"There are lots of bad guys, huh?" Pete asked, his little face twisting into a grimace.
My heart went out to him. At five years old, already he was concerned for his safety, afraid that at any moment someone with a less gentle heart could hurt him or his family.
We looked out the window and I listened to him as he brainstormed all the methods of scaring a bad guy away -- throw rocks in his eyes, shoot rubber bands in his mouth. His worry gradually transformed into confidence -- no one evil stood a chance against Pete.
He was silent for a moment. Then, "I know what color the bad guys have."
My heart stopped. Five years old, and the stereotypes had already gotten to him. Five years old, and he was already conditioned to be suspicious of those who aren't Caucasian.
"What color are they, Pete?" I asked cautiously, trying to decide how I would go about changing his mind.
He drew stripes across his chest with his finger. "Black and white."
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
A place for everything.
Carien told me a couple of weeks ago that I would be getting a new couch to replace the two aging couches in my room. (Well, not actually new, but new to me. Dutch Word of the Day: nieuw.) I figured she would let me know when Couch Day had arrived. I intended to straighten up my room a bit before the switch.
Well, the Couch Day notice occurred when the new couch was in the driveway. I had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock at my door. I answered the door; no one was there, but I saw Carien helping her brother-in-law unload a couch from a truck. I turned back to the general mess that was -- is -- my room.
No saving it from there. We did the couch switch in my messy room, which I made a lame attempt to excuse.
It was during my junior year of college that I finally admitted to myself that I'm not a neat person. Prior to that, I always answered tidiness questions with, "Yes, I like to keep things pretty well-organized." I truly thought of myself as a neat person who occasionally let her space get out of control.
Not so, folks. If you come over unannounced, no matter where I'm living, you will see socks on the floor. There will be piles of papers in more than one location, which will include upwards of a dozen bizarre lists. No fewer than three travel guides will be open to seemingly random pages. You will likely find used kleenex on the stand by my bed. There will be four empty water bottles, one of which is turned on its side. My bed will be unmade. I am messy, and I'm tired of being embarrassed about that.
What I'm saying is that I've got a new couch. It's incredibly comfortable. You can sleep there. Come visit. I might even clean things up a bit.
Well, the Couch Day notice occurred when the new couch was in the driveway. I had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock at my door. I answered the door; no one was there, but I saw Carien helping her brother-in-law unload a couch from a truck. I turned back to the general mess that was -- is -- my room.
No saving it from there. We did the couch switch in my messy room, which I made a lame attempt to excuse.
It was during my junior year of college that I finally admitted to myself that I'm not a neat person. Prior to that, I always answered tidiness questions with, "Yes, I like to keep things pretty well-organized." I truly thought of myself as a neat person who occasionally let her space get out of control.
Not so, folks. If you come over unannounced, no matter where I'm living, you will see socks on the floor. There will be piles of papers in more than one location, which will include upwards of a dozen bizarre lists. No fewer than three travel guides will be open to seemingly random pages. You will likely find used kleenex on the stand by my bed. There will be four empty water bottles, one of which is turned on its side. My bed will be unmade. I am messy, and I'm tired of being embarrassed about that.
What I'm saying is that I've got a new couch. It's incredibly comfortable. You can sleep there. Come visit. I might even clean things up a bit.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Plant a tree, and stay out of it.
The boys had just gone outside. My attention was diverted for a moment when the phone rang. It was Rick, checking in. We talked just long enough for both Carl and Pete to climb a tree.
This is allowed -- kind of. Not when I'm the only one home, says I, and the parents tend to agree.
The kids do like to climb, and they do it pretty well. It's a relatively safe thing for one person at a time, I would think. I climbed a lot of trees as a kid. But when you put two up there, in this particular tree -- well, the first person gets all the good, strong branches, and the second person is left with nowhere sturdy to place a foot.
I had enough time to think that thought and say, "Come on down, guys, you're not allowed up there" when Pete's foot slipped and he tumbled out of the tree. He went head over feet over head when, to my horror, I realized there was no way his little body would have enough time to flip once more before hitting the ground. He was feet over head, and that's how he was bound to land.
It was a long fall. Especially when you're watching and there's nothing you can do.
I'm pretty sure Pete's guardian angel was the one who took his legs and shifted them back under his body, allowing him to land on his knees and elbows. I didn't even see that part happen. All I knew was that his head was on a neck-breaking collision course with the earth, and then it wasn't. And that's good enough for me.
I ran barefoot toward the little boy who looked at me with shock in his eyes before he started wailing. I checked him for damages, but there appeared to be nothing serious aside from a few scratches on his face. I held him as he cried, simultaneously coaxing Carl out of the tree.
(As it happened, I heard a little cry, looked up, and saw Carl dangling from the branches, his arms caught up -- about to fall. I had to leave the sobbing boy to lift Carl out of the tree and prevent a second crash landing.)
Pete got over his tears and spoke to Carl in Dutch -- he was marveling about how he flipped through the air before he landed. That was pretty cool, apparently, and Carl agreed. They laughed. Pete went over and kicked the tree.
"Okay, guys, that really scared me. That is why you can't climb trees. No more climbing unless Mama and Papa are home and say it's okay."
In unison. "Why?"
This is allowed -- kind of. Not when I'm the only one home, says I, and the parents tend to agree.
The kids do like to climb, and they do it pretty well. It's a relatively safe thing for one person at a time, I would think. I climbed a lot of trees as a kid. But when you put two up there, in this particular tree -- well, the first person gets all the good, strong branches, and the second person is left with nowhere sturdy to place a foot.
I had enough time to think that thought and say, "Come on down, guys, you're not allowed up there" when Pete's foot slipped and he tumbled out of the tree. He went head over feet over head when, to my horror, I realized there was no way his little body would have enough time to flip once more before hitting the ground. He was feet over head, and that's how he was bound to land.
It was a long fall. Especially when you're watching and there's nothing you can do.
I'm pretty sure Pete's guardian angel was the one who took his legs and shifted them back under his body, allowing him to land on his knees and elbows. I didn't even see that part happen. All I knew was that his head was on a neck-breaking collision course with the earth, and then it wasn't. And that's good enough for me.
I ran barefoot toward the little boy who looked at me with shock in his eyes before he started wailing. I checked him for damages, but there appeared to be nothing serious aside from a few scratches on his face. I held him as he cried, simultaneously coaxing Carl out of the tree.
(As it happened, I heard a little cry, looked up, and saw Carl dangling from the branches, his arms caught up -- about to fall. I had to leave the sobbing boy to lift Carl out of the tree and prevent a second crash landing.)
Pete got over his tears and spoke to Carl in Dutch -- he was marveling about how he flipped through the air before he landed. That was pretty cool, apparently, and Carl agreed. They laughed. Pete went over and kicked the tree.
"Okay, guys, that really scared me. That is why you can't climb trees. No more climbing unless Mama and Papa are home and say it's okay."
In unison. "Why?"
Sunday, April 09, 2006
I'm pretty sure this isn't in my job description.
Pete and I were in the middle of a conversation about art and artists as I cleaned up their coloring mess when, without so much as waiting for a lull in the conversation, he hit my right breast twice and said, "Why you have these things?"
I looked at Carien and we busted up, neither of us bothering to answer the original question or the continuous, "What things?" from Carl, who hadn't been paying attention.
I looked at Carien and we busted up, neither of us bothering to answer the original question or the continuous, "What things?" from Carl, who hadn't been paying attention.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
It's no Smithwick Methodist.
You may be starting to think I traveled to Cologne and skipped Germany's greatest cathedral. I did not. (First of all, it's impossible to miss, since it's RIGHT THERE when you exit the train station.) This beautiful church managed to survive 14 Allied bombings, even though the war destroyed the rest of the city.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Sprechen sie Englisch?
It was the German phrase of the weekend, as I spent the last three days in Cologne. That's pretty much all the German I know. It came in pretty handy.
Cologne is just two and a half hours by train, so I left on Friday morning (despite the illness I could feel taking over in my throat) and was there before noon. I checked in at the hostel and headed out, sore throat and all.
I didn't have much of a plan for Cologne. I hadn't even pored over a map, as I had in preparation for London. I glanced at a map, a crappy one at that, and I knew I needed to hit up the two major art museums and the Schokoladenmuseum (at last, a German word for which I needed no translation).
I went to the chocolate museum first, of course, because you wouldn't want to miss something like that, and enjoyed it despite aching body and spinning head. I wandered around a little bit more, locating various places I wanted to visit in the event that I felt better the next day. By 4:00 I was laid out on my bed, where I tossed and turned for a good 16 hours. Not much of that was actual decent sleep, and I'm fairly certain my five roommates thought I was a fruitloop. I did get up at one point to shower.
I left the hostel at 9:00 on Saturday, delighted that I didn't have to agonize over every step, but still suffering with an increased difficulty in swallowing.
Museum Ludwig is modern and contemporary art. Picasso, Monet, and Pollock again kept me interested. The giant blue canvas reminded me of why I prefer da Vinci, Rubens, and Rembrandt. (In its defense, it was a nice shade of blue. Sort of cerulean.) Especially interesting here was the special exhibition, The World's Most Photographed: dozens of pictures of fascinating figures such as Adolph Hitler, Greta Garbo, JFK, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Pablo Picasso, Marlene Dietrich, and others. The only downside was that all the captions were in German.
The Wallraf-Richartz Museum wasn't as enjoyable. You can only look at so many paintings of the Crucifiction. There were some works by Rubens here, which I impressed myself by recognizing before I was close enough to see his name anywhere. Downstairs there were some pieces by Warhol, which I didn't think I'd like that much. But I did.
Other than that, I
a) did some shopping.
b) considered cutting my hair and chickened out. I have NEVER chickened out of cutting my hair. This is an issue that needs to be addressed.
c) noticed that the most popular scarf in the world is taking over. You know the one. If you don't own it, you've seen it. It's tan, with fringe, and black and red stripes. It's everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I saw dozens, just this weekend.
Cologne is just two and a half hours by train, so I left on Friday morning (despite the illness I could feel taking over in my throat) and was there before noon. I checked in at the hostel and headed out, sore throat and all.
I didn't have much of a plan for Cologne. I hadn't even pored over a map, as I had in preparation for London. I glanced at a map, a crappy one at that, and I knew I needed to hit up the two major art museums and the Schokoladenmuseum (at last, a German word for which I needed no translation).
I went to the chocolate museum first, of course, because you wouldn't want to miss something like that, and enjoyed it despite aching body and spinning head. I wandered around a little bit more, locating various places I wanted to visit in the event that I felt better the next day. By 4:00 I was laid out on my bed, where I tossed and turned for a good 16 hours. Not much of that was actual decent sleep, and I'm fairly certain my five roommates thought I was a fruitloop. I did get up at one point to shower.
I left the hostel at 9:00 on Saturday, delighted that I didn't have to agonize over every step, but still suffering with an increased difficulty in swallowing.
Museum Ludwig is modern and contemporary art. Picasso, Monet, and Pollock again kept me interested. The giant blue canvas reminded me of why I prefer da Vinci, Rubens, and Rembrandt. (In its defense, it was a nice shade of blue. Sort of cerulean.) Especially interesting here was the special exhibition, The World's Most Photographed: dozens of pictures of fascinating figures such as Adolph Hitler, Greta Garbo, JFK, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Pablo Picasso, Marlene Dietrich, and others. The only downside was that all the captions were in German.
The Wallraf-Richartz Museum wasn't as enjoyable. You can only look at so many paintings of the Crucifiction. There were some works by Rubens here, which I impressed myself by recognizing before I was close enough to see his name anywhere. Downstairs there were some pieces by Warhol, which I didn't think I'd like that much. But I did.
Other than that, I
a) did some shopping.
b) considered cutting my hair and chickened out. I have NEVER chickened out of cutting my hair. This is an issue that needs to be addressed.
c) noticed that the most popular scarf in the world is taking over. You know the one. If you don't own it, you've seen it. It's tan, with fringe, and black and red stripes. It's everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I saw dozens, just this weekend.
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