The Leuven Connection

The library at Katholieke Universiteit Leuven

Leuven, Belgium, located just outside of Brussels has a long and stored history centered around academia. As early as 1425, when the "old university" was established, there has always been a university located within its confines. The history of the university is like that of so much of the rest of Europe; occupation and independence drove the names, missions and very language in which academics were taught. Is French the official language or is it Dutch (actually Flemish in this part of Belgium). These debates caused the splitting and creation of separate institutions yet none of these arguments were as horrific as the damage that fell upon the university's main library during World War I. And it was this damage that created a connection between my dear alma mater, Mount Holyoke College (as well as other American universities and colleges) and what is now the Katholieke Universiteit of Leuven. 

For most brick and mortar schools, their libraries serve as the centerpiece of their campuses. They are often the keepers of history, the archives of their schools, their communities and even their countries. They are the places where students and professors gather, where thoughts are pondered, where papers are researched and written and where so much learning takes place. (I imagine that I spent more hours in the library at Mount Holyoke than I did any other place on campus). By all accounts, they are sacred buildings. And this is what makes what happened to the library at Katholieke Universiteit of Leuven during World War I so horrific.

During August 1914, the town of Leuven was occupied by German soldiers who in revenge agains the residents eventually looted, burned and destroyed the entire town. The library, along with other public buildings and churches, was looted of many treasures then burned by German soldiers. Over 300,000

The Mount Holyoke pillar

books were burned as well as irreplaceable manuscripts, and 1,000 incunabula, or pamphlets, which dated to before 1501. This pillaging of the town was cited as an example of German atrocities and war crimes by allied forces. In the aftermath of the war the library was rebuilt bigger and grander than ever. The Americans took the lead in rebuilding the library and the Flemish-Rennaissance style building was designed by American architect Whitney Warren. As part of the Treaty of Versailles, the Germans were required to donate 13 million Marks worth of books as part of their reparation. When it was completed the library was viewed as a very public statement of the allied victory over Germany. There was global outrage over the library's destruction and donations of books poured in from all over the world. Mount Holyoke was just one of the many institutions who contributed to the library's rebirth. Unfortunately, because disaster can strike in the same place twice, the library was once again burned in 1940 in a fire that was believed to have been started because of an exchange of gunfire between the German and Allied armies. Once again the library was rebuilt to Warren's specifications and the 900,000 books and manuscripts that were lost were replaced through another global outpouring of support. By 1968 the library's collection topped 4 million books. 

A fellow Mount Holyoke alumnae first told me about the connection between our alma mater and the university in Leuven. Since Leuven is a quick train ride away from me I decided that I needed to go see the library and the "Mount Holyoke pillar" for myself. Today the library anchors the broad Ladeuzeplein Square. From a distance the library looks like many of the impressive buildings that fill European cities but as you approach it you can see that this building is indeed different. The names of many American colleges, universities and prep schools are etched into the stones of the exterior of the library. The large columns that create the covered entryway of the library hold the names of others. Mount Holyoke College is one of those represented. Each of these academic institutions aided and supported the rebuilding of the library following its destruction. In return, they have their name on a small piece of granite a world away from their own libraries. 

Since its founding in 1837 my alma mater has been an institution whose efforts and alumnae span the globe. I've long known about the missionaries and pioneers who graduated from Mount Holyoke and set off to share their skills around the globe. I've also known about the College's own efforts to make education globally accessible to all. I didn't know about their efforts in post War Belgium. I now do and once again feel proud to call myself an alumnae. 

Returning To The Motherland

This weekend I am fortunate to have the opportunity to be in Warsaw, Poland attending my Alma Mater's bi-annual European symposium.  I attended my first symposium in Torino, Italy two years ago and loved it.  From the moment it was announced that this year's get together would be in Warsaw, I knew I was going to be there.  It is difficult to describe the intellectual stimulation I experience by being in the presence of so many smart and worldly women.  (In fact, I feel this way any time I attend anything that is related to Mount Holyoke).   Conversations are always lively, critical, and eye opening.  Even after all these years a part of me feels intimidated in the presence of these women and I still sometimes wonder whether my admission letter was a mistake.  As was the case with the previous symposium, the attendees tend to be older than me but age really doesn't matter since the Mount Holyoke sisterhood transcends age and generation.  It also gives me a peak into what I hope my future holds for me.  I am simply in awe of these women who are twenty, thirty, even forty years older than I am yet have the energy to travel all over the globe while having the desire to continue learning about the world around them. I can only hope I am half as energetic and worldly when I am their age.

And then there is the fact that this year's symposium is in Warsaw.  Poland is the country of my father's parents and my earliest memories involve my grandmother gossiping in Polish with her siblings, speaking fondly of the old Polish neighborhood in Cambridge, Massachusetts (her parents immigrated to America shortly before her birth), and of course the delicious Polish food she would laboriously cook.  As a typical second generation immigrant my father eschewed his cultural heritage and thus, during my younger years I did the same.   Growing up in a solidly "American" community where it seemed as though every one's families had lived there for generations, I often felt like the odd person out with my ethnic sounding name and lack of local roots.  It college it was different and it was there that I started thinking about my own history.  (Again, thank you Mount Holyoke).  As I've grown older I've become increasingly intrigued about the land my ancestors called home and had been wanting to visit for some time.  And this weekend my wish became a reality.

So in many respects, this weekend is a dream come true.  I've been sharing in interesting conversations with worldly women, swapping college memories that transcend class years, admitting that despite my very Polish name I don't speak a word of the language, and yes, explaining what the heck I am doing living in Albania.  I've also been eating real Polish pierogi, wandering the streets of Warsaw's Old Town, and thinking about my own family's story.  I'm ashamed to admit that I don't know as much about it as I should but I'm now determined to do something about that.  And while that wasn't the point of this Mount Holyoke symposium, just being in the presence of all my fellow alumnae has inspired me to do some research and to expand my own horizons by learning a little more about my family story.  Thank you Mount Holyoke; the education you gave me just keeps on giving.

Snow Envy

This is the picture that started it all

All it took was one picture (the one above) popping up on my Facebook wall.  An idyllic snow scene courtesy of Swans Islands Blankets in Northport, Maine.  I took one look at the picture and all of a sudden I craved a cold snowy winter.  Yes, I've said it.  As hard as it is for me, and anyone who knows me, to believe, right now I am envious of my friends and family who are experiencing this very weather I want (to borrow, not keep).

I'm a New England girl at heart. I grew up in Maine back in the day when snow storms were true snow storms.  Days off (or more likely delays) from school because of the weather were the norm during the winter months.  By mid February chances were good that when looking out the first floor windows of our house, the view would be obstructed by mountains of snow.  My brother and I would build snow forts out of the snow banks and in our even younger days, go sledding on the huge hill next to our then house.  Receiving both a red plastic sled (for home) and a roll up sled (for recess) was a give-in each Christmas.  As a child I loved it; as I grew older I didn't give it much thought.  After all, that is what winters in Maine were all about.  You bundled up when you went outside, planned accordingly on winter mornings to allow enough time to dig your car out of the driveway, and anticipated that all events and activities might have snow delays or postponements.  (It was smart to always plan an alternative snow date just in case).  It was just the way things were.

My acceptance of snowy winters continued when I went off to college.  Ensconced on a campus in Western Massachusetts we still got our share of snow but it rarely interfered with daily life.  You walked to class and everything you really needed was provided for you right there.  Winter was winter and with a good pair of boots and snow tires, you dealt with it.  It was during my first post-college winter that my attitude began to change.  I was sharing a house with two other women.  We were in the heart of a city that enforced parking bans like they were going out of style.  We were the only house on the street with any driveway (it only held two cars and there were three of us) so on-street parking was the norm. It also turned out that we received record breaking snowfalls that winter.  By mid December our entire neighborhood was buried in snow and it had gotten to the point where there just wasn't any place to put the new snow as it arrived. Whenever our neighbor cranked up their snow blower the snow ended up in our driveway.  More often than not the police would end up in the neighborhood to mediate a dispute between snow bound neighbors.  Oh, and working for a company that operated 24/7, I had to get up and go to work each and every day.  All of a sudden this fluffy white stuff wasn't so fun any more.  Yes, the snow was pretty and the occasional snow day off from work was nice but the day in and day out of dealing with snow was tiring.  Snow might be nice to play in but when you needed to get from point A to point B on time on a daily basis it just proved to be a hassle.

My love-hate relationship with snowy winters continued until I finally left New England years later.  I spent my first winter in southern Virginia relishing in the fact that it didn't really snow in Norfolk.  Every once in a while a flake or two would fall causing my southern born co-workers to speculate as to whether or not we'd get to go home because of the weather.  It never happened.  Nor should it have.  Shortly before we left Hampton Roads in 2010, a fluke of Mother Nature caused a snow storm to hit that resulted in our receiving almost a foot of snow.  The roads were a mess, no one knew how to drive, and I was housebound for the day since the City didn't own a single plow and we had to wait for the snow to melt off of the road before venturing out.  (Yes, this was the way Norfolk dealt with snow).  It would have been rather humorous had it not been for the fact that Sidney was still in the NICU and a snow day meant I couldn't visit him.  Predictably however, the snow melted the next day, the roads re-opened and life went on.

It does snow in Albania, just not here in Tirana.  The few flakes that have fallen in Tirana over the past two winters have elicited the same level of excitement as they did in Virginia.  We can see snow on the mountains outside of the city (and yes it is pretty).  At the higher elevations heavy snowfalls cause roads to be closed and villages to be cut off from services for weeks on end but this is not something we have to deal with on a regular basis.  Despite the fact I don't really like snow, the New Englander in me still equates Christmas and the entire winter season with snow.  I had been thinking about this for a few months and then the Swans Island picture popped up on my computer.  All of a sudden I wanted to once again experience a good old fashioned snow storm.  (Just one mind you, not week upon week of snow).  I had thought our Christmas in Bavaria would produce the desired effect but alas, snow was scarce and it took going up to the top of the Zugspitze to even experience falling flakes.  Even caught up in a squall, it just wasn't what I had been hoping for.

Call me crazy; as I read comments from my friends in Vermont and Maine I find myself longing for a real snow storm.  I think Sidney would love it; he's only seen snow from afar but never really experienced it.  How does one even explain what snow feels like to someone who has never felt it themselves?  Growing up surrounded by snow I can't even begin to describe it since it feels so natural.  Am I going to get to experience snow this year?  Probably not.  Plans are afoot to allow us to experience a snowy winter next year though:  since Bavaria isn't snowy enough this time we're going to set our sights on Switzerland. After all, surely there will be snow in the Swiss Alps in December. Right?  In the meantime I must apologize again to my snowbound friends.  For the rest of this winter I'm going to live vicariously through all of you as I see your pictures and hear your stories about shoveling, playing, and living with snow.  Enjoy the snow for me; I'm jealous.

Winter at Mount Holyoke College

You've Got Mail (Or Not)

In college it was the little yellow slip of paper tucked into the mailbox in the basement mailroom of the campus center.  Here it is the new email that arrives in your in box each Monday and Thursday afternoon signaling that the plane arrived with the pouches.  Both notifications- sent twenty plus years apart, indicate the same thing.  I have a package waiting to be picked up. Some things never change; the excitement is the same for me.  In both cases I rush to the mailroom and stand in line to sign for my precious new arrivals.

More often than not, in college that package was a box filled with quirky items sent from my mom. Home baked goodies, a trinket picked up during her travels, or even a bottle of shampoo, it was all exciting.  In reality the contents of the package didn't matter since it was the thought and connection with the outside world that was really important.  Today the arrival of mail is still my connection with the outside world.  I may have purchased the contents myself and more often than not, the package consists of diapers, toys, and other Sidney centered items, but it doesn't matter.  It is still a connection to the world outside of Albania.  Here we rely on our mail arriving twice a week via diplomatic pouch. This is on a good week.  On a bad week it might not arrive at all; or  as was the case last fall, it might not arrive for six weeks. Yup, no mail for a full six weeks.  Talk about a let down.

Then as in now, not receiving a package on mail day is disappointing.  Back then, peering into the mailbox and seeing nothing but an empty metal abyss was a sure disappointment.  It was even more so when everyone around me received something.  Now when that email arrives in my inbox I immediately scan the list to see if I am one of the lucky ones who gets to rush to the mailroom and stand in line.  Perhaps what is even more disappointing is when the email comes out saying that no mail arrived today.  Or this week for that matter.  Such has been the case of late.  I envision my packages piling up in a warehouse in Dulles, Virginia just waiting to be shipped overseas.....

I'm sure all this sounds silly to most people. But for those of us who rely on these little pick-me-ups to make it through those not so easy weeks (after all running to Target is not an option), not getting my mail is disappointing. It is more than the ball dress not arriving before the ball, the Halloween candy arriving the day after the holiday, or the medicine not getting here before the next illness hits.  It is a lack of a tangible connection with the outside world.

This has been a week when I really wanted to receive my mail.  I've been bracing myself for it but I'm fearful that we are entering another long period without any mail.  Yes I know I will survive without them but life would be so much easier if my incoming boxes would hurry up and arrive.  I just want to open my inbox on Monday and see those magical words:  you have mail.

The Power of Female Friendship

Friends.  They are the life blood that keeps us going.  Humans are innately social creatures and from an early age we seek out others for companionship.  I am fortunate to have wonderful variety of friends.  They have been with me through the various stages of my life and continue to be a source of support, friendship, and inspiration. Thanks to Facebook and other social media, I have the ability to easily keep in touch with friends I have met as far back as elementary school and all the way up to my current Albanian life. 

Having a younger brother and no close cousins or neighbors of a similar age, my earliest friend was an imaginary one.  Nancy was a mainstay in our house- she accompanied me to dinner, shared my toys, and even took the fall when I did something wrong.  (Yes mom, the pennies inserted into the television slots during a game of "laundromat" were Nancy's influence).  Nancy and I loved the Nancy comic strip and at one point I unsuccessfully petitioned my parents to change my name to Nancy.  Nancy and I finally parted ways when I entered first grade but even to this day I still think of her. 


Michelle was my best from from elementary school.  I met her when I moved to a new school in the middle of fourth grade.  Being the new kid is always hard but she made it easy.  We were immediately inseparable, spending after school hours and weekends together.  Following my father's untimely death when I was in fifth grade, she was the one constant in my preteen world and helped me get through that dark period.  We drifted apart in junior high but recently "re-friended" each other on Facebook. 

In high school my best friend was Shelli.  To this day, she is my oldest friend that I keep in touch with on a regular basis.  Shelli is like a sister to me and throughout high school was included in all of our family events.  We shared the angst of teenage crushes, endured the hurry-up-and-wait of college acceptances, and moved into adulthood together.  Although we attended different colleges, we saw each other as regularly as our schedules permitted (this was pre-Facebook!), and as adults settled within an hours drive of each other.  We shared adult heartbreak and joys and years later ended up giving birth to our sons within months of each other. 

College found me at an all women's school, surrounded by strong women of varied ideologies, experiences, and aspirations.  During my first year, by the luck of the draw, I shared a dorm with the women who would become my closest friends in adulthood.  Alison, Pam, and Andrea, three women who are as different as night and day, quickly became friends who played, and continue to play important roles in my life.  They supported me though college life then the transition into those first tumultuous post-college years where bad relationships, bad jobs, and bad apartments were the norm.  When I finally met the right person, Pam and Andrea were at my side when I walked down the aisle- only after scrutinizing Glenn before giving their approval.

Marrying into the Navy brought about a whole new set of challenges.  With each change in Glenn's assignment came a new set of acquaintances.  Gone were the days of choosing who I socialized with based on my interests; rather I was introduced to a whole new set of women through spouses clubs (or knives clubs as they are unaffectionately called).  On this front I once again lucked out.  Glenn's assignment to and subsequent deployment aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt allowed me to meet Victoria and Johanna.  We got to know each other over drinks and dinners during the endless months of workups and deployments.  When Sidney was born early (and out of state) they rallied around me by providing support from afar.  When we were back home they provided us with hospital visits, home cooked meals, and the support a first-time mother needs. Victoria's wisdom on doing battle with Tricare helped me get through those first scary months. 

The move to Albania was a tough one; new language, new culture, and a whole new world.  It was a struggle to settle in and I am still struggling to find my own niche in this new life we have temporarily made for ourselves.  I've met a lot of people since we arrived last year and with each new acquaintance I wonder whether they will be the one who becomes that true and lasting friend.  Happily I have found that special friend.  Marcelle is my friend, partner in crime, and shoulder to learn on here in Tirana.  We spend hours talking over lunch and provide support to each other at the monotonous receptions we both must endure.  I am sure this is a friendship that will endure long after we have returned to our respective home countries. 

As is the case with life in general and Navy life in particular, we all move on but for me, the one constant is my friends.  I know that all I have to do is pick up the phone or click that mouse and my friends will be there for me.  I am constantly reminded of this when I have the opportunity to get together with girlfriends. No matter how long it has been since we last got together it seems as though we pick up right where we left off.  Its amazing and it gives me the strength I need. I only hope I provide the same support in return. 

Thanks to a Mouse, its a Small, Small World

The Internet is an interesting thing.  With the click of a mouse one can find just about anything their heart desires- online encyclopedias, the latest edition of your hometown newspaper, hotel reservations, cute shoes, or even a spouse- all can be found on the world wide web. 

Technology has come a long way since I sat in front of my first computer- a Commodore 64 back in the fourth grade in Washington, Maine.  I still remember staring at the black screen with alien green font as I clicked away on the keyboard.  Later in high school we were required to pass a "computer literacy test" which essentially meant we had to prove that we could turn on a computer, create and save a document, then shut down the clunky machine.  Back then our typing classes (probably the single most useful class I took in high school) were held in front of old electric typewriters.  In college the Internet was beginning to appear on campus but its use was mainly confined to those students majoring in computer science.  My first computer was an Apple II, a cube of a computer that made typing papers easier but the only thing it connected to was a dot-matrix printer.  By the time I graduated, Mount Holyoke had Pine, a basic system that allowed for some rudimentary email communication.

Fast forward a few (or more) years and it seems as though the entire world has gone high tech.  Thanks to technology the entire world feels like a smaller place.  We may physically be living in Albania but thanks to Facebook, Skype, and the abundance of online stores we are more connected now than we ever have been.  We regularly talk to our families back in the States via Skype and receive play by play updates on friends' lives via Facebook.  We can buy just about anything online and have it shipped to us.  I've discovered that many on-line stores actually have a better selection of products than their sticks-and-bricks counterparts plus my transactions can be completed without having to fight for a parking spot.  I realized just how well connected we were when Glenn and I were coming up with his most recent stateside shopping list.  As I struggled to identify items he could buy in the States and carry back in his suitcase, I realized that there really wasn't anything I needed or even wanted.  (A cup of Starbucks doesn't count since he couldn't get it past TSA security).

I'll admit that the pace of my online shopping has accelerated since we arrived in Albania.  Instead of dropping into the store to pick up an item I fill my online shopping cart with the needed item plus a few additions.  After all, if you reach that critical price point in your basket you qualify for free shipping!  Of course, I must wait a few weeks before my purchases arrive but I get the same thrill from the email announcing I have a package that I did when I saw those little yellow slips in my MHC mailbox.

Some would argue that all of this technology is actually making the world a more detached place.  After all, you can accomplish so many things without actually talking to another human being.  I would argue just the opposite is true.  Thanks to technology we can meet people we would otherwise never know, we can learn about far away places without spending the money to travel there, and we can talk to our friends around the world.  The Internet could actually be viewed as a great equalizer.  If you have access to the Internet you have access to the world.  I realize that not every place or person has this access, but the number that do is increasing on a daily basis.  This means that eventually we will all be able to learn about one another and share ideas and we could even all end up wearing the same pair of shoes.