Blythe Spirit

Away We Go

I used to be more bothered than I am now about how The World views our country. I still think it’s important, but if there’s one thing I’ve discovered (obviously, if you’ve been reading long) it’s that no place is perfect, and it’s almost impossible to translate the subtleties of one culture to another. I can talk about the crazy Italian government all I want, but why should anyone care what I think? I’m never really going to understand it. I’m not Italian.

So when I read articles like this, written by a British CNN journalist, I just roll my eyes and try to remember that they are writing about our country because it’s still, against all odds, powerful and influential. I loved that Barack Obama spoke to cheering masses in Berlin, but I could also see the point made by McCain supporters who reminded us that most of the crowd didn’t qualify to vote in our election.

But the following paragraph, reacting to the notion that Sarah Palin seems disinterested in the world outside the USA, stuck with me. The writer, Robin Oakley, posits that Europeans “…are not much impressed by explanations that her parents did not have the money to send her on a fact-finding tour of the world as a student. Anybody with the money to own an SUV, hunt moose and drive a snowmobile has the money to travel.”

Europeans tend to have a hard time grasping the physical scale of the United States and how far everything is from everything else here, especially if you live in Alaska. Most of them can’t drive two hours without crossing an international border. But I think this journalist is absolutely correct anyway.

S/he may or may not understand that SUVs and moose tags and guns and snowmobiles are justifiable expenses when you have to stock up on game to feed the family and when your driveway is a snowdrift eight months of the year, and that hunting in many of these places isn’t primarily sport for the wealthy. But people spend money and time one what they value, and Sarah Palin shouldn’t be using money as an excuse for staying home. If she really wanted to travel, she could have. (Russia is JUST SO CLOSE, remember? And, if I am reading the map correctly, Canada is right next door.) But she chose not to, possibly for good and justifiable reasons, but likely not financial ones.

So can we, as Americans, give the financial excuse a rest in this case? Yes, right now, we should all be staying home and putting our cash under our mattresses. But before our economy went in the toilet, and after it comes out, shouldn’t seeing the world be valued just as highly as owning a Bitchin’ Camaro or having our teeth professionally whitened? And I’m not just talking about Ms. Palin – I’m talking about all of us. When did travel become something Americans save for retirement? Probably about the same time people started thinking that going to Hawaii was visiting a foreign country.

This article by Patrick Smith also spoke to me today, particularly this portion:
“I am of the mind that every American student, in exchange for financial aid, ought to be conscripted into a semester (or more) of overseas service. And why not a tax credit for certain international travel, similar to that provided with the purchase of a hybrid car.”

Let’s all write to our congresspeople about that one. Then, when it passes, let’s all meet in Bali for my blog readers’ convention and send the receipts to our accountants. Who’s with me?

Fleet

I’m sure you are shocked to learn that Theo has a multitude of small toy cars, the Matchbox and Hot Wheels types that he clutches in each hand as I strap him into his car seat. They’re all different, of course – the orange loader, the yellow fire truck, the silver VW Bug convertible – and he has his favorites. I think we’ve actually purchased just two or three of them (the double-decker London bus, the bright green SMART car) and the rest he has received from visiting grandmas or kind neighbors. Remarkably, we did a good job of keeping track of all of them. I kept the blue hatchback in my purse and the orange construction vehicle in the diaper bag. Even with all the traveling we did, we never, to my knowledge, left a school bus or a tractor in a hotel room or an airport. Until recently.

The moment we arrived on American soil, those cars sprouted free will (Christine!) and drove off on their own, disappearing one by one only to be replaced by even more, or reappearing a few days later in a different part of town. I still have cars in my purse and in the diaper bag and all over the floor, but I don’t know which one is where anymore. We leave Nana’s house with extra cars and abandon different ones on the next visit. I try to pay attention, to make sure we’re not taking away what isn’t ours or orphaning our toys, but it’s a losing battle. Fortunately Theo just grabs whichever vehicle he stumbles across or is handed to him and plays happily, appreciating the bounty, playing no favorites. I’ve all but given up the fight.

I realized today that I feel like that about my whole life these days. Things in Germany, while not perfect, at least felt under control. Our little family had forged a self-contained routine. We went to the grocery store on Saturdays, we watched soccer on Sundays, we walked to the park when the weather was nice and stayed inside for days when it snowed. We webcammed with the grandparents on weekend evenings and checked in with the rest of our friends and family on email. Sometimes Theo and I went to a little playgroup, and that was a big outing. I didn’t even keep a calendar.

But here, we’re just overwhelmed with the possibilities. We could be unpacking boxes or calling the furnace company or going to the children’s museum or going to Target like I dreamed for three years straight. People are inviting us places! I have a date book with things written in it! It’s thrilling and sort of crazy, like having a whole new wardrobe and wanting to wear it all at once. But when we have a week like we’ve just survived – all three of us sick in bed for at least one day each – it makes me feel buried, like I can’t breathe, like I will never see all the people or open all the boxes or watch all the shows that my new DVR is suddenly recording on its own because I don’t have time to figure out how to program it.

Theo has a little playroom here in our splendid new home, a place for all his toys and balls and books and cars cars cars. Lately, when I suggest that he go in there and check out the new train table we got on Craigslist or stack up some blocks or drive one of those piles of tiny cars around the carpet, he gets teary and says “No toys! No toys!” And even though it seems ridiculous for either one of us to complain about all this good stuff, I understand just how he feels.

Why I Love America

Elections don’t always bring out my warmest feelings toward our country. Frankly, they make me think it’s broken. I feel pummeled by voices enumerating all the ways people running for office are going to fail and take America down with them. I worry that we’re headed for bad things. Right now, especially, when nothing seems to be going right (the economy is bad, we’re still at war, people are driving to Mexico to get their teeth fixed, and the fabulous shoes I bought online make my feet hurt), it’s easy to think there are better places to live.

Before I moved to Germany, I thought I might be more comfortable living somewhere else. I didn’t feel patriotic. I was frequently critical of my country and it seemed like my views didn’t fit with most of the opinions I heard were from “typical middle America.” I looked forward to escaping the advertising that seemed to hit me over the head everywhere I went. I thought the health insurance system had to be better outside my country’s borders. And I was ready to live in a place where religion wasn’t starting to encroach on the government. I knew I would miss my native language and all of my friends and family, but I was ready to take a break from American culture, including bad reality television, shopping as recreation, and the idea that our leaders must sound and act less intelligent than they are in order to get elected.

After three years away, I still think our health care system is broken, in fact it’s even worse than I remember. I wish my son’s diapers didn’t have Blue’s Clues plastered across them. And I am doing my best never to watch an episode of The Hills. But I’m so grateful to be here anyway.

America is the land of choice. At the grocery store, we get to choose from twelve different flavors of pickles, sliced five different ways. We can listen to talk radio where people argue about gas prices or we can switch the dial and hear heavy metal from the 1970’s. We can wear our clothing backwards and though people might stare, they’re not going to stop us in the street and tell us to turn those pants around, Daddy Mac.

Americans mean well. They want to be liked and so they begin and end conversations by being nice. They ask questions. They really want to know about you. They actually care (or they know it’s their job to care) whether or not you’re finding the organic whole milk you’re looking for. And they think your kids are cute.

Americans need to know why there are rules, and are careful about making new ones. They ask a lot of questions, and they expect answers. They want it like they want it. They don’t care if no one else eats peanut butter on the pancakes, they’d like some please and they’d like it on the side. And, usually, they get it, without argument.

Before I left, I thought America was without a singular culture. We don’t have a special hat or ethnic dance or anything except McDonald’s (which, incidentally, has moved waaaay past symbolizing America and now just means fried potatoes in your language of choice) and bad TV to distinguish us to the world. But we do have a culture, and it includes pride, openness, and high expectations. Like any culture, some members take the defining qualities too far. But at a basic level, they are good traits.

America feels like home to me. Before I left, I thought another place might feel more comfortable, but I was wrong. I realized that, no matter where I go (and I hope I visit many more places, because there are some fantastic ones I haven’t seen yet), I’ll always be a visitor anywhere but my own country. It’s a terribly imperfect place, but it’s the only one I know where I can drive thru and order fake cheese nachos at any hour of the day or night.

Cecily over at Uppercase Woman invited her readers to write about why they love America. I invite you to join me in my response. Tell me in the comments why you love our country. Or, if you have a blog, write a post and link to it here.

Everything in my brain right now.

I’m writing this post before the pathetic snotty little squeaks begin from Theo’s bed. He’s had a cold all week and the fever is gone now but he’s at that stage where the pflegm is unstoppable. I watch him writhing around attempting to sleep earlier and I knew exactly how he felt because I had the same cold last week and passed it along to him. Thanks a lot, Mama.

I watched the VMAs tonight and was bummed that I either missed the Britney performance or she didn’t perform at all, in fact sent an android instead to say “Thank God Thank Beautiful Family Thank Fans” every time a microphone was put in front of her. But Christina Aguilera did perform what appeared to be a Britney song with Britney’s back-up dancers in a Britney wig, so maybe that counts?

I’ve had a bunch of different reactions to the Sarah Palin nomination. I’ve felt alternately a little unexpectedly thrilled (Wow, someone like me (from a small town, has girl parts and brown hair) standing on the stage, receiving the nomination), insulted (Just because I got a little thrill from seeing her onstage, I’m not smart enough to pay attention to her politics?), fearful (Let’s make sure John McCain has an entire medical team next to his office (you know, in the one Leo McGarry used to occupy?) if he’s elected), saddened (Bristol deserves to go stay at Shania Twain’s Swiss retreat for a few years), embarrassed (I can’t believe I’m judging someone else’s parenting like this, I swore I wouldn’t do that, but who hangs her family out for the paparazzi like that?), and slightly hopeful that this will swing things the direction I’d like them to go. But we’ll see.

Sweating it Out

When I was seven or eight years old the prime attraction of a hotel stay was the possibility of an indoor swimming pool. I’ve never been a water lover, but when my best friend and I were lucky enough to unfold ourselves from the back seat of her family’s Suburban after six or eight hours on the road, we flung on our bathing suits and sprinted toward the pool because the pool meant we were on vacation. And next to the pool at the Holiday Inn there was always a teeny tiny wood-lined sauna where we played around throwing water on the fake lava rocks and climbing up and down the cramped benches until a hotel employee sent us back to our room to eat Domino’s pizza.

So I’ve always known what a sauna is, though I didn’t realize until recently how popular they are in some parts of the world, and even then I shrugged off the practice as one more quirky European habit I’ll never understand. Sitting and sweating naked, feeling my lips chap and trying to stand the heat for one more second, hoping the stranger on my left doesn’t remove his towel before I gasp toward the door and the fresh air outside? Nope. Didn’t get it. But lately my head has been miserably clogged with allergies and tense with the anxieties of the move. My sinuses are overflowing and my neck is clenched, and yesterday when a friend suggested we spend the afternoon swimming and sweating, I decided it might be a perfect antidote for my ailments.

That’s how I found myself inhaling eucalyptus aroma in a hazy roomful of nude men and women (yes, I was naked too), as we gazed at an aquarium of exotic fish installed in the wall. Nemo flitted among the coral and I sat there in my altogether, trying to liken this spa-like experience to the cramped stinky quarters at the Holiday Inns I’ve known and really, there was just no comparison. I wandered between a steam room with flickering starlights in the ceiling to an outdoor hut larger than my own living room, complete with roaring fireplace. I felt my nose clear and my shoulders fall. I breathed lemon-scented heat, then plunged into a peaceful pool with a view of…well, with a view of a bunch of naked people.

I lay there in the water, watching fifty unclothed bodies stroll from sauna hut to bar to lounge chair. I worried about the etiquette of the situation (Should I look? If not, why is everyone else looking? If so, isn’t that weird?) and then I finally got distracted by all the fascinating people I saw. The last time I saw so many nude bodies in one place was either onscreen in “Eyes Wide Shut,” or backstage at a ballet performance in college, and those were just flashes of skin. But here I saw beer-sipping, laughing, lounging, negotiating, strolling, pretzel-eating. Old people, kids, long hair, pink hair, a guy with just one hand, and what looked like a business meeting in one corner of the bar. All without clothes, or towels, or bathrobes. Though one lady was wearing Crocs.

I don’t spend much time thinking about my body. I inherited genes that keep my weight issues to a minimum, and I’ve never had the kind of curves that make anyone sit up and take notice, so really I’m just grateful that it does what I need it to do – walk, house my brain, digest almost anything, grow a cute kid. But I realized as I lay there watching some lady scold her kid for running near the pool (yes, they were both naked) I’ve had a seed of an idea in the back of my brain that Normal People have bodies like Victoria’s Secret models. And that’s because the only time I see naked or nearly-naked women, it’s in a lingerie ad or on a skin poster. And the last time I saw a bunch of people like me without their clothes on was in the locker room in high school PE when we were all 20 pounds lighter and firmer in every way.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to advocate handing out towels and collecting clothing at the door of your next corporate event (BlogHer 2009: The Year We All Went Naked!), or even promoting nudie posters of big beautiful ladies (though that sounds good too). But what if, at the gym, I didn’t hide behind the locker door and instead allowed the group of giggling tween girls changing into their swimsuits to see what a grown-up lady looks like? What if I had seen my squishy grandma’s body, including her mastectomy scar, without clothes when I was forming ideas about strong women? What if we were allowed to see what even those Dove ads don’t tell us: that women’s nipples are different sizes, and people have hair in different amounts and different places, and even that girl you think of as skinny and gorgeous has cellulite on her hips?

What then?

Bon Voyage

Did I mention that Theo is finally walking? As in, taking steps, going from place to place all by himself. I had that Holy Crap moment a few days ago as I watched him stand in the middle of the floor, guzzle water from a sippy cup, then hand it back to me and say WATER. That moment when I realized I need to start calling him My Son instead of My Baby. As in, “My son is cutting his thirteenth and fourteenth teeth right now, so don’t get too close because he may unexpectedly shriek in your ear before gnawing on an article of your clothing.”

These developments should make our upcoming trip to France – including but not limited to a flight scheduled for maximum naptime upheaval, followed by a four-hour ride in a rental car of indeterminate size – a thrill a minute. Who takes a vacation just before an international move, you ask? Apparently, that’s the best way to go, since we spent four days in Vegas just before we moved here and now we’re off to a family wedding. The anticipation of a week of sipping wine and eating cheese while adoring family members chase after my toddler(!) has successfully numbed my anxiety about packing all of our stuff and tossing it on slow boat before boarding yet another transAtlantic flight, not to mention looking forward to several weeks of corporate housing and suddenly being thrust back into that world where people are going to ask me What I Do.

You won’t see much action around here for the next couple of weeks. I should be back to check in before the big Westward Ho!, unless I decide to just stay poolside and learn French.

Why I Am Uninformed About Current Events

Naptime begins.

Sit down to acquaint myself with world news. Open CNN website.

Obama, FLDS, hockey, space station toilet, Hulk Hogan’s son, hmmm…what’s this?

Read that Tatum O’Neal has been arrested for purchasing cocaine. She claims she lapsed due to her grief over the death of her dog, and that she spent the night in jail “on a mattress with two ladies.” Also, that she is “still sober!”

Initial reaction: Smirking, snorting laugh. This woman is a trainwreck and a terrible liar. Didn’t she win an Oscar? Shouldn’t she be better at this?

Next thought: Should be sad for her. Yes, she is a tragic figure. Little girl lost. Weird yet handsome father. Bizarre mother figure who was once Charlie’s Angel. Yes, should be sad. She needs help. She is like Drew Barrymore. There is hope.

Next thought: Am not sad. Saw her appearance on Oprah where she was as believable as – well, as someone who has just purchased drugs on the street and shouts to a reporter, “I’m still sober!” Not like Drew Barrymore.

Next thought: John McEnroe was married to her for a long time. Is he bizarre too? He is obnoxious but does not seem bizarre. He is married again, I think.

Next thought: They have kids. Those poor kids. I think they live with their father.

Next thought: Yes! Married to Patti Smythe! “I a-am the Warrior.”

Next thought: I can’t believe she has an Oscar. And then she was in a movie with Kristy McNichol. Jeff loves Kristy McNichol. She was too much of a tomboy for me. What ever happened to her?

Wander off to IMDB. (Bipolar disorder, Jimmy McNichol. Nancy McKeon, Philip McKeon?) Resurface only because naptime is long over.

I am tired.

I want to sit down and write a coherent post. But Theo is trying to figure out when the hell he is going to nap (is it once a day? twice? none?), Jeff has been out of town for a few days, and it was 86 degrees in my bedroom at 11:30pm last night.

I want to write about seeing “Sex and the City: The Movie,” and why all of the reviews I’ve read seem to be written by people who never liked the TV show in the first place. I want to tell you (again) about my love/hate relationship with summertime in Germany and how something as simple as the absence of window screens (and, therefore, the presence of a million flying varmints in my kitchen) makes me want to run screaming from the building. I’d like to point out that Montana voters had better enjoy the spotlight because this is IT, this is the one and only time anyone is going to pay attention, so behave yourselves and please don’t say anything horrifying to the AP reporters in your midst.

But I don’t have the time or the energy.

Monday again, already?

-I’ve been unfaithful, dear readers. I’m spending all my time over at WordPress and neglecting you. Is it a case of the grass is greener, or the template is cooler, or the code is more exciting? I’m not sure. But instead of posting, I spend all my time deciphering FTP instructions and trying to find code in CSS. I’m not really sure what any of that means, exactly, but don’t I sound smart? And why do you care? Well, one of these days I hope to teach the old blog some new tricks and get rid of the lovely lavender. But first, I have to put my geek hat on for a while.

-As long as we’re on the subject of stuff most of you don’t care about, I really wish Twitter would behave. I understand that it’s growing fast, and they do make the cutest announcements when they’re having problems (“Twitter is stressing out a bit right now”) but that doesn’t help me when I’m trying to be an effective stalker.

-I know you’ve been dying to hear what I thought about Kristi Yamaguchi’s big win last week. She deserved the title but her partner needs to tone down the singing/facial expressions. Isn’t there a deduction for that? Looking back on the competition, I wish Mario had stuck around. He didn’t deserve to go. And Jason Taylor may inspire me to tune in to an NFL game this year.

-I’ll leave you with this, Saturday’s Eurovision song contest winner, from Russia. Not since Madonna’s Like A Virgin days has someone mopped the stage floor in a white outfit so attractively.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSSadsrmTGc&hl=en]

So, here’s what I’m thinking

-Can someone please explain why polygamy is serious and controversial (and I’m narrowing this discussion to polygamy=men who marry multiple consenting adult women) while Hugh Hefner living and (supposedly (ick)) sleeping with multiple women is goofy and entertaining? What is the difference, exactly? And why hasn’t someone thrown Kendra out of the house yet?

-Am I the only one who was annoyed/amused that CNN can’t get the names right in the graphics on this interview with Duran Duran? Yes? (There is no need to remind me that their graphics person was probably not yet born when I was helping the “Wild Boys” video achieve #1 status on DialMTV. I am aware.)

-If you’re looking for a campaign t-shirt that includes Hillary Clinton’s last name, you must look long and hard. Sure, that makes her kind of cool, like Cher. But referring to her by her first name also makes her seem less powerful and less presidential. I’m normally not one to get all sensitive about the ladies vs. gentlemen thing, but this situation leapt out at me today.

-Speaking of campaign t-shirts, my picks are up at The Tee Room.