The Question of “Home”

Re-posting this, just because….

The eternal TCK** question –   Where is “home”?

Dictionary.com tells us the following

home [hohm]

noun

1. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.

2. the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered.

3. an institution for the homeless, sick, etc.: a nursing home.

4. the dwelling place or retreat of an animal.

5. the place or region where something is native or most common.

Synonyms

1.  abode, dwelling, habitation; domicile. See house.

2.  hearth, fireside.

3.  asylum.

For Third Culture Kids or Global Nomads, it is an ongoing topic.  The eternal question – where are you from?  Where is your home?  These are not easy questions to answer.  Home is here and everywhere.  I am from here and everywhere.

That very last word is my favorite.  Asylum.  The place where you feel safe.  That is where home is.  That is where home should be.  What makes you feel safe?  People you trust.  People who love you.  Mutual understanding and respect.  Comfort.  Growing up, my home was always where my family was, unless I was with them, and then it was wherever we were.  It didn’t matter if it was a hotel room or a house or an airport.  As long as we were together and had a pack of cards nearby, we were at home.  A good card game could get us through anything.  Some of my fondest memories are of blackouts during torrential rainstorms playing cards by candlelight.

We all continue to search for the elusive “home” but I think we know where to find it when we really need it.

“The strength of this family bond works to the benefit of children when parent-child communication is good and the overall family dynamic is healthy. It can be devastating when it is not. Compared to the geographically stable child, the global-nomad child is inordinately reliant on the nuclear family for affirmation, behavior-modeling, support and above all, a place of safety. The impact, therefore, of dysfunction in this most basic of units in exacerbated by the mobile lifestyle.”

Excerpt from GROWING UP WITH A WORLD VIEW By Norma M. McCaig

**TCK’s are people who lived outside their passport country as a child

Expat Book Review

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Here We Are and There We Go  by Jill Dobbe

Jill and her husband were school teachers in Wisconsin USA when one day they moved half way around the world and their lives changed drastically.

Like Jill’s children, I was born into the nomadic life of the serial expat.  I lived in West Africa, Mexico, Asia, South America, and Europe, so I can identify with many of her experiences.  I grew up speaking different languages, like her children did, and I continue to have the travel bug today.  Like her children do.

What truly amazed me about this book was that they just jumped headlong into it with no safety net and blinders off.  They made the decision to move to Guam almost on a whim.  They didn’t even know where Guam was.  That was either very gutsy or completely crazy.  And what was even more interesting was that they stuck it out, learned, and grew through it all.

It didn’t sound like Guam was the dream South Pacific location we all imagined.  It actually sounded pretty challenging.  But they worked through it and learned a lot.  That made their next posting to Singapore a bit easier.   Of course Singapore was probably not a hardship posting. But they were still half way around the world from family and friends in a place with a different culture.  They seemed to breeze through that one.

By the time the got to Ghana they were seasoned travelers.  Although, having lived in Nigeria myself, I know that Ghana was probably not paradise either.  But as they came to understand, there are wonderful things all over the world.  You just have to be open to them.  Jill and her family discovered the joy, frustration, sorrow, and unending surprises one finds when traveling.

I might be reading something into this but it seemed to me they decided to return to the USA for the sake of the children.  Their children spent their high school years (or most of them) in the USA learning to be US citizens.  This probably made it a much easier transition for them in the long run.  It might have given them a clear identity at a young age.  However, from my experience, it doesn’t work.  My son returned to the USA when he was six and now that he is about to enter college all he dreams about is going overseas.  And it seems their children were the same.  They were happy to continue traveling.

Returning to the USA was a difficult transition for all of them.  Jill says she realized people were not interested in her stories and could not relate.  I know exactly what she means.  It is so far from what people know, it is difficult to imagine and therefore not interesting.  Re-entry is a challenge for all expats but travelers know how to adjust and tweak and adapt.  Jill and her family were no exception.  They had a good few years back home with friends and family but the itch was still there.

At the end of the book they leave the USA again for distant lands and new experiences.  I think Jill has more to tell.  Perhaps she will write part two some day!

Check it out, it is worth the read!!

Madison Capital

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I visited Madison, Wisconsin recently.  It is the capital of Wisconsin and has a capital building housing both chambers of the Wisconsin legislature as well as the Wisconsin Supreme Court and the Governor’s office.  It was recently the site of a major demonstration against the Governor that ultimately led to the people of Wisconsin voting on the repeal of the Governor.  He was not repealed.

The building itself was completed in 1917.  The architect was George Post of New York and it cost $7.25 million to build.  It is 284 ft, 5 in. to the top of the dome, three feet shorter than the capital building in Washington, DC.

The white granite on the outside is from Vermont and makes the dome the only granite dome in the United States.  It is the also the largest dome by volume in the United States and one of the largest in the world.  Inside the rotunda there is marble from Greece, Algeria, Italy and France; limestone from Minnesota; red granite from Wisconsin.

It was designated a National Historic Landmark in 2001

70 years together

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I am re-posting this from my other blog – Eclectic Global Nomad.

My parents were married at 2:00 in the afternoon.  My father was on medical leave from the US Navy after having his appendix out.  The year was 1943.

My mother remembers driving with her father to the church. They lived in a small town in Iowa.  As they drove through downtown my mother noticed the bank clock said 1:55.  When she and her new husband drove back the same route to her house for a small reception, she again noticed the clock.  It now said 2:15.  The minister had married them under the wrong name.  Nobody mentioned it.

My father’s father ran the family farm so he had petrol coupons.  He filled the car with gas and gave them coupons so they could go to Kansas City for a two day honeymoon before my father returned to his post at Lakehurst, New Jersey.  He was training to fly blimps.  My mother was teaching school and had to finish out the year before joining him.

They were separated again when my father went to fly blimps off the coast of Brazil searching for German submarines.  He remembers Christmas Day, 1944.  He and his buddies drove through the Brazilian countryside on their way to find a beach to play volleyball.  It was the first time he had ever seen that kind of poverty.  He noticed the crops in the fields and decided that very day he could help people by teaching agriculture.

He had planned to be a vocational agriculture instructor when he returned to civilian life but this gave it a whole new dimension.  He wanted to work overseas.  His mother had always told him he could do what ever he wanted if he set his mind to it.

Continue Reading

 

African Marriage Proposals

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Ibadan

One summer I was living in Ibadan, Nigeria, working for my father at an agricultural research institute.  Ibadan was the largest village in Africa and sprawled across the countryside without any particular order.  There were a few hotels and “proper” restaurants but not many and we rarely went to them.

My British and American friends, Simon, Ed, David, Francis, and a couple of others decided to have a night on the town. We went to a rooftop Lebanese restaurant for a filling dinner of kabob and hummus and then on to a proper Nigerian nightclub.  It had a fence around it and a large grass roof and a dirt floor but no walls.  There was a very loud band playing at one end of the room and an area to dance.  We took over a table at the other end of the room and ordered beer all around.

Francis was being very protective of me and it kind of made it look like we were “together”.  Francis was married with five children.  A Nigerian came over to our table and asked Francis if he could dance with me.  Francis, quite embarrassed, told him he would have to ask me himself.  Of course he came right over asked me to dance. I had been in Nigeria long enough to know that this could only lead to trouble.  I was getting ready to say no, thank you very much, when Simon started kicking me under the table and making gestures like I should really go have a dance.  Simon, of course, was a trouble maker himself, but I got up and danced with the guy.  Keeping in form with most of my other white American girl/ black African boy experiences, by the end of the dance he had asked me to marry him.

About half way through the evening I really had to go to the toilet.  Everybody said I should just forget about it.  I said, “no really, I gotta go”.  So David escorted me to the ladies’ toilet. We went through a beaded doorway where women were just hanging around and inside there were two stalls with holes in the floor.  There were no doors to the stalls.  I went in and squatted and David stood guard.  It wasn’t that terrible, partly I’m sure because I was a little tipsy by this time, but it was interesting.  The women were obviously just waiting for business.  I didn’t get a chance to look around but I assume there were other rooms in the back for other activities.  David seemed very nervous about the whole thing and said I was not allowed to drink any more beer.  I think David might have been back there before.

Back at the table my dance partner had re-appeared, apparently not finding any other takers for his marriage proposal.  I was the only white girl in the place.  He insisted that he would be a good husband and would have no problem accompanying me back to the United States.  When we got up to go home, he said he could come with us.  He had no plans for the night and was happy to stay with us.  He followed us all the way out to the car and the guys acted like they were going to let him in.  I was totally appalled.  How could they be so mean?  Finally they got tired of him and kicked him out.

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Friendly me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later that summer I had a stalker show up at my office.  He knew who I was and all about me and said he worked in the building.  I asked around but nobody seemed to know him.  For a couple of weeks he was standing at my door at the end of the day and wanted to walk me home.  I never led him on or agreed to anything.  He kept asking to take me for a drink or to walk me home.  Finally I said I would have a drink with him.

He said he wanted to marry me and he had it all planned out.  We would be married and he would return to the United States with me and he would go to school with me and we would always be together.  I told him politely all the reasons why it was just not possible, the least of which was that we did not know each other at all and I was leaving the country shortly. And he had a counter proposal for every one of my reasons.  Finally I just became quite rude and told him to leave me alone.

I was sad to see the summer end but I was very happy to leave that situation behind when I returned to college in the fall.  Nigerian women were very blunt and straight forward.  They didn’t care if they hurt men’s feelings, they gave it to them like it was.  I think Western women had difficulty being so cold about it and in turn perhaps were more approachable.  On my next trip to Africa, I was much more Nigerian than Western when dealing with African men.  Its all about adapting to new cultures.

 

Salzburg Sound of Music

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Hollywood is alive and well in Salzburg, Austria.

When we visited, my sister-in-law insisted we could not forego the Sound of Music Tour.  We groaned, but we followed along and ended up seeing some beautiful countryside.

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Luckily, this was NOT the tour that we took.

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View of the house from the other side of the lake.

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Tree-lined path around the lake.

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The gazebo had been moved to a new location.

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We sped by Red Bull Headquarters.

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The movie wedding took place in a church outside of Salzburg in a village on a lake.

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The Church

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It was pink inside!

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We wandered around the village for a while and came upon a shop selling traditional Austrian outfits.  My son bought a beautiful jacket.  He looks Austrian, now, right?

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Rainbow Family Gathering

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I’m re-posting this since I stumbled upon some photos the other day….

The Rainbow Family Gathering takes place the first week in July at one of the National Forests in the USA.  It is a giant peace gathering where people come from all walks of life to camp in the woods and meditate, dance, pray, coexist, and be one with nature.  I attended one of these gatherings at the Nantahala National Forest, North Carolina in 1987.

I arrived in Knoxville, Tennessee, at about 11 pm after having spent two hours in the Memphis airport.  I was meeting a friend coming in from a different part of the country and she showed up about midnight.  I was tired.  My friend Sheila’s bag did not show up.  It was still in Chicago.  It was 1:30 or 2:00 am before I finally got to bed.  After returning to the airport to pick up the lost luggage, and last minute organizing, we finally got on the road about 2:30 the next day.

The drive was a feast for the eyes.  We climbed up mountains around turns exposing beautiful views.  Every thing was lush and green.  At about 4 pm we found the turn-off for the gathering and cars parked by the side of the road for miles.  And lots of policemen.  Sheila dropped me and our gear at the bridge to the camp and went off to park the car.  Policemen kept their eyes on everybody.

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On the bridge

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Once I hit the bridge a man with a gold star on his forehead and a big grin helped me to get the packs to the other side of the bridge and told me there was a shuttle up around the corner.  He said “Welcome Home, sister!” and gave me a big hug.  I sat down on the bridge and waited.  It took Sheila about 45 minutes to return.  We waited a while longer and then a big school bus showed up.  We piled luggage and people onto it like a Latin American mountain bus.  All jammed in.  As we went up the mountain every so often the bus driver would yell,  ”lean left!”, and we would all lean.  I was sitting next to a woman who had just driven straight through from Madison, Wisconsin with her 5 year old boy.  She had a t-shirt on that said ‘The Women of Isis’.

We went pretty far up this mountain on the bus.  Finally we stopped and unloaded and walked about three-quarter mile up the road to where  the trail starts.  For about the last quarter mile there were “cars” parked all along one side of the road with people living there.  This was call the Bus Village.  To the right of the road was a large meadow and to the left a very muddy steep trail.  Onward and upward with a backpack, a tent, and a sleeping bag on my back and only my tennis shoes on my feet.  Tents were on both sides of the trail in the woods all the way up.

After a while we came upon the main Meadow where the Council was discussing whether kitchens should be allowed to serve meat.  We rested for a bit and continued up the slimy muddy trail.  We had to cross two small streams and maneuver a lot of muck.  After a while we came to another smaller meadow.  I thought I was doing to die.  I was so hot and thirsty.  We stopped and drank a bunch of water – all we had.  Sheila decided to go do some scouting while I stayed with the gear.  I just sat in the meadow and people watched.  At the top of the meadow was the Jamba Kitchen serving the evil meat.  Over to one side was an area marked off by rocks to be a communal gathering fire area.  Over to the other edge was a large encampment with people’s clothes hanging on a line and pretty soon I noticed a man sitting on the ground busying himself with domestic matters and right next to him was a wheel chair. People had carried this man up the mountain in his wheelchair.  I watched him and his woman round up four “volunteers” to carry him down the mountain.  Amazing.

There were all kinds of people in various stages of undress.  One thing I noticed was there were a lot of topless women but very few who were totally nude while there were a lot of nude men.  After a while Sheila came back and said we should go check out another trail.  Off we went further up the mountain.  Later when we checked the camp map we discovered that we weren’t even on it.  We had gone so far.  But, we found a nice place by a stream and pitched our tent.  By the time we were all set up it was 8 pm.  A long day.

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Next morning we got up and made hot chocolate and our neighbors came over to make tea with our hot water.  After breakfast we slid down through the mud and slime to the main Meadow where the Council was again meeting.  On the way there we passed through the Trading Center where people had wares displayed for trade.  Stones, jewelry, scarfs, tie die, food, cigarettes.

We sat down to listen to the Council.  A man was standing and told the story of how this particular gathering came to be.  The State tried to get an injunction to keep us away and ordered a court appearance.  Meanwhile the Rainbow Family filed with the Federal court to have it go there instead.  The State court took one look at them and told them they should be in Federal court.  The State and the Rainbow Family were told to get together and work things out because although the Federal judge upheld the laws about mass gatherings, he also relayed that they were really un-enforecble.  So the State came up with 23 rules we had to agree to.  They were almost all thing the Rainbow Family do anyway.  Be careful of the water, the trees, the land, fire, etc.  One rule said they had to put a sign up a the bottom of the mountain stating:   “Caution!  A permit is required for more than 5,000 people to gather and no permit has been obtained” or something like that.  The Council member said they were erecting a big colorful beautiful sign and right next to it they would put up the First Amendment.  There was much discussion on the whole thing.

We wandered around a little, listened to some music – guitars, even a piano, singing, all real mellow.  Back at our tent, I could hear the stream flowing, trees rustling and every so often people would wander by.  The drums were always beating in the distance and every once in a while the conch would sound.  I could hear the rain approaching through the forest.  It rained off and on most of the time.

The next day a sanitation inspector and several men from the forestry service came to inspect the campsite.  They checked kitchens, water supplies, latrines, etc.  They seemed like friendly people.

On July 4 there was a big celebration. From dawn until noon there was a silent vigil for peace throughout the camp.  We made it down to the main Meadow about 1 pm when the chanting was just ending and the raising of the Rainbow American Flag took place.  Then the music started and everybody danced and danced.

Peace

‘Tis the Season – Sweet Inspiration

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‘Tis the season.. Have you seen that snow falling across the pages of WordPress?  Thought I was imagining things at first.  Lovely soft falling snow.

It must be that giving season.  I have been given an award not once, not twice, but three times!  What fun!

The Very Inspiring Blogger Award was sent my way by  WIE SAGT MAN…?, A Hausfrau in Deutschland.  An informative blog about two Americans living in Germany.

The Petroleum Wife, TCK and trailing expat spouse, also sent this award my way.

I thank you both.  You inspire me as well.

For once, I am going to follow the rules (more or less).  Seven things about me:

1.  I once had a turtle named Tootsie

2.  I like to watch Doc Martin and work on my needlepoint

3.  I love art museums

4.  I think Roger Daltrey is cute even though he is way too old to go prancing around stage with his shirt off

5.  I want to go to Buenos Aires and learn to Tango and then see the end of the world in Ushuaia

6.  I am convinced chocolate and red wine will cure anything

7.  I love all you nutty bloggers

 

And the Nominees are:

Mumigrants  –  An honest look at being a mum and a migrant.

Expat Since Birth  –  A multicultural family living in the Netherlands

Mirth and Motivation  –  A TCK who believes in positive kismet/fate

American Tai Tai  –  In search of beauty in the mundane

Angelinem’s Blog  –  Traveler, photographer, nurse

 

Congratulations!

 

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My other award comes from  Jumble,  An American woman living in China.  It is the The Super Sweet Blogging Award.  Not sure if I got it because I am so sweet or because of my Food Friday.  I’m sure it was both!  :)  Thank you, Ms Jumble!!

This one comes with questions:

1) Cookie or cake?   Chocolate chip cookies, of course!

2) Chocolate or vanilla?  Is that a choice?  Chocolate all the way.

3) What is your favorite sweet treat?  Dark chocolate truffles

4) When do you crave sweet things the most?   The holidays!!

5) If you had a sweet nickname what would it be?   Dulcinea

 

And now, drum roll….

This one goes to Maggie at Fly Away Home Book, A New Jersey girl living in Norway.  She is very sweet and currently sitting under a ton of snow.

Happy Holidays everybody!!

 

 

 

Glacier Park, Montanta

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My mother recalls our train trip to Glacier Park:

We recently rode the train—the Empire Builder—from Minneapolis to Glacier Park in Montana for a week with our daughter and grandson—in coach, no less!  Now, many people our age would take a sleeper or roomette, but I guess we just wanted to prove we could still “rough it” and save money!  We weren’t the only ones of our age group, many passengers in coach were also “older”.

We got on the train about l0:30 pm, were given seats and pillows, instructions about bathrooms (downstairs!), dining car (2 cars ahead), lounge and snack bar (l car back), dining hours, and anything else pertinent to our next 24 hours aboard.  All these instructions were given by a charming car attendant—a woman in her late 40’s probably, very professional and efficient, all the while being very friendly and helpful.

The train rolled quietly out of Minneapolis at 11:30 pm, almost on schedule, full of sleepy people.

The seats were roomy—much more so than on an airplane–, but it still was a challenge to find the right angle for head, body and feet.  We took a small travel blanket and pillow, and I had an extra sweater with my winter jacket, Bill his warm jacket, so we managed to keep warm in the air-conditioning.  One woman sitting near us a stuffed shoulder-pillow and an old fashioned tied-comforter, yet!—she looked totally cozy.  The man across the aisle was over 6 feet tall and seemed to exactly fit into his seat with comfort for he softly snored the whole night through.  During the night we made several trips down the stairs to the bathrooms hoping to alleviate blood clots and keep our muscles mobile, more or less.  With the pleasant rumbling of the wheels on the tracks and the often blowing of the whistle, we soon dropped off for a fair night’s sleep.

The sights began with an early dawn over North Dakota—the never-ending sky of a million hues of pink, and the flat, treeless land with wheat, barley, mustard and flax fields intermixed with range country and rolling hills as we entered Montana.  The dining car announced that it was open for breakfast, so we made our way there, enjoying both a good hot breakfast and the passing countryside.

The whole train was smoke-free, so at some stops it was announced that time would be long enough for stretching one’s legs and taking a smoke, if desired.  We stopped at only a few places in Montana—Havre, Shelby, Cutback—and then we were seeing the wall of mountains tipped with snow.  By this time it was evening and the train was a couple of hours late getting into East Glacier, but it still was daylight and the view of the beautiful, nearly l00 year old, Glacier Park Inn, a short walk from the station, with the background of these gorgeous mountains just at dusk was miraculous.

Traveling by train again after many years was a great experience for all of us and a great way to see the countryside and we survived!

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