What's all the Hubbub? Refugees

I am sure I have mentioned before that I have a recurring bad dream in which we have to quickly flee our home grabbing only our children and the clothes on our backs. As dreams can be, mine is realistic and terrifying. I have woken up frantic. I have woken up covered in sweat. I have woken up relieved that it was only a bad dream. I think my subconscious is influenced by the history of our house. The German people who lived there were not thrown out as in my dream though. They had sufficient time to pack and prepare before the Polish family moved in - the Polish family also removed from their home hopefully with ample time to prepare as well. I mean if there ever is ample time to leave a place that you consider home. 

You may have heard about the wave of refugees pouring into Europe. Perhaps you've seen them on TV. We're in Europe and they're pouring this way, so we get a lot of coverage. I don't know what the coverage looks like where you are, but this is what I've seen. I've seen people arriving to Greece on a boat that looked more like our blow-up kiddie pool. The people said they were fleeing the war in Syria. Parents wept as their children, alive if not well, were placed on firm ground. I've seen refugees in Greece aggressively fight with locals - locals overwhelmed by the sheer number of people arriving on their shores. People were everywhere, going everywhere, even into people's backyards and homes. I've seen women and children lined up at a train station in Hungary while guards minded them with sticks and dogs. I've seen a journalist kick, trip, and punch refugees including children trying to escape from guards. I've seen groups of male refugees deny women and children aid passed out by guards, throwing the food, water, and clothes in the trash or on the train tracks. I've seen bodies floating in the sea. I've seen groups of Germans welcome refugees at the station. I've seen comments to articles that I cannot believe are written in free Europe and not Nazi Germany with one commenter suggesting the trains full of refugees go straight to Auschwitz. I've seen Polish support rallies interrupted by opposition. I've seen heated, but polite political debate. I've seen a person opposed to refugees spit on a supporter.

Many people in Poland are opposed to taking refugees or at least that's what I get from the newspapers, television, and my Facebook feed. Not all people opposed hold the same feelings or to the same degree. Here are some as I have seen them...

They question if those refugees flooding into Europe are in fact from Syria. They wonder where all the women and children are and why the refugees have smartphones. They question why those who reached Turkey didn't stay there. They wonder why they don't flee to countries with more similar religious backgrounds and why those countries have not offered to take them in. 

Many are upset about the seeming lack of policy and/or procedure concerning people arriving via boat or on land. They point out that other countries process refugees in a different way. They are skeptical of Germany's loud cries of "welcome" and see it an attempt at atonement for WWII.

Some wonder at Poland's ability to absorb the numbers Poland has been asked to take. Many scoff at the irony of so many Polish people emigrating in the last few years due to the poor economic situation in Poland and lack of jobs and wonder where their assistance was. They joke that the refugees will escape from Poland as soon as they see that our social benefits are not as generous as in other European countries.

Many are skeptical at the refugees/migrants/immigrants ability and willingness to assimilate to Poland's culture and religion. Many are worried that the predominantly Muslim migrants will pressure the government to allow Shariat for them and then extend it to others. They remind me that as an atheist, punishment of death awaits me and my family.

Many simply do not want any person category "other", other nationality, other language, other religion, other color. Some protest against those "dirty Muslim terrorists". Still others while looking at the pictures of drowned children say, "Good. They would have grown up to be terrorists anyway."

I don't have the solution. Frankly, I don't want anyone to pressure the government to make legislation according to their religious beliefs. I wouldn't like it if refugees did it, and I don't like it when Marzena Wróbel does it either. I don't want them to die either. There has to be a better way.

Were you hoping for more out of me? 

The many stages of Chris

The many stages of Chris...

...on a Saturday morning...

...when Father of the Year and general all around good guy Misiu takes the kids to the pool.

That's a long title, but the original one was much longer.

First thoughts when husband packs up the kids and takes them to the pool is OMG I can get sooo much done - laundry, cooking, nails, whatever I want. But I should also do something in the garden, and the windows could do with a cleaning, and I haven't even peeked in the attic for ages. So that's me 15 minutes later sucking back my second coffee, catching up on my YouTube watching, not giving a crap about any of the stuff mentioned above. 

On to Plan B, I shall combine YouTube watching with cooking, or something similar to cooking - spaghetti and a sauce that the kids picked out at the local grocery store last night. Despite our American heritage, we are not a ready sauce kind of a family. After checking the list of ingredients for trans fats and various E's and finding none, we agreed on a sauce. While watching Fatfighters International, I mix up the dinner for my hungry swimmers and discover something terribly wrong with that sauce. I then whip off an email to the producer in Polish stating that something is either seriously wrong with their recipe or the whole batch of sauce is spoiled. I probably shouldn't be left alone.

As I prepare to dispose of the offensive dinner (in the slop trough of the neighbor's pigs), I decide to leave it for the fam to decide if it's just me or if the sauce is off. Pigs can eat spaghetti, right?

Plan C involves actually getting dressed, but not after I take a long and relaxing bath sans interruptions. Plan C is delayed as the power has unexpectedly gone out as it does at least 5 times a week here in the Village. No power means no hot water. No hot water, means no bath. No power also means no wifi. No wifi means no YouTube. No worries as I have a hot cup of coffee and my Kindle. Oh, the power is back - bath time.

Fam is still not back. I shall enjoy the bathroom all to myself and actually put on some makeup...on a Saturday. Quite a useless activity, but a fine opportunity to practice my kreska without little people bumping me while brushing their teeth and sending my kreska all the way back to my ear. Full makeup terribly clashes with my messy bun and Saturday t-shirt and sweatpants. They are new sweatpants straight from the fall collection, but I must say even the kreska cannot class them up.

Fam is back and sit down to the offensive spaghetti dinner. I say nothing as Rosie immediately declares the sauce inedible. Lizzie takes a bite and also declares something wrong with the sauce. Misiu tastes his portion and agrees that the sauce is a bit off and proceeds to eat his plate of spaghetti and the spaghetti left by the kids. The soup is never too salty in our house.

This post is sponsored by Lizzie who by quitting soccer has inadvertently signed herself up for Saturday morning swimming.

Me, a hypocrite?

The school year has begun for us. Not much has changed for Rosie, our 2nd grader. She has the same teacher in the same classroom with the same locker. She was also elected class president for the second year in a row. For Lizzie, our 4th grader, the whole world has changed. She has to change classrooms for every subject and has to adapt to the expectations of new and different teachers. Both of them have schedules more complicated than my university schedule, but that's how it is in Poland. One starts at 8:00 and finishes about noon, while the other one starts at noon and finishes after 4:00. Then the next day they switch.

Lizzie, the 4th grader, starts her second foreign language this year. English is mandatory twice a week, and we had a choice between French and German for the second second-language. Come to think of it, the school chose German for us, but theoretically we had a choice. German lessons are in fact German lesson because they have it once a week for 45 minutes, and in the first lesson they did not learn a single word in German in the whole 45 minutes.

Catechism, called "Religia", as always is an optional class twice a week. My girls don't attend as we are not Catholic so they spend time in the day room or in the library with the couple other kids who don't attend. Ethics is theoretically on offer at our school, but even if you declare in June that you'd like your kid to attend Ethics, the school will not arrange it. If they do, it'll start in November, not September. It will probably be at 7:00 in the morning or after 4:00 in the afternoon. It may also take place in another school or may possibly be taught by a nun. True story.

From the whisperings in the hall at school, some parents are not happy with the catechism situation at school. My only interest in catechism in school is that my children don't go, so I offered no comment to the conversation. Often parents who don't send their kids to catechism are quite critical of the parents who do. I'm not. Ok, I'm a little critical but of the school not necessarily the parents. When the school principal and teachers said that we would not have swimming lessons this year claiming a lack of money or that Lizzie wouldn't have a locker until the budget came in, then I was critical. Well, Misiu was critical and counter-claimed that the money was there. It's just spent on things that the school thinks and apparently parents think are more important such as catechism twice a week. Speech therapy? Forget about it. 

My children do not attend catechism not because I am a non-conformist, although I am. It's because I'm not a hypocrite. I know that some parents send their kids even when they themselves have stopped practicing that religion and even when one or both parents are non-believers. They're hypocrites. It is true, but I understand them just the same. 

The cost of not being a hypocrite can be very high. Some people are not willing to pay the price so to speak or allow their children to pay it. The cost for my children is hour after hour, year after year spent in the day room at school. The cost for us and them is no extended family, no aunts and uncles, no grandparents, no birthday wishes, no weekend visits. The choice to not be hypocrites was ours, the decision to exclude us from the family was theirs. It's extremely difficult to make a decision to raise your children according to your beliefs when you know that may mean a childhood without grandparents, without family. We decided that we would not buckle under the pressure. I wouldn't change a thing, but at the same time I understand the folks who are not brave enough to try. I wish they'd join me though. Maybe it'd be a little bit easier for all of us.

Łódź is not pronounced Loads

Road trip! This time to Łódź...which is not pronounced Loads if that is what you were thinking. I once blew my boss's mind in the States when at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC I explained that the Łódź Ghetto is the Łódź Ghetto and not the Loads Ghetto.

Łódź is a pretty cool place. Perhaps too cool. I do believe if Łódź challenged Wrocław to a hipster-off, Łódź would definitely win. But we weren't there for the hipsters or Piotrowska Street. We were there for Miś Uszatek!

If I am truly honest here, I think I enjoyed the Se-ma-for Animation Museum more than anyone who has ever been there, ever. Miś Uszatek was my first Polish teacher and what an adorable teacher at that. I was very happy to see him, his friends, his room, the wallpaper, all of it. I've seen almost all the episodes over the years, and I didn't catch on for ages that all the voices were done by one man. Of course there's more to Se-ma-for than Miś Uszatek. 

The Museum tour begins with a stop in the movie theater where you will see a selection of old and new Se-ma-for creations. Then a tour guide, in our case a lovely young lady, tells the visitors all the most interesting things about Se-ma-for past and present. After that, visitors are free to roam around at their leisure. There's so much to say about the museum, but I don't want to spoil it for you so I'll just show a few pictures.

Our trip was a short one, so next we hit Piotrowska, the "mainest" main street in Łódź. We grabbed something to eat, did some sightseeing, hit some shops, and then headed back home.

In reaction to the lack of "Hel" t-shirts or any other Polish souvenirs in Hel, we hit the Pan tu nie stał shop pretty hard - Polish design, made in Łódź, to takie miasto w Polsce. We got 8 stamps in one visit. Is that a lot? 

Visit their online shop at www.pantuniestal.com. When I wear my "zołza" shirt, people are so nice to me.

I almost forgot about the Łódź hipsters. They're all so very cool. The ladies, so ladylike yet functional and funky. The men, so dapper and colorful. I felt oh so very plain there in Łódź, but I got in some great people-watching. And about that hipster off? I think it would go something like this:

Łódż, I hope to see you again soon.

For shame

I ate this whole burger. I am not ashamed.

I'm not a fan of bullying or mobbing in any form. I mean, who is? Well, maybe the bully, but I'm not so sure about that either. I am not a bully. I am, however, a fan of mild public shaming. Why? Because it works. I guess that would make me a shamer? The recipients, shamees?

I should maybe mention here that I use my public shaming power rarely, and I use my public shaming power exclusively for good. Your own good.

You'd probably like an example, right?

Don't do you homework because your child was ill? Pass. Because you were ill? Pass. Don't do you homework just because, for the third time this month? Stand up in front of the room and sing a song...in English. Yes, it all could backfire, you say. Some kids or teens could bask in their class-clown/class-rebel glory. But I don't teach teens. I teach business people. They don't want to stand up in front of the class and sing at all, in English or otherwise. And if the conference room is near the boss's office, that's a good time to crack open the door, just a little bit. Yes, Mrs. Main Accountant, I am talking to you. 

Point of curiosity, the most often chosen song to sing is...Happy Birthday.

For hardcore procrastinators and general lazy buggers, a visit to their boss (the person bankrolling this show) for an explanation as to why said homework has not been completed. Use this one sparingly. News will spread throughout the company and all homework will be completed on time, I guarantee, but aforementioned lazy bugger will absolutely despise you. Never drink any coffee prepared for you by lazy bugger. Ever. And know if lazy bugger ever gets promoted, you are out of there.

Stand at the village shop with your pregnant belly and a ciggie in your hand? It happened. The telepathic scorn I was sending apparently was not enough because Fat Kasia just continued to puff away. I'd reached my public shaming limits. I was speechless. Luckily for me and Fat Kasia's baby, Misiu's ability to speak had been altered in no way. Misiu: Really Kasia? Smoking while pregnant? That's such a terrible thing to do. Fat Kasia: Leave me alone. At least I have stopped drinking. (A prize to the person who can correctly guess and formulate her response in Polish, well, because it was just better in Polish.)

Let me just set the record straight about the nickname Fat Kasia. I did not give her that nickname. The locals call her that, but for the life of me I do not know why. I mean she is fat, pregnant or not, but she's the only Kasia in our village so where's the need to modify? 

So if someone throws a bit of litter on the street or doesn't buckle up their kid in the car or doesn't give it their all in their English classes, they might hear from me. Or not. It depends on my mood. I'm a lazy bugger.

Public shaming extra bonus - Construction Worker Justice, Overheard

I am walking down the street as I do, looking out for anything interesting to see and any doggy bombs to avoid, when I overheard a snippet of conversation of some gentlemen builders who were putting a new facade on a local building. As they were working behind a mesh, I couldn't get a good look at them, but I could hear them just fine. Here goes the conversation, well, lecture really, as an older builder shames his younger workmate.

Co ty? Zawsze widze jak Agata zapierdala z wózkiem a ty co? Ty zawsze masz puste ręce a ona ma dziecko i jeszcze zakupy.

What d'ya think about that? 

Best be behaving. 

Instagram and Kielbasa Stories

Kielbasa Stories can now be found on Instagram. 

Why? 

Because I have so much love to share!

kielbasa_stories

Beer is not a good chaser for vodka

We picked up a hitchhiker today. Not really do-goodery on our part, just room in the car. We would pick people up more often, but we're usually full up with the kids. Before the kids came along, we used to take college students back home from the city pretty regularly. This time we were heading from our house in the village to pick up the kids from a local day camp. It's not more than 10 km, if even that. The bus goes through here rarely though, and it was extremely hot today. Have a heart - we had to pick the guy up. After some pleasantries, he asked to be delivered to the main square if we could, but quickly decided that the local swimming hole would be better. He looked to be about 20, possibly a student home for the summer.

The usual hitchhiking protocol involves some kind of conversation, but since the trip was so short I couldn't really think of anything to say. Turned out I didn't have to as our passenger explained his predicament (but not before asking for a cigarette and expressing his disappointment that we don't smoke). 

You see, the police dropped me off there on the road. I got arrested, and they dropped me there and told me to walk home. They said if they see me back in town today, they're gonna lock me up, so I kind of want to check if it's true. 

Well, that's pretty clear. 

We dropped our little criminal off and picked up the girls. After lunch we too decided that the watering hole was a good idea to beat the heat. And who did we see there? Our hitchhiker with a group of friends drinking vodka with beer chaser and generally horsing around. As we were leaving, the police pulled in. We were on our way out which is a pity because I kind of wanted to check if it was true too.

P.S. I couldn't think of a title and "Hitchhiking" seemed too lame.