alesiablogs

A Blog About Ordinary Life Told In Extraordinary Fashion!


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Dedicated to Robin Williams

robinAlone. Searching for the words to say something. Anything. To Who? Radio on. No need to talk. Driving from the mall on my way home, my eyes are blinded by the sun. Visor down to help, but it still does not block the intensity of the sun beaming down on the windshield. The only answer is to slow the car to a crawl and put my hand up to the sun coming in. Finally I can see to drive. Light still coming through though.
Giving up. I am home. Sitting in my car. Alone. Waiting for the garage door to open. Driving in. Engine off. Searching for something to say. Why? No one around to talk to. Still searching for something to say. No reason to. Getting out of the car. Door opened by my gloved hand and my dog to greet me. Thank God a familiar face. Happiness. Tail wagging.
No pressure now to say anything. Alone. Going to the back of the house. Light is shining through the window. No need to block it anymore. Enjoying the light coming through now. Searching for words to say. None comes. See only the light. No ghosts to worry about. Just me. Tiny body pressing against my lower legs reminding me I am worth something.

Dedicated to Robin Williams. I loved your comedy! May you rest in perfect peace and I know it is your light I saw this morning shining through my window. This post originally ran in January, 2014.


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Berlin Wall

A portion of the Berlin Wall. Photo taken by Alesia in 1989

A portion of the Berlin Wall. Photo taken by Alesia in 1989

In 1989, I was living in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. This week in 1961 over a period of several days, the wall was first erected to keep freedom away from communist-controlled East Berlin. May we never forget this history. Nothing more dramatizes the fall of mankind than this wall. Nothing more causes one to pause than the taking down of that wall. Liberation can prevail. May other parts of the world that are in conflict learn from this wall.


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Genealogy: Where Is Your Ghost?

Genealogical research has become a lucrative business in America. It is a hobby of many including myself. Research is not done only in the United States, but across the world. Family history has become a passion for many as they delve into their past. Perhaps the novice or knowledgeable family researcher is looking for a ghost.

Alesia , Army Nurse with her buddy and roommate. WE were on active duty for Desert Storm.

Alesia , Army Nurse with her buddy and roommate. WE were on active duty for Desert Storm.


I asked myself lately that same question. Where is my ghost? The question lends itself to contemporary as well as historical significance. Growing up during the Vietnam Era, I heard a lot of talk about war. Naturally this has come to intrigue me. I thought about my family lines that have shown military connections in America as well as abroad.
My father on the right was in the Korean and Vietnam War.

My father on the right was in the Korean and Vietnam War.


The question again that grips me is where is my ghost? Is he on the shores of America? Is he on the shores of Europe? Perhaps, he has found himself on an entirely different continent all together.
My own family research has led me to ancestors that fought in the civil war on the union and the confederate side. Internationally, I have American family that fought in WWI ( my own grandfather) and then other family from Europe that fought on that continent. How do we reconcile the dangers of the connections and come to grips with the impact of family on many sides of history of war? It is in this context I think about the ghost.
I am calling and wondering about my ghost now. I can hear something peculiar. My ghost laughs and says to me, “One day you will be near me to know who I am.”
Sneak a peak into a letter I received recently from a man that states my german grandfather was his uncle. His german father never went back to his home country Germany after WWII, but he chose to start a new life on another continent. Who would blame him?
Note the new continents in my own family history through the information I got from the sender. This did pique my curiosity:
“Alesia,
(BLANK ON PURPOSE) was my fathers brother, (my uncle,) however I had never met any members of my fathers family…. I work in Micronesia on an Island called Pohnpei, but I was born and educated in Australia, I am an Australian Citizen. My father passed away in the late seventies but has two daughters from another marriage. One lives in Tokyo and is married to a Japanese. The other lives in Brisbane Australia and is married with 2 children. even though they are my step sisters the family is very close. As for me I have 4 children……..”

Dedicated to the genealogical researcher and historian who wants to share of the impact of war, prisoners’ of war, and how the world changed because of war and dedicated to the ghost who helps me move through this life to understand who I am.


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Two Cubes Of Sugar, Please

Alesiablogs  in Germany in the late 80's -early 90's.

Alesiablogs in Germany in the late 80’s -early 90’s.

Carefully, she picked up her rouge tea-cup and placed it to her lips. Prior to her first taste, she added two cubes of sugar. Stirring, she watched the sugar melt.
Driving from my US ARMY post where I worked as a nurse in West Germany in 1989, I was on my way to visit my Swiss born grandmother also living in Germany. From my apartment to hers was about a three-hour drive, even when I was speeding at 90 mph on the autobahn!
Climbing up several flights of steps to her flat, I wondered sometimes how she was able to get up those stairs, but she did. After all, she was 70 years old. My Swiss born grandmother enjoyed our visits as much as I did. Our tea time was special.
This particular visit was like many others. We played games and ate together. She was a widow now and she felt comfort in me to talk about her past. She routinely went back to her days of living in Iran.
Thirty years prior in 1959, she was living a charmed life with her husband who was working for the German owned company Siemens. It is my understanding, Siemens was hired by the Monarchy of Iran which was ran by the Shah.
Photo taken by one of my family members meeting the Shah of Iran circa~late 1950's.

Photo taken by one of my family members meeting the Shah of Iran circa~late 1950’s.

My Opa, Theo, was a part of a team employees who were modernizing the infrastructure of Tehran, Iran and its surroundings. He had even been invited to have dinner at the palace of the Shah.
It was no surprise to me that Oma’s eyes glistened when chatting about that time in her life. She and Theo had spent about 15 years living there. and the Farsi language came natural to her. She would speak to me in Farsi, German, and Swiss, but the best part of all, she could come back to me in my own native tongue of English and put it all together for me.
In stark contrast and subject change, she would communicate to me her harrowing escape from war-torn Berlin around 1944-45. She and my grandfather and their two children had to leave in the middle of the night. The WWII bombing became too much and their home was destroyed. See this post to read about this escape: http://alesiablogs.wordpress.com/2012/10/20/being-born-in-berlin-a-true-story/ .
To say the least and not to make fun of the expression, this was no cup of tea for my grandparents, but they did escape!
This was not the first time my grandfather had to elude something dangerous. While on a visit as a teenager, I was with my Opa Theo in 1979. He was making me a cup of hot Chamomile tea to alleviate my sour stomach. We spent a very quiet time together, but I knew then that he had seen much adversary in his life. He actually escaped Iran to Turkey in 1941 prior to coming to Berlin when the Anglo-Soviet Invasion had begun in Iran. One escape in a lifetime seems more than enough of what life can throw at you, but two escapes seemed unfathomable.
Disclaimer: Recently I was contacted by a historian from Oxford from England who was interested in my grandfather’s story. I hope at some point that this part of WWII before the USA became involved can be further explored by historians and myself who would like to see the personal side of such a story to be told.


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Meeting a Psychic

Today I met a psychic. She did not have to tell me. I did not ask. The only thing we had in common is that we both have autistic sons.
In respect to the psychic, we spoke only about our autistic sons. When I introduced myself to her, she did not tell me her name. Instead she said, “Why don’t you face book my son?”
“Sure. I can do that.”
I asked her for his name and assumed her last name was the same as his. We spoke of life and how difficult it is to raise a child to adulthood who is severely disabled. She spoke as if she knew exactly what I was talking about and could relate to it all. She spoke with authority and clarity on the matter, but in a respectful way.
Casually I said, “How do you take care of your son when you are working?”
“I am self-employed.”
I told her I was retired after becoming disabled. I asked her what she did and she said she was a writer and goes under a pseudonym that she gave me.
Upon arriving home, I found her “name” and popular books on Amazon. As I read about her, I realized I had just spoke to a psychic. She has written long-standing articles for the New York Times and several books. It amazed me because she seemed well not to sound weird–just normal.
Why do I share this with you? I suppose more for the fact that this woman is an accomplished writer and a mother of an autistic son. We had some commonality. She had found her niche and had capitalized on it in a big way so she could be there for her son. She also did not come off as a fake and never told me that she was a psychic.
Wow. Today I met a psychic. She did not look like Johnny Carson. Darn. I used to love him on The Tonight Show when he dressed up as a fortune teller! I am wondering now if I need to really increase my writing potential and see where it goes! Could meeting a psychic really do that for me? Not to sound ahhh too psychic-I guess only time will tell what the future holds for me.
Disclaimer: I have no opinion one way or the other about psychics, but I never met one before I guess that made a living at it.


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The Flamboyant Age of Communication

No communication needed...Just Caffeine please.

No communication needed…Just Caffeine please.

Connecting to various aspects of humanity has become a cinch. Really? I say we have screwed up. Let me explain me. I do not tweet. I do not twitter, and even though I can text, I find it detaching. So let me explain me again.
So here goes nothing. I am sure by the time you read this, you have all ready started your day on the fast track. You long ago have heard from others before you have even got to reading this. The fast track people come through like shock waves. The ultimate communicator sends a quick email here, text there, and then of course the newly selfie. Maybe the newer way of communication is like a drug in some ways.
What happened to real communication though? Dare I say to a friend when is the last time you wrote someone a real letter? You know the kind that is on paper and you have to pick up a pen to write it!
What age of modern communication movements are we in? I dare say it could be the new flamboyant age of communication. Everything is so easy now. The truth is that many people utilize all these new ways of communicating to conceal real talk. In fact, some go through great lengths to conceal the true nature of what they are really saying.
In all honesty, some of what we do in our communication can be quite humorous. I hear face book is really now for adults. The teenagers do not want to hang where there parents are. Really man, are you kidding?
So as we all work toward individualism, should we justify or put into perspective the true nature of communication’s changes good or bad? Call me an amateur about all this, but I hope one day someone comes along and reads this post and thinks to themselves maybe she is onto something here. Could it be quite possible that we should as readers and writers commit ourselves to protecting the traditions of so long ago ( you know –oh so 90’s) the capacity in all of us to take time to spread our wings and go talk to someone in person? If only to find fine communicators that aren’t hiding behind their “walkie-talkie” and are willing to make an impression with their mouth. I wonder sometime why we have let all these clever ways of communicating into our most personal of worlds? Why could we not have left it for the professional world alone? Are any of us full of rue?
I have more to say, but I am getting a text now and need to sign off…Talk to you guys later. Readers-thanks for hanging with me.

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