Reading this brings back memories galore! If you had a taste of it or want to know a guy/girl with German roots better – read this, enjoy and SMILE!
http://germangirlinamerica.com/differences-between-germany-and-america/when-your-parents-are-german/
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Imaginary Friends To Talk To
Some people write letters to a friend but never mail them. Some others write in a diary or address it with “Dear Diary”! Still others have an imaginary friend they talk to or they talk to themselves. I have done that. Mumble is more like it. Does that make us crazy? Some so-called ‘normal’ people might think that or even say to us with a straight face: “You are crazy!” I have had some unexplained experiences which frightened me and I talked to God and asked to take this ‘curse’ away from me. I know for sure: There is more between heaven and earth than meets the eye. Even Albert Einstein stated that. Let’s ask ourselves: What is ‘normal’? Is normal only the one who wants or needs to know that which can be scientifically explained? And the more he knows the more he wants to know and the only thing he knows for sure is that he can’t know it all, there is always MORE to discover.
We attended the play “Harvey” by Mary Chase in the charming Chemainus Theatre today. Full house, too! I had a chance to read the explanatory notes in the programme before the show and was surprised to learn that it was written over two years and opened in November 1944 and was, at that time, a smash hit and ran for 4 ½ years with 1775 acclaimed performances on Broadway. It was even adapted to film and made friends across the continents. What is it about? “Harvey” – naturally! But who was Harvey? Harvey was the imaginary trusted friend of ‘Elwood’ who never went anywhere without him. Harvey was a huge 6 ½ feet tall mystical rabbit, a ‘Pooka’ – just like ‘Puck’ was Shakespeare’s ‘Pooka’. Most children have imaginary friends with names and parents would be well advised to take those ‘friends’ seriously to keep the trust of their offspring.
In this play, Elwood takes Harvey with him at all times. He takes him to concerts, bars, and parties and ‘introduces’ him to the guests. He would book two places and to ‘normal’ people they see an empty chair next to him. He always checks with Harvey if something is good, alright or if he agrees in conservations. Harvey soon became such an annoyance to Elwood’s sister that she wanted to book her brother into a sanatorium. Explaining this giant rabbit and claiming she has even seen him at the dinner table the psychiatrist decides that she is the crazy one. When Elwood comes along and in a logical, quiet voice and with his own brand of humour talks to the doctors they are puzzled. What is ‘normal’, what or who is crazy? Elwood is such a friendly fellow and invites everyone he meets to come for dinner or at least to a drink and promises they would meet his wonderful friend. After a night of drinking with the psychiatrist, this man is so disoriented that he reveals to Elwood that he has one place where he can relax: His cottage. There, a young woman would be present who doesn’t talk. He would drink cold beer and more cold beer, and he showed Elwood how he would take the hand of the young woman and with it stroke his cheek and his old head. He would talk to her, tell her everything – but no, he doesn’t want her to talk at all. So there – for the audience and all to see – even this man, knowing of human frailties has his imaginary friend. But, in the end, when his sister talks Elwood into letting the doctor give him an injection, the taxi driver who had been left waiting comes to request his money. She has none and had to call on her brother. The taxi driver explains to her how those who get the needle change from friendly people who see sunsets, even when it’s raining and give big tips to bullying, screaming people who never tip and just become so normal that he rather have nothing to do with them. That changes the sister’s mind and, finding her coin purse in her handbag where there was no money before knows it was thanks to Harvey. Elwood is rescued before he gets the injection and the sister decides that they can all live happily ever after – with Harvey.
It’s a weird and wonderful play. It makes you think. We are not as perfect as we think we are. Some can accept the things beyond reality and the senses while others are ‘normal’. In my mind, I have turned the story over and over again. I dare say there is even more to it. We all talk to someone unseen by our eyes, be it a ‘Harvey’, ourselves, a dearly departed aunt or – even God. Think about it. How often have you thought: Oh my God. – Oh, dear God, why do you let this happen. – Oh God, help me. – You might even have discussions with Him in order to make up your mind about something. When we can’t talk to ‘normal’ people we do need a “Harvey” by any name.
I Ought to Know Better
Coming home from my writing class I was somehow elated and thinking of doing a clever piece of homework for next week. I had the perfect story! My mind being on many things did not stay focused and the thought just flew out of my head when I, turning into our driveway, couldn’t overlook the many broken branches and pine needles any longer. There had been a terrible storm a few days ago and so far I hadn’t had time to clean up the mess.
“I’ll get those out of the way as long as the weather is nice” I reminded myself, “Goodness knows what it will be like tomorrow. It’s still dry and rain is in the forecast. I can do the writing in the evening. Or tomorrow. Or Wednesday. I have no appointments ‘til Friday, lots of time.”
I ought to have done my homework as I was in a great mood for it. My spirits high, I started the outside work telling myself I did need fresh air after sitting in class for several hours and another one in the car. The workout will be good for me. Take the cobwebs out. Once involved in cleaning up I noticed other things that I ought to do before it rained, so I kept going. I like doing laundry, cleaning or garden work because it does not involve concentration. It is a good way to let your mind run free or to work off stress and even anger. I got lost in my thoughts as it was getting dark. My stomach started growling. I hadn’t even eaten or drunk anything since I started nearly four hours ago. How stupid, I should know better. You ought to feed your body and keep it hydrated. I cleaned my different types of rakes, put them away and went inside. The yard looked great. It gave me a good feeling of accomplishment.
My back hurt. I took a painkiller pill with a big glass of water on my empty stomach and sat down in a comfy chair, resting my back. I ought to have made myself some supper before sitting down because – can you guess? No, I did not fall asleep. There was a book with 852 pages lying on the table next to me. I had picked it up at the library more than a week ago and I had to return it in less than a week. By now I ought to be almost through it. I had finished another thinner book, for which I had waited several months. Seven other people had been on the waiting list. No time to even start this humongous big book. Okay, I might as well use the time sitting and resting to read a few lines. Wow! What a book! Before I knew it I finished the first chapter, glanced at the clock and allowed myself to read another one. It happened to be a rather long one. I ought to have stopped somewhere, the book would still be there later but I simply could not put it down.
My bladder finally gave me the push I needed to move. I would have loved to go right back to the book. I wasn’t really hungry anymore. I checked the freezer and found a pack of Italian prune plums I had frozen in September. I ought to have kept them for my next famous plum cake but they turned me on to have something refreshing. I put them in a pot, added very little water because of the frost on them, placed the pot on the stove and went back to my book. Totally engrossed in another world I jumped up with a start after hearing something pop and sizzle. I had totally forgotten the pot and the 
whole kitchen smelled like plum jam in the process of burning. I pulled the pot off the stove onto the white counter and let it go because it was so hot. It had enough time to burn a brown ‘ring’ into the counter. I ought not to have opened the pot to avoid what happened next. Lifting the lid, now with heavy oven gloves on my hands, a thunder cloud of burning smoking steam came out and, jumping back, I let it fall onto the floor. Everything in the pot was dark brown and burned. It caused several brown burn spots in the white linoleum, right in front of the sink. Finally, with protected hands I grabbed the pot and placed it outside, closed the screen door but the wind was blowing the smoke right back inside before I had a chance to close the sliding glass door. I was afraid of the smoke alarm sounding and opened the doors to the garage and the front door, waving a towel frantically to keep the smoke away from the alarm area.
No use. I ought to be concentrating on one thing at a time. I am a multitasker but it’s getting harder with age. Ought I to know that? Ought I to remember that?
The smoke alarm did come on. The neighbours came running but everyone was relieved things were under control. The neighbours from across the street invited me to have a little dinner with them while my house aired out. Luckily nobody had phoned the fire department. I felt like a fool for the next few days. My nice almost new white counter was ruined and the linoleum about a foot in front of the counter as well. I bought a mat to cover the area. I didn’t like the looks of it but it was the only thing I could do short of replacing the whole, also new, floor in my little galley kitchen.
We really ought to keep our minds on the tasks at hand. Right?
Thailand – Ties and Elephants
It was interesting watching a documentary on the Knowledge Channel about the illegal dealings and sale of elephant tusks. I was reminded of my experience in an elephant sanctuary in Thailand. The documentary was filmed in Africa. I got the shivers when I saw the burning of hundreds of tusks, representing millions of dollars (yes, millions!) when the population is starving and hundreds of elephants were killed for the precious ivory. I visited China just after 9/11 and couldn’t help but admire the art of ivory carving, the intricate patterns and the ‘balls within balls’, each one carved with incredible designs. How did they do it? Those carvers are true artists. I knew it was ‘verboten’ to take any ivory out of the country and the producers of the ivory were on the endangered species list: The elephants. One is not allowed to hunt them and kill them. So how do the artists get the ivory to do their craft, sell the items for hundreds of dollars to the specialty shops and these, in turn, offer them for thousands of dollars to an, apparently, international market? Very large specimens are priced at million dollars or more.
I am shaken to learn of the still ongoing killings. The tusks have become smaller since the elephants don’t live long enough to develop those earlier magnificent tusks. They are hunted, to this very day by illegal means. The hunters take the chance to get caught but the hope to get rich is stronger. The number of elephants worldwide is going down. If they were not protected in large areas and parks they would probably be a lost species already. And forever is forever.
Elephants playing soccer
My first personal encounter with elephants was in a ‘Sanctuary’ in Thailand. I watched them play soccer and cheered with the rest of the visitors when one got the ball across the field and it was kicked back by another. The elephants looked so very happy, ran back and forth like humans do and seemed to be smiling. I tried to snap photos and I think you’ll like this one.
Another incredible encounter was in the ‘Art Class’. Elephants were drawing pictures using their trunks. They looked at their teacher and chose colours as if they really knew what was needed. Did they, do they know? The combination of colours and designs were comparable to some of the modern human artists, some maybe even better. The paintings were about 30 by 40 inches and were sold for twenty US dollars and went like hot cakes. I was tempted to buy one too but figured it would be crushed in my luggage.
The most fun was when the elephants were told “it’s bathing time”. Boy, did they ever hurry and plunge into the stream running through the sanctuary! They helped each other with splashing and rinsing, they looked after the young just like human mothers after their kids.
There was also a lecture for us, the visitors. Sitting on crudely made rows of benches we learned that each animal drinks about 300 litres of water a day and needs tons of food. We learned that their memory is incomparable and life-long. No dementia. Once, not too long ago, the sanctuary had hired a new care giver. One of the elephants looked at him, recognized him as his previous owner, rushed towards him and before anyone could stop him, he trampled him to death. The elephant had been abused and mistreated by this man. Elephants never forget! And no, the elephant was not ‘put 
down’. He was part of the soccer team. At the end of the lecture the speaker asked for a volunteer to sit on the entwined trunks of two elephants. Nobody dared – I did! I felt a bit apprehensive – but looking into the elephants eyes, it seemed they ‘invited’ me to do it. They were behind a flimsy fence, trunks over towards me. One lifted me up and deposited me on their by then entwined trunks. Most of the other visitors snapped pictures, one also with my own camera.
The fitting end of our visit was a ten minute ride on a huge elephant through the jungle, down a hill side and then along the stream back to camp. Unforgettable!
When thinking of Thailand I think of food. I could live on their food. The spicy aroma is in the air. Another experience was an original ‘Thai Massage’. Would I have one again? No. It hurts. The fingers go deep – the therapists also ‘walk’ on you. Some men in our group liked it. Masochists! But then, the massage therapist was a light, beautiful young Thai girl.
One of the last evenings was spent wandering through a night market. I bought silk pyjamas for myself and an interesting tie for my son. The front of the tie was ‘let’s call it a traditional design’ but if the wearer moved it could happen that the tie moved as well and showed the backside, a beautiful nude girl, tastefully done. My son was required to wear a tie daily for his work. One of his co-workers saw the tie ‘move’ and asked “where the h… did you get that tie?” The true answer was “My mother bought it for me in Thailand.”
His friend was surprised but exclaimed, “I know that shop, it is right behind Sears in the Town Shopping Centre. But I have never seen a tie like that in ‘Tie Land’.
Single and Dating Again?
This time let
me royally entertain you! I found this incredible funny ‘blog’ from a humorous writer on ‘Linkedin’, asked permission which was granted and hope you have as much fun reading it as I had. Laverne Bardy has written a book with the enticing title “How The (Bleep) Did I Get This Old?”. I checked it out on Amazon and read as much as was allowed by clicking on “Look Inside”. My smile never faded and if you need a smile, a laugh or something relaxing to read – check it out!
SURVIVING THE SINGLES SCENE
Laverne H. Bardy
After 23 years of marriage I returned to the dating scene and realized that nothing had changed. The men were older, but still motivated by the same primal urges, and forty years and three children later, I was still trying to preserve my virginity.
In my quest to meet men, I went to singles’ dances, placed my bio with an Online dating service, and took out ads in the Personals; things I swore I’d never do. Although I listed intelligence, a sense of humor, and sensitivity as qualities I wanted in a man, it didn’t take long for me to discover that what I actually wanted was good looks and chemistry — a distressing reality that caused me to face my shallowness and lose total respect for myself.
I learned that all older men think they’re handsome. When they look in the mirror they see the same high school football star that graduated fifty years earlier. Bald, fat, and hair sprouting from their noses go unnoticed or are viewed as enhancements.
Most older women, on the other hand, cower in front of the mirror with only one eye open, barely able to stomach what they see. They spend thousands of dollars a year on makeup, hair dressers, manicurists, personal trainers, black wardrobes and undergarments that restrict natural jiggling. When they return to the mirror they see a well dressed, beautifully coiffed, overweight woman, well past her prime.
I met Freddy Online. He was anxious to take it to the next level on our second date but I managed to fight him off. On our fourth date I prepared dinner, which I soon learned was a really stupid thing to do. He enjoyed my cooking, and afterward we watched a video. As we sat there, with his arm resting on the back of the couch behind my head, he leaned over and kissed me. While our lips were locked, his free hand began its downward journey from my face to my neck to my shoulders. Anticipating my usual resistance, he hesitated, and when I offered none, he slid his hand down a little farther.
I was ready this time.
“What the hell …….?” Freddy pulled out a piece of paper.
“I don’t know,” I answered, coyly. “Let’s see what it says.”
He unfolded the paper and read aloud. “It says, This is as far as you go, Buster.”
He broke into a slow smile that turned into an embarrassed laugh. He didn’t make another move for a solid three minutes.
Next, I tried a Singles Dance. I love dancing so I rarely refuse anyone who asks me. Big mistake.
Herbie wore what looked like might have been his overweight father’s baggy black sport jacket and navy blue slacks that possibly belonged to his ten-year-old brother. They came to his ankles, revealing brown penny loafers and white socks. His neck swam in the collar of his way-too-large shirt, and his clip-on bow tie was yellow with blue polka dots. He spoke rapidly, in one long sentence without pauses.
“Hi you’re pretty my name is Herbie I’ve been fired but I’m doing telemarketing as a temp with Kelly Girls now I like your black stockings I can’t wear black socks…..” He lifted his leg to show me his white cotton ones…… “Because I have a fungus and the doctor said I can only wear white ones would you let me take you to dinner sometime?”
It was apparent that Herbie had not yet completed his Dale Carnegie course.
Dennis was a chemical engineer – quite intelligent. However, the wide gap between his front teeth caused him to whistle and spit with each of his words, and although his jaw moved up and down when he spoke, the expression on his face never changed. He reminded me of the puppet, Mortimer Snerd.
“I enjoy dancing with you, Laverne,” he said. “May I call you sometime?”
“Don’t take this personally, Dennis, but I’m not ready to date yet since my divorce.”
“I’m very sorry. How long has it been?”
“Barely 21 years.”
“…………………………………..Oh, I understand. Will you call me when you’re ready?”
“Absolutely.”
Alan had the subtlety of a 42nd Street hooker. He complimented me on my lovely, slim calves, which is all he could see from below my hemline. “I bet you have beautiful legs, ” he said.
“Oh, I’m afraid you might be disappointed. The top half of my legs are not as slim as my calves are,” I admitted with candor.
“I’m not an idiot,” he said. “Did you really think I thought those piano calves had the strength to hold up that large ass?”
I barely had a chance to rebound when he added, “I’d like to rub your thighs, your back and everything in between.”
It was at that moment I discovered my ability to fly.
Then there was Dick. I met him through an Online dating site. We agreed to meet at a fairly central location for dinner. He was bright, financially sound and well travelled.
As we sat talking in a quiet corner of an upscale restaurant, I restrained myself from braiding the hairs extending from his ears. The hump on his back, and his paunchy stomach were fairly well camouflaged with the wild print on his Hawaiian shirt. His Shar Pei wrinkles only showed when his face was relaxed, and barely at all when he smiled, so I spent most of the evening telling jokes.
Other than those minor flaws and the fact that he was a total snob – salmon was sent back because it wasn’t exactly the right texture and color: not too dry, not too moist, and the silverware looked cheap and tinny, and his coffee wasn’t the temperature he’d requested – he wasn’t too horrible.
We had finished dinner and were waiting for desert when our conversation became somewhat heated. He described his rocky relationship with his grown children, which he blamed on his ex-wife. He was a diehard golfer and during his marriage he made a point of playing golf every available moment. His wife never insisted that he stay home and spend time with his children when they were youngsters, so he blamed her for his poor relationship with the kids.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re telling me that because your wife didn’t insist you stay home and not play golf, it’s her fault your kids don’t like you today?”
“You’re damn right,” he said with conviction. “It was her responsibility to make me stay home.”
“And you don’t bear any of the responsibility?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I honestly expected him to break out laughing and confess that he had been joking.
“Hell, no.”
I’d had just about enough of Dick, whose last name should have been Head. I listened to him find fault with the tiramisu, his uncomfortable chair and the style of my shoes, and I counted the moments until I would be rid of him.
As we walked out of the restaurant toward our respective cars, he reached over and gave me a superficial kiss on the lips. I, in all my suaveness, attempted to wipe my fresh lipstick from his mouth, missed and wiped his teeth, instead.
Despite my negative experiences, I continued my quest for an intelligent, humorous, sensitive (good looking) man, because, to be perfectly blunt, I had taken a breather from men for a while, and was now ready to date again. I was weary of lunches, movies and dinners with women, and ready to trade in all those breasts for quality time with an Adam’s apple.
Books I read in 2015
I hope I remember them all! Many were e-books – I could read them in a doctor’s waiting room, on the bus, in an airplane, on the beach and even in a coffee shop. My little Kobo is easy to read in dim light and surely easier to carry in my purse than a physical book. But I do love physical books! I love having my huge book case full of them, standing in front of it, touching the backs, reading the titles, remember the stories each one told. I still have some I want to read again, others – but not many – I haven’t read yet. Each year I sort out the ones I know I’ll not read again and donate them to the Rotary Book Sales Event. They hold one sale in spring and one in fall in a shopping mall. Last year they sold so many books they could bring close to $400,000.00 to the bank. Every cent goes for good causes.
With which book did I start out in 2015? I cannot follow a ‘timeline’ but I’ll mention the titles and authors and surely will give you my honest recommendation by placing little stars *** next to them. (Six stars mean I’ll read again) It doesn’t mean that you can’t have a different taste in topics – but we all do follow our hearts desire in what we choose, right? The one or the other book may have more or fewer stars on Amazon but this is me, personally.
- Louisa Elliot ******, Liam’s Story *****, The Master’s Tale *****, written by the English Bestseller writer Ann Victoria Roberts. I can just say one word: Engrossing.
- The Officer’s Code *****, The Versailles Legacy *****, The English General *****, The Ghosts of War *****. My opinion? You learn a lot of WW history while being fascinated by the private lives of the characters. These books by Lyn Alexander could be Canada’s answer to ‘Downton Abbey’. Really!
- The Night I Danced with Rommel ****, by Elisabeth Marrion. Enlightening.
- The Nazi Officer’s Wife ****, how one Jewish woman survived the Nazis in Germany. Written by Edith Hahn-Beer. Heart wrenching. One aspect of the Jewish survival you may never have known.
- In the Garden of Beasts *****, The American Ambassador in Hitler’s Berlin. Eric Larson weaves a compelling story based on an incredible amount of research. You can’t help but feeling ‘part of it’.
- A Woman in Berlin ***, a diary of a journalist trapped in Berlin during the last few days of WWII. Intriguing because the author remains ‘Anonymous’.
- Last Train to Berlin ****, an account of a PoW trapped in Russia – too useful to the authorities to let him go until four more years after WWII. Hans Peter Marland.
- The Gift: Redemption, book III of the Gift Legacy ****. I saw an excerpt and since kayakers were involved and the setting was Vancouver I read it. I had NEVER read any ‘Thriller’ before but I was ‘gripped’ by the flowing story. It even led me to read the next book of the ‘Gift Legacy’ – Pennance by the author J.P. McLean. What an imagination!
- Paris 1924 ***, a fascinating account of life in Paris by the same author of Wolves among Sheep ***** which I have read twice. James Kostelniuk has never been in Paris but reading along, you feel you are there!
- I was Hitler’s Chauffeur **** by Erich Kempke. It sheds a totally new light on Hitler. It ‘rattled’ me and kept me awake for a few nights, thinking instead of sleeping.
- Hitler – The Memoir of the Nazi Insider who turned against the Fuehrer by Ernst Hanfstaengle. After reading this book, starting at the very beginning of Hitler’s rise, I am flabbergasted by how little is really known.
- Edge of Eternity **** – the 3rd book in the trilogy by Ken Follett. The first two, Fall of the Giants ***** and Winter of the World ***** are books one can’t put down. This last one was a bit disappointing. Too much talk about sex when not quite appropriate. Maybe it is what many readers like? The story, set after WWII is based on reality and one relives what was happening.
- The Help ***** is a book I recommend highly. Kathryn Stockett tells a superb tale of a colored servant in the southern US..
- North of Normal **** is a shocker. A girl’s life, growing up within the ‘hippie’ culture – unbelievable for someone like me, never having had a taste of it. She made it to becoming an international model, wife and mother. I met her, sitting next to her at an author’s reading event. How could she have turned out so ‘normal’? This book is the memoir of the author Cea Sunrise Person.
Last but not least I had to re-read We Don’t Talk About That – An Amazing Story of Survival WWII. I needed to ‘refresh’ my mind for an important presentation at the university. I can’t believe I wrote this book. I still feel humbled by one of the reviewers on my website, who said ‘This book is not just good, it is very good.’
Every book I have read in 2015 added to my knowledge or enjoyment. Now, at the beginning of 2016, I am reading All The Light We Cannot See, by author Anthony Doerr, winner of the Pulitzer Prize. It is considered one of the ‘best books of 2015’. “Moonrising”, Ann Victoria Robert’s newest book is on my Kobo. Can’t wait to read it. I love Ann’s mastering of the English language. Music to my ears.
There are so many more books I’d have loved to read but I am also a writer. I am told ‘the day has 24 hours and the night has 12’ – but for me, even 36 is not enough to get everything done I want to do.
My new book Forget Me Not – A Bouquet of Stories, Thoughts and Memories – will be available through Amazon etc. as e-book (Kindle, Kobo and more) as well as soft cover. It will hopefully be released within the next few weeks. It makes a terrific gift item (see the title!), contains over 50 stories, each one tackling a common problem from adoption, stepmothers, politics, war, cancer, internet love, dogs, travel, extra-ordinary people and more. All stories are carrying a special message inciting discussions and lend themselves for reading within a group.
Stay tuned for more.
CJOB Interview
A radio program that will interest everybody: Greg Mackling of CJOB Radio in Winnipeg asked me if I care to talk about the different types of publishing. I had told him about my experience with the “Espresso Book Machine” popping out a book every 15 minutes once it is “uploaded”. My newest book, “Forget Me Not – A Bouquet of Stories, Thoughts and Memories” was printed on the machine, just to get some copies before it is published in January. I wanted copies to use as Christmas gifts! It’s rather expensive for a limited number of copies but a perfect way for people who just write for fun, write their life story for their family and want something of lasting value and “purrrrrfect gifts” for their loved ones. So listen to the program at 10.30 AM Pacific time (12:30 p.m. CT) on Monday, Dec. 28th on CJOB – http://cjob.com and click on “Listen Live”
The Weeping Angel
In this video I read a Christmas story found in my latest book – “Forget Me Not – A Bouquet of Stories, Thoughts and Memories” which I hope will be generally available to all my blog followers early in the New Year. I will be sure to post further details in due course. In the meantime I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Giselle Roeder
Saint Nicholas Day
Children in Europe get very excited on the evening of December 5th. They do something their parents for once don’t have to remind them of:
They clean their boots and shoes! And polish them until they shine.
Why would they do that? Only on this particular day, December the 5th? It is a tradition. Once upon a time, way back in the fourth century, there was a kind Bishop with the name Nicholas. He was the Bishop of Myra, now called Anatolia in Turkey. He had the gift of bringing children back to life or cure terrible ailments. He loved children. He gave them little gifts or secretly dropped coins into their shoes. After he died on December 6th 346 he was canonized and became a Saint, a Saint to protect the children. The people had revered Bishop Nicholas because he was so kind to their children. They celebrated his life on that day. To keep Bishop Nicholas, who was now Saint Nicholas, ‘alive’ in the minds of their children they would put little gifts or sweets into their cleaned shoes. If the children were unruly or had not been good they would put some dry branches or a stick into their shoe to remind them of a forthcoming punishment from Saint Nicholas. But Bishop Nicholas had never punished the children. The dry branches or the stick were the invention of the parents.
The tradition for children cleaning and polishing their shoes on the evening of December 5th has lived on, especially in Germany, Austria and Poland. Saint Nicholas is known by other names, – in German speaking countries it is Sankt Nikolaus; in Switzerland it is Samichlaus; in the Netherlands it is Sinterklaas and there are many more. The American Santa Claus or the Father Christmas in the UK is derived from the good old Saint Nicholas. For commercial reasons they now turn up at Christmas, Christ’s birthday. He is depicted a little differently in each country where the morning of December 6th is anticipated by the children and they look forward to find something in their shoes. They do what children have done for hundreds of years:
They clean their boots and shoes and put them outside their door. Some children are told to just put one shoe out in order not to look greedy. I can tell you from my own experience that we always put both shoes out to show Saint Nicholas how well we have cleaned them. But it is true there was only something in one of them. I remember, later in life, when I had no small children around and I would slip into my shoes or sometimes even my slippers in front of my bed my toes would touch something unusual: A wrapped delicious piece of chocolate or nougat and the warm rush of surprise would be flooding my body.
Did I believe it was Saint Nicholas who brought it? Yes, naturally. Sometimes I had taken over Saint Nicholas’ deeds and sometimes I think my teenagers had also been hired as helpers. Saint Nicholas’ Day is not replacing Santa Claus at Christmas at all. Not in most countries.
Give it a try. Tell your small children about Saint Nicholas and have them put their cleaned and shined shoes out on the evening of December 5th and enjoy their excitement on the morning of the 6th! It is magic to find something in one of your shoes…especially when you are not anticipating it.
Have Fun!
Party – Party – Party!
Come on, pretty girl, I know you are a party animal, put on your party dress, don your party hat, get into the party spirit, become the life of the party, get ready to join the party waiting for your birthday party to get going on the party boat and by no means be a party pooper!
Bad news: A man of the hunting party got lost, now you have to join the search party because you are part of the rescue party.
Important for your country: A governing political party calls an election. If you are a member of any party, be it the Conservative Party, the Liberal Party, the New Democratic Party or a party by any other name you have three choices: 1. become a passionate supporter and volunteer to help your party, 2. decide you couldn’t care less because the party leaders never do what they promise anyway (but in that case don’t complain if the ‘wrong’ party wins!) or 3. be adamant to use your RIGHT to vote for the party who’s platform you support.
There are so many uses of the word “PARTY”. Some sarcastic, cynical or even humorous person tried to explain how a political party consists of a means for a lot of politicians to have their own way of conducting politics. What is or are politics? Take the word apart: ‘Poli’ in Latin or Greek means ‘many’, and ‘tics…’ you know what ‘tics’ are and what they do. Tics are bloodsuckers, says Wikipedia.
I remember in the sixties I visited Ottawa, the Canadian capital, and I also toured the Parliament Building and attended the House of Commons. I was shocked when, during the question period, they were screaming at each other and some of their comments were surely insulting. But it was exciting. I came home and announced to my husband I wanted to join a party, make a difference and get really involved. He just laughed and said “You? My God, when they call you names and threw insults at you, you would just break down and cry! No, my dear, you are not made to be a politician!” I knew he was right.
Occasionally a new party forms because someone has good ideas to improve the way a governing party runs the country. This someone tries to get likeminded people together and sometimes they succeed to make a difference in party politics. Many years ago a friend invited me to a meeting of about a dozen people. We met in the living-room of her apartment. A small number of people had registered a ‘Reform Party’ in Canada. The leader, Mr. Preston Manning, was not an impressive figure but a down to earth man who honestly wanted to make things better for his countrymen. I wanted to support the movement and became a member with a very low membership number. When I was called upon to join the volunteers and man one of the recruiting tables during a public membership drive I copped out because I was too busy. I went to a Rotary meeting where Mr. Manning was the speaker and felt very sorry for him because he was not groomed to be a leader yet. He also repeated himself often and I could sense he was very uncomfortable amongst all the Rotary business people. I left the meeting during the discussion after his speech. When I came out of the meeting room door many media men with huge cameras surrounded me and started to ask questions as if I had been the speaker. They wanted to know what I thought, what the speaker had said, what the questions were during the discussion. I was very professional and answered carefully. Later that evening several friends phoned me during the “News” telling me they had seen me on TV. I waited for the next news and was shocked how they had manipulated my answers and what I seemingly had said. What I really had said was totally different. Since that experience I try to stay out of the media limelight or would answer “no comment”. The Reform Party later merged with the Progressive Conservative Party to form the Conservative Party of Canada. The word “progressive” was dropped.
I think it must be close to fifty years since I had almost become involved in party politics. I have always taken my right to vote very seriously and never missed one election. Another is coming up in my country. The female leader of the “Green” movement had captured a seat at the last election in 2011 and apparently has made quite an imprint across the country and internationally. She was going to speak in my town and introduce her local candidate for our riding, Paul Manly. With a small group of neighbors we went to a rally held in the exhibition hall, curious if the “Greens” could reach their audience goal of about 500 – 700. I have never attended any such meeting and couldn’t believe what was happening. The room filled up, hundreds of people were standing at the door until the many volunteers had removed the curtains hiding a few hundred more chairs and they streamed in. Every seat was taken. There was standing room only and many people waiting outside left because there was “no more room in the inn”.
Over a thousand people attended. I was awestruck by the energy emanating from the crowd. The leader, Elizabeth May, has incredible presence and knowledge and answered every single question thrown to her. She asked how many people were in the room who had not made up their mind who to vote for. A lot of arms went up. Her advice was to carefully listen to speeches, news, to every party leader and no matter what party they vote for, it is important to go and VOTE. She is aware that her party is too young to form the government but the “Greens” will support the others and work TOGETHER for the good of Canada.
I find it is blatant discrimination that she is not invited to participate in joint party debates on radio or TV. Why is that? Are the male ‘contenders’ afraid of this smart lady who has a memory like an elephant and can answer any and all questions across the political spectrum? She remembers and quotes statements the other leaders have made at whatever meetings years ago, – with absolutely no written notes. She speaks freely; she explains and recalls, she has a platform almost too good to be true from child care to eliminating university tuition to senior care, pharmacare, climate change and the economy, nothing has been left out. She has been able to attract an incredible lineup of able candidates across the country and it will be very interesting to see what will happen when the date of the election comes around: October 19th 2015.
Giselle Roeder 