A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

A Rose by Any Other Name

Yesterday I lost someone very dear to me. My Aunt Rose or Tante Rosi as I called her, passed away. She was not only my Aunt, but also my Godmother and the senior member of our immediate family.

It is my intent to honour her memory by this account of the woman she was and the relationship I had with her.

 

 

Born in 1924, Rose was the oldest of 5 children of my paternal Grandparents. As an older sister, she provided guidance and support to her younger siblings. They always respected her opinion and often consulted with her when making important decisions.

 

 

During World War 2 she was taken by train to a forced labour camp in Russia. She was only 19. The next 5 years were spent struggling to survive the lack of food, shelter and hygiene. Blessed with a strong will and dogged determination, she was one of the lucky ones who made it back to Germany when the war ended. There she married the man she met while in Russia and had a daughter. They soon moved to Canada to start a new life.

Although short in stature, my Tante Rosi was a formidable woman in her prime. She was a perfectionist who strived for excellence in herself and others. She had a strong sense of right and wrong and anyone who dared to cross her was soon corrected. She didn’t do this in a mean spirited way, she was merely doing what was right.

One of the qualities we shared is a penchant for writing. My aunt was a prolific writer who sent correspondence all over the world. Her greatest joy was receiving a card or letter. Everyone who knew her knew this. We all made an extra effort to remember her birthday each year. One year I was in panic, thinking I had missed the deadline, when in fact, I was one month early. She just laughed. Counting all the cards from her friends and family was one of her shining moments.

She was also mindful of all our birthdays and made it a practice to send a card with a note and money to know that we were loved and remembered.

In cooking and baking, my aunt was one of the best. She was meticulous in her technique and was well known for her German tortes and Walnut Strudel. When baking, she always scraped every last bit of batter from the bowls, once telling me it was due to her years of starvation in Russia. She didn’t want to waste a single drop.

On one family visit, she and my dad were discussing the possibility of opening up a small Strudel café, serving German pastries and confections. He owned and operated a Cabinet Making Shop and offered the front part of his building as the site for the Strudel Place. She tried to imagine it but had some concerns. Using her sweet big sister voice, “But Nicky, what will the customers say when they hear the hammering from the other room?” Without skipping a beat, my dad said “Just tell them we’re opening the nuts”.

It was one of their finer moments.

Like me, my aunt was a big fan of movies, especially the Classics from the glory days of Hollywood. She liked nothing better than spending a few hours watching the stories unfold on the big screen.

She was also a snappy dresser and always had the finest shoes and purses money could buy. I remember seeing her dressed for church one day, looking as elegant and accessorized as those glamorous Hollywood stars .

One thing she didn’t like however, was anything that creeped or crawled. She had an aversion to bugs. She also disliked shrimp and lobster, probably because of all the legs. The only seafood she would eat was fish. She didn’t like pigs either and even refused to watch the movie Babe in spite of our coaxing. With her arms crossed and her eyes blazing, her mind was made up and no one could break that iron will. I can hear her still, “Who would want to watch a movie about a pig? Not me. Not now, not ever.”

I can’t even imagine how she would have reacted to “Charlotte’s Web,” with both a pig AND a spider!

One of my aunt’s lasting legacies to me and my descendents is the knowledge she passed on about our family history. Through the efforts of my cousin Christine’s gentle but persistent questioning, we managed to record as much as she could recall. It was no small feat, because she tended to ramble on with many stories and forgotten details. I am forever grateful to my cousin for her diligence.

And now, my Dear Tante Rosi has taken her place among the ancestors , as we all will one day. Even though the last years of her life were spent in relative seclusion in the safe haven of her home, she made a lasting impression on this world. I still can’t believe that she is really gone. Those who knew her will never forget her and I will honour her memory for as long as I live.

TANTE ROSI, REST IN PEACE

Closet Calamity

Closet Calamity

My daughter Allison came for a visit last weekend. We were long overdue for some quality mother-daughter time. After a few coffees and some girl talk, we decided to take a tour through my over-flowing closets.

I have been accumulating clothes and shoes , jewellery and purses for many years. Like most women, I have 3 complete wardrobes. There are my skinny clothes and my fat clothes. Then there are my transition outfits, for the times when I am either gaining or losing weight. 70% of the pieces just stay in the closet year after year. Some items still have the price tags. Then there are the favourites: a few select outfits that I wear over and over again. The challenge is to figure out why. What is it about those items that attract me? And why am I keeping all the rest?

After being called a “semi-hoarder” I knew a major purge was needed. Every closet in this 3+ bedroom house was full. Every hanger was in use. Every shelf was crammed with stuff. I wondered where it all came from and how it ended up here? Realizing that it all cost money at one time made me determined never to buy anything for the rest of my life. I have more than I will ever need or want. (I’m sounding more like my mother every day).

We started our downsizing project in the living room. We had 3 choices: keep, donate or trash. Every item was scrutinized. Allison was very patient with me as I gave some lame excuses for keeping things.

Our conversations went something like this: “Mom, why are you saving those boots from 1993?” “Umm…well, they still fit and the soles are in good shape and they have come back in style..”

And then, “Mom, what are you going to do with all those Star Trek trading cards?”. “Umm, I’m going to sell them at the Star Trek Convention in Las Vegas…” to which she replied “Really mom? You’re going to tote them on a plane and carry them around?” The idea didn’t sound too promising at that point.

And finally, “Mom, how many of these old sweaters have you worn in the last 5 years?” I remembered my super heated menopausal body and realized I haven’t worn a single one. Cotton blouses ruled, even in the middle of winter.

My voice trailed off as my arguments lost their conviction. We kept filling up the bags. Slowly, we got to my underwear drawer.

There were 50 bras and 2 drawers full of pantyhose. “How many bras do you need and when was the last time you wore pantyhose?” My response was that the bras were on sale and the pantyhose are waiting for the revival of my social life which I assume will magically reappear when I retire and move to Edmonton.

Then suddenly I realized I had the answers to my previous questions. Sometimes we hold onto things because they remind us of a past experience. Sometimes we keep things because they hold the promise of a better future. Sometimes we just fill a need by filling our shelves.

By the time we wrapped up our mission, we had 7 large recycling bags and a half dozen boxes full of my former treasures. Even with all that stuff gone, my closets still look full. The only clue to the weekend purge is the occasional empty hanger.

The Goodwill people were very pleased with my donations. I’m so glad that my cast-offs will be put to use instead of sitting in a dark closet gathering dust. I feel lighter somehow, as if a load has been lifted and I made a promise to continue to “Reorganize, Prioritize and Downsize” and I encourage all of you to do the same.

　

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THE SNEEZE

Tiny Flying Insect

I wrote this poem more than 40 years ago. It’s been sitting in a box in the closet with many others; a collection of my youthful scribbling. In a turnabout from my usual format, I decided to share it with you today.

THE SNEEZE

A tiny flying insect speeds through the air

|And lands on the sleeping man’s nose.

He travels down to the very tip

To there the great wind blows.

The wind goes in and out of great caves;

He explores the reaches inside.

There’s a million tunnels and many more;

It’s a great place in which to hide.

But this wonder world is not meant for flies,

And the man is beginning to sneeze.

At first a twitch and then a snort,

Followed by a great big wheeze.

Short blasts of air rush into the caves,

The fly is swept off his feet.

And now the nose can hold no more,

The fly prepares for defeat.

It’s the end of the world for that little fly,

The walls of the cave start to shake.

He knows he can’t get out in time,

He’s caught in a great earthquake.

And then it comes: the winds rush

Out of the caves with astounding force.

Followed by a spray of water

From an unknown inward source.

The water droplets settle;

All is quiet once again.

The man continues his little nap

And dreams his dreams of great men.

Not knowing that a little fly

Lost his life in his nose.

Just because he had to sneeze

In the midst of a nice long doze.

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Gout Wars

RED TOES AND RED TOE JOINT

I suffer from gout. Sometimes I feel as if my body has declared war on me. The battle is being waged in my big toe joint, with pain and inflammation and loss of movement. It can strike suddenly, most often in the middle of the night.

The first time it happened, I didn’t know what it was. My right toe joint was red, swollen and the size of a ping pong ball. Walking was impossible. Shoes didn’t fit. It was very painful.

I soon found the cause of my suffering. Gout is a form of arthritis that is caused by an excess of uric acid in the blood. The uric acid forms crystals in the joints which in turn cause the pain and inflammation. I had my blood tested. My uric acid level was only slightly about the normal upper limit, but it was enough to initiate an attack.

The disease has been called the Rich Man’s disease because it used to be a common affliction of the upper classes, who freely indulged in alcohol and meat consumption. Some of the more famous sufferers included Alexander the Great, Charlemagne, Henry the VIII and Nostradamus and Ben Franklin. The poor could not afford this rich diet and thus were spared.

I’m not a man, I’m not rich, I don’t indulge in alcohol and yet this affliction has found me. Only one in 10 sufferers are female. I feel as if I won a lottery without ever buying a ticket. How could this happen? I guess every person with health issues asks themselves the same question. I went on a quest for knowledge. I wanted to minimize my risk factors and seek natural remedies.

I was initially treated with Colchicine and Indomethacin. The symptoms quickly abated but I was concerned about the toxic effect these drugs would have on my liver. Some of the side effects (ie: severe diarrhoea) were almost as unpleasant as the disease.

With research on the internet I discovered that many of the foods I was eating put me at greater risk for a gout attack. I used to eat a lot of soy products such as tofu because they were supposed to minimize menopausal symptoms. I was on a health kick and ate plenty of spinach and legumes. All these were acid forming foods that can cause an attack. Processed foods with sugar and wheat flour are also taboo. It gets to the point where every food is suspect and each time I have an attack, I try to figure out what I ate to have caused it. The other night I indulged in Hummus, one of my favourite snacks. The next day my toe joint was aching slightly, reminding me of my indiscretion. Chick peas, a legume are not gout friendly.

Thankfully, my symptoms are under control at present. I usually get one or two attacks per year. Since I can recognize the early signs, I take action immediately, to prevent a full blown attack. I drink a lot of water and start on the medication. Cherries are an excellent natural remedy. I buy the dark cherry juice concentrate at the health food store and mix it with water and ice. Celery juice is also good for gout, especially if it is made fresh with a juicer. Some people take a bit of baking soda or sea salt in water to alleviate their symptoms but the excess soda can cause other side effects. We are constantly reminded that our bodies are magnificent machines that must remain balanced to maintain good health. Everything plays a part and affects everything else.

Aging is full of surprises. I’m all for peace, but I have declared war on gout. I have modified my diet and adjusted my habits. I avoid the big offenders, especially alcohol and meat. I focus on eating fruits and vegetables, brown rice and quinoa. I still enjoy my daily coffee and indulge in chocolate but limit the quantities.

I used to love buying high heels and step out in style. Now all my shoes are “gout friendly”. The heels are lower and the straps crossover to avoid the troublesome joint. Comfort is more important than fashion. (I can’t believe I said that..) Actually, pain or rather, the lack of it is a great motivator. I remember when the saying “Your mother wears army boots” used to be a common insult. But now, it all makes sense. The poor woman probably suffered from gout.

Volvo Va Va Varoom

VOLVO VA VA VROOM

I’ve been driving for 40 years and have never owned a foreign car. I listened to my dad when he warned me that they are expensive to buy and even more difficult to maintain.

Back in the early 1970’s when I was choosing my first car I really wanted a little red MGB but settled for a white Vega with black racing stripes. That car took 4 of us on our first trip to Florida without our parents. It came fully loaded with an 8-track player and huge speakers. We drove along the I-75 South with Black Sabbath and Chicago playing as loud as it would go. I’m sure we suffered hearing loss from that trip. My next car was a gold coloured Mustang with a large V-8 engine and a thirsty gas tank. As time went on, I graduated to a red Dodge Caravan. That minivan transported scores of hockey players and little leaguers to countless games and tournaments as Michael Jackson’s music blared from the tape deck. The rest of the cars and trucks blurred into obscurity until I moved to Alberta. I came under the spell of the Ford Explorer and have owned 3 of them in quick succession. I really liked the 4 wheel drive and the roomy interior. But nothing lasts forever. Our needs and preferences change as we go though life and the cars we drive reflect that change.

So last Saturday, with some prompting and encouragement from my son- in- law Neil, and my daughter Allison, I bought my first European car. It’s a Volvo XC70. My dad’s advice was good 40 years ago, but we live in a different world today. If he were here, I’m sure he would agree.

We started our search at the BMW dealership. At first I was still fixated on the SUV idea, but soon realized that I don’t really need all that power and towing capacity. We made notes to keep track of the vehicles I liked and moved on to the Audi dealer. We also walked past a few Mini’s but they were quickly eliminated since I am a lot of things, but “mini” is not one of them! There was also a Range Rover, but I wasn’t planning any African Safaris in the near future and I could have renamed it “Out of my Price Range Rover”. So we moved on to the Volkswagens. I sat in a few models and salivated at the CC in the showroom. It was luxury itself and very posh, but not practical for our Alberta winters. I could imagine myself cruising around in Monte Carlo with that gorgeous vehicle. On the downside, there wasn’t very much room in the back seat, as my son in law was quick to point out. I crossed it off the “wish list” and stopped day dreaming.

We never checked out the Mercedes because time was running out, but made one more stop at the Volvo dealership. I didn’t know what to expect. My only experience with the brand was being driven in a friend’s car many years ago. It was a solid, no frills little tank. What made a lasting impression at that time was it’s seat belts. It was the first time I had ever put on a seat belt, since most cars didn’t even have them in those days. Safety was always the top priority with the Volvo company.

We walked into the showroom and were greeted by a sweet young lady who immediately started telling us about the wonders of this car. My eyes glazed over as she went on about torque this and turbo that, but I decided to take it for a test drive. From the moment I sat behind the wheel, I was struck by the comfort and simple elegance of this car. The dashboard was easy to understand and the quality was evident in every feature. We drove along the slippery winter streets without any problems. The all-wheel drive made a smooth transition when needed and the little lights on the side view mirrors warned me when another car was approaching in my blind spot. The gas mileage is very good too. We should all be mindful of our consumption in this world of dwindling fuel resources. Our children and grandchildren will thank us some day. It was an excellent road test! I decided to buy it.

My adrenaline was up and my cheeks were flushed, but I was determined to make a good deal. The salesperson indicated that they don’t usually deviate very much from the sticker price. She said that negotiations were not part of the process in this dealership. She said they didn’t enter into the little “walking back and forth dance” that happens in other dealerships.

I ignored her comments and calmly offered her approximately 10% less than the list price. She looked a bit uncomfortable and then sought out the sales manager. He came out with a sombre demeanour and also stated their “no negotiation” policy. He even said that their price was set as low as possible.

I nodded and asked politely if he could improve on that price to “sweeten the deal”. He coughed and walked away. When he came back, he had lowered the price by about 5%. “Sweeter” yes, but not sweet enough for this determined lady. I could see them fidget and exchange glances as I asked for more options.

They both walked back into the office for a minute. It was a test of wills. There was a lot of walking back and forth in this dealership even though they told me initially that they didn’t use that approach to pricing.

I really liked that car, but I was ready to walk if they refused my request. When they came back the new price was 10% lower and I was satisfied.

I’m entering into a different phase of my life with many new beginnings just around the corner and I’ll be turning those corners with my European car. If you happen to see a tall blonde middle aged woman getting out of a Volvo at the Ikea give her a wave. It just might be me.

　

Waking up the Ancestors

Kirchhoffer Family circa 1914

　

I have my Great Grandmother’s mouth. She died 14 years before I was born, but the genes live on. She is the matriarch in a family photo from 1914. The faces staring back at me look vaguely familiar although most of them died long ago. By the time I came along, the surviving members were senior citizens, well past their prime.

I’ve been gathering information about our family tree for many years. Being the first born gave me an advantage with the older relatives. I spent many happy hours visiting my grandparents and listening to their stories about the “Old Country”. We sat in the dining room, sipping homemade wine and eating my Grandmother’s cookies as the tales unfolded. I was very curious and loved to hear about their customs and traditions from Europe. They always used to say “someone should write this down”. Now, almost 50 years later, I have taken up the task.

I have always been interested in our family history. My great grandfather used to show me a wedding photo taken in 1912. He would point to each person, tell me their name and talk about their life. He told me that our ancestors migrated from south western Germany to Austria-Hungary over 300 years ago. They settled along the Danube River and lived peacefully, always keeping their traditional language, religion and customs. I now have proof of this fact. This became an Ethnic group known as "The Donauschwaben".Since embarking on this journey into the past, I traced one branch of the family tree to 1707. They were born in Freiburg in south-western Germany. I did a search on Google and was able to zoom in on the rooftops of this town. It was very emotional for me. I felt like Alex Haley when he found his ancestor, Kunte Kinte in the Roots saga.

Why do we hold that fascination for the past? For me, it’s a longing to understand the big picture and know where I fit in. I am very curious about the people who lived and loved and eventually led to me. Who were they? What kind of people were they? How did they make a living? How similar were they to me? How did they die? So many questions remain. With the help of my mom, Anne and my Aunt Rosi, I have been able to build a remarkable family tree. Their stories and personal memories have been a great foundation for my research.

The further we go back, the more relatives we have. Dr. Spencer Wells, the world renowned Geneticist has proven that we are all descended from a small group of Homo-Sapiens who lived in Africa and then migrated to the far corners of the world as one generation gave rise to the next. This story is written in our genes and we are just learning how to interpret it.

When we think of our ancestors we usually focus on one or two branches. We talk about this or that Great Grandfather or Grandmother. But there are so many more people who have contributed their DNA. We forget that each one of us has 8 great-grandparents and 16 great-great-grandparents. The number of relatives increases exponentially with each generation. I followed one branch of the family to my 7th-great-grandmother. I know her name, Angelique (she was French) but there were also 511 more ancestors from that generation who are still waiting to be discovered. We are all the endpoint of a tremendous gene pool until we pass it on to our descendants.

Many cultures throughout the world venerate their departed relatives. Small altars are set up and food offerings are made in a symbolic gesture to honour their memory. Before all the costumes and candy and revelry took over, Halloween used to be a time to remember the dead. All Souls Day was a time to visit the graveyard and spend some time in quiet reflection about our loved ones who passed away.

Now, we remember our past thru research and building family trees. Through the Ancestry program, I have connected with all sorts of distant cousins. Some remain aloof and politely detached while others have embraced this new media and share my enthusiasm for our roots. We all owe our existence to those who came before, lived their lives, and raised their young.

I come from sturdy stock. One of my great-grandmothers had 3 husbands and outlived them all. She raised 6 children to adulthood and ensured that all of them had a career.

Divorce was not an option, but dying was very popular. If you were unhappy in your marriage, you only had to wait a few years. One of you would probably die. Diseases such as Scarlet Fever and Tuberculosis were rampant. One set of Great-grandparents lost 2 daughters to the disease. Try to imagine burying one child only to return home from the funeral and discovering that another had died. Even the most trivial infections could prove fatal. They had a lot of children, but many did not live to adulthood.

There was no government pension, welfare or employment insurance. People had to be very resourceful to survive. Families were not as spread out as they are today and many generations lived and died in one small town. Moving or travelling was unheard of. Weddings, Funerals and Church Holidays filled their spiritual and social needs. They didn’t have the luxury of questioning their personal happiness. They were too busy surviving (or dying).

We are the survivors of the survivors. In countless circumstances, our existence was hanging by a thread. Change anything and we would never have been born. It makes one really appreciate this life we have been granted.

If time travel were possible, I would go back a thousand years to have a peek; and then 5000 or even 10000 years. It’s hard to imagine, but we had direct ancestors living that long ago. Since the Time Machine only existed in HG Wells’ classic novel, I need to be content with the research available today.

This project has taught me a great deal. I’ve learned persistence, determination, patience and appreciation. It is a voyage of self discovery and a quest for the truth. My descendants may or may not be interested, but I leave it to them and their children.

Nirvana Versus the Internet

It’s been almost 7 weeks since we wished each other a “Happy” New Year. We all made resolutions; we all spent too much money, and most of us are still waiting for the “Happy” part to take effect.

With a renewed vigour and a sense of purpose, we take steps to improve our health and prosperity. We love to wipe the slate clean and make a fresh start. Everywhere we turn, there are images and articles that tell us how to achieve our goals. Talk shows focus on fashion and self improvement. Decorating shows tell us how to renovate our homes. There is one series that helps people get out of debt and live within their means. Another popular show perpetuates the myth that true love can be found after a few dates and a few roses.

We assume that happiness will be ours if we just listen to all the advice and follow all the rules. Wrong! All that advice only serves to increase our anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. The media encourages us to be consumers and our entire economy is dependent on it. Imagine the enormous repercussions if we all just said “No”.

Eastern religions seem to have it right. Nirvana is that mystical state of mind where you are at one with the universe. You are completely content. According to the experts, you can enter that state of consciousness by simply turning your thoughts inward, clearing your mind and taking deep breaths. Once we focus on our breath, we get in touch with our inner selves and are drawn into that peaceful realm. We learn to relax. We let go of all the noise and nonsense our society inflicts upon us.

Everyone has heard the phrase “ignorance is bliss”. However, in this information age, ignorance and bliss are increasingly difficult to maintain. Google has all the answers. With a few clicks of the mouse we have instant access to a million or more topics. My Encyclopedia Britannica is nothing but a relic from the past. I still enjoy browsing through those treasured volumes but the facts are largely outdated. The maps are increasingly inaccurate as countries reinvent themselves and political borders change.

There is no greater confusion than the diet industry. I have more diet books than the local library. Each one promises results. There is the Low Fat, the Low Carb, the Low Glycemic, the Points Plus System, The Cave Man Diet, the Vegetarian and many others. How can a society so focused on weight loss be so overweight?

I have more exercise equipment than the local gym, but lack the motivation to use it consistently. I keep waiting for the mood to strike, somewhere between dinner and bedtime, but the lure of the Shopping Channel and the Showstopper gets in the way.

The monks who practice meditation are rarely overweight, in spite of their sedentary lifestyle. They don’t fret over their diet or lack of motivation. They don’t berate themselves for wearing last year’s robes. They have found peace and joy in the simplest things. I envy them to a point.

However, I’ve come to realize that moderation in all things is the answer. It’s not practical for us to live our lives meditating on a mountain top in the lotus position. But we can find a few minutes for some quiet time every day. And we can take small steps to fitness by just being mindful of our daily activities and move more. We can make healthy choices to improve our diet.

I have discovered that happiness, that elusive state of well-being, is just a thought away. Make a solid decision to be happy and you will achieve it, regardless of your circumstances. Your own version of Nirvana is there within you, waiting to be discovered. It has always been there.

                                                                          Namaste!