The party's over...

Another Mardi Gras season has come and gone. In Austria, they call it Fasching, but it's still a crazy time when usually sane people take the opportunity to act a little insane. Here are some Fasching highlights from this year.

I made a King Cake (from scratch, mind you!) for my colleagues on our first day back at school (January 7). A pecan nut was substituted for the baby. We had done this little ritual last year, and everyone remembered how traumatized one of my male colleagues was when he thought he had to "bake" a King Cake for the next gathering, not "bring" one. Said colleague wouldn't touch this year's cake, and strangely enough, the last piece of cake was the one with the baby (not that I'm accusing anyone of cheating...)

It seems that Austrians do not enter into the spirit of King Cake like we do. Instead, they serve Faschingskrapfen, which are big, fluffy jelly donuts filled with apricot jam and covered with powdered sugar. I've eaten about eight in the past two days, and if I never eat another one it will be too soon.

We served King Cake at a small, impromptu gathering last week. In the meantime, my parents had sent a box of Mardi Gras beads, which really helped us get into the holiday mood!

In Austria, it is traditional to dress in costume for Fasching. We had a costume ball at school on February 13, dressed in costume for dance class the next week (see below), then went Eisstockschiessen (and barhopping) the next weekend. The Usual Suspects

Finally on Fat Tuesday, most of the students and faculty went to school in costume. I went as the goddess Diana (here with my dance teacher, Heidi):

Post #100

It's all about communication, folks!


Recently one of my English classes was discussing the addictive qualities of the Internet. Some students cited social networking sites (like Facebook and MySpace) as the place where they spend most of their time online. I asked them if they were addicted to the Internet per se or if they were addicted to the limitless methods of communication that the web provides. This got us all to thinking...

I'll be the first to admit that I have been addicted to communication since my teens. In junior high, I used to charge fountain pens and stationery to my mother's account at Pearson's Drug Store just to feed my addiction. In those days I wrote letters to friends I met on vacation in Minnesota, to people who had moved from Iowa City to Arkansas, to my penpal in Devon, England, and to a boyfriend who lived 500 miles away. It was such a thrill every day to see what the postman had brought, and such a downer when there was a Federal holiday and mail wasn't delivered.
My father is the world master grand champion at this sport. I have collected hundreds of letters and postcards from him over the years. When I was a child he'd send me postcards from Austria with pictures of Mecki the Hedgehog and the Lindwurm in Klagenfurt. Then when I traveled abroad or was at graduate school, he wrote me a letter every.single.day. Even when I was married, I received a postcard or some other communication from him every day. Now 5000 miles away in Austria I still get at least 2 cards, 3-4 emails and we talk once a week.

The internet has certainly simplified the process of communication. How easy it is to keep in touch with people, to chat with them pixel for pixel in real time, or to find them after 25 years of "I wonder whatever happened to..." And yet, I find that people are much less communicative than they used to be. It's easy to think "I have so-and-so's email address, I can email him whenever I want..." or "She's my friend on Facebook, so obviously I'm thinking about her." But is it really enough? Yes, it was a pain to find a piece of paper that wasn't stained with coffee or chewed by the cat, to find a pen that actually worked, to find where that damned address book was (behind the fishtank among the dustbunnies), to find a stamp -- and not just any stamp, but one that somehow complemented the stationery you'd written on or the theme of the letter you were sending. But it was worth the hassle to present your words on a piece of paper you'd touched that could be savored by the recipient and placed into a metal "love letters" box or a basket on the credenza for future enjoyment.
My favorite communication of all time came from an old boyfriend when I was living in Missouri. He wrote 8-10 pages of heart-felt prose over several days, and compiled a CD of music he was listening to when he wrote it. I read the letter while listening to the CD and felt immediately re-connected.

Communication: It's all about connection and shared experiences. I don't need fancy gifts or flowers or chocolate, I need to know that someone very far away is thinking of me as fondly as I think of them. It doesn't have to be with pen and paper, a simple email will do. And although I try, I know I don't write my peeps as often as I should or would like to. I'll try to do better. In the meantime, here's what Pliny the Younger had to say about personal communication:

Dear Fabius Justus,
You haven't sent me any letters for ages. You say, "There's nothing to write about." Then simply write that there's nothing to write about, or write only what people used to begin their letters with: "If you are well, I am well." This is enough for me, in fact it is the best I can hope for. Do you think I'm joking? I'm begging you in all seriousness. Let me know how you are, because otherwise I can't go on not knowing without the greatest amount of concern. Farewell.

Now, don't you have someone in your address book who needs to hear from you by email, postcard, or letter? Do it. Now! (and leave a comment while you're at it!)

Happy President's Day!

Since I mentioned Barbara's Bake Shoppe in the last post, I thought we'd take a little trip down Memory Lane.

Barbara's Bake Shoppe was located on Washington Street in Iowa City, roughly two blocks from Schaeffer Hall where my father had his office. Every morning when I was in college, Dad would give me money and send me to Barbara's. There I bought him a plain cake doughnut and a black coffee, and I would get a half pint of milk and some delectable pastry. I think maple snails were my favorite, with thick maple flavored icing. Running a close second were the raspberry jelly sticks, which were made of puff pastry about a foot long, criss-crossed with white icing, and which would disintegrate after one bite into a pile of crumbs on your lap. You also couldn't beat their chocolate covered cake doughnuts. In February Barbara's celebrated Valentine's Day and President's Day with everything cherry flavored: snails were covered with cherry icing, the jelly sticks had cherry filling, etc. I would then trudge back to Dad's office carrying a little white bag of goodies and we'd have breakfast using his big Steelcase desk as a table. Only after we had completed this ritual could the day begin.

Try as I might, I can't find any pictures to accompany this post. You'll just have to use your imagination, and leave further Iowa City reminiscences in the comments!

The Contemplative Turtle

I made this in my first pottery class as my animal totem

Although I'm still not talking about my age again (ever!), my birthday continues to be celebrated. My friends surprised me with a birthday party on the 23rd, and gave me the most marvelous gifts for body, mind, and soul. Yesterday, I received two more gifts: my very own Eisstock (a game in which I still continue to amaze my colleagues and friends with my prowess):

...and The Original Recipes of Bushnell's Turtle. Bushnell's Turtle, what's that? Glad you asked!

The *original* Bushnell's Turtle was a submarine used in the Revolutionary War. A couple in Iowa City called their restaurant Bushnell's Turtle - Home of the Original Submarine (as in sandwich). Although this eatery closed in 1994, it has achieved cult status, chiefly due to the cartoonist Berkeley Breathed. When he left Iowa City in 1985, Mr. Breathed drew an editorial cartoon featuring Bloom County characters Opus and Binkley sitting on the downtown fountain (not the new one, the one that looked like three ladies peeing on the ped mall... do a google picture search for Iowa City Fountain and it will be the first result). In the cartoon Opus the Penguin was waxing philosophic about leaving Iowa City, with a soliloquy that went something like this: "Iowa City... How will I miss thee? Let me count the ways... I will miss the swellest public library west of the Mississippi, the wild women of Barbara's Bakeshop, the obscenely yummy hot turkey sandwiches at Bushnell's Turtle, and the criminally obnoxious name 'Things Things Things. Yes! Yes! I will miss everything about Iowa City!" To which Binkley responds "Except the water... the water tastes like Spic'N'Span." (The original cartoon hangs today in the Iowa City Public Library, natch).

Sadly, none of the businesses that Mr. Breathed and Opus raved about on the front page of the Press-Citizen are still operating.

These two gifts (the Eisstock and the cookbook) represent the two places which have had such a profound influence on my life. Iowa City has always been the center of my universe, where family and familiar converge. But Austria is still where I feel most at home.

Last year, as I was about to leave Austria for a summer in Iowa City, I had a dream. As with all my dreams, it was taken directly from life. I had just attended a graduation ceremony where the students gave their form teacher the class turtle named Einstein. In my dream, I was carrying the terrarium and it tipped over. Einstein was ripped in half, and I kept trying to put him back together, with no success. Dream interpretation, anyone?

Turtle has been my nickname since I was about 13. I was sitting on the front porch in a beanbag chair waiting for my best friend to arrive. I threw the beanbag over my shoulder to carry it inside and Robin (who not-so-coincidentally gave me the Bushnell's Turtle cookbook) said I looked like a turtle. In what ways have I embraced this totem? Well, turtles carry their homes on their backs, and I've proved that I can live with very few possessions. Like a turtle, I am slow and deliberate, almost to a fault. And turtles protect themselves by pulling their head and legs into their shell and waiting until the threat has passed.

Like Einstein the turtle, I guess that I am feeling torn between my two worlds. When threatened with making a potentially rash decision, I would rather pull in my head and close myself off than actually face the many uncertainties that lie ahead. Uncertainties like whether I'll still have a job in the fall, will I make it as a writer, should I apply for Austrian residency on the off chance I could get a job here? But decisions need to be made soon, and the only way to make them is to meet them head on.

In memoriam, Kent W. Parks, January 10, 1964 - February 7, 1993.

Things that can't easily be explained

Last Thursday sad news arrived from Baton Rouge. My friend Lydia passed away unexpectedly in her sleep at age 55. I've spent so many pleasant evenings with Lydia and her family, most recently when I visited Baton Rouge last July. What a feeling of helplessness to be halfway around the world and not be able to support her family after the loss of such a talented, vibrant wife, mother, and grandmother.
So imagine my surprise when I came home from school today to receive a card from Lydia, written on January 24. This card is such a tremendous gift, a reminder of a good friend, an inspired artist, and the very model of a Christian woman.

Ephesians 2:8
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God--