As I type this, my neighbor is probably hiking around what used to be my little corner of the world, La Hulpe, Belgium.
A few weeks ago, she announced that she was going to get to tag along with her husband on a business trip to Brussels. She came over last week and I armed her with the following: guide books, lots of suggestions, a hand-drawn map of my little town, outlet adaptors and my old hairdryer. My European hairdryer is awesome, if I do say so myself.
She was planning to visit La Hulpe on Thursday, today. It's fitting that it's a rainy, Belgium-type day here in Minnesota.
If this had been last year at this time, my heart would physically be hurting right now. I'm so grateful that it's not. I'm glad she got to go. I'm glad I had the chance to tell her about some of my favorite places, and I hope she thinks they are just as special as I did.
If you are just finding my blog for the first time, the entries have become few and far between. But it still serves a purpose. If you are a new expat, please stop and look around. If you find yourself having to leave a country that you've grown to love, you will be especially interested in the last year of entries. This blog contains a lot of experience, that you might even be able to track in a real-time-style as you browse through. If you are feeling overwhelmed by your new country, or overwhelmed by having to leave your adopted country and repatriate to your own, maybe you will find solace in knowing that someone else has traveled that path before you. And maybe you will even find something in here that will help.
In the next post (which I will write when I am feeling nostalgic for days gone by) I will try to link to some of my favorite posts from over the years.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Americans Abroad and Political Blunders
As an American living abroad, it is easy to find yourself living in your own cultural bubble. With television and radio broadcasting in a language foreign to your own, your world becomes quiet. It was one of the most difficult things to adapt to upon moving back. After years of quiet, I felt as if I was constantly bombarded with commercials and voices, telling me what to do, where to shop and what to buy. I had to remember how to tune it out again, once those voices were speaking my own language. I noticed it with the kids too. When we first arrived, they were fascinated with American commercials, often singing the name of the stores we passed, like: O, O, O, O'Reily's! Auto Parts!
However, whenever something big in the world-wide political arena happened, that safe cultural bubble would burst. And language barriers aside, as the only Americans walking around our little town, we would hear about it.
I once spoke with an American woman who had been living in Belgium a long time, they had arrived during the years of the Bush administration. She told me stories about school children, chanting anti-American sentiments and singling out her children once at an event. She described how those attitudes had shifted, and it was so much better for Americans once Obama came into office.
It's not something most Americans think about. Our borders are vast and our world is isolated. Most of us don't have to worry too much about what those in other countries think about us. It is assumed that people, for the most part, like Americans. To which I would now be forced to point out that "like" is probably too strong of a word. "Tolerate" might be better. In any event, while we were living overseas, the fact that our president was popular in the foreign countries where we lived, worked and traveled, helped.
But this week, I am thinking about my expat friends. America's thoughtless lack of a presence in Paris, will not go unnoticed. And my American friends living abroad will most certainly hear about it.
However, whenever something big in the world-wide political arena happened, that safe cultural bubble would burst. And language barriers aside, as the only Americans walking around our little town, we would hear about it.
I once spoke with an American woman who had been living in Belgium a long time, they had arrived during the years of the Bush administration. She told me stories about school children, chanting anti-American sentiments and singling out her children once at an event. She described how those attitudes had shifted, and it was so much better for Americans once Obama came into office.
It's not something most Americans think about. Our borders are vast and our world is isolated. Most of us don't have to worry too much about what those in other countries think about us. It is assumed that people, for the most part, like Americans. To which I would now be forced to point out that "like" is probably too strong of a word. "Tolerate" might be better. In any event, while we were living overseas, the fact that our president was popular in the foreign countries where we lived, worked and traveled, helped.
But this week, I am thinking about my expat friends. America's thoughtless lack of a presence in Paris, will not go unnoticed. And my American friends living abroad will most certainly hear about it.
Declaration.
I hereby declare my period of mourning for Belgium, over.
I went into the Christmas season with a melancholy heart. It was impossible not to remember, and thereby re-live, all of the stress we were under last year as we made our move from Belgium to Minnesota. I was dreading our one-year anniversary.
But instead, a really great thing happened on our one-year anniversary. My heart stopped hurting. The physical pain I felt in my heart whenever I thought about Belgium, went away. It was like a switch had been flipped. I'm not sure why. Except that with every day that passed, up to that point, if I thought back to what I was doing the year before, those memories always took me to Belgium. Once we hit the one-year anniversary that changed.
And I am so very glad. It's not easy to live under that black umbrella of mourning. Belgium will always be in my heart…but now I appreciate that it doesn't break in half every time I think about it.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Side Effects and Little Reminders
I have a confession. Christmas prep this year is really overwhelming.
I know, I know. Christmas prep is always overwhelming. There's shopping, presents, parties and plans. Baking and christmas cards, and all of the other necessary Christmas trappings. And all to manage in the four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And Oh. My. God. I haven't even mentioned the Elf on the Shelf. The other night John asked me where ours was and I begged and pleaded with him to forget about it for this year. I just don't think I can be responsible for the creative antics of a plastic elf right now.
Because I am overwhelmed beyond the trim and trap. As a matter of fact, if our time abroad taught me anything, it's that the little details aren't always so important. The problem that I'm having, is that little reminders keep sneaking up on me. Reminders of what we were dealing with last year at this time.
For example, last week, when I pulled out the Advent Calendars, they were only half finished. They stopped at December 12, the day our movers came to pack us up. I put on a winter jacket for the first time this year, and found a chestnut in my pocket. They used to fall along the path on the way to the chateau. And earlier this week, we decorated our Christmas tree. Miss B didn't recognize any of the ornaments. Because the last time she got to decorate a Christmas tree she was only 3 years old. On the positive side, I only have to superglue one ornament back together this year. That tally has definitely gone down since the last time our family decorated a tree.
Every one of those reminders jolts me back to what we were doing last year at this time, and it physically hurts my heart and brings tears to my eyes to remember. I think about all of the traditions we are missing back in Belgium. I think about our old house, always so cozy at Christmas. I think about the moving stress. And how painful it was to look at hundreds of white boxes stacked in every spare space. (And yes, there were hundreds. Remember? They took apart our couch and it alone went into five different boxes. I think the dining room table was in ten.) I think about all of the goodbyes we had to say, everywhere we went. Goodbyes that seem like forever goodbyes because now Belgium seems so very far away.
Sigh. Deep breath. Maybe, I could use the distraction of the mischievous plastic elf.
One year since our move, we are in a good place. My little family has done such an amazing job with the cultural adjustments. My kids are thriving in their new school and activities and we are so proud of them. There are new career options that weren't available to us before. I am beyond grateful for new friends and exciting opportunities. And the chance to be around family. But the little reminders still sneak in and stab at my heart when I'm least expecting it. I don't regret any of it. We were so lucky to have the opportunity in the first place. I think...it's just one of those side effects that come from letting your heart live in two different places at once.
I know, I know. Christmas prep is always overwhelming. There's shopping, presents, parties and plans. Baking and christmas cards, and all of the other necessary Christmas trappings. And all to manage in the four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And Oh. My. God. I haven't even mentioned the Elf on the Shelf. The other night John asked me where ours was and I begged and pleaded with him to forget about it for this year. I just don't think I can be responsible for the creative antics of a plastic elf right now.
Because I am overwhelmed beyond the trim and trap. As a matter of fact, if our time abroad taught me anything, it's that the little details aren't always so important. The problem that I'm having, is that little reminders keep sneaking up on me. Reminders of what we were dealing with last year at this time.
For example, last week, when I pulled out the Advent Calendars, they were only half finished. They stopped at December 12, the day our movers came to pack us up. I put on a winter jacket for the first time this year, and found a chestnut in my pocket. They used to fall along the path on the way to the chateau. And earlier this week, we decorated our Christmas tree. Miss B didn't recognize any of the ornaments. Because the last time she got to decorate a Christmas tree she was only 3 years old. On the positive side, I only have to superglue one ornament back together this year. That tally has definitely gone down since the last time our family decorated a tree.
Every one of those reminders jolts me back to what we were doing last year at this time, and it physically hurts my heart and brings tears to my eyes to remember. I think about all of the traditions we are missing back in Belgium. I think about our old house, always so cozy at Christmas. I think about the moving stress. And how painful it was to look at hundreds of white boxes stacked in every spare space. (And yes, there were hundreds. Remember? They took apart our couch and it alone went into five different boxes. I think the dining room table was in ten.) I think about all of the goodbyes we had to say, everywhere we went. Goodbyes that seem like forever goodbyes because now Belgium seems so very far away.
Sigh. Deep breath. Maybe, I could use the distraction of the mischievous plastic elf.
One year since our move, we are in a good place. My little family has done such an amazing job with the cultural adjustments. My kids are thriving in their new school and activities and we are so proud of them. There are new career options that weren't available to us before. I am beyond grateful for new friends and exciting opportunities. And the chance to be around family. But the little reminders still sneak in and stab at my heart when I'm least expecting it. I don't regret any of it. We were so lucky to have the opportunity in the first place. I think...it's just one of those side effects that come from letting your heart live in two different places at once.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
It's Not About the Food.
Thanks to likes of Norman Rockwell and Martha Stewart among many other leading, defining forces in Americana, everyone has an image in their head of what the perfect Thanksgiving should look like. There are family recipes that must be prepared just so. There are certain dishes that have to be on the table…or it’s just not right.
This is our first Thanksgiving on American soil, ever, as a family (because when we moved over there, we gained an extra kid). This is the first Thanksgiving in our little family history, where my kids don’t have to go to school. This is the first Thanksgiving where my kids got to talk about the holiday in school -- about what it means, about what it is. Today is our first Thanksgiving.
When we celebrated Thanksgiving in Belgium, we pieced together our dinner with the traditional favorites, as best we could. Just go back to an entry from last year, where I blogged about how we were on our very own episode of Amazing Race, and the road block challenge was: Go buy a turkey. If I remember correctly, our bird last year came in pieces because we found a turkey breast at one grocery store, and the legs at another. It certainly was easier to cook it. And forget all of the extra fancy side dishes. We were lucky to get cranberries from a friend who had access to the American army base (thanks, always and forever, Dan). Add in mashed potatoes and gravy and we called it good.
All of that taught me, it’s not about the food. So today. So what if someone forgot the marshmallows that go on top of the sweet potatoes. It will still taste good. And who cares if Aunt Betty decided not to bring THE Jello salad this year and instead opted for a suspect Kale dish instead. It’s not about the food.
As we pack up to go to my brother’s house, I know my mashed potatoes are too lumpy. And after six years of having to make my own pumpkin or pecan pies from scratch (with imported canned pumpkin and/or hard-to-find brown sugar) this year, I blissfully went online and pre-orded my pumpkin pie for pick-up yesterday at 10am. The uniform swirls of whip cream on top look glorious. I can’t even eat because it’s not gluten-free, but I don’t care. This year, our family gets us at Thanksgiving (lumpy mashed potatoes and all). This year, my kids get to see their cousins and grandparents for Thanksgiving.
For us, today, it’s not about the food.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Coffee Cups.
Ok, someone needs to explain to me about the coffee cups. When did Americans decide to start walking around with their coffee mugs? Not the thermos mugs, the ceramic ones right out of their kitchen cabinets?
I get that we have a "to-go" culture. I get that everyone likes their coffee in their car and this is why we have coffee shops on every block. Heck, we even have coffee shops with drive-thrus.
But really, why do all of the parents feel the need to walk their kids into school with their coffee mugs in hand? Yesterday at my daughter's ballet class after school, a mom was still carrying her coffee mug with her there, too. When did the "to-go" mugs disappear anyway? The thermos ones ones with the lids that actually kept it warm. Doesn't coffee get really cold really fast when you start walking around with the mug outside? And what if you drop it? And what about spills? And how the heck do you even fit it in the car cup holder?
Once, John was watching a soccer (football) match in Belgium with his coffee (thermos) mug in hand. It was a cold, early morning match. And one of the other dads asked why he had a cup and if it had whisky in it.
In Belgium coffee was a treat. A break. There was no such thing as coffee "to-go"and I can count on one hand how many Starbucks existed in the ENTIRE COUNTRY. And two of these were at the airport.
When you ordered coffee at a coffee shop, they served it on a tray, with a cookie. Or maybe a piece of chocolate. Or at my most favorite cafe in La Hulpe, they even served their coffee with a little amuse bouche of chocolate mousse. Yum. But the treat part wasn't what made it special, in fact, most of the time I couldn't even eat the cookie. (Stupid gluten allergy.) It was the attitude. It was the idea that this was a chance to sit down for a minute and drink a cup of coffee. It didn't have to take long, just a few minutes. But it was a break from your day to have a cup of coffee.
Americans, I challenge you to take a coffee break. Tomorrow morning, when you drink your cup of coffee, go SIT DOWN somewhere. Sip from your coffee cup, take a few minutes to think about your day or even read your phone. Surely you can find a few minutes to try it. Trust me, you'll like it.
I get that we have a "to-go" culture. I get that everyone likes their coffee in their car and this is why we have coffee shops on every block. Heck, we even have coffee shops with drive-thrus.
But really, why do all of the parents feel the need to walk their kids into school with their coffee mugs in hand? Yesterday at my daughter's ballet class after school, a mom was still carrying her coffee mug with her there, too. When did the "to-go" mugs disappear anyway? The thermos ones ones with the lids that actually kept it warm. Doesn't coffee get really cold really fast when you start walking around with the mug outside? And what if you drop it? And what about spills? And how the heck do you even fit it in the car cup holder?
Once, John was watching a soccer (football) match in Belgium with his coffee (thermos) mug in hand. It was a cold, early morning match. And one of the other dads asked why he had a cup and if it had whisky in it.
In Belgium coffee was a treat. A break. There was no such thing as coffee "to-go"and I can count on one hand how many Starbucks existed in the ENTIRE COUNTRY. And two of these were at the airport.
When you ordered coffee at a coffee shop, they served it on a tray, with a cookie. Or maybe a piece of chocolate. Or at my most favorite cafe in La Hulpe, they even served their coffee with a little amuse bouche of chocolate mousse. Yum. But the treat part wasn't what made it special, in fact, most of the time I couldn't even eat the cookie. (Stupid gluten allergy.) It was the attitude. It was the idea that this was a chance to sit down for a minute and drink a cup of coffee. It didn't have to take long, just a few minutes. But it was a break from your day to have a cup of coffee.
Americans, I challenge you to take a coffee break. Tomorrow morning, when you drink your cup of coffee, go SIT DOWN somewhere. Sip from your coffee cup, take a few minutes to think about your day or even read your phone. Surely you can find a few minutes to try it. Trust me, you'll like it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Relapse
I am always homesick for Belgium when we have a rainy day. And today is a rainy day.
I suppose it's normal to have a relapse. I suppose that it's normal for that relapse to hit about now. A month into the new school year, the shiny new shoes are not so shiny. The reality of homework and routines have set in.
We had a brilliant, glorious summer. Filled with festivals and fairs, family and friends. The weather was sunny and perfect. It provided a lot of distractions and excitement.
Today, when I pulled up to the curb in front of our house, I watched a city worker attach a long, red and white pole to the fire hydrant on the corner. The reality of what's in our very near future, set in. For my Belgian friends who might not know what this means, it's so the fire department can find the fire hydrant when that corner becomes a mountain of snow and ice. Yes, we Americans are nothing if not efficient.
That red and white pole is about six feet tall. I know last year's winter was especially harsh, but really? Does it have to be six feet tall? That's a bit excessive, don't you think?
I suppose it's time to tackle some of those projects I never got to this summer because we were having too much fun.
But maybe they can wait just a little longer. There's a fire in the fireplace and rainy days make really good writing days….
I suppose it's normal to have a relapse. I suppose that it's normal for that relapse to hit about now. A month into the new school year, the shiny new shoes are not so shiny. The reality of homework and routines have set in.
We had a brilliant, glorious summer. Filled with festivals and fairs, family and friends. The weather was sunny and perfect. It provided a lot of distractions and excitement.
Today, when I pulled up to the curb in front of our house, I watched a city worker attach a long, red and white pole to the fire hydrant on the corner. The reality of what's in our very near future, set in. For my Belgian friends who might not know what this means, it's so the fire department can find the fire hydrant when that corner becomes a mountain of snow and ice. Yes, we Americans are nothing if not efficient.
That red and white pole is about six feet tall. I know last year's winter was especially harsh, but really? Does it have to be six feet tall? That's a bit excessive, don't you think?
I suppose it's time to tackle some of those projects I never got to this summer because we were having too much fun.
But maybe they can wait just a little longer. There's a fire in the fireplace and rainy days make really good writing days….
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