Love makes a garden grow

This post is dedicated to my Uncle Bob. At our annual Ekblad gathering this summer, we sat in my parents’ living room chatting. “I know you’re happy, he acknowledged,” referring to Dae-Han and Sofia, “but I miss your writing. I always appreciate your insights.”

Uncle Bob’s comment both tickled me and acted as the impetus to carve out time to do some writing. So thank you, Uncle Bob, for your appreciation and your words of admiration. I think I was in need of both.

On a walk with my mom and Josi this summer, Josi noted the way her creativity felt lost in the corporate world and what a university advisor suggested she do to reignite it.

Creativity. The word pulsed in my brain the rest of our walk, a heartbeat in my mind’s eye. The three of us had divided ourselves between pushing a stroller, pulling a wagon, and carrying the toddler who refused both modes of transportation.

During this summer of mothering a 17-month old at 43 years old, I am wondering about my own creative outlets. Part of me wants to be engaging in more creativity for myself, the other part of me says to accept that scrolling Instagram and getting in a 30-minute workout during nap time is the most I can reasonably muster.

Creativity right now … it’s devising a dish that has enough fiber. but not too much fiber. that is absent of refined sugar. and that doesn’t have dairy because maybe Sofia has a little sensitivity and now also does not have gluten because that could be a digestive trigger too it seems this week??

Does this count as creativity? Because these moments in motherhood are sucking the creative juices from my body with a fat straw and a strong draw. I don’t even like the structure of these sentences that I am trying to creatively craft, but I think, this might be as good as it gets right now.

They say postpartum can last two years — that it takes your brain that many rotations around the sun to regain it’s footing from the dizzying days of tracking ounces of milk and number of wet diapers and trying to game the newborn, infant, toddler sleep cycles.

Last night Sofia was still up after 11 pm. Well, she’d been down from 8:30 - 9:00 pm, but she’d woken up screaming with terrible tummy pains. Once we’d done everything we could to help her sort herself, she laid in bed between Dae-Han and I repeating “Bia Bia Bia Bia Bia” ad infinitum. She added different cadences and I have to conclude that she’s more creative than I am right now.

Fitness is supposed to be good for not just our bodies, not just our mental health, but also our brains. So I am going to take a brain break from writing right now and turn on Caroline Girvan’s YouTube channel and at least feel good about the grit my legs and arms have left.

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I’m back. And while I was sweating my heart out, I was thinking of women I see around me, mumming and writing cookbooks like Alison Roman

or friends I have that had tiny babies and got their MD

or finished PhD’s.

Friends that have multiple children, thriving businesses, like real estate and talk therapy, and continue to do projects like remodel cabins.

I haven’t read a page of one book yet this summer. I attempted to renew my education license (which does not expire until next year anyway) and got through one one-hour video over the course of two days by putting it on double speed. Then gave up because Sofia kept waking up from her naps just as I would push play on the next video.

This feels hard some days, the lack of space for myself. I mean, at some point almost every day it feels hard.

And yet what has felt alive in me since Sofia was born is that more than losing myself in motherhood, I have found myself.

I find this truth marvelous. I think motherhood swallows many of us whole, at least for a period. And it does suck the marrow from my bones some days. But then somehow, it fills in again.

I think women are magic. and mystical.

“I don’t know how you …” we often say to each other. I don’t know how either, but we do.

We nest

and nurture

and provide

and guide

and excavate to our depths to find patience when we are overstimulated and exhausted

and we love so hard.

And because of Sofia I have discovered all of this exists within me.

She’s four days shy of 18-months now.

How. How how how how how did it happen so quickly.

On day 2 of her life she swiped away a midwife’s hand who was trying to help me breastfeed. Yes, she’s had opinions from the very start, and every day since then she’s simply become more of herself.

The other day she stood up in her chair at the dinner table. Dae-Han and I both echoed each other: “On your butt, Sofia.”

So she sat on her butt … by turning herself around and plopping her cute little tush on the table.

Today she decided that shorts should not cover that little petutie but instead should go on her head. Absolutely that’s the only place for the shorts to go, she insisted, as she continued to stretch a pair around her forehead, shoving my hand away if I tried to show her otherwise.

I simultaneously marvel and sigh at her will each day.

But I would not want her to be any other way in this world. Of course I want her to know that “we don’t always get our way” and no, you cannot hit when you are angry, and yes, sharing our toys is important because it is kind and in this world you can be most anything so always be kind.

But I do not want to tame her. Stay wild, Sofia. Do not let anyone try to dampen your spirit. Keep it strong and free.

Perhaps one of the best ways to help maintain her curious, wilded spirit is in nature, or a bit further outside of a city.

We relish spending time with our families in summer, so we do not often get time as a family of three. This summer, though, we had a two-night retreat at The Fallows. This artist studio turned family cabin is run by my friend Bri and a friend of hers. Located on a lake in Crosby, Minnesota, it offered Sofia a place to sway with us in the shallow beach and plunk rocks in the water for endless minutes.

Losing myself in moments with her is a meditation in mindfulness.

One day in Seoul, before summer began, I sat with Sofia and my friend Lisa at the grassy space outside our door coined Bubble Park for the structure in the center. Sofia put in and took out skinny sticks in an empty water bottle for nearly two hours.

Simplicity. Strip away the need for constant productivity, the desire to always “consume” something — a podcast, an audiobook, something new from Amazon — and see how simple moments can fill us up.

I think this is how I have found myself more than lost myself in motherhood. Sofia is my favorite teacher.

She’s my favorite teacher. And right now I am back in our Seoul apartment looking at one of her books on the living room floor entitled, Love Makes a Garden Grow. This is what Sofia has done, grow the love in our family garden.

She’s shown Dae-Han and I how big our love can be. She watered the flowers of laughter and joy in Minnesota and California this summer.

She makes life bloom.

Thank you again, Uncle Bob, for the push to write again. Taking time to tap out some words was kind of like weeding the garden. I feel … kind of spruced up and fresher now.

To Ghent We Went ... and Amsterdam too

I first have a request: anyone who has heard of Ghent, raise your hand. I'm squinting through space to count about three hands raised. Mine is among those three hands now, but three weeks ago I thought that Ghent was the name of our street that our hotel was located on in Brussels, thus I booked Mom, Gram and I train tickets from Amsterdam to Brussels. Ghent, though, is not in Brussels, but located about a 30-minute train ride beyond Brussels.

Before I go on about our time in Ghent, and what a fortunate mistake our hotel booking was -- though, of note: Mom said she did not mistakenly book a hotel in Ghent, that she meant to book a hotel in Ghent because she read that Ghent is quaint and cute to which I replied, "Why did you let me buy train tickets to BRUSSELS then?! ... but I digress ... -- I think you must see the way that we traveled to Ghent.

American travelers with their oversized luggage. (It is important to take 10 pairs of shoes, two winter jackets per person, 7 kilos of American snacks -- including Grandma's homemade almond butter cookies -- and 3 purses for a 7 day trip. I am actually not sure if that is what we each packed. But it felt that way.)

After loading all of that luggage on the train ourselves -- we are hella tough but a strapping lad would have been welcome -- even Mom turned to booze. She had been dry her entire 59 years until this day.

Kidding. She didn't actually take the shot. But as you can see Gram was well ready for a cocktail when we finally reached our destination. In Ghent.

When we arrived to our lovely Belgian town -- after having passed through a Brussels that looked a bit rough around the edges -- we were delighted to find an old Medieval city, or, as a resident of the city named it: a very modern city in an old jacket.

Looking back at this scene, I miss the slower pace of small town Europe. Life in Shenzhen seems to moves at light speed; in Ghent a woman can take a bit more time to gaze around and contemplate what it feels like to take a few breaths.

Perhaps one of the best things we did in our cozy host city was to take part in a free walking tour. One of the most fascinating facts we learned from our congenial guide was that Ghent used to be the 2nd largest city in Europe -- from the 12th - 15th centuries. I'm tucking that tidbit away for my next trivia night.

Liam (I think that was our lovely guide's name, but I also have Brahm written in my notes and now I don't know what that means, so maybe this is Brahm) schooled us on so much history here.

Also of historical note: During the middle ages, beer was safer to drink than water, so having your pint at the local watering hole could simply be considered health care. I wonder if I could take this up with my insurance company today?

As an English teacher, I find the etymology of words and phrases quite interesting. As we meandered about the town, Liam (or Brahm) told us where the phrase "stinking rich" stems from. Let's take a moment to make some guesses ... and while you are crafting your response, another scene to take in ...

Graffiti is kept off of most streets and buildings as the city provides space for street art. These are students working on a school project.

So, stinking rich? Well, the wealthier you were, the closer to the alter in the church you were buried, but graves were not closed off properly, thus the flesh would begin to rot and smell up the space. I think I'll stick with being potpourri poor. I believe this phrase was first coined in 2007 when friends would leave flowers at the door of humble, poorly paid teachers.

In addition to being a bit smelly, we also learned of the torture rooms inside of the castle in Ghent. As I have learned about history, there have been eras that have seemed rather appealing. The 1920s, for example ... like, I think I would have loved to have been a flapper. A resident of Medieval Ghent, though? Hard pass.

A Belgian and her Belgian wafel (not considered breakfast food in Belgium, but rather a midday treat).

Il Folletto was our best meal in Ghent. The atmosphere, hospitality and pasta were on point.

Ghent by moonlight. I loved the break from the neon lights in Asia. There was a serenity here.

Three generations of love.

So, that was Ghent. We're glad we went. I did not add up all of the money that we spent. And so, to you I toast tonight, Ghent, with my dark Belgian chocolate in hand. Cheers!

Before we arrived to Ghent, we did spend four days in Amsterdam. Gram is our guest writer for this part of the post today. She spent a bit of time journaling each night, capturing the moments of the day. This is what she has to say ...

Saturday
Interesting hotel. Trying to discover heat. Fans blowing cold air. Need wool socks. 

The Linden Hotel was quaint, with a prime location and offered delicious animal gummies at the front desk. The rooms are quite tiny, but I loved how cozy it felt.

Our room is small for three, but the shower is really nice. We could shower together. 🤔. Our hotel, the Linden, is a quaint hotel located in the center of Old Amsterdam. It is perfect for our needs, as the narrow streets are lined with restaurants, pastry shops, clothing and gift shops, and bars. We are able to walk to most other sites from here. 

Waiting for Jamie to arrive. Anne is napping. Not much sleep on the plane. (Something I wish I would have acquired from my mother is her ability to sleep. For long hours.)

Outlets need converters in order to charge devices. Hoping Jamie will figure it out. (As it turns out, I did not bring my converter, thus failed at being of help here.)

Jamie arrived around 7:00. She was starving. We walked to a restaurant and had a delicious meal. Anne ordered a Dutch dish—mashed carrots, potatoes and onion with a meatball in the center. Dad would have loved it. I had pork tenderloin with pepper gravy, and Jamie had meatballs with salad. (Meatballs with peanut sauce are where it is at.)

Sunday
Slept til 9:00. Showered and hit the streets. Anne and I did a canal tour for an hour. Very informational. The architecture reminded me a bit of Boston. Amsterdam was founded in the 1200’s. That is a long time ago!!! The canals are man made, and many of the buildings were built in the 1600’s. 

Anne and I bummed the streets. Went into a couple shops—high end. Anne tried a pair of boots, but they didn’t have her size. I wanted a sweater, but it was $$$$$$. Not in my budget. We stopped at a pub and sat at the bar. The owner, George, gave us a piece of his pizza. So good. I had wine. 

While Mom and Gram were on the canal and shopping, I was having coffee with Ashley, a fellow Gustie trackster. We hadn't seen each other in 12 years; it was a treat to catch up with her and meet her boyfriend and his sweet daughter who is taking this photo.

In the afternoon, we toured the Anne Frank house. As a taxi driver said to us later that day, “Why would a tourist want to pay to see her house when she isn’t there, and leave depressed?” Good question!!

We dined at an Italian restaurant, but were disappointed. I had lasagna—no meat and no noodles. Different and not what I as looking forward to. Anne had steak, and Jamie ordered a salad and tomato soup. We will do better with selecting restaurants. (Good thing we found our true Italian in Ghent.)

Monday
This was an exciting day. We did a bus and water tour—visiting three provinces of Holland. Our first stop was populated with wind mills. A miller who worked one of the mills showed us how logs are cut into lumber. Other mills in the province are used for making grain and Linseed oil (which I purchased at a shop.) A mill can also mix paint. 

Watching windmills can really sooth a sou.

Oh, the vibrant colors ... this pictures tickles my senses.

We bused to our next stop where we learned how wooden shoes are made. There were hundreds of shoes hanging from the ceiling to dry. They need to dry for three weeks before they can be finished—sanded, polished and decorated. 

The engineering behind these machines was brilliant. We learned that these wooden shoes are worn since it is so wet in Amsterdam, and work outside is made more comfortable if one can wear the wooden shoes which keep out the water.

From there, we boarded a ferry where Jamie and I quickly ordered a beer. I chose the beer of the land—Heineken—Jamie ordered Robuust. 😃 Oh yes, Anne had apple pie. 

At the third province, we learned how cheese is made, and purchased enough to increase the weight of our luggage by a few pounds!!! Oh my 😖. The cheese was delicious, and we couldn’t resist. We ate lunch at one of the restaurants—fish and chips which we shared. Following lunch, Jame and I snacked on pancakes with fresh fruit—covered in chocolate!! We didn’t see the sign, “Don’t fed the birds.” So, the birds were happy. 

Gram did not feed the swans, but I do not have a picture of the full-bellied birds, and this captured a lovely moment of the day.

A final lesson for us on this tour was a demonstration on how waffles were made. These are not like the waffles we make at home, but very thin cookie-like waffles filled with caramel or chocolate. They are good, but we didn’t buy them to take home. They are available at our hotel for our enjoyment. (Gram is writing about Stroopwafels -- check out this page for where to find the best in Amsterdam.)

From here, we boarded our bus and traveled back to Amsterdam. Anne rested, I walked the streets and Jamie found a workout class to attend. 

Just living that sweat life all over the globe. I loved the class at High Studios -- it was Barry's Bootcamp-esque and set me up with those good chemicals. Love me my endorphins.

Jamie chose an amazing restaurant for dinner. The food was excellent!! The cocktails were pretty good too. (Gram is talking about Morgan and Mees. It was Ashley's suggestion and it did not disappoint. It was quite posh.)

Tuesday
We slept in again, then leisurely showered and dressed for another rainy day. We shopped as we walked to see the Red Light District—so I could say we did—then had lunch at a restaurant Gina suggested. We then taxied to the Van Gogh Museum where we spent an enjoyable period of time learning about Vincent’s life and art. 

In the evening, we taxied in the pouring rain to Central Station where we met Jamie’s Gustavus classmate (Ashley) and her male friend. From the station, we boarded a ferry which took us to an area where we had dinner. To get to the restaurant from where the ferry dropped us off, we walked quite a distance—again in the pouring rain. I had no idea what was in store for us when I put on open toe sandals for the evening. That walk required RAIN BOOTS!!! and a raincoat. It rains horizontally here, so an umbrella doesn’t help much. We were wet and cold when we arrived at the restaurant. 

The atmosphere in the restaurant was warm and friendly, and dinner was accompanied and complimented by fun conversation. 

Following dinner, we called a taxi to take us to our hotel. It was late, and we had had a full day.

Wednesday
We are schlepping our heavy luggage and boarding the train to Belgium. Despite the sunny sky, it is once again raining. (And this brings us to the very beginning, a very good place to start ... )

In closing, the trip was picturesque, with a good dose of adventure, and plenty of charm.

At one point, as Gram and Mom were walking down the middle of the street, taking their lives into their own hands, I turned to Gram and said, "We're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Come up on the sidewalk." It seems, though, that we did land somewhere over the rainbow.