A Sinking City?

A recent Washington Post article left me simply feeling sad. The article was about our old home city of Norfolk, Virginia and focused on the growing flooding problem in the city. Norfolk is a city surrounded by water and is low lying with many places being barely above sea level. It stands to reason that the area floods; I remember the flooding all too well.While hurricanes, tropical storms or Northeasters were reason to worry, a simple heavy afternoon rain storm was enough to cause the city's waterways to overflow, underpasses to flood and streets to become rivers. I quickly became adept at figuring out which streets were most prone to flooding and learned how to safely navigate from my downtown office to my house when the streets were flooded. But not everyone was so savvy. During our years in Norfolk I lost track of the number of times I saw cars floating in flooded underpasses. Yes, even under the best of conditions water was everywhere. It was simultaneously beautiful and scary but reminded me that despite all of our modern technology, Mother Nature was really in control.

Although we left Norfolk in 2010 I knew the water problem was only getting worse but I didn't realize just how quickly the problem was growing. And then I saw the article. Norfolk's water problems are two fold. First, normal tides in Hampton Roads have risen an average of 1 1/2 feet over the past century, reflecting an increase that is higher than the rest of the East Coast. (But the entire East Coast has been designated as a sea level rise hot spot). Secondly, Norfolk is actually sinking. Yes, sinking. 35 million years ago a meteor hit the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay creating a crater that is now slowly consuming Norfolk. Simply put, all of this water does not bode well for a city whose existence has always revolved around the sea.

But the Post article struck a particular chord with me when I saw the Reverend of the church we were married in talking about how the flooding problem was forcing her church to seek a new physical home. This made my heart lurch. The beautiful old Unitarian Universalist Church sits on the edge of the Hague, a basin of water abutting what I consider to be the most beautiful part of the city. The thought of this church, which holds such special memories for me, being flooded out was simply so sad. Water was a problem when we got married and I feared flooding on our rainy wedding day but fortunately for us, on that April day the water never overflowed the banks like I had seen it do so many times before.

Despite the vocal minority who still denies its existence, global warming is at the root of these water problems. Throwing a lot of money at the problem may offer short term solutions for today's Norfolk residents but it won't stop the ever increasing presence of the rising water. I don't want to sound like a fatalist but it would appear that there really isn't a long term solution to the problem. Mother Nature really is in charge. And while I believe her force is awe inspiring this dilemma makes me sad. Very very sad.

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: Falling Water

Keep To The Left

Friendly reminders greeted us upon disembarking
(and they were needed)

This past weekend we escaped to England for a few days. While we've done a lot of traveling over the past few years, this was our first trip to the U.K. and we were excited to explore the Kent countryside. And because we drove over through the Channel Tunnel, the first thing we noticed was the need to drive on the left. Yes, for the first time we found ourselves in a country where driving on the left is the law and it flew in the face of what we were accustomed to. Obviously we knew about this rule before arriving but finding ourselves on the road and actually having to drive in the "wrong" lane took some time to get used to.

So why do the British, and drivers in most other Commonwealth countries, drive on the left side of the road? The explanation (or this story at least) is actually quite logical and dates back to the 1700s. Because most people were right handed and therefore carried their weapon in their right hand, smart travelers always wanted to keep the people they passed on their right. But along came Napoleon who was left handed and in order to keep his sword between himself and his enemies, his armies started to march on the right. Americans, eager to shake off any remnants of colonial rule, followed suit and took to traveling on the right. American car manufacturers obviously built cars whose steering wheels were positioned on the left for right side driving. As the international market for American vehicles grew, more countries switched from driving on the left to driving on the right. But not Great Britain. Or so the story goes......

So what was our driving experience like? Fortunately Glenn did all of the driving by as the co-pilot I found myself repeating the mantra of "stay to the left, stay to the left" every time we got into the car. On the narrow country lanes that allowed for only a single lane of traffic to pass, we had no problem. In fact, we spent hours exploring the quaint villages where every house had a name and lush countryside that is Kent. These roads with charming names like Old Wives Lee, The Downs, and Fairy Close, and were alternately paved, hard packed dirt, or wet mud, forcing us to go slow and take in our surroundings. Just about every road was crisscrossed with pedestrian right of ways (walking trails) and lined by high hedges. Many felt like tunnels of trees with branches arching high over the right of way. It was simply so peaceful. We passed riders on horseback, people out walking their dogs, and too many sheep and rabbits to count. On the rare occasions we encountered an oncoming vehicle, one of us would carefully back up until we reached a wider section of road or one of the strategically placed pullouts and allow the other car to pass with a smile and a wave. (It felt as though the drivers here were so friendly).

This street was named......The Street

But then we encountered the highways where on and off ramps were accessed from the left and slow traffic kept to the left rather than the right. Intersections required the repeating of our mantra, following the verbal guidance of Sir Colin, our trusty GPS, and focused concentration about turning right while sticking to traveling in the left lane. Traffic circles, which were many, were much more difficult. Traffic moved clockwise forcing us to have to remember to look right instead of left for oncoming cars before nosing out into the traffic. Fortunately the signs were all in English (this was the first trip in three years where English was the local language) allowing us to focus on the cars rather than the signs. We counted the off ramps and somehow survived unscathed. I guess you could say that the driving was a bit exhilarating but I found myself longing for more quiet country lanes and fewer highways. There the driving was almost carefree.

So, when in England keep to the left, keep to the left. Until the train spits you back out on the Continent and then it is back to the right.

A Chunnel Experience

The cue to board the train

In my opinion, the Euro Tunnel, also known as the Channel Tunnel or the Chunnel, is an example of amazing modern technology. Connecting Calais, France to Folkestone, United Kingdom the Chunnel is a 23.5 mile rail tube that transports trains and their passengers and cargo at up to 99 miles per hour under the English Channel. The tunnel has reduced what had been a 90 minute ferry ride to a 35 minute train ride. I remember reading about the tunnel when it first opened and was immediately fascinated by it. And this past weekend we finally joined the over 10 million people who transit under the English Channel each year.

This year (2014) marks the 20th anniversary of the opening of the tunnel but the planning for the tunnel dates back for over two centuries. As early as 1802 there were conversations about the feasibility of a tunnel that would connect Great Britain with continental Europe. In the 1880s exploratory tunnels on both sides of the Channel were drilled but later abandoned. For the next one hundred years more discussions were held but due to wars, skepticism, costs and international disagreements the tunnel never became a reality. But finally in 1987, an agreement was reached between England and France with ground finally being broken the following year. Boring of the tunnel took place on both the English and French sides. By the time the two sides met, 15,000 people had been employed during its construction and ten construction workers had lost their lives. The total cost was (in today's terms) 12 billion pounds. And six years after construction began, the tunnel was opened with Queen Elizabeth II and Francoise Mitterrand meeting in Calais before traveling back to England together. The American Society of Civil Engineers named the tunnel as one of seven wonders of the modern world.

So how did I like the tunnel? I must say that it was even more impressive than I had imagined. The whole operation moved like a well oiled machine. (With up to four trains leaving an hour, twenty four hours a day, 365 days a year for twenty years, it makes sense that things went smoothly). The maze of flyovers, inspection booths, and passport control centers on both sides of the tunnel were staffed by surprisingly chipper employees who actually wanted to help. Cars and trucks were moved on and off with efficiency I haven't witnessed in a long time. Even when our train had a technical difficulty on our return trip, we were seamlessly offloaded and moved onto a new train. Perhaps the airlines could take a few cues from the Eurotunnel operations staff.....I suppose you could say we sat back and relaxed as our train sped under the Channel and back up again. I must say, the time really flew and it felt as though it was over before it had even begun. Soon we were spit out onto British soil and off we went.

Would I use the tunnel again? Absolutely. In fact, we already have a return trip planned.

"Relaxing" on the train; or at least that is what the loudspeaker
encouraged us to do

Passion & Excellence

Some people just seem to be great at whatever they do. Whether it be academics, athletics, the arts, or one of a myriad of other things, it looks as though they effortlessly succeed in whatever they set out to accomplish. (At least that is how it appears from the outside). In high school they were the kid who was the star athlete, in more than one sport none the less, she was everybody's friend, they were the one who earned straight A's in honors classes, or was president of every club around. Or even worse, they were all of the above. They were the kids who had a bevy of acceptance letters to Ivy League universities and graduated with multiple job offers. I'm sure you know the type I am talking about. For the record, as much as I tried, I was not that person.

I have always been good at what I set out to achieve but never the best. In school I got good grades but I worked hard to achieve what always ended up being a second place finish. Despite my best efforts I was a lousy athlete and after a few difficult and discouraging attempts I learned to focus my efforts elsewhere. I gained admission to a good college and worked hard to do well while there but despite my efforts could never achieve the highest honors. Unlike some people who have had a burning desire for a certain profession since they were young, I was all over the map and unsure of what I actually wanted to do "when I grew up". (I still don't know). As a result I graduated with a liberal arts degree, having taken classes in just about every subject matter but being an expert in none of them. This qualified me to........play a mean game of Jeopardy???? Even my graduate degree, which I worked hard for and enjoyed earning, lacked the focus of my graduating peers. Perhaps I am really a generalist at heart since I went on, through hard work, to be moderately successful in each job but those jobs were all over the place.  Whenever I looked for a new job I always found one but they never felt exactly right or what I was looking for. But then again, I'm not sure I even knew what I was looking for. If you ask me what my profession was/is I'm really not sure what to tell you. While others have risen through the ranks and had succinct titles, at various times I've professed to be a writer, researcher, program manager, supervisor, planner, and freelancer.....I've carried all of those titles but what do they really mean?

Personally I have a lot of hobbies that I dabble in but none are what I consider to be a true passion or something that I excel at. I enjoy writing and blog regularly but am nowhere near  what I would consider to be a professional blogger, which is jet another "career" I have contemplated from time to time. (There are people who actually make money doing this but my writing lacks a targeted subject that can draw in a critical mass--and honestly I would have it no other way since my blogging is like me--all over the place). I love to cook but, while it is good it isn't necessarily all that original and certainly isn't going to win a master chef award. Recently I've been exploring the fine arts with photography and water colors. I love these creative activities but simply lack that innate artistic talent that comes naturally to people who consider themselves to be true artists. And if you find yourself stressing over your attempts and working too hard to achieve something that is supposed to be a stress free hobby, is it really worth the effort? And speaking of being stress free, while I enjoy the stretching of yoga, in class my mind simply wanders and I rarely leave feeling relaxed. Really, I am all over the place.

Recently I've been finding myself wondering what I would do if I could do it all over again. Can you request a "do over" for life as an adult? A time to reset and do those things that they have always wanted to do. I know some people who have done just that and succeeded. I think I am too much of a conformist and afraid of the risks to take that jump. And honestly, I don't know what I would do or where I would even begin. As I look around I see people who by outwardly appearances seem successful in their endeavors and have a real passion for some aspect of their life. Me? I feel like I work hard to achieve what I have but don't stand out in any way.

Do I have a passion? Something that comes so naturally to me? I love a lot of things and like even more but can't find a single thing to focus on. Perhaps that is why I was a liberal arts major and learned a little about a lot of things. I am a great conversationalist at cocktail parties since chances are I know at least a little bit about whatever subject comes up. Hey wait, maybe I need to be a professional attendee on the cocktail party circuit? But seriously.... I would love to have a single activity that I am passionate about but somehow I feel that working too hard to find the activity actually defeats the purpose. At the moment  I can only dream about finding an activity that comes easy to me and I enjoy participating in. I'm looking and I will keep looking. In the meantime, invite me to your party; I promise to keep the conversation flowing.

Explaining War..........And Death

There are some questions that parents inevitably know they will be asked by their children at some point. Whether it be where babies come from, why some people are mean, or what happens when you die, they are all difficult questions to answer. And the explanations are even more difficult when you yourself aren't sure what you believe and whatever your answers are, they must be age appropriate for their audience. Our recent Memorial Day visit to World War I battlefields and cemeteries raised one of these very questions for us and it has me thinking.

Sidney has recently become enamored with the fact that his father is in the military. He talks a lot about uniforms, ceremonies, and the other more glamorous pomp and circumstance events that go along with the career. He even understands guns and the fact soldiers use them to, in his words, "fight the bad guys". He talks about bombs (I have no idea where he learned about this) and how they are bad. And now a part of his morning routine before dropping Glenn off at work has become telling Glenn not to throw bombs at the good guys. (Although he is now telling Glenn not to thrown computers at them since I've repeatedly told Sidney that his father does not thrown bombs at anyone at work). This is an all too innocent four year old's understanding of soldiers and war and for the moment I am actually quite happy with leaving it at that.

We don't believe in sheltering our son from reality or the truth; rather we want him to understand, in an age appropriate way, the good and the bad of history and the world around us. And, most importantly, we want him to hear these things from us rather than hearing it from others. As such, we don't hesitate about visiting Europe's numerous battlefields and war memorials. When we visited Bastogne Sidney asked questions about soldiers getting hurt. We told him that doctors made them better when they were injured and at the moment he accepted this explanation. In the weeks following our visit he would talk about tanks and bad guys getting hurt but doctors fixing them. But then this past weekend we visited Ypres and several military cemeteries and the questions have started anew.

As we walked through the muddy trenches of Sanctuary Wood, we explained to Sidney how soldiers, in this case Canadian, had hidden in the trenches and used them as a protective cover from the German forces. (Unfortunately) Because of his playground games he understands that soldiers often shoot at the enemy from hiding so he seemed to understand the purpose of the trenches. It was a simple explanation and we tried to focus on what the trenches were like at the moment rather than the brutal reality of what occurred in them. But after our visit to two military cemeteries, with row upon row of marble grave markers, the question of death arose. Actually, in a somewhat preemptive move, we brought it up.

We have been lucky in the fact that, to Sidney's knowledge, we have lost neither family, friends nor even pets to death. But in his playground games Sidney has talked about shooting and killing the bad guys and has even come home from school on one occasion in tears because a rather mean classmate (a "bad guy") told him that his parents were dead and not coming back. So we think it is important for Sidney to not only understand that being dead isn't something one should joke about but that people do die. And that when we visit cemeteries and tell him that he must be quiet and respectful, that each of those white headstones marks a dead soldier whose memory we are honoring. But where to begin?

We started by talking about the trenches and how the soldiers in them were fighting off the bad guys so the rest of us could live our lives and have the freedoms we enjoy. We tried to put it into terms he understood, that the soldiers fought so people like Sidney could have choices in life, could go to school and could even have the friends he does. He seemed to get that and quickly nodded in agreement. But then we went on to say that sometime the good guys got hurt. At this point Sidney interjected and stated with conviction that when they got hurt the doctors would come, take them to the hospital and fix them up. We partially agreed but carefully said that sometimes the doctors just couldn't fix what was broken. Taking a deep breath I continued that when they couldn't be fixed they died and were buried in the cemetery much like the we visited. Sidney nodded, much slower this time, and asked what happened then. We explained that they were buried in the ground under the white stones and that their parents, children and friends could come and visit them. With wide eyes Sidney nodded again then went off to play. It may have been the end of the conversation for the moment but I know it isn't the last of it.

So did we just open a big Pandora's box? I know my little boy will mull over what we told him and will come back with more questions but now I am not sure we are ready for them. How do we explain death to a four year old in a non-scary way? I honestly don't know if I believe in an after life, do not have the strong religious convictions that so many people take comfort in and as such I refuse to tell my son stories I myself am not sure of. The last thing I want to do is scare him yet I don't want him to hear the wrong information at school and become even more scared.

So parents, and anyone else who has struggled with this, please help me out. How did you explain death and dying to your children? It takes a village to raise a child and right now, I need mine.

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: Like A Rolling Stone