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.

Ariel Parallel

When I was 8 years old, I was in love with the Little Mermaid. My two best friends had VCRs (we did not) and we watched it nearly every day.
After age 9, however, the first time I saw the film again was in San Francisco last summer. It was on the big screen, in the Castro, round the corner from a bunch of naked men protesting new nudity laws and other tourists in town for Leather fest. We were in the company of young girls in costumes. Everyone had a swag, replete with anything a mermaid fan could want: a clicker to make Sebastian sounds, a dinglehopper for a fun hair-doo, a necklace, a crown, bubbles.....
While watching the film I was transported to all of those feelings I'd had as a child while watching it. When the film concluded, I remembered my confusion at Tritan's sadness. He's worried about "how much I'm going to miss her." As a girl I thought, "but she can always come visit!" Sure, they'd need to hang around near the surface, or she'd need an air tank, but she can still swim around to see her family. As a 30 year old who was living and continues to live 3,000 miles from my family, I experienced the film differently.
Returning to Switzerland left Ivo as wobbly as the newly-legged Ariel. Now that we've settled in we're enjoying all of the beauty of being part of this world. Ivo's been getting career cousnseling of sorts and exploring his options and getting the encouragement that he needs to weather the doctoral storm. We've both been jumping into every work opportunity and have become expert at accepting every social invitation and generally maximizing our here-ness. I'm taking the advice of not giving in to the instinct to tread water and prepare my parenting self and living life childless, knowing that parenthood will come when it comes, but we need to be us until then. That said, we're also shutting out the notion that we may relocate in the next few years, if only temporarily, if Academic oppotunity knocks.
So we dived in and the water's fine, walking around on those - what's that word again - streeeets of Zürich

unreasonable concerns

For my second operation, I was to get a bumper of anesthesia through an epidural. The surgery was meant to take 6 hours or more and the spinal entry would keep everything calm. My anesthesiologist was a terribly sweet and friendly man, which is good for a pediatric anesthesiologist.
He told me to give his nurse a big hug, which I did. He'd already given me something to make me relaxed (and loopy) and I said that his nurse was very fun to hug because she was big and squishy. I'd never have said this had I not been given drugs. I also would not have likely told the doc that he had a large nose if I were sober.

10 hours later, I woke very suddenly, in a lot of pain and with a wet back. My epidural had slid out in recovery. A resident put it back in, but it slid out again and I was given a morphine pump. I understand that the epidural sliding out likely has nothing to do with having offended my caretakers. Nevertheless, I'm reminded of this incident in anticipation of my treatment on Tuesday.
When I met the doctor who will be applying my treatment, I was introduced as an American who speaks "Mundart." The fact that I speak swiss-german was cheerily delivered to this German doctor by his cheery assistant Dr.
"She's only lived here 4 years!" He said, grinning. "Perhaps we should all speak in dialect." He added.
The German Dr. groaned and said "keine Chance."
I'm now thinking about this second-hand chiding and hoping that it doesn't effect my care on Tuesday. I'm hoping alot, in fact. I find myself stupidly or sweetly imagining that something might come of our plan this week and that my health may be taking a new, super cool turn.
Who knows. All I know is that I will be as sweet and polite to everybody at the University Hospital . . . just in case.