The Honeymooners

We were on our honeymoon.

We married in Germany and went to Paris for a week. A few months later we threw a party in America. I wanted to show Uwe around the northwest, including a visit to Vancouver. For that part of the trip, the easiest solution would be to rent a car once we got to Canada.

 

Three Killer whales in mountain landscape at Vancouver Island Royalty Free Stock PhotoPacific Rim National Park, Vancouver Island, British Columbia Royalty Free Stock Photo

 

I found a charter bus leaving from Seattle for the right price, leaving at the right hour. When we got to the designated departure spot that morning the others were already waiting to board the bus… all fifty members of the seniors’ tour group.

“Jadi! We’re 40 years younger than anyone else taking this bus,” Uwe whispered.

“Look at the bright side: no crying babies.”

The woman in line behind us tapped my arm. “Excuse me honey, but are you two newlyweds? Are you on your honeymoon?”

I grinned as Uwe began to turn an interesting shade of pink. “We are!” I told her.

“I knew it!” the little senior crowed. She nodded at her friend, totally pleased. “I have a sixth sense for honeymooners. When I meet people I can always tell if they’re newlyweds! What are your names, dear?”

Uwe was hurriedly climbing on the bus away from the conversation.

“Uwe and Jadi Hartmann,” I told her to keep it simple. Our first names are confusing enough without including the information that I’d kept my maiden name.

For a second she looked flustered, but she recovered quickly. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you,” she beamed.

As I boarded the bus and headed down the aisle she was talking with the bus driver. “That young couple that got on the bus ahead of me? They’re on their honeymoon!”

“Gott, Americans ask personal questions,” Uwe chuffed once I’d seated myself next to him.

“They’re friendly. Isn’t it wonderful?” I gave my new husband my sweetest smile.

We settled in for the short trip to Vancouver on a bus filled to capacity with chattering seniors. The bus left promptly, people in their 70s and 80s twittering like happy magpies.

When we reached the highway there was a scratching noise as our driver turned on his microphone. “Welcome on board, on the charter bus for Vancouver, Canada. Our estimated time of arrival is twelve noon. I’m your driver Carl, and I’ll be pointing out sights of interest along the way. But in the meantime, I’ve been informed that we have a pair of newlyweds traveling with us today! Let’s congratulate the new couple! Would Jay – ,“ he faltered suddenly, “Oo – uh, would Mr. and Mrs. Harmon please stand up and take a bow?”

Wild applause.

I was already on my feet. “Stand up!” I encouraged gleefully. Uwe had slumped down in his seat as far as he could get without actually hiding underneath it.

My beet-red husband stood up and sat down in a flash to even louder applause.

As you, dear readers, can surely suspect, any trip that got off to a start like this one had to be good….

And it was. It was a lovely trip!

NOTES: Images courtesy of Dreamstime.com.

You Can Have Your Cake & Eat It, Too

If you grow up with the name Jadi, it will be mispronounced. Jodi. Judy. Janie. Right when a community had it figured out, we would move. One after the other, a parade of grade school and high school teachers and college professors stumbled reading roll call.  

When the second Star Wars film came out, everyone at the firm where I worked treated me to (insert uproarious laughter here) “Hey! It’s The Return of the Jadi!”

Perhaps it was inevitable that I married a German named Uwe.

Uwe is a common name in Germanic countries, but just about impossible to pronounce correctly for anyone else. “Ova?” my mother suggested. “Ewe-y,” grinned Dad; I know he did it on purpose.

We had a quiet wedding in Germany and a party Stateside a few months later. A restaurant catered the reception and a local bakery made the wedding cake(s).  

I’ve written elsewhere about the awesomeness of German bakeries [1]. For our party, rather than do a tiered and tired yum-where’d-you-get-this-cake-that-tastes-like-sugar-covered-cardboard, I wanted to honor the country I was marrying along with meinen Mann. I went to the best bakery in town and made a proposal:

I ordered six sheet cakes, all different. Yellow cake. Coconut cake. Carrot cake. Chocolate cake. Spice cake. And, yes, one white cake. Turns out I’m a sucker for tradition after all. The bakery manager dutifully wrote everything down.

“And,” I continued with the order, “I want you to write our names on all of the cakes. Wrong. Except for one of them. Here’s a list of names for each cake,” I said, and handed him a page of phonetics.

When we went to pick up those cakes before the party, the bakery let us know how much fun they’d had filling the order!  

Twenty-three years later I recall those cakes with a smile – and wonder where the time went.  

JayDee and Oyvay 4Ever!

Hochzeit1 Hochzeit2

NOTES: [1]  Go to My Mother-In-Law’s Cookies for more about the tradition of yummy German cakes. [2] New Morning Bakery in Corvallis, Oregon still prepares their own baked goods and meals.

Good Things Come in Threes

There is an old saying that ‘good things come in threes’. Right now this is true for my writing at bookoftheday.org ! I am in the unique position of being featured 3 times around the site. Broken In: A Novel in Stories is one of the books of the day. Tsunami Cowboys stayed on the ‘Trending’ list for weeks, and remains on the The Trending Jumbotron Top Ten page (http://bookoftheday.org/top-ten/). And I have an author page.  It’s not often that a writer gets to share news this good! Please take a look at the site and explore the pages. In our electronic age, clicks add up.

My Next Public Reading

To learn about the Writers in Stuttgart and our public reading on Friday, March 18, visit this link : NEAT Recommends the Writers in Stuttgart.
PS: For your added amusement, click on the bottom left photo to the right of the link’s screen under Dark Monday in February. That’s me on stage, in our first performance of The Vagina Monologues!

History’s Loop 3

“The danger was all the candles. I’d set some on the back of the toilet and on the edge of the tub so people could see to use the facilities. And we placed an old candelabra in the living room. Lynn bent over it and just about lit her bangs on fire. After that just grownups were allowed to go near any candles or handle the lanterns or grill. Responsible adults only.” Her eyes focus far in the past.

“But it was like a party.” Keith contributes, “We were all together. The Robinsons were our best friends and our kids were all roughly the same ages and in the same grades and played together. If this was the end of the world, I was glad the kids were safe and well fed, I’d just eaten a great steak, and I was with the people I care for most. Although if I’m honest, if I remember right that steak had freezer burn. And it was cold outside; it was November. But I remember it this way, the best meal and one of the best nights of my life. Isn’t that funny?”

“Funny….” Sue’s voice trails off.

I don’t know if she considers it funny ha-ha or funny terrible. Maybe both. Cass and Jolie have finished their meals and sit. Their eyes move in their faces as they follow our conversation.

“We didn’t talk about what was happening. It’s not that it happened fast; just the opposite. It was all so gradual. Information kind of trickled out.”

Our own meals arrive, and they fall silent. The waiter leaves, Timber and I start to eat, and only then do they return to the story.

“On the drive home from work,” Keith continues, “I listened to the radio. And while no one reported it as a possible attack, I know that’s what I suspected. I was going to keep that to myself and not worry my family. But when I walked in the house I took one look at Sue’s face and knew that she was thinking the exact same thing. But all she asked was, ‘The city too?’ and before I could do anything more than nod a yes the kids burst through the door to tell me all about the lights in the whole neighborhood going out. We just kind of looked at one another over their heads and it was parents’ mental telepathy, as parents we were going to guarantee their last night on Earth was, like Lynn kept saying about the house being lit up with candles, ‘magic’. And, Jeff.” Keith takes a big swallow of water and resumes in a low pitch.

Timber leans forward to hear.

“He wanted to help. Together we filled a bunch of gallon jugs and pitchers with water. Then the sinks and the bathtub. Later when all the kids had gone to bed we sat with Jerry and Irene and had a night cap. They left and went back next door.”

“’I want to check on the kids,’ Jerry told you,” recalls Sue. “That night was the first time I thought of him as a good dad. Irene always had to haul him home once the two of you got going drinking beer or shooting the breeze out back.”

“Beer drinking doesn’t make someone a bad parent. But yeah, he liked his booze. A twenty-year old Scotch on the last night on earth isn’t a bad thing.”

Sue turns to the girls. “Cass, you referred earlier to Nine-Eleven. In 1965, the scariest thing was the not knowing. Nine-Eleven was a different story. With that one it was clear pretty quick who the enemy was. We used that information as an excuse to act out our lowest common denominators.”

Cass tenses. “Gram, you don’t really think that, do you?” It’s not a question; it’s a plea.

Timber, Sue, Keith and I exchange glances. Keith and Sue sit up a little straighter. “Never get old people rambling about the past,” Sue smiles at her granddaughter, asking forgiveness. “My story happened half a century ago, and kind of feels like more than a world away from what’s going on now. But it’s the same historic loop: humans scared this time we’ve blown it. But,” she folds the pleat in her cloth napkin, running an arthritic index finger along its seam, “maybe not. We’ll pull through. And the important thing is to be with the people you care about.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Timber pushes his chair back and heads for the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.

 

© Jadi Campbell 2016. From Grounded. Go to following link to order my books: https://www.amazon.com/author/jadicampbell

History’s Loop 2

Cass is eating too, but she pauses and frowns. “You mean Nine-Eleven when I was little?”

Her question reminds me of how I’d stumbled around an explanation about what happened with my daughters.

“No,” Keith shakes his head at her, “way earlier. Way before all your times. In the 1960s, there was a total black out on the East coast. No one knew what’d caused it. Information didn’t get out as fast. No computers, and no Internet.”

“It was 1965,” Sue states. “November. We were living in Connecticut. We’d just moved into this little ranch house, kind of a fifties bungalow, not quite a row house. A starter home, they called them. I loved our little house!” She beams with pleasure and places a hand on Keith’s for a second.

He smiles as he enjoys his sole.

“It had three bedrooms so the kids each got to have their own room, and a long back yard. Keith hung a hammock out there and we had a picnic table and a grill.”

Both eat as they reminisce. “The kids were little. They were outdoors with friends, playing.”

“Lynn and Jeffrey were, what, six and ten years old? Something like that.”

Sue nods. “I went to start dinner and the lights in the kitchen were out. The refrigerator light, too. I figured a power outage. Then our neighbor Irene Robinson knocked on the door; they had the same problem. So the two of us stood on the stoop trying to understand what had happened. It was getting dark and I was about to call the kids in when Irene said, ‘Shouldn’t the street lights be on by now?’ She was right; the streets were dark in any direction as far as I could look. Everything was.

“We realized it must be a blackout. I called the kids in to get ready for dinner. I figured I’d have Keith fire up the grill.”

Keith speaks up. “Lynn and Jeffrey would’ve eaten grilled hamburgers and hotdogs every night if they could.”

“And corn on the cob,” Sue adds.

I’m already nodding in agreement with both statements. My three kids are wild about meals outdoors on the picnic table. Louie prefers a good pork sausage to a hotdog, but he’ll eat a burger any chance he gets.

“My Petey, too,” Timber chimes in. He presses his foot against mine under the table and gives me a special smile. My stomach flutters and I smile back, our conversation in the car forgiven.

“Us too!” Jolie and Cass contribute.

Three generations represented by four adults and two almost adults in a fancy seafood restaurant agree: all children love summer meals.

“So there we were,” Sue resumes. “My freezer thawing as I stood and watched. Keith and I had a confab and decided we’d do a smorgasbord. Cook everything. To throw out perfectly good food isn’t just wasteful. It would have been sinful. Back then, people were frugal.”

“Of course, in the ‘sixties people worried more about food going bad. Stuff didn’t have shelf lives like they do today! Except Twinkies,” Keith adds.

His wife doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey. Don’t knock my emergency go-to snack in those days. Moms need one thing that never gets stale! So Keith starts the grill. I seem to remember there was a full moon that night…. I made an inventory of what we had to cook. About the same time Irene was back at the door. The Robinsons had the same idea. How about we combine meals? I’d been saving two T-bone steaks for special. God knows when I thought that evening was going to arrive. Anyway, the adults split them while the six kids ate burgers and hot dogs. Irene had giant turkey drum sticks and we rigged an aluminum packet with those and a can of tomatoes. Remember, Keith?”

“Yeah. It was messy.” His eyes are soft as he recalls a meal eaten more than half a century past.

Both old folks are silent for a minute as they relive the evening.

Timber and I are silent too. I relax into their memory.

Cass seems fascinated too. “You never told this story before, Gram. Neither has Mom. Did she understand there’d been a blackout?”

“I never explained. We never talked about it, not that night and not after.” Sue stares down at her meal and I’m shocked at how haggard her face grows. “That night I thought, This is it. The world’s coming to an end. Russia had invaded. Or Martians; didn’t matter which. When electricity on the eastern seaboard went out, it had to be a foreign attack. And if my government hadn’t been able to prevent that, I’d better get ready for the end. I was grateful to be with my family.” She’s somber, softer. “I knew I’d shield my children as long as possible. I told them the TV and radio weren’t working, and how about we treat it like an early Night before Christmas? It seemed that quiet to me, the full moon outside, the glow of coals in the grill out where Keith and the six kids were making s’mores.” Sadly, Sue adds, “Our son died in a car accident a few years later. That was still ahead of us.”

© Jadi Campbell 2016. From Grounded. Go to following link to order my books: https://www.amazon.com/author/jadicampbell

History’s Loop 1

We order clam chowders, avocado halves filled with shrimp, sole with crab meat, and scallops sautéed with leeks and tomatoes. Another glass of white wine for me, a third local beer for Timber. Alcohol seems to have little effect no matter how much we drink. And I was never a drinker before.

Before. Back in the days when I was a faithful wife and knew where my kids were at all times. Back when the world was one I could recognize.

“Cheers.” My smile wobbles as we toast one another.

We’re diverted by laughter from the next table. An old woman leans over and kisses her husband’s cheek. She gives us a sunny smile. “I couldn’t help overhearing you order. You picked all our favorite dishes.”

“Oh, Grammy.” The tawny-haired young female who says this and rolls her eyes is improbably beautiful. She has the flawless skin and glossy sheen of someone with her whole life ahead of her. She’s nineteen, twenty maybe, tops, just a few years older than Theresa. She sits across the table from her grandparents next to a friend, who nudges her with a grin.

The young women slurp drinks in globe glasses through straws as they stare at us. I watch, amused beyond words, as they check us out. I can almost hear the category click into place: Our parents’ age group, probably parents themselves. The guy she’s with is cute though – for an old guy.

I’m grateful for the youth at the next table. That’s the thing with a catastrophe: you want your children to carry on, no matter what happens to you. I have a Crosby, Still, Nash and Young album, with a song called ‘Teach Your Children’. Its tender lyrics about how you on the road should teach your children well are suddenly, acutely visionary.

“…Keith James; this is my wife Sue. And this is Cass and her friend Joley. Cass always stays with us in August.”

I come back to the present as the strangers introduce themselves. “Joley and I are starting nursing school and Gram told us, if we want to specialize in geriatrics start with them. Grandpa got his other hip replaced so it’s good we’re here. But I’d come anyways. I love summer in Ocean Beaches.” Their granddaughter in the summer print dress and sandals speaks politely, but she and her friend keep staring.

“I’m Glen, and this is Nicole. Nice to meet you.” Timber’s eager to talk, seeking an antidote to the grim calculations we just heard in the bar. “We had the best afternoon!” he offers. “We went to the beach.”

The two girls burst into laughter and for some reason it sounds familiar. For the first time the granddaughter’s friend speaks. “We were like, jogging, and saw someone who was like, almost bare, fighting a dog for her clothes. And, you,” she turns and looks at Timber and her eyes go glassy in admiration. “You did this amazing series of back flips and took off most of your clothes too! When we saw you come in the restaurant I knew that for sure it had to be you!”

With relish Timber and the girls tell Keith and Sue about the incident. I’m too embarrassed to do anything except nod. At the end of the telling everyone laughs and I join in.

Timber gives the two young women a smile that makes their cheeks flush like a blush wine.

Cass’s grandfather offers, “We’re on a budget, but we go out to dinner once a week no matter what. Thursdays, you’ll find us right here. It’s not just, um, old people’s force of habit. Or maybe it is…”

“Are you from here?”

“We moved here decades ago. We love the coast,” Sue answers. “Our daughter talked us into it. Lynn (Cass’s mom), and her family live in Corvallis. We’re glad to have Cass and Joley with us.”

Keith says, “Lynn’s anxious, but we’re fine. We keep telling her, Ocean Beaches just might be the safest place in the country right now. And if not, then not. Life goes on, and Thursday means dinner at The Sea Shore.”

“How can you be so calm with the world exploding?” It blurts out before I can prevent it. I go red, embarrassed and sorry to have ruined the relaxed conversation. I can’t seem to stop asking my desperate question of everyone we meet today.

I’m saved by the arrival of a waiter. He sets down two plates each of sole and scallops and in spite of myself I laugh.

“Okay, so it is force of habit.…” Keith picks up his silverware and prepares to dig in.

“Truth in advertising!” I tease.

“The scallops? They’re the best,” Joley declares. She widens her eyes and gulps more of her drink.

“By the way,” Keith says. “Your question? This isn’t the first time we were afraid maybe the world was ending.”

© Jadi Campbell 2016. From Grounded. Go to following link to order my books: https://www.amazon.com/author/jadicampbell

Outrage, Role Models & Positive Acts

I’m outraged.

It’s vital to my sense of well-being that I feel safe. I grew up in Cazenovia, one of upstate New York’s beautiful small villages. No one locked their doors and crime was of the DWI and who-got-stopped-for-speeding variety.

I roam the streets of every place I’ve ever lived in. Uwe and I travel to exotic spots and go exploring with glee. We’re not foolish. You can’t go into situations where you don’t speak the language without being careful and keeping your radar up. We always do our homework before going.

But lately the world feels like a strange, strange place. ISIS openly auctions sex slaves on the Internet. Mothers, daughters, and little girls get ranked by age and attractiveness. On New Year’s Eve in Köln, Germany, one thousand North African men gathered at the main train station for coordinated robbery, sexual assault and in some cases rape. Over 500 women filed police reports. [1]

What does this mean for women? While the police aren’t reporting higher crime statistics overall, the danger is that people will become scared to leave their homes. We’ll alter our habits and our style of life out of fear.

About this time, Claire Deromelaere asked me to take part in a production of Eve Ensler’s “The Vagina Monologues”. The play depicts women talking about sex and sexuality. Further, it raises funds for V-Day, a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls.

Claire is one very cool lady. I met her when I joined the Writers in Stuttgart. When she got up to read at our public readings, Claire owned the stage.

Her presence amazes me. Claire is poised and expressive, and her voice projects. She captivates an audience.

I have a beginner’s ego as a writer/reader. I can only get better; there’s nowhere to go but up. I was terrified at first by public readings. I wanted to read like Claire. I studied her, listening and watching. I talked to her about how to be confident (or at least less terrified) on stage.

It was probably inevitable that she got involved in language as performance. Claire left the writers’ group for NEAT, the New English American Theater. “The Vagina Monologues” is her first play as director.

So I’m getting renewed instruction on how to be a better reader from one of my role models. I’m involved in a positive, powerful response to the hate and violence directed at women and children. And I have met an outrageous, wonderful cast of women of all ages and backgrounds, united in the belief that art can change the world. Eve Ensler says it best:

  • Art has the power to transform thinking and inspire people to act
  • Lasting social and cultural change is spread by ordinary people doing extraordinary things
  • Local women best know what their communities need and can become unstoppable leaders
  • One must look at the intersection of race, class, and gender to understand violence against women [3]

I’ll come back to this topic in future posts.

© Jadi Campbell 2016.

NOTES: [1] I want to add that in the days after these attacks, some North African men held up signs in public squares in protest, saying the assaults in no way represent how the majority of foreigners living in Germany regard women.

[2] Click here to read about Stuttgart’s NEAT production of “The Vagina Monologues”: http://neatstuttgart.com/2016/02/05/tvm-opening/

[3] To learn more about how this powerful play is making a positive change in the world:

vday.org and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The Vagina_Monologues

Holiday Insurance 2

Gin tonic varied cocktails with lima lemon and grapefruit Royalty Free Stock Photography

I sipped, cautiously.

Marty Fuller worked his way around the table over to where I stood. He had on a cashmere sweater over gray slacks that exactly matched his graying hair. “Nicole! You made it!” He grasped my hand in an unfeigned welcome. Marty turned to my husband. “Like I asked last week: when are you coming back to us in Management?”

“Never!” Rich answered. “Life’s beyond the desk. It’s good to get out and see what the competition is up to!”

Marty took my glass before I could protest. “Let me top off that drink.” He replenished his too, and handed mine back with a smile.

“Nicole!” someone exclaimed, and I turned to say hello to Rich’s colleagues. Voices murmured. Should I measure the drinks by the alcohol content or the number of glasses? The room was too warm.

Marty was back. It dawned on me that my husband’s boss was flirting. The concept of Marty making a pass at me was absurd…so absurd I smiled back.

I looked through the open door of the conference room and the twinkling lights on the lobby’s Christmas tree glowed. Miranda stood by the window talking with a man. He turned, and it was Rich. My husband bent his head as he listened to what she was so earnestly saying.

Marty repeated my name.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, it’s nice to see you again. Rich tells me the shelter keeps you busy and that’s why you don’t come to many office functions. Do you have a lot of women staying there?”

“Women?” I was baffled. “Oh! I get it, you’re thinking of a women’s shelter!” I began to laugh and couldn’t stop. “Yeah, women and children and house pets. All those helpless creatures. No, no, no.” My head felt thick all of a sudden.

Marty observed me with concern.

“I run an an-nim-mal shelter,” I enunciated.

“Oh Christ! I knew that,” Marty said. “I feel like an idiot.”

I touched his hand with mine. “It’s okay.”

“You just don’t look like someone who works with strays,” and his direct look swam through my fuzzy vision to embrace my outfit. His fingers squeezed.

“Well,” I remarked inanely, and braced my free palm against the conference table.

He put an arm around me. “Dizzy?”

“Don’t tell me, that drink was a triple.” In the other room Rich shook his head again at Miranda. She put out a hand and he gripped her wrist, stopping her movement. Miranda’s arm dropped to her side and Rich turned. He crossed the lobby and came back in the conference room to where I leaned against mahogany.

Marty’s hold tightened as Rich came closer. My husband’s boss gave me a hug. “You’re a lucky bastard, Rich.” Reluctantly Marty removed the arm. “I think that last drink I made Nicole was a little strong.”

“You know holiday parties,” Rich agreed. “Everyone likes them strong.”

“I just need to get something in my stomach.” I turned to look for silverware. I got a plate of food and sat down; I couldn’t eat fast enough. When my plate was empty I rejoined them.

“Feeling better?” Rich asked.

“Ready for another?” Marty asked, before Rich could do the chivalrous honors. He mixed me a fresh gin and tonic. I took the proffered drink. “A toast to the coming year!” Marty proposed.

“Here here!” we all approved, and lifted our drinks. A young woman hung a bunch of bright berries with silvery green leaves over the doorway. “Time for mistletoe!”

I shook my head back and forth, trying to focus. Suddenly, I was furious. “Rich.” I pulled him over to a corner. I stared over the rim of my drink. “Would you say that you’re really a glorified ambulance chaser?”

“What? God no, of course not! Everyone needs insurance.”

I grasped his arm. “What’s your insurance?”

Rich looked at me sharply and decided I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. He drained his drink. “You and the kids, Nick. The four of you are all that stand between me and the void. You don’t get that? That’s what it is for any man with a family. I’ve told you a hundred times: the job’s a game. A game,” he quietly repeated. “I do it for what isn’t a game: you.”

My husband was oddly out of character and I didn’t like how serious he was. “Let me read the fine print.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

“Nick, let’s get out of here. We still have to get the kids and go to your folks’.”

“Oh come on.” I patted his solid butt. “Show me your holiday policy’s bottom line,” I giggled.

Rich rolled his eyes as he hugged me. “I love you when you try to drink. You’ll regret this later, but not before I take advantage of you! By the way, I think Marty hopes you’ll grant him sexual favors.”

“It would be a big favor!”

Rich laughed at my indignation and hugged me closer. “Did I ever tell you the one about how the woman boss chose which applicant to hire?”

As we headed laughing out the door I caught a glimpse of Miranda’s face. It wore a look of desperate tenderness. She saw me watching and held my eyes. Miranda stared at us (at Rich) and raised her hands to her temples, massaging them. Her gaze dropped as she went red. I wondered, looking at her expression, if she had a migraine.

© Jadi Campbell 2016. From Grounded. Go to following link to order my books: https://www.amazon.com/author/jadicampbell

Gin and tonic image courtesy of dreamstime.com.

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