Making a Home in Cincinnati

It has now been a little more than two years since we formally moved from Spain to Cincinnati to call it home. Mostly it has been pleasant, but there have been a few rough spots. Nothing, however, as rough as the time the Alhamoud family has had since their home in Syria was leveled by bombs in 2011and they lived first with grandparents, and then in a refugee camp, before coming to the United States in October 2015.

In a three-part feature, the Cincinnati Enquirer reported this week on the first Syrian refugee family to find its way to Cincinnati to be resettled. They had received a call from the United Nations in July 2015, while they were in a camp in Jordan, asking whether they would come to the US. Yes, said the father, thinking primarily of the possibility of a peaceful future for his children. It took more than a year of vetting before they set foot on the plane that took them from Jordan to Rome to Miami and then to Greater Cincinnati International Airport, in northern Kentucky.

The Enquirer story talks about the life they had in Syria before the war, the loss of their home and numerous family members, and the effort that they have made over the past year to adjust to life in Cincinnati: for all to learn English; for the father to find a good employer; for the mother to learn to care for her family in a very different environment and help them and herself heal from the terrors from which they have tried to flee; for the children to go to school and make friends; for everyone to manage to live with an uncertain future.

My UU community has been working to be connected with a refugee family to "adopt" for the past year, and this week I thought that we were close to finding one. But after we gathered commitment from at least five members to be actively involved in providing English language tutoring, transportation to grocery stores and medical appointments, help with children's homework, assistance in preparing for job interviews, and providing a general welcoming presence and orientation to the community, we learned that we were too late for the two families coming in the next two weeks. It's a good thing, I suppose, that there are more people wanting to adopt refugee families than there are families, or is it? There is not a dearth of families needing resettlement; there just are few coming to the US and to Cincinnati. And we are entering an era in which there may be even fewer coming across the Atlantic than there have been.

Nevertheless I expect there will be some more refugees and some more chances. I recommended the article "Finding Home" to the refugee support group this morning for background reading, because of the illuminating picture it gives about the resilience of refugees and the many people and efforts required to help someone make a new home for themselves.

Time and Time Again

This is the post I meant to write last Sunday, soon after returning from two weeks away, mostly in Spain, and the day of switching from Daylight Savings Time to Eastern Standard Time; but time got away from me. What I was concerned with then was how odd it was to have two seasonal changes of time within just one week. We were in Spain when Europe switched from Summer Time to Winter Time, on Sunday, October 30. Our hotel in Barcelona had thoughtfully put a notice in the elevator, and we had an extra hour to enjoy a Barcelona Sunday morning before we found our way to the Cathedral to watch the weekly national (Catalunyan) dance of the sardanas.

Then this past Sunday, after returning on Tuesday across only five, instead of the usual six, hours of time difference, we were in Cincinnati. We had not adjusted to the time difference yet and were still in the mode of waking at 1:30 or 2:30 AM, and struggling to stay awake until 8:30 at night. And then we had to deal with another changing of the clocks on Saturday night, just a week after we had already done it. We didn't have an efficient hotel staff to put a note in the elevator this time, but fortunately the mechanism inside the iPad adjusts itself automatically, so when I wok up in the middle of the night--2:30 AM--I didn't even have to remember that we had changed times. In fact, I didn't remember it until later, after I had slept a few more hours, and I went downstairs and turned on the CBS Sunday Morning program and realized  that it was only 8:05 instead of the 9:05 that it said on my digital devices. I had to look at the analog clocks to remember that we had changed, and then I occupied myself with running around the house and setting them back. There are more than I would have guessed.

 What I don't understand is why Europe and the Americas cannot agree on a common time to make this seasonal switch. For one week of the year, rail, bus, and airline timetables have to be adjusted to accommodate the first change, and then a week later, they have to be adjusted again when the second change comes. Broadcast schedules also have to be adjusted during that week--we had trouble getting the Danish morning news program that we often listen to in bed before 7:00 AM because we didn't know when it would be available. That's an inconvenience, but I worry more about the potential for miscommunication in serious international interconnections.Whatever automatic time settings are on the hotline between those with their fingers on the nuclear trigger--I hope someone has taken time change into consideration so warnings are adjusted and nothing goes off unintentionally!

But I didn't write about this last week, since time got away from me. By now I have adjusted to the five (or six) hour time difference between Europe and the Eastern U.S.--a late night on Tuesday this week helped that; or rather, it was the night after only two and a half hours of sleep on Tuesday night when I was finally able to sleep until a reasonable time on Thursday morning. And now I have other thoughts of "time and time again," for it is not the first time in my life that I have awoken on the morning after an election feeling worried and disappointed. I don't seem to have made much progress in my life in aligning my country's leadership with my own ethical and political values. But they don't seem to have made much headway in getting me to change mine, either.

A Sentimental Journey

I'll be back in Cincinnati soon--just in time to turn my ballot in a little early. In the meantime, I've been visiting friends in Spain, where I used to live, and I've been posting on my original blog, http://sundaysinspain.blogspot.com.es.

Musical Memories

I've been thinking about an upcoming trip to Spain to see friends where we used to live. Mostly I've been checking the logistics of air and train arrangements, hotels, and whom we plan to see when. Plus  I've been wondering about my packable wardrobe for three separate locations--and have just changed back to my original idea (beige, brown, and orange) from my second idea (blue), based on the realization that I don't have any shoes to wear with the blue outfits. Only in fleeting glimpses have I begun to picture myself actually driving around in the territory that we knew so well up until two years ago, checking out some favorite cafés, and thinking about a few items I may want to pick up at stores and markets that I used to frequent.

So this morning when we stopped at Kroger's on the way home from church to grab a single package of frozen peas (how I ever ran out of this staple in  my house, I do not know) and I heard the music of a jazz saxophone as we pulled into the parking lot, I sat bolt upright. Had I fallen asleep and slipped across the ocean unconsciously? Was I in Spain already? When we lived in Spain, you see, a regular sight and sound whenever we went to any one of the local grocery stores was the musician playing a tune outside the entrance door (and the exit door). I'm not sure if it was a long-standing cultural occurrence or whether it just started after 2008, when the economy got so bad, but it certainly persisted up through the rest of our stay in Spain. Some of the musicians were not bad and you were happy to toss a few coins into the case or box they had in front of them. There was one, though, that was horrid; he knew only one song and that not very well. It was almost as though you would toss coins in the box so that he would stop playing for a fraction of a minute while he thanked you.

The saxophonist in front of the Woodlawn Kroger store just after noon today was good, and nice, and appreciative when we immediately, on the way in, put some money in the hat to show our appreciation. I was sorry that he stopped playing for several seconds while he thanked us and wished us a good day.

We completed our purchases (discovering, of course, that we "needed" several more items besides the package of frozen peas that I had gone in for) and I made a point of telling the check-out woman how much I enjoyed the playing of the musician out front. Since I had never seen or heard a musician in front of Kroger's, I was really afraid that someone in authority was going to come out and tell him to move away. She smiled and thanked us, so I am hopeful that no one will do that. Then on the way out, I fished out all my loose change and again dropped something into his container, and again he stopped playing momentarily, thanked me, and wished us a good day. As we got into the car and drove out of the parking lot, I noticed he had switched tunes--there were two small twin boys standing with their father in front of him, and he was treating them to a short rendition of "Three Blind Mice."

I wish I had a picture of this musician to show you, but the only picture is the one that resides in my brain. It was a lovely foreshadowing to my upcoming trip into one of my past lives, prompting me to think about and recall places, images, and occurrences that were important to me. Now, as I remember, I am making a note to check the price of frozen peas at the Mercadona supermercado--in the twelve years we lived in Spain, I used that price as my own "McDonald's Index" of inflation and comparative pricing, watching the price go from 85 centimos steadily upward to over 90--or had it reached a euro?

The Endorsement of the Century

© 2016 Cincinnati Enquirer 

When I moved back to Ohio two years ago after spending my entire adult life elsewhere, I knew I was moving to an area that was more conservative politically than any of the places I had lived since I grew up in the state in the 1950s and early 1960s.

The best news I had this week was the surprise announcement that the Cincinnati Enquirer had endorsed Hillary Clinton for president of the United States. It is truly the endorsement of the century--the Enquirer editorial board has not endorsed another Democratic candidate since 1914. The long, well-reasoned, and yes, conservative, statement is here. It bears thoughtful reading by all.

And if you are interested in how the team at the Enquirer came to their decision, and why it is even important for newspapers to endorse candidates in this day and age, you can find out in this video presentation.

Blue Lake, Michigan

One of the entries in the 2016 Fremont Harvest Festival Hay Art Competition 

I drove with two of my sisters this past week to Blue Lake, a little north of Muskegon, Michigan, to visit a cousin-by-marriage who I hardly knew. Our mutual relation, his wife, had died ten years ago, and because I have lived away from the Midwest for almost my entire adult life, I had never known her as an adult; my memories were from our childhood years, spending summers at a cottage in Lakeside, Ohio.

Those summers at Lakeside had obviously made an impression on her, for the house I visited nearly fifty years later was also at a lakeside. She and her husband had built a cottage next to Blue Lake soon after they were married, and it served as a summer home for them, both school teachers, and their four children during the children's growing-up years. As time went on, they expanded upward on the ground-level cottage, adding a main floor and bedroom/bath and balcony on a second level. It reminded me a lot of the house we had for two decades in New Hampshire. Our house looked out on a mountain valley; theirs looks out on a lake. Three of their four children live, with their own children, within driving distance and use this house as a summer and weekend retreat. One lives far way, in Chile, and I feel her longing to be a part of this family life even as she enjoys the enrichment and challenge of living in another culture.

We had two late afternoon tours of the lake via pontoon boat--unbelievably peaceful, though I have a feeling that would not have been the case three weeks ago. We also were driven all around the small farming communities of Holton and Brunswick, and the larger city of Fremont. Farming has been an integral part of the area for generations and it continues to be so, but with changes. In Fremont we saw the destination for much of the produce we had driven past in the fields: Gerber Baby Foods, now owned by Nestlé, but still a huge concern in the city.

Several of the farms in the area are owned and operated by Amish people, who have been moving into the area in large numbers in recent years, according to my host, the head of the local historic association. We made a scouting expedition one day, and then the next day went back to make purchases at the Amish Whispering Pines Country Store, a fantastic natural and bulk foods emporium, where we paid by out-of-state check (no credit cards accepted, no ID required).

Where Did the Summer Go?

Well, it's been more than a month of Sundays since I last posted on Sundays in Cincinnati--it's been very close to two months. Not that there hasn't been anything to say. In fact, there's been too much. I am much busier here, and have a fuller life, than I did back in Spain, when I started the predecessor to this blog and wrote faithfully almost every Sunday.

So where, on this last Sunday before Labor Day, has the summer gone?

Two trips to Orlando. The first at the end of June for the American Library Association annual conference, where I also was able to begin helping my 92-year-old aunt prepare for moving into the assisted living facility in the community she has lived happily in independently for ten years, and for which she was now on a waiting list. That trip also occassioned an emotional visit to the site of the Pulse massacre, just a week after it happened. ALA had observed the tragedy with a moving service on the opening day of the conference, at which Congressman John Lewis' appeared.

The second trip to Orlando was just this past week, when I joined my sister Nancy to help with the actual move to assisted living. Again a very emotional time, as our remaining blood relative from that generation faced this loss of independence. We managed the details and left her in a stable and trusted environment, and she has recovered her native optimism and forward-thinking stance and is well on the way to making new friends as long as still seeing her old bridge friends. An unexpected benefit for me was the hospitality of one of Nancy's friends from high school, who provided a glass of wine each evening in a beautiful environment, a change of pace and concerns, and many fun moments as we recalled days from the past and learned what we had done in the almost 50 years since I had last seen her.

Volunteer efforts. I had made a commitment at the beginning of the summer to work two mornings each week at Catholic Charities to help in their efforts at resettling refugees in Cincinnati. I honored that up until the final weeks when schedule intervened. I also made a few trips to a different agency, Heartfelt Tidbits, which also teaches English to Nepalis from Bhutan, some of whom have spent 20 years in a refugee camp before being admitted to the USA. I have learned a lot about the resources available for teaching English as an additional language and about the hurdles that these people go through to gain a better life. No one chooses this path on a frivolous whim; in fact, they have little choice in which of the many countries throughout the wold they are sent to at all.

Lately Johannes and I have been out registering voters for the upcoming (but not soon enough!) election. We have concentrated on identifying Latinos who are US citizens and might not otherwise have voted before. We've learned a lot about the political process. I expect that effort will shift to getting people to the polls as we get to election day.

I was also one of about 300 volunteers at the International Federation of Library Associations' World Library and Information Congress in August, held this year in Columbus, Ohio, just up the road a piece. IFLA is always interesting and provides the opportunity to meet people from many countries of the world--this year 145. I was stationed in the expo hall for two days and learned about The History Connection, formerly the Ohio Historical Society, and how the city of Columbus came to be the capital of the state. My third volunteer stint was in the main hall on the last formal day of the conference in the Internet area, where I spoke with lots and lots of delegates and learned that many US Internet service providers--and especially the one supplying the Columbus convention center--routinely block emails sent to many African nations.

Other fun stuff. I attended several OLLI single session lectures on areas of Cincinnati history and culture (theater, publishing, Prohibition, philanthropy). I had lunch or brunch with a couple new friends from my Unitarian-Universalist congregation. I went to two new musical events, and in addition to enjoying the music, experienced two lovely family estates now reformed as foundations. I met with the Scandinavian Scribblers and the Readers, and my other book group and a women's group, and my regular Sisters (my own) gathering once a month. And on the work front, I weathered the demise of my tasks related to publication on an old platform and recreated a life as customer service rep on the new platform.

Today is sunny and clear and cooler than it has been in this otherwise hot and humid summer--much hotter and more humid than last year, at leaf as I remember it. Tomorrow is Labor Day, and it feels like fall is coming. I wore my all-white pants and top outfit to church this morning, with the white shoes that I laugh about not wearing after Labor Day. I think we still have many more warn days ahead, but there is something about that change in the calendar that says we are moving along to colder weather.

There is one thing I had really wanted to do this summer that I didn't: I didn't ask the Cincinnati Parks department to build a petanca court. Maybe next year.