Kindness

A dear friend is in hospital and so i spend time each day drawing images and putting in a quote that I hope will make her smile and forget the pain for one small moment. 

I have not learned well what to do with worry. Worry about the children, friends and family, colleagues in need, and the world in crisis. I wish to hold onto joy. I yearn for lightness of being. I would also like a bit of that Zen detachment that is so mysteriously elusive for someone like me.

Morning meditation

Time to sit in contemplation and do my meta meditation for family and friends:

* May you be happy

* May you be healthy and strong

* May you be safe from all harm

* May you be at ease in the world

These times continue to be confusing and desperate. I do not know how to fathom their reach into the essential corners of our hearts. And so, I do my meta meditation.

 

self-care in a nutshell

The question is why am I spending time and creative energy quoting an author that I do not like so much. Well, for today that is okay. Tomorrow I will try and do better.

Lost in thoght

Watching a family of four walking along a sidewalk this morning. Each lost in their own thoughts. Not one of them realising that those persons coming from the opposite direction them had to go out into the street to avoid them.

Still learning

The weekend was spent walking, in meditation and learning online courses. This drawing comes out of an online art course I took a few months ago. 

Slowly, I am coming out of my stay at home shell. We have been living in semi-isolation since the end of February. Since the wait for anti-viral medication and vaccine continues, Giui and I have to come up with some other means of "leaving home" regularly.

Working remotely, while having a steady and stable job, is absolutely a gift. I cannot imagine what it would be like if I was still self-employed. 

new career perspectives

A small miracle happened, I received a promotion to Senior HR Manager. I feel such elation. I have fought many battles in my career and faced many prejudices. I did not always manage to be gracious and grateful for every small personal career-step attained. I would often lament about the systemic misogyny and xenophobia that prevails as strongly now as when I started my career. I have also often felt defeated by the shameful little change my generation of women managed make. 

So, this promotion makes me happy because it shows my children that their mother found a company that was willing to put their faith in me at such a late stage in my career. How I wish I could share the news with Dave. He would have been chuffed.  

Tiny dew drops

Photo: almost indiscernible... dew drops on grass

This morning, I walked the paths outside the cathedral, around and around, on stones laid seven hundred years ago and under shading trees planted in the time of Enlightenment, and I draw strength for me and send it to all my loved ones.  

Back on track

Well I am back. Again. So much as changed. Surely, that goes for everyone. I am going to post drawings and photos and tell stories.

Photo: taken just around the corner where I live. Rebirth.

I am starting a new morning ritual of writing down HLGs (daily highlight, let go of, grateful for).

A year of discovery

This year I decided to do some exploring. First step, I joined Skillshare.

I started a sketch book that captures ideas, moments, and memories for my two children. Even though I wrote a diary for years, I haven't in such a long time, and generally, I do not feel the inclination to start again. I have read so much about journaling and developing a creative practice, yet I was very reluctant to start.

So, I began slowly. This sketch book is part journal, part storybook.

Creating the sketch book is a joyous timelessness occupation. What more could one ask. I am absolutely loving this experiment.

A good year...

Embed from Getty Images

This year has been a good year. It started in the depths of mourning. Continued in a stumbling manner. But, amazingly, it slid into a place of wonder. Family is healthy and strong. I have a new job...one that I love. For this and much much more. I am Grateful.

Feminists: What Were They Thinking?

It is New Year's Eve 2018. This film is going to be the first program I will watch tomorrow.

I wish you a very good year. May it hopefully be a year of new discovery. May we all choose our words carefully. Act intentionally. Treat others kindly.

I love you dearly.

A ten-year old rant

Embed from Getty Images

I was going through my blog this morning at the unpublished drafts. I stumbled upon this one that I wrote ten years ago and it made me laugh. How simple life was back then. Obama had just been voted into office and we were all full of hope. This was written in the middle of trip I took with my two children to NYC. It was a fabulous trip and so, I can only imagine I wrote it to let off steam and decided not to publish it.

Enjoy the silly rant of a middle-aged woman, who was oblivious to all the changes heading our way…

These last few days have been full of new ideas and impressions. That seems like a natural consequence of stepping into new territory. It is nice to occasionally test that tolerance bone; the one that must cope with social change and behavior.

I would be exaggerating if I said that my little tolerance bone has only been in the “happy camper” mode since arriving here. There are some forms of behavior that make me feel very uncomfortable, irate, or plum embarrassed. Here are a few that send tiny electrical shocks through me: 

• Many cars, pedestrians, cyclists do not pull over and stop when ambulances are trying to drive by. The ambulances have sirens, lights, and are honking their horns, and often the have to merge with the normal flowing traffic because no one moves over.
• Cars weave in-and-out and delivery trucks park in the BUS ONLY LANE. (Seems senseless to implement such a system and not enforce it.)
• The waitresses and waiters take your dishes off the table before the last person is finished eating. (Yesterday, my daughter got her dessert before her brother was finished with his main dish.)
• Many children do not act age-appropriately: 5-6-year-old girls being carried around on the hips/waists of their fathers: 10-12-year-olds sucking their thumbs or pacifiers in public: 10-12-year-olds not able to use forks and knives when eating in restaurants (often using their fingers).

I’m not saying this sort of behavior is wrong, just that my reaction tells me that I have been living in Germany too long. Before, such things wouldn’t have caused even a twitch. Now, they ensue a complex series of emotions that are hard to ignore. Not a good thing.

I don't want to leave the impression that everything is hunky dory back in Luebeck. That just isn't true. It is just other things make me feel uncomfortable then before. And, for the most part, when I go somewhere new, I try to keep an open mind to the new culture and people. It is hard to hold up this mirror and see my intolerance. Got to get working on that.

Accessible and inclusive design

What a marvelous aid for those of us with seeing impairment or who have difficulty navigating ourselves through new environments. (I am one of the later.) I love how accessible and inclusive the design is.

I’ve looked at a few other videos that speak to the beta testers. It is interesting that one or two said they found it irritating or had to get used to the “chatter” in the background. What they are referring to is, the app mentions store and street names as you are passing. Brilliant! For those of us who have the feeling of being lost every time we land in a new city, how amazing would it be to have a guide saying where you are is absolutely right every step of the way.

Can’t wait for the app to work in other countries.

Who are you to say if my Johnny is right or wrong?

Oh, these times are truly crazy. Reading the daily news makes me anxious. It is hard to remain calm amongst the confusion of determining what is might be true and what is just plainly false. Whether in the US or Europe... so much of what is going on makes me despair for a sane world. 

This is why I love this video. Especially the end! It is only missing "based on a true story".

Take care and keep up a good fight.

Oh what a day!

Dipping in and out of books her whole life through…

Embed from Getty Images

It is almost a year ago that my mother died. In the last weeks I have been thinking about her lifelong love of reading. She always considered herself the informed consumer, the appreciative reader, never the artist. She read (at least) one book a day all her adult life. She dipped in and out of her books the whole day through.

Early morning breakfast, she read her newspapers. She then did some chores or went off into town to do some shopping. Late morning coffee, book at hand. More reading after lunch. Late afternoon she’d meet with friends or make some telephone calls. Before dinner, she read The Atlantic, New Yorker, or the weekend section of The Guardian. Dinner. Early to bed with her book.

The astonishing thing is she would remember the stories, the characters, the plot of this immense library of books she’d read. I’d be reading a book and telling her about some aspect of the story that intrigued me, and she would talk about it as though she also just read the book yesterday. It often turned out that there were years between her reading the book and our conversations.

My mother stowed away a long list of books she meant to buy in the side pocket of her wallet. If she read a magazine article that referred to a new author or book, she’d hurriedly take out the list and scribble the name down and then continue reading. This list was the only haphazard messy thing she owned. In all other aspects of her life she was ordered and meticulous. The list was written in different colours of ink, sometimes the titles or authors names were scribbled illegibly in the margins, others were crossed through after she found them.

I wish I had saved one of those lists. It makes me sad that I will never see one of them again.

A fury that sits deep inside…

Tracee Ellis Ross talking boldly about women’s experiences in the world, struck a note with me. As someone who was “raised properly” by middle-class parents, I was taught well how to put the lid on any indignation, frustration and rage that was/is brewing deep inside. It is too messy to talk about. I wouldn’t want to offend.

And then, when you add racism and ageism to the cauldron of bubbling horror, it is no wonder we are uncomfortable to lift the lid. What words might escape our lips? What shadows would this cast upon our idyllic lives? What realities would we have to except and act upon?

It would be enough for just one of those realities to bubble out, “It’s men’s responsibility to change men’s bad behaviour” and float around in the ether of our social consciousness.

Language over generations

Embed from Getty Images

My two children and I were discussing recently how it is, even though German is their dominant language, they do not feel as if they possess an extensive or differentiated German vocabulary.

Their father is originally from Italy and learnt to speak German as a 10-year-old. He does not speak anymore the Sicilian dialect of his childhood. He studied to be a translator and linguist and so acquired a further four languages along the way.

The way we communicated when our children were living at home was; I spoke English, which my husband and children understand, and they spoke German the whole time, which I’m fluent in. So, I naturally assumed their German would be comparable to all their German schoolmates. Apparently not.

My daughter says she feels as if there was still something missing, some depth to the language, they never learnt. She proposes it has to do with the fact that none of her grandparents were German. Maybe family history and shared family memories are an intrinsic part of the passing on of language. What a lovely notion.

Starting out on a pioneer journey

Forty years ago, during orientation week at the University of Waterloo, one of our professors looked down at Myrna and I, the only two women in the freshman year of electrical engineering, and said the following,

"Though women are very much under represented in the lecture halls of this university. Please know that you are welcomed. It is my personal experience that the women we have had in our program prove to be as ambitious and more skilled than all the rest of you guys. So, take note!"

Being one of two women amongst hundreds of male students was terrifying. I knew that I was not as ambitious as the other students, and I was most certainly not more skilled. In fact, I was completely puzzled why the university accepted me at all considering that I was missing two academic years. My feeling on that day, hearing those roaring words of confidence was, "He is crazy. That is not going to happen. I will be lucky if I can muddle through".

And muddle through I did. Always in the lower half of the class. Always having to work my ass off to compensate for those two missing years of high school calculus, physics, and chemistry. 

Yet, I did receive an honours degree, albit by the skin of my teeth. And then I decided to go and try my luck at finding a job in Germany in medical equipment. And there it was again. "We have never had a woman engineer working in our department. We have never had a foreigner working here in this position. We don't know if you will be accepted." 

In the last 35 years I have done my darnedest to navigate my way through, at times, a very patriarchal, misogynous, and xenophobic corporate working environment. Considering this was a time when the ideas of micro-aggressions, anxiety gap, #metoo were completely unconceivable, I did manage to muddle through quite well. I did not navigate the halls of the corporate world gracefully, but nevertheless I did manage.

Last week, something miraculous happened. One of my favourite companies that I work for as an external consultant and trainer, offered me a full-time permanent job position. It will be exciting work. There is a very engaged team. Their offices are in walking distance from my home. There will be travel to their foreign offices world wide. And even though all of this is rather exciting, it is something else that excites me most.

As mentioned in the video above, multi-generational work groups is the future working environment. One that my grown children will probably find themselves working in more and more as the years go on. Currently, it is not so. Ageism is, in my opinion, one of the least mentioned vulnerable minorities when it comes to representation and diversity. So it is with great pride and elan that I am setting out at the age of 60 on this new career path. This time I have the ambition and skills to shine.

Best Idea Ever: Maid Marian Tax (rebate)

As a working mother who has worked for the last 35 years and someone who is very conscientious that there was never any pay parity in the positions I worked in, I have an idea about what can be done right now to erase the bitterness and resentment in the hearts of all working women of my generation. I would like to introduce an idea I am calling The Maid Marian Tax (rebate)*. This is how it works.

For all Millennials and post Millennials who are currently employed and paying income tax, there should be a box in the income tax form that asks “How many years did your mother work?”. Depending upon the number written down in this box, the applicant would receive a sizable tax rebate according to the years their mother worked without fair pay.

Not how much your mother earned. Not what level of education she received. Not the number of employees under her management. No, none of that. Just how many years did she work.

If I knew that my son and daughter would receive financial benefits for the rest of their working careers because of all the years I worked and toiled for less pay than my male counterparts, that would still the beast in my belly roaring, knowing I will never see the money that is morally owed to me. I would be happy to know that all children of working moms would know their mother’s contribution continues to influence their quality of life for a long long time ahead.

* The reason I call my idea the Maid Marion Tax comes from the RobinHood Tax campaign (sometimes referred to as the FTT (financial transfer tax)) that started 8 years ago. Please go to their website and sign the petition.