Not so neutral

I must admit I am not a very safe secret keeper. At least when it comes to my own secrets, as long as they only content good news.  I basically want to shout it out! And it so happend as soon as I knew I was pregnant. A few days later, most of my friends and familiy knew it too. Even at work I didn't manage to wait the full twelve weeks, impossible to me. I really admire people who are able to do so but I don't understand at all how they survive.
So, today at the ultra sound, my wee little baby decided to reveal its gender and I want to tell the whole wide world: It's a girl!!! Honestly, I am so, so happy. I know, I shouldn't mind so much and I do feel sorry for the little boy it could have been also, wondering if I really would have been as happy about him, as I am now.  And I was very sure to get another boy, a brother for Aaron, who would probably have prefered that long term. I should have looked at my knittings of the last month to know better...

I used my best of stash for the first baby projects. The Aviatrix helmet and baby legs are knit with the softest angora wool, hand spun by my lovely sister. The Pebble and the Saartje Booties are from some of the yarn we dyed at the fiber-festival in July and the Puerperium was knit with delicious Noro Silk. If only I remembered where I put the buttons for it...

Now that I know I will start on some dresses and tunics like this one,  my fingers are itching...

I am still confused about my strong feelings towards a girl though. I have always considered myself being rather gender neutral, as in I want my boy to get all the chances there are to learn about football as much as about ballet, to play with dolls and his wooden kitchen as much as with his cars and so on. I am very interested in gender neutral education. There is a kindergarten in Sweden where they take that very serious and talk about the kids not as he or she but using a third, neutral pronoun adopted from the Finish. I read about this kid, Charly, who is raised without the mum anouncing the gender to anyone.  And I am still thinking how much of gender behavior is really genetic. Still, this girl inside of me, knowing I am having the most wonderful boy, made me so very happy. Why does it matter so much to me? I am still looking for answers.

Pilgrim

For this post, I was inspired by Emma. I so much admire the way she talks about herself and her faith to God in her blog. She made me thinking why I have such a hard time to express my relationship to God. To be honest I fear to be called a freak for believing in God. I am not sure why I care. It makes me think my faith is not very strong if I can't even stand by God, if I feel embrassed to admit I like God. But on the other hand I love talking about God ( I keep saying "God" because I am trying to not picture God as male or female) and religion if I am sure I have found a like minded soul. So today I stand up and just dare to talk, no matter who listens:

God and me, we have a funny relationship. I am not sure what to call it. I could call myself a protestant but what does that say about God and me? I work for a catholic NGO, the Caritas, but what does that tell you? I am a big fan of the ecumenical movement but somehow the combination of catholic and protestant religion is not what it's all about for me, it is not where it should stop. Maybe I could say I don't believe in religion, I believe in God. To me a religion is just one way to live my life with God, never the only possible way. I can find God in a mosque, as well as in a forest and sometimes I can't find God in a church or at home, you never know... 

Today my employee Caritas invited us on a one day pilgrimage and I happily joined in. My, what an event it was! A bus toke us to the outskirts of the city from where we walked a few miles towards a huge old monastery. There was singing and praying on the way there and a long service at the monastery. Lots and lots of singing, a lot of other rather catholic stuff I don't know how to name it. I enjoyed it immensly, despite the big crowd. We were more than 2000 people, which was rather daunting to me at first. But being part of 2000 people, singing and praying together is a wonderful experience and God was near by and he didn't mind me being a protestant I am sure... Another good thing was to stand next to my big boss, praying and singing with him, exchanging the "peace be with you".

To me God is a divine power. I feel it is easier to imagine God abstract than figurative. Jesus is another issue here. He is so very tangible but that makes it even harder for me to understand him. So hard to understand how he can be Gods son. I am sure he wouldn't have wanted to seperate religions the way he does, in those who believe in him and those who don't. So very sad it went that way, isn't it?

Since I am a mother I feel much closer to Mary though. In the monastery today there was a sculpture of Mary with her dead son on her lap. It was created during the years of the black death in Europe. It made me cry. I could feel her pain. Next to me sat my friend who just lost her baby a few weeks ago in the 4th month of pregnancy. She is heartbroken not just by that death but by what God did to her. She stopped going to church, she only came today because she had signed up for it before it happend. And she wanted to give it a chance. And somehow, seeing Marys pain helped her to understand God didn't want her baby to die, God is crying with her and wants to comfort her. I think today she toke Gods hand again.

Of course, this is not all there is to say about God and me. I hope to continue my spiritual journey and thoughts here with you from time to time. 

Grenzen

Memorialplace of the Berlin Wall at Potsdamer Platz, a billboard in the background.

The German word "Grenze" has a whole lot of meanings in English. It can mean: limit, border, boundary, limitation, frontier, barrier. Yesterday was a day about Grenzen:

I woke up after a very good nights sleep. I wanted to turn around and get up. That's when I twisted my back, very painfully. I lifted myself up, the pain stayed. The day didn't wait for it.
Nathan went running, which was good, because I wanted to bake the cake and set the breakfast table.
Aaron somehow thought it was all about him. He poked the cake, he unrapped presents, he even blew the candles, but acctually my love turned 30! How does it feel to turn 30 Schatz?

I went to work, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the pain in my back. I spent some time in the office doing the paper works and documenting my last client meetings. Then I crossed the city by bus and train to pick up a client from work. On the way I felt very sorry for myself and just wanted to go home and get a massage. I wasn't looking forward at all to meet that client. Someone I never met before, I just covered the appointment for a colleague on parental leave. I wans't up for anone elses problems. I had read his files, I knew about this very depressed, traumatised man from Afghanistan whose life had been destroyed by torture so that the former successful businessman, able to speak six language now works at a place for mentally handicapped people, spending his nights at his parents place because he can't be alone without freaking out.
I met a man who thanked me about a hundred times for coming, for taking my time for him, for talking to him. A man whose wisdom hit me by surprise and who somehow managed to change my perspective of life at least for this so far very selfcentred day. He spoke a lot about his country, like someone who has told his story very many time but still can't believe it actually happened to himself. He said the people in Afghanistan don't have love, war has destroyed all of that. His words went deep. He wanted to thank me again but I was the one to thank him.

After work Nathan and I met for a very rare date. We went to a small theather to see a play called "SOS for human rights" set up by a refugee  right group in Berlin on tour through Germany now. The play told the very sad story of three young people from Ghana and Afghanistan on their attempt to cross countries, deserts and an ocean to come to Europe. It was acted with very few means, only three actors but endless passion. A masterpiece of creativity! There is a short trailer on YouTube if you want to get a first impression. I also found some recording of the play:

There is one poem that expresses my opion on the idea of states, borders and the like. I have nothing to add:

Psalm
(by Wislawa Szymborska)


Oh, the leaky boundaries of man-made states!
How many clouds float past them with impunity;
how much desert sand shifts from one land to another;
how many mountain pebbles tumble
onto foreign soil in provocative hops!


Need I mention every single bird that flies
in the face of frontiers or alights 
on the roadblock at the border?
A huble robin - still, its tail resides abroard while its beak stays home.
If that weren't enough, it won't stop bobbing!
Among ennumerable insects,
I'll single out only the ant between the border
gurads's left and right boots
blithely ignoreing the question "Where from?" and "Where to?"


Oh, to register in detail, at a glance, 
the chaos prevailing on every continent!
Isn't that a privet on the far bank smuggling
its hundred-thousandth leaf across the river?
And who but the octupus, with impudent long arms,
would disrupt the sacred bounds of territorial waters?


And how can we talk of order overall
When the very placement of the stars
leaves us doubting just what shines for whom?
Not to speak of the fog's reprehensible drifting!
And dust bowling all over the steppes as if it hadn't  been partitioned!
And the voices coasting on obliging airwaves,
that conspiratorial squeaking, those indecipherable mutters!


Only what is human can truly be foreign.
The rest is mixed vegetation, subversive moles, and wind.

Of course my own family has its on "crossing borders and limits" story too. Not as painful though, there were more resources on both sides, so the crossing went smoother. Noones life was threated. But Aarons grandparents can't affort power, medication and other daily needs. We don't have to fear deportation for Nathan because he is father to a German child but he also can't travel freely, his embassy refuses him a passport and the German goverment refuses him working allowens because that stamp can only be stamped into a passport. Those are our daily struggles. They seem small and lucky compared to the big picture. Still the small picture takes over most of the time and my strength and energy are challenged by rude staff at foreigne offices, useless phonecalles, thousands of photocopies of account bills for social offices etc... The worries about money are still freaking me out every day, so I have refused looking at our account in the last weeks which doesn't help the problem. I just closed my eyes and hoped for a miracle. My body tells me there is something wrong though. My limits are reached, my back told me so. 

The miracle happend today when my granddad told me he will give us some money from my grandmother, some money big enough to equalize our account so I can look at it again. And we can send some money to Aarons Grandmother too. Sigh!

My back, somehow has healed today, still tension but no breathtaking pain. It is that simple sometimes.

Good to be a little weird!

Knitting and reading - my favorite things to complete a perfect day. So I am joing Ginny for Yarn Along today to share my passion with you. Come and join in if you like!

I finished the crazy colored socks and started some plain grey sneaker socks that my man will get for his birthday next week. he wished to have some knitted sneaker socks, so nothing can go wrong here...
Sometimes I feel weird to knit woolen socks in summer. People seem to give you weird looks when you knit in public (i knit on trains, in parks, in cafes etc)  but usually I just don't care. Most of the time I think there is nothing wrong with people thinking I am weird. Cause I might just be weird, I don't like being very normal anyway. I guess that's why I like the book I am reading this week: "Irre". It could be translated "Insane" and is written by a psychiatrist who explains, why we should not be afraid of psychologicaly sick people (most of them at least) but of those being very healthy, but crazy. (Like some politicians, finance managers and other people who would like to run the world etc.) We can only treat and help people who feel sick and suffer. Most of them are all worried about their own being. Those who are crazy but don't suffer they are the dangerous potential. The book also gives very well written and simple explainations of most of the main psychological problems like addiction, depression, fear, schizophrenia etc. There are so many statements in this book that I find very, very, helpful to learn about for my work and privat affairs.
I think this strawberry has also developed some sort of personal disfunction. It seems like it would rather be a shrimp... But, and that's what I have learned from the book: there is no need for treatment as long as this strawberry feels very happy looking like a shrimp...

Treasures from my grandmothers closet

I am sure my late grandmother has owned some very valuable things, like jewelry, pottery and the like. We have not gone into the details of sorting through those things yet, it just didn't feel right. My grandfather wanted some closets to be cleared though. Look what I found: treasures!

Having grown up during the second world war, my grandma wasn't what you'd call a crafter, she was more of a fixer. She never threw things but mended them with care as well as she could. She only made things that were needed, like socks, table cloth, carpets. Like the one in the picture. When I said I would take it I was not sure at all wether I wanted it in our sitting room but I really like it now. It is so colorful and it makes me very happy to know that Aarons great-grandmother made the carpet he is playing on now. (He has another mat in his room that his ugandan godfather has brought for him from Uganda, the type of palm leafe mat Aarons ugandan grandmother makes.)

I love all these vintage aprons that I found. Unfortunatly I never wear aprons so I am thinking about using the fabric for something unique, like a quilt (never quilted before either, but it seems like a good reason to start, right?). I am not sure I can cut into those lovely pieces though...

And did you notice the hanger? WHY on earth does anyone knit or crochet around hangers? They are covered by clothes and are hidden in a closet most of their life (unless you have a blog and want to show off your sewings which I doubt my grandma did)... 

What treasures are hidden in your families closets?

How to comfort?

Last weekend we have been up north ( a three hours drive) at my parents place. It was my grandmothers funeral, who had died February 3rd. It might sound strange to you to wait six weeks between the death and the funeral, but she was burned and there was no earlier appointment possible for the funeral. My grandparents had decided to be buried in a forest. A special forest where you can buy your own tree and be buried underneath it. I don't know if that is possible in other countries or even far more common than here in Germany.
It is a beautiful grave I believe. It would comfort me to know I will find rest under a tree one day. Is it ever too early to decided how you want to be buried? Unfortunatly not I guess.
A bit strange it was to see my grandfathers name at the tree already (there is only a small sign, saying who rests where) since he is still alive...
The forest is a very good place for my grandparents who disliked churches so much and still wanted to be close to God. A forest is full of God.

Six weeks have past since my grandma died. Weeks that I had time to get used to the feeling of her gone. I thought about her a lot, tried to find memories. Memories I found, but no good ones. And that really shocked me. She ment a lot to me, she was a very important person in my life, she lived in the house right next to ours, we spend very much time with her, almost every day of my childhood. They toke us on many holidays all over Germany. But all the good memories that I find are somehow more connected to my granddad, not  to her. She has been very demanding, dominating, strict. We were always a little or a lot scared of her. There was too much love from her side, but no effection. She wanted to make us hers, she never aproved of my mum. She let us know that. It makes me very sad to realize now that I can't find good memories. I am still looking...

They really loved each other, for over 60 years. They have shown me that life long love exists. They cared for each other all their  life, for good and for bad.

They have traveled the world together. Now my granddad is left. He was a quiet man, never talked much. She did all the talking, she did it all.
Now he can't stop talking, the words just run out of him. It is unbearable. I know, grieving people are never easy, that's not how it works, that's not what its all about. I know. But I can't be with him when he talks nonstop, for hours, only old stories that I have heared so many times before. It drives me crazy!!! I don't have that patience. I don't mind him crying (and he cries a lot, which I think is good), I can deal with sadness. I can hug. But listening, my, I am soooo bad at that, I never knew. My plans had been very different for that weekend. I had imagined to spend a lot of time with my granddad, to comfort him, to detract him from the pain, but after the first evening, lost in his memories, I got scared and avoided to spend any more time with him and felt soooo bad about it. I know grieve is never convenient. I am so sorry grandpa, I hope I can listen to you again when I come back next time, I am still trying.