Summer Reading

If you are looking for a good book to read this summer I highly recommend Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline. This read may not last you a long time though. I powered through this novel in merely 3 days after receiving it for my birthday.

hope it get adopted soon...

Being an immigrant myself I am a total sucker for any literature about immigration. This one hit the spot. Orphan Train is the story of a young Irish girl who loses her family in a fire shortly after her arrival at Ellis Island from Ireland in the 1929. I had never heard of this part of US history - about the many orphaned immigrant children who were sent from Eastcoast cities by train out West to be adopted, or  rather, as happened in many cases, to be enslaved by families in midwestern towns...

Baker Kline's gripping tale not only talks about the plight of the orphan children from long ago; she manages to intertwine their story with the plight of the modern day orphan child struggling to survive in the US fostercare system.

Other than some very negative portraits I have observed on various TV shows and the stories I have read in the newspapers, I really don't know much about the US fostercare system. There must be decent people out there who do take in orphaned children and do a good job of it one hopes... But from the depiction in Baker Kline's  novel one definitely gets the idea that a lot of children suffer from abuse and do not fare well in this system. I found the parallels to the orphan children from long ago quite astounding.

I hope you give this book a try. And as you read don't forget that somewhere down the line your folks came from another place. How often were your ancestors haunted by this question: What would my life have been like if I had stayed in my home country? I leave you with one of the many passage that touched me deeply...

"My parents left Ireland in hopes of a brighter future, all of us believing we were on our way to a land of plenty. As it happened, they failed in this new land, failed in just about every way possible. It may have been that they were weak people, ill suited for the rigors of emigration, it's humiliations and compromises, its competing demands of self-discipline and adventurousness....

In Kinvara, poor as we were, and unstable, we at least had family nearby, people who knew us. We shared traditions and a way of looking at the world. We didn't know until we left how much we took those things for granted." (page.32)

The Curse of the Modern Immigrant...

I was determined to make my blog a happy place this year. No more moping and whining. I wanted to write about the good things in life. But life just doesn't work that way, does it?

I often wonder whether it was easier for European immigrants from the last century. They said their 'Good Byes', got on the boat, and made a new life for themselves here. Going back to visit family just wasn't an option. They probably exchanged letters with the family, because of postal delays they probably din't know when tragedy struck at home. I wonder whether not knowing may have been easier...

In the age of telephone, Internet, and instant messaging we always know when things happen...

I am the only one from my family in my generation who has left Germany. Yesterday I got another one of those phone calls. I am sick of this kind of phonecall. The only good thing I can say about this particular one is, that it didn't come in the middle of the night. When my parents died, the callers did not consider what the time was over here. They called while everyone was sound asleep; the result being that whenever the phone rings late at night, I freak out. I am awake instantly thinking it could be another "Hiobsbotschaft" (bad news).

Well yesterday's bad news was about the passing of my cousin. Passing. He did not pass peacefully. He decided to jump off a rock cliff.

When we were kids in elemantary school we would take hiking trips to a place called Rotenfels. It's a beautiful rock formation by the Naheriver. People would always joke about "Suicide Rock". They whispered how many an unhappy loveaffair had ended in this place.

Well on March 27th, my cousin, Michael who had been diagnosed with cancer two years ago decided to end his life there. OMG, Michael! He was my age. Michael. A young successful manager. He had a beautiful wife and two beautiful children. He lived in a beautiful house in the town my mom grew up in. I guess we'll never know why he did this. I suspect being tired of the grueling cancer treatments and the hopelessness. Please pray for his little family and for him having found peace!

All I want to do is hug my aunt and uncle and tell them how sorry I am. But how can I -being thousands of miles away? The curse of the modern immigrant. Always knowing but not being able to do anything...

Fotos old and New...

The first picture of this post shows an old family photograph from 1946 taken in Del Rio, Texas. My husband's grandfather was a Methodist minister who ministered to many small communities in Texas and New Mexico from the 1930s-1970s. In the picture you can see my husband's grandparents: Carmen Lujan and Rev. Eduardo Lujan. The "organ pipe" children in order from right to left are: Elisama (my husband's mom), Edward, Eunice, Eleazar, Erasmo, Eliseo, Ephraim. Notice the e at the beginning of each name?

On this trip we set out to visit Uncle Erasmo who lives in Las Cruces, New Mexico. On the way there we picked up Uncle Eleazar who lives in Albuquerque.

We stopped at some old Western towns. For example Folsom, New Mexico. Ever heard of the Folsom points? That's the place they were first discovered!

If you have never visited New Mexico you must go some time. It is hard to do justice to the beauty of the landscape. A camera lens or technique of painting that completely captures the intensity of colors and textures of the New Mexican landscape, set off against the vast blue sky, has yet to be invented. Of course many artists - such as Georgia O'Keeffe, Anselm Adams, et al...have tried to reflect what their eyes saw. But you must see it with your own eyes to believe it!

Water tower in Las Cruces with Mural of Coronado's Expedition to New Mexico.

We managed to put 1,850 miles on our car in the six days we travelled. About the same distance traveled for centuries by Spanish colonizers, Native American Traders, and Immigrants on El Camino Real, the royal highway from Mexico City to Santa Fe. We learned about El Camino Royal in a cool underground museum near Highway 25 by Socorro, New Mexico. Who were the people who covered such distance by oxcart or foot long ago, I wondered, as I sat complaining in our air conditioned car? Could modern man or woman survive such a trip if put to the test? What about illegal immigrants who perish in large numbers as they try to make it through this desolate landscape without supplies?

After all, I am glad we had the time and resources to go on this trip. Uncle Erasmo enjoyed our company and seeing the kids gave him some hope. Seeing a hint of a smile through his pained face, made all the hours spent on the road worth every moment!

Somewhere in a Hotel room in Las Cruces...

We made it all the way to end of the earth. Or so it seems, down here in the south of the US. The borders get kind of blurred as we move so quickly from New Mexico to Texas and back - with the tortilla curtain in plain sight the whole time.

Memories of the Berlin Wall. My son asks: Why don't they climb the fence to get to the other side? The fence is not very high. See the sign warning of high voltage and threatening instant death by electricity? A different kind of Todesstreifen.

We arrived in Las Cruces and visited some cousins in El Paso and Socorro, Texas. I remember the last time we visited we crossed over the border to Mexico for the day. The cousins tell us it is too dangerous now. People don't cross over just for fun these days...

It is sooo hot in these parts. Way too hot for a German. I am feeling a bit parched this morning. Must remember to drink more water today. Why would anyone go on vacation this time of year here? Temperatures are around 105 and I feel like dying whenever I leave the airconditioned bubbles of existence: The car, the hotel, somebody's house. Well, like I said it is not a vacation. Uncle Erasmo is pretty sick, and we are glad we could come visit him one more time. The children are such good little troupers spending countless hours in the car driving around visiting family.

I still have not figured out how to do mobile uploads to my blog from my phone, but at least I have a hotel with Internet access. But then I realized that I forgot to bring the cable for the camera. Hahaha I still cannot load my pictures onto the computer. I guess I will have to add some pictures when I get home. Or maybe add some old pictures?

Since I was asked to post another recital picture by one of my dear readers I will put it with this post and to liven things up a bit.

Meet Sara - My Etsy Friend - Woolies

Being an immigrant in America is not easy. Never was and never will be. Just read some novels. I had read plenty of them before I moved to the US in 1996. I knew what I was getting myself into. Why, oh why, did I do this? Like many immigrants before me, I was getting depressed after living here for a few months.

I think anyone, who has moved to a new place, understands this feeling of being cut off from your family, friends, and home. But when you are an immigrant, the pain is multiplied by being cut off from your culture and language.

I traded the big city lights of Berlin for the not so well-lit streets of small town America. Every Christmas I’d run off to Germany and say to my husband: “I hate it here. I want to go back to Germany.” I had a hard time making friends. I felt the looks of people saying:”Here she comes, the oddball German with her accent and strange view of the world.” I felt terribly isolated.

I believe, it was in the spring of 2008, when I first stumbled upon a thread in the etsy forum. In this thread I met Sara – or Woolies. My husband thought it was crazy when I told him one evening that I had to go online to “talk” to my etsy friends. What do you mean by etsy friends? Who are these people? You have never met them. - Yes, I have!

It’s a funny thing about the internet. You may never see, hear the voice, smell, or touch a person – yet you can meet them and feel close to them just the same. You may even get to know them better than your next door neighbor…
On that memorable thread I met Sara – or Woolies – as the team members all lovingly refer to her. She has two esty shops. My favorite is of course: http://www.woolies.etsy.com/ .When you are having a bad day, you may want to take a look at her creations: Knitted, stuffed, warm, and fuzzy animals.
Sara has always been the person I could turn to when I was having a rough day – comforting - like a stuffed animal friend to a child. Does that sound weird? It's even better to have someone you can talk to about your troubles (on and off-line) who will talk back to you! Thanks so much for being there, Sara!
I learned a lot of things about Sara. I know she lives in Arizona and loves horses. Hence I added pictures of her real and knitted horses to this post. I know that she loves her family very much, and works in advertising. I know of her daily struggles and worries about money and the kids future. We have even visited on the phone. Since she has never been able to come over for dinner, I asked her what her favorite food was: She said ice cream.

I hope someday we can go out for an ice cream together…

Please, check out her two lovely shops on etsy. And don't forget to stop by her blog and leave a comment!

http://woolies-woolies.blogspot.com/

Old Family Pictures / Alte Familienbilder

I am not the first person in my family who immigrated to the US. My greatgrandfather Ludwig Seckler and his wife Christine had 18 children together. Too many mouths to feed or too many girls to marry off and doweries to pay for. So in 1910 three of my grandfather's sisters where put on a boat in Hamburg and shipped off to America. America - the land of opportunity!

Recently a cousin contacted me through facebook and sent me some pictures of my great aunts. I never got to meet them, but I am ever so grateful that my cousin contacted me, and we can do some catching up...

My immigration story began in 1991 when I met my husband. It is so much fun to take that trip down memory lane and wonder about the problems my great aunts ran into. I am sure they missed family and German food just as much as I do 100 years later. =)