How Fear Happens

So, in your twenties, you think, if you have lived alone for any amount of time in your life, you've got this figured out. Nothing scares you anymore, there are few things you can't fix with your own hands in your own condo and you go out at night on a weekend and take the last train home by yourself and don't think anything of it. Oh, and yeah,  in my case I also moved to another country on another continent with another language. Didn't bother me one bit. Moved to a big city a few years in, lived in a rather scary part of town, took trains, walked home at night, drove my car just about anywhere, no trouble sleeping alone at night. You're a practically fearless twenty-something.

Fast forward a few years and you meet the love of your life. You live together, everything gets easier, you don't have to fix stuff at your own house anymore, -there's now a man, who does that. You move out of the bad part of town, you drive everywhere together, you no longer take the train anywhere, and you don't have to sleep alone, unless said spouse falls asleep on the couch every once in a while. Sounds great, however, there comes the moment, when you realize, not only do you not have to do the things anymore that you did in your twenties, you are now incapable of doing them. That happens to also be the moment when you realize you've become a scared-to-death-bundle of thirty-something and just about everything terrifies and worries you.

That's not normal. It can't be! I'm the same person. What happened and when? It makes no sense. I find myself living in a safe neighborhood, I have a dog in the house since over a year and I've got to unlock 3 doors to get into my house myself, I'm safer than I've ever been and yet I'm ill-at-ease.

Now that my husband's line of work dictates that he is away a lot in the evenings and into the night, I find myself facing those fears. Trying to be alone again after so many years of together-ness, is not as easy as it might seem. Sleeping is still the hardest part for me, I have a really hard time sleeping when he is not here. I am getting better at finding things to do and spending time with myself, something I used to enjoy so much, reading, painting, watching TV, working out.

The dog has been a great help, don't get me wrong, he is a small Jack Russel Terrier and by no means a guard dog, but just his presence makes me feel less alone and much comforted. I still don't quite know how being fearful started, but I know I am chipping away at it little by little with every time I'm by myself and I am getting better at not letting it interrupt the things I want to do, even if they are as insignificant as going to the mailbox at night or getting something out of my car...Babysteps.

I need to find a new hobby...

The Gospel of Barnabas --or Finally Putting my Perpetual Contemplation into Words.

First off, I usually stay away from posts or opinions about Religion, especially in my blog. Why, you ask? Because I know better, that's why! Because I don't want to be one of those people, who constantly bicker about it. Religion (and maybe politics) has been the one subject in human history that split continents, nations, families etc., when really by design, it was meant to bring us together.

To set the record straight, as quiet as I may seem to the outsider about religion, and many people take that silence as a sign of me not being religious at all or even atheist, this could not be further from the truth. I'm Catholic, I was born Catholic and if that is possible, I feel Catholic. Or better I feel most affiliated with the Catholic Church. Do I believe everything that Catholicism preaches? Absolutely not. Do I believe in God? ABSOLUTELY.  I just refuse to publicly argue a subject that, I feel, should be private for each individual and everyone should be allowed to determine their own level of involvement in and with Religion. My grandfather, an avid church-goer and Catholic, taught me that you don't need a church building to be close to God or to pray, the same way my family has always believed that you don't feel closest to a deceased family member by standing at their grave site. I'm not saying that other people should feel that way, too. But I'm saying, I do.

Well, enough of the intro. The reason why I'm venturing out of my comfort zone, or even actually into my absolute "discomfort-zone", is the fact that I read a story in the news about an ancient bible that surfaced in Turkey and contained the Gospel of Barnabas, claiming, among other things, that Jesus may not have been crucified.

Don't worry, I don't have a theory that is going to change Christianity as we know it, nor do I claim to have solved an ancient mystery that the professors, philosophers and preachers of the world have not been able to crack.

No, I claim none of that. But I must share what has baffled me for years and compelled me to finally put it down in words: I have always had trouble with the controversy, people arguing about whether or not what the bible says, is all true.

Don't get me wrong now, my trouble, is not with whether the bible is fact or fiction. My trouble is with the fact that there is an argument at all, and why it would matter? The part that confuses me is, if you choose to believe in God and Jesus, if you have made the conscious choice to believe, why would changing details of the story of Christ's life, or even an alteration of the outcome of the story, matter? Why would that change someone's belief? I am here to say to you today: "So What?"

So what, if Jesus was actually married? So what, if he was not actually crucified? I'll even go as far as to say, so what, if he was not God's son at all, and there was just some kind of historical inaccuracy or misinterpretation?

There have always been rumors for centuries that the Vatican may know the "real truth", but must keep it hidden to "protect" Christianity. I don't understand why Christianity needs protecting. If you say you believe in Jesus Christ. And you chose to believe. Then there you have it. You made your choice. Would it really be so bad to believe in a historical figure, that we can all agree on by historic accounts, lived among us, and, who has done great things in his life?

So what, if he may not have had supernatural "god-given" powers or may even have been a regular person, who just made a major difference in so many people's lives? And is remembered and worshipped for it? And people re-tell/re-print his story over and over to remind ourselves that there's good in the world?

Does a possible lack of divinity hence deserve less of our belief? Is it really so crazy to think that we just believe in a good Samaritan? I, for one, would be completely fine with that. For me that is enough. Must we really have the miracles, the virgin birth and a gruesome death by Crucifixion in order to believe in someone that has made it his life's purpose to make others feel better, physically and spiritually?

We should believe in good people, who do good to help others, who are selfless, compassionate and giving. I'm sorry, but from where I'm sitting that is a no-lose kind of situation: You believe in a genuinely good person, the thought of and prayer to whom make you feel fulfilled and grateful. And if he was Jesus, the divine and all-knowing, wouldn't he be happy to see that we as a people have chosen to believe unconditionally in just a normal person, who did good deeds and lived their life right. Wouldn't we then exactly live by HIS example? Food for thought.

Hobby Hopeful

I've been a bit bored as of late. It seems like in my thirties, somehow, the same stuff that was fun in my twenties doesn't quite feel the same anymore. In a way, I find myself seeking for activities with more meaning, more substance, be it for health, for community service, for well-being or otherwise improvement.

Over a year ago, I started to go to Sahaja Yoga Meditation with the local adult education program, nothing big, right around the corner, didn't really have high hopes for it --and it completely changed my outlook on life. This is a class I would have never in a million years considered in my twenties, now in my thirties this class jumped off the page and intrigued me. At the time, prompted by my very stressful job, that had me sick to my stomach every morning,  I was looking for a way to find inner peace and do something good for myself and my health. Like I said,  I didn't expect anything from this $20 class at the local high school, but what I found was the energy to make changes. I found that I had enough drive left to quit the horrible job, allowed myself to believe that I can do better and that I can pretty much affect change, if only I kept this positive energy going. Everything fell into place like magic after that. Sometimes, it takes a little believing to make improvements. I have since actively been going to Sahaja and I learn more and feel better every time.

Now I wonder, what else I can do. A thought that has been crossing my mind is to take our dog Jack to agility training. He learns super fast and seems to enjoy learning new stuff, and I think he would have a ball, not to mention the prospect at all those treats for learning. He would do great. I'm a bit worried that I can't keep up with him, but I figure if I make this our workout program, I think we could have a ton of fun, and it would help with the guilt that I feel every day when I leave for work and Jack looks at me with his sad puppy-dog eyes when I leave.  I'm looking up classes in the area and I'm both excited to try something new and also a bit terrified that we may look really stupid, but I think it will be worth it if Jack and I may end up with a fun new hobby.

I want to sign up for a new art class. Maybe something that I haven't done. I've worked with all kinds of paint on all kinds of materials, I've cut, glued, clay-ed, but I can't seem to find my groove with paint lately. I've started one picture more than 3 years ago, and I just can't seem to get going to finish it. I wonder if a change would help get me started again. I thought about Pottery or Sewing.

In the last few months we've gone fishing a few times and I really enjoyed that. I like the idea of activities where the dog can come along. There is something very meditative about fishing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not good at it, if that's even a thing. I don't think its as much a skill as it is luck and showing up at the right place at the right time. Whatever the case, it is quiet and calming with the wind and the waves and the dog at your feet. I've never caught a fish. I've caught some windburn and a farmer's tan, but, still I think this is something I'm going to pursue further. It's cheap entertainment and I can now touch a live shrimp and mess with Jack by throwing it at him and then watching Jack how he's curiously watching it flop around. Very fun. I could actually see myself going camping and fishing, mind you, a few years ago, camping meant to me, renting and RV and driving places.

I've also always enjoyed volunteering. Mostly I've done painting houses, helping with charity events or kids events type stuff.  Lately it seems to me, the right place to volunteer for me might be with animals. Since I've had my first dog, this prospect seems to be more appealing. I have to look at some of the surrounding shelters to see if there is availability and if I might be able to bring Jack along.

I can't wait to find some new hobbies and adventures. It will be fun to explore what new things I can do, that I didn't know I could.

Holidays Away From Home

Holidays away from your family are always harder than average days. Most people who have ever lived somewhere else will probably agree. Christmas is usually the worst for me. Easter is tough, because we always had a number of nice family traditions such as blowing out and painting Easter Eggs hanging them on an easter tree. My grandma always baked.

When I was little, I always sat with my grandfather painting eggs. He painted these wonderfully detailed Easter Bunnies with Backpacks filled with Easter Eggs or carrying Easter baskets. He was so good at that. I was always fascinated how he could fit it all on that small space on an egg. I usually do colorful patterns, and to this day, I still add 3-4 new eggs every year, just to keep the tradition alive.

What usually helps me a on holidays, is to bake German recipes and do some crafty stuff, that reminds me of home and/or start our own new traditions.

Here people like to color eggs with food coloring dissolved in water, with some vinegar. Like we did as kids you can use a candle or wax pen to personalize them and the wax part will stand out in white.

Always a fun project, I've made color eggs with friends' and family's kids and usually its a project that everyone enjoys, the kids and the adults alike. For me this stuff never gets old.

So tonight I made an Easter basket for my husband Terry, me, and, of course, Jack our Jack Russell Terrier, I baked some Easter Bread, a braided Yeast Bread with Rum Raisins, and I even colored three Easter Eggs with Terry's, mine and Jack's name on them. Everything turned out great.

Bringing a piece of home to a holiday when you're away from home always helps me. Although it usually takes me long to find the energy and get motivated, I usually feel better when making something homey.

And I think it helps my husband and everyone here, understand me and my culture better as well. Even though I'm sure some of the foods may be acquired tastes for Terry, he always tries everything and some things he's become a downright fan of.

One funny little cultural quirk is that I still don't get is why they call it an Easter Egg hunt here. In my minds' eye this word always conjures up the image of a child chasing an escaping Easter Egg, like in a cartoon. Makes me giggle every time. 

Oma

My grandmother passed away last week. She was my last grandparent. I called her Oma Maria and I was extremely lucky to have her for as long as I did. People tell me that all the time anyway. I still didn't think i had enough time with her. She lived to be 89. Most people don't get to have their grandparents way into their thirties. So I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones. It still doesn't make her passing any easier, especially not being far away, too far to go home for her funeral. This today was the first funeral of a family member that I could not attend.  It is tough, you lack the closure that you get from a being there when you lay a person to rest. I still picture her house with her in it and somehow it feels like I should be seeing her when I go home next. Here, a thank you to our "family-priest" Herr Rottmayer is in order, who kindly promised to hold a special service for her when we come to visit next. This will help me very much and I am very grateful for his caring. My grandmother liked him very much, particularly his Christmas mass, which she was always raving about and wouldn't miss for anything.
Still I have a lot to be thankful for. Growing up I spent every Saturday with her. My Mom would drop me off in the morning. Then we would cook. Usually she would call the day before and ask what I wanted to eat. For at least several years, my answer was always the same. Gulasch und Nudeln (which is Hungarian style Gulasch and egg noodles). She made the best. She would even give me my own little pan and let me make my own. It was usually inedible, because I did not know what to put in it, but she always humored me. Later on, we moved on to making home-made pizza and occasionally some pasta and meatsauce, but not much, my grandpa was never a big fan.
We would play cards and make crossword puzzles until we turned blue in the face. It was always too early when my mom came by to pick me up. "But we weren't done with the game"..
In the summer we sat out in the yard under her little sun roof, she called it the "pergola". I loved it, because her place was the only place I knew with a "Hollywood Schaukel" a bench-swing that you could sit on and rock back and forth on. For some reason, the table out there had a drawer and for whatever reason, it was always full with hazelnuts that we cracked and ate. I just remembered this. In the beginning there was a sweet-cherry tree there as well, I don't remember why, but they took it down one year. The yard over at her house was very large, and I was always busy with it. Watching the sprinklers go (we didn't have any like that, they were fast, had really high pressure and in the summer you could run around on the lawn try to dodge them. Then there were the barrels of rain water, collected for plant watering. There was a run-off from the garage roof that fed them.
Later a part of the yard became a vegetable garden. I remember my grandfather growing waaaay too large zucchinis, and we couldn't convince him that you're supposed to leave them really small. This is how I know a zucchini will basically grow to pumpkin size if you let it.
Also, she used to always wear all kinds of fashion necklaces. I distinctly remember one that had alternating white plastic chain pieces and then a gold piece in between, they were always long chains and I loved to play with them and inventory them as a kid. She had to have had a few dozen of those.
And magazines, she always had magazines at her house.
People tell me to this day that I have a "grandma-chin". It always happens when I make a certain face. It looks precisely like my grandmas. My dad has it too. Now that I think about it, it is nice, because that way I get to see her in me, every-time I want to when I look in the mirror.
In my family my grandma's salad dressing was referred to as "Wasser-Salat" or water-salad, her dressing while it was always good it was always was watery and sort of made the salad drowned and limp. I thought it had character.
My grandparents always had a silver car, which makes me think of silver as a grandma/old-fashioned color in cars.
In the winter, grandma would wear a very old, probably inherited fur coat. She had a matching hat for it, it was dark dark brown and very poufy, which earned her the nickname "the fuzzy one" from Terry, which made my mom almost choke while laughing so hard as we were waiting in the car when we were picking up grandma at her house. I always thought she looked very dignified, almost regal, though very short. It makes me grin now when I think about it.
During Christmas time, we usually went on a trip together, like a bus tour, we went to Cologne, the Stuttgart Zoo, we went to the Strasburg Christmas market one year. We always had a great time.
Once I had my driver's license, we started going to the town and had coffee and cake there occasionally. We always had a good time.
Me and her had a running joke, that she wasn't done on this earth until she was 100 years old and that there was no other choice but to hang in there. She always laughed about that and said she'd never live that long. She was 10 years and roughly 3 months shy of 100, and I miss her very much.