from rain to Ukraine

There is a perpetual rainstorm here in Zürich. It's lasted the last few weeks. What makes it worse is the tease of sporadic gorgeous weather and sunshine that are erased by chilly temperatures and deluges. Meanwhile, at the start of every Euro Cup game in Ukraine, the announcers let us know, that it's boiling there. So, apparently we'll be trading our showers for baths of sweat by the end of the week.
Ukraine isn't so very exotic, but I've come to terms with the fact that many exotic destinations I'd like to visit are off-limits to the Auto-immune challenged. I'll never go to India or Bali. After all, a trip east as far as Ukraine or Russia means taking along doses of steroids and antibiotics and my husband's worry about how soon before our trip I take a my immunsuppresants.
After reading an article in Das Magazin, about drug-addled Metalist fans who follow their team religiuously despite knowing that every game is fixed and Panorama's "Stadiums of Hate", all about the neo nazi culture in Ukrainian and Polish Ultras, I feel properly ready. I'll take my drugs and my tank tops that cover my Hebrew tattoo and head off to watch some football. Hopefully the only parasite I come home with is the kind that gets delivered in 9 months.

Bombadier

Despite reading Dracula in Ivo's abscence (our pick for this time apart) I haven't had any nightmares until last night. I don't know if it was from reading about police use of drones in the States or Das Magazins artikel about the Metalist fans in Kharkiv, Ukraine (in combination with last months bombs in Dnipropetrovsk). Whatever it was, my dream woke me after a canister bomb went off next to me after I was showered with bombs while escaping some hotel-casino owned by the mafia, in order to right some great wrong. There were also friends from SF and babies in it, so it was more complex than mere fear of Kyiv, methinks.
I've been so blissfully distracted by nervousness about the water and wc situation in Kyiv that I'd forgotten to be nervouse about fan culture in the Ukraine. Simultaneously, I realize that the alternative  to (possibly scary) authentic Ukranian fan culture at the Euro is a super fake family-friendly culture. Which is worse? I guess I'll have to chill out and meditate before sleep because I'm super crazy grateful that I get to go and see Kyiv and 3 Eurocup games and have fun with friends and Ivo.

Unattended things may be robbed.

I remember once entering a train with my mother- and brother-in-law. We wanted to join a guy in a four seat section, but his bag was on the seat. My brother-in-law offered to help him stow it in the luggage rack and the guy was shocked. There in the rack were massive unattended bags. The guy looked at me and said, "people just leave them here?" I shrugged and grinned. It was true and I loved it. People just left there stuff and it was there when they got back.
Moving from Philadelphia to Zürich was like moving to the 1950s. Children ran free with out an idea about "stranger danger," Sundays were all about family, women got time off for having babies in a meaningful way (well, maybe that's not so 50's.) I loved that people would leave there bags on the train and be sure that they'd remain safe.
Ah, but all good things must end and the newspaper this morning brought the news that we must be more careful with our belongings in the train. The funny thing is, it wasn't even the big bags on the train that they were worrying about. The warning was that things of worth (laptops and wallets) should be kept on your person where you can feel it. This is insane and still super encouraging. Apparently, I still live in a partially idyllic land, I guess.

Tips for people approaching dogs, learned from people approaching my dog.
Tip one: Don't stop at telling your child to approach a dog slowly, go ahead and warn them against waving their hand in front of the dog's face. Apparently, they'll want to do that.
Tip two, go ahead and touch a dog's muzzle if they seem amenable, but don't be surprised by the slobber. (Jowls should warn you of slobber in advance.)
Tip three: If you are curious about whether or not a dog will bite you, don't stick a finger in front of it's mouth saying, "Are you going to bite me? Do you bite? Should I be afraid that you'll bite me?"(If the answer is yes, you'll be sorely disappointed.

Still an Ausländerin

So, It's 6 years since I moved here and I'm still harping on about my foreignness. There are multiple reasons for this. My days are spent teaching English to other immigrants who are struggling to learn yet another language (sometimes simultaneously learning their German.) I teach engineers, lawyers and pharmacists who now live here and need multiple new languages to continue their careers in their new homes.
I moved here in 2006 and now friends ask if I'm going to get my citizenship. This decision has been postponed because of our little 13 month jaunt in North America. The question sounds different depending on who's asking. It's tax time and the annual freak-out about the American government claiming it's tax money abroad has been refreshed (just in time for labor day).

The third reason I'm thinking about my foreignness is that people continue to stereotype about foreigners right to my face, either ignoring my transplatation or forgetting it. For example, when describing my pup's intestinal infection resulting from eating something gross from the bushes when I wasn't watching, the listener said "damn foreigners chuck their compost out their kitchen windows." I was telling this to a German friend and she said, "It's ridiculous that the Swiss still say 'Auslaänder'."  I was embarassingly unaware that there was any German alternative. I'd come her an outsider and imagined that I'd die here an outsider. Apparently, in German, ousiders are more affectionately called "Immigranten." It's so damn semantic, but for some reason it feels better. I'd prefer that.
In the meantime, I'm mistaken for a Belgian or Dutch lady and encourage my students to see more similarities than differences when they can. What else can we do, we band of immigrants?

then and now

3 years ago, I celebrated Easter by walking through Pére Lachaise cemetary in Paris. I was there for a month but spent the morning looking at old and new graves, watching Japanese girls pretend to kiss Oscar Wilde's tombstone.
I would never have anticipated that Easter back in 1994 when I was 13 and wolfing down easter chocolate and getting car sick on my way to my aunt's house for ham and cheesy potatoes.
Back in 2009 I'd never have anticipated that I would spend some future Easter healing from a misscarriage.
This afternoon, after returning to Zürich, our neighbors were having an Easter-egg hunt. A few children were toddling around searching for the eggs. A woman was taking photos, a few little ones were being dandled around. Ivo said "That'll be us in 5 years." But let noone say that I'm a woman who can't learn. I can not even begin to imagine what will be happening on Easter in 5 years.

5 years as Mijnssen or Parenthood is never Painless

Tomorrow marks 5 years since Ivo and I said "Ja, ich will" in Zürich's Civil Registry and began planning our actual vows for our July wedding. 5 years ago, Ivo had just returned from Kiev and I had just been discharged from the Waidspital, my body having rejected a porcine plug that was meant to aid my chron's ravaged body.

3 years ago tomorrow, Ivo and I began our path to parenthood. Tearful conversations and beautiful trust-building sessions with a family psychologist readied us for the adoption process.

5 years ago at City hall, I used my German to say that I agreed to legally bind myself to Ivo Mijnssen for life. But it was in July that he and I used one another's native languages to promise one another our best intentions, our trust, fidelity and support.
Tomorrow we are eligible for adoption in Switzerland. I've come far enough that I could conduct that process in Swiss-German, filling out forms in high German and translate what is necessary for any American adoption agency. But I don't think we will do that. No, this week, instead of using my Swiss German to re-start the process to adopt a child, I am learning the vocabulary of loss. Last week it was confirmed that Ivo and my miraculous pregnancy (Schwangerschaft) has ended in miscarriage or "Fehlgeburt". Fehlen means "lack" or "abscence", but it also means "want." I choose the latter of these definitions, because our future child is so wanted. A beloved friend told me this week, that we are not having a Fehlgeburt but a Nachricht, or a message. My body has rung a bell and told us (along with all of my doctors) that we are able to get pregnant, that my body did a great job during the pregnancy and that we may naturally become parents.
We are so blessed, because the weight of this Nachricht is so great, that the weight of loss is more manageable. Chrohn's had no effect on this loss, it is blessedly typical. In fact, it happens often to many healthy women.
While preparing to celebrate that civil stage of our partnership, Ivo and I are preparing for our loss. In the meantime, I learn words like "Fruchtwasser" (amnionic fluid) which I produced well and "auskratzen" (the cruel German word that turns "dialation and curetting" into "scratching out", should it come to that.)
Throughout this new experience in our relationship, Ivo and I use our bilingual stock of vocabulary to hold to our vows and love and support one another. This path to parenthood just keeps getting more and more interesting and our partnership continues to prove strong, no matter how it's tested.