Out of time

This is my third summer in Belgium, and I’m still blown away by the impossibly long days. Light licks around the edges of the room darkening curtains at 4:30 a.m., the birds begin singing, and the sun rises only an hour later, long before I want to open my eyes and greet the day.

I may not fall back to sleep, but I’ll linger in bed until at least 7 a.m. on those days when the light summons me too soon. At night, though, my body refuses to go to bed before the stars shine, even when I’m tired. This isn’t a good pattern for someone who needs a lot of sleep.

My home in Virginia was in an area located at the same latitude as Southern Spain. In June, the sky would grow dusky after 8 p.m., the sun would set around 8:40 p.m., and the sky darken at 9 p.m. Fourth of July fireworks would always be launched just after 9 in my hometown.

Here in Belgium, twilight doesn’t draw a veil across the landscape until 9:30, and the sun doesn’t set until after 10 p.m. Light lingers in the sky for quite a while longer. From the third floor of my house, I can see the Atomium (a famous Brussels landmark) on the horizon. By the time it’s dark enough for the evening light show there, it’s about 11 p.m.

Many a night I sit typing at the computer, completely oblivious to how late it’s getting because a lifetime of the summer sun setting around 8:30 p.m. has permanently set my interior clock. By the time it dawns on me, that gee, I’m feeling bone tired, it’s already late. And then there’s the kitchen to clean and a shower to take before slipping between the sheets.

Too often I get to see the digital clock in the bedroom hit 00:00, always a disconcerting site for a North American who is accustomed to clocks running on twelve hour cycles and never, ever displaying all zeroes.

But the zeroes are a good reminder that the day is over, I’m out of time, I MUST GO TO BED. In what will feel like the blink of an eye, the sun will be nudging me awake again, the birds calling me to breakfast.

June 20, 2007

©2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl. All rights reserved.

It's all in the details

For Teebs, who requested photos on some of the architectural details I mentioned in my post on cleaning my house. The curving staircase that I cleaned and polished earlier this week...

And looking in the other direction...

A cozy corner--note the stone fireplace, exposed beams, and the lovely casement windows...

The driveway. I never knew I could LOVE a driveway.

The house also has exposed brick walls downstairs, and knotty pine vaulted ceilings and eaves. If we ever build a house in America, it will incorporate a lot of traditional Belgian touches.

June 15, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

For my friends in Belgium

Do I look a little sad? It's because I need a home now that I've been rescued from Koekelberg in Belgium, an area notorious for exterminating cats. I'm a friendly male, neutered and vaccinated and looking for a lap to sit in. Can you help me find a permanent home? I am staying with Sylvie in Brussels, a devoted cat rescuer who has removed many cats from Koekelberg and arranged for their care. Sylvie is overwhelmed by the cats needing homes right now. For example, meet Chipie:

Chipie is a real girly girl. She's about 7 months old and is spayed, sociable, and easy going. However, being a typical female, she decides to whom she goes, especially at the beginning. I think she's waiting for the right person to love. Maybe one day she'll hook up with Mozart:

Mozart may be a little shy about making eye contact with the camera but he's a sweetie.  Don't tell the other cats, but I think he is Martina's favorite. He's about two years old, neutered and vaccinated and oh-so-affectionate. Martina the Cat Lady says you can play baby with him. So much easier than having a real baby, yes? Give him the love (and the home) he deserves.

If you're interested in these cats or others, please e-mail veronica@v-grrrl.com or Martina.Mueller@ec.europa.eu

Oh baby it's a wild world

The crash of thunder startled us awake at 5 a.m. on Saturday morning. A pregnant pause followed, and then the clouds tore open and sent a deluge of rain splattering onto the roof.

As E closed windows and unplugged electronics, the world whitened and the thunder overcame the dull roar of rain a few more times. Petey paced and meowed but soon the rumbles were distant, the rain slower, and sleep beckoned again.

Saturday’s meteorological outburst was an uncommon experience for me here in Belgium, where lightning seldom seems to strike once, let alone twice. When I lived in Virginia, violent thunderstorms occurred regularly from March through September.

I’m no weather grrrl, but apparently the warm moist air off the Atlantic Ocean was always colliding with the cold fronts traveling south from Canada and as the two air masses fought for domination of the atmosphere, all hell would break loose below.

Most often the skirmishes would arise between late afternoon and midnight, with clouds gathering ominously during rush hour and exploding later to ruin barbeques and picnic plans. When my kids were small, the storms always seemed to unleash their sound and fury just as I was trying to get them to bed. Our solution was to let them sleep together so they weren't alone at night. It wasn’t unusual to have thunderstorms every day in the South during the spring, a bizarre nightcap for sure.

At best the storms were a nerve-jarring nuisance, at worst they left destruction in their wake. I never left the house in Virginia without unplugging the computer, printer, television, and stereo. Few surge protectors can handle what Mother Nature dishes out and on the morning after a bad storm, there would sometimes be a queue of folks with dead computers lining up at the local repair shop.

One morning when I was the first to arrive at the office, a fine plume of smoke snaked out of the disc drive of my computer when I booted it up. Oh my. The lightning surge had traveled into the building on the phone lines we used with our modems back then. Most of the phones were fried as well as several computers.

At my home in Virginia, we’ve spent thousands of dollars on tree services related to storm damage in the last five years. Once as I huddled in a central bathroom in the house with the kids, a violent wind shear cracked the tops off several substantial maple tree and left them dangling. We heard them pop above the roar of the wind. Even when damage wasn’t that extensive, large limbs might break and the yard would be littered with smaller branches and leaves.

When I was 12, my family lived in an old house in the mountains of Virginia, next to a mill with a creek falling behind it. That particular house used to blow light bulbs during a storm. The lightning would strike and you’d hear the bulb filaments pop. My poor mother would become slightly unglued. She was terrified of storms. Her mother, who had lived most of her life in a small village outside of Rome, Italy, had once been knocked off her milking stool in the barn when a ball of lightning rolled through. My grandmother passed her fear onto my mother, and I carried a small vestige of it with me into adulthood.

I’ve had several close encounters with tornadoes in Virginia and Oklahoma, two of them while driving in a car. The most memorable, however, occurred when my son was a baby and I was visiting a friend for a few days. I’d put my son down to sleep, and my girlfriend and I were watching a movie on television. Soon the broadcast was interrupted by weather bulletins warning of severe weather in our area. The wind whipped, lightning flashed, and rain began battering the windows. The weatherman announced that a tornado had been spotted and showed the location and expected path on a map on the TV screen.

I glanced at my friend and said, “It looks like it’s headed our way.” And just then thunder cracked, the TV screen went blank, and we heard sirens. Remarkably, my son was sleeping through the storm. His porta-crib was positioned next to an enormous window, and my girlfriend and I each grabbed an end of it and carried it into the hallway that ran down the center of the house. He never woke, and I hardly slept. What a pair. The storm raged most of the night and dumped 6 inches of rain on the area. A tornado struck within a mile of my girlfriend’s house and portions of the town experienced flash floods.

So the "gentle" storm we had in the Brussels area Saturday morning brought back memories and embedded a few amusing thoughts in this expat’s mind: Belgium is a very reserved country in every respect and the old saying, “Everything is bigger in America” applies even to the weather.

June 10, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle.

The annual migration

It’s that time of year.

Basements, attics, and closets are being purged, boxes are being packed, and the moving vans are pulling up. Familiar faces disappear and new ones show up. It’s an annual migration; one group of expats leaves just as another arrives.

I’m always amazed how smoothly it appears to happen. People seem to come and go with little angst. Growing up, my family only moved once, when I was about 12. We went from the far flung suburbs of New York City to the rocky hills of rural Virginia. While I came to love the South and consider it home, the move itself was a dramatic change and quite a trauma at the time.

As an adult, I moved from Virginia to Oklahoma and back again. Before we came to Belgium, we had lived in one place for 15 years and had deep roots in the community. When word spread that we were leaving, many people raised a fuss.

There were multiple farewell parties hosted by my children’s school, my friends and neighbors, the Boy Scouts, our co-workers, and our church. Many people stopped by our home to wish us well, and in the last frantic days before our move, friends pitched in to keep our kids occupied while we ironed out the final details.

Even though I wanted to come to Belgium, even though I knew I would be moving back to the U.S. in a few years, I still shed plenty of tears. It was a very emotional experience for me, separating from the place I’d called home for so long. As the movers were packing up our things, I had to excuse myself from the house not once but twice. I sat in my car, which was parked across the street, and indulged in a crying jag. I took photos of the house. I memorized the way the trees looked against the bright blue March sky. I tried not to think about the people I was leaving behind.

Contrast that experience with the average American expat in our circle, most of whom are military families. Moving plans are barely noticed or acknowledged, the stress of relocating is minimized as people activate a series of procedures they’ve managed many times before, and no one organizes a series of parties to say goodbye. People leave without regret or a glance over their shoulders, and their names and accomplishments disappear from conversation almost instantly. The American expat community here is remarkably forward looking. They just plunge into the next adventure and don’t indulge in sentimental attachments or reflections. They leave people and places behind without a second thought.

A part of me really admires that mentality: the ability to be where you are and not look back, to move forward without always knowing where you’re going, to accept whatever assignment is rolled your way. Too many people become paralyzed by familiarity and uncertainty and stagnate. That’s certainly something I fight in my own thinking and temperament. I appreciate strong ties to people and places, but I don’t want to be bound and gagged by them.

Still, I know when it comes time for me to leave Belgium next year, I’ll be glancing over my shoulder at the rolling green hills, red brick houses, and cobblestone streets. I’ll be trying to memorize the pearl gray of the sky and the way the wind sounds as it bends the white birch trees around the house in the spring and fall. I will undoubtedly cry when the heavy wooden door of our brick cottage closes behind us for the last time. My goodbyes will be tinged with regret, but I'm certain I won’t be leaving all my friends behind but carrying a few friendships with me back to America.

June 7, 2007

Coming to America: Part Two

My first trip back to the U.S. in more than two years is quickly approaching. More of what I can't wait for and a bit of what I can do without:

Culinary delights

1. Having a classic Southern breakfast in a diner—eggs, bacon, biscuits, grits, orange juice.

2. Sweetened iced tea that’s NOT from a can and NOT carbonated.

3. Einstein’s honey whole wheat bagels with butter and a cup of Neighborhood Blend decaf

4. Auntie Anne’s jalapeno pretzels

5. Idaho baked potatoes. (Belgians are all about frites. Mashed and baked potatoes aren’t served here, and baking potatoes aren’t sold in the stores or markets so I can’t make them at home.)

Little Things Make a Big Difference

1. Being able to read every sign, form, receipt, flyer, and menu

2. Understanding what people are saying

3. Driving with confidence

4. Hearing Southern accents

5. Seven-day-a -week shopping; stores that don’t close at 7 p.m.

6. English language movies and TV

7. Listening to the radio

8. Celebrating Fourth of July

9. Outdoor pools and air conditioning

10. Reading a daily newspaper

Not looking forward to

1. Lack of public transit

2. Loud music, loud talking, loud everything

3. All the driving and time on the road

4. Living out of a suitcase for five weeks

5. Leaving some of my favorite shoes and purses at home.

June 4, 2007

Coming to America

At the end of the month, my niece Rock Grrrl will arrive in Brussels. She’s a high school science teacher in America, and last year I had the brilliant idea of arranging a house swap with her. This way we have a place to stay while we’re in the U.S. this summer and she has an opportunity to see a bit of Europe and live like a local.

Of course, when we agreed on the swap, I didn’t realize she only had one bedroom in her condo. Now E and I are thinking that as long as she’s staying here and taking care of Pete the Black Cat and our friendly fish and frogs, we could leave the kids with her as well. House sit, pet sit, and baby sit. That works, right, Rock Grrrl? No problem?

I haven’t been home to America since moving here more than two years ago, and I’m both eager and anxious about my first trip back. We’ll be staying there for nearly five weeks, a long time to live out of a suitcase and be together 24/7, but I’m excited about seeing friends and family and getting a chance to shop. I’ve been making a list of things I want to buy at home, a typical expat thing to do.

Many items on the list are less expensive in the U.S., and some items just aren’t available here. I’m counting on the list to keep me focused so I don’t lose all sense of perspective and go overboard while cruising through the aisles of Target and making rounds in the mall. (Stick to the list, V! Stick to the list!)

What’s tops on my list? New glasses! In the U.S., these cost about HALF of what I’ve paid in Belgium. I desperately need stronger lenses, and I’m pumped up about the idea of new frames.

Some days it’s all I can think about, and yes, I know that sounds pathetic. Trust me, I never expected to be this dull nor did I ever expect to be this BLIND. I’m hoping a jazzy pair of new glasses will help mitigate both problems. Yes, I 'm counting on new glasses to CHANGE MY LIFE. Go ahead and laugh.

The other shopping experience I’m especially psyched up for is a trip to Michael’s craft store. Here in Belgium, arts and crafts aren’t a big deal, and there are very few stores that sell supplies. Most just have a small offering of basic products to choose from. I can’t wait to see the selection of tools, stamps, inks, markers, paints, and paper available in the U.S. I know I’ll be poring over product displays, buying how-to books, and gathering items for future projects. I’ve really come to enjoy indulging my inner artist.

I expect to come home to Belgium inspired and ready for a month of rainy days and an excuse to hole up at home. I'm sure that Belgium, being a wet and wonderful place, will oblige me regarding the weather.

June 3, 2007

Conversation with my keyboard

V-Grrrl: Geez, keyboard, it’s Thursday afternoon and I have no idea what to write about for my Expatica.com blog.

Keyboard: How about a humorous piece on that guy you saw on the bike—the one wearing white socks, Docksiders, black spandex bicycle shorts with a dress shirt TUCKED INTO the shorts?

V-Grrrl: Sigh. There’s not enough material there to write a whole post.

Keyboard:  Except that right after that, you saw the guy with the flowing white hair and long beard pedaling slowly uphill looking like Santa Claus trying to work off too many Christmas cookies.

V-Grrrl: What would be my theme? Weird people on bikes? That’s not an expat topic.

Keyboard: I guess you’re right. Well you could tell that whole long story about how you didn’t know Monday was a Belgian holiday and so you stayed up really late Sunday night getting the trash and recyclables sorted and bagged to be put out…

V-Grrrl: And then I got up early to go into Brussels for a doctor’s appointment but the bus didn’t come because of the holiday schedule…

Keyboard: And so you spent all that time you could have been sleeping waiting around for a bloody bus to show up and then you finally got to the Metro station and walked a mile to the doctor’s office…

V-Grrrl: Only to discover the doctor wasn’t there--probably home SLEEPING…

Keyboard: And all the cafés were closed so there was no place to stop and get lunch…

V-Grrrl: And we were out of milk and cat food and the grocery stores were closed too…

Keyboard: So you dragged yourself all the way home from Brussels only to see the trash you’d stayed up late sorting was still sitting on the curb because EVERYONE WAS ENJOYING A HOLIDAY but you!

V-Grrrl: Oh Keyboard, just talking about Monday makes me tired and cross. It was such a waste…plus it’s embarrassing to admit that even after two years here, I still don’t know when the holidays are.

Keyboard: Me neither. Did you ever find out what the Belgians were celebrating on Monday?

V-Grrrl: I think it was International Annoy V-Grrrl Day.

May 31, 2007

Remembering what we'd like to forget

Henri Chapelle Cemetery in Belgium

8,000 American soldiers' graves

Ten American Boy Scouts

Lots of soap and water

One very long day

cleaning grave markers,

understanding the cost of war,

remembering the dead,

honoring their sacrifice.

These 8,000 graves? They represent only a small fraction of the tens of thousands of Americans who died in Belgium during World War II. This past weekend, E went to Normandy, France--to understand, to remember, to mourn.

May 28, 2007

Ready or not?

“So, are you ready for summer?”

This is the classic greeting these days as the school year winds down.

In the U.S., I was always ready for summer, ready to shift gears, slow down, do something different.

Here in Belgium, I always pause for a long time before I answer. I have to confess: I hate summers in Belgium.

Why?

Because I’ve never found a summer rhythm here.

In the U.S., summer had a nice shape to it. At its center was the library reading program, which offered weekly events and prizes and programs that my kids loved.

In a typical summer, they’d also attend several week-long day camps—Camp Creepy Crawly (an educational camp on amphibians, reptiles, and insects), Junior Rangers (a nature program at a local state park), Art Adventures, Vacation Bible School, and/or Scout camps. I tried to schedule a week of camp and then a week off all summer long.

Day to day life was easy. We had a yard larger enough for them to play soccer in, trees to climb, and places to dig and plant. We lived within walking distance of the neighborhood pool, and every day around 4 p.m. I’d take them there for an hour or two of swimming. It was a place for kids to play and moms to chat. Ditto the lake in my subdivision, which had a sandy beach and a huge covered pavilion on the water with picnic tables. Both my kids loved to go swimming and fishing there and would drop hooks with their dad and see what was biting.

We’d go hiking occasionally, we went on hay rides, we visited a local berry farm on a regular basis and bought whatever fresh fruit was in season. We often drove 25 minutes to a beach near the mouth of the Potomac River and had breakfast on the beach, collected shells, dug in the sand. We usually made some weekend trips and visited with family members—cousins, aunts, and uncles. There were also cookouts with friends and neighbors.

In short, summer was rich with opportunities and places to hang out and to learn, to socialize and to rest.

Belgium has been so different for me. My children attend a school that caters exclusively to English-speaking expats, and it’s the heart of our expat community and a social center. The school plays a much larger role in our life than it ever did in the U.S. and when it shuts down for summer, everything changes.

Life flattens out quite a bit. Many people go back to the U.S. for the entire summer or are tied up hosting endless streams of visitors here in Europe. Moms don’t get together and it can be hard to find playmates for my kids. Most of our Belgian neighbors disappear on extended holidays of a month or more. It’s like a social wasteland.

We don’t live close to an outdoor pool, the nearest one being at least a 35 minute drive away, an area I can’t reach by bus. And while my kids have access to an indoor pool that’s closer, it caters to adults swimming for fitness and has two swimming lanes set aside for kids to use. Not exactly fun. We don’t go there very often.

When I took my kids to the library reading program here, I discovered it’s an entirely different experience. In my old community it was very popular and very dynamic with masses of kids participating. Here, there might be five kids (two of them MINE) who would show up. Not the same.

No more camps either. Because of the language barrier, we can’t participate in the Belgian sports and camps or the community programs. The English-language camps are a bit exclusive—both in price and accessibility. Once again, my reliance on public transit also cramps us and puts some locations out of our realm.

So I compensate by doing cooking and art projects with the kids, buying them books, getting to the parks in our area, encouraging them to be creative, and structuring some educational activities into our weeks. This works overall, we have a good time, but we all burn out and start getting bored before the summer is over. By August, I’ve exhausted all my ideas and I’m just waiting for summer to be over. I never used to feel that way in the U.S., where I’d mourn the end of summer as much as the kids did.

This summer will be dominated by our 5-week trip back home to the U.S. We have loads of business and social commitments on our schedule and I vacillate between thinking we’ll have plenty of time to do everything to thinking we might be run ragged. We’ll be staying in a one bedroom apartment so I worry about us driving each other a bit crazy and tripping over our suitcases. One thing for sure, boredom won’t be a problem with so many people to see and places to go. We’ll just have to keep moving.

So, yeah, I guess I am looking forward to summer, even if I am just a tiny bit nervous about how it will all play out. I know it will be an adventure, a trip to our past and to our future.

Are you looking forward to summer? What have you got planned?

May 25, 2007