First time on a plane

Off to visit Nerida in Munich, who has come from New Zealand.

First time on a plane
In the last years of covid
Joyful excitement.

Photo by Matthias Schröder on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.) 

Exit coaching

(first draft of my exit coaching strategy)

I am retiring next year. I still have a year to explore what this means. A year to transition from my 40-year work career into ... what-might-come... or, ideally, into another career as... an artist, writer, blogger, explorer... the horizon is magnificent.  

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.) 

A joyous Sunday

Our daughter comes home
A pit stop to reconnect
My heart goes thump thump.

What covid taught me

No smells and no taste
Makes it easy to diet
But robs me of joy.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

The last week of school

School children running
Though summer is here, they wait
Dreaming of time off.

A rant (again)

To my nieces and news back in Canada, I am their German aunt. Even my dear friend, Ann, who I went to high school with, once introduced me as her "German friend" when we bumped into her neighbour. In some weird way, this almost makes sense... this is where I have lived my whole adult life.

My family, friends, and colleagues in Germany always staple on the prefix "Canadian" when explaining who I am, as in my "Canadian friend" or my "Canadian colleague". When I call them out on this, they respond defensively. "I don't mean anything by this. It's just who you are. It's sort of a badge of merit." They try to coax me into thinking it is something positive.

I persist. "Can't I just be your friend? Or just your colleague? Don't you see it might be irritating, wrong, not nice to have to carry this label?" For f*cks sake, I have been living in Germany for 40 years now!

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)  

Thank you note to me L&D team

My favourite team
Laughs and cries throughout the day
Brilliant women. 

Business trip

My first business trip
Since pre-pandemic, hurrah
I'm so excited.

Photo by Jacob Buchhave on Unsplash

A visit from Limo and Wian

Night time comes slowly
Afternoon at the playground
My dear family.

Outside my window

Raindrops on tree buds
Young green leaves anxious to come
I gaze out in wonder.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Time spent in Wennigsen monastery

My window open
Steam rises from my teacup
You knock at my door.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Business trip

I'm packing up my suitcase. The hotel room, a temporary home, slowly loses its charm. When I arrive in a new place, I put my clothes in the offered cupboards and place my toiletries over the bathroom sink. I do this partly because I want to claim the place as my own. Also, partly for those who clean the room daily, to show them I respect of their space.

Now, I open my empty suitcase on the bed, put on some music, and wander from cupboard to drawer to bathroom, gathering all my belongings. 

I roll each piece of clothing into a tight roll, as I was taught decades ago by an army friend. Then stack them in layers throughout the suitcase. Shoes and slippers are stuffed with socks. Toiletries snuggled between the underwear. First, press out all the air in the shampoo bottle before snapping the lid shut. 

Before I go, I do one more tour of the room. The feeling of welcome, the hint of adventure, dissipates. Leaving behind an ordinariness that borders on tackiness. I write on a sheet of the hotel's notepad, "Thank you" and leave a tip for the person who will clean this sad room and restore it back to its proper state for the next guest and stranger.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Such a sense of relief

Performance review

Discussion about everything

Leaving with light steps

Photo by Wout Vanacker on Unsplash

Walking along the Wakennitz

The end of winter

A dash of yellow brightness

Still holding my breath

Photo by Niklas Ohlrogge on Unsplash

All's well

This is a short post to say, we are all well. I will be back writing soon. The last weeks have been fraught with worry, which is the reason I have not been writing. 

Covid numbers continue to escalate to never-before levels. It is hard to know how to stay safe. I know people who have been boostered, vaccinated, and still have come down sick twice. All this makes me wonder...

At the company I work for, they are trying to make sure that children and families of our Ukrainian colleagues find safe routes for leaving the country. They are helping them set up homes here. It is inspiring to see how willing everyone is to offer help on this scale. 

When the days are as long as the night

Sunshine and daytime

Finally noticeable

Springtime at my door.

Photo by Rayia Soderberg on Unsplash

News channel on all day

My words are not right
Much strife and constant worry
Are my prayers enough?

Nestled down at home bravely

A storm blasts away
Strong winds and human folly
Ramen soup for lunch.

Photo by Valentin Müller on Unsplash

Suburban mom

She is a suburban mom. The boys. Rambunctious devils. Continuously making noise that echoes off the walls of the house. Pounding up and down stairs. Slamming of doors. Ripping the refrigerator door off its hinges. She has no time to think about all the chores that have to be done.

Her days are defined by two bookends of mayhem. The first is getting her three boys off to school and her husband off to work. Starting each day with a litany of instructions. "Don't forget your gym suits." "Your sneakers are in the basement." "Put away the milk." "I'll pick you up at five after your practice."  

The second is that one turbulent hour at dinner before they disappear into the den or up to their rooms. In between are those rare hours of "putting life back into order" before she heads off and chauffeurs the boys to one school activity after another.

Then comes an afternoon when she is bringing her youngest son to his friend's birthday party. The son of her best friend. One of her dearest friends, who she had known since university. When she gets out of the car, her son looks at her aghast. "What's wrong, mom?", he asks, "Why are you getting out?" She looks at him, puzzled, "Because Susan asked me to join." He continues to stare, then gives her a sheepish look, obviously embarrassed that his chauffeur will join the party.

Alarms go off in her head.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)   

Slow start to my work day

A grey grey Monday
Early morning wake-up sounds
Drip, drip, flush, brume, swoosh.