interpreting

My husband edited my letter of intent.

Do you see? My expression of desire for a job and my qualities for that job were read and corrected by my husband.
I have to go to an interview and present a self to a perspective employer.

I've been mistaken for other people. I've reminded people of someone who they used to know. I can translate words on paper but have trouble doing simultaneous translation. I interpret what I am feeling to my husband. I presented my understanding of things to small children for over a year.

One day in a train, a Deaf man was trying to get information for why we had stopped. The conductor was not able to explain it to him. She was busy. She needed to inform the car that we were going to need to switch to another train. I turned to the man and asked if I should sign to him what was going on. I wished that I would be asked to interpret for the conductor. I didn't want to simply answer his questions myself. I was afraid that I would be tempted to lie or not tell the full truth. I couldn't, though. I had a friend who was Deaf and I knew the importance that I give him the most accurate information I had. So I didn't say that there was a technical problem. I signed. "She has informed us that someone has jumped from the bridge. She said that the person is on the track and that Police and Ambulance are here. She's just made an announcement that we will need to transfer to another train, which is coming." I found the man later when the conductors were telling us to fully step down from one train before stepping onto the next. That we were not to touch both trains at the same time.

I've been going to a meditation class that is in four parts. I want to have the honesty of interpreting for a Deaf man on a train when I am interpreting what my body is capable of and what my reality is right now.
I want to be that clear when I am at an interview. I want to present the facts. But my husband has edited my intentions.

that one time

When I was in the states this winter it snowed. It snowed and snowed and that snow coincided with a car trip, which was scary. I held my breath when we slowly crested hills with the car downshifted. (I say we, but I mean my brother-in-law, who volunteered to hold all of our lives in his hands so that my sister and I could make it to a yoga retreat.) I kept thining about the one big accident that I had had. My car slid down a snowy slope and underneath a schoolbus. I thought of it ALOT!
I thought mostly about the still weirdness that happens before the crash, the blood rushing in my ears, I thought about the fear and the futility.

Just now, not in a car, not in the snow, I thought of the other, the better, parts of crashing. Let me tell you now that this was a bloodless affair and everyone was fine. One part  was the great cheer the children in the bus let out when the hood of my car slid under the bus' rump and shattered in a fun way (it was a saturn). The best part, however, was the part that I wanted to share:
I got on my cell phone (a new addition to my previously analogue life)  and called my good friend and neighbor, a woman with whom I was apartment-hunting, Dacia. Her boyfriend answered her phone.
"Tyler, I had a crash!" I screamed
"I know! We watched you through the window!" (the crash happened when I tried to not crest a hill ; hoping instead to slide into my road before momentum built up)
"Look behind you!"
I did. Luckily it wasn't another car coming to hit my car, which was next to two smashed cars and under a bus which had crushed a car into a telephone pole. It was Dacia, sliding down the hill on her  toward my car; propelling herself forward on mittened hands. I would have an incredible and essential relationship with this woman. We would live together and support one another and care for one another. Before moving in with her, I lived with a cold woman who was my complete opposite. After living with her I was a better woman and could give myself more of what I needed. And the moment that most clearly defines that wonderful experience is watching this caring, loving grown woman, paddle herself down a hill on her ass to come and sit in my broken ass car and drink my travel mug coffee and hold me while I laughed and on to the time when I would need  to have a big scream - when the adrenaline wore off.)

We watched the cops slip and fall on their bums, we watched a cop car and a snow plow spin down the hill - one after the other - the snowplow spinning down and landing on my back-bumper and unloading sand all over it.

better memory, I think

New Year

It is a New Year!
Like the last 5 years, I rang in 2009 in on a mountaintop with a small group and with Churches chiming (the church in the next town over always a bit prematurely), pretending that I am not afraid of my brother-in-law setting off fireworks.
Crashes and booms meant to scare off the baddies of last year were not enough, so Ivo and I turned ourselves around to 2008 and screamed at the tops of our lungs. Very cathartic. I screamed at the bad parts of the growing pains in our marriage this year. I screamed at anything medical. I screamed at all the frustrations and stumbling blocks. And yet.......

When I look in the future and imagine myself an old lady, I wonder what I will think of this time in my life. What will I tell my grandchildren? Will I be jealous of them? WHO STARTS THEIR MARRIED LIFE AS AN ABSOLUTE BEGINNER AT ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING?!?!?! German, Swiss German, Swiss culture, Accordian, being a daughter-in-law, Kick-boxing, Snowboarding, Eating meals with other people, Yoga.....

So, the past couple of years I have been a beginner and not so good at things. I've needed to be patient, I've needed to be humble, I've needed to be be an adult learner. What are my plans for the New Year? More of the God damned SAME!
I guess I wasn't shouting at being a beginner, cuz I've got beginner-plans for 2009. Adult swim classes, French lessons and french school in Paris, leaving the confidence that comes from working a job that I know how to do and have done for more than a decade for a job that I have studied for but never actually done, jumping in the adult pool metaphorically as well and gettin' me a hearing aid.

I'm all about figuring out how I want to identify myself. I guess I never figured that I would be a beginner, that I would CHOOSE to.

Dear John.. I mean Chon's

Dear Chron's,
I won't be contrived and say that this is the hardest letter that I have ever had to write, but I will risk cliche by reminding you, that breaking up is hard to do.
We've been together a long time and as you know, ours is not the only unhealthy relationship that I have had. Like those relationships, I have found a comfort in the momentum of our relationship and as a result have ignored it's more abusive tendencies. Also like those other relationships, I've reached a point of maturity at which I can no longer ignore that this relationship is too destructive for me to maintain. I'm sorry. I have to break it off.
There are always moments that crop up after a relationship, where you find yourself wondering "what if we were still together?" We'll think on the good times, like the care and attention you gained me, even in the days when we were just beginning and the whisper of irritable bowel wasn't even sure enough to call a full-blown chronic illness. I know there will be times when I miss the comfort that I had being in your embrace, defining myself by our relationship. Defining oneself by one's unhealthy relationship is never a good idea, and so I feel certain that when I am wondering and when I am missing you, choosing to be without you will be best for both of us. We'll both have to coexist in this big ol' crazy world, but I think that it's best if we don't contact one another for a while. You'll see, in time, that it's for the best.
You'll see me with other medicines, healthier alternatives. You may wonder why I don't dabble in the western medicines you and I used to. You may feel betrayed that I cut out our old friends (6MP, Humira, Prednisone, Pentasa, Asacol), you know as well as I do that they were all really your friends and not "ours".
I need to see what else is out there. I need to go out on my own and see what the world is like beyond our relationship.
I'll always be thankful for our time together. Not just because of the care, but also from all of the lessons I've learned from you. I'll keep them in a special place in my heart.
Goodbye Chron's.

Good Luck,
Jessica

I want a new kiss (or ...it's on my list)

The many subtleties of relationships are a language unto themselves. I have found that these subtleties differ from country to country, from experience. I have also found that I love discovering them or practising them.
In America, I got a charge from the subtle developments in relationships. The first time you can venture an "it's me" on the telephone. The first time the person answering the telephone knows who it is when you say "it's me". The first time you feel inclined to embrace a friend on a regular basis. The first time it seems appropriate to "pop-in" or "stop by" or any other number of cute terms use to describe disturbing someones peace and quiet.
In Switzerland I've learned there is a bit more formality to some of these developments, in some cases, even a ceremony of sorts. When inviting someone to call you "du" and use your first name only when communicating, it is sometimes required to invite this person for a drink or a coffee to discuss this new intimacy. As an American, there have been times when I have inadvertently injured a friend or acquaintance by using the wrong form. (I sometimes forget if we are already "du" and will say my full name on the telephone or say "Sie" by mistake. Sometimes I have seriously noticed offense. Other times I will accidentally "du" someone thinking that they are laid back and young and that I am the same. In Starbucks or at the hairdressers, it's always "du" at the bakery where I am a regular, I can show respect only by saying "Sie".)

In a land where I have kissed strangers three times on the cheek, merely because they are good friends of my husband or a friend of mine, there is a strange subtlety to kissing and a large intimacy in the hug. My best girlfriend and I embrace when we see one another, possibly with a kiss on the cheek, if it has been a long time. My closest male friends and I have a one-cheek-kiss agreement. Somehow this is more intimate than three. I can't explain why. At work, we greet one another with a smile or a wave on a daily basis, but after any absence or holiday, there are three-kisses to be expected. With children that I know well, and who are not my students, I typically offer one-cheek kiss, or a kiss on the top of the head or forehead.

But now, I want a new kiss. I kiss my in-laws three times. I kissed my in-laws three times back when we first met and they were simply the parents of a man I was seeing (and though I was ga-ga about him, the relationship was new and insecure). It's been years that we've kissed one another three times. When we stay together somewhere and I go to bed, I kiss them three times. When they give me a gift or I give them one, it is three kisses. When I go to dinner at their house or they come to mine, it's three kisses. I want something more intimate.

Now I need to decide, what sort of a special kiss do I want with them? They kiss their children quickly on the lips, but I don't want that. That seems more for blood-relations. I could give them a one-cheek kiss, but that is for my friends and children. Perhaps simultaneous nose and chin kisses (I've always loved kissing my sister that way). Also, does their need to be a ceremony? Do I need to invite them to drinks or coffee to propose this new greeting? So many questions.
On the plus side, I don't feel like this is a cultural difference or assimilation problem. The excitement of the prospect of the new kiss feels equal to the excitement of the ringing phone when you intend to say "it's me!" Nevertheless, I know that deciding that, the way I kiss my in-laws, too greatly resembles the way in which I kiss strangers who know the same people I do, seems uniquely European.

können wir?

In an article in a Swiss magazine, the author asked "can we?" He wondered if the election in America, with all of the excitement, optimism, movement and emotion, would be possible in Switzerland. Of course, the Swiss don't elect a president, so it'd have to be a variation of what we had in the US.
I was thinking of the words "Yes We Can". I was thinking about the possibilities of translation, and instantly, Bob the Builder and not Cesar Chavez, popped into mind. I'd known the Bob the Builder song from my half-brother. "Bob the builder, can we build it? Bob the builder, yes can!" In the Kindergarten, one of our students from Berlin, would often sing the German Bob der Baumeister song. It is terribly awkward, the extra-long German words crammed into the American melody. Though, when literally translated, it is closer to Chavez and Huerta's motto, than Obama's. "That we can achieve/create"
When Ivo and I were in Petersburgh, we actually speculated about what the Bob the builder song would be in Russian. This was not simple wild wondering, the cartoon was playing on the TV in the kitchen, and while waiting for the song to come on, we guessed at what the literal translation of the song would be. "It must be done", was my guess. Ivo's Russian teacher answers "it must go" when asked "how's it going?". Ivo purely translated "yes we can" in Russian. That seemed too optimistic for Russians, in my stereotyping mind.
The answer was revealed when the strangely animated-Russian speaking crew of builders and building machines began to sing. In answer to the question "can we do it?" he answer is piz problem. Without problem.
Just like the various translations of a big-headed builder's optimistic melody, I think that the excitement and emotion of this American presidential election can never be copied exactly. It makes me proud. I know that part of it is semantics, like the varying parliamentary and governmental organizations stand in the way of repetition. Ivo points out that our situation is limited to colonizing or other former slave-owning nations.
Let's face it, the Beatles were talented, but it was the right time and the right place. For all Obama's charisma, intellect, and fairness, we were ready for change. It isn't only the awkwardness of the language that stands in the way of stimulating the masses.
"Können sie es schaffen?" wahrscheinlich nicht.

living

If I sat and took the time, right now, I'd remember if it was or wasn't in 2005. I know that it was spring, the weekend of Mother's Day, that Ivo and I drove to Philadelphia to visit a potential apartment. I would begin my master's program in the fall.
On our way, Ivo began to droop and sag in the heat and humidity. We played a Prince mixed cd for the umpteenth time and cursed the choice of whether or not to use the air conditioner. Underneath all of the discomfort was that we were visiting a city 8 hours from Providence. We were preparing for me to leave him. We had no idea what this move would mean for our very new relationship, but it was easier to focus on the weather.
At the apartment, we met an Egyptian man who was doing the painting. The place looked a mess and in need of a good deal more than just paint, but the man made huge promises of how he would set the place in order. He said that he was a friend of the building manager. He said that my dog would be welcome there (this proved later to be untrue) and he said that I would really love it there. He then went on to say that his day job was actually in a seurity company. Then he began to expound on the buisness oppurtunities in Iraq. That's it: it was 2004.
When I moved in to my first apartment in Philadelphia, none of the promises from the painter were true and I arrived to confront the fact that I knew exactly noone. I tried to make the best of it and set my bed up in the kitchen. This was my optimism at work. I was promised new carpeting in the bedroom in a few short days, and I didn't want to hamper the building manager's best efforts.
New tenants moved into the first floor. Far more than there was space for. They were artists and sculptors, which meant that they worked in grocery stores and cafes. They were all from Jersey.
While my apartment was not nearly the Utopia that the painter had described, at least it had a working shower. The 6 kids on the first floor had none. They admitted this to me after a week of living there, when we chatted as I took out my garbage.
"You're welcome to mine." I said. I was secretly excited about the company. Indeed, each one sat and chatted (thankfully after having showered) when they came up to use my facilities. When the last was clean, they said that they would like to repay my kindness and invited me down to dinner. This was a huge blessing as I was job-hunting and eating very little at the time.
When I came down, we ate on the porch. They' made all sorts of things that they'd found at the Ethiopian store up the street. The real thank you, they insisted, was to share some opium with me. It smelled lovely, like jasmine. Like everything else, since I'd arrived it was unexpected and unusual.
The short time in this apartment, which ended when I came home from work and found that all of my doorknobs had been removed by the building manager's partner, was a mixture of oddity and anxiety. At some point, the building manager took me out for a burrito. We'd just been fighting about my lease agreement which he had lost and begun defying. I told him that three people had been by and told me three different amounts of rent to be paid at three different times. We were also arguing about whether or not it was my responsibility to find flat mates for the other two bedrooms. I had been told that the building manager would be doing this, and while I wasn't thrilled at the idea, it made me surprised to sudenly be threatened with the whole of the rent for not having found tenants yet. In the middle of this fight he said, "let us discuss this over dinner." and we did.
I'm amazed at how well everything turned out in Philadelphia as I ignored my better judgement on an almost daily basis. Smoking opium in return for letting strangers use my shower. Letting the cuilding manger pay for my burrito and being so taken by stories of his life in Iraq, that I joined him for a drink in a bar which had a Russian brothel on the second floor. Riding on the bike handles of a stranger I met at a David Sedaris reading, and asking him if he knew of anyone with an apartment for rent.

I think that when I moved out of my first flat is when I decided to start trusting my gut again. After all, I was the "totally uncool" housemate who said that she didn't feel comfortable with the fact that one of the houses keys was given to a couple who, although they had chosen to live in their van were camping out in our living room and entertaining guests. (These people were strangers whom one of my housemate had me the day before they began inhabitting our home free of charge.)
When I think back to that first apartment, I can barely comprehend who it was that was making the decisions that I did. I'm glad that Lucas came to visit and played Jimmeny Crickett. Come to that, I think that I may owe my guardian angel some opium.