If there is one thing that you learn growing up in Germany, it is that there is a right way to do everything. There is a right way that closing a Mercedes car door should sound, a right way to build an Autobahn smooth as glass for driving without a speed limit and there is a right way to recycle. Continue reading “The Right Way”

“What do you think?” – I offer bravely as I point at a sofa in one of the catalogs that has just shown up in our mailbox. An extended pause is followed by the best of all husbands’ response of “it is not to my liking.” Couples therapy must really be paying off. I’m certain that just a few months ago, I would have gotten an even longer pause, a scowl and “that’s hideous.” I, of course, would translate that as “the fact that you like this piece of crap makes me reconsider my marriage vows. How can you even consider ruining my carefully designed plan for the living room? Do I know you at all?” The only reasons that I don’t hear “I should have listened to my mother” is that I know that Jeff’s mom always thought I was a good catch. Altogether this is a classic example of how quickly a conversation can go off the rails. Continue reading “Game Time”

I am home alone, again fighting the good fight. The battle lines are drawn. I am holding down a secure area. For now. I am fighting on the side of light, order and cleanliness against the advancing troops of chaos and destruction. I cannot afford to drop my vigilance. The moment I turn my back another unwashed dish shows up in the sink. Another empty cardboard box mysteriously materializes next to the back door. Another ceramic vase cheekily takes up residence on the bookshelf. There is a reason why it is called a bookshelf and not a vase-shelf! A band of rubber bands, sunglasses and books is getting ready to storm the kitchen counter. Continue reading “The Good Fight”

The overhead lights are flickering on in the economy cabin of our Lufthansa flight. It is my signal to start to untwist myself in my aisle seat. The best of all husbands still snuggles on my right against the window, not quite ready to face reality. Our 11-hour flight from Germany is almost over. We had a nice time visiting my sister, her kids, extended family and old friends. This time we even fit in some sight seeing at the end of the Christmas holidays. The weather was as expected and after two weeks in a freezing gray central European winter, I’m ready to be back in the California sunshine and our own home. Continue reading “Traveling with DOMA”

It is a small group that walks on this chilly spring day through the quiet of a German cemetery. Custom dictates my spot close to the head of the small procession. Here, my family and I buried my father more than twenty years earlier. I had just turned 21 when I followed the coffin with my name on it, the name my father and I shared. The thick coat I wore kept out the cold wind, but did nothing to take the icy chill off my heart. I felt frozen inside the way the graves around me lay frozen in the bleak December light. Continue reading “Hand in Hand”

“If you want this to go anywhere in the next half hour, we really need to pick up some speed here,” I mutter. I’m in bed with the best of all husbands, not quite dressed and not quite naked. We just got back from our weekly grocery run and have a bit of down time before we need to get ready for our dinner invitation. Jeff spent the morning playing with clay at the ceramic studio, though he likes to think of it as important creative work, and I caught up on some important paperbacks. So here we are with a sliver of time to ourselves, ready to do what a couple is supposed to do on a Sunday afternoon and it feels a lot more G-rated than triple-X. Continue reading “Time for Sex”