Grandparents

Is this heaven? He asks.

Or am I dreaming? I wake up to this delicious breakfast and I am surrounded by four beautiful girls.

He gives the happiest, most content smile. He means his wife, his two daughters and one granddaughter. He looks at me and smiles even bigger.

My heart breaks.

I hold his hand and hug him. I hug him so tight and all I feel the frail man under the layers and layers of clothes that try but fail at keeping him warm. He shivers a little and I hold him tighter.

We watch one of his grandsons marry the love of his life. Then later, in an unheated but beautifully decorated barn, we watch them dance their first dance. I am holding his hand and leaning on his thin shoulder. I think it can’t get better than this. Grandpa smiles at me. It just got better.

I give him a hug goodnight. He looks into my eyes, straight to my heart. I love you so much, he says. I wish I could see you more. I do too, I say. I really mean it.

Sometimes he can’t hear what is going on around him. We talk too fast, too quietly. He looks lost, and left out and I hate that. I want him to be part of everything. I want him to feel surrounded and loved. Sometimes he can hear and he joins in with his witty banter, and it is just like when I was younger. When we played prisoner and he sang with me, and told me stories. Even then, I wasted my time with him. When you are young you don’t realize how important your grandparents are. They are solid, ever loving and maybe not as exciting as children think they should be. But they are filled with wisdom and history and knowledge. You avoid them on the phone and talk to them as little as possible. Then one day you wake up and they are older and you realize time doesn’t wait.

It just tick tick ticks away.

Sometimes grandpa talks about when he met grandma. She was the prettiest girl, he said. She asked to borrow my jokes on the train. Then I went back to her and asked if I could talk to her, because I was lonesome.

I never did read those jokes, grandma adds in. Grandpa smiles at her as if the whole world still revolves around her. Three kids and 68 years of marriage later and he is still hopelessly in love. It is the gold standard. Unless Paul makes it to 97 years of age, we will never be married that long. But I can see the love in my grandpa’s eyes. I even caught grandma smiling once too.

Grandparents are always given the special table – the table closest to the wedding party or to the person of honor. But I also notice that this table is never full. Even at grandpa’s 90^th birthday, his table only had half the seats taken. It almost feels as if they are surrounded by family and friends but no one wants to sit with them. Everyone would rather sit with friends or the younger crowd. Which I get, except that my cousins will most likely still be there next year and we have plenty of time to catch up. I cannot say the same for my grandparents. I wish people would fight to be at the grandparents table.

And now I’m on another plane, heading away from grandma and grandpa. I feel terrible sometimes, for living so far away, I told my cousin. You have to live your life, my cousin replied. I understand that. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling terribly guilty and sad all at once. I want to learn everything about my grandparents. I want to ask them a million questions and I am so afraid I am running out of time. They are part of a generation that lived through World War 2, the Great Depression, the invention of the computer and many other newfangled devices. They have so much to share; they traveled so many places and saw so many things. How I wasted so many years when their memory was good to learn about them. I don’t want to waste any more time. But I live in Switzerland. How do I reconcile that?

I guess I write letters, I call more often, I visit when the opportunity arises.

Is this heaven? He asks again. No grandpa, I respond, not yet. You aren’t getting there for a while.

Then am I dreaming? This is so wonderful, he smiles at me. You aren’t dreaming either grandpa. I smile back and give him the longest, strongest hug I can. I love you grandpa.

I love you too, dear, he says.

My graduation from Miami University 2008

Grandpa Blair's 90th Birthday (Fall, 2009)

Grandma at our celebration - Grandpa wasn't well enough to travel and he was greatly missed (June 2010)

Grandma and Grandpa and Dave and Cassie's Wedding (October 2011)

Family Time

I am back in the international departure lounge at Chicago O'Hare Airport. I have decided this is the absolute worst departure lounge out of anywhere I have ever waited in. There is no Starbucks, there are no restaurants, there are no BARS. There IS a little kiosk that is labeled "Bar", that has a few bottles of not very cold beer. I can also buy Cheezits or trail mix. Whoo hoo. This is what I need for my last few hours in America.


Anyways.


This past weekend was amazing. First, I spent Rosh Hashanah with my Aunt Sunny and Uncle Sherm at their condo in Chicago. We had lots of delicious Jewish food - Challah, Gefilte fish, stew, it was a delicious meal. We were also celebrating my grandma and grandpa's 68th wedding anniversary. Now that is a LONG time to be married to each other. And grandpa is still totally head over heels for grandma. I can only hope Paul and I will end up like that. 

Friday mom and dad and I drove to Lafayette, Indiana to get ready for the wedding the next day. After a futile search for Sushi for lunch, we gave up and headed to our hotel. That evening was the rehearsal dinner and it was so fun to see the cousins again. I forget how great it is to just chat with my cousins who are all older, wiser, and with the same terrible sense of humor as me. My cousin David and I went over to Dave and Cassie's place to spend a bit more time with the bride and groom. By the time we had headed home, David and I found out how much fun it is to drive down a completely unlit country road. Let me tell you, it is NOT fun. But we made it, and that was important.

Before I knew it, it was wedding day! My parents and I with Jasmine (Chris's girlfriend) went on a quick trip to Target. I was overwhelmed and loving it. I bought brown sugar, pumpkin pie mix, cough syrup, a warmer dress and hat, pens, big paper clips, clip boards, duct tape and more things that are not sold in Switzerland. There's nothing like importing office supplies! I bought a warmer dress because I had come to Switzerland with a skanky dress not realizing that the reception would be in an unheated barn. I bought a warm sweater and tights too. I would be prepared for the cold!


Now it was time for lunch, and Sushi! We visited two sushi places, both closed for lunch. I was in despair. Then Jasmine came to the rescue. She used her magic smartphone to find an open Sushi place. It was perfect and made my day. We then rushed home to get ready for the wedding. 


I'll spare you the tale of getting lost on the way to the wedding. But I promise, we did get lost. And we didn't even take a mom short-cut! Luckily we were not the last ones there, and we rushed into our seats. 

Finally grandma and grandpa arrived as well, and the ceremony started. Dave walked grandma down the aisle, and the grandparents were tucked under blankets in the front row. Dave and his groomsmen took their places, then the bridesmaids walked down the aisle. 
















Finally a car carrying Cassie pulled up. She stepped out and looked perfect and glowing. I almost started crying right there. 

She joined Dave at the altar, and the ceremony began. It was the fastest service ever. They exchanged their rings and said their vows - sweet, written heartfelt and funny vows. 

Dave and Cassie have been together in my mind forever. Seven years. Cassie has just always been my cousin - another part of our awesome, crazy, weird family.

  It was so touching to see them put their hearts out there and make it legal. I admit, I cried a few times. As quickly as it started, the service was over and they walked back down the aisle. 

After hugs and pictures, the family and friends headed back up to the barn. It was beautifully decorated with lights, vines, and string balls. The beer and wine was flowing, the music was good, and I got to sit with grandma and grandpa. 

Me and Grandma!

Me and Grandpa

KISS!!! KISS!!!

The cute newlyweds :)

Yep, I have an awesome family

And a super duper mommy

And a fantastic dad

LOVE the cake! Great idea!

After the nonagenarians went home, I got to dance with all my favorite cousins and family. Weddings are such a beautiful celebration of love and family and I am so lucky I got to come and spend time with everyone.

 

When and where will the next wedding be? Hopefully I will be able to come and share my love <3

Being an Immigrant

In America, there is such a negative connotation with the word “immigrant”. What do you think of when you think of an “immigrant”? I am sitting next to a woman on my plane from Zurich to Chicago. She is Bosnian but is a U.S. immigrant (and citizen!) She was a refugee from the war and her and her husband found a safe place in Boise, Idaho. She told me about how difficult it was when she first arrived and she was just beginning to learn English. She went to the bank to deposit a check, but the person had written the amount but had not written out the words. The teller told her to write the words and she tried to explain that her English was not good enough to write that yet. The teller apparently belittled her for the next five minutes and told her she should be embarrassed that she can’t write. This makes me very sad and embarrassed for the American people. We are a country of immigrants and yet we snub them and look down our noses at them. But with the exception of the Native Americans (and even their ancestors a VERY long time ago) we are all descendents of immigrants. Someone in our family once had to learn a new language, the new customs, navigate a new government system and strange country. So why is it now wrong to be an immigrant?

What has given me all this perspective, do you ask? I am now an immigrant to Switzerland. I live in a country where I don’t fully understand the government, the people or the language. I go to the bank and I am sometimes confused about what the tellers ask me. I get letters from the government (sometimes French, sometimes German) and I get scared that 1. I have done something wrong and 2. I am not able to read what I have done. I am that person that the citizens of Switzerland do not want in their country. Lucky for me I could return to the U.S. if I needed to, and I will not be settling in Switzerland permanently. I couldn’t even imagine having to leave my family, friends, language and home to live somewhere new. This is especially true when that somewhere new is America. It is a land of immigrants who no longer want to accept immigrants. But I know from experience that many immigrants take jobs that citizens of that country do not want. The lady sitting next to me worked night shifts at the Solo plastic company as well as in a lab during the day. She works 12 hours a day and pays taxes to the government. So what is the big problem? In Switzerland I pay my taxes, I obey the rules, I am trying to learn French.

We have a political organization in Switzerland that really hates immigrants. They put up controversial posters to fight some of their causes. Their latest poster has a Swiss flag being walked on by a multitude of black legs. Underneath it says “Stopper L’Immigration Massive! C’est Suffit!” or in English “Stop the Massive Immigration! That’s Enough!" This sign makes me feel terrible. It is talking to me. Now I can have a greater appreciation for those immigrants who come to America and just want to find a job, put food on the table, live in a safe place and contribute. Instead of forcing them to hide as illegal immigrants let’s make them legal – have them pay taxes! It’s not like there isn’t enough room in America. And maybe the American people could have a little more empathy. It’s not that we (the immigrants) are stupid. I can read and write quite well in English. The lady next to me can read and write quite well in Bosnian, German and now English and that is much more impressive than the monolingual narrow-minded bank teller.

Maybe everyone should be an immigrant once. It sure gives  you perspective in life and helps you see things from the other side of the window. I know that I will never feel the same way about immigrants and I think that has made me a better person.  

Across the Atlantic

Surprise surprise. I am on another plane crossing over the Atlantic. I spent 4 days making detailed sub plans, completing school assignments, and preparing for this quick 5 day jaunt to Chicago. The last few weeks have passed by in a complete blur. One day runs into another and there is never enough time in the day. In a way, that is a good thing. I am doing a lot, learning a lot, gaining experience. But in another way I just want things to slow down a little. I used to think all the time (and sometimes still do), “I can’t wait for this thing or that thing to happen!” I spent a lot of time looking into the future. I guess most children do. They wonder what they will be doing after they finish school, where they will end up and who they will end up with. Right now is the time I have always been dreaming about and it is moving too fast. Right now on this plane I get to slow down a little. I don’t have to rush from one job to another or log online to write another long grad paper. I have watched 2 movies, finished putting thank you cards into their envelopes, and get a breather to just think. I’ve got 3 more hours before I land and I’ve already thought, “what should I do next?” I am not so good at this thinking and relaxing.

This is one of the reasons I love training for a marathon. You have to do these long two, three, four hour runs. Other than listening to music or talking with a friend, you have lots of thinking time. I went for a training run Sunday night. I probably ran about 16 kilometers and was in that daze where I don’t really notice I am running and I am instead completely lost in my thoughts. I had about an hour left of running before I got back home and it was late and dark so I was running with a headlamp. Suddenly I was approached by another runner who at first scared the bejeezus out of me. Then he explained that he had forgotten his headlamp and wanted to know if I was going back to Lausanne. I said yes and we started off. I proceeded to spend the next hour speaking completely in French and barely even noticing I was running. Although this doesn’t count as “thinking” time, the run was a good mix of thinking and learning. After finishing the run I was amazed at myself. I just held an hour long conversation in French. This is something I never thought I could do. Learning another language is so difficult and I sometimes feel like I am making up words when I speak. That makes me think even more about what we are capable if only we apply ourselves and put in enough practice time.

Now I will spend a bit more time thinking before I arrive in Chicago and go back into fast forward with family and friends. I guess I am grateful that I have so many wonderful things that pass my time. Bring it on Chicago!