1: The fact that the local, over priced hardware store (OBI) closes at 4pm on Saturday. Must be nice, kids, must be nice. Meanwhile, I need a new car battery, and all of your employees are grabbing a cigarette and driving the 3 blocks I just cycled to try and purchase a new battery on time, home. Disappointed, again. That's it for OBI, as far as I, and anyone I talk to, is concerned. The double bonus of "overpriced" and "banker's hours" is not a winning one. 

2: Sundays-- can't mow your lawn, can't futz in the garden, can't work on the car, unless you are hidden from public view. A good day to do your taxes or clean the basement. God forbid the Oma across the street catch you weeding. 

3. Cultural Perfectionism: cars cannot have the slightest thing wrong with them, to pass inspection. Mine, which was slated to sell, failed due to an uneven emergency/parking brake and a rocker arm which was kinda loose.  Seriously, people, this is unsafe HOW? just mildly! but this is the German mentality, that mildly unsafe is UNSAFE. Keep in mind, that what I was dealing with, were on post, vaguely Americanized, regulations. I can't imagine the German TUV being even that easy. 

4. Cultural Perfectionism, Part 2: Germans, of course, are the most liberal country on the planet, giving asylum to all kinds of refugees and asylum seekers (provided they can prove German heritage or other abject need)  and have an unimaginable level of cultural guilt concerning these matters. However, it leads to some serious wierdness, and high taxes to pay for the welfare of all kind of "asylum seekers". When the US crashes and burns, and we head back here, we can only hope to be so lucky. A reason to keep up with my Deutsch. 

5. Economic Success: Germany, as the richest country in Europe, forced the Euro on the populace. They were not allowed, nor asked! to vote on its adoption. People call the new currency "Teuro" which means "expensive thing". For them, prices of goods increased by half again, or double, depending on the vendor's honesty. Honest vendors cut the numerical value in about half, and put the Euro sign on it. The rest (most of them) just replaced the Dmark sign with a Euro.. effectively doubling the price of goods and services sold. 

6. Weather: Germans call it "Wetter" for this reason-- every time you go outside, you get wetter. Cold and wet, or wet and cold. However you like it.  Forget it. 

7. Language:   http://www.crossmyt.com/hc/linghebr/awfgrmlg.html 

Mr Clemens argues it more perfectly, hundreds of years ago, than I could ever hope to. 

8. Food: At least in this rural area, the most adventurous is bland, MSG-laden faux Asian. Greek fare is much better, seconded by Italian. I cannot tolerate so much wheat product, so Italian is a very poor choice for me. The Greek diet of fruit, veg, olive oil, seafood, sheep cheese, thick yogurt and lean meats and seafood, suits me well. It's just their green wines, and ouzo, that get me in trouble. 

9. Music: Okay, this one's lame, but unless you love classical ( I do, sometimes, some things) and flashback, especially 80s, German popular music will make you nuts. Pluses: Sophie Hawkins and other forgotten gems.

10. Traffic-- this gearhead girl grew up on articles about how wonderful the Autobahn was, without its speed limits. We ended up with a sleek, smooth and speedy BMW 523i, our Black Beauty. She would do 180 kph without you noticing the difference. Heavy and silky in the left lane, Beauty would whip past anything you asked her to, and never miss a lane, as long as she had good tires and was well maintained. 

Unfortunately, on the modern German autobahn, most of the traffic is trucks from Slowhattica, spraying salty goo all over your windshield and kicking ice bombs under your fairing. They are not supposed to pass each other, but they often do, resulting in an "Elephant walk" at 80kph. A real drag, if you were driving twice that, and have to wait for Slowhattica to pass Dawdlebooblika at a measured difference of .0567 kph. 

There's a lot of other things I hate.. now that I'm leaving, I can talk about them. 

Honorable mention is the "Knoedle" a blob of potato goo that, if no one is watching, I like to hurl against solid objects to see if it sticks. I've actually done that, recently. Very satisfying. The only use, for this sticky clod of starch. 

Meanwhile, I'm sure there will be a top 20, of American things I hate.. and more. 

Perspective is a bloody harsh mistress. 

On 26.01.2008, at 16:17, one of my German colleagues wrote:
(in part)

>As far as I know, the German grammar was the rather unsuccessful result of an attempt to superimpose the Latin grammar >(romanic language) on the German (germanic) language. Does not work that well.

This is part of my problem. I am one of the few, the proud, the GEEKY! National Latin Scholars (age 14 or so) and German retains its tribal inflections. Having learned Oberpfalz Bavarian, I found my colleague from Hannover unintelligible. He found me the same.. meanwhile the conflict between German, and its badly adapted Latin structure, is a mis-fit, that gives me fits.

>But I must admit that I am glad that German is my first language, I would be in severe difficulties to aquire it as a second or >third one. Romanic languages with all the declination and flexion drive me crazy. Before I have half figured out how to say >what I want to say, the person I am talking to will have retired by then.

LOL I feel the same way about Deutsch! Now, if we had moved to Italy, or Spain.. French is too irregular and gutteral for me to get along in. Very sexy to listen to, but I can barely ask for a glass of water.

>But what is much more difficult are the cultural (in the ethnological sense of the word) differences. I am just reading >"Teacher" by Mark Edmundson which gives me interesting insights into the mind of certain kinds of American college >students. A very strange, and for me strangely shallow and empty world - as long as I take my cultural background as an >absolute. Probably the characters of this book will find my world terrible from their point of view. I think because the material >culture is so similar, we tend to be in grave error in estimating the amount of difference between the US and Germany.

Hm.
Our German friends say to us: "you are very strange Americans!" we tell them, that our American friends say the same. We keep the old, independent, free-thinking, iconoclastic America, rather than this new invention of slack-mouthed media victims. The "Neauveaux Ranch" if you will.. (Texanism for people who buy land to drive golf carts around on, because they are afraid of horses -NOT including LBJ, rather his would-be successor the limping duck) and their economic victims.

Out to dinner this evening ( lovely stroll to an Italian place), remarking on the vital aspect of the older folks, guaranteed retirement and health care.
There was an old gentleman who stuck his cigarette in his mouth, toyed with it in his hand, and finally took Tim Conway steps out the door to smoke, in in this new year of Rauchverbot (no smoking in public places), as did everyone else. Germans don't break laws. They put on their seat belts as they are driving their cars out of the driveway, but they put them on.

I've been living in your world (this region's sheltered version of it), for almost six years. It's not terrible. It requires more awareness, that there are people in the world other than yourself, something Americans are particularly terrible at.
We went looking for wide open spaces, and are having to re-adapt, to the places that are clogging up due to our own carelessness and obsession with individuality, and individual transportation.
We're the ones who didn't like all that togetherness, didn't fit or couldn't deal, in the first place. This is how we ended up in the New World.
Mr Clemen's satirical writings are still true today, for the child of wide open spaces and frontier mentality, tossed into close interaction, with people who are actually good at that sort of thing.

Recycling is the law. (though we've actually had people hide trash, in our driveway trees... !)
No working, no noise (can't mow your lawn), nothing open, on Sundays
Nothing bloody open after four on Saturday, either!
State funded health insurance, on several levels
Sick leave is unlimited, as directed by a doctor. You don't run out.
Litter is minimal. Vagrancy is invisible. Crime is also minimal.
There is a kind of social perfectionism, which perhaps only the Japanese supercede.
Driving lessons are expensive, and last something like 200 hours.
Even having a car running, while talking on a cell phone, is worth a fine and ticket.
Cars are required to have emissions stickers, in many cities. Cost is per emission level or something.
Bicycles are treated as vehicles (though a dear friend was, fortunately not badly, struck by a car in Regensburg)
Lots of room to walk, cycle, or take public trans!

Am I ready to go back to the crime-ridden, careless, littered, chaotic, polluted, expensive-awful-beer&wine often bad-food US?
Am I ready to pay rent again, to be again in the land of legless soccer moms where walking is criminal, and biking just gets in the way of cars? No wonder Americans are doughy. Sigh.

I'm at a point where we really have to "fish or cut bait".
I have to improve my German and pass the Heilpraktiker, or get back to the US and get into practice, and move on with my training.

It is easier for Americans who never fit in, at home, to not take it so personally, when they are a stranger in a strange land. It's a perpetual state, and no surprise for us.

And, I guess, these remarks might already feel way too serious people on the other side of the waters?

For most Americans, as with many Deutschers I'm sure you can think of, the world ends at their state line.

Someone shared a quote about a life without travel, being like reading only one page of a book.
Originally, my world ended at the Texas border.. but the first time I slept in the chill of the Rocky Mountains in the summer, I was "outta there". Once I left Texas, that was it. I will always have a home, but it's like realizing that your mother is an axe murderer... not so much that you wonder how you ever got on, there, but that everywhere else seems quite livable!

Quite sure I can't "go back and stay" I'll be migratory now, wherever I go.

Anybody got a Jetstream they're not using?

I have to add.. in the semiprivate world of my blog, that it is still OK to be educated and intelligent, in Germany. We sat next to a table of people who were running through a variety of languages and comments, in our tiny nowhere town.

Mostly good German, which I understand 80-85%. Czech, Russian (which I studied 1 semester) French, Spanish (which I also understand) some Italian as well (we WERE in an Italian restaurant!). I enjoy Greek very much, and wish I had more time and space to learn it. Let's face it, I love all languages but German.

This red-headed stepchild of Teutonic laid on an ill-fitting Latin frame, has been my curse, the last 5-6 years. I've learned it, I can converse in it, but I do not love it. It is a marriage of convenience.

It is only fun, because the German people are fun, and I will slog through their bloody (bloede!) language to reach them.

No, I can't stay here, but I don't have to go home.
Or do I?
I don't, yet, and won't know, for the next three weeks.

Our ponies are down to to wire.

"Waiting for the wheel to turn" is a lovely song by Caipercaillie. 

When I was a child, sitting in the hot pseudo-seasons of Texas, I dreamed of crisp, cold places. I dreamed of snow, I dreamed of leaves with colors other than brown. Now I live further north than I ever dreamed, and am still dreaming of snow. A good white-out would make this winter a lot more FUN!

I dreamed of places not afflicted with humidity, and will never forget getting out of the college van for my Environmental Biology class in Del Rio, Texas in November. I was wearing a Dinotopia T-shirt and shorts, and none of it was sticking to me. I just felt "funny" and kept flapping my shirt because it felt so different. Meanwhile, thousands of monarch butterflies were passing through, and at some point someone photographed me, wondering at the fluttering trees. I'll dig that up from the paper photo archives.. we women bitch endlessly about our pictures, until we really start to age.  Then, we look at old pictures, and we know now, what we wished we had known then.. that youth has its own beauty. 

I saw an un-made-up pic of Nicolette Sheridan, sent by a gf same age as me.. I could aspire to that, at 44. I've got a (literal) handful of years to go, and probably another chemical peel or two, but it's possible. 

It is only through budo, that I could ever reconcile the beast within, to the beauty possible without. I'm feeling ugly with injuries, stress, and burdens of life, but I am also excited about the possibilities within the work we are doing. 

My poor mate is having a crap year, and mine isn't going much better. 

Not yet. 

I'm having to keep a very loose rein on the horses of fate. If I didn't consciously relax, it would all go back to Central Texas. In this case, I've let them loose, to see if they bring back anything better. It's been said, that to live in just one place, is to only read one page of a book. 

Go, ponies, go. Find great grazing, find the wild, beautiful places. Find us a home. 

I won't tell you where to go, but the mountains are beautiful and the sea is fine. 

Just got back from Regensburg, where cg's in the klink- er, klinik, again. I'm just glad we still have Black Beauty, our BMW 523i that we (DAMMIT!) have to sell before we leave. She's a 1998, but Very Well Preserved. 

The inside is all black leather and burl walnut, and the outside is all sleek black speed.

 I'm hitting 180kph smoothly except for the odd wind gust, and it takes some serious breeze to move Beauty. Well, that and the idiot truck traffic the German Autobahns are currently clogged with. So I make the 100 kilometers to Regensburg, and back, traffic allowing, in about 45 mins. I could never do that in our little Honda Element (2003) that we just got as a US specs car to bring back. The BMW also gets about a third again the gas mileage. At speed, even. I coast, rather than brake, and drive as far ahead as possible. 

The detached retina is lasered back down, his eye is full of some kind of gas to keep it in place, and he has a new acrylic lens in his eye to replace the cataracted old one.  A hip replacement, cataract surgery, and he's only 50. Unbelievable. I'm just hoping that he's kind of "getting it all over with" and can enjoy his next half century some. 

Fortunately, despite some crumbling edifices, this man has the heart (albeit arrythmic) of a giant. 

He also has a little Aussie cattle dog to nip and herd and take down anything, he might happen to miss. 

One of the nurses, after getting my lecture about him needing to take his meds for the Reiter's Syndrome, along with anything else they decided to toss in his system, agreed that I was the "Shaferhunde" this is the nice black and tan race of dogs we get from Germany who organize our lives, sniff our luggage and patrol yards everywhere. 

Protection dogs. 

Hm. I identify most with the quirky, stocky cattle dog (they have a bit of Dingo in), but CG is probably more on the line of a timber shepherd. Or possibly a Rottweiler, because they are basically giant lap dogs... anyway, the partnership breaks down into its basic parts, as we deal with crises. 

Woof. 

Southern kids have it worst. Maybe there are ethnic/cultural groups with deeper family ties, but us Southern kids have this expectation laid on us, that we'll stick around family. I guess that's why those of who break away, make such a big splash. Maybe it's an economic class idea, that Harvard grads go on to travel the world after they graduate college, and we PWTs are lucky to make it out of high school. 

I made it out of high school, but life and circumstance, combined with expectations which really could have been a lot higher, though they were high! kept me from Rice or Brown.. I had scholarship possibilities in both directions. 

Hindsight being the art of seeing what an ass I've been, I did the best I could, with what I had. I would have had further to fall, when family support fell off due to my parent's divorce. I know they would have done everything to keep me in school, but it just didn't work out. I don't blame them any more. They would have done differently, if they could have. If I had known I wanted to be a surgeon, or a psychologist, maybe it would have been different. Maybe not. Things are, as they are. 

Meanwhile, I've been overseas for almost six years. 

I'm migratory now, like the whooping cranes, hawks and butterflies. I don't mind going where the pickings and climate suit me. I do mind staying where I get sick, or uncomfortable. 

I don't need to *be* somewhere. 

There are places I love, and places I have yet to learn to love. 

Anywhere I can watch wild creatures, help something grow, and participate in the currents of life, makes me happy. 

Somehow I see a future in a vegetable diesel powered Jetstream with solar panels, wandering the continents with my table. I'd like to see writing, and nature illustration, in that future.. I think I've exposed myself, enough that the possibilities will chase me down regardless. 

Meanwhile, I'm sure I've made all kinds of accidental history, here in a cold, damp corner of Germany. 

I didn't mean to. 

True to pattern, without thinking, I rushed in, where angels fear to tread. 

Thankfully, I am no angel, but a force of nature, beyond my own understanding. Thus I end up again and again, at home in the fire, with no hope of regaining the frying pan. 

True to my nature, I won't jump back in. 

Burnt fingers, fried shoulders, I only stop, if it stops my work. 

Otherwise, my approach is flamethrower, buckshot, tracer, no-holds-barred. 

Taking no for an answer, is no answer. Status quo is just target practice. 

It's been too long, since I've drawn a bead. 

A lovely lady of 85 has come to my table. Her daughter, now in her mid-60s, brings her after her own 10 sessions. 

Both are battling structural problems, the mother has a large degree of kyphosis which is responding well to almost glacial manipulation of sternal fascia. 

It was our second session, and I asked a general question of the mother (loudly, as she is quite deaf) about other children besides her daughter.

The daughter explained, as the mother teared up and shook gently, that she was a "Kriegskind" and had been born during the war.. that women did not want to have children during that time, and thought to wait until after the war... but the great majority of men fell in the war (I am deliberately using German-flavored language) and there were no children, after.  And no men to father them. 

I was deeply touched... I reached deep into my own center, and changed my work to gently place a tissue in the mother's hand (for your eyes, I said) and held her hand for a little moment.. then I moved my hand to her lumbar spine, and supported her gentle shaking with this old, generational pain. 

It is another moment, which remains deeply engraved on my soul. 

Another was a circle of fiberglass bear sculptures in Berlin, which various countries had sent for display.  I suppose a blank bear was sent to the country, was decorated, and sent back. The British bear was covered with silly pop pictures, the Irish bear was all wound up in green and orange tapes, the American bear was dolled up like the statue of liberty.. but the one that arrested me, made me touch it.. was the Yugoslavian bear. This was some 4-5 years ago, during the Balkan war. It had been liberally pelted with machine gun bullets, and painted corpse-white. 

My first day in Germany, we visited friends (we are part of a lovely global martial arts community) in their old townhouse in Frankfurt.  
In the back yard, I noted deep holes in the lower part of the house. What's that? of course my hands wandered into these cavities in concrete... 
It was scoring from the 50 cals of the Allies... 

These are things I will not leave behind. 

I'll quote a line from Casablanca, that the problems of two people don't add up to a hill of beans in the world.. Just a guess, from a kid doing the best she can. 

A dear friend calls to check on me when I vent out here.. that's very sweet. 

It's hard to explain why I don't write when I'm happy! I'm certainly not UNhappy, I'm one of the luckier beings on the planet. Life isn't perfect, but I'm here to complain about it. 

I think the perspective of wanting firearms may seem paranoid, to those who have not lived with them. It's hard to explain that I *HAVE* been happy to have my wheelgun at my side, many times. 

I don't want to live that way again, but my upbringing and my ornery nature dictate that, should we end up in a place where public safety is a kind of sick joke (even in your own home!) I intend to be prepared. 

The referral cg got to Arlington VA could be lots of fun! Public trans and everything! Woot!

I'm really not interested in "normal American" things. I don't care to shop, I never had enough money. I don't care about commercial sports, what does that have to do with my life or values? no clue. 

Football? complete bore. Basketball, volleyball, golf the same. Does nothing for me, not interesting. 

Starbucks? Oh spare me. Lavazza, Tchibo, Segafredo! 

Chain restaurants: Crap aimed at separating you from your money. 

I'll hit local suppliers of seasonal local goodies, take it to my own kitchen, and make something wonderful! 

By the way, WalMart is of no interest, either. 

I'm hip to Ikea, though! looking for a way to buy stock in that sucker!

The options are these: Houston (ack! except for family, old friends, and a very interesting colleague for me) Suffolk MD (sounds nice enough) Sacramento (gangs galore and hot, yuk) Kansas City (unaffected by evolution since Clan of the Cave Doofus)  DC (well, lots of folks needing my help, public trans, and the Smithsonian!) Idaho Falls (in the lap of my beloved Rocky Mountains! everybody rub your lucky pennies, do your lucky dances, and so on for us on this, especially if you want to visit!) Fort Irwin (in the heights of the Mojave) Del Rio TX (bird and butterfly watching, beautiful SW TX, and I do want to pick up Spanish again) Atlanta (is this US crime central? Ack! my last choice at best!) San Antonio (has stolen much of CenTex water to run their Riverwalk, not my fave city and every highway is San Pedro)  Berkeley CA Lawrence Livermore Lab (whoa, how cool is THAT? the birthplace of Structural Integration Exploration! otherwise another damn big city).

The constant question is.. aren't you glad to go home?

Define home.. If it's somewhere I'm safe, and I know the expectations and possibilities, then the answer is, Oberpfallz, Germany. 

If it's where I came from, and I know to expect danger, have saved money for a sawed-off 12-gauge loaded with buckshot handy. 

If concealed carry is legal, I will train for it and do so. I have a good teacher. 

When I came over here, I gave up all my firearms. 

It was hard. But when I realized how ridiculously safe I was, I let it go. We have a door intercom, and my German is good enough to ask the right questions.  

I don't look forward, to having to carry again. I loved my 357.. but it's too big to really carry. Even with a 4-inch barrel. Ah, my beautiful Ruger Safety Six with nickel finish and Pachmeyer grips.. 

Meanwhile... up to this time.. we've never had to think about it. 

Think about that. 

It will get worse, before it gets better.  

Do you feel lucky, punk?

Would you pay more tax, to not have to test your luck in gunpowder?

We're looking at where we are headed. 

 Back to the USSR.. no, wait.. the USA. 

If you have to deal with the TSA, no diff. If they want what you got, they take it. Some association of kleptomaniac smokers and drinkers got a government contract. All the booze, lighters, tweezers, nail clippers and pocket paraphernalia you can snag! All that, and gummint bennies! Woo! 

So, once we pass the hazing gauntlet of the TSA, we can "come home". After we endure the subtle taunts about spending so many years overseas making us traitors. No, really, I've gotten that. 

Gee, supporting the troops by leaving home and everything we knew, our language, our culture, our family, is treasonous? better take that damn magnet off your gas-sucking, blood-letting SomewhatUselessVehicle. 

Nevertheless, we have loved our time here. We leave the garage unlocked, and if we space out, and leave the garage open, nothing goes missing. We never worry about being mugged. Today we got excellent German black beer for about 20 cents American per bottle. People are pathologically honest. When the Euro first came along, I watched older Germans helplessly open their purses to the clerks in the stores, who would expertly pick out the correct payment, and just as expertly drop in the correct change. 

So, now we go back to the land of drivers who can't successfully pick their own noses, much less steer machinery, and a populace as apathetic as it is starved of honesty.. 

Would YOU be thrilled?

We're not. 

Oh, did you get the news flash about the US trailing just about Every Civilized Nation in terms of health care?

It's a quarter of an hour down, and I'm beating down the gate. 

I'm ready to tear out, into the future. My feet hurt, but that's not stopped me before. 

I'm beaten up by my own expectations, but I've got more. 

I'm pacing, chomping at the bit. 

Ready to go, ready to go forward. Ready to let go of a situation which has let us down. It's part of the system here, at some point the airbags deploy, and deny an extension. 

I'm glad of it. Let me go, let him go. Let us all out of a situation which is only concerned with how much suction it can apply to its own appendage. 

We're in a place of ready waiting. 

We are a sprung trap for the future. 

Sipping Veuve Cliquot, nibbling blackeyes stewed slow in adobo and harissa, a smoked hock and a bay leaf I grew myself.. how can the indifferent revolution of the earth not be moved by our simple joy?

We are the luckiest people in the world. We have each other, this life, our experiences, memories, expectations, wonder, curiosity, adventure and optimism. 

We're ready to break the gate. 

Bunnies under my bed?

Oh.. 

No wonder I never vacuum under there!

Fangy, toothy.. RUN!

Save yourselves!

Wr in ur dojo eatin yr footz!

Found this on Short Sharp Science New Scientist Blog and have been laughing my patootie off ever since. 

All Hail The Arachnid!

Just a cute little jumping spider strolling across a NASA camera during a launch... oopsie, aborted! Darn spiders. 

We Leik Science!

www.mofaha.com

We also like excuses to go "NOM NOM NOM"!!

 I try to explain to my homeless Navy brat sweetie, time and again. I have a Home, and it's the needle that will show the way, again and again. I can live elsewhere and be happy, and maybe someday, some other special place will be Home. I'm not ruling it out. 

I'm not that hung up on Home. It's just like some kind of birthmark... I have one of those, as well. A kid with a splotch in the middle of their forehead may not look like that, when they grow up. If they're lucky. There it is, under the hair, for the rest of their lives. Maybe we're enslaved by it, maybe not. I'm choosing NOT, unless I need to come home, in which I'll take full advantage, and enjoy. 

The idea that I should live life as a tourist, with eyes open and wondering, instead of taking what's there for granted, has become an important one during our years overseas. 

I am not afraid of bees. My mom made sure of that. I like to pet them, they are soft and fuzzy and mostly very friendly. They don't like to be bothered, but then, neither do I. 

What I am afraid of, is my mom's house. She is a compulsive hoarder .

Going back home, I have to face this house, and this problem. 

I'm going to be very honest with you, this is like having to dig through the dumpster of your own life, plus ten. 

My mom is still functional, and trying to move out of her house, but I can only imagine the struggles she is enduring, to make some kind of movement. 

If she isn't out of there, by the time I come to town, I'll do everything I can to help. 

And hope, that I don't help too much. 

My mom's nickname is what makes the "bee" part relevant. No, I'm not afraid of bees, but let's just say I cultivate a healthy respect!

My mom asked me to attend a church service here in Germany, and it's just not something I'm going to do. 

Especially with the religious war the US is currently participating in, I just don't feel like like participating in religion. Not here, not there, not anywhere. 

This doesn't account for the panic attacks I've had in churches, quietly, over the years. If a person believes in past lives (and my jury is out on this one, pending further scientific study) if I was a hedgewitch then, as I am now, most likely I got burned in a couple of them. 

I'm not just agnostic when it comes to major religions, I'm also agnostic when it comes to New Age bullshit. You'd no sooner catch me lined up for a tarot reading, than you would catch me in church. 

Blogger varies between "Save Now" and "Saved" and I'm not sure if I should call Pat Robertson or not. 

I'm erring on the side of NOT.. 

I'm not sure I want to be "saved". There's many things in my life I would have liked to have been saved from, including idiotic teachers in high school and college (grew up in Texas, any questions?), my own stubbornness (except that it saves me more often than not)  and some injuries I still have to be careful of. My profession has saved me from far more of my mistakes than any religion could ever dream of. I don't approach what I do as cult activity, in fact, I tend to be more of an irritating thorn than a willing follower. Still, I love the work, and I do good work, in places where most R/SI'ers don't go (martial arts and the military).

Stepping outside under sparkling stars, marveling at tree roots and fungi, nibbling fall apples and rose hips, endlessly amused at life and my fellow humans (and astonished by their resourcefulness and endurance) and savoring this chance to not just live on one continent, I am incredibly blessed. 

Not by something outside myself. I stepped up, I took these chances, and I made the decision to be aware of my life. I don't live in the "palm to face" world most Americans have locked themselves into. I like to look up, and look around. 

I have observed many "cultural" Jews who are not necessarily observant of their religious traditions except as something to do with their families. I could be labeled a "cultural" Christian, except that I deeply embrace the concept of the Turning of the Light. My body responds to the seasons markedly, and, as I live there, my spirit does the same. Perhaps I am more in tune with this Northern European season, where we wait patiently until the light turns, and then start our lives anew, in the dark. 

Meanwhile, atheists are actually nicer.. news at 11.. 

http:/scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2007/12/bad_news_atheists_can_be_good.php

(I typed that link by hand, because Blogger won't paste it in Mac except on the bottom of the page, where it doesn't post and disappears.. um, conspiracy anyone? hell-OO? simple text paste? I hate typing code. )

It's a particularly bittersweet holiday, this year. 

We walked Regensburg with friends, and I am always so uplifted by the lights and the happy people. 

The sensation of homesickness, this year, is deeply tinged with the impending knowledge that though I may get to go "home", I will always miss the gaiety in the darkness, this time of year in Bavaria provides. 

We're on a mad tour of Christmas markets, drinking gluehwein and enjoying the ambiance. 

I'm more likely to demand

 perfection of myself, than o

f life. 

My life, not so very long ago, was a train wreck. 

Now, after all these years of hard work on myself, and my environment, and the loving support and cultivation of my dear cg, past injuries become integrated scars, supporting a life's web of information. 

It's the best we can do with these things we crash into, hang on to too much, leave behind, and forget to let go. 

Most of all, I think we forget to find support for our Selves. We don't take advantage of the information that is there to 

climb up on. This is the time of year to delve.. I can spend endless dark evenings sipping hot wine and experimenting with my thoughts. 

I couldn't tell anyone else to do it, who didn't want to go a little mad. But I am convinced that we humans have a hard time telling the difference between madness and genius, and am willing to experiment with both (while admittedly having far more of one on hand, than the other... ). 

Well, with the whole Chris Comer thing going on at the Texas (mis) Education Agency, a complete separation of the acromioclavicular ligament in one particular Mensch is No Big Deal!

The collarbone and some attached cartilage just kind of floats around above my shoulder. It doesn't hamper my movement much, but I can't, say, scratch my other shoulderblade like I used to. I tried today, not comfortable. I'm being very diligent about getting into the gym, and strengthening my arms as much as possible. 

Anyway, I'm doing well, feeling normal, and able to complete normal chores as expected. No left side shoulder rolls or ukemi for the forseeable future, but life goes on.

Dishes, laundry, ironing and work go on, as normal.

Never thought I'd be so grateful, just for that.

Took a little mild ukemi today, worked with the jo and threw with my right arm. 

Left shoulder burned a bit, biceps tendon complaining hotly down my arm. I figure it's an inflammation of the sheath of the tendon from the swelling on my shoulder, and have gone back to my ice pack for tonight. 

Down to one naproxen sodium today, Voltaren cream and ice. Using rubber tubing for exercises to strengthen the rotator cuff and brace cartilage now MIA. 

I'm quite functional, working is no longer uncomfortable and budo is becoming less so. I still like to keep my left hand in a jeans pocket rather than let it hang, and with this injury it may become a habit. 

I'm weighing what CG has told me for years, about the practicality of shoulder rolls, and wish I didn't have to understand what he's talking about, this way. 

I don't think I get another chance with this shoulder, and I'm not likely to take any. 

It's like stepping out of a photo negative.
I know, we don't see them so often any more, life is digital. My life is certainly digital, and I'm OK with that. But I remember life in photo negatives. The first photos of my early life, were in black and white.

Now that you know you're reading the diary of a Mature Person, maybe what I'm about to write about seems crazy.
Maybe someday, the idea that money was green and white, will seem crazy too. The Euro is much prettier in any case. If pretty equals worth, that explains a lot. Doesn't help me much ;-) .

I was doing martial arts (aikido), fell wrong, and ripped the top ligament which holds the collarbone down to the shoulder, right off. Now I have a lot of cartilage floating around and a shoulder which droops oddly beyond the slightly elevated shelf of the collarbone. I'll get a pic up here soon enough. One bit is too far up, the other too far down.

Meanwhile, I'm starting to feel more recovering, than injured. There's no surgical answer, the shoulder is too mobile a joint for surgeons to be happy with their limited options for repair. It wasn't recommended for me, and I was left to do my own physical therapy.
A friend gave us some tied-off color coded surgical tubing for Chuck's hip rehab, and I have adopted it for my shoulder rehab. Sitting on a physioball today, doing my 15 reps of 3 different angles, toning the supraspinatus up for its new job of holding my shoulder together, in the absence of the cartilage whose job it was, before.

I am also using "medicine balls" for simple range of movement, such as I would use in working.
Using the surgical tubing to build strength in the directions I am currently weak.

Gently, slowly, irrevocably.

I've never been one to take "no" for an answer, and I'm not about to start now.

I'll consider myself healed, when I can do kata without limitation, or make a basket without a hitch.
Not that I like basketball, just that throwing things up, right now, is not comfortable.

I'm not going to try aikido again, nor shoulder rolls. It's just not worth it, any more.
I prefer to have my shoulder to work, to do weapons kata, and daily life.

Having lived in Europe for just over 5 years, and being an interested observer in the US economy, I have some commentary, especially having to do with our current drubbing in the international economy.

Some people may not think of having your currency devalued internationally, as a drubbing. I'm not sure if it's a way to make our debt appear smaller, a way to benefit manufacturing at the expense of the rest of the population, or what.

In any case, our investment in the Euro via our bank account here, has been a good one. Expensive, but good return on our Euro purchase. I haven't worked the percentages out yet. Something which costs 99 Euros, currently costs about 148 US dollars. About a year ago we bought in at almost 2000 Euro. The value has gone up. Not sure of values yet. I try to think of buying Euro as an investment which, at this point, will only go up.

Health care.. GM's re-negotiation of their health care program led me to wonder: Could US companies be more competitive, if the cost of health care was shifted onto the state?
Our main competitors, Western Europe and Japan, have socialized health care. Manufacturing companies do not need to figure health insurance into their costs in these places. American companies do. At what point will we realize what a drag this is on industry, and socialize health care, as has every other civilized nation, and some we don't count as such? (Cuba, Iceland).

Health insurance coverage is decreasing in the US:
http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/hlthins/hlthin06/hlth06asc.html
Meanwhile, poverty is increasing.
http://www.census.gov/prod/2007pubs/p60-233.pdf
(don't read the text, just look at the numbers... )

Public transportation.. France and German have both had enormous train strikes.. resulting in enormous traffic jams. Trains save gas, they save lives (reducing traffic and therefore accidents) they save personal fortunes (no car payment, no insurance!) and they create jobs. Toll roads, hello Texas, do none of the above.

Total rail fatalities in the US were 911 (no, really..).
Total highway fatalities were 42, 642.
Pedestrians were 4, 784 (don't know if this was counted in traffic fatalities, assuming most were killed by cars)
Pedalcyclists died at a rate of 773 for the year of 2006.
766 people died as a result of air and air travel related accidents.
Source: http://www.bts.gov/publications/national_transportation_statistics/html/table_02_01.html

The only thing that kills more people than cars, are heart disease, cancer ("malignant neoplasms" nothing to do with cigarettes I'm sure) strokes and the like, chronic respiratory disease (gosh, could that be cigarettes, or, worse, air quality, possibly having to do with cars?), accidents (to include what?), the flu and pneumonia.
Source http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nvsr/nvsr56/nvsr56_05.pdf

What's shameful to me, is that the US can't conceive of the idea that, perhaps, somewhere, someone is doing something better than we are.

And if they are, that we could learn something from it.

Instead of everyone just picking up bad habits and overpriced blue jeans from us.

(I'm just kidding about Iceland. We recently met an Icelander on a train, an opera singer, who was utterly civilized and funny.. we just tend to forget about it as a country! but it's there, and the people are interesting)

Still healing.. still frustrated at not being able to train fully.
Using ice gel packs and naproxen sodium to manage discomfort, which isn't bad as long as I don't do too much, or anything stupid. Occasionally, doing nothing in particular, I get bright stars, little asterisks of pain. Possibly from things that used to connect, that don't, any more.

At any rate, I can swing a sword, I can work, and I can complete most daily tasks.

I can't sleep on my left side, or load the left side a lot.
It's interesting that I have to work, and work out, smarter.

If I have to get hurt, I'm going to get everything I can out of it.
Even if I don't want to.

Watching late fall winds, blowing leaves and snowflakes around in a damp and frosty mix.

My shoulder is healing fast, but the top AC ligament is pretty much shot. Fortunately, since the earlier injury, I have paid a lot of attention to getting in the gym and keeping my rotator cuff and shoulder musculature strong. That, and the intensive bodywork I have undergone, has made a huge difference in my adaptability to injury.

I've also done a lot of manual labor and swung a lot of steel, be it an axe, sling blade or katana.
The orthopedist remarked, on the wear on my bones.

Wasn't sure what to say, to his fascination with that.
He's happy with the mobility of the joint, and I can reach almost straight up (not quite, not yet). Normally, I can reach and hold my own fingers behind my shoulder blades. Not today, needless to say. The bruising has slipped down under my arm and into the space between the bulk of pec major and humerus. Not as ugly as it was. I've been religious with gel ice packs, Voltaren gel, and liniments (Kwan Loong and BioFreeze).

Overall, I'm not unhappy with my healing. Other than having to do it in the first place.

I skipped my naproxen dose last night and this morning, and was sorry. I've also got a little heel spur thing going on with my right foot, so between the foot drag and the bump on my shoulder, I might as well live in a bell tower.

Getting hurt isn't just about getting hurt, it's about where you start from, IF you're lucky enough to get the chance to get better. People in car and bike crashes don't make it, all the time. A point for telecommuting...

My general good condition, integration, psychological resilience (hard-won and a bit stretched, at the moment) and general deep stubbornness has all stood me in good stead.

I've become a fan of "Medi-Taping" a Japanese practice which has spread, happily, to Europe. The light, gentle elastic tapes provide a kind of support for the injured joint and counter-stimulus to injured and contracting muscles and nerves. The osteopath I hang out with as often as possible, taped me up the Monday after the injury, and it was great until Thursday, when it was itching like crazy and I took it off. Boy, was I sorry!
Next, I was scratching at the door of the physiotherapist's I knew, asking them to put some back on.
They were incredibly sweet and kind, and taped me back up.
It's a little itchy, but I don't care. I can scratch through the tape.

So, two points.. not starting from zero, and knowing kind folks, who will take in injured strays.

*shuffle, drag, hunch.. "yeth, Marthter... "

Not much I can do, with a bum shoulder, so I'm taking myself on nice Walkies.

I've decided to make one more batch of delicious cranberry jam with the tiny, elusive wild cranberries which grow on the ground in the forests here.

Some little yellowish mushrooms caught my eye...

Hours of poring over mushroom books paid off! The Germans call them "Trompeten-Pfifferling". They are lovely little things with yellow stems, dark caps, and gills becoming light lilac as the fungi mature. My German book indicates they are "Cantherellus tubaeformis", though these look a little like the American var. Lutescens.

Our anniversary dinner was splendid, with these little beauties in a simple cream sauce over chicken breast, romanesque from our garden, polenta toasted in olive oil, and the last of our collection of Alsatian Reisling Gran Cru.

I found almost a kilo of these little beauties on the steep hillside. I shared a generous handful with our landlord, and dried another big handful of them to keep around for soups and such.

Yes, I'm contemplating another run out there, despite the despicable drippiness of the day!

I need to get some sloes and more cranberries anyway. Yeah.. that's my excuse..

First of all, I want you to know that I have never been "really" injured (knocks wood furiously).

I have never broken a bone, I have rarely bled, and I have never had to have surgery, so far, as a result of an injury in Japanese-paradigm based martial arts training.

I had a moderate medial ankle sprain to my deltoid ligament and supporting structures in 1998, and a mild shoulder separation/shoulder jam from 1995, and one Nov 27, 2007. The real pisser is, that something that happened 12 years ago, happened again. With trusted friends, in a technique whose ukemi I thought I had overcome. In seven years of training with Chuck, I have never had more than a bruise.

I got him to take a pic: Nice bruising, and the articulation between clavicle and shoulder capsule is standing up even more than it did before. The Rolfing process had brought it down to almost unnoticeable, and hopefully my colleagues can iron it out for me again, once I can stand to have it manipulated.

I saw the orthopedist, who instructed me to ice, take something for pain (Naproxen sodium 1000 mg per day, with Nexium to protect my stomach) and to "dangle" my arm down by my side to take the pressure off the swelled, jammed bursa. I've probably ripped the acromioclavicular ligament up again and the rear trap feels sore and stiff. I'm also getting stiff in the front and back from splinting, hematoma and swelling.

The good news is, I have good mobility and steadily lessening (thank goodness!!) pain. I checked my journal from the last time I did this, and I was swimming laps (while cursing) in about two weeks. I've called the local osteopath as well, and hope to get started on physical therapy next week. Last time, I didn't have health insurance!

I got on the mat casually, and was just sort of "messing about" and just didn't have my focus tuned in. It came back sharply after the injury, and I managed, somehow, to "go inside" and reduce the dislocation myself. I don't remember much about it but a deep determination and a soft POP, which everyone else heard.

The reason for the injury was my lack of focus.
It's not a problem I have on Chuck's mat, but I don't have my head on right for aikido, any more. I've never been an ukemi bunny... but I've managed to survive, and hopefully not be a complete idiot.

The pain is just that, pain. The feeling of being stupid, and WORSE! feeling like I let down everyone at the seminar, especially Peter and our own dojo. The feeling of failure, and not being able to participate, was way more painful than the injury.

I am still touched, by the people who ministered to me. The thrower was deeply apologetic, and the resident nurse made me promise to see the ortho and splinted the arm for me for the drive home. Peter sprayed me down with arnica, and Pauliina just put her hands on the owie and held it-- one of the best things for acute pain. Karl managed to find me ice, and Barbara brought me more. Pauliina hovered like a concerned mother ducky. I'm afraid I stole Peter's training towel to wrap the ice pack in.. will send that back with his notes.
Someone brought me homeopathic arnica, which I don't believe in, but, in extremis, what the hell.

The seminar was a blast, and a great success, and that's the important thing.
I'm especially grateful to everyone who stepped up and pitched in around the house.

Good friends are great blessings.

Dear friends are warning me against returning.

It may be, that I have a choice, but, uninsulated by the Status of Forces agreement, incompetent in the language and laws of the land, and compelled by circumstance to cut the political umbilical cord which connects cg to free housing, utilities, and a kind of allowance against the death-spiral of the dollar (suppressed by our politics: http://globaleconomicanalysis.blogspot.com/, thanks Cousin Frank!), we need to go back to what we know.

Or move to Costa Rica, whatever.

Researching the neighborhood I am thinking of moving to, Travis Heights in Austin, I find that someone I knew in high school was stabbed to death in a parking lot on the east side of the highway there, in June 2006. Schoolchildren found his body in the morning. I wonder, if he would have wanted to be a warning. Perhaps, he would have. I remember some author's mantra, if you can't be a good example, at least be a terrible warning.

I knew his sister, we worked together in high school. I knew he was a performer, but I had never seen him work. He dropped out of school, to become a juggler.

I used to work in the biggest theater in town, the Americana. It was surreal, not just because we were all young and experimenting with everything... well, I wasn't, chemically anyway. My grip on reality has always been slippery enough, without loosening it further with any kind of psychoactive WD40.

I hadn't thought about the guy since last I saw him, had never connected him with the Esther's Follies performances, and his little sister was just, like, oh, he does stuff... Shelly, I'm so sorry. His name was, is "Ryder" Red Ryder, Warren Schwarz. Sorry I am so late in my salute. Sorry I never saw him "do his thing" in person. Watched it on YouTube. You know, I used to wonder why he wore a top hat in school... figured he had a reason, thought it was cool.

We want to think well of the departed, but I think this guy is more than that. He made his mistakes, he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, seen by the wrong person in the wrong circumstance. There's very little defense anyone can make use of, once these variables are tipped. I think he would have wanted to be an example. He was a good guy, and never meant to do harm. It's just hard to get past personal demons.. sometimes they win. Did I say I was sorry? It's a pitiful mantra, but it's all I've got.

Meanwhile, I feel now, like I'm stepping over the bones of the past, to come home. I've warned my ex, and we are having a nice email conversation. He is a great and generous person, and I would recommend him to anyone who could do right by him.

When you don't exactly burn your bridges, but you don't take time to put them out either, it's a delicate negotiation, to come back home. Unapologetic Dixie Chix fan that I am, just listen to Long Way Home and you'll get the way I've been on.

Dear friends have warned me against most of the things I have held, and will hold dear, in my life.
You'll just have to keep loving me, when I nod, give you a hug, and go do whateverthatstupidthing was that worried you so much, understand that even I don't understand the path I'm on. How can I? Women in budo don't exactly have a blazed trail to follow.

When Opportunity calls me home, there must be something there for me to do.
I ended up over here, and, while I am no christian, I have tried to be an instrument of peace, deep in the entrails of war. I have never loved a fight so much, as what I have had, here.

With my mate by my side, I have raked over coals many comfortable bureaucrats who would rather hold down a chair, than benefit the people who pay their salary.
I have taken in the stragglers the medical community would, well, medicate out of existence, and made them walk again. Literally. I make soldiers who would be useless, on medication, function.
Throw that away, if you have the IQ of a stapler. Contact me, otherwise.

Brother Peter, brother Francis, you know I have work here, to do. You know I will make myself mobile and available to those who call out for laying on of hands in a particularly effective manner, to keep the Word (of budo) alive.

Through it, around it, and by my own inability to pay attention to whatever the damnfool StatQuo thinks it's on about, maybe we can educate some folks still able to Pay Attention.

Ryder, I took those Texas Employment Tests, and they said I would excel at Sleight of Hand.

You'd love, where I took that joke.

Right up their noses.
No, really..

I'm one of those rare modern Americans who has a home.
It's Austin, Texas, if you ask my mother, who was there (after a fashion) at the time.

I'm doubly lucky in that my home is one national leaders have falsely claimed as their own, to gain the imperative of respect. If you count luck as the Dutch do, Austin is lucky. We are the Amsterdam of the Southwest US.

I can say "we" again.

While I was in Austin last March, I asked a veteran in my profession (SI) what it was like to be in a town which respected, and supported, what she did.

She smiled, said it was a great joy and a great honor.
You know, we never needed to say anything... I felt it in her, and she felt it in me.
I was on the verge of my homesick tears, and she comforted me, in a very grounding, structural way.

Since then, every time I have gotten a session (damn few, due to my remote location!), I have gotten up ready to "to go" in a place slow to orient, evolve and accept. I can only hammer one will at a time to what I do... and if I don't have Chuck's job to give me time and space, I don't have time to beat my way through the brush. Stuck in Army limbo, it's hard to make a commitment, except to the Army. And that's not going to happen. Too many broken bodies, broken lives, too little care, too little time, too little too late, too many demands on folks considered in this administration an underclass, rewarded with capital letters and rotting rehabilitation facilities... too much heartbreak.

I've lost my patience, and am not willing to lose my mind, break my fingers and my will against a multitude of stubbornnesses and stupidities.
The Oberpfalzers like to watch everything for years, before they give it a try. They won't have time to wait, with me. The very nature of my existence here is ephemeral, as far as they are concerned. And they will miss what I have been taught, because they were too slow to try it.

I've learned the language, I've learned to appreciate the culture, there are things I love, and things I can't get. I would stay, but the environment is not pro-business, and the language, bureaucracy and culture are deeply opaque. I have gone in further than most non-natives, and can converse in a limited fashion. I hate the limits, though. I suppose I would hate them, anywhere.

The Army is, if anything, slower and more stubborn as an organization. Individuals who discover the benefit, like the lieutenant I saw today, putting her body together 10 months after the birth of her first child and made a passing grade on her PT test for the first time, are quick adapters. The rheumatologist who came to me with jaw problems for herself, and sends me the most interesting clients, is another quick adapter. Her efforts to bring SI work into wider exposure have been beautiful and ambitious. However, preaching to stones is preaching to stones. I cannot bring people into responsibility. I can just prod them upright...

So when this same veteran put out the call for professionals in her area at a new holistic health center in Austin, I sent a small sad note that I wish I could respond. She said, they'd be glad to have me.

I talked to my husband, who has not been extended in Germany, by a penny-pinching administration.
He encouraged me, and knows I've been suppressing my homesickness for our good, and his career, for years now.

He is willing to do what it takes, to support what it is I am here to do.
This is what started the whole odyssey.

So I find myself back at the beginning of the maze, possibly with a lot of cheese.
As long as we're not starving, I'll hope it's not Velveeta.

Apple crunches sweet and sour
fall sunshine.
Piercing regret,
sweetness lingers.

Endless summer girl
I don't mourn the summer slipping
Only the slip
Of time and memory.













Fall is
sinking into the Dark.
We Fall...
Life is ever in the balance
of Dark.
There is no fear.
Only bright splashes of color
exploration
preservation of the Light
and survival.

I've got a love letter in my soul, for Bavaria.

The implacable goddess with her swords and her arrows, hunting hounds at her feet and the harvest at her breast, the direct mother of the Texas star. Beer-gardens, hunting stands, fields and trees, industry and agriculture combined with a live free or die lifestyle has been the Bayer's lifestyle since they were tribes.

I've been living with my love letter to Austin, tucked into my sport bra, worn to illegibility, secret and sweaty, up until this time. Even I can't read it any more. Something about the soulfulness of always being overheated, stuck in traffic, overcharged for beer or coffee, and grumbling about trendies and tourists taking over the place.

I've got a love letter in my soul, for Europe.

She's been dealing with the idealists, slackers and drunks and druggies of the world as long as the Continent has been dry. One weekend in Amsterdam will teach anyone the limits of human tolerance to addictive idiocy. Everyone wonders why the French are so crabby in Paris -- I'm sure the average native Austinite feels the same about SXSW.

Somewhere, someone drew the short straw, and I got an invitation to go Home.

I'm pretty sure I'm ready.
Just don't ask me to stay during boiling August and early September, or juniper-poisoned January/mid February. For the rest of the time, I'm ready to get my feet on the ground, and my hands into people willing and ready to change.

I'm ready to get life off the starting line.

Meanwhile, I've fallen in love with damp, cold Bavaria, and will miss her sweet, clammy hands... the fall colors, the quick seasons, the fall colors, the SNOW, the feverish short summers, mushrooms, apples, berries and bittersweet sloes.

It's part of the cost of musashugyo, to miss all the places you visited.
I'm lucky enough to have this experience, and will never forget it.

Actual love letters coming shortly...