I sold some things on Ebay over the weekend and while I did not make as much as I thought I could or would... it has been an experience for sure. For one, I discovered that I own a rare out of print UFO-nut book. That was interesting as I paid nothing for it and now it is worth almost 200 bucks. Go figure.

The other thing... there are pieces of the Berlin wall for sale on Ebay as well. Some come with authentication certificates and everything. It makes me ill. How can you certify a piece of concrete???

I have pieces of the Berlin wall as well. They were sent to me by a friend that was still stationed over there and happened to be in the midst of the whole "Let the people go" movement. I do however, still recall all the news stories of people being shot on live TV for the mere desire to be free. West German TV stations reported on this about as regularily as we watch the news on the Arab world these days. The folks "over the wall" were...well, lost souls and at the mercy of the Stazi and the KGB. I watched them try to jump the wall, navigate the barbed wire and try to escape the lights and AK-47's. Most of the time they did not. I saw a young guy, maybe 18 or so, try to jump the wire and the wall, desperately making a run for it - only to be mowed down, and left hanging in the fence for all the world to see. I think that picture got a prize of some sort. Morbid.

I have pieces of the Berlin wall in my possession. To me, they are much more than just memorabilia. They are part of my life, my history, my heritage - ugly as it was. I had not taken them out in almost 10 years but today I did. I looked at them in their unremarkable splendor. Just pieces of grey concrete, occassionally marked with ugly blue or green spray paint. No certificates. No authentication. Nothing. Other than what lingered in my memories.

Is it kosher to sell part of your life? How desperate would I have to be to sell these? Surely, to the average collector they are only worth a couple of bucks and the fact that they can state, "I own pieces of the Berlin wall." So what? If you did not live through it, you do not deserve to own them. Collectable or not.

Just my two cents.

Once again we are bombarded with Black Friday flyers and news stories about insane mobs descending upon malls (and ensuing chaos, murder and mayhem over terry bath towels for 1.99). I tuned into my favorite oldies station just a few days ago and found that programming had changed to have Old Blue Eyes crooning Christmas songs 24/7. I am aghast at how commercial the holidays really have become.

I don't buy into the retail frenzy, nor do I spend unGodly amounts of time planning an elaborate dinner, decorating the halls or sending boxes of holiday cards to everyone I have ever known. This sort of thing just leaves me cold. Not that I don't like the holiday season, au contraire, mon ami. I love the smell of fresh blue fir in my house as well as fresh baked cookies and applepie. Yet, to me it's more about the season itself and not all the stress inducing trappings that seem to come with it these days.

There is something cleansing about the trees in my yard shedding their leaves to rest up for the next Spring (I could do without all the raking though, Ha!). The closer time is to the end of yet another year, the more contemplative I become. Could I have done things differently throughout the year? Should I revisit my decisions and vow to do better next year? Somehow next year comes all too quickly with each passing year and somehow decisions do not get a do-over - most of the time.

Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that actually doesn't have a lot of meaning to me, being a German immigrant and all. We don't celebrate Thanksgiving American style in Germany, it's more about giving thanks to the one above for a great harvest. That makes a lot more sense to me than fighting for the plumpest Turkey at the grocery and spending hours dressing it up. Plus, I'm not too crazy about eating Turkey in 50 variations for the next few weeks.

Sure, giving thanks for our fortunes is a nice touch. Yet, why not be greatful every day? All too often we hurry along through our days without a second thought and go to sleep at night checking off our to-do lists for tomorrow. Perhaps we ought to just stop and say thanks on a daily basis.

I received an email from a family member the other day. It included a photo of a starving child in Africa about to be devoured by a vulture. I wasn't too keen on being included on this family distribution list; however, the picture did give me pause. We have become so spoiled with our ready availability of food and abundance that we forget how fortunate we truly are on this side of the planet. We toss things out that could have a million other uses for someone else, we leave left-overs in the fridge until they grow lovely green appendages, and generate so much trash that we are running out of space to hide it. It's all about "more, more, more" for "me, me, me".

So, while I will straighten up the house some today and plan on roasting a boneless Turkey breast for myself and my son (he is out of the dog house now), I will also vow to be more greatful on a daily basis. I will also snuggle more tightly under the covers come 5 am tomorrow when millions of folks will put on their running shoes to head to the mall for that incredible deal. I have everything I need right here.

I am greatful for: my son apologizing and actually meaning it, my health and continued ability to provide for my family, my soul and conscience, all those that have lent a helping hand when I needed it without asking anything in return and the fact that I live in the greatest country on Earth (well, second greatest - cannot diss Germany, sorry).

I hope that all those serving our country and are away from home will be safe and able to return home to loving arms. Thanks to all the civil servants that have to work today and keep us civilians safe from harm (sometimes from ourselves).

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Can we say puberty induced insanity? I cannot even count how many times I've gotten calls and emails from my son's teachers, principal, counselor, vice-principal and janitor the last two weeks. Ok, the janitor I made up but he may as well have joined the fray!

I honestly wonder what is going through his head these days and I truly am about to snap. I walk through the halls at work huffing and puffing like old lady Higgins because I am constantly stressed about him. I see the school's number on my caller ID and instantly my eyes dart toward my wayward kid, "What did you do now?" Naturally he professes innocence 9 times out 10; and 9 times out of 10 he's making up stories.

I keep telling him he should become a lawyer with his gift of inventing unfortunate circumstances. The boy can fabricate some whoppers I tell you. If he spent half that much energy on his grades he'd be valedictorian 10 times over!

I've been a bit consumed with all this teenage issues lately. What followed was neglect of my other musings, hiding out in TV land and generally mulling this over until my head hurt. I've hit up friends and acquaintences for advice all over the place as well. I didn't always like the answers seems most of it seems to boil down to me having spoiled him rotten and there I have it.

I will admit that me being a single mom for most of his life has somewhat led me to spoil him a little; but I cannot for the life of me recall instilling this utter sense of entitlement and non-responsibility in him. Where do they get this stuff? As in, everything you have is mine, and everything I have is mine. I didn't raise him that way and I am totally stunned and somewhat at a loss. Maybe a good ass whoppin' would do him good.

Now I am off to pick him up from school since he got himself kicked out for 10 days. Nice little lunch line brawl I hear....

I got a wild hair up my you-know-what on Saturday and decided I'd go and get my hair chopped off. I say "chopped off" because that's what it ended up being. I am so miserable right now. She completely butchered me and I am inclined to buy a big floppy hat this evening and tell my boss I accidently fell under a lawnmower over the weekend. If I had cut it myself with a Flowbee I could not have done any worse..I swear.

I have no idea what the stylist was thinking when I was very clear on what I wanted. She cut off at least 3 more inches than necessary and now I look like my mother. Not that my mother looks bad necessarily but.... I digress.

It's uncanny how tightly we are tied to our personal image via our haircut or style. If we get a great cut we feel sassy, sexy and confident. With a bad one however, we want to crawl under the biggest rock available and remain there for as long as it takes for the mess to grow back. Which is where I am right now. I am on a recon mission for the biggest rock in the neighborhood.

If that fails I will have to resign to playing the Bangles all day tomorrow as it defininitely will be "Just another Manic Monday".

On a side note with the manic Monday theme - my brother left me a message that he safely arrived back home but US Airways had summarily lost all of his luggage. So maybe I should shut up about my bad hair cut....

I just delivered my brother to the airport. Immediately when he was gone I felt this incredible sense of emptiness. A piece of me was gone. To truly understand how this affects me you'd have to have grown up as me. I used to wipe his butt and give him his bottle. Obviously, he's 29 now and a grown man. Somehow though, we fall back into that relationship where I am the older sister and he's my little brother.

We talked about this phenomenon; almost 20 years we lived apart in separate worlds, separate continents even and yet, as soon as we get together there is a familiarity that cannot be denied. Yes, I still have a tendency to want to mother him but I am working on that. It's tough though. In my memories he was always the cute little boy who just adored me. I suppose in a way he still does. I could feel his ache when he had to pack up his belongings and leave. And our good-bye hug may have been short and sweet but there was something more there.

Since I am so much older than he my life experiences before he was born and after I moved out are completely different. We can reminisce about our childhood only up to the point where I was an adult - that covers about the first five years of his life and then intermittently for another four years when my mother decided to dump him on me. She did that sort of thing on a whim. I digress ...

I've lived half of my adult life in the US. My life in contrast to his and that of my younger sister is a difference of night and day. Sometimes I feel guilty that I got out of that dysfunctional muck we still call "family". Other times, I get rebellious and indignant since I worked damned hard for everything I have and have accomplished. It's a fine line I have to tow when I speak with them sometimes. I certainly don't want to rub it in - but come on, why shouldn't I be a little proud of it?

20 years go by faster than one would think. When I was 18 I used to think about the year 2000 and that I would be 36 then. Well, 36 has come and gone - I am still here. Still remembering things I sometimes wish I could forget and have forgotten things I sometimes wish I could remember. It's funny how when I talk with my siblings they ask me: "Hey, do you remember this and that?" and it's a complete blank to me. And then I will remember events and they have no clue what I am talking about. Strange what's important to us as individuals, isn't it?

So after 20 years I am reconnecting with family. I knew that eventually I would have to face up to the fact that I had an entire life somewhere else before this one. That there were a host of people and players in it that I haven't given any play time in ages; I simply benched them all and went about my business with replacement players.

When my brother came to visit the first time in March, it was a great feeling to see him again. This time, it was all about getting to know each other all over again - only as grown ups. And I miss him even more now.

In six weeks time I will be on a plane to Germany with my son. Visiting my old haunts, playgrounds, schools, places I used to live, places I got in trouble, places I used to cherish. And I can only hope that my son will fall in love with my hometown and understand why I get nostalgic over it at times. And he will for the first time meet his German family. Up until my brother started visiting, my past and my family were fairly abstract to him. Like non-entities; really no concept of the country, the people or his "other" family. Sure, I've told him lots of little anecdotes about my crazy drunk uncles, my cousins, my mother in complete denial of her illness, his ancient great-grandmother (it's unbelievable that she is still around actually) - but, obviously he still has no concept of all this until he actually experiences it for himself.

I've been running from my old life for so long, tried so hard to distance myself from old hurts and grievances. Now that I've jumped into the deep end, it's actually not so bad and I'm treading water quite nicely. So far, so good. I can only hope to get over my anxiety of seeing my mother again. That's a biggy I am still worked up about. One family member at a time I suppose...