Tags: #Decoratin, #OhDahlin, #Zurenborg
Moving in the time of Coronavirus
I’ve been struggling and released. In darkness and light. Lonely and yet, never alone. This is the impact of Coronavirus in 2020. “You know Mama, they said at school a major pandemic happens every 100 years or so,” my 10-year-old daughter told me. Really? This is news to me. “This is the most major illness since the Spanish Flu,” a friend of mine had texted me when debating about the pros and cons of canceling the March Monthly Meeting for the American Women’s Club of Antwerp. After consulting with one of our Programs and Hospitality Directors, we canceled the meeting
Ijs op de Schelde!
This morning, in a lovely little restaurant called Presence in Schoten, forty-two women gathered to celebrate the American Women’s Club of Antwerp’s 91st anniversary. With feathers in our hair and jazz music twinkling, we embraced, remembered, and honored our members celebrating mile-stone anniversaries and our club. Ariadna, our 2nd VP of Membership, worked tirelessly over the past few weeks to create the most amazing program. Constant phone calls and whatsapp messages flew between us. “Where are you now?” I’d ask as I sat at my computer updating luncheon payments. She was hopping all over the city – collecting videos and
The American Women’s Club of Antwerp celebrated its 90th anniversary in 2019. The event was a festive affair held at one of my most favorite places in Antwerp, the Antwerp Zoo. We gathered in May, the break from the cold, long winter had lifted for our celebration. We dined on duck, toasted with champagne, and danced late into the evening. But before the party began, I delivered a welcome message. I was the incoming President of the American Women’s Club, and I knew I was stepping into a role of historical significance. Of responsibility. Of honor. I had not been
Goldfish, Cowboy Hats, and The Hokey Pokey – America 101
My phone alarm sounds at 11:25 a.m. – ding ding ding ding ding. I throw on my coat, adorn my earphones, and head into the cold – popping a King Mint into my mouth as I haul the empty stroller down our front steps. The sun is shining – that bright globe I’ve missed so much. My boots click on the cobbled road as I cross the street, passing by a lane of Antwerp city bicycles ready to transport anyone from here to there. I walk at a clip place – I have a habit of always cutting it close.
Girl Scouting Overseas – Carrying on Traditions of Home and Family
The metal gate glides open and the guard waves me through. I hand him my passport and he smiles. Asks me to pull my car off to the side. I turn the engine off and step into the cold, walk the short distance to the guard’s booth. Another mom traverses the second barrier, hands the French-speaking guard her ID. The two frozen men in the tiny booth joke they want chocolate in return for the favor. I offer Girl Scout cookies instead. There’s document signing, ID checking, photo-taking, etc. etc. etc. After giving them a blood sample and a promise
Waar is de vuilnisbak?
“Waar is de vuilnisbak?” the little seven-year-old girl looks at me with dark brown eyes. Her head is cocked. A mischievous smile plays on her round face. She is taunting, entertained, and curious. I bite my lip. Where is the what? “Ah, sorry,” I say in my best Dutch accent – flash a toothy smile in her direction. “Can you say that again?” She blinks. “Waar is de vuilnisbak?” she repeats. Her eyes tease me again. Her head leans another inch to the left, so it’s now horizontal to the floor. She’s so cute and yet. . . She knows
Lost and Found
A wise friend once told me – there are seasons in life. There’s of course, the big ones like school, college, marriage, motherhood, etc. But then I like to think of the subsets – the everyday life. With each transition, there’s a learning curve and then there’s the stuff that goes a long with it. I remember my first time out of the house with two children. My daughter was 18 months old and my son was a newborn. I was on my way to introduce our baby to my husband’s co-workers at his office in Dallas. I’m on
Following my last post about a New Year’s Do-Over, I must admit that the real New Year’s Eve was fabulous (credit: The Husband). Following stops in Heidelberg and Austria, we head back west towards Germany on January 31st with a very important pit stop on the way to Munich. The fog drifts from the earth trapped in the belly of the Austrian mountains like a steamy bowl of cotton soup. We push our Volkswagon Touran through the water vapor until we start to climb. We weave our car along the breathtaking edge – the slope of the mountain stretching to
Return to Heidelberg
A flight over the ocean. An embrace by a colleague. A walk through the FRA terminal. A drive on a bus. A crumbling castle atop a hill. A flute player. A toss of a few coins. A view. A photo. A memory. The year was 2007. I was an American Airlines internal auditor. My job was to fly around the world, visit the different airports the airline operated in, and audit them. It was a very cool gig. Especially for an accountant. The team was small – we had five staff/senior auditors and a manager. I remember the first time
Adventures of a 3-year old
“NO!!! NO!!! NO, MAMA!!!! I DON’T WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!!!” I shove one arm into my winter coat while grabbing a tiny leg with the other. There’s a loud thud and the half liters of German beer shake on the thick wooden table as I bonk my head – trying to escape from the dark cave with my treasure, my love, my third child. I emerge from its underbelly – squirming into the other half of my coat, wrestling my three year old, and dying of embarrassment. The low roar of the restaurant is no match for my precious angel’s