What I Learned {Last} Month | November 2018

I seem to have developed a habit of writing these posts a couple of days late. Well, c'est la vie. 

Without further delay, here's the November edition of what I learned this month, inspired by Emily P. Freeman's regular practice.

Anne Bogel, (aka the Modern Mrs. Darcy) has a degree in Christian education. 

Bogel is best known for her blog, Modern Mrs. Darcy, and her podcast, What Should I Read Next. I've enjoyed her work for ages - thanks to her my to-be-read list is massively long. While I knew that she had a German minor, I had no idea that she had a degree in Christian education. You learn something new every day if you're lucky.

I crave a multi-generational friend-group.

Last year I almost exclusively spent time with peers, which had me feeling a little off-kilter. So this year I decided to join a women's Bible study group, of which I am by far the youngest member, and to help lead my church youth group. So far, so good, but I recently started feeling off-kilter again. I'd swung too far in the other direction and was craving some solid time with peers! Y'all, we all need people from various generations in our lives. I'm currently working out how to cultivate friendships across generations while also doing all the things necessary for life. Figuring out a social life can be challenging!

Turning the heel of a sock is not nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be. 

I knit my first sock last month, due to an impulse-buy of a sock-knitting kit at Aldi. I've knit off and on for years, but never attempted socks, due to the notorious difficulty of turning heels. But thanks to this YouTube tutorial, I got through without a hitch.

There was, in fact, turkey at the first Thanksgiving. I quote William Bradford:

"All ye somer ther was no want. And now begane to come in store of foule, as winter appoached, of which this place did abound when they came first. . .besids water foule, ther was a great store of wild Turkies." 

Every year news stories crop up about how there really wasn't turkey at the first Thanksgiving. Those journalists are not doing their research.

I cannot define pie.

I'm not talking about the numeral here. I'm talking about the dessert. Pie isn't a thing in Germany, so when I had some friends over for pumpkin pie last week, they were all quite intrigued. Being German, they hadn't ever had pie, and being German, they wanted a definition. It was entertaining: as I started to slice the pie they all gathered around and started peppering me with questions.

"How is it different than Kuchen [German torte]?"

"Well, it has a crust."

"Is the crust always the same?"

"No..."

"Is the filling always a similar consistency?"

"No..."

"Doesn't it sometimes have a top crust?"

"Yes, but it doesn't have to..."

"Is it always sweet?"

"No..."

"Is quiche a pie?"

"Yes? No? Sort of?"

Eventually they gave up trying to get a definition out of me and simply contented themselves with the goodness that is pumpkin pie.

According to the dictionary, a pie is "a baked dish of fruit, or meat and vegetables, typically with a top and base of pastry," but that doesn't quite seem to capture the essence of pie. Help!

Things I Learned {Last} Month | October 2018

Some months get a little crazy, and October was one of those for me - filled to the brim. Which is why October's "Things I Learned This Month" is coming two days into November. Welcome to my life. :D

Anyhoo, I enjoy this monthly summary way too much to let it slide, so I'm embracing the "better late than never" motto this month.

Prickly pear is pink and beautiful and yummy and - surprise! - prickly. I found one of these at a market, and since I'd seen them growing from cacti at the Cinque Terre in Italy, I bought one to try. It was delicious, but I had to pull some stickers out of my fingers from incautious handling (beware the black spots - they have tiny prickles). 

Pumpkin puree is super easy to make at home. Chop your pumpkin in half, scoop out the seeds, roast for about an hour, and slide off the skin and mash the flesh. You don't even need a blender or potato masher. A fork works fine. I don't think I'm ever going back to canned pumpkin puree.

Homemade chai masala is also super easy. I read an Indian cookbook from cover to cover this month, and I've been enjoying experimenting with the recipes in it. My favorite so far is the homemade chai spice blend. I finally bit the bullet and bought some cardamom and mixed up the spices for myself. Throw a spoonful in to steep with a mug of strong tea (hello, PG Tips), and add sweeting and milk as desired. Way better than Starbucks.

Basic chai masala:

5 T powdered ginger
2.5 T cinnamon
2.5 T cloves
1.5 T black pepper
1.5 T cardamom

The three oldest heads of state are Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamed of Malaysia (93 years), Queen Elizabeth II (92 years), and President Beji Cald Essebsi of Tunisia (91 years). Random facts learned in conversation with my Tunisian flatmate.

October 28th was Czechoslovakia's 100th birthday. Sort of. But the confusing thing is that Czechoslovakia no longer exists. It's the Czech Republic/Czechia and Slovakia now, and those have only been around in their current forms since 1993. So I wasn't quite sure who to wish "happy birthday!" So I decided on "Huzzah for 100 years not under Hapsburg rule!" We happened to be in Prague on that day, and we enjoyed a brief fireworks show in the rain.

{Czech pubs have great names.}

Basic Czech comfort food: potatoes, sauerkraut, and ham. Preferably all mashed together as street food. This was really, really good.

Medieval artists may not have had ultrasounds, but that didn't keep them from imagining babies in mothers' wombs. I found this marvelous painting of Elizabeth greeting Mary in St. Agnes' Convent in Prague, and I absolutely love it.

In the fall, I tend to listen to albums, not playlists. Spring and summer are for lots of artists, lots of albums, and lots of playlists. In the fall, my listening slows down and lingers. I still listen to a decent amount of playlists, but if I cut them out entirely it wouldn't change my fall listening rhythms much. My go-to fall albums are Sleeping at Last's Atlas: Year One and Atlas: Year Two, the soundtrack for Cider House Rules (a movie I've never seen, but I love the music), and James Taylor's October Road. And if I could only listen to October Road all fall, I'd be perfectly content. This album is the sound of my childhood, of Appalachian fall colors, of cosy afternoons studying and cooking and walking Fritz through fields ready for harvest.

Poetry Corner | A Time to Talk, by Robert Frost

When a friend calls to me from the road

And slows his horse to a meaning walk,

I don't stand still and look around

On all the hills I haven't hoed,

And shout from where I am, What is it?

No, not as there is a time to talk.

I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,

Blade-end up and five feet tall,

And plod: I go up to the stone wall

For a friendly visit.

the ministry of showing up

On Friday evenings I co-lead a church youth group.

Those who know me well will recognize the irony of this fact.

I never attended youth group. (Actually, I think I did for a brief season, but I expunged the experience from my memory.) I always preferred joining my parents for their Bible studies.

Even as a teenager, I had very little idea how to interact with your average teenager. Give me a book or a grown-up. Or a soccer ball so we can play a hard game of soccer and not bother with awkward small talk.

So when I joined the team that leads the youth group, I had no idea what I was getting into. Literally: the group for 20-somethings I attend is called Jugend (youth), and the group I co-lead is called TeenKreis (teen circle). So it did not once occur to me that I was volunteering to lead a youth group until I walked into our first meeting. Yes, I can be painfully oblivious.

I did a quick survey of the room, realizing that there were around fifteen kids between the ages of 13 and 17. Lounging on couches, talking in cliques, the girls with braces and the boys with changing voices.

Oh my gosh. This is youth group.

Not gonna lie, I had a moment of wanting to turn around and walk right out the door.

But I was there as a leader, so I made conversation. At which point I realized Challenge Number 2: this is a German group. So I'm supposed to engage with and teach teenagers - a group I've never been able to relate with - in a foreign language. Super.

I went home that night and poured out my frustration to God.

"Why am I doing this? What have I gotten myself into? I don't know how to relate to these kids! Even if we were interacting in English I would have no idea what to say to them. And we're speaking German, for crying out loud! It's all I can do to keep up with the conversation, and then I'm supposed to say something meaningful and be some sort of role model? This is not what I signed up for. Ok, maybe it's what I signed up for, but I wasn't aware of it, and that's almost worse."

And He quietly answered, "Kate. They don't need you to relate to them. They need you to love them."

Oh.

Ok then.

There's really no other answer to that.

So on Fridays, I show up, struggle through conversations, and pray that these teens will experience some small taste of the love of God through my presence, even when I have no idea what I'm doing. When I run into them in church on Sundays, we make small talk. With lots of awkward pauses. This Friday night, I'm in charge of the devotional: 45 minutes to talk about plagues. (We're working through the book of Exodus.) I'm looking up all the terms I think will be important, trying to come up with meaningful discussion questions, working to anticipate their questions, and praying for the grace to handle the inevitable language mix-ups with poise and humor.

Mostly I'm praying that they will know the God who showed His power with a mighty hand and outstretched arm over Egypt. Praying that they will know His love and power and presence. That they will be amazed by Him.

*

I feel like there should be some sort of clear point to this, but I'm not quite there yet. The closest I can come is this: Something that the Lord has shown me recently is that often I'm not supposed to know what's going on. I'm just to faithfully be present and expect Him to work.

I've started calling it "the ministry of showing up."

So that's what I'm doing: showing up with my meager offering and expecting Him to be faithful in serving His children.

I have a feeling I'll probably be writing more about this "ministry of showing up" in the next few months, since it's a part of many areas of my life, not just youth group.

Where is God calling you to show up and be present?

Things I Learned This Month | September 2018

I have a confession: I have been resenting the onset of fall. Usually I welcome the advent of sweater weather, but this year I clung to the last remnants of summer. Now that it's October, fall and I have made our peace and I'm enjoying bundling, but it's a struggle. As is usual with the close of a month, I'm sharing a few things I learned during September - mostly ordinary, some extraordinary.

{Also, I had the chance to write a guest post for The Write 100 Challenge last month. Check it out here.}

1. All the chicken things. I listened to The Lazy Genius Cooks Chicken a few days ago. Its a 40+ minute episode on all the different cuts of chicken and different things to do with them. I'm now dying to try change-your-life chicken. Also braising.

2. Pumpkin soup, which I already loved, is ratcheted up a notch when you add ginger, garlic, curry, and coconut milk. Yum. I'm so not a pumpkin spice latte person (hello tea-drinker), but I live on pumpkin soup in the fall.

3. Scrubbing the kitchen floor is THE BEST feeling. I moved back into my Munich apartment this month. Last year when I moved in, there were already people here, so I couldn't do a real deep clean. But this year I had the apartment to myself for a few weeks, and I attacked that kitchen. It probably hadn't been properly cleaned in five years. The final step was the floor. I got down on my hands and knees with two buckets of water, a scrub brush, and a rag and SCRUBBED that floor. End result, a job well done and a kitchen that feels clean for the first time since I moved here.

4. There is a tool to get at those pernicious weeds that root themselves in cracks in the driveway. It's a speed weeder and it is a beautiful creation. (Also it has a red handle. Score.) I found this randomly in a hardware store and bought it on a whim. This thing works wonders. You still have to apply a lot of elbow grease, but it's actually effectively applied elbow grease. My usual experience is huffing and puffing and straining and failing to get the roots of those weeds. This thing is easy on the wrist (directs force through the shoulder) AND gets the roots. Beautiful.

5. Dordrecht might be Holland's best-kept secret. My parents and I found this little gem of a town on a fluke and absolutely loved our stay there. I'm hoping to do an actual post on it eventually, but let's just say it has antique/junk shops galore, terrific seafood, idyllic canals, and a nature reserve where you can kayak. And everyone is incredibly friendly. Basically it's the perfect weekend getaway.

6. The Cinque Terre is one of my favorite places on earth. I knew this already, but I forgot how much I loved it in the 7 or 8 years since I've been there. I went this weekend with friends and fell in love with it all over again. There is nothing better than hiking hard along the Italian coast all day and then diving into the Mediterranean to refresh.

7. That word translated "angels" in Psalm 8? It's actually a word almost exclusively used for God. The word "angels" is actually 'elohiym. That word shows up 2,606 times in the Old Testament, and it's translated "God" 2,346 times, "god" 244 times, and then miscellaneous other things like "angels" the remaining 16 times. I could write a whole post on why this is awesome, but I'll content myself by suggesting that you go listen to Marty Goetz's song inspired by this Psalm. It pulls out the link to Christ as the Son of Man in such a cool way.

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the angels,
and crowned him with glory and honor."

Poetry Corner | Dogs and Weather

This is a poem that I associate with my mom and my childhood. It was in one of her favorite collections to read aloud from. 

I'd like a different dog
For every kind of weather —
A narrow greyhound for a fog,
A wolfhound strange and white,
With a tail like a silver feather
To run with in the night,
When snow is still, and winter stars are bright.

In the fall I'd like to see
In answer to my whistle,
A golden spaniel look at me.
But best of all for rain
A terrier, hairy as a thistle,
To trot with fine disdain
Beside me down the soaked, sweet-smelling lane.

~ Winifred Welles

my at-home place

“Ulm ist meine Heimat, aber München ist mein Zuhause.”

Something clicked in my head when an acquaintance from church said that. The sentence is difficult to translate, since it involves two words for home that mean slightly different things.

Loosely translated, it means, “Ulm is my hometown, but Munich is my at-home place.”

In August, I spent a week at a retreat for young people at my church in Munich. I realized during that time that in deciding to stay in Munich for a second year, I have chosen to acknowledge Munich as my Zuhause - my at-home place. The place where I’m home to friends and family and the people of God. It’s not Wheaton anymore. It’s Munich. That is a bizarre realization. 

I could have left relatively easily at the end of this past year. Sure, I chose to put down roots in Bavaria’s capital, but when all’s said and done, I was only there for ten months. It wouldn’t have hurt too much to leave. 

But after another year there - another year of putting down roots and building relationships and blooming where I’m planted - it’s going to be hard to leave my at-home place. As aware as I am of that, I have no doubt that it’s worth it to stay. Munich is where I am supposed to be during this season, and I rejoice to be there.

So I’ve added a new term and a new place to my ongoing preoccupation with the concept of home. 

My True Home is heaven, and any other stopping spot in this life is a pilgrim’s haven. 

My homeland is America. 

My home state: North Carolina.

My home town: wherever my parents live.

My at-home place? For now, it’s Munich. And that’s a really good thing. 

Things I Learned This Month | August 2018

As usual, as the month winds down, I'm sharing some of the things I've learned this month. There are some heftier ones that deserve their own posts, but for now here are some fun discoveries.

1. Brits don't use the term "sassy." I spent last week at a church retreat, and I spent a lot of time playing pool with a nine-year-old Englishman named Judah. At first I was so abysmal that trash talking was pointless, but as I got better, he got more smart-alecky. At one point I commented that he was getting quite sassy. He looked at me and asked: "Wot's sass?" After some failed attempts to describe what I meant (apparently the Brits don't have smart-alecks), I hunted for his parents to get a translation. "Oh! You mean he's been lippy. Does he need discipline for giving you lip?"

2. I am Matthew Crawley. (Insert laughter emojis here.) Mom and I have been rewatching the first two seasons of Downton, so I took an online quiz to find out which character I am. I would have been surprised, but the hilarious thing is that I took a similar quiz on a different website around 5 years ago and got the same result. Make of that what you will.

3. Brian Jacques' Redwall books bear returning to. I loved these books as a kid, and I picked up Lord Brocktree, one of my favorites, on a whim for the first time in six or seven years. I was surprised by how compelling, well-written, and well-characterized it is. These books are going to remain favorites for a long time. 

4. The story behind MLKJ's name: "In 1934, and African American pastor from Georgia made the trip of a lifetime, sailing across the Atlantic Ocean, through the gates of Gibraltar, and across the Mediterranean Sea to the Holy Land. After this pilgrimage, he traveled to Berlin, attending an international conference of Baptist pastors. While in Germany, this man - who was named Michael King - became so impressed with what he learned about the reformer Martin Luther that he decided to do something dramatic. He offered the ultimate tribute to the man's memory by changing his own name to Martin Luther King. His 5-year-old son was also named Michael - and to the son's dying day his closest relatives would still call him Mike - but not long after the boy's father changed his own name, he decided to change his son's name too, and Michael King Jr. became known to the world as Martin Luther King Jr." (from an article by Eric Metaxas ) 

5. Dorothy Sayers, mystery author, theologian, and apologist, masterminded one of Guinness' most renowned ad campaigns. Mystery writing was Sayers' side job: in the 1920s she was a copywriter at an ad agency. Guinness requested that their ad campaign not mention beer (vulgar and not family-friendly) and emphasize the health qualities of Guinness. The result:

Poetry Corner | the poet Mary Oliver regarding trees

Green, Green is My Sister's House

Don't you dare climb that tree

or even try, they said, or you will be

sent away to the hospital of the 

very foolish, if not the other one.

And I suppose, considering my age,

it was fair advice.

But the tree is a sister to me, she lives alone in a green cottage 

high in the air and I know what

would happen, she'd clap her green hands, 

she'd shake her green hair, she'd

welcome me. Truly

I try to be good but sometimes 

a person just has to break out and

act like the wild and springy thing 

one used to be. It's impossible not

to remember wild and want it back. So

if someday you can't find me you might 

look into that tree or - of course, 

it's possible - under it.

                 ~ ~ ~

Foolishness? No, It's Not!

Sometimes I spend all day trying to count
the leaves on a single tree. To do this I
have to climb branch by branch and
write down the numbers in a little book.
So I suppose, from their point of view,
it's reasonable that my friends say: what
foolishness! She's got her head in the clouds
again.

But it's not. Of course I have to give up,
but by then I'm half crazy with the wonder
of it - the abundance of the leaves, the
quietness of the branches, the hopelessness
of my effort. And I am in that delicious
and important place, roaring with laughter,
full of earth-praise.

Things I Learned This Month | July 2018

It's still July?

Normally at the end of the month I think "How can the month be over already?"

That is so not where I am right now. This month has been so jam-packed with good things that I have trouble believing it was just a month.

I spent two weeks in Switzerland with my dad's extended family, five days in Malaga with a dear MK friend from college, and the rest of the time hanging out with family at home, talking on the phone with friends, and trying to get through Brothers Karamazov. July has been so great, but I'm kind of ready for August.

As per usual, I'm following Emily Freeman's lead to share a handful of the things I learned this month.

1. Cowbell is a very different instrument from what we hear in the classic SNL skit. We went to a folk festival in Wengen, the tiny Swiss town that we stayed in, and their troupe of cowbell wielders was quite impressive. I can't describe it in words, but here's a youtube video of the same performance from several years ago.

2. Songs are great conversation starters. While I was in Malaga, my friend Karis and I took turns sharing songs with each other - and each new song usually sparked a 10 minute conversation.

3. On the Enneagram, I'm Type 3 Wing 2. What does that mean? I really don't know. For now it's just an interesting fact I can pull out at parties. I plan to do some more investigating to see how this information can be of practical use. (FYI I've never figured out my Meyers-Briggs type, and I'm Hufflepuff. There. All personality bases covered.)

4. A calling is something that follows you anywhere. So often I can think of "calling" and "career" as synonymous, but that's not the case. Someone recently said that a calling is something that would be manifested even in a concentration camp. That's been interesting to think about as I consider what the Lord is leading me to after my second year in Germany.

5. I'm a fan of Spain. Malaga, at least. I've not been anywhere else in Spain, though I'm dreaming of doing part of the Camino del Santiago with a friend next year. At first it felt very Italian to me - similar Mediterranean cultures - but the longer I was there the more distinctive Spain felt. There's a lot of Moroccan influence on the southern coast of Spain, which added a really cool flavor to the art and architecture. And there is some amazing pottery. Not to mention beaches with crystal-clear water. And fresh salmon. Who knew? Apparently they try to come through the strait of Gibraltar, which makes them easy to catch. 

6. War and Peace  is a musical. Except that the title of the musical is Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. That's quite a mouthful! I haven't had the chance to listen to the whole thing, but from the two songs I've heard I'm intrigued.

7. There is so much cool symbolism tied to pomegranates. I really love pomegranates. Eating a pomegranate is like consuming rubies. For fun I decided to look up their symbolism on my way back from Spain.

• Pomegranates featured prominently in the decor of the temple that Solomon built.
• In many different cultures, pomegranates symbolize life, fertility, abundance, and rebirth (think the myth of Persephone). 
• In Jewish traditions, the pomegranate calyx is the "model" for a crown. 
• In Christian art, broken or bursting pomegranates often symbolize the fullness of Jesus' suffering and resurrection.
• In the Eastern Orthodox church, the pomegranate is used in a dish that symbolizes the sweetness of the kingdom of heaven. 

I don't often draw, but I decided I needed a pomegranate on my wall, so I pulled out my old colored pencils to meet that need.

Additions to the Bookshelf | No. 1

via Pinterest

Now that I've got the bookshelf up and running, it's time to start the practice of regularly sharing what I've been reading. (I'm so excited for this.) Here's what I've been reading since setting up the bookshelf in May. These titles are also going up on the permanent page for ease of access.

Third Culture Kids 3rd Edition: Growing Up Among Worlds, by David C. Pollock, Ruth E. Van Reken, and Michael V. Pollock - This book is the seminal work on TCKs. Cathartic, insightful, wise, thought-provoking. I'm going to be mulling over this book for a very long time. If you are a TCK or are closely connected to one, this is a must-read. 

A childhood lived in, among, and between various cultural worlds is indeed becoming the norm rather than the exception. 

While parents may change careers and become former international businesspeople, former missionaries, former military personnel, or former foreign service officers, no one is ever a former third culture kid. TCKs simply move on to being adult third culture kids because their lives grow out of the roots planted in and watered by the third culture experience.

Grief is an affirmation of the good, not a negation. We don't grieve for the loss of things, places, events, and relationships we don't care about or love. Again, it doesn't mean there are not good days and wonderful new things, places, events, and relationships ahead. It means that something precious has been lost and there needs to be a time to mourn that loss in order to move on more fully to the good of the present. 

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte - I've read this four times and it gets richer every time. (This time around I read it for my Skype book club, and the discussion should be interesting in light of Wide Sargasso Sea.) I am in awe of Jane herself - her moral courage, her capacity for love, her independent spirit, and her faith. This time around I particularly enjoyed all the references to faerie - this book taps into folklore and fairytale on so many levels and I love it. 

Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigor . . . If at my convenience I might break them, what would be their worth?

The Dutchess of Bloomsbury Street, by Helene Hanff - Funny, short, and poignant, with lots of reflections on literature, England, and the contrasts between London and NYC. 

Somewhere along the way I came upon a mews with a small sign on the entrance gate addressed to the passing world. The sign orders flatly: 

COMMIT NO NUISANCE 

The more you stare at that, the more territory it covers. From dirtying the streets to housebreaking to invading Viet Nam, that covers all the territory there is.

Ballet Shoes, by Noel Streatfeild: Sweet book that to be perfectly honest I read because Kathleen Kelly recommends it in You've Got Mail. I picked up my copy at the books market on the South Bank of the Thames in London, and it smells wonderful. In the vein of Swallows & Amazons, The Railway Children, and All-of-a-Kind Family. Didn't love the ending, though.

The Fossil sisters lived in the Cromwell Road. At that end of it which is farthest away from the Brompton Road, and yet sufficiently near it to be taken to look at the dolls' houses in the Victoria and Albert every wet day, and if not too wet, expected to "save the penny and walk". 

Saving the penny and walking was a great feature of their lives.

via Pinterest

A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles - the same mastery of language, observation, and characterization found in Rules of Civility, with a very different feel. Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov spends most of his life under house arrest in a hotel in Moscow, but as the years pass his world expands rather than becoming confining. Food, friendship, fun and games - and a tumultuous era in Russia. Somewhat slow at parts, but immensely satisfying climax. Points for Casablanca references and an engaging child with a penchant for yellow.

"How do you spend your time?"
"Dining, discussing. Reading, reflecting. The usual rigmarole."

The Virgin of Bennington, by Kathleen Norris - I expected this to be a memoir, which it is in part, but it's more a tribute to Betty Kray, Norris' mentor and a hugely influential figure (though often unrecognized) in American poetry from the 1930s-1980s. Far more than an arts administrator, Kray was a hard sense businesswoman, brilliant instigator, builder of companies (in the Fellowship of the Ring sense of the word), and compassionate and beloved mentor to some of the most influential American poets of the 20th century. I found a new mentor in the pages of this book.

I had learned from Betty that being upset was not my job. Nor was I to judge. If a poet was so nervous that she showed up drunk for a reading, all I could do was try to bring the program off as well as I could. And if that failed, I might at least get some food into her before I sent her on her way.

Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, by Kathleen Norris - A bracing meditation centering around the sparse, harsh beauty of life on the Dakota plains. 

Disconnecting from change does not recapture the past. It loses the future.

I'm always eager to add new books to my TBR list: I'd love to hear what books you've been loving recently. Do share in the comments below!

the cow that tried to stop the little engine that could

Deep within the peaceful sublimity of the Swiss alps, a continuous contest is waged. 

Train conductors versus cowherds. 

Who will win? Nobody knows.

It had been a long day, with a strenuous 10 mile hike through the Swiss alps. Our group boarded a train, ready to get to our chalet in the next valley, eat food, and rest our weary feet.

The train chugged away from the station, moving slowly along the cog track that aids it up the steep incline. It lulled me into a semi-conscious state. There is nothing more soothing than a train ride after a long day hiking.

Until, that is, a truly ear-splitting whistle rent the air, and the train ground to a stop. Ears ringing, I looked out the window to see a cowherd flipping the conductor off. A cow had planted itself stubbornly on the tracks, bringing the train to a screeching halt.

One would think the cowherd would be glad that the cow survived the encounter. But it appeared that he was busy working to move an entire herd of reluctant cows up the mountain to greener pastures. The shrieking whistle had not only scared the cow off the tracks, but also scared the rest of the herd back down the mountain, to the ire of the cowherd.

The conductor was not particularly cheery, either. The train chugged to a start, resuming its journey up the mountain, and then it stopped. For quite a while. Just as we were getting antsy, it started back up again. Then stopped.

This time we heard a lot of banging from the front of the train. Then the conductor barreled through the train, muttering to himself something along the lines of "I can't believe this happened AGAIN."

The brakes had locked up after the stress of stopping to spare the cow. We were in no danger of rolling down the mountain, but it seemed that we might not move up it any time soon either.

More banging, then another false start.

Just as we began to wonder what would happen if they couldn't fix the train, it began to move again - and continued chugging. I thought of the little engine that could. One for the train conductor - cows scared down the mountain and a train that made it to its destination.

We wended our way home, glad that the only hamburger on the menu for the night was the hamburger that we'd bought at the store.

Things I Learned This Month | June 2018

June is ending, which means we're halfway through 2018! (Crazy.) As per usual, today I'm sharing a list of some of the things I learned this month.

1. I learned how to use real ink in my fountain pen! I've had the pen for just over a year now - it was a graduation present - and I've been using disposable ink cartridges. Earlier this month a friend of a friend came to visit. It turns out she loves fountain pens, and we talked shop for a bit. A few weeks later a package arrived in the mail - a bottle of Majestic Blue ink and a converter so I can use it. I'm still blown away by the thoughtfulness of the gift and excited to be progressing further into the world of fountain pens.

2. Uganda is made up of 54 tribes and 40 languages. A Ugandan woman who goes to my parents' church told us about her homeland during a church picnic. I was flabbergasted by the vast range of cultures encompassed in this one country.

3. Captain Cook's goal was to discover a vast continent that people were convinced existed in the Pacific. It is amazing to me that even in the late 1700s we still didn't know what was out there.

4. 2 c heavy cream + 1 can sweetened condensed milk + toppings of choice = no-churn homemade ice cream. Guys. This stuff is amazing. I made one batch of rocky road and one batch of cinnamon, and it tasted better than store-bought ice cream. You whip the cream until it forms stiff peaks, then drizzle in the condensed milk with the mixer on low, then fold in the toppings. Stick it in a loaf pan and freeze for 5-6 hours and hey presto! deliciously creamy ice cream. I want to try infusing the cream with Earl Grey the next time I experiment.

5. Yogurt is a terrific substitute for oil in homemade brownies. What do you do when you have a craving for brownies and no oil in the house? The internet told me to use yogurt, so I gave it a go. Result: the fudgiest, yummiest brownies I've ever made.

6. Germany is the fourth defending champion to be eliminated from the Group Stage at the World Cup in the last five tournaments. Germany is going home from the World Cup without progressing for the first time in World Cup history. My mind is kind of blown - and not in a good way. I honestly can't imagine a World Cup without Germany.

7. I've been wasting my money on face cleansers. When we went to London early this month, I forgot about the low liquid allowance for carryon baggage, and I therefore had to toss my face wash and face moisturizer. Rather than using extremely harsh hotel soap, I just washed my face with warm water and a washcloth. My skin was so happy with this setup that I've been doing it all month. It actually improved! No more purchasing fancy facial cleansers for me!

8. Protestants and Roman Catholics speak the same language, but we have different dialects. I heard this on a podcast recently, and I love this way of articulating the truth that we share the same faith in spite of significant doctrinal differences.

9. There's an important difference between comfort and encouragement. Last month I mentioned how informative and cathartic it's been to read Third Culture Kids: Growing Up Among Worlds. There's a lot of good stuff in there, and one thing that stood out to me is a distinction they made between comfort and encouragement.

"Comfort doesn’t change the situation itself, nor can it take away the pain, but it relays the message that someone cares and understands. Comfort validates grief and gives permission for the grieving process, or mourning, to take place. For example, when a person walks up to a widow standing by her husband’s casket and puts an arm around her shoulder, that gesture, with or without words, is comforting. It can’t bring the husband back to life or stop the tears or the pain, but it lets the widow know her grief is accepted and understood. She’s not alone in her sorrow. . . .Unfortunately, in our very efforts to help another person “feel better,” it’s easy to confuse comfort with encouragement and end up giving neither. Encouragement is an attempt to change the griever’s perspective. It may be a reminder to look at the bright side of a situation instead of the loss or to think about a past success and presume this present situation will turn out just as well. Obviously there’s a time for both comfort and encouragement, but what happens when the two are confused? If the grieving widow is told that it’s a good thing at least her husband had a substantial life insurance policy, how does she feel? Neither comforted nor encouraged! . . .When encouragement is given before comfort, the subtle or not so subtle message is, “Buck up, you shouldn’t feel so low.” It becomes a shame message rather than an encouragement. In fact, offering encouragement—no matter how well meant—when comfort is needed is another common way that permission to grieve is taken away."

Write 100 | Conclusion

99 days ago I posted about jumping on board with my friend Rebecca's Write 100 project - a crazy challenge to write every day for 100 days in a row.

It was a leap way out of my comfort zone, between my not writing long form and being horrible at any kind of do-something-x-number-of-days-in-a-row endeavor.

For those of you who are curious about how it actually went, here's a report.

I haven't looked at the handy dandy calendar for the challenge in weeks. Since day 67, to be precise. As of day 67, I had missed two days. I'm guessing that out of the last 99 days, I wrote on 94 of them. Which puts me at a 95% success rate, assuming I write tomorrow.

But that's just a guess, due to the many different places I write and my record-keeping failures. It's good for the perfectionist in me to know that I didn't reach my goal and that's ok.

The point never really was to be able to pat myself on the back and say that I successfully checked off one more box.

The point was to write.

And boy, have I written a lot.

During a conference that involved lots of fun things but not nearly enough sleep, I propped my eyelids open each night to journal about the experience.

I wrote pages and pages of letters to pen pals scattered throughout the world.

I wrote twelve blog posts - more than I've written some years.

I even wrote a poem. Well, a poem and a half. Considering that I have not voluntarily written a poem since middle school, that is quite an accomplishment.

In the last 99 days I've had some big decisions to make, some challenging news to process, and so many experiences that come with the territory of living in Germany. Having the specific accountability of the Write 100 challenge in the midst of the crazy has helped me incorporate writing into my life in a way that I've always wanted to.

Now, instead of thinking, "I should write about that sometime," I am much more likely to pick up a pen and actually write. And for that, I'm grateful.

So Rebecca and the Write 100 team, if you ever end up seeing this, thanks for the challenge - it's been a blast. And the writing adventure will most surely continue.

Poetry Corner | A Gift, by Denise Levertov

Just when you seem to yourself

nothing but a flimsy web

of questions, you are given

the questions of others to hold

in the emptiness of your hands,

songbird eggs that can still hatch

if you keep them warm,

butterflies opening and closing themselves

in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

their scintillant fur, their dust.

You are given the questions of others

as if they were answers

to all you ask. Yes, perhaps

this gift is your answer.

including happy deer with waggly tails and a delightful trip to England

I am a hard-core anglophile.

"Why?" you ask?

Well...the Beatles, Harry Potter, Downton Abbey...

The books, the music, the acting, the tea, the humor, the charm, the stiff upper lip. The Queen. I could keep going, but I'll keep it at that.

Never mind. I have to add one more thing: the food. 

People never have anything good to say about British food.

They are crazy.

Tea and scones, people! And the Brits have honed the savory pie to perfection. It even comes in to-go style as a pasty. Not to mention fish 'n' chips, eaton mess, the English breakfast, and tarts. And all the cool ethnic food that worked its way to England from all over the former empire.

But I've gotten totally derailed.

What I started out to say is that, being an anglophile, my li'l anglophile heart was in high heaven over Memorial Day weekend. Dad's holiday lined up with my school holidays, so my parents took me to England. We spent three days in London and one wonderfully glorious day in Oxford.

This post is not going to be a play-by-play of the trip. It's simply a photographic record of some (not remotely all) of the moments we enjoyed during four ridiculously non-rainy days in England.

OXFORD

I forgot how much Oxford felt like my native environment. 

I don't even care that this line isn't in the book. Of course it needs to be up in The Eagle and Child. It just does.

If you zoom way into the first picture you'll two specks in the middle of the field of gold. Which specks are happy deer with waggly tails.

Our friend the gargoyle. We didn't think to name him. If we had, he would have been Bob evermore.

I was intrigued by this one word on a paving stone in Merton College.

All sorts of things came to mind.

Well, then.

Oh well.

Well...

All shall be well.

And then I asked the porter who informed me that the stone marks the location of the well so that should there be plumbing issues they would know exactly what part of the courtyard to tear up.

Ah, well.

Colors and neutrals coinciding.

The Divinity School.

Apparently collegiate croquet players are exempt from the mandate to 

PLEASE

KEEP

OFF THE 

GRASS

.

.

.

LONDON

Hello, Portobello Road.

Who knew a black house could be so charming and inviting?

The sign requests visitors to please keep to the path. I love the fact that the "path" is a mowed strip of lawn while the rest has been allowed to run wild. This is Kensington Palace Gardens, y'all. And in the middle of this grand spot we have a meadow.

We went to the Victoria and Albert Museum solely to partake of their scones. Because the scones at the V&A are the best in the world. And the museum cafe's decor is a dazzling combination of Arts & Crafts style and modern snowball chandeliers. It's pretty much my favorite.

This takes the idea of gutting a building to a whole new level. I mean, the facade is left but EVERYTHING else is gone. Respect.

On the other side of the spectrum, we have some really futuristic stuff going on here... I would never have guessed that this was London. It feels more like Seoul. But it's just down the river from Westminster. Who knew?

We went to Motown the musical, which was super fun. The sign below was posted all over the theater and definitely gives a sense of the mood of the show:

I was definitely dancing in my seat. (How can you not dance in your seat to "I Want You Back" and "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"?) But no one asked me to moderate my enthusiasm. So maybe I wasn't enthusiastic enough?

The South Bank of the Thames:

Covent Garden:

There was a random magnet board on a wall in a secluded square in Covent Garden. So Mama and I collaborated on a poem.

dazzle away

shadow

with 

light

We were quite satisfied with ourselves.

A new way of seeing the Underground icon.

The whole time we were there, I kept thinking: I want to live here! 

Who knows? Maybe I will again. If I could make it back to Germany I can make it back to the UK. One can always dream.