A double dose of embarrassment

One of the first things I did after starting my job at Siemens was to register for German classes. I assumed that working for an international company meant everyone would speak English, but I was wrong. Not only did my colleagues not speak English, but they also spoke a local dialect rather than standard German. So, off I went to the community college for German classes.
 
I was so nervous about showing up late for the first class that I ended up being the first person to arrive. Over the next ten minutes, a few women came in and sat near each other. They chatted in German about how they were doing and talked about the weather. As I listened in, it became very apparent that this class was not right for me.
 
First, the women seemed to know each other, which was intimidating. I didn't want to be the only stranger in the group. Secondly, their German sounded much better than mine. Still, I decided to wait for the class to start before making snap judgments.
 
The teacher entered, greeted us in German, and asked everyone to turn to page 23 in their exercise books. She was still speaking German at this point. Then, she began writing English sentences on the blackboard. Turning around, she asked, "What colour is your umbrella, Helga?" Helga responded with heavily accented English, "My umbrella is green."
 
Mortified, I sat frozen in my seat. It was evident that I had accidentally joined a beginner’s English class.
 
To make matters worse, I had chosen the seat farthest from the door, making it impossible to leave without causing a scene. I silently berated myself for my mistake while the teacher continued asking questions.
 
Eventually, it was my turn. "What colour is your sweater, Lia?" she asked. I stared back, unsure of what to do. Finally, I mumbled, "My sweater is red."
 
This awkward exchange repeated several times over the next 15 minutes. The other students began looking at me with growing concern. Gradually, the teacher increased the difficulty of her questions.
 
"When you go to the concert tonight, will you wear a bracelet or a necklace?" she asked.
 
"I will wear a necklace," I answered flatly.
 
The teacher paused and said, "Lia, maybe you should take a more advanced class. Your English seems very good."
 
Almost in tears, I blurted out, "I am English! I thought this was a beginner’s German class!"
 
The entire room burst into laughter.
 
"Oh no," the teacher chuckled. "The German class is across the hall in Room 9."
 
Ultimately, I experienced a double dose of embarrassment—first, having to leave the English class with everyone wondering why I hadn't spoken up sooner, and second, the horror of entering the correct classroom 20 minutes late, full of strangers. 

Hadley Story Corner: #12 Grandpa Hadley A Pioneer (Lia)

Grandpa Hadley cutting a neighbour’s hair in his back garden 

This story is not so much a story, but some ramblings about how Grandpa Hadley was a pioneer or role model for all of us who aspire to reducing our ecological footprint. 

He and grandma lived in such a thoughtful way. Grandpa gardened and grew vegetables. 

Here’s a photo of Auntie Barbara in Oxford Mills in the spring, collecting the tree sap to make maple syrup with Grandpa.

  

He also made furniture such as tables and lamps and, as you can see in the photo, his own garden furniture.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music. 

Hadley Story Corner: #11 Hadley Halloween (Karen)

(Grandpa, Barbara, David, Grandma, Gordon)

The Hadley family used to live in a beautiful house on Lakebreeze Drive in Montreal. Not only did the Hadley family live on this street, but two other houses were own by relatives as well. 

Karen tells a short story of what Dave and his siblings would do for Halloween to scare the children who came trick or treating. 

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner #10: Easter Hats (Lia)

(Kim, Lia, (I think my friend) Arlene, and Karen with out Easter hats on)

A spring breeze on Maundy Thursday 

Then the holy palm frond on Sunday

Which I hold with wonder until 

We arrive home for lunch. I bring the

Now brownish dry frond up to my bedroom 

With my children’s bible, whose pages are 

Never worn enough to make me feel holy.

Then another, or is it the next, Sunday

Easter hats that look so very very lovely

When lying on our beds next to our 

Easter dresses, which our mother sewed 

On a machine taken out of her bedroom 

Cupboard to sew wonder and beauty for

The procession down the church aisle

To a pew in the front, though never the first.

How the church smells of everything

Old and new. Mothballs wafting through

the incandescence and washed souls.

Halleluiah, it is the altar boys’ day-to-shine

They start out so bright, swishing the incense

Down on knees, heads bowed, straight backed.

Yet, like our Easter hats that begin to pinch horribly,

No matter how the boys try, the priest loses his

Patience and sends them withering looks

Sometimes, thrillingly, he swats one across 

Their head when he thinks no one is watching.

The poem above is missing the whole point of Easter. Which is, of course, the Easter Egg Hunt. Pat used to make an Easter Egg Hunt that all children in the neighborhood were allowed to participate in.

What I love about the picture above is, first, we are all wearing petticoats under our dresses. Secondly, take close notice our homemade Easter baskets. You can see that they are actually paper lunch bags with some coloured construction paper taped around them and an air balloon hanging from the side.

Hadley Story Corner: #9 Pat’s first communion (Lia)

Grandma Buckley went to mass at least once a day, often more than once depending upon the holidays. As such, Pat, uncle John, and uncle Peter were raised in a very strict catholic tradition.

This picture of Pat on her First Communion, is touching in so many ways. She looks so proud, but also so scared, yet really amazing. I wish we had asked her what she felt. Did any of you talk to her about it?

The other touching thing, is her communion dress and veil. They were handmade. The question is whether they were handed down from one generation to another, in the manner it was with baptism attire. Who would have worn it before she did?

Or, did grandma make those clothes for her? How could she afford to do so considering they were still very poor at that time? How important the occasion must have meant? Grandma spent so much time and money on making something for Pat that was only to be worn once.

Lastly, please take notice of the gifts Pat received. Her first piece of jewellery, a gold necklace with a cross on the end. Her own children’s bible and a rosary held in her gloved hands.

This is the only studio photograph I know of with Pat in it. She would have been seven years old at the time. The center of attention. The belle of the ball. A role she continued to embrace throughout her life.  

Hadley Story Corner: #8 Childhood Memories of Venezuela (Karen)

Today’s story is told by Karen about childhood memories in Venezuela. We moved from California to Venezuela in 1956.

I can’t believe I managed to find a photo of Dave and Karen inland traveling in Dave’s VW Beetle!

This was the most favourite car he ever had. He would often tell of how he could take that car over every terrain, even through streams and rivers. I think this is what Karen is referring to when she says they drove through something with water on both sides.

Karen ends her story with us getting robbed. This was a very central experience in our family.

I wonder whether that robbery was the impetus for Dave deciding to move away from Venezuela. 

(Lia, Karen, and Kim, 1951 in Venezuela)

Dave was hired by a telephone company who was installing the first telephone system inland. Not only did he go for extended periods of time inland, he also travelled all over South America and the Caribbean. In particular, he loved the times he spent in Cuba.

Since there was a political coup in 1958, they were very troubled times. For this reason, whenever Dave went out into the field, Pat would take the three girls and go any live for those weeks or months in Grenada.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music. 

Hadley Story Corner: #7 Our Dog Bonnie (Kim)

  

Kim tells the story of Bonnie, the only dog we ever had. She was a Welsh Corgi and she lived a long and good life.

 

Kim talks about how the sisters rivalled to give Bonnie the most attention possible.

Yet, you can see why. Bonnie was very cute.

Here is Daniel and Dave giving Bonnie more attention years later after they had moved to Grenada. Dave’s way of doing petting Bonnie was scratching her sides with his toe.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #6 Dave and his boats (Kim)

 

Dave fell in love with sailing at a very young age. He lived on a street that ended at the shore of Lac St. Louis, in Quebec. He and his siblings spent many a day playing in and on those waters.

Kim tells a wonderful story about all the boats he captained over the years. I wish Dave knew about Kim living on her boat in Gibson. I think he would have gotten a kick out of knowing this. 

Here is the boat Dave and Gordon built. He told me once that it was one of the first “kits” that you could buy. Grandpa Hadley was a carpenter and engineer, so he probably did a lot of the work in building something that stayed afloat.

 

I love this photo for two reasons. The first is the relaxed no-care-in-the-world pose Dave has. It didn’t matter if this was a sunny Sunday afternoon sail or in the middle of a regatta… he was always in his element. Secondly, it looks as though someone told him to put on some sunscreen and instead of doing it properly, he just slathers on a generous amount around is forehead and cheeks.

 

Babs and Uncle Norris with Pat and Dave on their first Tiempo. Dave and Norris are obviously looking for something, but what can it be?

The Nestucca. It was owned by someone Dave knew (not sure how). Dave would go down to Seattle early summer and help the owner bring it up to Vancouver.

Their deal was that the owner and his family would have to boat for June and July. Dave and Pat would then go up to where the owner left the boat and take the boat for August and a bit of September. They were to return the boat to Vancouver and then the owner would take it back to Seattle for winter.

The owner and Dave shared the costs of the upkeep. Dave thought this was a great deal.

 

Dave teaching (maybe) David how to use one of his navigation devises.

 

Dave at the helm. Lia at the bow ready to drop the anchor. Not sure who is on the winch, might be Kim or Chris Mast. What a lovely lovely boat that was!

 

The wonderful Otter One. Dylan catching a fish. Notice the absence of life vest. Notice Dave’s foot resting on the door fame. He is obviously sleeping or reading, but not really overlooking what was going-on on deck.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #5 Babysitting (Karen)

One of the tasks Karen was given as the eldest of four siblings, was to babysit us. I’m not even sure whether or not she was paid for doing this. It was undoubtedly a thankless task.

Kim and I probably ignored anything Karen told us to do. Daniel, who was much younger than us all, was self-sufficient out of necessity. He never received the attention his age required. (For this, I apologize, Daniel.) If our parents had any common sense, they would not have left us to our own devices.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #4 Grandma Buckley (Karen)

(grandpa and grandma Buckley, Pat, John, and Peter)

Grandma Buckley, Pat’s mother, was one of our family’s unsung heroes/sheroes. She gave her life to the care of her family and community.

 

Karen talks about all of the fine handwork grandma did her whole life long. She titled this story “needlework compacts purses and teacups”. It is lovely to know that Karen still has so much of grandma’s artwork. Thank you dearly, Karen, for keeping grandma’s legacy alive.

 

(Diane, John, grandma and grandpa Buckley (50th wedding anniversary), and Pat)

There was another aspect of grandma’s handwork that I thought to mention. 

This was the work she did for the Women’s Church Auxiliary. Grandma knitted a storm of mittens year in, year out, which were sold in the Christmas Bazaars. 

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #3 Pets We Had (Kim) + Story Revisited (Lia)

(Photo of Kim and Megan (as a puppy))

 

Kim tells a story about various pets we had in the Hadley household when we were a child. Then she talks about the dogs she and Damien and Dylan had.

 

As I was editing this story, I realised how different childhood memories can be.

(Photo of Lia, Bonnie and Miel as a kitten)

 

So, I recorded what I will can “story revisited”. It might be interesting to have all of the siblings give their spin on what actually happened all those years back.

 

If you do not want to record your memories, please feel free to comment in this blog post.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #2 Auntie Barbara (Lia)

A few years ago, I drew/wrote Sara my story of Auntie Barbara. For, I see a lot of Auntie Barbara in Sara.

I am not sure whether you can actually read the drawing. I might have to do it over again.

Karen asked me to "tell" the story in the drawing. Not so easy to do, but I tried my best.

Thank you, cc Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner: #1 Auntie Barbara (Karen)

The Hadley Story Corner is a place for Karen, Kim, Daniel, and I to reminisce about people and occurrences in our past. It is our hope you will enjoy the telling of tall and humble tales.

Today’s story is about Auntie Barbara. She was Dave’s sister. Karen tells us about wonderful influence on her as a child.

There will probably be a lot of stories about Auntie Barbara. She was both larger than life and down to earth.

Thank you, cc Andy Blackwood for your music.

Divine Storytelling

The powerful words, the tonality of your deep voice, your inward journey escaping silent restraints... dupiously blessed by experiences that eventually find their way into divine storytelling.

If you wish for more...

Something Funny Happened on the Way to the Doctor's

MakeUseOf is a brilliant site to get information just about everything to do with technology. If you want to know the who's who of media, or learn about new trends, or just gather new ideas, this is the site to go to.

This morning I stumbled across a description of a new web app called Ovulation. The app helps you figure out (presumably for those women/couples wanting to become pregnant) when you ovulate.

(mmm hmm...sipping my hot tea)

Initially, my reaction is, wow, we've sure come a long way since my young adult years, when fertility and ovulation cycles were not a topic of public discussion. Instead, here was a totally refreshing blatant proclamation,

"Numerous methods exist to solicit feedback after an event. However, sometimes the feedback is more timely and helpful if it can be gathered during the performance and Ovulation lets you do exactly that."

(letting the steam from my cup steam-up my glasses)

OK, my mind did a little trip... performance... what do they mean, when it's happening, or when you are performing that marvelous act of trying to make a baby during a time that increases your chance of it happening?

(my mind going into early 1960s primp sex education mode)

Then I read the final sentence,

"... It is a web app that allows you to create a page for your event, which your audience can go to using their smartphones."

(double take)

Ovation is a web app...

Usually, I am terribly tried being dyslexic. This morning it gave me ten minutes of uncontrollable mirth.

The Art of Living Life Barefoot

There are two types of sailors. Ones that see the deck is wet and carpeted with sharp objects and wear the appropriate footwear. And those who slow down and get the feel of the danger by being barefoot. I was raised in a sailing tradition of the later.

If we put shoes or boots on while on-board, it took away a vital means of sensory perception. Instead of letting our feet help us “see” our way across the deck, we would blindly bump our way around.

The reason I am babbling on about this is because I spent a good part of the night (sleeping badly at the moment) thinking about the art of living one’s life barefoot. How there are whole groups of people or cultures that go through life so.

My early childhood in Venezuela and Grenada was completely barefoot. In my later childhood we were always so at home. We even tottered down the frozen driveway in deepest winter barefoot to dig the newspaper out of the snow bank without shoes. And there were the blissful summers where our feet never touched anything but stone, sand, grass, and hot pavement of the roads coming home late in the day.

Then nearly thirty years ago, I moved to Germany. A culture that doesn’t embrace bare feet. I’m sure you’ve seen the German tourists that wear sandals with socks. This just shows how clearly they don’t get the concept of going barefoot.

Ok, in the privacy of their homes, or while sitting in their gardens… yes, you can get a glimpse of folks here wiggling their toes. But that is about it.

I’m not saying this is wrong. It is just other. Not bad other or good other… just other.

Living here so long has changed me in many ways, but in no way as much as in this matter. I see American tourists walking through airports wearing flipflops, and shrink into myself. All those bared toes… in public… how inappropriate. I look at teenagers wearing bare feet in the cities during a hot summer day and think, spittle, grime, and dog poo.

Oh no, I’ve sold out! How could that happen? Could it be possible to retrieve that feeling a naked innocence of times past?

Would I have to take off my soft and warm slippers this cold rainy morning to do so?

Modern Haiku

Don't know if I mentioned my journey with Twitter... here's the short version. Joined. Found some people to follow. Was followed by some of them and few others. Basically didn't get it. Basically, thought I felt as if I was sitting underneath a waterfall of rushing information. This left me with a sensation of pressure building in my head. So, I quit. Walked away.

Journeyed on with no twitter, though lots of friends kept saying come back into the waters. Decided that rejection is not always the best consequence of critical thinking or social activism. So, I started to tweet again. This time, as a poet of modern haiku. If you wish, my twitter name is shortshortstori.

I have followers. Most who I do not know personally. It is a puzzle how they found me. It is also a delight.

Serious Kind of Crazy

This is some serious kind of crazy. Also, how can someone possibly be doing this and making sure the camera is turned on at the same time, let alone making certain shots?

cc from yukon white lights

On another note of craziness, someone (or some ones) stole a stuffed reindeer from the top of the roof of a Finnish spiced wine shop at the Christmas Market in Luebeck. Now, without knowing any of the particulars, but after studying the scene of the crime... the robbers had to have,

• a fair amount of brawn (the reindeer was heavy)
• a least one ladder (the roof was high)
• a means of transportation (rules out public transport)
• thought the idea would be funny thing to do (could be spice-wined induced)
• been ignorant of the fact that the police station was just two blocks away (so they might live here, but not be all that familar with the city infrastructure)

This might be a highly silly thing to say, but methinks the crime could have been a student prank. What do you think? 

We all tell stories all the time

A friend's daughter and I were walking through the marketplace in her town the other day. It was early winter dusk. The Christmas Market stands were standing empty around the periphery in anticipation of next week's opening. My young companion told me how she and her family often come to the Christmas Market in the evenings after dinner. Then she told a story in short sentences with great depth,

“The adults stand crowded together while the children run around. There is music and a bubble-making fountain. The children chase after the bubbles. Oh, I love the feel and taste of the hot Christmas Punch* in my mouth and the coldness on my cheeks.”

Do not those words conjure up so many wonderful images?

* The children get a spiced Christmas Punch with no alcohol, but those adults crowding around talking are undoubtedly partaking in the more stronger sort.

Lost Luggage Claim #2

Passenger’s Name: Mr. Leaving It All Behind
Date: 09.09.1999
Point of Departure: Friday afternoon after a dull and frustrating week on the road selling supplies to gas station managers
Final Destiny: the Easy Life, Tyrell Bay, Carriacou, the West Indies

Listing of “Then” Luggage Content:

• Baccalaureate Certificate, majors in history and geography (level mediocre)
• Six seasonal regional ski passes for Davos-Klosters, Switzerland
• Ski instructor id for the Silvretta Parkhotel, Klosters, Switzerland
• Acceptance letter to the University Lumière Lyon 2 in their business and economics program
• Cancellation letter at University Lumière Lyon 2 due to lack of attendance at the end of the first year
• Stub receipts for heliskiing at Whistler (B.C), Jackson Hole (Wyoming), Breckenridge (Colorado), Pyramid Mountain (Alaska), Valle Nevado (Chile), and Riksgränsen (Sweden)
• Various photos of different topless or skimpy bikinied female guests on deck of their Mediterranean sailboat charter with him as captain
• Letter of boat owner firing him as captain of above mentioned boat for inappropriate drunken behaviour
• Full-time work contract as product supplier at his uncle’s gas station franchise
• Copy of a monthly travel expense report, including: summary of mileage driven (10,478 km), gas stations supplied (76), bad meals eaten (63), hung overs suffered (31), coffee drunk (27.41 l), cigarettes smoked (520), beers (153) and shots of whiskey (96) drunk, time spent doing something remotely interesting (0 min.), chances of being promoted any time in the next ten years (null)
• Only source of fun: going to bars, drinking too much, chatting up young women and regaling them with old stories about the grand days of him heliskiing around the world

Listing of “Now” Luggage Content:

• A modest sum of money acquired by selling all of his worldly goods and also the house he inherited from his grandparents in La Rochelle
• One-way plane ticket to Carriacou
• Slick high tech smart phone with the ring tone from an 80s Bacardi Rum commercial
• A backpack full of electronic gadgets
• DIWA diving instructor certificate
• Preconceptions of what the Easy Life is and how one goes about living it
• The ethical and moral values of a lizard
• Predisposition towards drinking too much cheap alcohol and smoking too much weed
• Plump certainty of successful sexual quests with local women, as well as passing female tourists

Passenger’s Complaint:

All items of my “Now” luggage have been stolen by the locals. Everyone is smiling and appearing friendly, but on one is really concerned about helping me out of present predicament. I have no means of making a living other than living off female tourists who I despise, but whose pockets run deep. Currently, acting as captain on a large flashy American motor cruiser. The wealthy owner’s wife likes to watch me kite surf half-naked. Unspoken agreement that she is allowed look, but not touch, which I am thankful of since she is old and ugly.

Officer’s Statement:

Passenger suffers under a ridiculous unwarranted sense of self-importance and privilege. The items he claims were stolen were wastefully spent or destroyed through neglect. Accusations, complaints, and angry alterations voiced towards or about local residents are increasing in their regularity. This indicates an increase in paranoia and disillusionment with his life situation. We are all waiting patiently for him to leave the island and leave us in peace. When he does leave, he will leave friendless, despite having lived here ten years