Picture it...I was snoozing in our sleep number under our soft green shabby chic quilt, dreaming that Michael is in the living room watching drum videos, it's realistic. I even think "That's Mike Portnoy he's listening to..." and I pop my eyes open with excitement. It's 7:13am. Still dark outside..
I hop out of bed, run to the dark living room and...nothing. Nothing on tv except for the little red light that indicates (in case you unsure) that the TV is in fact, off..
I thought to myself...How RUDE to be startled awake for a false alarm, and besides, why would he come home so early and make his first order of business watching dvds...
Since it was still dark, I decided to do what anyone else would...I crawled back into the warm bed.
I realized that someone was outside, closing their car doors and that had to be the 'drumming' that woke me up.
As I lay there in bed disgruntled...I thought... Man...I share my husband with a fatlot of people. Family, friends, coworkers, some people I'll never even meet....
I woke up again to daylight at 9.
Shuffled to the kitchen and made coffee. Coffee that I drank while standing up, making a grocery list. Since the commissary is closed on Mondays, I had to get my few things for the week, today.
I literally just missed the bus as it flew past our buildings. The decision was made for me, I was walking to buy my food.
As I walked I thought about not knowing exactly when Michael would be coming home. His online hints flew way over my head. "I am doing this on that day...so that should be a hint of when I'll be home." and "I stopped doing that on this day...so that is another hint."
I strained my mind to think...did we have a code? Did I forget it? Is this a reference to something I should know?
As I kicked through the huge yellow leaves that carpet the ground I thought...Funny...I am keenly aware of where the phone is at in the apartment all times just incase I get a morale call. Which, who knew that 10 minutes of listened-in on conversation would be the highlight of my week?
I thought about how all the pretty leaves will be gone by the time he gets home...and thought of what dessert I could make for him, and how I seriously hope that I do get an email letting me know when he'll arrive. And yes, even what color of lipstick I'll wear the day he gets here.
I thought the most selfish thing anyone could possibly think...I thought "I hate sharing him with everyone and their brother. I wish he was home. Sharing is NOT caring. Whoever was the first person to cross stitch that on a pillow can KISS it."
Then I saw them...all the welcome home banners tied to the fences for soldiers returning from deployment. Standing out like party decorations against the grey sky.
Welcome Home Daddy!
Welcome Home My Hero!
I've Missed You my Husband!
Banners decorated with pictures of smiling wives, chubby babies, happy soldiers....
And I thought this is only a temporary mission that Michael is on. He's only been gone a month and 4 days. Here I am whining and these spouses have dealt with a year apart. They have been sharing their spouses, and way more than my little selfish-self has even thought about doing.
I felt like such a terrible woman, a selfish wife. Making sure everyone knows that I've only had about 3 months with Michael out of our first year of marriage. Seeing a picture on a banner of a baby that her daddy has missed nearly the entire first year of her life, kinda puts things into perspective....
And I walked the rest of the way in the wind to the commissary thinking of how lucky I actually am....
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Church bells in the Rain
I sit, by the open window...listening to the rain falling and the church bells clanging...
It's really lovely...
Which I believe I can only say this today because I had 3 days of sunshine...or two and a half..however you slice the pie... Friday/Saturday/MOST of sunday.
It was nice and warm and I unfortunately spent it on the sofa, whining with bronchitis. Napping, and watching DVDs of Family Ties.
Granted, Michael and I did take a ride through Bamberg...which was all the engery I could muster. No walks. No marketing. No nothing but sitting in a car, drinking water to fight my cough and then coming home to nap, and drink gallons of hot tea with Echter Deuschter Honig.
The rain here in Germany is nearly constant. It had been going non stop for at least 20 days. Not only was it rainy, it was also cold. And by 'cold' I mean...in the 50's.
And last week, the night before I went to the doctor. I appeared in the kitchen door, (wearing a night gown, a pair of blue thick winter socks, and his flannel thick coat. Quite the ensemble...I may add my hair was wiley and my nose was red.)while my husband was cooking dinner (He forbad me to cook due to my being sick...sweet man, he is.)
He looked at me with kind of a stunned expression.
I wailed extra dramatic with cheese "I'm NEVER going to see the sun again. Ever. Until the 2 weeks in July when it comes out again."
and I promptly broke down into hard tears. I know for the most part, it was my being under the weather. I will cry over everything/anything/nothing when I am sick. It's the charm of me.
Micheal looked heartbroken for me. Standing there holding a stirring spoon up in the air like Lady Liberty and I was his tired, sick, poor and hungry. He came over to me, hugged me and said nothing.
I said between coughs and sobs " Everyone at home is having summer, still. I'm not used to this. I'm feeling smothered by the rain."
When in reality I know now it wasn't the grey clouds or the rain smothering me but my cold was keeping me from getting a deep breath.
Friday when the sun peeked through and burst out of the sky, my lovely husband wanted to call me from work. Just to tell me to have a little gander...
I was so thankful for this weekend of warm dry weather and lots of sun...
It makes the rain that came on this monday morning..not so bad after all.
It's really lovely...
Which I believe I can only say this today because I had 3 days of sunshine...or two and a half..however you slice the pie... Friday/Saturday/MOST of sunday.
It was nice and warm and I unfortunately spent it on the sofa, whining with bronchitis. Napping, and watching DVDs of Family Ties.
Granted, Michael and I did take a ride through Bamberg...which was all the engery I could muster. No walks. No marketing. No nothing but sitting in a car, drinking water to fight my cough and then coming home to nap, and drink gallons of hot tea with Echter Deuschter Honig.
The rain here in Germany is nearly constant. It had been going non stop for at least 20 days. Not only was it rainy, it was also cold. And by 'cold' I mean...in the 50's.
And last week, the night before I went to the doctor. I appeared in the kitchen door, (wearing a night gown, a pair of blue thick winter socks, and his flannel thick coat. Quite the ensemble...I may add my hair was wiley and my nose was red.)while my husband was cooking dinner (He forbad me to cook due to my being sick...sweet man, he is.)
He looked at me with kind of a stunned expression.
I wailed extra dramatic with cheese "I'm NEVER going to see the sun again. Ever. Until the 2 weeks in July when it comes out again."
and I promptly broke down into hard tears. I know for the most part, it was my being under the weather. I will cry over everything/anything/nothing when I am sick. It's the charm of me.
Micheal looked heartbroken for me. Standing there holding a stirring spoon up in the air like Lady Liberty and I was his tired, sick, poor and hungry. He came over to me, hugged me and said nothing.
I said between coughs and sobs " Everyone at home is having summer, still. I'm not used to this. I'm feeling smothered by the rain."
When in reality I know now it wasn't the grey clouds or the rain smothering me but my cold was keeping me from getting a deep breath.
Friday when the sun peeked through and burst out of the sky, my lovely husband wanted to call me from work. Just to tell me to have a little gander...
I was so thankful for this weekend of warm dry weather and lots of sun...
It makes the rain that came on this monday morning..not so bad after all.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Weekends, German Class, and Rude People.
The weekends find Michael and I off discovering little things about Upper Franconia. We explore Bamberg, trying to get to know our new hometown. It is so exciting to mingle with the crowds of other saturday shoppers.
We pull our little phrase book to find the right things to say when the florist at the street market tells us that Nein. She does not Sprecht Englisch.
She smiles and waits patiently as we stumble through telling her how main Stücks of this flower, or that flower we'd like. Nodding when we get the words just right, or even kind of right. She presents us with our bouquet almost like it's a gift, and not something we're paying for.
She's chubby and short and reminds me of an elf. I decided, even when stumbling through our communication that I liked her. I liked the way she looked at us, trying to size the two of us up.
We sit at outdoor cafes drinking Spezi, most times with a dog panting at the table beside us. Sometimes the old dog will raise his head lazily and give a bark, just to add his two euro cents into whatever conversation...
We walk around cathedrals amazed at the beauty. Sometimes honestly, we went in not caring about the beauty, but seeking relief from the heat. The giant Cathedrals are cool inside, like G-d turns on the A/C for His Holy places. We were just happy to be in the sweet coolness, and we missed the most famous of all Bamberg's statues. Bamberger Reiter (the Horseman).
I stood right under him my perplexed gaze finding more interest in another statue. I didn't realize this until weeks later, when I was looking at a guide book.
I said, randomly, as if Mike should know exactly what I'm referring to, "What! We were right under that famous statue and I didn't bother to look up!"
He looked up from what he was doing and said "what are you talking about?"
I said "The Bamberg Horseman, we were standing right under him, but I was too obsessed with the grown man that was baby sized sitting on a woman's lap."
He said "Hmm..really?"
Some saturdays we are walking around old Castles, or palaces. My words alone could never capture the absolute thrill of standing on such historic sites. The age and history behind the buildings..incomprehensible to me. I'm standing in a Castle where ages ago, men held look out for intruders! or Kunigunde probably summered here.
Kunigunde, by the way, is my most favorite of Bambergers. I even LOVE her name. Any lady in history who proved her innocence by walking over hot coals has my admiration.
Saturdays, for the two of us, are filled to overflowing with excitement. We come home tired, bags in tow, Spezis in hand, grinning from ear to ear. Proud of ourselves for speaking German. Or astonishing over the fact that the sample lady at Tegut (our favorite little grocery) was giving out wine samples. While I'm handing Michael butters and cheeses to put away into the fridge I smiled, "Can you BELIEVE we shopped in a grocery while I drank wine?"
To which He responded "I know! That would never happen in the states!"
Every Saturday evening, we hurry inside our little apartment to pour over our loot like trick-or-treaters late halloween night. Or we rush into the kitchen to make dinner with whatever goodies we found in the outdoor markets or in the markt. Rosemary butter chicken, fresh veggies. Cheese. We are always about the cheese. In fact one of the first words we learned in German was: Käse. We barely get the front door closed before we are desperate to sample our findings.
But during the week....there's not much going on. Michael goes to work. I clean, I go to the library. But my favorite is German Class. I look forward to it.
The instructor, Heike, is a sweet woman who reminds me of a Garden Gnome. She says "Ja. Ja" in a deep voice. Or when someone says something correct she says "SUPER!" or "Ja wohl!"
Our class had a Brotzeit. (Brut-zyte)Which is a picnic. There were little breads or "brotla", spreads, various ham, radishes, pickles, polish tomato salad and pickled green beans. Our instructor and her Schwiegermutter prepared all of this for us. I was surprised by the kindness, and the excitement she had at sharing a Brotzeit with her class.
We sat around a picnic table and did baby german. "May I have a plate?" and "Can I have a fork?"
It was fun.
Except for...if you've ever wondered "well, why DO people hate Americans?" and you've probably thought this, based on yourself... You're nice. You have manners....etc...What could be so bad about Americans, right?
I say this because I felt the same exact way. I had no idea why anyone would hate Americans...
Well, here's the reason. I will tell you because I think you should be made aware.
There was a woman at our Brotzeit. Her brassy cluelessness made her annoying and highly rude.
She interrupted our "May I have a spoon, please?" exercise by saying "Yeah. But how you ask for a napkin?"
The tone she used made everyone stop talking.
We all looked at her.
She continued, without noticing that we've all got our eyebrows raised against her rudeness, "Cos I was at a restaurant and I ask for a napkin and no body know what I was wantin'. I had to act it out. Still they didn't know. So finally I say 'Gimme a KLEENEX.' And they know what I want then."
Hieke said "You only have to say 'Haben Sie eine Serviette.'"
The woman purses her lips, raises her eyebrow and says "I have to say all that? Can't I just say 'kleenex'?'"
And I couldn't help but think....The people at the restaurant, they knew exactly what you were wanting, they just didn't like how rude you were asking. That's why they made you act out what you wanted. Just to make you feel stupid. I kinda wanna high five the waitress.
This wasn't the only time she made herself seem like a rude/mannerless/idiotic American. She announced that no one would help her find her way from Schweinfurt to Bamberg. So she yelled "WHY no body WANNA help ME?"
Well, honestly, if I was in my hometown, and someone was yelling in her native language...well, I'd just keep walking, too.
My husband had huge eyes and just looked at the table.
It was like a fart in church. All the people in the class were dead silent.
Here we were, surrounded by the kindness of a lady trying to assist us in learning the language and customs of her home..and this rude woman is so full of ingratitude.
She sat there with an air of entitlement, not of graciousness.
Sadly, It is not an isolated case, either. I am often shocked by the sheer rudeness of our own people. It makes me want to apologize. It would mortify you. You'd think, these people are going out every day representing our good country.
It makes me feel terrible, especially when someone is going out of his or her way to make friends or show kindness to us Americans.
I can say with honesty that when my husband and I go out into town, we try to use the language, even if we say things wrong, we are greeted with smiles and nods. We have met more friendly people than rude. Never once have we ever had to stand in a street and yell "WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP US!" We never have had to play charades for a napkin, either...
I think cultural differences are harder for some to learn...but I think it's a good idea to learn about them before you ever step foot aboard your plane to your foreign destination.
Your trip will be less frustrating and you'll get to see how friendly the people can be....
It is my sincere wish that people like the woman in my German class would understand that this is NOT America, and many things will be different.
There are differences that I find difficult, too, like the staring. Germans stare very hard at people. And trust me, it feels weird, and awkward, but for the most part, we smile or nod and it ends the stare down.
I don't feel the need to scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of Schwienfurt.
I'm not perfect, I know I probably do things inadvertantly that offend Germans...but I try to be friendly and I try to speak their language...and I find myself greeted with more smiles than blank stares.
We pull our little phrase book to find the right things to say when the florist at the street market tells us that Nein. She does not Sprecht Englisch.
She smiles and waits patiently as we stumble through telling her how main Stücks of this flower, or that flower we'd like. Nodding when we get the words just right, or even kind of right. She presents us with our bouquet almost like it's a gift, and not something we're paying for.
She's chubby and short and reminds me of an elf. I decided, even when stumbling through our communication that I liked her. I liked the way she looked at us, trying to size the two of us up.
We sit at outdoor cafes drinking Spezi, most times with a dog panting at the table beside us. Sometimes the old dog will raise his head lazily and give a bark, just to add his two euro cents into whatever conversation...
We walk around cathedrals amazed at the beauty. Sometimes honestly, we went in not caring about the beauty, but seeking relief from the heat. The giant Cathedrals are cool inside, like G-d turns on the A/C for His Holy places. We were just happy to be in the sweet coolness, and we missed the most famous of all Bamberg's statues. Bamberger Reiter (the Horseman).
I stood right under him my perplexed gaze finding more interest in another statue. I didn't realize this until weeks later, when I was looking at a guide book.
I said, randomly, as if Mike should know exactly what I'm referring to, "What! We were right under that famous statue and I didn't bother to look up!"
He looked up from what he was doing and said "what are you talking about?"
I said "The Bamberg Horseman, we were standing right under him, but I was too obsessed with the grown man that was baby sized sitting on a woman's lap."
He said "Hmm..really?"
Some saturdays we are walking around old Castles, or palaces. My words alone could never capture the absolute thrill of standing on such historic sites. The age and history behind the buildings..incomprehensible to me. I'm standing in a Castle where ages ago, men held look out for intruders! or Kunigunde probably summered here.
Kunigunde, by the way, is my most favorite of Bambergers. I even LOVE her name. Any lady in history who proved her innocence by walking over hot coals has my admiration.
Saturdays, for the two of us, are filled to overflowing with excitement. We come home tired, bags in tow, Spezis in hand, grinning from ear to ear. Proud of ourselves for speaking German. Or astonishing over the fact that the sample lady at Tegut (our favorite little grocery) was giving out wine samples. While I'm handing Michael butters and cheeses to put away into the fridge I smiled, "Can you BELIEVE we shopped in a grocery while I drank wine?"
To which He responded "I know! That would never happen in the states!"
Every Saturday evening, we hurry inside our little apartment to pour over our loot like trick-or-treaters late halloween night. Or we rush into the kitchen to make dinner with whatever goodies we found in the outdoor markets or in the markt. Rosemary butter chicken, fresh veggies. Cheese. We are always about the cheese. In fact one of the first words we learned in German was: Käse. We barely get the front door closed before we are desperate to sample our findings.
But during the week....there's not much going on. Michael goes to work. I clean, I go to the library. But my favorite is German Class. I look forward to it.
The instructor, Heike, is a sweet woman who reminds me of a Garden Gnome. She says "Ja. Ja" in a deep voice. Or when someone says something correct she says "SUPER!" or "Ja wohl!"
Our class had a Brotzeit. (Brut-zyte)Which is a picnic. There were little breads or "brotla", spreads, various ham, radishes, pickles, polish tomato salad and pickled green beans. Our instructor and her Schwiegermutter prepared all of this for us. I was surprised by the kindness, and the excitement she had at sharing a Brotzeit with her class.
We sat around a picnic table and did baby german. "May I have a plate?" and "Can I have a fork?"
It was fun.
Except for...if you've ever wondered "well, why DO people hate Americans?" and you've probably thought this, based on yourself... You're nice. You have manners....etc...What could be so bad about Americans, right?
I say this because I felt the same exact way. I had no idea why anyone would hate Americans...
Well, here's the reason. I will tell you because I think you should be made aware.
There was a woman at our Brotzeit. Her brassy cluelessness made her annoying and highly rude.
She interrupted our "May I have a spoon, please?" exercise by saying "Yeah. But how you ask for a napkin?"
The tone she used made everyone stop talking.
We all looked at her.
She continued, without noticing that we've all got our eyebrows raised against her rudeness, "Cos I was at a restaurant and I ask for a napkin and no body know what I was wantin'. I had to act it out. Still they didn't know. So finally I say 'Gimme a KLEENEX.' And they know what I want then."
Hieke said "You only have to say 'Haben Sie eine Serviette.'"
The woman purses her lips, raises her eyebrow and says "I have to say all that? Can't I just say 'kleenex'?'"
And I couldn't help but think....The people at the restaurant, they knew exactly what you were wanting, they just didn't like how rude you were asking. That's why they made you act out what you wanted. Just to make you feel stupid. I kinda wanna high five the waitress.
This wasn't the only time she made herself seem like a rude/mannerless/idiotic American. She announced that no one would help her find her way from Schweinfurt to Bamberg. So she yelled "WHY no body WANNA help ME?"
Well, honestly, if I was in my hometown, and someone was yelling in her native language...well, I'd just keep walking, too.
My husband had huge eyes and just looked at the table.
It was like a fart in church. All the people in the class were dead silent.
Here we were, surrounded by the kindness of a lady trying to assist us in learning the language and customs of her home..and this rude woman is so full of ingratitude.
She sat there with an air of entitlement, not of graciousness.
Sadly, It is not an isolated case, either. I am often shocked by the sheer rudeness of our own people. It makes me want to apologize. It would mortify you. You'd think, these people are going out every day representing our good country.
It makes me feel terrible, especially when someone is going out of his or her way to make friends or show kindness to us Americans.
I can say with honesty that when my husband and I go out into town, we try to use the language, even if we say things wrong, we are greeted with smiles and nods. We have met more friendly people than rude. Never once have we ever had to stand in a street and yell "WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP US!" We never have had to play charades for a napkin, either...
I think cultural differences are harder for some to learn...but I think it's a good idea to learn about them before you ever step foot aboard your plane to your foreign destination.
Your trip will be less frustrating and you'll get to see how friendly the people can be....
It is my sincere wish that people like the woman in my German class would understand that this is NOT America, and many things will be different.
There are differences that I find difficult, too, like the staring. Germans stare very hard at people. And trust me, it feels weird, and awkward, but for the most part, we smile or nod and it ends the stare down.
I don't feel the need to scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of Schwienfurt.
I'm not perfect, I know I probably do things inadvertantly that offend Germans...but I try to be friendly and I try to speak their language...and I find myself greeted with more smiles than blank stares.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A little remedy for enduring the heat without A/C
I've made no secret about the sheer lack of air conditioning. In fact, I've complained and whined about the predicament to anyone or anything that has ears. I've acted like a wilted flower, I've pouted, I've stamped my foot, I opened the fridge and freeze a stood in front of it a la Laverne & Shirley. I even cried actual tears for my longsuffering.
Unfortunately, my audience has mostly been my understanding husband.
But I've also found a new ritual in which to escape the heat. My beloved and much needed mid-to-late afternoon cold bath (Sometimes with Caress pulling double duty as body wash AND bubble bath.) It is literally the only reprieve that can be found from the heat.
I make a lovely production of it, if I do say so myself.
I turn the lever on the facet to cool. I'm not looking for luke warm. I want cool as can be. Cooler than a cucumber. I want Shiver-me-timbers! That is Cold!
I make my hair into a haphazard bun.
I put my latest favorite music on loop.
I stick a toe in and feel the delightful coolness wrap around my toe, inviting me to just sink in.
Once inside, I swing my bathroom windows open, letting in any breeze (even if it is stale), and not minding the sun shining down on the water.
I sink back into my divinely deep soaker tub, happy that I'm hidden in my own world from the prying eyes of neighbors.
I close my eyes and sing along with Ella...
"Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, I got to love one man 'til I die. Can't help lovin' dat man of mine...."
Unfortunately, my audience has mostly been my understanding husband.
But I've also found a new ritual in which to escape the heat. My beloved and much needed mid-to-late afternoon cold bath (Sometimes with Caress pulling double duty as body wash AND bubble bath.) It is literally the only reprieve that can be found from the heat.
I make a lovely production of it, if I do say so myself.
I turn the lever on the facet to cool. I'm not looking for luke warm. I want cool as can be. Cooler than a cucumber. I want Shiver-me-timbers! That is Cold!
I make my hair into a haphazard bun.
I put my latest favorite music on loop.
I stick a toe in and feel the delightful coolness wrap around my toe, inviting me to just sink in.
Once inside, I swing my bathroom windows open, letting in any breeze (even if it is stale), and not minding the sun shining down on the water.
I sink back into my divinely deep soaker tub, happy that I'm hidden in my own world from the prying eyes of neighbors.
I close my eyes and sing along with Ella...
"Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, I got to love one man 'til I die. Can't help lovin' dat man of mine...."
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Early thoughts about Germany....
I would like to say that Europe is a fabulous place, but seeing as I've only truly had the small town Germany experience, I feel I'm unable to report on the continent as a whole.
But Germany is lovely.
My first day went something like a dream. I was jet lagged into believing it was still, in fact, Friday (The day I left America).
Imagine standing on a bridge that houses the centuries old town hall, right in the middle of a flowing river.
A river that has seen more excitment and horror than imaginable.
Listening to people speak rapidly a language that you only know a few of it's baby words.
Smelling all the various local aromas...
And not feeling like you're dreaming, especially after traveling beside a man who smelled of moth balls, jovan musk, and almond breath for 7 hours.
It's like a fairy land. Something ripped from the pages of Grimm's.
And I instantly without a doubt loved it here.
I stood there with the excitement of a new convert to a different religion. The thoughts going through my mind were as follows:
1. It's so beautiful here.
2. I don't speak the language, so therefore, I can just talk freely with my husband 'cause we are in our own little bubble.
3. This has to be a dream.
4. I wonder if that old man staring at me was a Nazi in his hayday.
5. I smell Armpits.
It is so very beautiful here. The old part of town is absolutely astounding. It looks like a fairy tale came to life, and is just happilserving you coffee and a side dish of kraut at a sidewalk cafe. (Yes. Kraut is a side dish. It comes in a pretty little bowl. Just like we'd get a side of mashed potatoes. They have their kraut.)
I walked around with Michael, and since everyone was speaking loud and fast German and all I could possible conjure was "Tschuss! Danke!" For that one day, no one exsisted in the world, but me and my husband.
All the rest were extras in our movie. The only conversation we engaged in was with each other. It was absolutely marvelous.
After we left the Cathedral of Bamberg (There is a ton of churches/cathedrals here, but that one got top spot because a pope is buried there. Pope Clement. Rest Clem's soul. Ohm. Or whatever holy sound catholics make.) My darling lovely husband led me, without telling me where we were going, across the Cathedral Square to New Residence and through a gate. I love this about my husband. He delights in small surprises. I said "I smell...Rose's."
He smiled "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I said "Strong. It's...nice."
He smiled at me, I said "Do you smell it? Smell. Smell it?"
He said "Yeah. I do."
I was not prepared for what enchantment I was thisclose to beholding. The Rose Garden or Rosengarten.
We walked through an archway, and before me was every rose in the universe. (I found out later it was only 72 different varities. But I bet that's close to every variety known to the universe.)
It was so stunning that I just couldn't believe I wasn't asleep.
Michael said "Oh. Wow. Wow. This is...amazing."
St. Michael's cathedral was up above us, just adding to the glamour of it all.
Shortly after we were meandering around laughing at names of Roses (Schneewitchen, Yankee Doodle, Paprika) Some elderly German men broke into song.
No. I'm serious.
They were just singing their hearts out, letting their words fly over the red rooftops of Bamberg.
I said "Are they for real?"
Mike said "It's so beautiful here."
I said "I think you've dropped me into a dream!"
He said, clearly amused by my enchantment, "I love you."
It may be uncouth of me...but I'll say it. Every old person in Germany scares me. Every last one of them. Even the one walking with two canes down the sidewalk of Zollnerstrasse, even though I know I could've totally taken her, she scared me. I'm not frightened because I'm afraid I will catch TB from them, or that standing by them will make ME smell like moth balls, also.
No. It's because despite the fact that it was over 60 years ago, I can't help but see them as they were. All blonde and blue eyed. Crowding the streets. Heiling Hitler. Smiling. Cheering. Waving their little Nazi Flags. Some of the women with posters of Hitler on their bedroom walls thinking he was "So Dreamy."
Men, all decked out in Nazi regalia soullessly causing murder and mayhem to run it's evil course.
I think of how they made their little children wear SS uniforms. And how those indoctrinated children today, are white haired and wanting to sell me a Schnitzel. AND, if they were indoctrinated at such a toddling about age....how can they not still hold to the idea that Hitler was their hero?
It makes me shiver to think that while they were cheering on an evil doer, millions were being baked in ovens.
And so, when I see an elderly person, I walk on the other side of my husband, and hold onto his arm. Keeping the reality of what they did as far from me as possible.
However, it must be said, that the Germans I have met, so far, are very nice. In fact, most of them go out of their way to teach us the German word for this. Or remind us that the football game is on in one hour.
Even one particularly stinky teenboy with lots of facial piercings came up to us asking for a light for his cigerette and politely said "Entschuldigung...."
I say stinky because truly, everyone knows that Europeans have a knack for...smelling like they have two thick slices of white onion, one stuffed under each armpit.
It's true. They do. I always used to judge them. I admit it. I did. I was so judgemental. I felt so high and mighty with my Degree Fresh Rain Scented Deoderant. I wondered why they chose not to use any at all.
By the end of my second day in Bavaria, I understood their plight and was sympathic. Why, you ask? Because by Sunday night, I smelled just like them.
You see, despite caking deodorant on (and, sister, cake is the WORD. I applied it with ferver!) I still managed to smell like there was a new scent out by Lady's Speed Stick called Garlic and Onions Der Frau.
I blame it on their boycotting air conditioning. Trust me when I tell you, this is a virtually aircondition free environment. Which means, you literally sweat. Like Richard Simmons, but without the catchy oldies to sing along with.
However, instead of giving up the fight and letting the armpits win...I upgraded to clinical strength secret. Problem solved!
Thus far, I have found that I love our new found home. I love the church bells. I love the laid back street markets, I love the bakery smells and the Italian Ice Cream, I love the abundance of Spezi, I love the little blonde baby who leaned, shirtless, out of his hot apartment to look at us. When I said "Hi!" I remembered he probably doesn't speak English so I quickly said "Guten Tag!" he smiled, and waved at us. Not the open-close hand wave that babies are so famous for, but he put his chubby fingers together and waved, Queen of England Style, amusing me and my husband. I love the fact that the sun rises at 4:30am and does set until after 10pm. I love the candies, I love Bavarian Charm, and I love driving through the countryside passing castles like it's nothing.
It's just about perfect.
I just wish you all, every one of you, could be here, too.
But Germany is lovely.
My first day went something like a dream. I was jet lagged into believing it was still, in fact, Friday (The day I left America).
Imagine standing on a bridge that houses the centuries old town hall, right in the middle of a flowing river.
A river that has seen more excitment and horror than imaginable.
Listening to people speak rapidly a language that you only know a few of it's baby words.
Smelling all the various local aromas...
And not feeling like you're dreaming, especially after traveling beside a man who smelled of moth balls, jovan musk, and almond breath for 7 hours.
It's like a fairy land. Something ripped from the pages of Grimm's.
And I instantly without a doubt loved it here.
I stood there with the excitement of a new convert to a different religion. The thoughts going through my mind were as follows:
1. It's so beautiful here.
2. I don't speak the language, so therefore, I can just talk freely with my husband 'cause we are in our own little bubble.
3. This has to be a dream.
4. I wonder if that old man staring at me was a Nazi in his hayday.
5. I smell Armpits.
It is so very beautiful here. The old part of town is absolutely astounding. It looks like a fairy tale came to life, and is just happilserving you coffee and a side dish of kraut at a sidewalk cafe. (Yes. Kraut is a side dish. It comes in a pretty little bowl. Just like we'd get a side of mashed potatoes. They have their kraut.)
I walked around with Michael, and since everyone was speaking loud and fast German and all I could possible conjure was "Tschuss! Danke!" For that one day, no one exsisted in the world, but me and my husband.
All the rest were extras in our movie. The only conversation we engaged in was with each other. It was absolutely marvelous.
After we left the Cathedral of Bamberg (There is a ton of churches/cathedrals here, but that one got top spot because a pope is buried there. Pope Clement. Rest Clem's soul. Ohm. Or whatever holy sound catholics make.) My darling lovely husband led me, without telling me where we were going, across the Cathedral Square to New Residence and through a gate. I love this about my husband. He delights in small surprises. I said "I smell...Rose's."
He smiled "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I said "Strong. It's...nice."
He smiled at me, I said "Do you smell it? Smell. Smell it?"
He said "Yeah. I do."
I was not prepared for what enchantment I was thisclose to beholding. The Rose Garden or Rosengarten.
We walked through an archway, and before me was every rose in the universe. (I found out later it was only 72 different varities. But I bet that's close to every variety known to the universe.)
It was so stunning that I just couldn't believe I wasn't asleep.
Michael said "Oh. Wow. Wow. This is...amazing."
St. Michael's cathedral was up above us, just adding to the glamour of it all.
Shortly after we were meandering around laughing at names of Roses (Schneewitchen, Yankee Doodle, Paprika) Some elderly German men broke into song.
No. I'm serious.
They were just singing their hearts out, letting their words fly over the red rooftops of Bamberg.
I said "Are they for real?"
Mike said "It's so beautiful here."
I said "I think you've dropped me into a dream!"
He said, clearly amused by my enchantment, "I love you."
It may be uncouth of me...but I'll say it. Every old person in Germany scares me. Every last one of them. Even the one walking with two canes down the sidewalk of Zollnerstrasse, even though I know I could've totally taken her, she scared me. I'm not frightened because I'm afraid I will catch TB from them, or that standing by them will make ME smell like moth balls, also.
No. It's because despite the fact that it was over 60 years ago, I can't help but see them as they were. All blonde and blue eyed. Crowding the streets. Heiling Hitler. Smiling. Cheering. Waving their little Nazi Flags. Some of the women with posters of Hitler on their bedroom walls thinking he was "So Dreamy."
Men, all decked out in Nazi regalia soullessly causing murder and mayhem to run it's evil course.
I think of how they made their little children wear SS uniforms. And how those indoctrinated children today, are white haired and wanting to sell me a Schnitzel. AND, if they were indoctrinated at such a toddling about age....how can they not still hold to the idea that Hitler was their hero?
It makes me shiver to think that while they were cheering on an evil doer, millions were being baked in ovens.
And so, when I see an elderly person, I walk on the other side of my husband, and hold onto his arm. Keeping the reality of what they did as far from me as possible.
However, it must be said, that the Germans I have met, so far, are very nice. In fact, most of them go out of their way to teach us the German word for this. Or remind us that the football game is on in one hour.
Even one particularly stinky teenboy with lots of facial piercings came up to us asking for a light for his cigerette and politely said "Entschuldigung...."
I say stinky because truly, everyone knows that Europeans have a knack for...smelling like they have two thick slices of white onion, one stuffed under each armpit.
It's true. They do. I always used to judge them. I admit it. I did. I was so judgemental. I felt so high and mighty with my Degree Fresh Rain Scented Deoderant. I wondered why they chose not to use any at all.
By the end of my second day in Bavaria, I understood their plight and was sympathic. Why, you ask? Because by Sunday night, I smelled just like them.
You see, despite caking deodorant on (and, sister, cake is the WORD. I applied it with ferver!) I still managed to smell like there was a new scent out by Lady's Speed Stick called Garlic and Onions Der Frau.
I blame it on their boycotting air conditioning. Trust me when I tell you, this is a virtually aircondition free environment. Which means, you literally sweat. Like Richard Simmons, but without the catchy oldies to sing along with.
However, instead of giving up the fight and letting the armpits win...I upgraded to clinical strength secret. Problem solved!
Thus far, I have found that I love our new found home. I love the church bells. I love the laid back street markets, I love the bakery smells and the Italian Ice Cream, I love the abundance of Spezi, I love the little blonde baby who leaned, shirtless, out of his hot apartment to look at us. When I said "Hi!" I remembered he probably doesn't speak English so I quickly said "Guten Tag!" he smiled, and waved at us. Not the open-close hand wave that babies are so famous for, but he put his chubby fingers together and waved, Queen of England Style, amusing me and my husband. I love the fact that the sun rises at 4:30am and does set until after 10pm. I love the candies, I love Bavarian Charm, and I love driving through the countryside passing castles like it's nothing.
It's just about perfect.
I just wish you all, every one of you, could be here, too.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The most beautiful thing ever said to me.
I was standing in our kitchen, the summer air sticky all around us, while my darling husband made himself a turkey and gouda sandwich.
I was telling him about the book I was reading. Which is a ritual of ours. I drone on and on about what book I've got my nose stuck in, and he listens, adding his own 2 cents in every now and then.
This book, Here if You Need Me by Kate Braestrup, had brought me to tears. She writes about the loss of her husband due to a terrible car accident.
I, emotional from I just read,said to him "Please. Be careful with you. I don't ever want to lose you."
He was holding his spreading knife, with some smears of dijon left from his business of spreading, and said with the softest look in his eyes ever:
"I don't want to lose you from my being lost."
I threw my arms around him as my tears spilled down his uniform undershirt.
I was telling him about the book I was reading. Which is a ritual of ours. I drone on and on about what book I've got my nose stuck in, and he listens, adding his own 2 cents in every now and then.
This book, Here if You Need Me by Kate Braestrup, had brought me to tears. She writes about the loss of her husband due to a terrible car accident.
I, emotional from I just read,said to him "Please. Be careful with you. I don't ever want to lose you."
He was holding his spreading knife, with some smears of dijon left from his business of spreading, and said with the softest look in his eyes ever:
"I don't want to lose you from my being lost."
I threw my arms around him as my tears spilled down his uniform undershirt.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The journey of a few thousands miles starts with....a plane ride
So, leaving the states turned out to be harder emotionally that you'd imagine. Sure, I was beyond excited to get to my wonderful husband. But the giddiness didn't start until I was in the air and zooming over Newfoundland.
It is so hard to say goodbye to family. Esp. my sister, mom and Grandma.
It started the day before, as I was driving, Cyndi Lauper's sadist song "True Colors" came on. And when she sang the line "I can't remember the last time I saw you laughing..." I broke down in tears, thinking of my sister's wonderful laugh.
And That is all I will write about that, due to the fact that if I write anymore I will be sitting here, sobbing.
So, that was what started my crying bouts.
My sister made a wonderful dinner for me. My favorite chicken dish. Corn on the cob, and her divine pineapple casserole.
We ate. We laughed. I cried. She made me laugh, saying (even if neither of us believed it)"but it's not sad..it's...HAPPY."
I thought "Oh man. I can't do this. I don't want to go to Germany."
But, then, I'd think of my husband and think "I want to go so bad!"
conflicting emotions are never easy.
Fast forward to the next day.
I stopped by Lynsey's work and hugged her extra hard. And she started crying and so did I.
At Dulles, I checked and got my grandma a wheel chair. She made the long trip to DC just to say Bye to me. My sweet little grandma. I love her so.
I didn't even start to cry until Michael called and told me to tell the trio at the airport (Mom, Dad, & Grandma) Bye for him. I choked up on the phone and had to go, RIGHT THEN.
I cried goodbye and cried extra hard when dad kissed my cheek. I couldn't look at Mom. But then I decided to look back and wave as I was leaving for the underground world of security.
Once through and at my gate, I stopped by Great American Bagel and stuffed my face with A chicken pesto panini and waited calmly for my flight.
I flew KLM. Which is Royal Dutch Airlines, if you are as clueless as I am. I need to say, KLM's seats are...extra cozy. And I was in the middle.
I felt the effects of that panini quite fast, I may add. I felt like I needed to use the airline phone to call Jenny.
A few seconds after settling in a large robust man from Nigeria plopped down beside me.
"Hello. You have ever been to Nigeria?" He asked all in one swooping howdy'do.
"Hi. No. I've not been." I answered.
"Well, I extend an invitation to my country."
I said "oh. Ok. yes. thank you."
he said "I invite you right now."
I scratched my nose and felt awkward. Like "you mean right now? I'm en route to germany...but uhm...thanks?"
Nigeria-man pulled out his Bible as I pulled out my portable dvd player, and tuned into season 4 of sex and the city.
Pretty soon I felt something on my left shoulder. I dodged my eyes that way and there it was....nigeria tuning into my dvd!!!
Not that he could listen in as I had on my head phones. But I noticed that while clutching his Bible he was never missing a samantha scene.
KLM flight crew wears royal blue leisure suits.
That is a random fact you may want to store away for future use...like Halloween.
They were nice though, and over fed us.
Which did nothing for the seating.
We got a hot towel and almonds their first go round. I chose NOT to eat the almonds. Not my style. (I had turned off my show to collect the almonds and coke from the air crew man. Nigeria told me "Do not to turn it off, only pause next time." Ooooohkay.)
Then we got a hot towel and dinner. Which was possibly in the running for the grossest thing I've ever put to my lips.(I arranged everything on my plane to signal to the air crew that I was finished, but thanks anyways. Even placing my almonds on top. Nigeria saw this, raised his eye brows picked up the baggie of almonds and looked at me. I shrugged and said "Go for it." And he DID! He ate my trash almonds!!!!!)
KLM shut out the lights for a few hours, and I tried to steal some zz's.
They popped the lights back on and threw another hot towel (which the euro men right in front of me used to bathe down.) I declined it as I was already like richard simmons listening to run-around-sue.
KLM then threw breakfast at us.
Really?
How could anyone possibly feel the need for breakfast? I could see through their lame attempt at trying to trick us out of jet lag.
We landed in Amsterdam, and I got my very first passport stamp. And searched. As in the whole nine. I even got patted down. I was caked in sweat, as there was ZERO a/c in the airport.
A young guy pulled me to the side "Mind if I cheeek yaour bag, meeess?"
I smiled and said "No, please go ahead."
I had to pull all electronics out of my carry on. and open up everything. Which included: A hard drive. Our camera. The mini dvd player, which I had to take out of the case and open the dvd disc holder.
He saw the dvd inside and said "Sexs in dee see-tee?"
I smiled and said "yes."
he said "Cah-ree."
I nodded.
He said "I loauve dis show. You are tip-ee-cull womman, no?"
I said "I think so."
Then I practically had to run to my next gate and Schiphol is a HUGE airport.
If someone ever tells you that Europeans stare. Believe them.
They do.
They stare hard. In fact, it may be some hobby of sort.
There I was caked in sweat (I could feel it running down my back) and feeling VERY out of place. The dress I was wearing was white and thin. So I had the added worry that it would become like a wet sundress contest of amsterdam.
I finally made it to my tram (yes, we had to tram out to our city hopper plane.)
A man said something to me that sounded rude and I was clueless as to what he was barking at me.
I just looked at him.
He barked it again.
I yelled back "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME!!!"
He said "Oh, Dis Way to Tram, Ma'am."
We city hopped over to Nurnberg, and I was seated by the Nervous farter who stole my window seat (He may as well have sank my battle ship!)
The air crew on that flight (Still in the blue leisure suits) asked in her darling british accent if she could get a drink for me, love.
I said "Yes. Coke, please." (Playing it safe with beverage choice)
She said "Would you like Coke light, love?"
I, completely unsure what coke light even is, said "Oh sure!" (Turns out it is just diet coke.)
We landed I collected my bags and Walked through a little sliding glass door and there before me, stood my Michael. Smiling.
And I breathed a sigh of relief.
It is so hard to say goodbye to family. Esp. my sister, mom and Grandma.
It started the day before, as I was driving, Cyndi Lauper's sadist song "True Colors" came on. And when she sang the line "I can't remember the last time I saw you laughing..." I broke down in tears, thinking of my sister's wonderful laugh.
And That is all I will write about that, due to the fact that if I write anymore I will be sitting here, sobbing.
So, that was what started my crying bouts.
My sister made a wonderful dinner for me. My favorite chicken dish. Corn on the cob, and her divine pineapple casserole.
We ate. We laughed. I cried. She made me laugh, saying (even if neither of us believed it)"but it's not sad..it's...HAPPY."
I thought "Oh man. I can't do this. I don't want to go to Germany."
But, then, I'd think of my husband and think "I want to go so bad!"
conflicting emotions are never easy.
Fast forward to the next day.
I stopped by Lynsey's work and hugged her extra hard. And she started crying and so did I.
At Dulles, I checked and got my grandma a wheel chair. She made the long trip to DC just to say Bye to me. My sweet little grandma. I love her so.
I didn't even start to cry until Michael called and told me to tell the trio at the airport (Mom, Dad, & Grandma) Bye for him. I choked up on the phone and had to go, RIGHT THEN.
I cried goodbye and cried extra hard when dad kissed my cheek. I couldn't look at Mom. But then I decided to look back and wave as I was leaving for the underground world of security.
Once through and at my gate, I stopped by Great American Bagel and stuffed my face with A chicken pesto panini and waited calmly for my flight.
I flew KLM. Which is Royal Dutch Airlines, if you are as clueless as I am. I need to say, KLM's seats are...extra cozy. And I was in the middle.
I felt the effects of that panini quite fast, I may add. I felt like I needed to use the airline phone to call Jenny.
A few seconds after settling in a large robust man from Nigeria plopped down beside me.
"Hello. You have ever been to Nigeria?" He asked all in one swooping howdy'do.
"Hi. No. I've not been." I answered.
"Well, I extend an invitation to my country."
I said "oh. Ok. yes. thank you."
he said "I invite you right now."
I scratched my nose and felt awkward. Like "you mean right now? I'm en route to germany...but uhm...thanks?"
Nigeria-man pulled out his Bible as I pulled out my portable dvd player, and tuned into season 4 of sex and the city.
Pretty soon I felt something on my left shoulder. I dodged my eyes that way and there it was....nigeria tuning into my dvd!!!
Not that he could listen in as I had on my head phones. But I noticed that while clutching his Bible he was never missing a samantha scene.
KLM flight crew wears royal blue leisure suits.
That is a random fact you may want to store away for future use...like Halloween.
They were nice though, and over fed us.
Which did nothing for the seating.
We got a hot towel and almonds their first go round. I chose NOT to eat the almonds. Not my style. (I had turned off my show to collect the almonds and coke from the air crew man. Nigeria told me "Do not to turn it off, only pause next time." Ooooohkay.)
Then we got a hot towel and dinner. Which was possibly in the running for the grossest thing I've ever put to my lips.(I arranged everything on my plane to signal to the air crew that I was finished, but thanks anyways. Even placing my almonds on top. Nigeria saw this, raised his eye brows picked up the baggie of almonds and looked at me. I shrugged and said "Go for it." And he DID! He ate my trash almonds!!!!!)
KLM shut out the lights for a few hours, and I tried to steal some zz's.
They popped the lights back on and threw another hot towel (which the euro men right in front of me used to bathe down.) I declined it as I was already like richard simmons listening to run-around-sue.
KLM then threw breakfast at us.
Really?
How could anyone possibly feel the need for breakfast? I could see through their lame attempt at trying to trick us out of jet lag.
We landed in Amsterdam, and I got my very first passport stamp. And searched. As in the whole nine. I even got patted down. I was caked in sweat, as there was ZERO a/c in the airport.
A young guy pulled me to the side "Mind if I cheeek yaour bag, meeess?"
I smiled and said "No, please go ahead."
I had to pull all electronics out of my carry on. and open up everything. Which included: A hard drive. Our camera. The mini dvd player, which I had to take out of the case and open the dvd disc holder.
He saw the dvd inside and said "Sexs in dee see-tee?"
I smiled and said "yes."
he said "Cah-ree."
I nodded.
He said "I loauve dis show. You are tip-ee-cull womman, no?"
I said "I think so."
Then I practically had to run to my next gate and Schiphol is a HUGE airport.
If someone ever tells you that Europeans stare. Believe them.
They do.
They stare hard. In fact, it may be some hobby of sort.
There I was caked in sweat (I could feel it running down my back) and feeling VERY out of place. The dress I was wearing was white and thin. So I had the added worry that it would become like a wet sundress contest of amsterdam.
I finally made it to my tram (yes, we had to tram out to our city hopper plane.)
A man said something to me that sounded rude and I was clueless as to what he was barking at me.
I just looked at him.
He barked it again.
I yelled back "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME!!!"
He said "Oh, Dis Way to Tram, Ma'am."
We city hopped over to Nurnberg, and I was seated by the Nervous farter who stole my window seat (He may as well have sank my battle ship!)
The air crew on that flight (Still in the blue leisure suits) asked in her darling british accent if she could get a drink for me, love.
I said "Yes. Coke, please." (Playing it safe with beverage choice)
She said "Would you like Coke light, love?"
I, completely unsure what coke light even is, said "Oh sure!" (Turns out it is just diet coke.)
We landed I collected my bags and Walked through a little sliding glass door and there before me, stood my Michael. Smiling.
And I breathed a sigh of relief.
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