, and went to the larger dealership in the area and ordered exactly what I wanted. A 5-speed, V-8, 5-liter, sports package in metallic beige with dark brown interior. I probably paid several hundred more than I should have, but it was a reasonable price and I did this all by myself. It would be about +6 weeks before I could pick up my new car, but I knew it would be worth the wait.

I enjoyed the build up by "talking shop" with the guys at work. When I described what I had ordered and pulled out the brochure, they were all impressed. Various options were compared and discussed, the merits of the Berlinetta vs. the Z-28, 4-liter vs. 5-liter, etc. In the end I received the grudging admiration and some little bit of envy from my colleagues. Finally the day came to pick up my car.

Up to this point I had been driving a loaner from my Dad. An automatic Ford station wagon that had seen better days. But it got me where I needed to be, if I remembered to keep adding a can of oil every 2 weeks. It had been about 8 years since I had driven a standard transmission, but I figured I would pick it up again quickly. I had even taken a test drive in a similar model and had done fine. So after receiving the call that my car was ready, I went by and picked up my brother and we drove to pick up my car. The plan was to pick up the Camero and both of us drive over to my Dad's to show off my new baby!

My brother accompanied me on the inspection of the car, pointing out a missing screw and a few minor details that were noted on the record for the first servicing. After signing the final papers, I was handed the keys and I drove my lovely new toy very carefully off the parking lot. The take-off was a little rough initially, but I got it in gear, though in truth it helped that the parking lot exit was an incline that allowed me to coast into first gear. My brother followed behind and we managed to make it through the downtown without even having to stop. I barely even got it out of third gear.

Just outside the city limit, I caught the first red light. It was long and therefore the car was at a complete stop before the light turned green. And as is to be expected, as I tried to engage the gear, the car stalled. I was not flustered and started the car and tried again. And again. And again. And again. And then the light changed. So we waited through the next red light and I tried very carefully again. The car jerked forward, and stalled. By this time the guy in the car behind my brother hit his horn and changed lanes and sped on by with various colorful descriptions of my driving style being uttered at the top of his voice. I tried again. And the light changed again. Once again it turned green and I very carefully got the car in gear and it moved about 3 feet before it died.

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw my brother in the car behind me, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and shaking his head. I got out of the car and handed him the keys...

Needless to say he left me in the dust as he worked the kinks out of my little speedwagon. My Dad never failed, whenever he was around someone who admired my car, to tell the story of the first ride home. Of course the fact that my legs were barely long enough to push the stupid clutch petal all the way to the floor to disengage the transmission before they got it corrected, and that it took three service visits requiring clutch adjustments before the gear engagement was considered optimal, are conveniently left out of the "typical woman driver" story!

Nonetheless, I did love that car. And she does feature in future SOS stories...!

One Step at a Time...

This is Part V of my series for Soap Opera Sunday (go to these links for Part I, Part II, Part III and Part IV). Thanks go to 'Twas Brillig and WalkingKateastrophe for the inspiration to set up such a great forum for blog writers to share their stories. You can find a variety of entertainment every Sunday when you check out their links!

Finally the end of the story. I'd love for it to be as dramatic and heroic as it deserves to be, but in truth I could not have done it any different at the time. There were many small steps and some big ones. And while it took several years to get to this point, getting out of it happened faster than I had imagined possible. That is why this portion of the story has so much detail and I don't consider it my best writing. But for me it is important to point out all the small steps that led to the conclusion. I truly believe there are others who are also stuck in problems that seem impossible to solve. But like any big project, it can be accomplished one step at a time...

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I had to get away. ... But where to go? (The first step.)

While getting the cash that I had put aside, I noticed on the desk the recent bill from the department store where we had an account. Along with the bill was a flyer announcing their new travel department with special air fares. One caught my eye - Phoenix for only $79 round trip! A plan formulated in my head. I could go and see my Air Force buddy! I immediately got on the phone to him, but there was no answer. It was still late afternoon on a Thursday and he might not be home. So I called the number listed for the travel department and got a very friendly young woman who was happy to look up routes and give me the travel information I needed. Friday was a holiday and there were no flights then but there was a flight leaving that evening in 2 hours and the airport was only a half-hour away. And yes I could pay with credit card and pick up the tickets at the airport! The only problem was that the Sunday return flight was fully booked but I could return early Monday morning. I took a deep breath and booked the flight. I couldn't think any further than that. It just seemed the right thing to do. (The second step.)

So I followed my impulse, and got my things and got in the car to go to the airport. On the way, I started having doubts. My dad's apartment was on the way to the airport, and again, on impulse I drove by and saw his car there. I parked and went to see him. I told him I was going away for the weekend and that I was on my way to the airport. He offered to drive me so that I wouldn't have to pay any parking fees. I hadn't even thought about paying for the parking! I really did not plan anything! I thanked him and we got in the car and drove to the airport. On the way, my Dad asked a few questions, but he never brought up BF. I learned later that he could see the mark on my cheek where I had been hit and that was all he needed to know. At the airport, he said I could call him at work if I needed a ride home, and that if I could to let him hear from me during the weekend so he'd know I was okay. And he handed me $20. He called it "Emergency money." Tears welled up in my eyes but I could not give in to crying or I wouldn't make my flight. I picked up my tickets and got on the flight. (The next step.)

Once airborne, again I had time to start to think about what I was doing, and how crazy and impulsive it was. I was again on the verge of tears when the flight attendant came by with soft drinks. She must have noticed how upset I was because the next time she walked by she stopped and leaned over and handed me a bottle of white wine. She said it was left over from first class and would I like it. I thanked her and took it. I did not usually drink anything and since I had eaten little that day, the alcohol went straight to my head. I relaxed and felt suddenly at peace with myself, something that I had not felt for a long time.

In what seems like no time at all, we were arriving in Phoenix. I got my bag and went to a phone to call my friend. No answer. I thought I would give it some more time, but now really was becoming aware of what I had gotten myself in to. I went outside to enjoy the fresh air and sat on my suitcase a little ways from the entrance. Every 15 minutes I would go inside and try to call again. In between I would people watch. About a half hour after I had started this routine, another young woman came out carrying her suitcase and wiping her eyes. I watched her as she walked away and sat down on her suitcase on the other side of the door. The next time I made my phone call, she brought her case over to where I was with mine and asked if I would mind watching it while she made a phone call. I said not at all.

Over the next hour we exchanged stories of how we found ourselves stranded at the airport. Her long-distance boyfriend was supposed to be picking her up, but was by now almost 2 hours late. And she could not reach him (Remember, this is in the days before cell phones!) When her friend did show up a short while later, the sun was already going down, and I was starting to realize I needed to make other arrangements. The boyfriend kindly offered to drop me off, and I asked if he knew of a cheap hotel close to the airport. He said he did and I got in to go with them. My new acquaintance Cathy vetoed the first hotel when she saw the state of the pool (apparently a major indicator of quality in the western states!). The next one however was family friendly and so they helped me check in. It was even having a special 3-nights-for-the-price-of-2, which I went ahead and accepted. By this time I was really starting to doubt spontaneous decision to depart. The boyfriend, Bill, then insisted on taking us out to dinner and Cathy would not take no for an answer.

We went to a nice Italian restaurant and I was captivated by the interaction between Cathy and Bill. Cathy was really pissed at Bill for being so late. He in turn had a good excuse as he'd had a flat tire in the midst of a big traffic jab. Phoenix was undergoing a mass exodus of folks going away for the long weekend. And the spare for the sports car he drove was no suitable for the drive to and from the airport, so he had to stop and get the tire repaired and replaced before he could pick her up. He'd called the airport and had her paged, but she of course could not hear it while she was outside. Cathy was still pissed and raving at him, and Bill was understanding and gentle and let her go on without any angry reaction on his part. Eventually she calmed down and it was all good between them. I was amazed to see how well he understood her and how anger was just not something they let mess up their relationship. Watching them like this, I realized that this was something I was desperately missing in my life. I needed to be accepted as I was and not bullied and raged at. And I needed to be able to get angry and let off steam when I was frustrated without being fearful of the consequences. (Another step.)

They dropped me off at the hotel, giving me both their phone numbers and making me promise to call if I needed anything or was in Phoenix or Los Angeles (where Cathy lived) again. After making another phone call to my Air Force buddy (R), I went to my room. I closed the door and when I went into the bathroom I noticed myself in the mirror. This was the first time in possibly more than a week that I had really looked at myself. I was shocked at what I saw. Even making allowance for the horrible fluorescent lighting, there was no doubt I was in bad shape. My skin was pale and sallow, there was a dark bruise under one eye that spread down my cheek, my hair was limp, as was my posture. But worst of all, my eyes had a haunted look that made me almost not be able to even recognize myself. I was repelled and frightened by what I saw. I knew then, very clearly, and almost for the first time, something had to change. (A big step!)

Falling asleep that night, I realized that this would be the first time since my car accident that I had really been by myself. The next morning it hit me very clearly in the form of a small panic attack. I was alone. No one really knew where I was. I was in a strange bed in a strange city and had just spent a night by myself. This was something I had not done for 3-and-a-half years! But just as the panic started to rise and threaten to take over all my thoughts, a voice in my head said "So?" And I stopped. I realized that I had survived the night, that I still knew who I was and where I was, and that it did not matter if anyone else knew because I did. (Another big step!)

And then the tears came. I spent the day on an emotional rollercoaster. At one point I called BF who then raged at me, demanding to know where I was and that I come home immediately. I told him that things between us had to change and that I would come back when I felt I could trust him not to hurt me again. (A very big step!) He was even more furious and started to threaten and scream even more. I hung up and did not call back. I called my Dad to let him know I was okay and said I would call again when I was coming home. And then I went out to sit beside the pool and did not talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

Changes were taking place that I almost could not cope with. While it felt good to be quiet and alone, something I had not realized how much I had missed, it was also very scary. I don't really know why, but probably some of the leftover memories of getting lost right after my accident had something to do with it. But slowly through the day I felt better. Again I think the brain cannot really handle being afraid and being brave at the same time. It had to choose one course of action, and this time I chose to be brave. When I had really made that choice consciously, then from that point on I wasn't afraid again. And ever since, I have rarely been afraid of anything (except spiders!).

I took a walk and ended up being out for hours, almost getting lost. But it didn't worry or scare me this time. I reveled in the beauty of the desert city I had never seen before, marveled at the glorious sunset, and was enormously pleased that I was able to find my way back to the hotel by watching the planes landing at the airport! Another call to R still went unanswered. I spent another night alone, and slept in perfect peace. (A small step.)

Saturday came and went without my speaking to another soul. I had bought a novel that I read without really engaging my brain. I lounged by the pool, took a nap, took another walk, watched TV, and then took another walk out into the dark desert to see the stars. I must have been there for hours as I was quite cold when I finally came back. I went to bed without even trying to reach R. (A small step.)

I spent Sunday again with some emotional ups and downs. There is something to be said for being trapped with yourself for a period of time that you can't alter. There was no going back that day for me, even though at times I had in mind to do so and accept whatever BF chose to do to me. But by the time the sun started to set, I was calm and determined and not about to go back to how things were. (Another step.)

What is important to say here is that while was not going to accept the way things had been, I had not decided to walk away from BF or my marriage. These were small steps towards independence. If anyone had told me that in taking them I was asking for a divorce, I might not have made them. I could not think that far ahead. I could only deal with the present. It's an important distinction because fear of the future is what traps so many women in bad relationships. And if I had looked down the road at my own long-term future, it would not have been a path I could have followed at the time. Instead I was looking at just what was ahead and around the next corner and no further. Just like on horses, these emotional blinders kept me on the path and unafraid. I sometimes think that counselors at women's shelters fail to realize how important it is to focus on the small steps and let the big ones come of their own accord.

At around 8 PM, I made one more call to try and reach R. I realize now how the Fates were looking out for me in so many ways. His news came as a shock. He had been away in Las Vegas with an old friend of ours who was now also living near Phoenix - my ex-boyfriend (X). They had just returned and were surprised and thrilled to know I was in town. Because I was leaving the next morning, they decided to come over right away and get me. When I hung up the phone I was stunned.

I had not thought about X since the day before my wedding when I had to throw all his letters and memorabilia in the trash. I had not heard from him or known how to get in touch. R had mentioned something about it when I first talked to him, but I didn't have any information and did not think about it any further. In 20 minutes they were both there in front of me and all the emotions and silliness of our high-school days came flooding back. We went to X's apartment and drank wine and talked late into the night. X had to work the next day so he went to bed. R and I stayed up and talked further and he probed gently about my home situation. I wasn't ready to talk about it, so he let it rest. However, he had the next day off and convinced me to call the airline and see if I could get my flight changed. Thank goodness for 24-hr. customer service at airlines! It was possible for no extra charge, and so I postponed my return until Tuesday afternoon. (Another step!)

I slept on the couch, R in a sleeping bag on the floor (tough Air Force soldier!). We got up with X before he left and had breakfast together. X was very pleased I was staying over another night, and when I didn't notice had a quiet word with R to arrange to be alone with me that evening. I spent the rest of the day with R, touring around Phoenix, visiting the base where he was stationed, talking about flying and his career plans, and finally what I was going to do. I said I wanted to finish my degree, especially as I was getting so close to finishing, but after that I had not thought about anything. R would not accept this. He started lecturing me as only a close friend can. And by the end of the day he had helped me to figure out how to pick up my old dream of becoming an astronaut. (Another big step!) When we met up with X later that day, R then said he had to take off, but would call me before I left for the airport.

Suddenly I was alone with X, and while everything had been easy and comfortable when R was around, I was now nervous. We went out to dinner and when we came back we went for a walk. It took a while of small talk and awkward silences, but finally X blurted out that he had never stopped loving me and wanted to know how I felt about him. I guess knew on some level this was coming, but still I did not know what to say. I had talked the previous evening about the car accident, but I had not really gone into the memory loss or how it had affected me. When we got back to his apartment, I told him the rest of the story, outlining what I have told in this blog. I left out the abuse, but he could pick up on some of it from what I said and how I acted. And then he took me in his arms and said something that I held onto for many years. "I can wait." He kissed me gently and held me for a long while. (Someone took a step, but I'm not sure it was me!) Then he went to bed, and I lay on the couch thinking through everything that had happened over the last 24 hours. I don't remember sleeping, but morning came quickly.

While he went to work, I pack my suitcase and wrote notes to him and to R. He came back at lunch to take me to the airport, dropping me off as he had to get to work. I still had time before my flight and I talked to my Dad and tried to reach R, but there was no answer. I sat reading a magazine and looked up when my name was called. R arrived to see me off! He gave me a big hug and then looked into my eyes and said, "I know you're not ready now, but when you are, X is not the only one who loves you." He kissed me with a passion that showed me how serious he was. They called my flight before the shock had worn off! (Another step I was not sure I had taken!)

Wow! What a lot I had to think about on the flight home. But what I really had come back with was the courage to face BF and know that whatever happened, I was going to be okay. (Another big step).

What happened next was almost a blur it happened so fast. When I got back home, BF did not want to talk, but I insisted. I said that things had to change, and he agreed. He then told me since I had left him, that I should be the one to move out. I did not even realize I had left him, but in his mind I had. So I got more of my things, and went to my Mom's. As it was summer I was able to find an apartment near the school campus. I had already applied for a school loan and this came through in time for the Summer semester. I was able to get another job on campus and still work some part-time assignments at my office job.

BF filed for divorce and by August it was final. He was out of my life and after one last meeting to sign the papers I have never seen or spoken to him again. I don't know where he is. I haven't looked. I don't want to know.

I think this qualifies as the end to this story! But dear readers, there are more SOS stories to come, fortunately not as tragic, but still full of drama! Such is the life I lead...

Finding My Way Out

This is Part IV of my series for Soap Opera Sunday (go to these links for Part I, Part II and Part III). 'Twas Brillig and WalkingKateastrophe have inspired a lot of writers to share their stories of love, passion, drama, heartbreak, frustration and various learning experiences. Why pay for romance novels when you can find such thrills and entertainment every Sunday when you check out their links?

I'd like to thank all my nail-biting readers who have left such supportive comments about my story. Yes, it is cathartic. Yes, I did survive it and am living a great life now. And yes, I hope it will provide some sort of inspiration or warning to others who are living their own personal hells. At the time I was going through this, there was no Oprah, and no women openly telling their stories. And to those friends who are reading this and learning about it for the first time, I haven't been hiding anything, but it's just not something that usually comes up over coffee. I have a past. We all do. But I don't let it define me.

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And then he kicked me. Hard.

I'd like to tell you that this was the worst thing that ever happened during this marriage. I'd like to leave out that my ribs were broken. I'd like to brag that I got up and kicked him in the privates and walked away from him for good. But I started out being honest, and I can't make up the ending I would have preferred.

You should know that BF was over 6'3". I am only 5'2.5" (a half inch is important at my height!). Needless to say, he was a lot bigger than me. But I somehow threatened him when I would stand up to him. And something in me made me continue to defy him. Which only made things worse. So the times when he would lose control, I knew I had pushed him, and later when he would apologize, there would always be the caveat that I had somehow brought it on myself. Somehow, though, I just wouldn't change.

But while this is a story about what led me to this sad situation and how I eventually got out of it, I don't want it to be a chronicle of the abuse. It has been important to me to examine why I went so far off the track I had set out upon, and I have been glad to share that. But there is no advantage in listing the degradations, the fights, the hurts, the damage. What is important for me to tell you is that despite all he did to me and tried to do, he slowly lost control of me. And I eventually found myself again.

I did start back to college, arranging to work parttime at my office job. At first just sitting in on classes I had once taken. And then I took some of the required courses in English and History that would apply to any degree. Despite BF's sabotage, and efforts to distract me, my grades were good and I was encouraged. And 3 years after my accident I actually got the courage to pick up on my Physics coursework and work toward finishing my degree.

The evening before one of my midterm exams, BF picked a fight with me that led him to belittling me and humiliating me and eventually raping me (though in Texas, a husband cannot technically "rape" his wife). I got very little sleep, curling into a corner on the floor of our bedroom. I did not stir when BF left for work, but I was aware that he turned off my alarm. As soon as he left the house I quickly showered and dressed and headed off for school early. I first had a Mathematics exam. I didn't struggle with the answers, but I finished the test without any feeling of confidence or relief.

I then went to study quietly outside the class where I was to take my Physics exam, when my adviser passed by. He spoke to me and asked if I had time after my test to drop by his office. I made it through the exam on autopilot. I didn't think I knew anything and entered my adviser's office expecting that I would be asked to change my major. Instead, he told me that the Astronomy professor was looking for some lab assistant's to teach the Astronomy labs 2 evenings a week and asked if I was interested.

I was so relieved and surprised that the tears came without warning. I told him that I was afraid that I was failing the Physics course and would not be able to continue it as my major. He asked me to wait for a moment in his office and left the room. When he came back 10 minutes later, I had composed myself, and he said he had spoken to the professor of the course I was taking and they had quickly glanced over my test paper and he assured me that I had nothing to worry about with respect to my grade in that course. He then proceeded to call the professor of my Math course. He told my professor he was just checking up on my grades and then I hear him joking with my professor, "No, whatever grade she gets does not mean she will be changing her major to Math! Okay, I'll tell her." When he got off the phone, he told me that I also did not need to worry about my Math grade and that I was invited to talk to my professor about making Math my degree "minor" which meant taking a couple of extra courses. So then we were back to the offer of becoming a lab assistant. I told my adviser I would get back to him.

I stopped off at my Mom's before I returned home, and she had a card for me. It was a belated "Valentine's Day" card that had been sent to her address. It was from my friend who had been at the Air Force Academy. He had graduated and finished his pilot training and was interested in knowing how I was. He knew I was married but said he wanted to meet my husband and hear what I was doing. He left a phone number for me to call at his new station on a base near Phoenix, Arizona. I went home and did not mention anything of the day's events to BF.

The next week, BF said he had the opportunity to start doing some night shifts at his work, which meant some extra earnings. I then told him about the Astronomy lab position that would allow me to earn some money as well. The hours would fit around the part-time office work I was doing and not interfere with my school. BF was not really thrilled about the position, but could see some advantages to me working more hours. I know he was thinking it would have a detrimental effect on my schoolwork.

But it didn't. I used the excuse of going to the university to help pack up the telescopes as an opportunity to do some of my Physics homework in the office space that I now had access to as a lab assistant. My course work thrived, and I loved teaching in the lab sessions. I often found myself out in the middle of the park in pitch darkness, surrounded by football players and non-science majors who were struggling to complete their coursework. I loved telling the stories of the various myths surrounding the names of the constellations and sharing the tricks for finding the pictures in the sky and remembering the names of the stars. I could easily answer all the questions about the phases of the moon, and the life cycle of the stars. And though it was dark, I felt on center stage with a great spotlight where I could "show off".

I soon became one of the most popular assistants and the evenings when I was on duty became the most attended. I was then asked to train other lab assistants and was given the nickname "Mom", not because I was so much older, but because I was married and therefore not subject to the flirting attentions of many of the male students. Also I was so confident and assured in what I was doing, that the other lab assistants and Physics majors looked to me for advice. I thrived on their respect and was determined to do whatever I could to keep it. And it changed how I was feeling about myself.

Finally, towards the end of the semester, I made a call to my friend in the Air Force. We had a long chat and he was so glad to hear from me and was pleased to hear I was finishing my degree. He was very supportive and promised to come by for a visit and meet BF the next time he was in town visiting his parents. We went on to talk about other people we both knew, including my old boyfriend I had lost touch with. He said he was going to look him up and would mention that I said hello. I told BF about my conversation later, and that it was all platonic and that I was glad to be back in touch with an old friend. I could tell that this did not go over well.

Scientists have determined with various kinds of tests that the brain is not wired to be able to think positively and negatively at the same time. This became the main struggle in my life. I was becoming more positive about myself and getting back to thinking that way, but at the same time BF was trying to manipulate me and continually making me feel bad about myself. How I kept my sanity at this time I don't know. It did leave its mark on my confidence for a long time. Even today, I have self-doubts that make it hard for me to accept compliments and to bask in my accomplishments.

My finals were coming up, and as I was determined not to have a repeat of the drama that had occurred prior to the mid-terms, I spent all the time I could at school doing my studying there. Still, one evening when I came home, BF was livid, raging at me and accusing me of all sorts of infidelities. I kept quiet, and when his anger threatened to explode into physical violence, I walked out of the house and got into the car and drove away. I drove around for a long time, not knowing where I should go. Eventually I returned to the house to find it dark. BF had gone to bed. I snuck in quietly and went to sleep on the couch. BF left the next morning without waking me. I woke myself in time to get ready to go to my test, and when I went to get into my car, I could not find my keys. I searched all over. I called BF at work, but he was not around. I was frantic as BF had the spare set on his key chain. Finally I called my brother who was able to drop me off at school. I made it in time for my tests.

When I was ready to go home, I called my Mom and she came and got me. I told her that BF and I were fighting and I asked to stay the night with her. She was happy to have me and did not ask any questions. When BF called later she told him I was there and convinced him that it was better to leave me alone and that she would drop me at home the next day. I came home in the afternoon to find BF was getting ready to go do an extra evening shift. After Mom left I tried to talk to him and he slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. He then pulled my car keys out of his pocket and dropped them on the floor. The look on his face made me realize that I did not want to be home when he came back.

Suddenly, I felt all alone. I had to get away. I quickly put together a small suitcase of clothes and what cash I had managed to save up. But I was not ready to tell my Mom about what was going on in my marriage. I no longer had any girlfriends or anyone I could stay with. I did not want to impose on my brother and his new wife and baby. I just needed to get somewhere and think. But where to go?

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Don't You Remember...?

This is the third part of a continuing series (Part I, Part II) I am doing for Soap Opera Sunday, sponsored by the beautiful 'Twas Brillig and the fantastic Walking Kateastrophe. Please visit them for more stories to make you laugh, cry, worry, commiserate, reminisce, live vicariously and enjoy reading.

Just a response to those who commented on my last SOS entry. I wasn't "clever" in noticing the books were not consistent, I was imagining myself every month of the year in that hellhole, and trying to see if we closed for holidays so was checking out Thanksgiving and realized there was no November. I wasn't clever, but I do believe I had a guardian angel on my shoulder! Now get out the tissues...

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Many of you reading this can probably see what is coming. At the time, I could not.

Back in the busom of my family, I was determined to overcome the setback of the move to California. After two weeks of staying with my Mom, we found a cheap apartment and furnished it with the castoffs from various family members. I went to work as a hostess in a local restaurant, BF usually drove me there and picked me up. He found a job as an assistant manager at a fast-food restaurant. We settled into a typical young couple married existence.

The abuse started slowly, and I didn't really recognize it. It began with comment like "Don't you remember...?" and would involve incidents or things that I had said shortly before or shortly after my car accident. And no, I didn't remember. But BF came up with such convincing descriptions of what had happened or what I had said, that I would nod and agree and store it in my mind as one of the "missing pieces". That the pieces did not really fit with the rest of my memory I just ignored or didn't realize. But they were crucial to the control that BF was gaining over my life.

For instance, when my mother was asking about when I was planning on going back to college and finish my degree, BF chimed in with "Don't you remember, last Thanksgiving you were talking about dropping out? You said that the courses were too hard and you were tired of studying. You didn't seem to think you needed to get a degree in order to get a good job. And besides you were making really good money as a waitress."

My mother looked at me in shock and I said, "Oh yeah, I don't know if I want to go back right now Mom, I'll think about it."

My Mom pressed on, saying, "I'm sure your adviser would be able to help you get started again. I know your accident has shaken you up, but you could start out slow".

"Yeah, maybe," I said.

BF said, "But you were talking about dropping out before your accident, remember?"

I didn't, but I was so sensitive about not remembering I just said, "Well, we can't afford it right now anyway and I don't want to think about it right now." My Mom dropped the subject.

Or on a couple of occasions, he was late picking me up. I waited outside the restaurant patiently.Once,after an hour, as the restaurant was closing, I went in to call him. He wasn't at work. I called home. No answer. I finally called my Mom, and she came to pick me up. I said goodbye to all my co-workers as they were leaving, assuring them that my ride was coming. BF arrived at the same time my Mom did. He was full of concern that I had not called him. But I thought we had agreed that he would pick me at the regular time, which was always the same. And it was just after his work shift and was on his way home. So there was no reason for me to have called him. But he insisted that is what we had agreed, ending his argument with "Don't you remember?" I was angry and embarrassed that this was happening in front of my Mom, and apologized to her for calling, admitting my mistake. BF then hugged me and said he was glad I was okay because he had been worried. But if he had been so worried, why hadn't he called my work? I checked the next day, he never called. But I let it go.

And so it went. Didn't I remember I did not want to talk to my best girlfriend from high school because we no longer had anything in common? Didn't I remember that I was still afraid to drive a car so there was no need to worry about buying a vehicle for me until I overcame that? I couldn't "remember" where I had left the checkbook, so it was better for BF to handle all the finances and he would give me money when I needed it.

My Dad dropped by one day and took me out to a parking lot. He stopped the car and got out and told me to slide over behind the wheel. We took it slow and after a while moved out onto the street. After an hour I was even driving on the highway. I wasn't afraid. I'm not really sure I had ever been. But at least this was not something BF could argue with. So plans were made to buy a car for me. But BF spotted a Dodge van at one of the car lots we visited and decided that I could have his car and he would get the van. When I was not very enthusiastic about this idea, he insisted that I practice driving his car to get the feel of it. It went okay, so this was the plan.

The next day he went to the dealership to start the process of buying the van. As we didn't have a lot of savings, he would have to get a loan. Two days later he got a call, and learned he could not get the loan as he had no credit record. He was furious. The next day, he left without telling me where he was going. He later returned driving the van. He had traded in the car for the van. I was in tears. What about a car for me? He said that I could drive his van and drop him at work sometimes. But we tried. I couldn't drive the van. I had learned to drive a standard car, but was more familiar with an automatic. I could not get the seat close enough to be able to work the clutch properly, and kept grinding the gears. It was not at all comfortable and BF got very impatient with me. I burst into tears again. What about a car for me? He turned on me in a rage. "What's wrong with you? This is a great solution and you just aren't happy? Why can't you understand? You used to be smart? I guess you just aren't anymore."

There it was. He was right. I didn't understand. I did used to be smart. But now I was "damaged" and I didn't deserve anything better. All my own self doubts, as well as those that BF had instilled in me came crashing down. I felt so low and worthless and I just couldn't fight him on anything.

Looking back, I find it interesting that my brain itself was healed a long time before my "mind" was. While I no longer had the memory lapses and was able to think and reason and make decisions for myself, I didn't. I accepted what BF said about me and gave him almost total power over my life. Yes, he was over a foot taller than me and probably outweighed me by about 100 lbs. But he had never graduated from high school while I was only about 3 semesters away from finishing a science degree. However, I let him make me think he was smarter than I was and more capable of making all the decisions affecting my life. And whenever I stood up to him or argued with him, he would get angry and I would be bullied and humiliated into going along with him. Or, if I did something he could not change, I would end up paying a very dear price for it in some way so that I often regretted my defiance.

And so we went along as we were. I got a different job, this time as a waitress at a restaurant that was not too far away from where we lived. The work was hard, but I made good tips and it was a friendly place. When BF failed to pick me up on occasion, I walked home. He would show up later and not say anything about it, as if this is what we had agreed upon.

About a year after we had moved back to Texas, BF changed jobs and started working as a maintenance man at the university that I had been going to. I went with him on days I wasn't working, hanging out at the library or the student center. And the inevitable happened, I ran into my old adviser. He bought me a Dr. Pepper and we talked about what had happened. He was sorry to hear that I was not planning to come back to finish and made a suggestion that I had not considered. "Why don't you just audit a couple of courses? You just sit in the class and listen to the lectures. If the professor lets you, you can do the homework and even take the tests. If it is too hard for you, then you'll see that and there won't be any record of it. I can even talk to a couple of professors for you and you might not even have to pay any fees, just go to the class and see if you are still interested." I told him I would think about it and get back to him. But of course BF didn't think this was a good idea.

I then had an opportunity to get a job working in an office full time. But I couldn't take it because I couldn't always count on BF to bring me and pick me up on time. I mentioned this to my Dad in passing. He showed up the next day to take me to a car dealer friend he knew. There was a very nice car on the lot that I really thought I would enjoy driving. But again, I only had a limited amount of money saved up from my waitress tips and we did not have any real savings in the bank. But I did have a good credit record, so my Dad encouraged me to apply for a loan, and even offered to co-sign for me if I needed it. I got the call the next day, that my credit was approved and I did not need my Dad to cosign! I called my Dad and he came and drove me to the lot and we picked up my new "wheels". BF was not yet home, so I drove over to the office where I had the job offer and talked to the manager. He said I could start next week and even agreed to let me leave early on the days when I needed to work at the waitress job in order for me to give a 2-week notice.

When BF arrived home from work that evening, I was full of news and very proud of myself. I had worked out a budget on how to pay off the car loan and the monthly insurance out of the new full-time salary I would be getting. I would still be bringing in more than I had been waitressing. I thought he would be pleased.

He wasn't. He was furious. How could I make such decisions on my own? What kind of a wife was I? Did I think how it made him look? How was I going to be able to work full time and take care of the house? I couldn't even keep on top of all the work at home just working parttime. Etc., etc., etc. He worked himself into a full-blown rage and was stomping around and yelling. I tried to calm him down and grabbed one of his arms. He shook me off with such force that I fell down. I got mad and said something to him in anger, I don't remember what it was. I do remember looking up at him as I was trying to get up from the floor. His eyes were black with anger. His face was rigid in a grimace of disgust.

And then he kicked me. Hard.