Ok, so we're three months into this stint in Germany, and I can pretty confidently say that I am adjusting. Well, I'm adjusting to living in a foreign country. I can't say that I'm adjusting to a life so tied to a military base, but I'm working on it. I've never actually had to have much to do with a base (as far as a social life, education, shopping, banking, and so on...). I'm finding it difficult to rely so heavily on a group of people that seems to be pretty tightly knit. I don't know how they got that, and I don't know how to break into the knit. Parker and I have been to a few playgroups, and I've joined the MOMS Club. I'm cautiously optimistic that those things and maybe a trip to bunco night will yield some friends...who aren't crazy, drama-filled, nut jobs.
Since we got here, I've taken a beginner's German class, managed to get us fed in a couple of restaurants (which was much easier in Luxembourg where I could speak French....rusty as mine may be.), navigated bakeries and butcher shops, learned to drive alongside the German people, and completely gotten over any feelings of "what if I look like an idiot?". I gotta say, though, being here is not at all what I expected. We live in Orenhofen, population somewhere near 1,100. It doesn't look like a quaint little village with a marketplace and a town plaza. It's a bunch of houses on top of a really big hill. We have two bakeries, a butcher, and a pub. That's about it. It's not the European paradise I had hoped for. It isn't bad. It just isn't what I had expected.
Speaking of learning German (ya know...way up there at the beginning of the second paragraph)...I'm trying my darndest to learn. If I were here going to school or working on the economy, I'd learn much more quickly. I never hear people speak German, though. I do most of our shopping on base, and I'm not sure how to make German friends. There is a German/American Women's Club, but they are apparently inactive during the summer months. Weird, I know. Welcome to Germany. Hopefully, by the end of these three years, I'll see significant improvements in my German.
I'm going to update the blog more frequently, so it won't be so scattered and pointless. I'll try to update it when we do something cool or I have some kind of interesting European experience. I'll leave you with this little tidbit about life in Deutschland: The Autobahn is a lot like the Interstate system in the United States. The common thought that "The Autobahn" has no speed limit is erroneous and misleading. First, it leads many to believe that there is a singular road called "The Autobahn". Second, autobahns all over Germany have sections that do have speed limits (usually anywhere between 80 kmph and 130 kmph). Unless otherwise posted, there is actually no speed limit, which leads people to fly past you going easily over 200 kmph (about 125 mph). The suggested speed when no speed limit is posted is 130 kmph (about 81 mph), but if there is no speed limit posted, you can go as fast as you darn well please. However, if you are involved in an accident and it is determined that you were going over 130 kmph on the autobahn, you have to pay for at least 50% of any damages caused, which could include replacing a freakin' guardrail or giant road sign. I imagine those suckers aren't cheap.
So, there it is, a bit of what's going on and some German trivia.
TschΓΌss!
14 July 2012
16 May 2011
Livin' it up 72761 style!
I must confess that I've spent the majority of my life wanting to get out of Siloam Springs, AR. I've always thought there's nothing here, it's boring, anywhere but here is wonderful....blah, blah, blah... My teenage years were spent counting down the days until I could pack my car and bid this town, "Adieu!" And I did. I had a short stay in Springfield, MO and a 6 year term in Northwest Florida. I've spent my adult years in Florida. One-third of the amount of time I spent in my hometown growing up, I spent in Florida. It amazes how quickly, in hindsight, that time flew by. There were many times while in Florida that I just wanted to come back to Arkansas. My family is here. My friends are/were here. However, there was never REALLY a time that I wanted to move back here and stay. Once I left my hometown, it became a mythical place of sorts. It was the place I spent my childhood. I have extremely fond memories of this place. When things weren't great in Florida, Arkansas seemed like a paradise. When Florida was hot and oppressive and Arkansas was filled with gold, orange, and red leaves, Arkansas was Utopia. I guess it's kind of a "grass is always greener" situation.
I moved home two and a half months ago so that Parker and I could be around family while Kevin is in Korea for a year. We're lucky enough to get to live in Germany when Kevin gets back, so I figured there was very little point in staying in Florida. I had come to hate Florida. I was extremely excited to move home (ya know, except that whole missing husband thing...). This is the place I grew up in! I had a great childhood. High school was fun. Church was a good place to be social. I have friends here. I thought everything was going to be amazing. I was kind of wrong. Everything has changed. All those friends I had, well, they have jobs and families. It's a weird situation I'm in because I'm kind of just passing through. I don't really belong here. Everyone has their routines and their schedules and their lives. Their Arkansas lives. I naively hadn't considered that I was coming to a totally different place as a totally different person. I see a couple of people regularly, and I don't begrudge those I don't see. Oh, and in hindsight, high school was not fun.
Now, this whole passing through and not belonging thing really kind of bothered me at first. I felt really lost and lonely. At times I still do. The thing is, though, with my abundance of free time, I've begun to experience my hometown. I am amazed that I grew up here for 18 years and there is so much I haven't explored. Now, things have improved a little since I was here, but still. I feel like I don't know my own town. Parker and I walk the amazing walking trail. We go look at ducks. We play at the park. I've had some delicious food in local restaurants. I'm actually enjoying Siloam! It's kind of amazing.
I know there will always be people who think Siloam is podunk and backwards and on and on. Guess what. It kind of is and I love it. I love that there is still a bit of innocence and joy. Sure, you can't get a decent piece of sushi to save your life around here and the nearest Target is 30 minutes away, but I wouldn't trade this little place for the world. It's good to have somewhere to come to get away from hustle and bustle and jaded, angry cynics. So, while I'm ready to venture out and see more of the world to have my own life again complete with a house and my husband, I'm going to enjoy my time in Siloam. I'm going to enjoy getting to be around my parents, my aunt and uncle, my grandma, and my cousins. I'm going to enjoy my quaint little town and what time I do get to spend with friends. I'm trying to see the green grass all around me and quit eyeballing the pasture next door!
I moved home two and a half months ago so that Parker and I could be around family while Kevin is in Korea for a year. We're lucky enough to get to live in Germany when Kevin gets back, so I figured there was very little point in staying in Florida. I had come to hate Florida. I was extremely excited to move home (ya know, except that whole missing husband thing...). This is the place I grew up in! I had a great childhood. High school was fun. Church was a good place to be social. I have friends here. I thought everything was going to be amazing. I was kind of wrong. Everything has changed. All those friends I had, well, they have jobs and families. It's a weird situation I'm in because I'm kind of just passing through. I don't really belong here. Everyone has their routines and their schedules and their lives. Their Arkansas lives. I naively hadn't considered that I was coming to a totally different place as a totally different person. I see a couple of people regularly, and I don't begrudge those I don't see. Oh, and in hindsight, high school was not fun.
Now, this whole passing through and not belonging thing really kind of bothered me at first. I felt really lost and lonely. At times I still do. The thing is, though, with my abundance of free time, I've begun to experience my hometown. I am amazed that I grew up here for 18 years and there is so much I haven't explored. Now, things have improved a little since I was here, but still. I feel like I don't know my own town. Parker and I walk the amazing walking trail. We go look at ducks. We play at the park. I've had some delicious food in local restaurants. I'm actually enjoying Siloam! It's kind of amazing.
I know there will always be people who think Siloam is podunk and backwards and on and on. Guess what. It kind of is and I love it. I love that there is still a bit of innocence and joy. Sure, you can't get a decent piece of sushi to save your life around here and the nearest Target is 30 minutes away, but I wouldn't trade this little place for the world. It's good to have somewhere to come to get away from hustle and bustle and jaded, angry cynics. So, while I'm ready to venture out and see more of the world to have my own life again complete with a house and my husband, I'm going to enjoy my time in Siloam. I'm going to enjoy getting to be around my parents, my aunt and uncle, my grandma, and my cousins. I'm going to enjoy my quaint little town and what time I do get to spend with friends. I'm trying to see the green grass all around me and quit eyeballing the pasture next door!
19 April 2011
Losing My Religion
I hate church. There. I said it. I love the idea of church, but after 25 years on this planet (a good many of those spent being extremely active in church), I can honestly say that most of the time, I hate church. I've spent the majority of my adult life out of church. I'm sure there are people who think I'm going to hell. Screw 'em. There were times over the course of several years where I considered dropping my faith. I never could though. My religion, yes. My faith, no.
I've always wanted to love church, and I believe that sometimes I truly did. I had some good times at church and with people I met at church. Being so involved in my church while growing up has given me a good foundation for my belief system and led me to where I am today and to be the person I've become. For all of that, I am truly grateful. However, all that involvement also set me up for some extreme disappointment. I was always given a picture of what a "good" Christian should be. While I heard pastors and "church people" say "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God," I saw people who got "caught" sinning shunned like friggin' lepers. There was always this unspoken rule that to be involved in anything in the church meant to be without sin, beyond reproach if you will. Everyone walked around pretending to be perfect because as soon as someone got caught in "sin" (at least one of the big ones...ya know, sex, alcohol, satan music...stuff like that), you were removed from whatever ministry position you were in and basically put on probation and sent to Jesus rehab.
I was completely fine with all of that because I bought into the whole thing. I thought we all needed to be perfect. The goal was to be perfect and seek converts. We were supposed to convert people from being horrible dirty sinners to perfect little Christian robots that never questioned or felt or, heaven forbid, sinned. I felt such incredible pressure to either be perfect or hide certain imperfections while growing up that any time I "sinned" I either felt extreme guilt and shame or, later in life, extreme exhilaration.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, I've always wanted to love church. I still do. I want friends with a strong moral fiber (as in recent years those have been extremely hard to come by). I want an environment that supports me and my family. I want my son to grow up feeling loved and secure. I want him to see that people, while imperfect, try to be good. They try to make a difference. It's hard, though, ya know? For me, going to church feels kind of like I imagine a person who's been cheated on in relationships feels about getting into another relationship. I don't trust church. I want to, but I don't. I once heard a youth pastor say that single (meaning unmarried) people shouldn't wear thongs and masturbation is a sin. He cheated on his wife and got a divorce. I wish that incident was isolated. It's not. The church I've experienced is extraordinarily full of liars and frauds who have had an incredibly hard time admitting that they are liars and frauds.
Now, don't get me wrong. Not everyone has been terrible. Not every experience has been terrible. Overall though, I feel like I grew up being lied to. I was told to be perfect while everyone was going around lying about sins. I realize that I was naive. At this point, I don't care if people are imperfect. In fact, all those "perfect" people can stay the heck away from me. I can't handle perfection. It's too dishonest. If Jesus were here, he and I would split a bottle of wine and talk about how to give some people hope in the fact that the world is not a totally miserable place. That's right. Jesus and I would drink. Alcohol.
I was going to post this on Saturday night, but for some reason I didn't. I felt like waiting. My family and I decided to go to church Sunday morning, and if I'm totally honest, I wasn't looking forward to it. I hate sermons (no offense Pastor Gary!). I've grown up in church, and for the most part, I've heard whatever it is someone is going to preach. Most preachers repeat themselves like they're preaching to a group of neurology patients suffering from extreme short-term memory loss. I'd love to see a church service that was a bit more interactive. I wish I could raise my hand, ask a question, spark a debate. I don't do well with being talked at. I hate feeling like I shouldn't be at church. I've gotten to a point in my life where I'm totally fine with certain behaviors; however, growing up, a lot of the things I see nothing wrong with were worthy of hell fire and brimstone.
I guess in a way there's this part of me that despises myself at church because I assume a bit of a fraudulent persona. I can't be myself at church. Or, maybe I can. Wasn't Gandhi that said "Be the change you want to see in the world." Maybe I should be me and stop giving a crap what other people think. Perhaps I should be the change I want to see in my church (wherever that may be). Maybe I should start viewing my pewmates as people with stories and pasts and not as judgmental Jesusbots.
This past Sunday, every judgmental, awful thing I thought about my home church kinda changed. It's not the church I grew up in. Pastor Gary seems to be doing a phenomenal job at getting people to stop being so focused on all that church-y garbage that they forget that there is a world out there. He doesn't seem to be seeking converts. He really seems to want to love on people. So, the day after I was going to post my "all churches are evil and should get with the program" post, I went to church and didn't hate it. Is it perfect? Nope. I don't want perfection from anyone or anything. All I want is honesty, and I think I saw that Sunday.
So, thank you Gandhi and Pastor Gary for giving me purpose and renewing my hope in church. I think church is a good idea that's been poorly executed many, many time. Now, maybe I can find a pewmate who'd like to go to dinner, debate theology, and maybe, just maybe, split a bottle of wine.
I've always wanted to love church, and I believe that sometimes I truly did. I had some good times at church and with people I met at church. Being so involved in my church while growing up has given me a good foundation for my belief system and led me to where I am today and to be the person I've become. For all of that, I am truly grateful. However, all that involvement also set me up for some extreme disappointment. I was always given a picture of what a "good" Christian should be. While I heard pastors and "church people" say "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God," I saw people who got "caught" sinning shunned like friggin' lepers. There was always this unspoken rule that to be involved in anything in the church meant to be without sin, beyond reproach if you will. Everyone walked around pretending to be perfect because as soon as someone got caught in "sin" (at least one of the big ones...ya know, sex, alcohol, satan music...stuff like that), you were removed from whatever ministry position you were in and basically put on probation and sent to Jesus rehab.
I was completely fine with all of that because I bought into the whole thing. I thought we all needed to be perfect. The goal was to be perfect and seek converts. We were supposed to convert people from being horrible dirty sinners to perfect little Christian robots that never questioned or felt or, heaven forbid, sinned. I felt such incredible pressure to either be perfect or hide certain imperfections while growing up that any time I "sinned" I either felt extreme guilt and shame or, later in life, extreme exhilaration.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, I've always wanted to love church. I still do. I want friends with a strong moral fiber (as in recent years those have been extremely hard to come by). I want an environment that supports me and my family. I want my son to grow up feeling loved and secure. I want him to see that people, while imperfect, try to be good. They try to make a difference. It's hard, though, ya know? For me, going to church feels kind of like I imagine a person who's been cheated on in relationships feels about getting into another relationship. I don't trust church. I want to, but I don't. I once heard a youth pastor say that single (meaning unmarried) people shouldn't wear thongs and masturbation is a sin. He cheated on his wife and got a divorce. I wish that incident was isolated. It's not. The church I've experienced is extraordinarily full of liars and frauds who have had an incredibly hard time admitting that they are liars and frauds.
Now, don't get me wrong. Not everyone has been terrible. Not every experience has been terrible. Overall though, I feel like I grew up being lied to. I was told to be perfect while everyone was going around lying about sins. I realize that I was naive. At this point, I don't care if people are imperfect. In fact, all those "perfect" people can stay the heck away from me. I can't handle perfection. It's too dishonest. If Jesus were here, he and I would split a bottle of wine and talk about how to give some people hope in the fact that the world is not a totally miserable place. That's right. Jesus and I would drink. Alcohol.
I was going to post this on Saturday night, but for some reason I didn't. I felt like waiting. My family and I decided to go to church Sunday morning, and if I'm totally honest, I wasn't looking forward to it. I hate sermons (no offense Pastor Gary!). I've grown up in church, and for the most part, I've heard whatever it is someone is going to preach. Most preachers repeat themselves like they're preaching to a group of neurology patients suffering from extreme short-term memory loss. I'd love to see a church service that was a bit more interactive. I wish I could raise my hand, ask a question, spark a debate. I don't do well with being talked at. I hate feeling like I shouldn't be at church. I've gotten to a point in my life where I'm totally fine with certain behaviors; however, growing up, a lot of the things I see nothing wrong with were worthy of hell fire and brimstone.
I guess in a way there's this part of me that despises myself at church because I assume a bit of a fraudulent persona. I can't be myself at church. Or, maybe I can. Wasn't Gandhi that said "Be the change you want to see in the world." Maybe I should be me and stop giving a crap what other people think. Perhaps I should be the change I want to see in my church (wherever that may be). Maybe I should start viewing my pewmates as people with stories and pasts and not as judgmental Jesusbots.
This past Sunday, every judgmental, awful thing I thought about my home church kinda changed. It's not the church I grew up in. Pastor Gary seems to be doing a phenomenal job at getting people to stop being so focused on all that church-y garbage that they forget that there is a world out there. He doesn't seem to be seeking converts. He really seems to want to love on people. So, the day after I was going to post my "all churches are evil and should get with the program" post, I went to church and didn't hate it. Is it perfect? Nope. I don't want perfection from anyone or anything. All I want is honesty, and I think I saw that Sunday.
So, thank you Gandhi and Pastor Gary for giving me purpose and renewing my hope in church. I think church is a good idea that's been poorly executed many, many time. Now, maybe I can find a pewmate who'd like to go to dinner, debate theology, and maybe, just maybe, split a bottle of wine.
11 April 2011
Here it goes...
All right, folks, let's do this! I've thought long and hard what I want this here blog to be, and I can honestly say, I haven't the slightest. I've decided to let it take its own course and see what the blog and I come up with. I have, however, decided that Mondays will be devoted to my new (or not so new, though newly extremely serious) goal: no longer being a fatty. That's right. I'm calling it Operation Button Up...mostly because I'd like to be able to button up my old, not quite so fat, pre-baby jeans.
Now, before you go rolling your eyes (I would. I hate, hate, hate weight loss blogs!), I am absolutely not going to post pictures of everything I eat. Nor will I bore you with accounts of hardcore workouts while sounding like some kind of freakin' Energizer bunny. I will, once a month, post a photo of myself. This is mostly so I'll actually stick to a goal and quit being such a fatty. Hopefully, these photos get better over time.
I'm sure that a large part of this whole thing will be devoted to the one and only Parker James Moore. He's cute and we hang out a lot. How could he not make an appearance or two? I'm also sure that I'll be unable to avoid lots of talk about being a military dependent or the spouse of someone who is currently living on the other side of the flippin' world. Maybe it'll be therapeutic. Religion will probably make an appearance or two as church (and all that goes with it) have kind of a dysfunctional relationship.
Here's my disclaimer. It's my blog. I'm writing it. I make all decision regarding content, theme, syntax, rhythm, order, appearance, blah, blah, blah...you get the point. I have a tendency to say things that make people, um, feel strongly (like, I think the Duggars are totally crazy). If this happens, you are more than welcome to disagree, question, discuss, or whatever; however, you are also more than welcome to shut the heck up and quit reading. I'm not all rainbows and sunshine. Sometimes, I'm a glass half empty kinda person (sometimes I'm not). Deal with it. It's all part of my charm. I like to think I'm just honest and realistic.
I know this post is kinda lame. I'm okay with that. I feel like the blog and I needed to get to know each other a little bit before we just went full throttle. I needed to wine and dine my blog a little before we just jumped into bed together (see, I know crazy people who would be offended by such talk...if that's you, I'm sure your 1611 KJV is sitting within arm's reach...pick it up and feel cleansed).
Here's hoping things go well, get more interesting and entertaining, and someone actually reads this thing.
Oh, and since it's Monday....
Now, before you go rolling your eyes (I would. I hate, hate, hate weight loss blogs!), I am absolutely not going to post pictures of everything I eat. Nor will I bore you with accounts of hardcore workouts while sounding like some kind of freakin' Energizer bunny. I will, once a month, post a photo of myself. This is mostly so I'll actually stick to a goal and quit being such a fatty. Hopefully, these photos get better over time.
I'm sure that a large part of this whole thing will be devoted to the one and only Parker James Moore. He's cute and we hang out a lot. How could he not make an appearance or two? I'm also sure that I'll be unable to avoid lots of talk about being a military dependent or the spouse of someone who is currently living on the other side of the flippin' world. Maybe it'll be therapeutic. Religion will probably make an appearance or two as church (and all that goes with it) have kind of a dysfunctional relationship.
Here's my disclaimer. It's my blog. I'm writing it. I make all decision regarding content, theme, syntax, rhythm, order, appearance, blah, blah, blah...you get the point. I have a tendency to say things that make people, um, feel strongly (like, I think the Duggars are totally crazy). If this happens, you are more than welcome to disagree, question, discuss, or whatever; however, you are also more than welcome to shut the heck up and quit reading. I'm not all rainbows and sunshine. Sometimes, I'm a glass half empty kinda person (sometimes I'm not). Deal with it. It's all part of my charm. I like to think I'm just honest and realistic.
I know this post is kinda lame. I'm okay with that. I feel like the blog and I needed to get to know each other a little bit before we just went full throttle. I needed to wine and dine my blog a little before we just jumped into bed together (see, I know crazy people who would be offended by such talk...if that's you, I'm sure your 1611 KJV is sitting within arm's reach...pick it up and feel cleansed).
Here's hoping things go well, get more interesting and entertaining, and someone actually reads this thing.
Oh, and since it's Monday....
Totally humiliating photo of the beginning of "Operation Button Up"
Smiling didn't feel right, apparently :-)
Oh, and don't mind the nasty mirror...I just brush my teeth a lot (and vigorously, apparently)
Today is day 1 of 104. Why 104? Because I'm going to see Kevin, my darling husband, in August. 104 days is roughly a week before I plan to get there. Now, before he gets vilified for wanting some waify wife, Kevin doesn't care if I'm 400 pounds or 140 pounds. I just chose that time and him because it gives me a deadline, and I think it'll be fun to hang out with my husband closer to the size I was when we met (and way happier about the way I look). So, there it is folks...all 214.6 pounds (Gross...I can't believe I just posted a nasty picture of myself AND my weight online!) Oh well, it can only get better, right?
Shreese
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