One Year Later

It was one year ago today that I received news that would be forever imprinted upon my heart: my dear Grandma had passed away.  She really was the most incredible woman I've ever known-- a God-fearing woman who was devoted to her family.  She was brave-- she enlisted in the war (WWII) after her boyfriend died while fighting.  She decided she wanted to fight in his place, and at the age of twenty, she left her home in Brooklyn behind and travelled to Georgia for training.  She was stationed in Miami, where she met my grandfather, and later settled in South Carolina, where she lived until she died.

My sister scanned these pictures (among others) last year.  I've included a smattering-- they focus on Grandma, but some also feature my grandfather, my great grandmothers, my great aunt, my mother, and my uncle.  I think these pictures capture something of Grandma's spirit-- that of woman who was nurturing and brought joy to those around her.  She was a dear friend, and always up for just about anything.  I miss you, Grandma!

XOXO,

Lillian Vera Herbrandt Howard Beach, Long Island, NY July 28, 1931

May 3, 1942

George Wyman and Lillian V. Herbrandt Stiefel October 21, 1944 Wedding Day

6 years 4 months old. March 1, 1930 at school Miss Geharst Grade 1B

Palisades Park, NY Aug 29, 1941

1942

Polly's Rock and Round Top Mountain in background Catskill Mountains, NY Aug 1943

Anna Marie Nickens Herbrandt and Lillian Vera Herbrandt (Stiefel) Jones Beach, July 5, 1942

George F., George W., Lillian H., and Melanie C. Stiefel Dec 25, 1956

Lillian V. Herbrandt and Anna Marie Nickens Herbrandt Jones Beach June 5, 1942

Lillian Vera Herbrandt and Anna Marie Herbrandt Lillian wearing favorite rust dress she made Palisades Park NJ Aug 29, 1941

Anna Marie Herbrandt, Ben Tumulty, Lillian Herbrandt 1941 Rye Beach

Statue of Ponce de Leon St Augustine, Fla. Lillie Mae Stiefel, Lillian H. Stiefel, Claude Stiefel, and Melanie Claire Stiefel

George Bach & Lillian Herbrandt Boundbrook, NJ

Bus ride from Davis & Geck Margie Egan and Lillian V. Herbrandt at Lake Ronkonkoma Aug 9, 1941

Beta Sigma Beta Club   Bottom Row L to R:  Nancy, Anna, Adele Curnan, Dorothy Shuman, Doris Lightfine, Rose Macaluso, Ann Turano, Lill, Rose   Top row L to R:  Roy, Walter Wilber, Peter Cuso, Peter Andrews, Alf Englund, John Osterita, Vincent DeMilo, Angelo Geraci   Sun 6-1-40  Picnic at Valley Stream  on the step of Valley Stream High School

Lillian Herbrandt Stiefel and George F. Stiefel  Dec 30, 1945

Melanie Claire (with Sparky), Lillian H., and George F. Stiefel (with Bootsie) posing for Graniteville Herald

Melanie Claire & Lillian H. Stiefel & Brownie

Lillian Herbrandt Stiefel, Juliette Hughes, Louise Barton, Margaret Timmerman, and Mildred Leopard, and Adelene Hite  1944   Women in Graniteville Company payroll and real estate departments

Lillian Herbrandt Stiefel and Melanie Claire Stiefel    St Augustine, Fla   June 1956

Marilyn Converse & Lillian Vera Herbrandt   March 1944

Hazel Pitts Barr, Melanie Claire Stiefel, Anna Nickens Herbrandt, George Wyman Stiefel, Lillian Herbrandt Stiefel, and George Franklin Stiefel   New Haven, Conn.

George F., Lillian H., and Melanie Claire Stiefel (7 weeks old), October 26, 1952

Lillian H. Stiefel, George F. Stiefel, and Jacko the Monkey  Oct 1952

Melanie Claire (7 weeks old), Lillian H., George Franklin, and George Wyman Stiefel   Oct 26, 1952

Jessie Mae and Claudia, and Lillian H. Stiefel  Aug 1949

Full Circle

It's hard for me not to think about the fact that soon I'll be heading home-- back to the place where this journey began eight months ago.  When I left Delaware, I had no idea where the winds would take me, nor did I know how long the journey was to last.  I went to Europe, the Middle East (Asia), and Africa.  I visited Germany, Holland, Czech, Austria, United Arab Emirates, Oman, and South Africa.  It's been an amazing time!

On May 10th, I'll board a plane, and seventeen hours later, I will touch down in New York City's JFK airport.  My journey will not be over once I land, as I'll have to board a "Chinatown Bus" and trek another three hours to Delaware (such are the pains of a gal trying to save a buck.  Flying into Philadelphia would have been so much easier, but just not as cheap).


The question I keep getting from friends and acquaintances alike it, "Are you excited to be going home?"  My initial response is no.  I am not homesick, nor do I do not miss the United States.  I'm having too grand of an adventure to want to go home.  Additionally, going home for me means returning to my parent's house in the suburbs (since I'm homeless), where I lack transportation (I don't have a car), have very few friends (they all moved away eons ago), and no prospects at work (not much modeling going on in Delaware!).  It's not much to look forward to.


But, my answer needs to be a little more nuanced than that.  You see, my very best friend in the world also happens to live with my parents (my twin sis, Erin).  I adore my parents, and there was a time in my life where they probably thought they'd never see me go (As a child, I once famously declared, "When I grow up, I'm going to marry Mom and Daddy, so I can live with them forever!").  I miss my sewing machine, and my dressform, and the myriad of projects I have sitting at home waiting for me to complete.  I miss shopping for vintage clothes, and the little shop I set up on Etsy to sell some of my finds.  I miss my violin.  I miss the promise of potential friendships that have never been permitted to develop due to my lengthy absences (such as with Randy and Becca and Heidi and others).  I look forward to using a desktop computer again, with a large monitor, and with a scanner and printer attached.  I look forward to seeing my closet full of clothes that will appear as new to me (Can you imagine?  I've been wearing the same few clothes for almost eight months?  I've lived out of a suitcase with three pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans, and a handful of dresses.)  I hear Netflix calling my name, and I can't wait for my mom's southern cooking and sweet tea.  And I miss late afternoon naps on my parent's couch with three of my best friends curled up next to me (as pictured above.  A fourth, Lillie, isn't pictured, as she tends to be Miss Independent, but she's welcome to join the slumber party as well!). Finally, I'm looking forward to quality time spent with a precocious and sometimes bratty niece who is very dear to my heart.


Am I excited to be going home?  I guess I am.  But I'm sure gonna miss it here!


XOXO,

A Tale of Two Volcanoes

I suppose depending upon where you live, this volcano thing has completely affected your life, or maybe it hasn't at all.  I imagine for my family in Delaware, it doesn't have much impact, but here in Dubai (yes, I've bid adieu to Africa and returned to the Middle East) there are over 11,000 crew that fly with Emirates Airlines.  In addition to that, 80% of the people who live in Dubai are ex-pats, which means they're not from here.  I know quite a few people who have been affected by this whole thing.

The Scream by Edvard Munch, 

But while most people are complaining, I found this great article at the New York Times about a volcano in Java that changed the world in 1883.  Simon Winchester writes, "Where Iceland has caused shock, Java resulted in awe. And where Eyjafjalla’s ashes seem to have cost millions in lost business, Krakatoa’s dust left the world not just a remarkable legacy of unforgettable art but also spurred a vital discovery in atmospheric science."

Winchester continues:

The skies in the fall of 1883 became weirdly changed. The moon turned blue, or sometimes green. Firefighters in New York and elsewhere thought they saw distant fires, caused by clouds of boiling dust. The vivid ash-tinged sunsets, and the post-sunset horizon rainbows of purple and passion fruit and salmon-red, were said to be the most memorable.

Painters in particular did their best to capture what they saw. An obscure Londoner named William Ascroft, astonished by the nightly light show along the Thames, turned out a watercolor every 10 minutes, night after night, working like a human camera. More than 500 Krakatoa paintings survive him. “Blood afterglow,” he jotted down on one canvas, noting the magic done by refractive crystals of dust; “Amber afterglow,” on another.

Grander artists, like Frederic Church of the Hudson River School, were spurred to action too. In December, four months after the Javanese blast, Church hurried up from Olana, his Moorish castle near Poughkeepsie, to Lake Ontario, and one perfect evening caught the vivid crepuscular purples over the ice on Chaumont Bay, knowing full well — as science already did — that it was a volcano 10,000 miles away that had painted the sky for him.

And one even more famous painting speaks of Krakatoa as well: recent research suggests that Edvard Munch a decade later painted “The Scream” while remembering a night in Oslo that had been much affected by the volcanic dust. Indeed, the climatic records show that the swirling orange skies behind the terror-stricken face match perfectly those recorded that winter in southern Norway.

How cool is that?  But wait, there's more.  "It left a lasting effect on science as well.

The heavier dust from Krakatoa slowly fell to earth, coating ships and cities thousands of miles away. But the micron-sized particles from the volcano’s mouth did not fall back at all. Instead, they were carried ever upward, and ended up floating around the world for years, on streams of globe-girdling winds that were not then even known to exist. 

Weather-watchers, carefully noting just when certain skies in certain cities were inflamed and colored by the passing high-altitude dust clouds, produced a map showing just how these wind currents moved around the world. The first name they used for the phenomenon was the “equatorial smoke stream.” Today it is, of course, the jet stream — a discovery that remains perhaps the most important legacy of Krakatoa.

I'm curious to see how this volcano will effect things on the global scale, but in the meanwhile, I'm looking forward to the sunsets.  And, I'm reminded that God is in control.

XOXO,


 

#1Random: How to Escape from Quicksand

I am a Googler.  I'm not sure if that is a word, but for my purposes it means "one who Googles."  I really love having knowledge at my fingertips, and any time I have a question, I research it on the internet.  If I see someone reading a book I've never heard of, I Google it.  And if I hear someone quoting a "fact" that doesn't make any logical sense to me (i.e., drinking hot beverages will cool you down, or chewing gum stays in your stomach for seven years), I just look it up to satisfy myself on the true answer.

Do you remember the scene in "The Princess Bride" where Buttercup steps into the "snow sand" and Wesley has to jump in and rescue her?  She disappears immediately in the quicksand, and Wesley dives in after her.  That, and many other movies, depict quicksand as a pit where one quickly sinks to the bottom, suffocating in the sand.


Well, according to this article at National Geographic, the most a person would sink, even while struggling, is to about waist deep.  The danger lies not in suffocation, but in getting stuck, so that when the tide comes in, you could drown.


So, how does one escape if stuck in quicksand?   Do not have someone pull you; the researchers suggest that if friends tried to pull you out, they'd only succeed in pulling you "into two pieces if [they] try hard to pull [you] out."  Instead, he continues, "The way to do it is to wriggle your legs around. This creates a space between the legs and the quicksand through which water can flow down to dilate [loosen] the sand.  You can get out using this technique, if you do it slowly and progressively."


Now you know. And if you don't believe me, you can Google it.




XOXO,


BTW, for those non-Americans out there who have not seen this film, you really should.  It is an American classic that children of my generation (Gen X or the Millennial Generation-- I think straddle both), were weened on.

His Wounds Have Paid My Ransom

How deep the Father's love for us

How vast beyond all measure

That He would give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross

My guilt upon His shoulders

Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no powr's, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom

I Love These!

Designed by my supremely talented friends, Charl and Donna.  

If you're in Cape Town, VOX City Church is a new church community starting up in the City Bowl of Cape Town.  You can visit their website here for more information.

Please note: Friday's service has changed locations to Baran's Restaurant in Green Market Square. 

Best.Pickup.Ever

I went out on Tuesday night to go to Dizzy's in Camps Bay the other night for karaoke night.  As my roommates and I waited in line to get past the bouncer, we both automatically put our hands out to be stamped.

Upon closer inspection, this is what I saw:

This guy did NOT work for the club.  I got my hand stamped by the real bouncer a few minutes later.

Awesome.  Guys, he get major points for being creative.  And for being funny.

That said, still not going to call him.  But maybe you should-- here's his number!

XOXO,