A Common Woman

Top 10 Reasons I Avoid Going to the Doctor

This last week, I broke down and went to the dentist. I was terrified. Fortunately, it was a good experience and didn't involve much pain. But I still have a lingering fear of doctor's offices. Particularly in countries who have socialized medicine. This is a repeat of one of my favorite posts. Hope you enjoy!

Photo by striatic 

When we moved to Russia in the early 90’s, I  told my husband the only way I would go to the Russian hospital was if I was already dead. I hoped things would be better after moving to the Balkans. Unfortunately, some things are eerily the same.

 

1. Socialized medicine means making an appointment for 9:00, and finding 37 other people in line for the same appointment.

 

2. When the nurse tells you to strip off your clothes, she doesn’t provide a sheet, gown or fig leaf to cover up with.

 

3. As you sit naked, shivering on the table, the other 37 people in line periodically pop in the room to remind the doctor that they are waiting.

 

4. The nurse uses an ink pen to draw a circle around the spot where she just gave you a TB test, and says to not wash the ink off your arm until your return in 3 days.

 

5. Your doctor leaves in the middle of your exam for a frappe/smoke break.

 

6. If you have a cold, the doctor blames it on sitting in a draft or using ice in your drink.

 

7. The doctor diagnoses your “female problems” as the result of sitting on a cold surface, such as the ground, a marble step, or the floor. After everything thaws out, you’ll be able to have children again.

 

8. While drawing blood, the glass tube attached to the needle falls off and breaks, so the nurse holds another tube to catch the drips falling from the needle still impaled in your arm.

 

9. The machine for chest x-rays is located right in front of the door, which is open more than shut, providing a free peep show for everyone waiting in line for their x-rays.

 

10. By the end of your appointment, at least 37 strangers will have seen you in your birthday suit.

 

 

My Kids are Green

My kids are weird. A little on the strange side.

 

(Okay, these aren't really my kids. Mine have better hair. I just like the picture.)

Almost 20 years ago, I packed little pieces of our lives into 22 assorted pieces of luggage and footlockers. I wondered how moving overseas would impact my kids. Would they grow up and write a tell-it-all exposé about their heartless parents that forced them to grow up in a new culture??? Would I be the villain in the book???

 

Well, my kids are all grown-up now. Our son has added a wonderful daughter-in-love and two precious grandchildren to our family. Our daughter will be marrying in a month, and adding a son-in-love to the family. I have to say, my kids are almost normal.

 

There are a few eccentricities that pop up from time to time. My kids may not recognize the musical hits that most of their American peers know, but they can sing along with every Jim Croce, John Denver, Wayne Watson and Sandi Patti song you play. (iTunes didn’t exist, and updating our tunes wasn’t easy.)

 

They also don’t recognize jokes about popular TV shows. We relied on my Mom to send VHS tapes of American shows and her tastes ran to Dr. Quinn and Little House on the Prairie. Fortunately, the guy upstairs had a complete set of Star Trek Voyager tapes, so we were able to expand their horizons and “to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

 

Sometimes this gap in their knowledge of American culture may be a little embarrassing. They’ve learned to cover well, most of the time. Fortunately, they learned more important lessons during their years overseas.

 

My kids learned to love and appreciate other cultures. For them, comfort food is as likely to be a bowl of borscht, as an American hamburger. They learned that there are more important things than having brand name sneakers and jeans. My kids saw poverty and suffering and learned to discern the difference between want and need.

 

Most importantly, they learned that love could cross all cultures and barriers. Relationships are more important than time or money. They saw God’s miracles on a daily basis as He transformed lives, provided protection, and lavished love upon our family.

 

Recently, I ran across a poem that was written by a TCK (third culture kid). This poem expresses the heart of a TCK.

 

Colors 

I grew up in Yellow Country.

But my parents are Blue.

I’m Blue.

Or at least, that is what they told me.

 

But I played with the Yellows.

I went to school with the Yellows.

I spoke the Yellow language.

I even dressed and appeared to be Yellow.

 

Then I moved to the Blue Land.

Now I go to school with the Blues.

I speak the Blue language.

I even dress and look Blue.

 

But deep down inside me,

something’s Yellow.

I love the Blue Country,

but my ways are tinted with Yellow.

 

When I am in Blue Land,

I want to be Yellow.

When I’m in Yellow Land,

I want to be Blue.

 

Why can’t I find a place,

where I can be both?

A place where I can be me.

A place where I can be Green.

 

I just want to be Green.

 

~By Whitni Thomas, TCK (1991)

 

I’ve known a lot of TCKs through the years, many who call me “Aunt.” My prayer for each of them is that God will help them blend the Blue and Yellow in their lives into a beautiful Green.

 

For parents of TKCs, yes, your children may be different than the average American kid. Living overseas will immeasurably enrich their lives. I pray for wisdom as you help your TCK follow God’s plan for his or her life of being Green.

 

And for my kids: Ya’ll are as Green as they come! I love you for it.

 

And please, if you promise not to write an exposé of my faults as a parent, I promise not to tell all your secrets.

 

Only the funny ones!

 

 

Half as Hard, Twice as Good

 

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

I love spending time with my girlfriends. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry, and sometimes we just act stupid. Mostly, we enjoy being together.

 

Through the years, God has brought many special women into my life that I am blessed to call girlfriend. These girlfriends span the years; some have been my forever friends, and some are new. There are stateside friends, ex-pat friends, and national friends. Each group has filled a particular niche in my life.

 

I have girlfriends back in the states that have served as surrogate mothers when my kids returned stateside to attend college. They have thrown graduation parties, wedding showers, and baby showers in my stead. A couple of weeks ago, I was back in the states to meet my new grandson and help my daughter plan a wedding. Even though the wedding was still a few months away, two special friends threw a wedding shower so that I would be able to attend. They have loved me from near and far away.

 

Then there is the special group of girlfriends who have followed God’s call to live in a new country and culture. We commiserate together about the lack of Wal-marts, missing family, and raising children in a new culture. But, we also spend a lot of time laughing at our language blunders, cultural faux paux, and our blessed, yet crazy life.

 

God has also blessed my life with national girlfriends. They loved me through the process of learning language and taught me how to live in their culture. We walked side by side in hard places and I am blessed by their willingness to befriend a lonely American in a strange place.

 

So Girlfriends, I dedicate this song to you. You are the ones I have laughed, cried, and prayed with through the years. You have truly made my life “half as hard and twice as good.” I love you.

   

A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.  ~Donna Roberts

 

Baby Lo-Jack

 

I never dreamed I would become one of THEM! The ones who think theirs are the best, are constantly bragging and shoving pictures in your face. You know the ones I’m talking about. Grandparents!

 

I tried to fight the stereotypes, but failed. Because I know the truth. My darling granddaughter and grandson are the most beautiful, talented, and delightful grandchildren on the planet.

 

 

I just returned from a two-week trip to the states to be at the birth of my second grandchild. I arrived in Texas on Thursday afternoon, and at 4 a.m. on Friday we were headed to the hospital where my daughter-in-love was scheduled for a c-section. Jet lag was not an option.

 

Oh my goodness, nothing can compare to my first sight of this newest member of our family. Darling grandson was strong, healthy and had a head full of downy soft brown hair. He passed his first test with flying colors with an Apgar score of 10! He was beautiful.

 

Later on, as we unwrapped him to count all his fingers and toes, I noticed the baby had an unusual-looking band around his ankle. “What's this thing on the baby’s ankle?” I innocently inquired.

 

“Oh, it’s a baby Lo-Jack,” my daughter-in-love nonchalantly explained.

 

“A baby what-jack???” I was horrified. What had my darling grandson done to deserve an ankle monitor? He was only one hour old. Had he kicked too hard in utero? Was it punishment for having a perfect Apgar score? Had he scratched another newborn in the nursery? Peed on a nurse?

 

My kids finally took pity on me and explained that this device was a monitor to protect the baby from abduction. I could see their mouths moving but the noise coming out sounded like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher – blah, blah, blah and blah. Images swirled through my mind of a teenage grandson with a cigarette dangling from his lips, holding a beer and wearing a monitor on his ankle.  Don’t the probation officers call it a tether…

 

Finally, I snapped out of my daydream, and began to hear real words. It turned out the monitor is part of the HUGS security system. Now, Hugs was a sweet word that I could relate too, unlike the term “baby Lo-Jack” which was totally outside the realm of my experience.

 

About the time my heart rate returned to normal, the nurse entered the room. She explained that she was there to give the password for the day. We were not to allow any nurses or other people to take the baby from the room unless they knew the password.

 

My blood pressure began to rise. Oh my goodness, what WAS the password? Wonder if I forgot it and let the wrong person run off with my darling grandson? I can’t remember my own phone number, how was I going to keep track of a daily password. Hmmmm, maybe I could write it on my wrist and keep it covered by my shirtsleeve….

 

It was such a relief when my sweet grandson was released from the hospital. Finally, we could all hold and spoil him to our heart’s content.

 

And I could wash the password off my wrist.

 

 

 

 

Flying the Not-So-Friendly Skies

 

"Fly the friendly skies!" "There's no better way to fly." "Austrian. Like a smile in the sky." These are a few of the snappy airline slogans I’ve heard through the years. The most unusual slogan was “We don’t smile because we’re serious about making you happy.” That was the slogan of Aeroflot Airlines in the early l990’s, when I booked my first international flight with them. I should have paid more attention to the slogan…

 

Photo by curimedia

 

The date was January 7, l994. Our family was moving from Alaska to Russia. We boarded our Aeroflot flight, took our seats, and buckled up in anticipation of a direct flight from Anchorage to Moscow.

 

The stewardess strolled down the aisle as the plane taxied to the runway. She looked bored, and true to the airline slogan, there were no smiles. Also, no English.

 

Since verbal communication was limited, we relied on our powers of observation to discern the rules of Russian airline travel. Here is a partial listing of our findings:

 

1. Overhead storage bins weren’t closed during take-off or landing. I sat with my hands protectively covering my head for most of the flight, after seeing a fellow passenger narrowly escape permanent brain injury from a falling piece of luggage.

 

2. Tray tables remained lowered during take-off and landing. My son was thrilled with this rule. He laid his head on the table and periodically mumbled, "I'm going to die," for the duration of the flight. He was our in-flight entertainment.

 

3. People brought their own food and drinks on the flight. Passengers opened their bulging carry-on bags and pulled out a veritable feast of kielbasa sausage, brown bread, and vodka with a side of cigarettes for dessert. The smell of greasy kielbasa mixed with cigarette smoke is forever burned into my nasal passages. 

 

4. Toilet paper and soap disappeared after the first hour of our 10-hour flight. Water and flushing toilets were also in short supply. I ceased drinking liquids after my first (and last) foray into the flying outhouse. Dehydration was my preferred option.

 

5. Seat backs didn’t recline but they could lean forward. Passengers simply pushed the seat backs in front of them down flat, then propped up their feet. The coach class version of a recliner.  (Advisory: the seat in front of you must be empty.)

 

6. The carpet in the aisle wasn’t attached to the floor. I tripped over the loose carpet exposing the metal floor of the plane. I quickly checked for stress fractures or holes, and then replaced the carpet in its original position.

 

7. Passengers clapped and cheered for the pilot as the plane touched down for a landing. This seemed appropriate on an airline with the nickname “Aeroflop.”

 

The memory of that flight makes me smile. It marked the beginning of a life of adventure and travel. I learned two important lessons on that flight:

 -Always carry a pack of Kleenex when you visit the restroom.

-Stop drinking liquids 12 hours before a flight.

 

Also, clap and cheer when the pilot safely lands the plane.

 

What is your best piece of advice for someone flying internationally?

 

 

Christmas Reflections

 

As an expat living overseas, I try to keep up with the news from America. I’ve followed several stories about the “War on Christmas.” Stories of controversies involving nativity scenes, Christmas greetings, and Christmas trees.

 

Photo by Joe Buckingham

 

It saddens me to read stories where the religious meaning of Christmas is being attacked. Yet, I’m not surprised. When Christ came to this world over 2000 years ago, some greeted him with joy, but many received him with hate. Things have not changed much since Christ’s birth.

 

I am concerned that in our quest for justice concerning our rights as Christians, we are detracting from the One whose birth we are celebrating.  We must be careful to not let our nativity scenes become idols. The living and breathing Christ is the center of Christmas, not a carved statue in a manger scene. No one can take Christ out of my heart, or my Christmas.

 

Christ came and “made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant.” (Philippians 2:7) Instead of reacting to the “War on Christmas” with arguments and a mean spirit, let us copy Christ’s example of being a servant to others and respond with love, grace, and humility.

 

My prayer is that each of us will keep Christ as the center of Christmas. He is the true gift of of the season.

 

Wishing you a wonderful and blessed Christmas!

 

 

Rudolph the Leg-less Reindeer

 

I love Christmas! I love dreaming about a white Christmas and watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. My mind wanders back to the years when every Christmas was white. I was living on the Kamchatka peninsula in Far East Russia……

 

The snow fell softly across our windshield as Darling Husband and I drove eight hours through the wilderness to visit our friend Alexei. I sighed as we finally pulled into the driveway at Alexei’s one-room cabin. The waist-deep snow reflected the glow of welcoming lights shining through the windows. It was a winter wonderland.

 

We drank gallons of hot black tea while we caught up on all the news with Alexei. Exhausted, we made a bed on the floor near the wood stove and slept.

 

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of wood being pitched into the stove. Through heavy eyelids, I watched Alexei set a tall pot of water on the stove. My stomach growled, anticipating a big warm bowl of oatmeal.

 

Our host shuffled out the door, and returned carrying a couple of long objects. I looked, rubbed my eyes, and then looked again. I stared as Alexei placed two reindeer legs into the pot. I pinched myself to be sure I was awake. Yes, they were reindeer legs. Skinned, meat still on the bone, but with a little fringe of fur circling the hooves.

 

My mind began inventing excuses for skipping breakfast. I realized Alexei was offering the best he had, and I would have to eat it. I began praying the overseas worker’s prayer, “Lord, I’ll swallow it, but please help me keep it down.”  I slipped out of my sleeping bag, and headed to the outhouse to answer nature’s call.

 

Upon my return, I tried to keep my eyes from focusing on the reindeer hooves rotating gently in the pot of boiling water. My mind conjured up a vision of sitting at the breakfast table with a giant platter of reindeer legs in front of me. How do you politely eat reindeer legs? Use the hooves as a handle while gnawing on them like giant drumsticks?

 

Finally, Alexei pronounced the legs cooked and pulled them out of the pot. Quickly he turned and scooted out the door with the steaming legs. Where was he going????

 

I followed him outside and watched as he threw the legs to the salivating guard dog tied up beside the cabin. I nearly sunk to my knees in relief as I realized leg of reindeer was not on our breakfast menu.

 

Later, we questioned Alexei about the reindeer legs. He led us out back to a broken icebox lying in a mound of snow.  He opened the door to reveal a stack of frozen reindeer legs. It looked like a Christmas day massacre of Santa’s reindeer. Alexei explained that reindeer herders from a nearby village had passed through selling reindeer meat. The legs were cheap and were a good supplement to the guard dog’s usual diet of gruel and scraps.

 

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is still one of my favorite Christmas movies. I can’t help wondering how important his legs are for take-off and landing…….. 

 

Thanksgiving Prayer

 

This morning I ran to the store to buy my last-minute Thanksgiving groceries. Hopefully, my last grocery run.  I could feel a pity party coming on as I thought about being far from family for the holidays. So I decided to make of list of good things about celebrating Thanksgiving in Greece.

 

1. No crowds at the grocery store.  It’s just a normal shopping day here. 

 

2. I can find soft brown sugar, powdered sugar, sweetened condensed milk, cream cheese and turkey in Greece. Important ingredients for an American Thanksgiving meal. 

 

3. Internet shopping lets me participate in Black Friday sales from afar.

 

 4. I don’t have to watch football all day. (Sorry, DH!)

 

This list made me laugh at myself and feel better. But it also pinpointed a truth I have learned. Living overseas has taught me to focus on God’s blessings.

 

I am so thankful for the daily presence of God in my life. He has walked beside me through the mountaintops and valleys of life. He allowed his son, Jesus, to die in my place so that I could experience both abundant and eternal life. He sent the Holy Spirit to be my counselor and guide. Knowing and loving God is the greatest blessing of my life.

 

I am also thankful for my family. Family that has supported us as we have lived the last 18 years overseas. Family that loves us unconditionally.

 

I am thankful that my children know and love God. How I love seeing them walk in His steps. I pray that my grandchildren will follow their parents’ example.

 

I am thankful for my wonderful husband. He has stood beside me through thick and thin (more thick than thin), highs and lows, and tells me he loves my gray hair.  I’ve been blessed to celebrate thirty-seven Thanksgivings with my Darling Husband.  DH, this corny video is for you! Instead of Johnny Cash’s face, put mine in his place. And raise the voice up an octave. Or you can be Sully and I'll be Dr. Quinn.......

 

  

 

 (Yes, the secret is out. I am a country music fan. Johnny Cash is one of the best! Also, I have the entire series of Dr. Quinn.)

 

Ya’ll have a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving!

 

 

 

A Curse or a Blessing?

 

This last week, Darling Husband and I made a cross-country trip, which began in Greece and continued through Macedonia, Serbia, Hungary and Bulgaria. The fall leaves were breathtaking – glowing yellows, burnished oranges, and blazing reds. Fall is my favorite season.

 

For me, long drives tend to lead to introspection. It is a time when I can sit back, free from the bombardment of technology and ponder the thoughts swirling through my mind and heart.

 

This time my thoughts centered on decisions. In our current world, we are encouraged to please ourselves and not worry about how our decisions affect others. Personal rights outrank the rights of others.

 

The Bible explains that each of us is responsible for our own decisions. We will pay the price for our personal sins and choices. Yet, our choices also impact the lives of others.

 

In the midst of this internal discussion, a song came up on my iPod. It was a song by Sara Groves called “Generations.”  This song spoke and ministered to my heart as I wept over recent choices.  Listen:

  

“Generations will reap what you sow.”  As a grandmother, this thought pierced my heart. I pray my grandchildren will live in peace.

 

Generations will reap what you sow. Will you pass on a curse or a blessing?

 

 

 

Shower Power

 

 I’ve learned many new lessons while living in Eastern Europe.  I discovered disco did not die; it just danced its way to Europe. Time is not measured by money, but by relationships. Black should be the basis of every wardrobe. Stop signs are optional. These are just a few of the nuggets I’ve gleaned along the way.

 

As an American living in Europe, I’ve tried to learn from my new host culture. But, I confess, I’ve found one area that America beats Europe hands down.

 

Americans know how to build a shower.

 

Most European baths have a hand-held shower attachment. It looks like this:

 

 

 

Quite often, a European bath/shower has no shower curtain. I’ve not figured out how to shower without drenching the entire bathroom. I’ve tried backing myself tightly into the corner of the bath and directing the spray into the same corner. But the water still manages to run around the rim of the tub and onto the floor, or ricochets off the wall onto the nearby toilet, sink, and towels. It took Darling Husband a long time to figure out why his towel was always damp. I used it to mop up the bathroom floor after my shower.  

 

Next I tried sitting on the floor of the bathtub and using the hand-held shower. While trying to lather up, I needed both hands so I attempted to grip the showerhead between my knees. A sudden surge in water pressure turned the showerhead into a whirling dervish that flew about the tub, beating me about the head and shoulders. Flopping around like a beached whale, I finally managed to suffocate the showerhead into submission. It was not a pretty picture.

 

Occasionally, there is a bracket where you can place the showerhead, leaving your hands free. The problem is the bracket is never in the correct place to achieve a satisfactory shower.  Sometimes the bracket is placed so the spray angles straight down, which cuts back on the amount of water falling on the bathroom floor, but requires one to straddle the faucet in order to get wet.  Then there is the bracket that is placed at waist level. It is good for de-linting your navel, but not much else.

 

Looking back, I realize there was a clue that should have alerted me to the inefficiency of the local showers. Every European bathroom has a drain in the center of the bathroom floor. In the beginning, I wondered about the purpose of this drain. After my first shower, I realized the drain was there to catch all the run-off from the shower. All you need is a squeegee and you can simultaneously shower and mop the bathroom floor.

 

So America, I salute you as the land of the clean and the brave. Long may your showers endure.