Author Archives: gmroeder

Unknown's avatar

About gmroeder

Author: - there was so much I never talked about and now, that my memoir "We Don't Talk About That" is written I can't stop talking about it. And the reviews I get are awesome; so I think this book needed to be written. Interesting that I receive many e-mails from people who read the book and now tell me their similar stories... Did I open "a can of worms?" I think there are so many people who carry a heavy memory load and they do need to "unload". But interesting enough, even more people want to know MORE of my life and therefore I am working on a sequel.

Dog Days Or Other Miserable Days… #Depressed #DogLove

Posted on by

BuffiQuoting from Wikipedia:

The Romans referred to the dog days as diēs caniculārēs and associated the hot weather with the star Sirius. They considered Sirius to be the “Dog Star” because it is the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major (Large Dog); this linkage first appeared in the Greek poem Phaenomena by Aratus (~310-260 BC) while Sirius’s association with summer heat is found in an earlier Greek poem, Works and Days by Hesiod in ~700 BC. Sirius is also the brightest star in the night sky. The term “Dog Days” was used earlier by the Greeks (see, e.g., Aristotle’s Physics, 199a2)

The Dog Days originally were the time of the year when Sirius rose just before or at the same time as the sun (heliacal rising, in Conjunction (astronomy) with), which is no longer true, owing to precession of the equinoxes.

Dog Days were popularly believed to be an evil time “the Sea boiled, the Wine turned sour, Dogs grew mad, and all other creatures became languid; causing to man, among other diseases, burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies.” according to Brady’s Clavis Calendaria, 1813.

Are those the days when I am not sure what is ailing me? I am sad, weak, down, tired, can’t get going and somehow it seems the whole world is ganging up on me. If someone says something nice I feel they just want to put honey around my mouth. A stubborn donkey is growing and bucking up within myself and wants to kick the kind person… If someone says “come on, cheer up…” or even worse, “you have no reason to feel that way” I know they don’t know what they are talking about. Can’t I just feel bad without a reasonable reason? Just let me be miserable. Leave me alone. Maybe that’s what I need, ‘lone-time’ to find my centre again, to balance my emotions.

Have you ever thought about how tough it is to always pretend everything is all right? We keep smiling, we do what we have to do or think what we have to do, give polite answers or the expected answers. In reality we would like to scream or throw even some of our best china against the wall. Before my back gave me trouble I would grab the vacuum cleaner and give it a real good workout. Just a couple of years ago I would spend hours in the garden, listen to the silence and let myself suffer through sometimes agonizing back pain without being able to stop before the job I had started was done. Mind over matter? What matter? The physical pain or the pain you can’t put a finger on? The pain accumulated during a lifetime without ever having had a chance to clear the air? Because there are things you just don’t talk about. You don’t want to trouble others with your troubles because they have their own troubles.

Okay. The really well-meaning people tell you to have counselling. I tried it. Pay for the pair of ears that will listen to you. Sometimes you get asked intelligent questions but mostly they wallow in your misery, stir it up like pea soup, push it around and explain it from this side and the other and, by acknowledging it, they multiply it. In the end you start to believe life has dealt you some bad cards. In your heart of hearts you know it is not true, that that wasn’t the problem in the first place. Run while you can! But if you keep going back and enjoy listening to these smart people, after all you want your money’s worth, – in the end you start believing it. You like the new truth? It makes you feel ‘poor me’ but it feels good? You don’t realize that by dwelling on it you get worse but the worse is that you start seeing it as the ‘true truth’. Some truth! Brain-washing! And by telling other people about your (new) truth you unwittingly hurt the people that may love you most and you push them away.

No, counselling wasn’t for me. And psycho pills were not either. Why would the first one make me feel so bad that I had to throw up? Oh no, – I never took another. There was no way that I would let anyone, or anything, alter my brain waves. I told myself to take the bull by the horns, face my demons and acknowledge them. Take stock. What was it that made me feel so miserable? Why the loss of energy and getting tired of not being able to defend myself against what, – other people’s truth? Things? Circumstances? Take charge of your life, I told myself.

You know what I just did? I broke a lot of china. I was venting. I talked about all the things that don’t work, did not work for me. I remember part of a joke: A zebra came to God and asked if it was black with white stripes or white with black stripes. God looked at it and said “That depends entirely on how you see yourself.”

Lovely TinaLet’s get back to the very beginning of this outburst. So how do I see myself? Some days are better than others and things seem clearer. But as there is dark and light, bright and dull, up and down, dry and wet, day and night, good and bad, happiness and sadness, so your outlook changes. My way was to keep busy. Did I ever realize that I might have exhausted my store of energy? No. I felt responsible to “keep going” like the rabbit on the battery. I forgot one important thing: Work and play, activity and rest, laughing and crying. There was nothing to laugh about? Too many of those “dog days”?

The antidote: Get a dog. It ties you down? You have to walk it, get up earlier, lose your freedom? You don’t even realize what you would gain: unconditional love and lots of it, an incredibly understanding of your troubles. It looks at you and transmits feelings without words. By owning and being responsible for a dog you may even extend your life.

doggie mediicineSecond best? Go visit a friend who has dogs. These creatures just know how to lift your mood, get your mind off anything that may ail you. They love you, they want you and they play with you and before you know it they have delivered the medicine you didn’t even know existed: “Doggie Medicine”.

An ‘Otherwordly’ Experience #Dreams #Tears #Spiritual

Posted on by

It was totally dark when I woke up and I had the incredible feeling of floating over my bed. I had heard someone calling “No, don’t go, please no, no, no…” I felt for something solid and was grateful when finally touching my pillow. But it was wet, very wet next to my head. I was flat on my back. I kept lying still and tried to shake the cob webs off my mind. Who had been calling? Why would my pillow be wet? I noticed that my hair on both sides of my face was wet as well and there was moisture in my ears too. I touched my eyes. Yes, – I was crying, the tears just kept running out of my eyes, down my cheeks and it seemed that some flood gate had opened. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t properly wake up, either. Weirdly, I knew I wasn’t really awake and I also knew I wasn’t really asleep. The dark room around me felt cold and empty. Very empty. Almost hollow. I could touch the hollow in the air above me.

The next I heard was my alarm clock going off. It was 6.30 AM. A bit of grey light shone through the curtains. It took me a while to gather my thoughts. The wet pillow was a puzzle. I figured I must have had a bad dream and therefore cried. Walking to the bathroom I felt lightheaded and in a weird way very somber. Not singing or humming as I sometimes did. I had my shower, dried myself, put my house coat on and padded back to the bedroom. I dressed without thinking, choose everything black. Black pantyhose, black dress with a high collar, buttoned half way down the front with small round shiny black buttons, black pumps. When I was back in the bathroom I stared into the mirror: Why did I dress in black? I opened a drawer and pulled out my opera length large white baroque pearls and hung them around my neck. I shook my head to the image I saw in front of me and took them off again. I noticed that I was very pale and had large dark circles under my eyes.

Eventually I set off to drive to my office. For no reason at all I felt thankful that nobody had taken my parking spot. For a while I sat in my car and prayed that my secretary would not notice my eyes, still red from crying. I still had that somber feeling but as I entered through the backdoor I pasted a smile on my face when I called out “Good Morning” and hoped it sounded cheerful enough. June, my secretary was at her desk, gave me a rather serious look and said somewhat timidly “Good Morning, Giselle”. What’s with her, I thought as I walked past her and into my office. I placed my coat on the hook behind my door which was always open. I wanted to be available and approachable for all my “girls”, – I had twelve estheticians working for me. Behind my chair was a one-way window which allowed me to look out into the shop but nobody could look in. I sat down at my Jacobean desk in my Jacobean chair, folded my hands in my lap and did absolutely nothing. I didn’t see anything either. I was numb.

After maybe ten minutes June called “Giselle, telephone for you.” I picked it up and said my name.

“Hi, Giselle, it’s Chris. I am afraid I have bad news for you.”

“Yes, I know, my father died.”

“Oh, you know already”.

“Chris, – no I don’t, – what did you just say? How do you know?”

“We received a telegram this morning before the shop opened since we were the only Roeders in the telephone book close to your shop.”

My two most favorite men

Grandpa Erich and Eric

I was stunned. I hung up the phone and just sat there, my heart racing and my mind reeling. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t make them stop. Now I slowly started to understand my tears during the night, my somber mood, my disconnection with reality. My father had written a letter on February16, complaining that he didn’t feel good, that not even the cigars tasted good anymore. Since then I had not heard from home. Neither my mother nor my youngest sister had written to let me know that he was in a bad way. And today was April 7, 1983, time enough to let me know, to give me a chance to fly home and see him again before it was too late. How good is a funeral of one you love so much when you cannot be there? Oceans were between us. They lived in East Germany, had tried to escape but father had a kidney attack on the way to the train station and ended up in hospital. That was on the 13th of August 1961. Two days later the Berlin Wall was up.

“June, my father died, Chris just told me.” I had left my office and stood in front of her desk.

“I am so very sorry, Giselle, I thought you knew.”

“No, June, I did not know. It just hit me the moment Chris said it.”

“But then, Giselle why did you dress like that?”

“I have no idea, June. I wasn’t really aware of it. I just felt kind of somber this morning. It was as if I was in a trance. I thought I must have had a bad nightmare because I had cried so much my pillow was wet…”

I walked away from her towards the open part of the shop, the elegant waiting room with the manicure tables all around the huge glass windows. I stopped at every table to greet my customers and stood a bit longer at my daughter Ingrid’s table. She lived with Chris. Her head was bent way down – she clearly did not want to face me.

“Ingrid, Grandpa has died.”

She never looked up from her work. “Yes I know. You did too, didn’t you?”

“I had no idea. Chris just phoned me a few minutes ago.”

“But then, why did you dress like that?”

My back prickled, the hair at my neck was standing up as the full force of what happened last night hit me. My father had come to say “Good Bye” and the voice calling “No, don’t go, please, no, no, no…” must have been my own.

#Escape from your country? #BerlinWall #EastGermany

Posted on by

EscapeCan you think of any good reason to escape from your country? I am not talking about criminal acts causing you to hide from being caught or trying to avoid punishment. No, I am talking about not being able to breathe anymore, not being able to talk openly, always being afraid to say the wrong thing, even to your own family.

About 60.000 people escaped almost monthly from East Germany to the West for many years. A number of them lost their lives when shot by other East Germans, maybe their brothers, cousins, or friends, – boys who had grown up since the war ended in 1945 and became part of the East German Police Force.

The day I escaped, it was October 5th 1955, over 16.000 registered in the West. In my case, it was West Berlin. The two shots fired after me could very easily have hit me but I like to believe the young police man missed on purpose. Maybe he lost his life because of it. Their order was to “shoot to kill.” Maybe he was severely punished. Maybe he could prove that he did NOT do it on purpose. Two Berliner men pulled me into a moving train. Luckily the train was not stopped as a result of my escape.

image2-002-1To stop the exodus the “Berlin Wall” had been built over night August 13th 1961. Nobody, absolutely nobody, knew about it and people wonder to this day how the government could have organized it. The Wall went straight down the middle of streets for some kilometers. Families or friends were cut off from each other. If you had been visiting in either East or West Berlin, maybe just across the street, you were stuck, you could not return. Days later the people living in the houses along the wall on the eastern side were evacuated and all the windows bricked up. The rest of the country was fenced in with miles and miles of barbed wire and a wide strip of mined no-mans-land. In order to see footsteps another wide strip of raked sand was added later. Towers for sharp shooters were built. East Germany became a large prison with life going on as if everything was Berlin Wall-2all right. But nothing was all right. People risked their life by building tunnels, balloons, micro-aircraft, even shooting wires across a street and became escape artists above the search lights. One young police man even stole an armored police truck and made it across the border and, despite being wounded and finding himself in a hospital bed he was happy because he made it! According to reports thousands got shot, many were wounded but they just did not give up trying to reach what is not even fully appreciated by the populace of western countries: Freedom.

Have you ever thought of freedom? What freedom means, to you or your family, your friends? It is something we don’t think about because it is something we take for granted.

Interview with Fiona McVie #BookInterview

Posted on by

Fiona McvieI was recently interviewed (on-line) by Fiona Mcvie who posts her interviews with authors on her web site. She lives in Scotland and likes to learn more about the authors of books she has read. She poses some interesting questions. Thank you, Fiona, for this great opportunity to describe how my book “We Don’t Talk About That” came to be written.

You can find the full interview here.

My Friend – The Green Turtle #Hawaii #Snorkelling #Swimming

Posted on by

Aerial view of Anaeho'omalu Bay Beach [Source: Wikipedia]

Aerial view of Anaeho’omalu Bay Beach [Source: Wikipedia]

One should never snorkel alone – but what do you do if you don’t have anybody with whom to snorkel? Give up? That is not in my make-up! So I did it on my own. Usually I didn’t swim too far from the beach but this time I swam straight out towards the horizon. I knew there was a reef across the bay and the sharks were on the other side of it. Looking around I did not see a single colorful fish. I was always looking for the Humu humu nuku nuku apua’a, the Hawaiian Statefish. I loved the coloring, the design as if a young child had painted it. Lots of corals and seaweed were under me here in the Anaeho’omalu Bay and it looked rather dark. I just kept my face down, hoping to see something and kept on swimming.

You know the sixth sense you have when someone watches you? I definitely had that sensation and looked to my left. I remembered that once on Cuba people were waving and screaming from the beach at me and when I looked around a Barracuda, about two thirds of my body length was swimming next to me. The waters on Cuba are very clear and I was not too far from the beach. I kept my cool and did not make any hasty movements and after a few more meters the huge creature turned away. But now, on

[Source: The Encyclopedia of Animals]

[Source: The Encyclopedia of Animals]

the Big Island of Hawaii, with all the darkness beneath me, it was different. When I looked to the right I was so shocked that I let go of my mouth piece and swallowed water. A small head on a long neck sticking out from a plated body was turned directly towards me, observing me with large slanted bulging eyes. It was a rather large “Green Turtle”. The Hawaiians call it ‘hona’. I was treading water and tried to get my breathing under control again while the turtle waited next to me. It then started to swim a few strokes, waited, looked back at me as if to say “come on…” and when I tried to turn around it kind of coaxed me to keep swimming next to it. I knew they were not dangerous, so I did what it seemed to suggest to me. After maybe another fifty meters it veered to the left. There was a great big light spot in the sea, lit up by the sun. Coming closer I was surprised to see a huge circular pit with light sand probably about thirty meters wide and quite deep. With the seaweed earlier I had no idea how deep the ocean under me was, – but this was an incredible sight. The sunlight was filtering down and the movement of the sea caused changing shapes and shadows just like an enormous kaleidoscope.

My turtle stopped a moment beside me as if enjoying my surprise, looked me in the eye and then swiftly descended for just a few seconds, came back up clearly inviting me to come down visiting with its family. I counted thirteen turtles, – five of them very large and the others all of different sizes, even some small ones. Growing children, I thought. They seemed to congregate in groups of three or four. I couldn’t help staring down at all this beauty for a couple of minutes before I felt a shiver and realized I had to get back. But now I knew what my friend had been up to. It had a purpose for accompanying me; it wanted me to see this little wonder in the middle of the dark ocean. I watched it while it joined a group of three its own size and one smaller one. Another shiver went through me and I turned and started to swim back towards the beach.

I hoped to get a bit warmer by swimming with strong strokes but I soon realized I was in trouble. I half expected my turtle friend to come back and help me on my return but that did not happen. A few times I was ready to give up. I was awfully cold and tired. Hypothermia, my brain registered. I knew my friend Elsa was at the beach waiting for me and was probably already worried. The beach was much farther away than I had realized swimming out. I had been too curious about what the turtle next to me wanted from me. I had seen a small paradise but it could have cost me my life. The last few meters walking to the beach with my flippers in my hands were almost too much. I fell onto the sand, Elsa was there with a big towel, she covered me and I immediately went to sleep. She and six other people stood around me when they woke me after two hours. I was lucky the sand and sun had been warm.

It was an incredible experience but I should warn you: Do not, under any circumstances, swim or snorkel too far from shore. Remember you need more strength for the return since your body temperature has gone down. It just makes you so very tired and it would be too easy to just give up. I have a very strong will to live. This was not the first time I just made it.

This Happens When You Talk About It! #Winnipeg #BestSeller

Posted on by

I was on a book promotion in the prairie city of Winnipeg which owns the reputation of being one of the coldest cities in Canada. Can you believe it was 15°C above on March 13th when I arrived, 18°C two days later and reasonably warm during the whole week I was in “Friendly Manitoba”. No snow in sight but lots of sand used to sprinkle the slippery streets earlier and now the wind blew it around. Everything was muddy and grey and holy. Sorry, I mean to say “pot-hole-y”! The day after I left it snowed again. The snow makes everything look so clean. It makes a beautiful cover-up – at least for a while.

One thing the Winnipeggers still do is read a lot of books: real books, not e-books. Many told me “I like to feel a book, look at a book, leaf through it, put it down and pick it up again. I like to have it on my book shelf or on my night table.” I hardly ever saw one person walking out of one of the three enormous book stores where I was autographing my book with fewer than two, three or more books. The stores where open ‘til 10.00 PM and people walked in as late as two minutes to ten and shopped. Does the climate have something to do with this? Do the prairie people still know how to relax at home with a glass of wine and a good book? You tell me!

I was interviewed on CJOB Radio and had a lively conversation with the charming host, Greg Mackling. An hour long TV interview was taped by the Shaw crew of “go! Winnipeg” and it will soon be available on YouTube. Book readings, autographing and lots of discussions about my memoir “We Don’t Talk About That”, the story of ordinary German families before, during and after WWII filled my time. The members of a Rotary Club where I was the luncheon speaker were very attentive and another Rotary Club wanted me at their meeting as well, but my time was already totally booked.

Best sellerWhen I came home I had lost my voice. But I had lots of fun. In one of the biggest and architecturally most beautiful and largest book stores, McNally Robinson’s my book became a “Bestseller” and I hope it will remain so and be displayed on the bestseller table for a while longer. In both the very large Chapter Book stores, people were already waiting for me despite the fact that I always come half an hour earlier than expected. And they stuck around, wanting to catch every word of every discussion I had with one of them. Amazing! For seventy years I “Didn’t talk about it” and now I can hardly “shut up” with people around me.

Everybody wanted to know more. Did I open a can of worms? Is it based on real interest or is it rather the sensation “Thank God it didn’t happen to me”? After reading my book they write to me. “It reads like a Spielberg movie” said one. Another said “I look at my eleven year old granddaughter and just shiver to think…what, if, when, how can I protect her?” Still another sent me an e-mail “Are you alright? I just need to know…”

And dozens of readers of “We Don’t Talk About That” are telling me their own or their parents’ or grandparents’ stories of their life during WWII – how little they were told and now they can relate and want to hear more. “I wasn’t interested when I was younger and THEY wanted to talk about it, and now they are gone and I have nobody to ask anymore. Your book is a huge eye opener. While reading it I was with you every step of the way.” Still another says “When they talk about the probability of WWIII on the News I switch the TV off. I don’t want to hear or think about it.”

The last comment came from one of those Europeans who had experienced ‘close encounters’. To stick one’s head in the sand like an ostrich will not help to avoid or protect any one. It’s like the few of the leading Germans who knew how futile World War II was likely to be, knew what was happening all around them and still did not believe it. To save their life they did not talk about it. One of their mottos was something like “I know it’s better not to know what I think I know or might not even know.” I found this phrase in one of Lyn Alexander’s books “The Schellendorf Series,” – four books spanning the time from before WWI to the Nueremberg Trials after WWII. For us today it is not healthy to be ignorant or pretend not to know.

A WWIII with sophisticated weaponry will not be happening in just certain areas of the globe, – all continents will be affected. Don’t say “what can we do about it?” – think! You have voting power; but I’m with you. I also think that we, the ordinary people, will be caught in the middle as always, will not be able to stop the politicians if they put their minds to it. After all, we don’t go around shooting the people whom we don’t like or with whom we do not agree. Like the Texan in the bar pointing to three others and saying “I don’t like that guy.” When asked “which one” he shot two and said “See the one sitting there? That’s the one I don’t like”. Sorry. Just a joke I heard. Life isn’t like that.

 

The Amazing All Grey City #Winnipeg #Prairie #Potholes #Bookstores

Posted on by
DSC06738

CJOB Radio interview with Greg Mackling

Once upon a time I lived in a green flower filled city alongside the sometimes peaceful, sometimes wild Pacific Ocean, deep blue with white crested, crowned waves. I was a woman living and drinking in this beauty wishing to have talent to paint until the day my mate tells me about an exciting opportunity for him to move to a city in the Canadian Prairie. He talked about Winnipeg, a city known as the Canadian Siberia with nine months of winter and the coldest corner in the whole wide world, Portage and Main and three months of hot summers with lots of mosquitos. But, – Winnipeg was also known for its “dry” cold and always blue sunny skies. Supposedly this climate was much healthier than the “wet” rainy coast and the propensity for getting rheumatism and arthritis. You can dress for the “dry” cold but the “wet” cold gets right under your skin.

We were told Winnipeg is a good place to bring up your family within the beautiful residential areas; it had large lakes for summer fun only about ninety miles away. Winnipeg was the birth place of “Winnie-the-Pooh”, the real little bear who became a mascot for the Canadian Army stationed in England before and during WWI, living out his life in the London Zoo. Millions of children still love A.A. Milne’s story about Pooh and name their teddy bears after him. Now his statue greets you at the entrance to the Winnipeg Zoo. This Prairie city of about 270.000 at that time offered lots of cultural and social life, clubs, theatre, concerts and the world renowned Winnipeg Ballet, on a par with the Moscow and the French Ballet troupes. One-hundred-and-four different ethnic groups were living peacefully together with lots of their typical eating places, loved and visited by all. Eat in a different part of the world every day! But the best: Winnipeg was well known for its friendly people! Every vehicle licence plate tells you: “Friendly Manitoba”, the Canadian province where it is located.

DSC06740

McNally Robinson Booksellers

Life has a way of interrupting your life; channel it into a different direction. I lived there for twenty years, became a corporate citizen, an employer, a Community Television Producer before the winds of change blew me back to my green country at the Pacific Ocean. No, I could not paint paintings but I could paint pictures with words. So I became a writer.

My recently published book “We Don’t Talk About That” is a memoir about my first thirty years of life. I tell the story of my first ten years during the Nazi period, the next ten years under Communist rule, and the next ten years, after my escape before the infamous Berlin Wall, trying to re-configure my life and hurt from being considered a second class citizen in the “Golden West” which was not so golden after all.

Chapters St Vital

Chapters, St Vital

This book brought me back to Winnipeg recently for a week long book promotion in March with a book launch and book signings in three big book stores: McNally Robinson, the largest bookstore I have ever seen, Chapters St. Vital with surely the friendliest staff and Chapters Polo Park in probably one of the most beautiful book store buildings. Winnipeggers still read and love the real thing: Books, physical books. Many mentioned that they don’t like eBooks. My book reading at a Rotary Club was well received and a CJOB radio interview with Greg Mackling reminded the listeners about my history within their fair city and many old friends, former customers and even former employees came to see me, say Hi and buy my book. And the Shaw TV’s Community Channel taped an hour long interview about my book and my history in Winnipeg when my first name was a household word.

Chapters Polo Park

At Chapters, Polo Park

Let me tell you what startled me most after arrival and the drive from the airport to the midtown hotel: Winnipeggers were driving only grey cars. All the busses were grey as well. One cornflower blue VW Beetle stood out as the only color spot as far as I could see down the road trying to avoid one pothole after another. You could not read any licence plates as they were covered with a thick grey coating. It dawned on me that nobody washed their car during the winter to avoid having their door locks frozen. I remembered! It was thirty-four years since I was living here! I learned that the winters are not Siberian anymore and climate change is taking its toll. That the previous week they still had 24 below Celsius but now for several days double digit degrees up to 18 above Celsius, the snow gone but the sand, used to sprinkle over the ice was coloring everything: Cars and buildings and roads and if you didn’t wear glasses, it got into your eyes, it covered your hair and it was impossible to keep your shoes clean longer than from the house door to your car.

My grandson Jack, born and raised in Winterpeg as the Winnipeggers lovingly call it, told me: At the entrance highway from the west used to have a sign:

Welcome to Winnipeg. I live here – what’s your excuse?

 For my stories from those first 30 years in Germany please read my book “We Don’t Talk About That” available from all major bookstores as well as on-line.

Cuba, Cora and Secrets Revealed #Cuba #Adoption #Secrets

Posted on by

It was just a year since I had moved myself and part of my business from Winnipeg in the Canadian Prairies to beautiful British Columbia and, to top it off, to the coveted city of West Vancouver. It was 1986 and during those years not everybody had a copier, a fax machine and certainly not a computer. I was lucky because around the corner from my office an elegant, beautiful white haired lady had a small business providing all those services to other small businesses like mine. We started visiting over a cup of coffee when I came. One day I told her that I was flying to Cuba.

Cuba-1

Former cottages of rich Americans

“Cuba? Really? That’s interesting. When are you going?” When I answered “tomorrow” she sat back in her chair and asked “do you go by yourself or share a room with someone? Or don’t you do that kind of thing? In case you do, would you mind if I tag along if I can still get a ticket?”

An hour later she phoned me and said “It’s settled. I got the last seat in the plane”. And that is how I got to know one of the most interesting and unforgettable woman in my life. Cuba had opened up for Canadian visitors in 1966 and this was my second visit. I knew it would be appreciated to bring pencils and pantyhose because these things were rare and the Cuban maids doing our room were delighted. We stayed in the (former) Beach House of the Kennedy family, shared a very large room and my only complaint about Cora was that she read all night. I need it dark, but we also talked a lot. She told me about her incredible life in South Africa and that she emigrated to Canada because of an affair with a married man. She needed desperately to get away from him since she saw no joint future and just heartache if she stayed. As you can imagine, we got to know each other quite well.

Suitcase collection, time to leave

Suitcase collection, time to leave

Back in Vancouver I developed terrible back pain. She referred me to her massage therapist whom she had seen for years. “He has the magic touch”, she told me, and she was right. I became a regular in his practice. He had two stepdaughters and his tales often reminded me of my similar former life.

West Vancouver had a famous vegetarian Health Food Store with a Restaurant. “Capers” served the most delicious food and at lunch the crowds where lining up. Often I met there with other business ladies, sharing jokes and laughing our heads off. On one of those occasions I saw Cora standing there, looking around as if searching for someone. I jumped up, greeted her and she said “I am supposed to meet my son here…” I was dumb founded because she had never mentioned she had a son. At that moment my massage therapist came in, saw us, greeted us and then also looked around and said “You two won’t believe it, but I am to meet my birthmother here. I was adopted and I have been searching for her.”

Cora paled, stared at him and said “YOU? I am to meet my long ago adopted son here…”

Phil, the massage therapist who had massaged her for years, also cried out “YOU? YOU are my birth mother?”

Cora, who had told me so much of her life when we shared a room on Cuba but this she had never, ever, talked about. She had sadly confessed that she had absolutely no family. Now, when we met the next time, she smiled her beautiful smile, lighting up her whole face:

“Giselle, first I had nobody for about 50 years and now I have a son, a daughter in law and grandchildren. Can you believe it?” She organized a big celebration on her large deck and all her small business customers were invited. Talking among us we were all incredulous and just kept looking at her, our beaming and gracious hostess, Cora.

For another “adoption” story see “My first train trip”, page 35, in my book and learn how my aunt and uncle hid a Jewish boy in Nazi Germany during World War II, or see “Gerhard’s Story” on YouTube.

Internet love – It was the wrong date… #love #companion #dog

Posted on by

Helen was close to tears all the time. She knew that her beloved companion did not have many more days to live and she just couldn’t imagine her life without him. She worked at the library, only ten minutes away from her home and at lunchtime she would run back to see how he was doing and try to get some food into him. The last few weeks had been hard; he was now totally blind, eating very little, dizzy and unsteady, she had to put diapers on him and almost wished it would be over soon. She did not have the heart to bring him to the vet and have him put out of his misery.

Cindy“Oh, Giselle,” she breathed, “I love Pepper so much, how can I be the one to kill him? I just can’t see myself making that decision.”

I tried to make her feel a little better by telling her about my memories about pets.

“I understand. I lost a dog once, but it was different. Cindy was run over and I cried for six weeks until my seven year old boy insisted on getting another dog. I remember my father shooting his beloved cat Peter; he had him for an amazing twenty-one years, and Dad cried after he did it. He explained to me that he was being kind to Peter who was suffering and dying anyway. And, Helen, – you would be kind to Pepper. What kind of life is this for him? He suffers, Helen, and you don’t have to shoot him, the vet will give him a needle and he will gently fall asleep.”

It took a few more days before Helen did what had to be done.

It was about two months later that I ran into her in a Coffee Bar. She looked fine to me, – almost happy. Giving her a big hug I couldn’t help asking:

“Heh, you, – how are you doing? Did you get another dog? You seem like a new person to me!”

Pointing to the chair next to hers she offered me some Newton fig cookies but said:

“Here, have some date squares, – you want a coffee?”

Then she gave me the biggest smile:

“I am happy, Giselle, I really am! – You wouldn’t believe what I did! I’m embarrassed to talk about it… and I don’t want to ‘jinx’ it…”

“Oh, come on, – we have known each other long enough. What did you do? And, by the way, you are eating Newton fig cookies and not date squares…”

“Whatever. Okay, I’ll spill my beans but you must promise to keep my secret for now. I couldn’t stand living alone after Pepper was gone. One night I went online and checked out the dating sites. I figured it would be nice to have a human companion I could travel with instead of another dog who keeps me at home. You know, – I lived ten years with Pepper after my lousy divorce, convinced that ‘a dog is a woman’s best friend’ but I’m getting older and I want a bit more out of life now before it’s too late. Believe it or not, – I have about three dates a week! I found a dating site for seniors, with men looking for the same thing – companionship.”

Wow! I was dumb founded. I looked at her, I was incredulous, and by now she was very excited to tell me about it.

“I always meet them at this Coffee Bar, I want to be safe. They don’t need to know where I live. So far I have met most of them only once, I liked a few of the guys but none has even asked for a second date. But there is one, – Giselle, – I am going to see him again on Saturday. But I have another date this afternoon. I feel like a teenager again, – it’s cool, maybe you should try it!”

When I met her a couple of weeks later she couldn’t wait to tell me more about it.

Grinning, she confided:

“Remember that afternoon date I told you about over coffee? I was waiting for the new guy and lo and behold, all of a sudden the one I had a date with for Saturday stood in front of me. You can’t imagine my embarrassment! I felt the blood rushing to my face I wasn’t sure what to say, but he just sat down, smiled and complimented me on my healthy colouring…“

“Oh my God, Helen, what a situation! What did you do when the other guy turned up?”

“That’s the doozy, Giselle, he never did! It was this one I had the date with. I kept looking at the door until he asked me why I was so nervous. I took heart and told him about my mistake and we had a good laugh. That laugh settled it! We have been seeing each other quite a bit and even plan to go on a trip to the UK in August. So what do you say now?”

It was almost a year later when I worked alongside her at a volunteer function. When there was a bit of a lull she held her left hand in front of my face and looked at me expectantly. “My goodness”, I exclaimed, -“you got married?”

“Giselle, he is incredible. I had a broken shoulder and he cared for me while I lived with him for several months. He really proved himself. When he asked me to marry him I agreed wholeheartedly. My home is for sale and I will live with him. When I sold my car, he immediately had his transferred into both our names. I was so lucky for having met him and he thinks all the luck is on his side. We are so happy. Can you believe it? To have a new start like this in our ripe old age?”

“Helen, my congratulations! I remember the day when you introduced him to me. I told him you are a keeper! He seems to have taken it to heart. Please tell him that I am glad you are together for the rest of your life.”

Cupids heart“Bet ya, Giselle, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him and myself healthy so that we still have many years together.”

Hope. There is always hope! The Internet, – canoodling while Googling?

Radio Interview #TheBeach

Posted on by

Another day – another interview!

The Beach logoI am looking forward to meeting David Graham on the airwaves of CIBH The Beach Radio 88.5 FM at 8:45 a.m. on Tuesday, March 31st.