Hihowareyou??

I am so damn sick of superficiality. Smartphones and Facebook & Co. have turned us into people who don’t have time for real communication with each other because we’re too busy playing games and scrolling through our feeds to see if we missed some meaningless thing that we can “like” or “LOL” about. And talking with each other about something deep and meaningful? Well, forget that. Small talk. That’s safe and noncommittal. We don’t have to think if we stick to small talk. “Hihowareyou?” Even German teens I spoke to recently knew before I “warned” them that this isn’t actually a question and that there’s only one correct answer to it in the U.S.: “Fine, thanks, how are you?” Don’t bother with anything else.

In November 2014 a former German student of mine in Wisconsin – a really nice and funny kid in my class and on my first trip with students to Germany in 2000, whom I remember well – brutally attacked, tortured, and repeatedly stabbed a couple in Virginia and is now serving two life sentences + 98 years. When the cops found him he was wearing only an adult diaper and muttering in German. German he learned from me, presumably.

Last November a friend of mine here in our area allegedly murdered a close friend of his – a wealthy German man who was very involved with helping local refugees. M.O. is/was as friendly as an American – had a huge smile whenever he saw me or anyone else, and had asked me to tutor him in English because he wanted to go to the US someday. We never got around to that and weren’t closer friends only due to lack of more effort on my part. I wrote a blog post about him after he’d submitted a letter to the local newspaper about how grateful the Syrians were for Germany’s welcome and help. I introduced my dad to him. We took photos.

I heard about the crime when it was reported and a few days later learned from a mutual friend who the alleged killer was. I did not believe it. I know him. I also did not believe it a few weeks later as more details emerged. It just didn’t compute. It still doesn’t. He has been sitting in U-Haft since November, accused of the crime. After months of investigation he and an accomplice were officially charged recently and there will be a trial. I still remember and think of him as he was when I last saw him – same with my former student.

What’s my point? I don’t know. Things happen. People snap and do horrible things. How do you know your good friend (or, as in the case of my former student, the spouse of an employee you fired) isn’t going to turn on you? How do you know anyone? You don't. I can count on one hand minus a few fingers the number of people who really know me and want to. That's ok. Maybe it's best that way.

But yeah… I am done with superficial conversations and small talk. I’m done with “Hihowareyou?”

What are you struggling with? What are you passionate about? What makes you tick? How can we make our relationship/friendship better? What do you need from me? What can I learn from you? Let’s talk about politics, gun laws, climate change, and religion. Let’s challenge each other! Let’s talk about why I annoy you. 

Ha, never mind that last one. It’s probably because I can't stand small talk and superficiality.

By the way, it's probably best if you don't ask me how I am for a while. I am not "fine".

Defending the Indefensible

I’ve seen and heard some conversations recently and have read many articles and comments about the current situation at the U.S.-Mexican border. I learned one thing: I am wasting my breath. I don’t know what to say to someone who can think it’s acceptable to willfully allow children - any children - to suffer. I don’t know how to explain to someone why we human beings should care about other people – including those who are not like us.

This is my son, Alex. In this photo he is about 3 years old. He was born into a privileged, loving white family that never needed to flee from anywhere for any reason. Our neighborhood was safe, and he didn’t have to fear that gang members or drug lords would destroy his youthful joy. We provided for him, watched over him, and filled his room with books and toys. If he ever had trouble with other children, it was not because of the color of his skin, where he came from, or how poor his parents were. He was never ripped from my arms and put into a cage for an unknown period of time. He sometimes cried when I went to work and left him at a daycare or with a babysitter. His babysitter was often one of his grandparents, and when he was sad, scared, or lonely they could pick him up and comfort him with a hug.

I can’t look at what’s happening with these immigrant children without thinking about Alex when he was the tender age of many of those children sleeping for days or weeks on floor mats in metal cages. I can't help but wonder how he would have felt and how long he would have cried.

To those who are saying, „It’s the parents‘ fault! Why don’t they just apply to come into the country legally?” – I imagine it is fair for me to assume you have never had to flee your home or country due to violence, war or poverty. Lucky you. There are 68.5 million people auf der Flucht (forcibly displaced) in the world today (today, which happens to be World Refugee Day). I hope you recognize the blessing and privilege of not being one of them. 

I would like to ask a parent who has crossed or tried to cross the border illegally why he or she didn’t use the proper and legal channels. There must be reasons. I don’t think any parent would weigh the two options and casually decide, “Ach, let’s take the illegal path. It’ll be so much more fun. This journey out of poverty/violence/war hasn’t been dangerous or risky enough yet.”

To those who say “most of those kids aren’t even with their parents; criminals and traffickers are using the children to get across the border pretending to be a family” (one person even wrote that we are protecting these children by taking them away from the adults they’re with) – I understand this happens. I think it’s base to pretend, though, to suddenly care about human trafficking or slavery, which goes on every single day all over this world, including in the U.S. Those who actually care about human trafficking and slavery should do something about it, like Urmila Chaudhary is doing, rather than using the “But...traffickers!” excuse to justify cruelty toward immigrant children.

To those who ask “Well, what should we do instead?!” I say for starters, what we were doing before Jeff Sessions put this policy into action. “It wasn’t working!” they say? Of course it wasn’t working. Is there any country in the world that has solved the problem of immigrants crossing borders illegally – short of shooting them dead, as during the DDR (East Germany) years? Even that didn’t work. People who are desperate for a better life will risk anything, even death, to find security.

What should we do instead? Act with compassion. Keep these little children with the family members they came with, while continuing to look for criminals and traffickers who use the children. To separate all these children from the adults they are traveling with because some of them might be bad people is, for me, deplorable.

To U.S. Attorney General Jeff Sessions, who told a roomful of people the other day that these children are separated from their parents for “a very short period of time” and then defined that as “a week or two or three,” I’ll say he should watch his grandchildren (if he has any) at age 4 or 5 or 6 be taken away from their parents, put into a cage to sleep on a mat with a thermal blanket but no pillow, and see how that goes for “a week or two or three.”

From a CNN article: “UNICEF and UNHCR assert that all children on the move, no matter why or how they were uprooted, should receive the same care and compassion as any other child. Children are first and foremost children -- and regardless of their nationality, their legal status, or that of their parents, their welfare and rights must be at the center of our actions.”  Fitting, isn't it, that the U.S. left the UN Human Rights Council yesterday?

For those who parrot Jeff Sessions and say “American citizens that are jailed do not take their children to jail with them,” I’d like to remind them that crossing the border illegally wasn’t a federal misdemeanor requiring jail time until #45 and his gang made it so*. These parents haven’t killed anyone or caused bodily harm, they haven’t stolen anything, and they haven’t committed perjury or treason. They are being thrown in jail for seeking a better life for themselves and their children. Since there is no plan for reuniting the immigrant families after the parents’ incarceration is over and the parents often have no idea where their children have been sent, this is not the same as a citizen going to jail. A person in jail knows where his or her children are and is able to communicate with them as long as family members on the outside don’t take measures to prevent that.

*Edit: I read recently in a CNN article, which I now can't find, that it has been a federal misdemeanor for some time to cross the border illegally, but that past administrations have gone easy on the immigrants and not been strong about enforcing this.

The idea of not punishing children because a parent of theirs is in prison is not foreign or new. At my school in Wisconsin each year the students and teachers participated in a project called “Angel Tree,” which I just found out is a worldwide organization. Each class was assigned one child whose father or mother was in a Wisconsin prison. We bought clothes and a toy or two for the child, wrapped the gifts, and on the gift tag was the name of the incarcerated parent – no reference to our school or “Angel Tree.” As far as the child knew, he received a few Christmas presents from his parent even though he/she was in prison. 

To those who are saying it’s ok to store these immigrant children in cages because their parents committed a crime, I’m sorry, I disagree. If our government can find space to cage children and jail their parents, then they can find space for family detention centers to keep the families together while the now-criminal case (it used to be civil) is processed. 

Compassion, folks. Mercy. Love.

I know my words will have no effect, and yet I write anyway because I believe silence is approval or complicity.

I know many of these people are crossing the border illegally. I know there are some thugs and criminals among them. I have heard all the arguments for why this policy is unfortunate but justified (in their view), and still I choose compassion. 

"The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference."  ~Eli Wiesel

I don’t have all the answers. But I cannot understand someone who says tearing children away from their parents and putting them in cages is acceptable. Government-sanctioned cruelty. Look what we have become. We have elected a government who is proud and unapologetic of this action and refuses to end it, and we have among us many who defend and applaud the cruelty.

I hope this issue doesn’t fade away without getting solved. I hope those opposed keep raising their voices and hounding their representatives* until the child cages disappear and a different solution is found that allows families seeking shelter to stay together. I hope somebody will help these children and families – help them as if they were children from white middle-class families.

Thanks to a friend of mine, I know there is a list of organizations who are mobilizing to help.
And thanks to M, I came to this article, which addresses most of the issues much better than I have in a very reasonable and balanced tone.

*As one of approximately 9 million U.S. citizens living abroad, I have no representative in Congress that I am aware of. I contacted the [Republican] representatives I would have had based on my last address in Wisconsin and my parents’ address, but all I got was a staffer’s thank-you and spam from the reps for the next year or so.

One Year Later

A year ago today, November 9th, my clock radio woke me up with the words, "...the Mexican peso is plummeting...". In sleepy disbelief I uttered, "Holy Shit!" and M and I sprang out of bed to turn on the news. We stared in disbelief at what I hoped was just a bad dream.

But sure enough, #45 had actually been elected president of the U.S..

I was angry, frustrated, and horribly disappointed in my Landsleute. A year later I do not feel differently. How could so many people choose to vote for such a hateful, odious person?

I understood that many people hated his opponent. I believe a lot of people hate her because she is a strong and educated woman (a "bitch" in their words). Being a democrat besides, I think it was just too much for some people.

It doesn't matter to me that he lost the popular vote. In our system it's the electoral votes that count whether we agree with it or not*. Whether or not Russia interfered also is a moot point for me. If they can, they will. (Hasn't the US been meddling in other countries' affairs for generations?) And if my Landsleute are so easily swayed by false Facebook ads, then maybe it is true what Joseph de Maistre reportedly said in the 19th century: "In a democracy the people get the leaders they deserve."

*While writing this I popped on to Twitter to see if he's spewed anything today, and I found this from 20 hours ago: "Congratulations to all of the 'DEPLORABLES' and the millions of people who gave us a MASSIVE (304-227) Electoral College landslide victory!"  A year later he is still reminding us he won? Comparing world leaders for just a moment, similar words (bragging for an entire year about a victory) have never come out of Angela Merkel's mouth. Or Obamas. Or FDR's. Or Washington's...

We knew before the election that he is a bully and a braggart. We knew he is uncomfortable with facts, wisdom, and others' strength. We knew he calls people names like a bratty child on a playground. We knew he prefers everything (especially people) white. We knew his main focus is money - his own, mainly. We knew he knew nothing about foreign policy, diplomacy, or how to be presidential. We knew he never learned how to play well with others. ("Me first! Me first!") We knew he's a terrible speaker whose vocabulary is stuck at around the 4th or 5th grade level. We knew he would screw the environment because money is more important than water or life. We knew he bragged about groping women and we saw his interview with Howard Stern in which he said he should be given the job of rating all women because he's such a good judge of physical appearance. We heard him talk like somebody's drunken uncle at an Appalachian family picnic. We saw what a disaster he is on Twitter, calling opponents and dissenters childish names.

And still "we" voted for him.

While his approval rating is low (I think Fox news optimistically claims that it's high or climbing), he still has many, many people who support him, cheer for him, and attack those who don't support him. I vividly remember frequently seeing online comments like "The best part of [#45] winning is seeing the Democrats cry." Really, that's what these people consider the best part? Knowing that many of their Landsleute are unhappy? That speaks volumes, doesn't it?

Photo credit: my daughter

So a year into this circus, I am still disappointed. Disappointed in us. Disappointed that so many of my Landsleute are ok with the oaf in the White House. Disappointed that I know people (albeit very few) who enthusiastically support him. Disappointed that hatred, racism, and intolerance have reared their ugly heads even more than they had before this day a year ago. I am disgusted that I have to hear his name and see his face almost every day on the news here in Germany. I'm tired of cringing and face-palming whenever his name is mentioned and his voice is heard.

After the most recent Texas shooting, he said it's not a gun problem, it's a mental health problem. Fine. But then was it a good idea to revoke a law that would make it harder for people with mental illness to purchase guns? And why did he do this quietly without a camera crew and photo op, when he usually makes a big show out of scribbling his name on any legislation? Most likely he wanted to get rid of it simply because it was a regulation from Obama's time, introduced not long after the Sandy Hook shooting.

He is an international embarrassment. I wish there were a way to keep him within the borders of the US. Just like leaving a child who cannot behave himself at home rather than bringing him to a fancy party, his people should keep him better contained. World leaders tolerate him because they must. The school's biggest jerk was elected prom king, and now the rest of the school has to pretend they can stand him. The other world leaders are professional enough to keep their thoughts mostly to themselves and put on a stoic face when forced to be in his presence. At least that's my interpretation of their expressions and body language.

As I have often said before, I am grateful to be living in Germany. There are a ton of reasons for that, but the one connected to this post is that I am really never around, near, or confronted with Landsleute who can tolerate #45. Granted, I am rarely around Americans at all, but those that spend time overseas for longer than a 10-day vacation tend to be worldly enough to see a bigger picture than that of their own lives. And when one considers the world and humanity as a whole, an egregious narcissistic sociopath has to look ridiculous in the role of a leader.

Part of me might like to have a conversation with a 45-supporter because there's obviously something I'm missing. I cannot believe that all those people are hateful, selfish racists. Using his oddly-chosen words, I'm sure there are "good people on both sides." From what I have seen online, however, I would only be pounced on, called names, declared an idiot... and I don't need that. So I guess I will remain in the dark about how anyone can look at that and think, "Yep, he's a great president!"

Yes, I do think the US has become a dark, dark place.
Photo credit: my daughter

The Day After

It's the day after the day after, and I'm still not really sure how I feel. I've read a lot of reactions, and I've sympathized with a lot of people. I think I can agree with one person who said "This is probably not the end of the world," but that's easy for me to say.

   I'm white.

   I'm not Muslim or Jewish.

   I do not have a disability.

   I'm not a member of the LBGTQ community.

   I'm not overweight or particularly ugly.

   I'm not poor.

   I can afford health care.

   I'm not an immigrant in America.

   I'm not a foreigner in America.

   I'm not in America.


I appreciate some of the eternal optimism (something that's very "typical American") I've seen because I'm glad to know not everyone feels as disheartened as I do. For me it's not about that person getting elected; it's about all the people who cheered for him and fed his ego despite the things he said and the things he did. The speeches yesterday about working together were all nice. But it will take more than pretty speeches to repair what's wrong in the hearts of people. If you doubt me, read the open comments sections of just about any article or video from the last days. Or this article.

As I wrote to my parents this morning, if an imperfect but charismatic and genuinely likeable African-American man wth a sense of humor could not bring the people of this country together in eight years (because no one person can do that), there is little chance that a misogynistic, insufferable, maniacally egotistical bigot will be able to do so.

Some are saying that this person will be different in office than he was on the campaign trail. I don't believe that, but even if it turns out to be true, what's that all about? More than half of us don't want him, and the others voted for the guy they saw and heard during the campaign. Now he's going to be a different person? All those people voted for what they saw, and early on many were saying they liked him because "he says what needs to be said." And then he insulted, ridiculed, and verbally attacked everyone who wasn't like him and everyone who didn't support him, and incited violence and rage, and they continued to support him.

What I do believe is that he will not accomplish much of what he yammered on about at his rallies. That was obvious to educated people from the start. There will be no wall, he will not ban Muslims from entering the country, he will not deport millions of illegal immigrants and likely won't do anything to change or improve the immigration system, he will not touch Roe v. Wade, he will not bring back waterboarding, and he will not "lock her up." These never were the things I was afraid of.

The thought of that person representing the American people on the world stage is what is distasteful to me. He is the quintessential "ugly American," and while I am harsh on my own people, I do not believe he is an appropriate representative.

But he won, as he boasted so often and so loudly that he would, and now we have to live with it.

I was called yesterday by journalists from three different newspapers for my thoughts. Although my head wasn't clear yet (it still isn't, but I'm getting there), if you're interested, the articles were in the Südwest Presse, the Esslinger Zeitung,* and the Schwarzwälder Bote-Freudenstadt. I can't find the last article online, but it's in the printed paper.

*Note: While the Esslinger Zeitung article shows a photo of M and me as the main photo online, the quote in the title is from a different person interviewed. 


Good luck, America.

A Word About Locker-Room Talk

Regular programming will resume tomorrow.

This post has been brewing in various forms for several years, but the latest advertisement for America's rape culture, courtesy of a presidential candidate, has pushed me over the top. Those who deny or encourage rape culture get to say whatever they like and brush it off when called on it, while those of us who have dealt with the results of that culture remain silent because we make others uncomfortable when we talk about it.

Make no mistake - kissing a woman without waiting for consent and "grabbing her in the p***y" because she won't stop the offender...this is sexual assault. Using one's power, position, or ability to intimidate in order to do sexual things to a person is sexual coercion. The fact that she didn't say "no" because she didn't want to lose her job or hurt the man's feelings does not equate to consent.

I recently had the misfortune to read an accusation on social media that 95% of all of us (not just men) have made similar comments, and anyone who is "still offended" by those comments should consider what kids hear on TV shows, in rap music and movies, and in school. While I have to disagree that so many women banter and brag about committing sexual assault, perhaps I've just been hanging out in the wrong right locker rooms. The same person implied that women who are offended by what was said in the van video feel that way because the media and Clinton supporters are telling us we should.

Contrary to what some believe, most of us women are able to think for ourselves and form opinions on our own. We don't need the media or anyone else to tell us how to feel. I am not offended because someone told me to be.

I do agree, though, that children hear rotten things, and that they are listening and learning. The creep that lured me into that locker room our presidential candidate brushed off probably heard remarks like that during his youth: "You can just grab a woman [young girl, in my case] in the p***y and she won't even stop you. It's lots of fun."

This is not locker-room banter. This is our rape culture.

Dismissing it passes it on to our children, particularly our sons.

The candidate's comments have been a trigger for me. I wasn't in the least surprised that he was caught bragging about doing something so vulgar, and I am not more disgusted by him now than I was before. I am more offended by the rape culture in our society than I am by the comments of someone I had no respect for even before he bragged about committing sexual assault.

In the middle of writing this I read that thousands of women have been sharing their sexual assault stories since the release of that van video, and I guess I'm adding my voice to theirs. I don't need to describe what happened because our Republican candidate already did exactly that in such pithy and presidential terms. I don't remember how old I was (8 or 10?), but I remember what I was wearing and that it took place in a racquet club in Mequon, Wisconsin. My parents were there for a tennis tournament, but I got bored and wandered away. I told them about it during my freshman year in college. I didn't tell them right away because

   a. I didn't actually understand what on earth had just happened, and
   b. I assumed I would get in trouble (I knew the rules - you do not wander off by yourself!).

That person (an employee - who later grinned and waved at me as my parents and I left) might have heard about this idea from someone in a locker room who talked like those cretins in the van. This was in the 70s before song lyrics and TV show scripts started to get really offensive, so perhaps his plan came from a movie, his friends, his family, or his own sick head.

The rape culture, though.  Some people scoff and say it's just a feminist theory. Some people dismiss it as locker-room talk. Some people say everyone talks like that. Therein lies the problem. Refusing to acknowledge the effects of sexual comments, objectifying women, and sexual assault is one key part of the rape culture. Blaming the victim ("If you don't want to be raped, then don't dress like that"), trivializing what happened ("What's the big deal, he only grabbed your p***y; it's not like you got raped"), and justifying one's actions ("You never said 'no', so I didn't rape you.") are all pieces of rape culture.

Have you ever heard older men (say over 50) make lewd comments about high school cheerleaders or flirt with young waitresses? I have, and I should have said something. Why didn't I? Because I wasn't strong enough to deal with "Oh, lighten up, it was a compliment!" No, a nice tip is a compliment; a comment about the length of her skirt or the shape of her legs is not. And nothing other than "She's talented" is a compliment about a 16-year-old cheerleader when it's said by a man over fifty eighteen.

In case this post has reached any men who occasionally make lewd remarks (probably thinking of them as compliments) about a woman's body - and I'm going to use a waitress as an example - I would like to ask them to consider the following.

1. If the waitress is wearing a short skirt or a low-cut top, remember that's her uniform. She doesn't have a choice. She might have been wearing that same uniform that permits you to gawk at her thighs when she was sexually assaulted last Tuesday on her way home. (Remember that 1 in 4 American women has been sexually assaulted by the time she reaches her 20th birthday, and 1 in 6 women has been a victim survivor of rape or attempted rape in her lifetime.)


2. Imagine you are that young woman's father sitting at the next table, and you overheard the "harmless" comment you just made or thought. Would you, her father, beam with pride that a stranger gawked and leered at your daughter and made a comment about her breasts, legs, or ass, or would you want to punch him in the face?


3. That "harmless" comment you're thinking as the waitress is trying to do her job so she can provide for herself or her family...does it really need to be said out loud? Would silence be the higher ground? What are you hoping to gain by making the comment? If there are women in your group or near enough to overhear...really??


4. The waitress who is pretending to enjoy your flirting is doing so because behaving otherwise will jeopardize her tip. I promise you, no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, she is tolerating it, not enjoying it. I waitressed for one agonizing summer, and I assure you I never once felt pleased about or flattered by leering looks and suggestive remarks. I found it creepy and pathetic, but I responded pleasantly enough to keep my job and hopefully earn a tip.


5. If you are in the presence of other men who make lewd remarks, please stand up for your daughters, granddaughters, wives, sisters, nieces, and neighbors. Perhaps all you are capable of is remaining stonily silent and not laughing along - that is at least a start.

Do I really want men to remember those thoughts before they make a comment in public about a woman's body? Why, yes, I do, just like every time I hear a comment like that, I wonder what the sicko in the tennis club heard during his life to lead him to believe what he did to me was acceptable.

I don't feel sorry for myself and I don't see myself as a victim. But sexual assault is not something a person just gets over, nor is it something to be taken lightly or dismissed. Boys aren't born with the burning desire to grab someone's p***y or make public comments about a woman's body; they learn these behaviors from others.

It starts somewhere, and most often it starts with thoughts that become comments that become ideas that become actions.

It's time for us to start talking about this, and by the looks of social media today, the discussion is underway.

Pompton Lakes, NJ

After our time at Sunnybank, Carol, the curator of the Van Riper-Hopper House, led us back to the museum. She showed us through the rooms and pointed out the items of interest to fans of Albert Payson Terhune. She left us alone to explore the Terhune room, which is full of paintings, photos, trophies, ribbons, newspaper clippings and notices, and first edition books written by Terhune, and some by his mother, who was also a well-known writer in her day.

My daughter read the framed story about Wolf, Lad's son, who died saving a mongrel dog from being run over by a train, and when I said "Incredible story, isn't it?" she looked at me surprised. "You read this that fast?" (I always read more slowly than she does). "I know the story well," I said with a wink.

The highlight for "Laddicts" is probably Lad's round leather collar and a tuft of mahogany-and-white hair attached to an envelope labeled in Anice's handwriting: "Lad's hair". As I learned recently from a newsletter posted on the Sunnybank-Terhune Collies Facebook group, "Laddie's collar" was found wrapped in tissue inside a large trophy cup that the Terhune Sunnybank Memorial Fund acquired in 1973 along with 17 other trophies won by the Sunnybank collies.  This collection had been given by Anice Terhune to a friend and neighbor, who later gave it to a housekeeper who admired the collection and Terhune's stories. The housekeeper was told to hang on to the collection for a while, because it would someday be worth something. Indeed!

We were also able to see a few other treasures - an apholstered chair of Bert's and a pair of his trousers - he was 6 feet 2.5 inches tall, and the waistline came up to my chest! Carol also encouraged us to look through an album of Sunnybank and the Terhunes, and I absorbed every page. She showed us the Terhune books in their library, which anyone can read on-site in the museum or on the porch on a pleasant day.

We went away with an abridged version of a Terhune story, condensed by Carol herself and illustrated so as to be a coloring book. What a lovely treat!

Our next stop was the Dutch Reformed Church in Pompton Lakes, NJ. I forgot to take a picture of the church itself because my interest was in the cemetery. I had seen plenty of photos of the Terhune plots and headstones, but I wanted to see them for myself.

The cemetery is not large, and so the family plot was not difficult to find.

Terhune's parents

Lorraine, Bert's first wife (left)
Alice, one of Terhune's sisters

Bert and Lorraine's daughter, also called Lorraine, rests here, too, next to her mother, who died a few days after giving birth, at the age of 23.

But Bert and Anice are not in the family plot. Their resting place is just a short walk away and I recognized it from a distance.

"I have fought a good fight."

"I have kept the faith."

My daughter finds it a bit odd that I "enjoy" going to graveyards to see headstones and burial places of people important to me. I can't necessarily explain why, but I think it is a ritual of closure. In the U.S. the experience is perhaps less inspiring than in Germany, where the cemeteries and gravesites are stunningly beautiful (and much older, of course). Still, of course I wanted to see Albert's & Anice's graves.

By now the whole family has passed on, as far as I know. Only the descendants of the collies live on, mainly traced back to CH Sunnybank Thane.

I have one last thing to say about this writer, Albert Payson Terhune. His biographer mentioned, and Terhune even said himself, that he was not a great writer. His stories were popular, and he wrote a great many of them; but I read several times that he does not rank among the great American writers. Ok, fair enough - he was no Hemingway or Thoreau. But by reading his stories I expanded my vocabulary in ways that young readers today cannot (by reading popular modern stories and novels). Terhune also had a beautiful sense of language and - again, unlike many writing today - knew his language well and didn't make grammatical mistakes. He wrote correctly - not as people speak (you won't find "Me and my friend..." or "Lad liked to lay on the veranda" in his stories!) - and that made a great impression on me. So while he may not have earned a place in an American Literature course curriculum, I will always be one to say that he was well beyond the league of many of today's popular writers in style and language mastery.

Thus endeth my literary pilgrimage to Sunnybank and the world of Albert Payson Terhune. It was a special trip, and one I needed to make.

earliest known photo of Sunnybank House - ca. 1898
source

Lad of Sunnybank

When I was about eight years old, I received in my Christmas stocking a book called Lad of Sunnybank with a beautiful mahogany-and-white collie on the cover. Yes, I was a child who loved receiving books for Christmas and birthdays - as long as they were about dogs or horses. I had never heard of Lad before, but from that day on I was a dedicated follower and fan of Lad and his Master, the writer Albert Payson Terhune.

Sunnybank Lad, ca. 1917
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

I read and re-read the Lad books and then found in our library Irving Litvag's biography of Terhune, his wife Anice, his family estate, Sunnybank (called simply "The Place" in his stories), and his dogs. I read about his other collies and collected several of his books about them to read later, but for me there was only Lad. I begged my parents for a collie with "absurdly tiny white forepaws" who would save his human deities from all sorts of perils, and they eventually caved and got me a Sheltie. He was a gorgeous dog, but when presented with the opportunity to emulate Lad and thwart a burglar who broke into our home one night, he slept through the crime. The reprobate made off unassailed with my mother's purse and a VCR while our non-Lad dozed contentedly on the foot of my bed.

Some people read a book set in Paris and long to travel there. Some people watch a movie set in Tuscany and dream of moving there. For me it was Sunnybank, on the shore of Pompton Lake in Wayne, New Jersey. I was saddened when I learned the house had been torn down in 1969, but relieved to learn there were dedicated people who had been working to restore what was left of the grounds and the dogs' graves. The Place is now a park maintained by the Wayne Township Department of Parks and Recreation and visited frequently by Terhune devotees.

1930s?
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

When I started making plans to visit my daughter in Philadelphia this spring, one of the first things I did was check the distance from her home to Sunnybank. Definitely do-able. She picked me up on a Friday at the Newark airport and we headed toward Sunnybank. After an overnight at a lovely AirBnB accommodation hosted by a young German woman in Montclair, NJ, we drove to the Van Riper-Hopper House in Wayne. I had made contact with Carol, the curator, just two days earlier and when we arrived she closed the museum and led us to The Place. It was starting to rain, but I begged Mother Nature to hold off just for an hour.

I warned my daughter to brace herself for weird emotion - at which she rolled her eyes - as we turned into the drive. The parking lot is located where once the wisteria-covered house stood, on a rise looking down toward the "fire-blue lake." Carol handed me an umbrella and wished us a pleasant visit.

It was not a pretty day for pictures.

I didn't know where to start, but I knew I wanted to end at Lad's grave and therefore didn't look for it. We strolled down to the lakeshore and the gazebo so I could get a good look at where the house had been and the lake Lad swam in to cool off on warm summer evenings. From there we went around to the root cellar and the replica puppy yard, and then to Champion Rock where many of the best-known dogs are buried - Lady (Lad's mate), Wolf (the only offspring of theirs who survived), Bobby, Treve, and Anice's fluffy Persian cat, Tippy.

This memorial shows a diagram of Champion Rock, which lies just in front of it,
and where the collies (and cat) are buried.

We passed the lily pond and statue of Jack, the bullfrog that resided at Sunnybank for something like 20 years before he was killed by one of the careless drivers that Terhune despised.

To be honest I was a little disappointed in myself by this point. I was snapping pictures all over to preserve these views for later and was soaking in the experience, but I expected more of myself. I should have just sat down somewhere and let the images in my mind and memory play around. Was my camera in the way? I need photos for me - but maybe this one time I should have left my camera in the car. I didn't want to see what was there and visible through the lens. I wanted to see the house, the winter kennel, Bert himself typing away on his tiny typewriter, and most of all I wanted to see a dozen collies romping around the grounds. And  Lad, even though he didn't like strangers and would have been aloof if not downright annoyed at my presence.

Bert with Sandy, ca. 1926
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

Suddenly we were at Lad's grave, in a little shaded nook just off the edge of the driveway. I brushed away some wind blown leaves from the headstone, remembering that Lad was "absurdly vain," and sat on the rock next to the grand collie's grave.

My husband would have echoed Bert's words as reported by Litvag: "Why folk should make pilgrimages to the grave of a dead dog is beyond my understanding. [But come they do: and some bring roses...this for an animal they never saw in life.]" But I agree with Litvag's thoughts as he stood there in this same spot 40-some years ago: "Yes, Terhune, you did know why. You understood, you old fake. You know."

Lad had died in 1918, but he was alive for me in the 1970s when I first read his stories. Only a few photos of him remain, and in them he's not even the most physically beautiful collie I've ever seen. But he's Lad and I cherish every image. I have long imagined heaven like the Sunnybank in my mind - a majestic old house on a hill surrounded by forest and overlooking a lake. And with collies everywhere.

Terhune with Rex, Lad and a young Wolf (far right)
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

Lad and Bruce sunning themselves on the veranda
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

The Master with Lad, Bruce, and Wolf
source - Terhune Sunnybank Memorial

A bench dedicated to Terhune's biographer, Irving Litvag, is a little way off from Lad's grave under some trees, and up the hill a bit are the graves of Bruce ("The dog without a fault") and Jean, just below the Evening Lookout. We sat there for a few minutes, too, taking in the view. We made one more circle down along the lake, past the rose walk, the former location of Terhune's mother's Garden from Everywhere, the gazebo again, and back up to the parking lot.

at the Evening Lookout

Carol was waiting patiently for us, doing museum work from her car, and after a farewell glance and a walk up to the entrance so I could take a picture of the winding drive I had traveled down so often in my child's mind, she led us back to the museum for some time in the Terhune room.

To my daughter's relief, I did not get weepy during our visit. But back home while re-reading bits of the biography and several Lad stories - especially Terhune's description(s) of finding the lifeless Lad on the back veranda of the house in September, 1918 - I choked up. I'd admit that I had to dry my eyes as well, but my daughter will read this... ;-)

I am so glad I was able to visit Sunnybank. Now when I look at the old photos, and even the current photos other visitors to The Place post on the Sunnybank - Terhune Collies Facebook group, they mean so much more. And I am eternally grateful to the good folks who have worked so hard to keep Sunnybank alive.

Thank you also to Krissy M. for permission to use here the old photos from the Terhune Sunnybank Memorial shared on the FB group, to Carol for your personal attention that day, and to Judy for getting me in contact with Carol and answering my questions. Although it's of little interest to my regular readers who come here to read about the differences between life in Wisconsin and in southern Germany, I will write another post about the rest of our day - the visit to the museum and to the cemetery in Pompton Lakes.

But for now, farewell from Sunnybank.

The Master and the Mistress (Bert and Anice Terhune)
with Bruce, Bobby, and Wolf, and Tippy on Anice's lap
ca. 1919

To my readers who are readers: Has a book, an author, or a character ever made you want to travel somewhere just to see where they lived?

das Sprachcafe

Once a week I go to the community center in Horb where volunteers have organized a Sprachcafe, Everyone is invited, and the focus is to bring community members and Flüchtlinge (refugees) together for Kaffee, Kuchen, und Konversation. It is really well-attended, and sometimes so crowded it's hard to hear each other! It's a lively and friendly group, and each week there are new guests. The volunteers do a lovely job of providing refreshments, organizing the room, and cleaning up afterwards! Conversation tends to be in German, Arabic, English, Denglisch, and Deurabisch (Deutsch-Arabisch).

Forgive the quality of the photo - I forgot my camera,
so I could only use my Handy!

This is an article with photo about this Sprachcafe, and the reason I'm sharing that is because of the grinning chap in the front of the photo. His name is Omran, and he is as friendly as he looks.

Last Friday in our local paper I saw a letter to the editor written by him. I am so happy I saw this letter, because moments earlier I had read an article that surely gave any of its readers misgivings. That article reminded me that I don't really know my students or their pasts (though the same was true of my teenage students in the U.S.). Omran's letter reminded me to trust my gut and the good souls I see in front of me.

Here is his letter in German, followed by my English translation.

Liebe Deutsche,

Ich bin ein syrischer Flüchtling. Meine Worte und Gedanken - wie ich mich manchmal fühle - sind: Wir fühlen uns, als kämen wir von einem anderen Stern. Denn oft, zum Beispiel im Zug, blicken die Deutschen auf uns von oben herab und sind sehr distanziert zu uns. Wir haben im Krieg sehr viel gelitten, viel Schlimmes erlebt und durchgemacht. Wir sind nicht freiwillig hierher gekommen, sondern aus Not. Denn es ist so: Wenn wir in Syrien geblieben wären, hätten wir nur die Wahl gehabt, getötet zu werden oder selber zu töten. Was mich persönlich betrifft: Ich bin genau aus diesem Grund aus Syrien weggegangen.

Einige Leute in Horb haben uns sehr geholfen und haben uns die Sorgen ein wenig vergessen lassen. Obwohl Deutschland ein freies, friedliches und sicheres Land ist, fühlen wir uns hier nicht glücklich, weil wir fern von unseren Familien und von denen, die uns nah stehen, sind.

Nicht alle Syrer sind schlecht! Ein einziger, der sich schlecht verhält, genügt, um den Ruf aller zu schädigen. Dazu kommt noch, dass viele von sich behaupten, aus Syrien zu stammen oder mit einem gefälschten Pass, den man sich leicht besorgen kann, als angebliche Syrer unterwegs sind. Wir alle bemühen uns, hier in Deutschland alles richtig zu machen. Wir lernen fleißig Deutsch und können unterwegs und auf den Ämtern nicht immer, aber meistens ganz gut zurecht kommen.

Wir wurden ein Volk, das seine Träume verloren hat und wir wurden zu einem Volk, das nur noch einen Traum hat: die Rückkehr, nach Kriegsende.

Wir danken dem deutschen Volk und Frau Merkel.

Omran, Horb

*************

Dear German People,

I am a Syrian refugee. My words and thoughts - how I feel sometimes - are: We feel like we've come from another planet. Often, for instance on the train, Germans look down on us and keep their distance from us. We have suffered a lot, experienced and been through terrible things. We didn't come here by choice, but rather by necessity. The truth is, if we had stayed in Syria we would have been forced to kill or been killed ourselves. Personally for me: this is precisely the reason I left Syria.

Some people in Horb have helped us a lot and have allowed us to forget our concerns just a bit. Although Germany is a free, peaceful, and safe country, we do not feel happy here because we are far from our families and those who are dear to us.

Not all Syrians are bad! A single one who behaves badly is enough to damage the reputation of everyone. In addition to that, many claim to come from Syria or travel with a fake Syrian passport, which is easy to get. We are all trying to do everything right here in Germany. We are working hard to learn German and can manage in town and at public offices - not always, but usually.

We became a people who lost their dreams and we have become a people with only one dream left: to return home, after the war.

We thank the German people and Mrs. Merkel.

Omran, Horb

*************

I had sat with him for a bit at last week's cafe, and I had my notebook with me as usual. He took the notebook and wrote a few lines in German and asked me if they were correct. From what he wrote I know he is sad because his life is not here in Germany. He studied four years in Damaskus to be a math teacher - and I'll bet he will make a good one. A math teacher needs to smile a lot, I think, and he does - despite his sadness. He has a large family, including eight siblings, and he misses them.

I hope the war will end someday and Omran will be able to return to his home and his family. I hope until then he will be able to keep his spirits up and have more contact with helpful and open people than the other kind.

The 10,000

Before my American Landsleute get too bunged up about the possibility of accepting 10,000 refugees next year* and the terrible risks involved with helping people (yes, I agree there is always a risk when helping people), know that Germany, with its population of 81 million and being half the size of Texas, took in over 400,000 refugees between September 1^st and mid-October this year. Estimates are that Germany will have taken in 1 million refugees in 2015.

In 2013 about 127,000 asylum seekers came to Germany, and in 2014 there were more than 202,500. Let me repeat: in 2015, we’re talking about 1 million (1,000,000) new refugees in Germany.

*Taking in 10,000 refugees in this crisis is a little bit like going to your neighbor’s house during a flood and offering to help bail out the basement with an eyedropper. Just sayin’.

Fond du Lac, WI flood, 2008
"Anyone got an eyedropper?"

People and politicians are fighting about this all over Germany. Many communities have formed friendship groups to aid the refugees in whatever ways they can, but there are also Pegida groups and individuals filled with hatred and fear who participate in protest marches and rallies, burn down facilities meant for temporary refugee housing, and spread their hatred and fear through social media.

Many people (including Americans) were shocked and saddened for perhaps 48 hours by the photograph of Aylan Kurdi that made headlines around the world not long ago. By now (according to a Bloomberg poll) 53% of Americans don't think the U.S. should accept any Syrian refugees, and the governors of half of the states have said they will refuse to accept refugees. (Uh, sorry guys, apparently you don't actually have the power to decide that.) It's good to know that some Americans recognize the need for humanitarian aid in this crisis.

But lately I’ve read about this grumbling over being forced to accept 10,000 refugees and the risks involved with doing so – some of them might be terrorists!! Yeah, that’s possible. Among the terrorists responsible for the recent Paris attacks, I believe one of them might have entered Europe with the flood of refugees. [UPDATE: No, none of them came to Europe with the refugees. They were all European nationals.] Four of them were French citizens, if I'm not mistaken.

I’ll make this short and go back to writing about nice things as soon as I can. This is the world we live in. Those who need to shout against helping refugees should do as they must. But those who also call themselves Christians – what exactly are they learning in their church? Did Jesus say "Love (and help) your neighbor as long as it poses no risk to you"? Remember “WWJD?” (“What Would Jesus Do?” – a slogan American Christians wore on t-shirts and bracelets several years ago.)? Would Jesus turn the refugees away and say it’s too risky to help them because some among them might be terrorists? I am not claiming to know, because Jesus never spoke in my ear. But then I’m not one of those who display Christian slogans or attend church regularly.

I don't think it's necessary to make such a big fuss about accepting 10,000 refugees in a year. There must be at least 10,000 lunatics with easy access to guns loose in the U.S.. Americans' safety and security are not guaranteed by refusing to offer sanctuary to 10,000 refugees fleeing from the same demons they are afraid of. It seems a wee bit contradictory to shake fists on the one hand shouting "We will not be afraid! If we show we're afraid, then the terrorists win! Show them we're strong! God bless America!" and on the other hand to say the U.S. shouldn't help people who are fleeing from terrorists because of the fear of potential risks.

Help or don't help. Whatever. But all the fuss over whether or not America should bring an eyedropper to a flooded village sounds a little silly to me.

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