US trip - Gray-cation

Week 2 of our U.S. trip was the Gray-cation. It was first-ever reunion for my dad's side of the family in Grand Beach, Michigan. There were 23 adults and 5 kids in a lodge sort of a place that used to be a little hotel in the woods.

We decided on day one that if the movie The Shining were set in the Midwest, it would have been filmed at this place. It had a big screen porch, huge common rooms with slightly shabby couches, an old phone booth in the hall, and a player piano that no longer played. Each bedroom had a theme ranging from cowboys to sailboats to kitty cats. I knew that if I heard piano music in the middle of the night, or if spurs clicking their way down the hall, it would mean the place was definitely haunted.

Thankfully, though, we made it through the week. The scariest things that happened were running out of beer in the cooler and finding earwigs where you’d least expect them. We had a pool out back and the beach – perfect for watching sunsets - was a short walk away. If you’ve never swum in Lake Michigan before, picture a very calm  ocean with only fresh water and no seashells. It was fantastic.

It’s funny to get to know your cousins as adults. These are the ones that always lived far away, that we would only see every couple of years. The cousins from my mom’s side of the family have shared kiddie tables at countless family gatherings and seen each other in all stages of awkward growing-up.  We still fall into the roles that we’ve played since preschool. Hanging around with the Gray cousins and their spouses was different. It was more like seeing friends of a friend that you’d met before and always hear about… but never really gotten to know until now.

The crowning moment was on the last night when my cousin-in-law Rachel showed off her design of my father’s and his four siblings’ heads carved into Mount Rushmore. I don’t think they enjoyed the drawing as much as my generation did. It would have looked great on the wall of a Black-Hills themed room, or better yet, the Presidential suite.

US trip - the ballpark

We are in the U.S. and I have already consumed the following: cheddar cheese, root beer, store-bought salsa, free ice water, fountain drinks, bagels, wheat thins, cheese curds (twice) sourdough bread and various items full of high-fructose corn syrup. I have done more here than just eating, but rather than give you the day-by-day chronicle of events, I’ll just pick a highlight or two. For today it's the ballpark.

During our first week in the U.S. we went to a Cubs game.  I am not a Cubs fan but I am a Wrigley Field fan. If I had to pick one experience of Americana, it would be a trip to the ballpark. Here’s why:

You walk in, and the person taking your ticket smiles, asks how you are doing, and waits for an answer. Inside, it smells like hot dogs and popcorn. People are talking, yelling even. They are loud. The people all look different – White, Black, Asian, Latino, and other backgrounds I can’t even guess at. They come in all shapes. Some are huge, some are tiny. Some look like they are fresh from the office, some might have just rolled out of bed. Odd-looking vendors shout out "High Life," "Hot dogs," "Chocolate malt cups" in voices toughened by a decade of baseball seasons. They pass beer down the row while fans pass cash from hand to hand until it reaches the aisle and there’s always a little extra in there for a tip. That’s all before the game begins. 

I like to watch the players when they are not being watched. When the cameras are on somebody else, they stretch and joke with each other and pull on their socks. Their heads follow every the movements of the pitcher and the ball and the catcher and the third base coach. Like everyone else, I like to watch them turn double plays without thinking and run the bases without even breathing hard.

There was no great baseball to watch in this game. The Angels beat the Cubs 13 - 2. We didn’t care. We sang take me out to the ballgame and listened to the organ at Wrigley. We bought a souvenir cup full of Pepsi, right out of the fountain and loaded with ice and high-fructose corn syrup. It was good to be home.

War memorials

During our bike rides through the farmland and small towns outside of Hannover, Brian and I started noticing war memorials. They are not big or shiny or located in prominent spots. There is, as far as I know, no big national memorial in Germany to commemorate WWI and WWII. The Germans were, after all, the losers. And they were the bad guys; that's what we were raised to believe. My impression is that Germans are raised with a degree of shame and regret for what happened here, but also a nostalgia for what was destroyed by the allies. The swastikas have been scratched away and painted over, the flag is only waved at football games, and no old veterans march in parades. There are, however, still some memorials tucked away in shady corners. We even saw one in Hamburg, half-hidden behind the gate of a sports stadium.

Small towns in the U.S. have similar memorials, carved with the names of local boys who died fighting. It's funny to think that Germans remember their neighbors and sons the same way, only they fought on the other side. So we started taking photos of war memorials. I say 'we' because this post is really Brian's idea and it's a good one (though I guess you can be the judge of that).

Brian decided to wear his Polska cycling outfit on the day when we took most of these pictures, so that he could stick it to the Germans on behalf of our friends the Poles.

Memorial in Harkenbleck

Memorial in Oerie

Memorial in Oerie

Memorial for the war with Prussia, in Elze

Memorial in Luedersen

This one has a little more symbolism than the rest - a lion who has been killed by a broken spear in its back. It shows pride in the strong nation that was stabbed from behind.

And here's a different sort of memorial, dedicated to the unknown deserter. It's right in middle of Hannover, in front of the Rathaus. Just recently someone painted "no more war" on it and left a pot of flowers.
It's a tribute to those who didn't want to fight, were scared to fight, didn't feel like it was right to fight, and left the helmet and combat boots behind.

Sorry... I'm still here!

I know, I have not posted in FOREVER. So if you are reading this you may still have some shred of faith in me to come back and entertain you with tales of silly little things that happen to me.

I'm not trying to make excuses, but here's what has been going on:

Last week was the final week of the school year, and rather than subbing, I was copying, filing, and providing moral support for the school secretaries. Then we went to Hamburg for a long day on Saturday to see baby Fiona. She is Tom and Sonja's daughter, who is about 2 weeks old. She doesn't have much of a personality yet, but we like her parents so she will probably turn out all right.

We got home from Hamburg around 1am and turned around to pick up Samantha at the train station Sunday morning. She is a former student of Brian's from St. Paul, who has just graduated college and is traveling around on her way to Copenhagen for a two month program, the beginning of her Master's in Scandinavian Studies. She had a bit of a hard time getting over the idea of staying with a teacher and learning about him as a regular person rather than an authority figure, but it didn't phase her too much because she made the effort to get here and even called him by his first name.

Samantha, Brian, and Sankey on the McCarthy Hannover bike tour

On Monday, I started working a week-long summer camp at the school. Last year I lost my engagement ring on the first day of summer camp, and on the second day, a camper found it. I was not pushing my luck this year, and just left it at home. We did crafts, went swimming, played games, and were generally all happy campers until Thursday. That was the day I physically restrained a kicking and screaming eight year old on the platform at the tram station. Then I had to try to carry her upstairs but luckily larger, stronger reinforcements came to help.

In the meantime, Brian's friend Steve came to visit. They've known each other since middle school, but we hadn't seen Steve in about four years. He's a musician who quit his day job, left his New York City apartment, and is living in Berlin for two months. Unlike Samantha, Steve had no trouble calling either of us by our first names and he mixes a mean cocktail.

Now we are having a deliberately quiet weekend, getting ready for our trip to the U.S. on Monday. I will warn you now that posts might get sporadic again for a while, but don't worry, I am still here.