Names & Faces

You know you have settled into a community when you begin to readily recognize people. Its a comforting feeling; no longer is everyone you see a stranger, rather you are all a part of the same community. But simply recognizing someone doesn't mean you know them. Even after you begin to greet them when you see them, do you really know them if you don't know their name?

Right now we are living in a diverse but relatively small community. Where ever I go I immediately recognize the people I see and I can categorize them into where I know them from. There is the staff at the post office, the clerks at the store and even the gate guards who check my ID each time I drive by. There are the people who hit the gym each morning at the same time I do; the moms who shop on base immediately after dropping their kids off at school and the people who stop by the cafe for coffee each afternoon before picking their children up. And of course there are the parents, mostly moms again, who I recognize from Sidney's school and soccer team. I can recognize most of them by the class their child attends and if they are one of Sidney's class or teammates I know them as that child's mom. With this group I am known as "Sidney's mom". (All this makes me wonder whether we all follow the same schedule!). But do I know their names? For the most part no.....It is all strangely anonymous but not really.

I'd been pondering this not knowing any one's name issue for awhile. First, I'm horrible when it comes to remembering names so even if I've heard it once I'm likely to forget it. Second, after talking to someone on a daily basis (fellow moms for example) it feels awkward to months later, as, someone what their name is. Sometimes Glenn and I will serve as each other's foil with one of us introducing ourselves to someone the other knows yet doesn't know their name. But inevitably we all quickly return to being known quasi-anonymous as so-and-so's parent.

But last week something changed. Like I said, I pass the same people each day as I go about my routine. I was at the post office and walked passed a fellow American mom who I see just about every morning and afternoon. We both smiled at each other but then as I passed her she stopped and introduced herself telling me that she saw me everywhere but didn't know my name. Here I was feeling the very same thing but she took the step to change all of that. We made our introductions then went along our way (with my repeating her name to myself several times so that I wouldn't forget it). Since that interaction I've seen her just about every day and we now greet each other not only with a smile but an acknowledgement using our names. As simple as it is, it feels so much nicer.

And her initiative has now spurred one of my own. At a minimum of once a week (I do need to remember all of the names after all), I am going to make it my mission to actually introduce myself by name to someone I see regularly and inquire about their own as well. I've already done it twice and I am now able to refer to people by their names rather than as the mom of Sidney's classmate ______. I wish I had started doing this sooner since my already small community is suddenly feeling cozier and more friendly than it was before. I love it. Now I can't promise that I am going to remember every one's name but I'm going to give it my best shot.

Its Complicated

Recently I was standing in a line making small talk with a fellow American tourist when I was asked where I was from. For me, and other military families, this is such a loaded question that I didn't even know where to begin with my answer. Is it where I live at the moment (Belgium)? But then some people think I'm Belgian. America? Is a generic "America" good enough or do people want more specifics? Is it where I grew up (Maine), where I first lived as an adult (Massachusetts) or where we first lived as a family (Virginia)? At one point Sidney was so confused that when posed with the "where are you from" question at the playground, he answered Albania. I quickly jumped in and corrected him but this led to his asking me where he was from since, up to that point, his only memories were of living in Albania. And the question is all the more confusing when we are together as a family. Glenn grew up in Maryland and went to college in New York before joining the Navy and spending time on both Coasts. And the tender age of 4 1/2 Sidney was born in one state, lived in two others (I'm cheating a bit and counting Washington D.C. as a state since we did live there for over one year) and has now lived in two European countries. So what is home anyway?

So how did I answer my fellow tourist? I took a deep breath and told him I lived in Belgium. He looked at me knowingly and asked if I was military. When I nodded in agreement he quickly added that he was retired from the Navy and listed several of the places he had once called home (including Virginia and Belgium). Here was someone who understood how loaded the question really is. It was like finding an unlikely soulmate in a sea of foreigners. But finding that type of understanding outside of our military community is rare.

Some days I look longingly at friends who are settled. From my perspective their living in a house they have owned for years, their children attending the same school with the same children for each grade and their ability to lay down permanent roots looks so comforting. They don't face the regular uncertainty of where they will end up next, whether the schools and the job will be acceptable and more importantly, what their new house and neighborhood will be like. On the flip side, I've had civilian friends comment about how exciting and even glamourous my life must be. From the inside, living this life certainly doesn't feel that way. Yes, with mobility comes opportunities and we take full advantage of them as they arise. But that doesn't negate the desire to not have to always be on the move. I'd love to not be continually packing and unpacking boxes, trying to make new friends and finding my way around a new community. Someday, someday.....

So where are we from? For the time being we live in the moment and home is where ever the Navy sends us. And at at the moment, that happens to be Belgium.

Made For You And Me: A Book Review

So what happens when you are an avid reader who accidentally leaves your e-reader at home when you set off for a month long trip? First you bemoan your forgetfulness and think you can forgo reading for the month then in literary desperation, grab the first book you see on the shelf by the checkout line.Yes, this happened to me and the book I grabbed, Made For You And Me by Caitlen Shetterly turned out to be one of the best books I've read in a long time. From the first page this book touched me and as I turned the pages I found myself laughing, crying, relating to the words on the page.

For Shetterly, like so many people of my generation, the horrific events surround September 11th forced her to step back and reassess her life. In the aftermath of it all she left New York City and returned to her home state of Maine to write, act and have that simpler way of life that so many people crave. From the outside it often feels unattainable yet it is the way many Mainers live. She settled into a life she loved but then fell in love and with her husband had a California dream. Unlike like many people who only fantasize about following their dreams, they took the jump only to realize that dreams often fall short of what you hope they will be. With an economy in a downward spiral careers as freelancers is a tough route to take and for the Slatterlys it proved to be difficult. After a year of downs, ups and more downs they headed back to Maine to yet another unknown. And this memoir, which started out as an audio blog for NPR, traces the journey from east to west and back again.

As I read the book I felt myself feeling so many emotions; I was envious of Shetterly for following her dream not only once but twice. Each time she followed her passion through the thick and thin. I only wish I had the same level of daring to do the same. I laughed along with her as she discovered the quirkiness of America. Encountering an (in)famous Chick-Fil-a sandwich for the first time? This Mainer has been there and done that, wondering who a single pickle slice constitutes as dressing up a chicken patty. Living in questionable apartments in strange neighborhoods; done that too as have many people I know. Despite our education and work experience many of us have been faced with tough times during an even tougher economy. While never facing the exact circumstances as Shetterly I've asked myself whether a particular job is worth taking just because it is a job. And the relationship between adult children and their parents; who hasn't been there as well? I could go on.....

But for me this book is a great read because it is real. It isn't sugar coated nor is it a pity party; rather it is a story of my generation, one that many of us can and do relate to. I'll be honest, the older I get the more I find myself thinking about and wanting these same things (sans the acting part) that Shetterly does. Perhaps my recent trip to Maine only reaffirmed these feelings for me but in my mind a good book should make you pause and think and this book did just that. (Of course, any time I go on vacation I find myself thinking about and reflecting upon the choices I have made in life so perhaps my reading this book while on vacation is timely). Don't wait until you are on vacation or desperate for reading material to pick up this book. It is worth seeking out now.

The Long Journey Home

After a month away, today Sidney and I are returning home to Belgium. I say home because, despite our month revisiting all of the places we have lived as a family, Belgium has become the place we currently call home.

During our month long journey up the East Coast then back down, we kept asking ourselves the question of "could we see ourselves living here?". And this is a pertinent question for us since with retirement looming, in a short two and a half years when we leave Belgium, we will be returning to the United States and for the first time, moving to a location of our own choosing. Never having the option to fully choose for ourselves, this is an exciting yet slightly scary proposition. 

So over the past month as we moved from one East Coast location to another we looked long and hard at what life would be like should we choose to settle there. The question of schools, job opportunities, cultural amenities, cost of living and overall quality of life were always in the forefront of our minds. Some locations we immediately dismissed as not being options. At one time we had made those locations work for us but in our current situation we just couldn't envision ourselves settling down there for the long term. Other locations possibilities and two became definite contenders. For both locations I even went so far as checking out the local real estate listings to see just what our money could buy us. Geographically and socially the two places couldn't be more different but we could see ourselves being happy and taking advantage of the opportunities they provided. Could we call either place home and raise our family there? Most likely. At the moment we don't have to decide but we do have a lot to think about.

So where is home? It is where ever we make it. Where is that? At the moment it is Belgium and it is good to be back. In the future? Who knows; only time will tell.

A Lifetime Of Love

My maternal grandparents had been married for over sixty years when my grandfather passed away in 2008. They had met in the heyday of the pre- World War II years and corresponded through hand written letters while my grandfather was a solider in the Pacific. They married upon his return from the War and settled into the suburban life that was expected of couples of their generation. They raised two children, a boy and a girl, in their starter house that became their home for life. My grandfather worked for the family business then in his own company while my grandmother ran the household and in her spare time served as a Girl Scout volunteer. 

My grandmother was always the more outgoing of the two; loving to socialize with friends and family and always on the lookout for the next fun activity to participate in. My grandfather was quiet and had a routine that included work, spending copious hours on his HAM radio and collecting guns. He preferred to stay home rather than travel saying he had travelled during the war. The one exception was a period of time during the 1980s when summer weekends would be spent in a camper trailer along the Connecticut River in New Hampshire. There he would simply fish for hours. While my grandmother was fun to be around my grandfather's silence and detached manner scared me. As I got older I remember hearing whispers that apparently the War had changed him. He would talk about bits and pieces of his war service but the stories were always superficial and revealed nothing about where he served and what he experienced. (It wasn't until after his death that I learned about the battles he saw and fought). These were the grandparents I remember from earliest memories.

When my grandfather developed Alzheimer's disease my grandmother cared for him at home before eventually moving him into a nursing home and then finally hospice care. As is often the case with his horrible disease, his decline was slow and painful both for him and those around him. Angry outbursts became common but my grandmother was stoically by his side throughout the ordeal. When he finally passed it was with a sense of relief. But suddenly after decades of being with her life partner, my grandmother was alone. Alone in a too big house that needed too many repairs. Alone and free of the responsibility of caring for a loved one. Eventually, after much waiting and decluttering, she moved out of house of over half a century into a nearby retirement community where she was able to maintain her independence in her own apartment yet have the comforts of an on site dining room, recreation center and most importantly for my social butterfly of a grandmother, lots of friends.

She has now been living in her new community for two years now and this is where we visited her during our recent trip to Massachusetts. Her apartment is cute and filled with relics from her old house including several photographs of my late grandfather. Due to distance it had been a long time since we last visited but I had heard that not only was Gigi, as she is now known to us, happy but she had a boyfriend. Yes, she is in her 90s and had been married for most of her life to one person, but she was dating again. And during our short visit with her we got to meet her "younger"--in his late 80s--new beau.

Seeing my grandmother and her "friend" as she introduced him, for me has been the highlight of our trip to date. Gigi appeared happier than I have seen her in years and years younger than I remember her being. Her friend was dapper, charming and obviously adored her and had survived the War without the same emotional wounds that had haunted my grandfather. He repeatedly called her honey and went out of his way to hold doors and help her in and out of the car. They giggled like school children yet squabbled like an old married couple when trying to decide which entree to split at lunch. They joked with each other and were more affectionate towards one another than I ever remember my grandfather being with my grandmother.

The whole scene was so heartwarming. I loved seeing my grandmother so happy and full of life and reminded me that love can happen at any age. Young love is wonderful but finding love again later in life. I can only imagine how nice it must be.

Stress Factor

Stress.  As in "I am so stressed". The phrase has become so commonplace in conversations that I sometimes wonder whether it has lost its true meaning. Or whether it has become such a catch phrase that people don't stop and think about what it really means. But recently two separate articles discussing the causes of stress caught my eye and now I find myself thinking at of course we are stressed as a country and a society. I mean, given all that is going on around us, how can we not be?

First, a The Washington Post article cited a Robert Wood Johnson Foundations study that found politicians to be the number one factor in causing stress in our daily lives. Eighty-six percent of surveyed Americans indicated that they had experienced stress in the past month with 26 % saying those stress levels had been extreme. While major health issues were the largest contributor of longer term high levels of stress, issues surrounding everyday life were attributed to smaller daily stressors. Americans said that "hearing about what the government or politicians are doing"increased their stress levels more than dealing with long commutes, juggling the work-life balance and dealing with family dynamics. Hence the negative influence of our elected officials. And with the ongoing stalemate punctuated by vicious verbal attacks and other juvenile behavior in Washington, it really is no wonder. What we are watching looks like bad reality television. But when these issues-- the economy, immigration reform, religious freedoms, access to health care and global warming-- directly impact individual lives yet are treated like pawns in an ugly game, it is all too real. So it is no surprise that as a society we are so stressed. I know I am, are you?

And speaking about hearing and watching the politics play out on televisions, a NPR piece discussed the same study, focusing on the impact watching, reading or listening to the news has on our stress levels. Open a newspaper or turn on the news and it is filled with bad news. Foiled terrorist attacks, domestic disputes turned deadly and the recent horrific spate of parents leaving their young children in hot cars fill the airwaves and these are just the domestic news articles. And when an event is particularly horrifying, the media provides continual coverage of the event. If there is nothing new to report they replay the footage or bring in "experts" who not only speculate on the event at hand but link it to past atrocities. One only as to think about the events surrounding the September 11th terrorist attacks or the bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building to realize how true this year. Years after the event these images are still burned into my mind. But despite, or perhaps because, of the scale of these tragedies, people are watching. The above cited study found that "people who exposed themselves to six or more hours of media daily reported more acute stress symptoms than did people who were directly exposed" to the actual events. So we no longer need to actually experience the event in person in order to suffer the effects of its aftermath. Are we on the verge of becoming a country where everyone suffers from PTSD?

So who is to blame for all of this and what should we do? Do we elect new representatives with the hope that they can actually work together to solve our never ending list of problems? Do we turn everything off and simply unplug from current events? Do we run to our doctors requesting drugs to dull the side effects of our society? Sign up for yoga classes or live on media free communes that are cut off from the world? I have no idea what the solution is but something has to give. And soon....

Leaving On A Jet Plane

All my (our) bags are packed
I'm (we're) ready to go.........

And at last, we're off. After just over three years we're are mere hours away from setting foot on American soil again as a family. I didn't anticipate being this excited about it but now that we're on our way out the door, I am. As frustrated as I find myself at times about my country and her politics, it is still my home. And I am going home.

Actually, I'm not really sure where home is any more but we're hitting all of the spots we have lived in recent years. From Virginia to Maine with several stops in between we're going to spend time there over the next few weeks. Since we'll be on the move a lot I'm not sure how relaxing this vacation will be. But that is OK since we're going to be seeing old friends, family and places that hold special memories for us. We'll eat, drink and be merry all the way up Interstate 95.

But because we will be on vacation and despite being on the go, we're going to slow down our pace. As much as possible we're going to disconnect from electronics and reconnect with each other. So my blogging is going to slow down and be replaced with just experiencing the world around me. I need this break and really can't wait. And with that,

                                                                 All my bags are packed
                                                                 I'm ready to go.............

A Fish Out Of Water

Recently I've been feeling a bit like a fish out of water. I feel like I'm in limbo and don't really have a community to call my own. Maybe its because we recently moved (if you can call five months ago recent) and I have yet to find my niche. But as I look around me I find myself wondering just what my new "community" will be. Atypical of most military postings, there isn't a spouse group associated with Glenn's command. Add in the fact that I'm not working and Sidney attends a school without a PTA or other parent's group where I could easily meet my peers, and I'm actually finding it quite difficult to meet like minded people. Because from where I'm sitting, I really don't see a whole lot of people like me. That's not to say that I need to be surrounded by people like myself; rather I want to find at least a few people with whom I share similar interests and values.

I've had civilian friends tell me that by being a part of a military community I must be surrounded by people like myself. In a superficial sense this is true; we are all families who get uprooted every few years, understand than most the true costs of your country being at "war", and therefore can offer support to one another. This is most often the case. But just as our country is diverse, so is our military. Ethnically, spiritually, politically and yes, socio-economically we have variety. Add in the fact we are in an international military environment and the current level of diversity surrounding me so that much greater. Amidst all of this I'm finding myself feeling quite alone.

The American footprint here in Mons is much smaller than I expected and from what I've experienced, it is nothing like the close group of friends we've had at other duty stations. I feel as though the American community here is younger, more openly Christian and a lot more conservative than I am comfortable with. Now I'm not begrudging anyone their individual freedom to be open about these qualities but to be honest, they just aren't qualities I am comfortable with. I keep telling myself that there have to be fellow Americans here whose beliefs are more closely aligned to mine but I have yet to find them. I'm looking though.

And then there is the international community whom I do feel more comfortable around. Despite my inability to speak French in a meaningful way I find the greatest pleasure in interacting with them. Whether it be fellow parents at Sidney's school or Belgians in the community, this is where I am more comfortable. But I have yet to make a strong connection with anyone. But again, I'm looking.

And if I keep looking I'm eventually going to find what I'm looking for. Right? So, friend wanted. Must be socially and culturally open minded, enjoy good food and even better wine, have a spirit for adventure and love to explore. Parents of young children optional but a bonus. Any takers?

Hello Summer

Just as it does every year, summer has snuck up on me again. Sure, summer may not officially begin until the 21st of June but for most Americans, this weekend marks the unofficial start of summer. Each year, I spend the winter and spring longing for summer and then all of a sudden it is here. But this year, it feels like it really did pop up out of no where. Perhaps it is because Sidney's Belgian school and Glenn's NATO command are both open on Monday meaning there won't be a long weekend for us. Sheltered from the mass consumerism that surrounds all American holidays, I haven't been hearing commercials and receiving flyers for must have holiday weekend sales. And the weather? Well, we are in Belgium so the weather is anything but summery. Accustomed to the hot Balkan springs I've been downright cold here. We did have a tease of warmer and sunnier weather earlier this week but we have now returned to the cool and cloudy forecasts that I think of as Belgian weather. Nothing about the temperatures are making me think about beaches, picnics, and flip flops.

But, despite it all, sun or no sun, summer is here. So how are we going to make the best of it? We have a full summer of activities planned. We'll get our dose of heat and humidity during our visit back to the East Coast; we'll explore more history during long weekend trips throughout Western Europe, and we'll explore the best of what Belgium has to offer. And like true Belgians, we'll be ready to go rain or shine, heat or no heat. After all you can't let a little weather stop you.

But first up is a weekend cookout for new friends. With hamburgers, barbecue chicken, and all of the traditional sides, what is more American? And while the weather says the sun will shine we'll be ready with umbrellas just in case. (Because we are in Belgium after all.....).

So here's to a long, safe, and fun filled summer.

Let's Go To The Zoo

Feeding the monkeys is a favorite zoo
activity

The best zoo I have ever visited is right in our Belgian back yard.  We were told about the zoo by several people the minute we arrived in  Belgium with everyone telling us how wonderful it was. There was so much hype around the zoo that I found myself wondering if it was really as good as everyone was saying. I found out that it is and others agree since it was named the most beautiful park and best zoo in Belgium in 2014 and the best theme park in 2013. In a country filled with parks these recognitions are definitely something to brag about.

Actually, to call Pairi Daiza a zoo isn't accurate since it is a zoo and so much more. It is a botanical garden and international cultural showcase. And best of all it is located fifteen minutes from our house making both day long and last minute visits easy. In fact, since it reopened for the season early last month Pairi Daiza it has become our favorite place to visit. We've bought season passes and have started stopping by for the afternoon or just a an hour or so. There is so much to see and despite our repeated visits, we have yet to experience the entire zoo. It is that big and that amazing.

Today Pairi Daiza is a 140 acre zoo and botanical garden that is home to 4,000 animals- from zebras and panda bears to kangaroos, monkeys and hundreds of birds, they all live here. There is even a small aquarium, complete with seals and penguins. But the zoo grounds, located in the midst of rolling farmland, is actually on the grounds of the old Cistercian Cambron Abbey. The old abbey tower remains as the centerpiece of the park, looming over the lush grounds and serving as a geographic landmark since it is easy to get lost amongst the maze of pathways, ponds, and animals. But to get a bird's eye view of the entire grounds, a rope walk spanning high over much of the park is the way to go. My fearless little boy loves it--especially making the narrow wooden and rope walkway bounce uncontrollably--and it is now the first, and sometimes last, place we visit upon arriving.

The old abbey tower

The first thing I noticed about Pairi Daiza is that the animals have so much space to wander around and in some cases are free to share space with their human visitors. Regal peacocks stroll the ground and while visiting "the land down under" we found only a low guardrail separating ourselves from the kangaroos. Lush vegetation lined pathways connect each world garden with the next. In one moment you may be in an immortal Chinese city complete with giant pandas and the next you have wandered into an African stilt village or a Balinese temple surrounded by elephants. Monkeys swing overhead and if you visit during feeding time the monkeys will come right up and eat out of your hands. (This has become a favorite activity for our family). Wandering around one of the many lagoons you encounter birds-giant pelicans, bright pink flamingos, ducks of all kinds, herons, and eagles wandering around the paths, swimming in the water, or soaring overhead. There are also several large caged aviaries where visitors share space with smaller, more colorful birds. I'm not a fan of the avian world but even I find it really cool to be so up close and personal with these colorful feathered creatures.

One of the smallest residents enjoying a
rare sunny moment

African stilt village

And because this is Europe Pairi Daiza has two other features that are rarely found in American zoos. First there are giant playgrounds, both outside and in (in consideration to the often inclement Belgian weather) where kids can run, jump, and climb to their heart's content and burn off energy. The second feature that I love is the food. Yes, you will find your typical park food of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers here but you will also find sushi, Italian and Chinese foods, traditional Belgian fare, and African delicacies. And because this is Belgium all of the food can all be washed down with the zoo's own brewed beer. Have you ever wanted to participate in a traditional tea ceremony? You can do it here. (You can also get a fish pedicure if that is your thing).

There really is something for everyone here and I know we've only just begun to explore and experience everything Pairi Daiza has to offer. In fact, rain or shine its going to be a great place to spend our summer days.

Bright koi frolicking near the immortal city

You never know what you will find hiding
amongst the trees

Bright birds

Zebras

Give Me Light

A room with a view...of a concrete wall

I love light. Whether it be the long hours of daylight that fill the summer months or simply a brightly lit room, give me light and I immediately feel better. Take away that light and I am simply sad. Our old house in Albania had a lot of small windows which should have let in plenty of light yet I felt as though I spent two and a half years living in the dark because I fought, and lost, a never ending battle with my housekeeper about keeping the shutters open. I would open them and she would immediately close them saying the sun faded rugs, open shutters let in the heat, or the neighbors could look at us if the shutters weren't tightly closed. After a while I gave up and just resorted to buying light bulbs with stronger wattage and spending time outside on the balconies (where yes, the neighbors could see me). Perhaps that is why I was immediately taken with our current house in Belgium. The large windows opening onto both our back yard and the front street are what sold me on the house. Granted, we might not get a lot of sunny days in Belgium but when we do the house is as bright as can be. And even on cloudy days, natural daylight still means the house is still filled with light.

We've been fortunate enough to travel quite a bit over the past few years and I'm discovering that one of my travel pet peeves are rooms without adequate lighting. Granted, rooms with views would be preferable and with a couple of minor exceptions we have had natural light flowing into our rooms. But the exceptions, where light was at a premium, were especially bad. Up until recently, our worst room was one at the Marriott in Waikiki, Hawaii where our room over looked the parking deck. If I sat in a chair and peered up and out the window I could see a glimmer of sunlight. Or I could wait for a car to turn on their headlights and then our room would be flooded with bright light. I thought that was bad but on our recent trip to Istanbul, I found out that what we had in Waikiki was heaven. In Istanbul our room had a great window but it opened onto the concrete wall of the adjacent building. Yup, no natural light at all. (Which is a shame because other than the lack of light, the hotel was quite nice). And that brings me to my next point........

Why oh why can't hotels have adequate lighting? More often than not even the nicest of hotels have too few lights with low wattage light bulbs. A room with a single overhead light really doesn't cut it. I understand the concept of mood lighting but when I can't even see my face in the mirror it just might be too dark in the room. If the room has a desk or workstation I would except there to at least be a brighter light there but I have found that to rarely be the case. Now if you add in a lack of natural light-such as was the case in our Istanbul hotel- and I feel like I'm staying in a cave. Blue tinted lights do little to actually brighten the room. If the bedside lamps were equipped with brighter light bulbs I could really appreciate the colorful cut glass details (and see the pages of my book). Is my eyesight really getting that bad?

Now before booking hotels I usually do my research on a variety travel websites checking out room reviews. (However, the two hotel rooms mentioned above were selected for us courtesy of the military). In all of my research I can't remember a single instance where any reviewer has commented on a room's lighting. Am I the only one who is bothered by this? I need to start writing my own reviews so others can be warned. But perhaps the solution is that I need to start traveling with my own light bulbs!

It's Just Hair

Forget packing, house hunting, then unpacking and settling. As any woman--any many men--will tell you, the hardest part of moving is finding a new hairdresser. Where does one even begin looking when it appears that there is a beauty salon on every corner? Recommendations from friends and even strangers might point you in the right direction but all too often finding the right stylist for you is a process of trial and error. And when it comes to one of your most prominent features, living with an error can be quite painful (and yes, I am speaking from experience here). On a daily basis I'm pretty low maintenance so finding a stylist who won't give me a cut that requires a bevy of styling products and tools is often an ordeal. Finding someone who can give me the right "natural" color is even more difficult. And unlike so many other experiences, it just doesn't get easier the more you do it.

I found my hairdresser in Norfolk because of Glenn. Well, actually following the recommendation of a friend of his, he gave me a gift certificate to a local spa and salon so by default, I ended up going there during all of our years in Norfolk. Don't get me wrong; I loved the spa and received more than my share of relaxing treatments there. It seemed to make sense that I would also get my hair done there. The first time I made an appointment I was randomly assigned a stylist who I ended up liking. However, when she abruptly left shortly after, I found myself back at square one. I soon found myself going to a different stylist at the same salon who while nice, just didn't have the cutting or coloring skills I was looking for. In fact, I was going through my redhead phase and during our first appointment together she informed me that she really didn't like working with red hair or red hair dyes. I should have fled immediately but instead I stuck it out for two more years. Why? Her skills weren't horrible, just not on par with the other stylists at the salon so I never walked out with a horrible haircut, just ones that I didn't love. A part of me stayed wanting to give her yet another chance but I also knew that we would be moving soon and I just didn't have the energy to find someone new for only a cut or two. But mostly I stayed because I am loyal. I didn't realize that at the time but two hairdressers later, I finally admitted this about myself.

We were in Washington for such a short period of time that I got my hair cut at one of those walk-in places in the mall and colored my own hair with Miss Clairol. Neither situation was ideal but I knew it was just a short term arrangement and it was so much cheaper than the alternative. Once in Albania I put off finding a new hairdresser for as long as possible until a home dying accident drove me to a local hairdresser. This recommendation came from colleagues at the Embassy, she was conveniently located, and the ultimate claim to fame of the stylist was that she "trained in London and spoke perfect English." This turned out to be true and my subsequent haircuts and colors were good and incredibly affordable by western standards. A going to a local beauty parlor gave me my fill of Albanian culture as women and children of all ages wandered in and out at liberty, eschewing appointments, and many times payments. Being a one woman operation her hours and availability were less than ideal but I made them work the best I could. Or at least I did for our first two years in Tirana until her lack of availability simply became too much to bear. It was at this point, however, that I realized just how loyal I was. I liked her and felt bad that I was even thinking of going elsewhere (and maybe or maybe not finding someone who could give me as decent of a cut and color). But with my roots threatening to take over the rest of my head and her not returning phone calls and never being open when I stopped by, feeling guilty I jumped ship for a new stylist. This one also spoke fluent English and apologized for being "more expensive" (we are talking just a few dollars here) but blamed her location inside a western branded business hotel. And do you know what? I walked out of there with the best cut and color I have ever had. It would have been a Eureka moment if it weren't for the fact that we were moving in six months and you guessed it, I would have to start my quest all over again.

This past week I steeled myself (and my roots) and headed out for my first Belgian hair experience. Having trolled the local Facebook page and received recommendations from several people, including a woman in the line at the grocery store who had great hair, I headed to a local salon where the stylists allegedly spoke English. Twice a week the salon offered half price cuts and colors but unfortunately operated on a walk-in basis only. Armed with a fully charged Kindle I patiently waited close to two hours to be seen. Their three stylists were busy, moving non-stop the entire time I was there. The salon was clean and modern so I was hopeful that my wait would be worth it.  When it was my turn the stylist did speak English and after scrutinizing my roots mixed together hair dye that she thought would blend with what was already on my head. While I waited for my color to process I sat under a heat lamp and sipped coffee. This experience was turning out to be completely different from both of my Albanian experiences since this salon actually the heat lamps I was accustomed to; in Albania I simply sat in a chair and waited for the color to do its thing all on its own. But the differences only continued. Not only did the shampoo chair recline but it massaged my back while my hair was rinsed with plenty of hot water. I can't remember the last time I my dye filled air was fully rinsed with temperature appropriate water. Norfolk maybe? The cut proved to be just as rewarding as the stylist snipped away offering suggestions about how short I should go. I felt as though I sat in that chair a long time but she was meticulous, snipping away the smallest stray hairs until she declared "voila" and I was released from my black cape.

Up until this point my eyes had been mostly closed so when I opened them I saw a slightly new, slightly blonder version of myself staring back at me in the mirror. And I think I liked what I saw. Actually, I now know I liked it and I will probably be returning. Maybe finding a hairdresser does get easier with time!

Who Are We? Who Am I?

Identity is a complex concept. There are both physical and emotional qualities that help form one's identity and they are all as different as each of us. Physical characteristics are often personal and unique to individuals;  descriptions such as your height, eye and hair color help shape your identity as do demographics of age and gender. Your role in your own family and community also contributes to how you identify yourself. Parent, brother or sister, friend, spouse, neighbor, employee; they are all a part of shaping who you are.  Personal qualities and beliefs shape your emotional identity.  For many, race, ethnicity, and religion are vitally important and play a leading role in defining one's identity.  For others, it may be a conscious lack there of that defines it for them.  The list just goes on.

I've been thinking about my own personal identity since I returned from my recent trip to Poland.  The combination of my own Polish heritage and physically being in the heart of Europe that was destroyed, dismantled, and then rebuilt during and after World War II forced me to really think about how one's own, and my own identity are formed.  I'm one half Polish.  My Polish ancestors immigrated to the United States shortly after the first World War.  In my younger years we ate my grandmother's Polish cooking, listened to the occasional Polka, and heard her re-tell family stories from the old country and reminisce about her own memories of growing up in a Polish-American household in Cambridge, Massachusetts.  Despite my grandmother's brief brush with entering the nunnery, Catholicism, or any religion for that matter, played a non-existent role in my upbringing.   The other part of my heritage is a combination of a little bit of everything.  The family tree for that side of my family includes Pilgrims, dead presidents, and lots of Maritime Canadian ancestry but no strong ethnic identity to speak of. I don't  have any childhood memories of particular traditions or stories being shared from that side of my family.  All of this brings me to my own identity.   Who am I and how do I identify myself? I guess I'm an ethnic mutt but how exactly does this shape who I am?  This question brings me back to my recent ponderings about identity.

When I look around Europe I see forty-five plus countries of various sizes, populations, and ethnicities.  If you look at maps of Europe throughout the years you will see that the borders of countries and empires shifted with war, conquests, and time.  All it took was a slight shifting of a border and residents of one country could suddenly find themselves as citizens of another.  But in many respects geographic borders and boundaries are arbitrary.  Does living on one side of a border give you a different identity than living on the other side of the line? A border shift doesn't change ethnicity but it can suddenly make you an ethnic (insert any nationality here) living in a different country. And that can definitely shape how you and others identify you. 

The country of Kosovo is a prime, modern day example of this.  Kosovo, Albania's neighbor to the east, is ethnically split between Serbs and Albanians yet because of the the geographic borders that define the country residents are technically Kosovars. The border between Kosovo and Serbia is still considered hostile territory to many while the border between Kosovo and Albania feels like a mere inconvenience with even the border crossings being fluid.  Living on the Kosovo side of the border and being a Kosovar (and carrying a Kosovar passport) brings with it different entitlements than living across the border in Albania and carrying an Albanian passport.  Yet many Kosovo residents identify as being Albanian.  So what does this all mean?

All this really makes me think.  Physical identity is fairly easy to label since so much of it is defined by traits and characteristics that are beyond our control.  But is emotional identity nothing more than a label either self imposed or imposed by others?  Does it matter how one identifies them self or how others identify them?  Does one's self identity matter more than how others identify you?  Perhaps it is really the later than matters the most.  Or does it?  For me, this is definitely something to continue to ponder.....