I am sitting, thumb-typing on my iphone, in the darkness of 2:00am. My sleeping son is resting his sweet velvet head on my shoulder. I should put him down; allow him to sleep better, allow myself to maximize my own sleep in these endless days in which sleep is so elusive. But I can't. I'm not yet able to separate my breath from his scent or my heartbeat from the rhythm of his baby panting breaths against my neck.
I am struck by the words of a friend, who reminded us, in the weeks before the boy's arrival, that life is divided into seasons. Some we lament as they pass too quickly, others we endure as they move with the speed of an iceberg. I know that this moment is frozen in a season. A way too short season of cuddling my son in the silent wee hours - which is, magically, the exact same length of this very long season of interrupted sleep cycles and bleary eyed mornings. This notion of the seasonality of life fills me with nostalgia for the seasons that have already passed - and angst for wanting to hold on to The Boy's seasons as tightly as I can. Savoring them. Elongating them. Memorizing every second because I know that I will someday shed real tears when I miss the smells and textures of these sweet days.
I wish I could revisit the seasons of pure breathless laughter as I am tickled by my father or the smell of my grandmother as I sit in the comfort and safety of her lap. They are snapshots in my senses now, of places that have been eroded by time. I miss them with an ache that I know is but a twinge compared to how much I will miss this moment right now: sitting in the the peaceful darkness, with my son's heart beating right on top of my own. His father's deep sleeping breaths providing the harmony to complete the symphony of all that is sacred and pure in my life. We are floating along, on this warm raft of our bed, in the sweet smelling night of a future memory.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A LOVE LETTER TO MY HUSBAND
In my single years, I had “rules”. Not The Rules of 90’s dating guide fame - although while some of them were crazy, I do think many of those ideas are based on sound logic. These were just my rules. They summed up as follows:
-Never call a guy I was interested in – unless I was returning a call. If he called me– then I KNEW that he wanted my company. I only wanted to talk to guys who were excited to talk to me. Anything else was a waste of time.
-Never do dinner for a first date. Coffee or drinks are better – a drink can always become a meal, if all goes well. If not, you have a natural end point.
-Never call a guy I was interested in – unless I was returning a call. If he called me– then I KNEW that he wanted my company. I only wanted to talk to guys who were excited to talk to me. Anything else was a waste of time.
-Never do dinner for a first date. Coffee or drinks are better – a drink can always become a meal, if all goes well. If not, you have a natural end point.
-Never go with a group. Extra people change your read on the chemistry.
-Always tell someone that you’re going on a first date, and give them the name and phone number of your date. Then call them when you get back. It’s a little over cautious, I realize, but in the rare case that something bad happens, you want someone to have a place to start to find you and help. Call me crazy, that’s fine - I don’t think that Natalie Holloway’s mom would think so.
-Always tell someone that you’re going on a first date, and give them the name and phone number of your date. Then call them when you get back. It’s a little over cautious, I realize, but in the rare case that something bad happens, you want someone to have a place to start to find you and help. Call me crazy, that’s fine - I don’t think that Natalie Holloway’s mom would think so.
So this was my mindset back when I met Hubz. It was about 5 years ago, back in San Diego. We started a phone relationship that lasted a few months before I had the courage to go on a date with him. I just LIKED him so much on the phone – and I was worried that meeting would break that spell.
I liked the joking, kind and smart guy who chatted with me so easily. He didn’t come on too strong, but he didn’t make we wonder if we would talk again either. I liked him so much that I didn’t want the pressure of a first date to bring out awkward stumbling or shyness. I liked him so much that I didn’t want the chance of a botched kiss goodnight, or an embarrassing miscommunication to make my heart drop or force me into indifference about whether I saw him again.
In the midst of all of this liking, he kept asking (points!) and I kept demurring…and he kept calling (more points!) and we kept talking. We both were traveling for our jobs, so that helped stretch out the time we were getting acquainted. At one point, I remember feeling like we were intimate enough that I could tell him that I was afraid that a date would change our chemistry. He chuckled warmly and agreed that it could happen but then gently reminded me that it could also make things even better (major points!).
It can take a lot of self talk to get me out of my own head sometimes. Out of my head is where my courage lives, along with my sense of whimsy and my belief that I can wear white pants in a flattering way…. So –surprisingly, on the HOTTEST day of the year, in late July, I was running errands on a Saturday morning and WHAM, I slipped right out of my head. I impulsively picked up the phone and called him (rule violation). When he answered, a little surprised that I was reaching out, I said “I just decided that I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe we should just meet up. What are you doing RIGHT NOW?” I could hear the smile in his voice when he said that he was helping a friend move, but could he call when he was done and set up a place to meet? “Sounds great!”, I answered, still filled with the whimsy and courage and bravado that fueled the call.
He called at 2:00 – in that "too late for lunch, too early for dinner" period that made it tough to think of where a casual meeting spot would be. It was too hot for the park or for coffee, and frankly, by the time he called, I had NOTHING to offer in the way of a suggestion. Desperate not to lose my momentum, I invited him to my house (MAJOR rule violation). I didn’t know what we were going to do – and I knew it was a potentially tragic risk – but I was also confident that I kinda knew this was a good guy and I was on a roll.
So, 45 minutes later, we were sitting in my non-air conditioned living room. Shy (bummer), awkward (fabulous), sweating (awesome!) and unsure of what to do next. My worst fears were materializing. We ate popsicles to cool off. We took a walk to check out a new gourmet market that had opened around the corner. I tried not to let my heart sink when conversation stalled. We kept smiling and pressing on through the awkwardness. Ouch.
We were standing at a crosswalk, when it happened. Hubz teased me about something I had done that amused him. He was quick, witty and his subtlety was artistic. My heart leapt. “Okay”, I thought, “Game on!!” I tossed a volley back to him – he smiled widely. Then he took my hand as we crossed the street. “Should we find some dinner?” I asked.
I don’t know when, exactly, I was sure that I loved him. I know when we said it to each other, and I know it didn’t take too long. By August we were assuming that we were spending time together during the weekends. By November we knew with certainty that we were moving towards marriage. It sounds so fast when I look at the written words, but it was, for the first time in my life, the most natural decision I’ve ever made. I’ve never regretted, questioned or hesitated about our direction. And while I may not be the best wife in the world, I want to be – because he certainly deserves it. I realize I will probably never accomplish that, but I can say with 100% certainty, that the best chance I have in the world, is with him.
These days it is impossible not to count my blessings. When I roll over in the night and see him, there, my heart fills with a sense of relief, that I have found him and built this life with him. When he puts up with my crazy pregnancy hormones so gently and patiently kisses my forehead as I melt into unexplainable tears, I know that God sent him to me and that it’s okay to depend on his presence for the rest of my life. When our baby kicks and he sees me move my hand to the spot on my belly, his eyes fill with a kind of warm, intense love that literally makes me catch my breath. I cannot imagine that life has more joy to offer than this.
I know that we’ll have trials ahead. Life is going to change and that some days, weeks, years, will be better than others. But I’m still on my path, and, so far, it has led me to such joy and happiness and positive personal growth. How could I possibly fear my destination as long as he is still holding my hand?
Saturday, August 6, 2011
GEBURTZHILFE
I know that I promised not to make this a baby blog…but I do have some interesting stories to tell with this now prevalent part of our life. So here’s a little post about my life as a pregnant woman in Germany:
The military provides us with healthcare here, and at home. In the states, we have a plan option that favors my being seen exclusively at military clinics and hospitals (provided the service I require is offered) and another that allows, with a small co-pay, me to be seen in the private sector. (Hubz has his own rules, as an active duty service member). Now that we are overseas, our plan requires that I am seen at the Army clinic first. However, our base is over subscribed with dependants, so in many cases, you’re seen at the clinic merely for a referral to a German doctor who is approved by our insurance. One such scenario is that of pregnancy. As soon as you confirm the pregnancy with the clinic on base, they send you out in town for your pre-natal care. Thus begins the adventure of German medicine.
Overall, the care I am getting in the German system is impressive. There are some differences that do remind me of the foreigner that I am these days:
-- Regular Ultrasounds - In the states, a normal pregnancy requires two or three ultrasounds. A high risk pregnancy will require a few more. Here, I have had an ultrasound every single time I’ve come into the office. I have more pictures of this developing person that I do of many living members of my family! (I know, I know, our second child is already destined for therapy!). This is delightful and so reassuring, especially in the beginning when you have no outward evidence that your pregnancy is progressing normally. However, it is a bit nerve wracking when you are, like we are, trying not to find out the sex of our baby until it is born!
-- No gowns or drapes – I’m still adjusting to this one. It is well known that Germans (and most Europeans) are just not as modest as we Americans are. When I go in for my exams, they simply tell me “ please remove your pants” and I hop up on the exam table. I’ve learned early to wear a skirt to every appointment – which allows me some maneuverable modesty – but there are no hospital gowns either! So more adventure awaits in this category. I’ll let you know how that turns out!
-- Mutterpass – When you reach the end of your first trimester of pregnancy here, the doctor issues you a Mutterpass (mother’s pass). This is a booklet, kind of like a passport, in which the details of each test and examination are recorded. The thought process is that if I end up in a medical situation during my pregnancy, no matter where I am, the doctor treating me will know and understand every detail of my pregnancy.
-- Labor and Delivery – Germans are more holistic in their approach to medicine. They try to use movement and even herbal remedies before pharmaceuticals. This means that most women deliver without epidurals, and that c-sections are reserved as a last resort exclusively. Also, given the socialized medicine practiced here, most women have had many, many classes preparing them for childbirth. For this reason, it’s the laboring mother who calls the shots about laboring and birthing positions. I’ve even heard stories of laboring women hiking the grounds surrounding the hospital property to move their labor along. So much for my grand plan of showing up and waiting for them to tell me what to do! Also, most babies are born without the doctor in the room. Midwives seem to run the process at the progress of the birth. The Dr will be present to oversee the birth if there is even a slight indication that there may be cause for concern (say, merconium in the amniotic fluid), but even in that situation, the midwives are overseeing the birth.
-- German Hospitals – I already mentioned the lack of hospital gowns. Packing for the hospital means bringing your pajamas. It also means bringing your own ice and water if you think you’ll want it during delivery. There is a drink station in the hallway – self serve! Breakfast and dinner are served in the ward’s cafeteria. Our insurance covers a double room (no curtain). For about another 50 Euro per night, you can have a private room (when considering the process of rooming in with a newborn, we are opting for the private room, if possible – I think one crying baby is enough to deal with when everything is so new!) Meals are typically German (bread and cheese for breakfast, hot lunch, bread and cheese for dinner). And the basic post delivery stay is a minimum of three days for a perfect birth (more if there were any invasive measures taken, including an episiotomy). This is due to the emphasis on healing and resting. Nurses won’t wake you to check on you – or even set their own schedule to test the baby….they tell you what they need to accomplish that day and leave it to you to call them when you’re ready for them to take the baby for the procedure.
So , that’s German medicine in a nutshell – or at least my experiences in it so far! I’ll keep you posted as new experiences reveal themselves!
The military provides us with healthcare here, and at home. In the states, we have a plan option that favors my being seen exclusively at military clinics and hospitals (provided the service I require is offered) and another that allows, with a small co-pay, me to be seen in the private sector. (Hubz has his own rules, as an active duty service member). Now that we are overseas, our plan requires that I am seen at the Army clinic first. However, our base is over subscribed with dependants, so in many cases, you’re seen at the clinic merely for a referral to a German doctor who is approved by our insurance. One such scenario is that of pregnancy. As soon as you confirm the pregnancy with the clinic on base, they send you out in town for your pre-natal care. Thus begins the adventure of German medicine.
Overall, the care I am getting in the German system is impressive. There are some differences that do remind me of the foreigner that I am these days:
-- Regular Ultrasounds - In the states, a normal pregnancy requires two or three ultrasounds. A high risk pregnancy will require a few more. Here, I have had an ultrasound every single time I’ve come into the office. I have more pictures of this developing person that I do of many living members of my family! (I know, I know, our second child is already destined for therapy!). This is delightful and so reassuring, especially in the beginning when you have no outward evidence that your pregnancy is progressing normally. However, it is a bit nerve wracking when you are, like we are, trying not to find out the sex of our baby until it is born!
-- No gowns or drapes – I’m still adjusting to this one. It is well known that Germans (and most Europeans) are just not as modest as we Americans are. When I go in for my exams, they simply tell me “ please remove your pants” and I hop up on the exam table. I’ve learned early to wear a skirt to every appointment – which allows me some maneuverable modesty – but there are no hospital gowns either! So more adventure awaits in this category. I’ll let you know how that turns out!
-- Mutterpass – When you reach the end of your first trimester of pregnancy here, the doctor issues you a Mutterpass (mother’s pass). This is a booklet, kind of like a passport, in which the details of each test and examination are recorded. The thought process is that if I end up in a medical situation during my pregnancy, no matter where I am, the doctor treating me will know and understand every detail of my pregnancy.
-- Labor and Delivery – Germans are more holistic in their approach to medicine. They try to use movement and even herbal remedies before pharmaceuticals. This means that most women deliver without epidurals, and that c-sections are reserved as a last resort exclusively. Also, given the socialized medicine practiced here, most women have had many, many classes preparing them for childbirth. For this reason, it’s the laboring mother who calls the shots about laboring and birthing positions. I’ve even heard stories of laboring women hiking the grounds surrounding the hospital property to move their labor along. So much for my grand plan of showing up and waiting for them to tell me what to do! Also, most babies are born without the doctor in the room. Midwives seem to run the process at the progress of the birth. The Dr will be present to oversee the birth if there is even a slight indication that there may be cause for concern (say, merconium in the amniotic fluid), but even in that situation, the midwives are overseeing the birth.
-- German Hospitals – I already mentioned the lack of hospital gowns. Packing for the hospital means bringing your pajamas. It also means bringing your own ice and water if you think you’ll want it during delivery. There is a drink station in the hallway – self serve! Breakfast and dinner are served in the ward’s cafeteria. Our insurance covers a double room (no curtain). For about another 50 Euro per night, you can have a private room (when considering the process of rooming in with a newborn, we are opting for the private room, if possible – I think one crying baby is enough to deal with when everything is so new!) Meals are typically German (bread and cheese for breakfast, hot lunch, bread and cheese for dinner). And the basic post delivery stay is a minimum of three days for a perfect birth (more if there were any invasive measures taken, including an episiotomy). This is due to the emphasis on healing and resting. Nurses won’t wake you to check on you – or even set their own schedule to test the baby….they tell you what they need to accomplish that day and leave it to you to call them when you’re ready for them to take the baby for the procedure.
So , that’s German medicine in a nutshell – or at least my experiences in it so far! I’ll keep you posted as new experiences reveal themselves!
Sunday, July 3, 2011
CHANGES
Last weekend, we had house guests visiting us from the US. As we showed them around our neighborhood, and answered their questions about how we maneuver our day to day life, I realize how much we’ve learned, and how different our lives our from when we were in the states. On the surface, things aren’t THAT different: we have the same car, same furniture, cook the same recipes, and even watch American tv shows (thank you Slingbox). But the little things, from the taxes we pay on electronics, to the way we sort our household garbage, are other worldly when we hear ourselves describe them to friends.
Hubz and I have enjoyed traveling – both together and individually before we met. We have always managed a sense of humor when stumbling through foreign customs and practices – and have embraced the adventure of guessing what a menu might say or shrugging as we hop on a metro train, hoping that we got the right one. We both have had these experiences connected to our careers, long before we met. I’m sure that this makes the Ex-Pat experience that much more tolerable for us – we had a training program of sorts! (Not to mention the fact that the military is the ultimate king of hand-holding when it comes to walking through this stranger in a strange land experience).
I was reflecting on this last night, and I realized something that astounded me even more. When I was young, even into high school, I was utterly afraid to leave home for more than one night. This was probably a result of some turbulence at home – but was behavior that is very uncharacteristic of a child of that age. I have vivid memories of sobbing as my mother drove me to stay with my best friend’s family for a week at their lake house. I wanted to want to be there. I wanted to spend that time with her and at the lake….but somehow I was terrified to do so. In 10th grade, when the splitting of our household resulted in not enough cash to send me on the Spring Break Europe trip sponsored by my school, I took the news stoically, to the high praise of my parents. Little did they know that deep down, what washed over me was a sense of relief, not of disappointment.
Somehow, in the years between now and then I have managed to enjoy traveling, make a career that required extensive global travel, and pick myself up and move to Europe! I NEVER would have seen that coming 15 years ago!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
THE CAT IS OUT OF THE BAG
...where does that phrase come from? When was it a common practice to put cats in bags? I guess it makes sense in the observation that once out of a bag, any self respecting cat would refuse to get back in...but why is this behavior attributed to cats exclusively? Wouldn't a dog, hamster or snake make the same choice?
Anyways...we have an escaped cat situation over here - one which we are delighted to report! We are currently cooking a little something over here, in the form of a bun...and I am the proverbial oven. It's been KILLING me...KILLING ME to keep this secret for so long - but it was a decision we agreed was best for our family, and now it is SO MUCH FUN to share with our loved ones.
This revelation also allows me to share that one reason I've been laying around all lazy-like since January has been due to the developing Hansel or Gretel. AND that the reason I haven't worked harder to find gainful employment has been the realization that a job would be short lived, since we've agreed (like, back in early dating time) that we would try to have a stay at home parent for early years of child rearing.
I will certainly make a concerted effort to keep the focus of this silly little blog on the European Living Experience (that just seemed to call for capitalization) and not a blow by blow of my pregnancy adventures - although stay tuned for a little report about our adventures in German medicine, since it's a logical tie-in!
For those of you who are connected to me via Facebook, I have posted a really cute video of the Hubz when he learned of his impending fatherhood (just in case you missed it). He's been nothing short of amazing in the past months - starting with his really cute reaction caught on tape :) Sharing the excitement with our loved ones has been so much fun! I can honestly say I've never felt more blessed in my life.
Here's hoping that you all have such joy in your lives right now!!
Anyways...we have an escaped cat situation over here - one which we are delighted to report! We are currently cooking a little something over here, in the form of a bun...and I am the proverbial oven. It's been KILLING me...KILLING ME to keep this secret for so long - but it was a decision we agreed was best for our family, and now it is SO MUCH FUN to share with our loved ones.
This revelation also allows me to share that one reason I've been laying around all lazy-like since January has been due to the developing Hansel or Gretel. AND that the reason I haven't worked harder to find gainful employment has been the realization that a job would be short lived, since we've agreed (like, back in early dating time) that we would try to have a stay at home parent for early years of child rearing.
I will certainly make a concerted effort to keep the focus of this silly little blog on the European Living Experience (that just seemed to call for capitalization) and not a blow by blow of my pregnancy adventures - although stay tuned for a little report about our adventures in German medicine, since it's a logical tie-in!
For those of you who are connected to me via Facebook, I have posted a really cute video of the Hubz when he learned of his impending fatherhood (just in case you missed it). He's been nothing short of amazing in the past months - starting with his really cute reaction caught on tape :) Sharing the excitement with our loved ones has been so much fun! I can honestly say I've never felt more blessed in my life.
Here's hoping that you all have such joy in your lives right now!!
Monday, March 14, 2011
MOVE DAMAGE INSPECTION...FAIL!!!
Sigh – don’t you just hate to learn lessons the hard way? I do!! I think that’s one of the reasons that I’m so comfortable following rules. I assume that they are in place because someone learned a lesson, and wants to impart their experiences on the rest of us. I assume that the rules are for my safety and overall well being. Sure, I want to have a right to make my own decisions, but how dumb would I have to be to put myself in a position to re-learn every lesson known to man? I suppose that this would make me a cult leader or junta’s favorite child…..there’s a balance in there somewhere…
Anyways, I learned a hard way lesson today pertaining to the damage to our stuff during our overseas move. As you may recall, our things arrived pretty beat up. We lost a whole dresser and bookcase (the bookcase that should have been disassembled before shipping, arrived that way anyways…and not in a manner that allowed re-assembly!). We didn’t fret too much about it though, for a few reasons. 1) the Navy insures you for full replacement value – meaning that if it can’t be fixed, they owe you the cash to replace it and 2) I am a fairly organized individual who documented EVERYTHING. Every piece of furniture in the house in VA was video taped (including serial numbers on electronics) and every scratch and ding was photographed on arrival and 3) our stuff isn’t that nice!
Once you get all of your boxes opened and inventoried, you have something like 90 days to report damages to the military. Then you have 9 months, to file the claim with the movers themselves. (I think the military filing is just a backup move, so they can protect you if the moving company ignores you). We spent the first month getting settled and figuring out what pieces would work in which spots. We bought and built closets, hung pictures and hung curtains. Along the way, we’d come across broken items (like the pulverized wine glasses that had been packed at the BOTTOM of our box of pots and pans….seriously). I’d snap pictures and we’d toss the rubble. As the 90 days approached, I made my way to the legal office with my catalog of items that hadn’t arrived intact.
Then, in my gilded cage induced laziness set in and I……well, I moved the move claim paperwork around my dresser for a few months. Finally, in a fit of inspiration, I got around to filing the claim for the damaged items with the movers. I sent them links to the items I could still find online as proof of their value at time of purchase, and explained that I had pictures of the damage I’d be happy to forward them. They responded very politely that they would be sending an inspector to assess the damage.
Inspektor Thomas just left our apartment – and the outcome wasn’t so good. Anything we had tossed was lined out of the claim. No interest in the photographic evidence, they just didn’t exist anymore. He eyeballed the marble chess piece that Hubz had carried back from the Middle East, and noted the obvious jagged line where I had super glued the chipped marble. “Oh good, it’s fixed” he said. Clearly he didn’t realize that Hubz had searched for 5 years to find those pieces and carefully packed them amongst socks and towels to get them home from deployment intact….the movers, left them naked in a little box and wrapped the box in paper (!??!?) – resulting in chips and a broken pawn that made Hubz moan on discovery.
The moving company insurance adjusters will send me an email based on Ispektor Thomas' report in the next two weeks. My prediction is that we'll get some of the problems repaired (like the scratches to our furniture) and small items replaced (like the cake pedestal I happened to keep). But the big ticket items that we tossed are gone into the ether. Which is unfortunate, since those were the costliest damages (we actually bought another dresser, etc).
So – lessons learned for our next PCS. Keep the broken items – no matter how paltry. Make the claim immediately (if nothing else so you can toss the garbage you’re holding onto for proof). Don’t fix anything! They’ll sort out what’s reparable. The good news is that I hear that the packers that the German moving companies employ are truly fantastic!
Anyways, I learned a hard way lesson today pertaining to the damage to our stuff during our overseas move. As you may recall, our things arrived pretty beat up. We lost a whole dresser and bookcase (the bookcase that should have been disassembled before shipping, arrived that way anyways…and not in a manner that allowed re-assembly!). We didn’t fret too much about it though, for a few reasons. 1) the Navy insures you for full replacement value – meaning that if it can’t be fixed, they owe you the cash to replace it and 2) I am a fairly organized individual who documented EVERYTHING. Every piece of furniture in the house in VA was video taped (including serial numbers on electronics) and every scratch and ding was photographed on arrival and 3) our stuff isn’t that nice!
Once you get all of your boxes opened and inventoried, you have something like 90 days to report damages to the military. Then you have 9 months, to file the claim with the movers themselves. (I think the military filing is just a backup move, so they can protect you if the moving company ignores you). We spent the first month getting settled and figuring out what pieces would work in which spots. We bought and built closets, hung pictures and hung curtains. Along the way, we’d come across broken items (like the pulverized wine glasses that had been packed at the BOTTOM of our box of pots and pans….seriously). I’d snap pictures and we’d toss the rubble. As the 90 days approached, I made my way to the legal office with my catalog of items that hadn’t arrived intact.
Then, in my gilded cage induced laziness set in and I……well, I moved the move claim paperwork around my dresser for a few months. Finally, in a fit of inspiration, I got around to filing the claim for the damaged items with the movers. I sent them links to the items I could still find online as proof of their value at time of purchase, and explained that I had pictures of the damage I’d be happy to forward them. They responded very politely that they would be sending an inspector to assess the damage.
Inspektor Thomas just left our apartment – and the outcome wasn’t so good. Anything we had tossed was lined out of the claim. No interest in the photographic evidence, they just didn’t exist anymore. He eyeballed the marble chess piece that Hubz had carried back from the Middle East, and noted the obvious jagged line where I had super glued the chipped marble. “Oh good, it’s fixed” he said. Clearly he didn’t realize that Hubz had searched for 5 years to find those pieces and carefully packed them amongst socks and towels to get them home from deployment intact….the movers, left them naked in a little box and wrapped the box in paper (!??!?) – resulting in chips and a broken pawn that made Hubz moan on discovery.
The moving company insurance adjusters will send me an email based on Ispektor Thomas' report in the next two weeks. My prediction is that we'll get some of the problems repaired (like the scratches to our furniture) and small items replaced (like the cake pedestal I happened to keep). But the big ticket items that we tossed are gone into the ether. Which is unfortunate, since those were the costliest damages (we actually bought another dresser, etc).
So – lessons learned for our next PCS. Keep the broken items – no matter how paltry. Make the claim immediately (if nothing else so you can toss the garbage you’re holding onto for proof). Don’t fix anything! They’ll sort out what’s reparable. The good news is that I hear that the packers that the German moving companies employ are truly fantastic!
Saturday, March 12, 2011
I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS
Yes, yes, another month has passed with my lazy self neglecting to post on El Bloggo. I suck. I’m sorry.
In all fairness, there hasn’t been that much going on over here. Hubz has been working really hard – usually in the office six days a week, and rarely home before 8pm on a weekday. The upside is that he’s enjoying the work, and seems to be getting recognition for his efforts. I’m proud of him! I don’t mean to complain here – once you have just one friend whose spouse is deployed, you realize that a little interruption like overtime is just a drop in the bucket….and I LOVE the fact that nobody’s shooting at him :)
Okay – so what does a Military Spouse on foreign soil do without kids or job to keep her busy? Hmmm…well, judging by my activities of late – darn little. She lets the housework slide a little (since tomorrow is also available for cleaning) and the meals get a little less creative (it’s suddenly such an EFFORT to cook). I know, right? Poor little rich girl gets a free ride to Europe and falls apart? I think I’m starting to realize the amount of self worth I derived from my career. I’m kind of working my way into a new and strange identity over here – and apparently none of those steps down my new road includes a propensity to do laundry :)
So, after about two months of floundering around my gilded cage, I dug in. I looked into jobs on the base (which are few and hard to know about without an inside track), and took a German Class (21 other bored housewives, two mornings a week – AND I can now count past 12 - yay!!!), and finally stumbled upon a volunteer recruitment website run by the base. On a Friday morning I responded to five jobs that interested me, and by Friday afternoon, I had a hit! It turns out that the Army Substance Abuse Program (ASAP) needed someone to step in and help run their campaigns. It seemed like a good fit, and all in all, I am enjoying the experience.
Amazingly, the laundry is now getting done, and putting together dinner is holding more appeal (when Hubz is actually home to eat it!). Things are starting to turn around a bit. I’m not completely there yet, but I at least have a few days in my week with a distinct purpose and direction. I knew that living overseas was going to be a learning experience...but who knew what I'd learn would be about myself?!?
In all fairness, there hasn’t been that much going on over here. Hubz has been working really hard – usually in the office six days a week, and rarely home before 8pm on a weekday. The upside is that he’s enjoying the work, and seems to be getting recognition for his efforts. I’m proud of him! I don’t mean to complain here – once you have just one friend whose spouse is deployed, you realize that a little interruption like overtime is just a drop in the bucket….and I LOVE the fact that nobody’s shooting at him :)
Okay – so what does a Military Spouse on foreign soil do without kids or job to keep her busy? Hmmm…well, judging by my activities of late – darn little. She lets the housework slide a little (since tomorrow is also available for cleaning) and the meals get a little less creative (it’s suddenly such an EFFORT to cook). I know, right? Poor little rich girl gets a free ride to Europe and falls apart? I think I’m starting to realize the amount of self worth I derived from my career. I’m kind of working my way into a new and strange identity over here – and apparently none of those steps down my new road includes a propensity to do laundry :)
So, after about two months of floundering around my gilded cage, I dug in. I looked into jobs on the base (which are few and hard to know about without an inside track), and took a German Class (21 other bored housewives, two mornings a week – AND I can now count past 12 - yay!!!), and finally stumbled upon a volunteer recruitment website run by the base. On a Friday morning I responded to five jobs that interested me, and by Friday afternoon, I had a hit! It turns out that the Army Substance Abuse Program (ASAP) needed someone to step in and help run their campaigns. It seemed like a good fit, and all in all, I am enjoying the experience.
Amazingly, the laundry is now getting done, and putting together dinner is holding more appeal (when Hubz is actually home to eat it!). Things are starting to turn around a bit. I’m not completely there yet, but I at least have a few days in my week with a distinct purpose and direction. I knew that living overseas was going to be a learning experience...but who knew what I'd learn would be about myself?!?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
AUTOBAHN ANYONE?
Frequently, I overhear Hubz chatting with friends from home who want to hear all about life in Germany. Without fail, the topic of the Autobahn rears its head. There is some sort of mystical and powerful allure surrounding this motorway – which, to me, has all the appeal of a normal, American freeway. But the legends are strong and the audience is listening. Here are some fun facts that you might not know.
1 – There IS a speed limit on the Autobahn. In places where one is driving through a city, on curves, through tunnels or construction zones, the speed limit is posted and enforced by cameras. It’s usually about 100-130 kph or 60-75 mph. In places where the limit is not posted, the speed is up to the discretion of the driver – but one can still be cited for driving too fast for weather or light conditions.
2- Driving on the Autobahn is done only in the right lanes. NO ONE drives in the left lane unless they are passing a car in the right lane. The law says you don’t linger in that far left lane and the Germans don’t (unless they’re going 120 mph and passing virtually every car on the road).
3 – If you run out of gas on the Autobahn, you will be cited and fined (usually on the spot). Germans have no tolerance for those who don’t follow the rules and muck up the works for those who do! If your car breaks down due to your negligence, and you slow traffic on the Autobahn, YOU are the bad guy, NOT the victim. Fines will be assessed. Grumbling and glaring will accompany you as you wait for the emergency assistance vehicle.
Now, for Hubz and I the Autobahn and its accompanying speed options provides yet another service: A running topic of conversation during road trips. I am no stranger to driving fast. I have a few speeding tickets in my “permanent record” that document this. However, “Speeding” by my definition is in the 75-80 mph category. I am comfortable at this cruising altitude – which is approximately Hubz’s DOMESTIC cruising altitude as well. However, Hubz’s INTERNATIONAL comfort zone tends to creep up into the triple digits – which gives me serious, palm sweating, controlled breathing, TERROR in the passenger seat!
This is where the conversation starts. Usually, we are humming along quite nicely in MY comfort zone, when someone in a German Driving Machine whooshes past us at Mach 4. Suddenly, the primal, competitive, adrenalized part of Hubz’s brain snaps on, and the needle on the speedometer gets a little dose of Viagra. Gathering my wits, amidst my thundering pulse, I turn to look out my window and say, as casually as possible “Wow, Honey. You‘re really speeding up there”. To which he replies, “Am I? I don’t think I’m going much faster than I was a few minutes ago”.
Now we have reached the critical point. Because I am certain, that we are moving 20 mph faster than just 10 seconds ago BUT – I know that pointing that out will launch us in the direction of the “Why are you monitoring my speed?/Who is driving here?” pathway - completely fruitless and no solution to the “OHMYGODWE’REGOINGTODIEINAFIERYCRASH” riot that is happening in my brain. Instead, I breathe and say: “I’m sorry, I know that you want to be able to drive like the natives. For some reason, this speed is really freaking me out right now. Maybe it’s our non-competitive Japanese car. Would you mind slowing down for me? I’m sorry to ruin your fun”.
This is ALWAYS the point during which I get the sideward glance and the sigh. I know that he’s thinking “They’re getting away. They are going to get to their destination WAY ahead of the time that we will. I’ve lost the race. They have beat me in this manliness category. My wife is old and boring. I might as well be driving a minivan and holding her purse”. Slowly he retreats back into the slow lane – and, even more slowly, my blood pressure drops to normal levels. We will frequently proceed at this comfortable pace for a good 30 minutes before the “Whoosh – Viagra - Dream Killer - Minivan-Sigh” pattern re-emerges.
Am I overcautious and crazy? Perhaps. On the days in which he puts up a bigger fight, I point out that he’s been the driver in all (that’s right, more than “each”) of the crashes we’ve experienced together. He is quick to point out that he is a victim of probability because he is most often the driver when we travel together. A fair point, but given the nature of the crashes….(meaning he wasn’t just in the wrong place at the right time)….I still have a right to be a little nervous. (SIDEBAR- I am SUPER COOL WIFE when these crashes happen. I do not sigh, shake my head, get angry, talk about the cost to repair or insure, or point out what he did wrong. I am 100% focused on a calm solution to the issue at hand. .... I only even bring up the accidents when pressed. Not trying to toot my own wife horn here - just want to make sure you all know that the accident card is only played when valid and necessary.....)
Sometimes Hubz tries to appeal to my vanity and says something like: “Come on Honey, let go and let’s be young while we can.” Sadly, he doesn’t realize that my vanity (like my body) has long since given up on the perky and fearless qualities of youth. I like the comfortable and secure knowledge that I have nothing to prove. I like that our relationship has evolved into a safe place to admit that I am scared of the speed and he is competitive with strangers. It’s lead to a deeper understanding of each other – one which allows this entire exchange to evolve into a series of hand squeezes, sighs and chuckles as we shake our heads at each other. That’s life in the fast lane, I guess :)
1 – There IS a speed limit on the Autobahn. In places where one is driving through a city, on curves, through tunnels or construction zones, the speed limit is posted and enforced by cameras. It’s usually about 100-130 kph or 60-75 mph. In places where the limit is not posted, the speed is up to the discretion of the driver – but one can still be cited for driving too fast for weather or light conditions.
2- Driving on the Autobahn is done only in the right lanes. NO ONE drives in the left lane unless they are passing a car in the right lane. The law says you don’t linger in that far left lane and the Germans don’t (unless they’re going 120 mph and passing virtually every car on the road).
3 – If you run out of gas on the Autobahn, you will be cited and fined (usually on the spot). Germans have no tolerance for those who don’t follow the rules and muck up the works for those who do! If your car breaks down due to your negligence, and you slow traffic on the Autobahn, YOU are the bad guy, NOT the victim. Fines will be assessed. Grumbling and glaring will accompany you as you wait for the emergency assistance vehicle.
Now, for Hubz and I the Autobahn and its accompanying speed options provides yet another service: A running topic of conversation during road trips. I am no stranger to driving fast. I have a few speeding tickets in my “permanent record” that document this. However, “Speeding” by my definition is in the 75-80 mph category. I am comfortable at this cruising altitude – which is approximately Hubz’s DOMESTIC cruising altitude as well. However, Hubz’s INTERNATIONAL comfort zone tends to creep up into the triple digits – which gives me serious, palm sweating, controlled breathing, TERROR in the passenger seat!
This is where the conversation starts. Usually, we are humming along quite nicely in MY comfort zone, when someone in a German Driving Machine whooshes past us at Mach 4. Suddenly, the primal, competitive, adrenalized part of Hubz’s brain snaps on, and the needle on the speedometer gets a little dose of Viagra. Gathering my wits, amidst my thundering pulse, I turn to look out my window and say, as casually as possible “Wow, Honey. You‘re really speeding up there”. To which he replies, “Am I? I don’t think I’m going much faster than I was a few minutes ago”.
Now we have reached the critical point. Because I am certain, that we are moving 20 mph faster than just 10 seconds ago BUT – I know that pointing that out will launch us in the direction of the “Why are you monitoring my speed?/Who is driving here?” pathway - completely fruitless and no solution to the “OHMYGODWE’REGOINGTODIEINAFIERYCRASH” riot that is happening in my brain. Instead, I breathe and say: “I’m sorry, I know that you want to be able to drive like the natives. For some reason, this speed is really freaking me out right now. Maybe it’s our non-competitive Japanese car. Would you mind slowing down for me? I’m sorry to ruin your fun”.
This is ALWAYS the point during which I get the sideward glance and the sigh. I know that he’s thinking “They’re getting away. They are going to get to their destination WAY ahead of the time that we will. I’ve lost the race. They have beat me in this manliness category. My wife is old and boring. I might as well be driving a minivan and holding her purse”. Slowly he retreats back into the slow lane – and, even more slowly, my blood pressure drops to normal levels. We will frequently proceed at this comfortable pace for a good 30 minutes before the “Whoosh – Viagra - Dream Killer - Minivan-Sigh” pattern re-emerges.
Am I overcautious and crazy? Perhaps. On the days in which he puts up a bigger fight, I point out that he’s been the driver in all (that’s right, more than “each”) of the crashes we’ve experienced together. He is quick to point out that he is a victim of probability because he is most often the driver when we travel together. A fair point, but given the nature of the crashes….(meaning he wasn’t just in the wrong place at the right time)….I still have a right to be a little nervous. (SIDEBAR- I am SUPER COOL WIFE when these crashes happen. I do not sigh, shake my head, get angry, talk about the cost to repair or insure, or point out what he did wrong. I am 100% focused on a calm solution to the issue at hand. .... I only even bring up the accidents when pressed. Not trying to toot my own wife horn here - just want to make sure you all know that the accident card is only played when valid and necessary.....)
Sometimes Hubz tries to appeal to my vanity and says something like: “Come on Honey, let go and let’s be young while we can.” Sadly, he doesn’t realize that my vanity (like my body) has long since given up on the perky and fearless qualities of youth. I like the comfortable and secure knowledge that I have nothing to prove. I like that our relationship has evolved into a safe place to admit that I am scared of the speed and he is competitive with strangers. It’s lead to a deeper understanding of each other – one which allows this entire exchange to evolve into a series of hand squeezes, sighs and chuckles as we shake our heads at each other. That’s life in the fast lane, I guess :)
Sunday, January 30, 2011
BEHIND DOOR #1 WAS.....VIENNA!!
Recently, Hubz and I heard tell of a fancy little trick that one of the airlines over here does called “Blind Booking” – or as we like to call it “Weekend Surprise”. This is a pretty neat trick where, basically, you pick your dates and a pre-arranged list of cities – and for 20 Euro each way the computer comes back and tells you where you will be flying for 40 Euro one weekend. The lists are organized by category: “Party Cities” or “Culture” or “Eastern Europe” – and there are about 6 cities per list. For an extra 5 Euro, you can eliminate one city from the list. So, when Berlin or Cologne are on the list, we’ll pony up to have them eliminated, since we can get there using our fancy train passes or, as in the case of Cologne, we were just there.
Recently, we had a four day weekend, courtesy of Dr. Martin Luther King, so we and our friends, Jack and Jane, decided to book a Weekend Surprise trip for the weekend. Our magic eight ball came up with Vienna – so off we went.
I didn’t know a whole lot about Vienna, although I had been there once before (It was one of those “Fly in and fly out for a business meeting kinds of trips – not a highly cultural experience!). I knew it was famous for its waltz, Sacher torte and opera. Other than that, I knew I was going to have to lean on the ole guide book pretty heavily. However, our friend Jane had been there before – AND her father had as well. Jane’s dad, it turns out, has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the places he has visited (seriously, including addresses and costs – it’s quite impressive). So, armed with guide books and Jane’s Pop’s email, we set out to explore the city with our dear friends.
Our trip included a mass at the palace chapel, with – no kidding – music by the Vienna Boys Choir. They were perched up in the highest choir loft and we could not see them during the Latin and German mass, but their height gave them a very angelic sound. After mass, they did come down to the front of the chapel to perform one song (which I attach below for your enjoyment). They were so dang cute that Jane and I seriously entertained the idea of taking one home (the littlest one with the larger ears, if you’re curious!). In the end, we refrained from kidnapping; deciding that, being in the House of God – at the King’s house, no less – shoplifting a choir boy probably wouldn’t get us an invitation to come back. We would have given him a good home though, for sure :) PS – we were told that we could take photos during the performance, but not the mass – see….I’m not COMPLETELY blasphemous!
Jane’s Dad’s email directed us to a cathedral that had recently undergone renovation of its ceiling frescoes. The church had left the scaffolding up after the renovation and allowed tourists to climb all the way up into the cupola to get thisclose to the newly freshened frescoes. As you can imagine, the cupola was HIGH up. I am not one to really fear heights, but as I climbed and climbed and the pipe and wood scaffolding would wiggle and sway a little more with each level I reached….I was admittedly a bit shaky once I got to the top. I stood there for a second, looked closely at a fresco, peeked out the window of the cupola and saw just how far above the skyline I was…on a scaffolding….with 10 other brave souls taxing its strength….and looked at Hubz and said, as casually as possible “I’m going to head down, I think” . (He of course saw right through me, to my knocking knees and yellow heart). And down I went! However, the frescoes on both the ascent and the descent were certainly lovely – and the opportunity to see them up close and newly refreshed was nothing short of once in a lifetime status! A very good recommendation from Mr. Jane!
Our wanderings took us to a few museums, a palace tour which included the crowned jewels, and royal carriage museums (very cool). We saw Klimt’s “The Kiss” up close and in the flesh – and even got to see a really neat painting renovation in process. The painting being renovated was seriously as big as my living room. They had taken the canvas from the wooden frame and laid it flat on the floor, surrounded by big lights and lots of plastic. The renovation artists, in street clothes, but special booties on their feet, laid on their stomachs on large foam blocks that absorbed their weight, as they touched up this mammoth painting. It was really neat to watch how that was done.
Of course, each day we were required to have coffee, like the locals, at a city café which featured Sacher Torte. I have learned that Europeans don’t value sugar in quite the manner that Americans do. Nor do they feel that moisture is a good attribute for a baked good, in many cases. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll marvel at the beauty of a French pastry for hours on end, and when I’m in the mood for a breakfast roll of some sort, a German bakery is my first choice….but cakes and pies?? Meh….I’m kinda more inclined toward Betty Crocker. So Sacher Torte, is a chocolate cake, covered in a thick chocolate grenache. It has all the makings of a chocoholic’s holy grail...but I was wary and passed it up for a pomegranate mascarpone tarte (turned out to be an excellent choice). Hubz however, embraced the local culture and subsequently was a little disappointed. However, fear not, my American friends, I happen to know that Costco sometimes features a Sacher Torte in their bakery that LOOKS just like the one in the Vienna Tourism ads, but has all of the chocolatey goodness that warrants a big glass of cold milk chaser. So, you can have the best of both worlds…and in the meantime, I’ll stick with my breakfast pastry and count myself among the lucky :)
Recently, we had a four day weekend, courtesy of Dr. Martin Luther King, so we and our friends, Jack and Jane, decided to book a Weekend Surprise trip for the weekend. Our magic eight ball came up with Vienna – so off we went.
I didn’t know a whole lot about Vienna, although I had been there once before (It was one of those “Fly in and fly out for a business meeting kinds of trips – not a highly cultural experience!). I knew it was famous for its waltz, Sacher torte and opera. Other than that, I knew I was going to have to lean on the ole guide book pretty heavily. However, our friend Jane had been there before – AND her father had as well. Jane’s dad, it turns out, has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the places he has visited (seriously, including addresses and costs – it’s quite impressive). So, armed with guide books and Jane’s Pop’s email, we set out to explore the city with our dear friends.
Our trip included a mass at the palace chapel, with – no kidding – music by the Vienna Boys Choir. They were perched up in the highest choir loft and we could not see them during the Latin and German mass, but their height gave them a very angelic sound. After mass, they did come down to the front of the chapel to perform one song (which I attach below for your enjoyment). They were so dang cute that Jane and I seriously entertained the idea of taking one home (the littlest one with the larger ears, if you’re curious!). In the end, we refrained from kidnapping; deciding that, being in the House of God – at the King’s house, no less – shoplifting a choir boy probably wouldn’t get us an invitation to come back. We would have given him a good home though, for sure :) PS – we were told that we could take photos during the performance, but not the mass – see….I’m not COMPLETELY blasphemous!
Jane’s Dad’s email directed us to a cathedral that had recently undergone renovation of its ceiling frescoes. The church had left the scaffolding up after the renovation and allowed tourists to climb all the way up into the cupola to get thisclose to the newly freshened frescoes. As you can imagine, the cupola was HIGH up. I am not one to really fear heights, but as I climbed and climbed and the pipe and wood scaffolding would wiggle and sway a little more with each level I reached….I was admittedly a bit shaky once I got to the top. I stood there for a second, looked closely at a fresco, peeked out the window of the cupola and saw just how far above the skyline I was…on a scaffolding….with 10 other brave souls taxing its strength….and looked at Hubz and said, as casually as possible “I’m going to head down, I think” . (He of course saw right through me, to my knocking knees and yellow heart). And down I went! However, the frescoes on both the ascent and the descent were certainly lovely – and the opportunity to see them up close and newly refreshed was nothing short of once in a lifetime status! A very good recommendation from Mr. Jane!
Our wanderings took us to a few museums, a palace tour which included the crowned jewels, and royal carriage museums (very cool). We saw Klimt’s “The Kiss” up close and in the flesh – and even got to see a really neat painting renovation in process. The painting being renovated was seriously as big as my living room. They had taken the canvas from the wooden frame and laid it flat on the floor, surrounded by big lights and lots of plastic. The renovation artists, in street clothes, but special booties on their feet, laid on their stomachs on large foam blocks that absorbed their weight, as they touched up this mammoth painting. It was really neat to watch how that was done.
Of course, each day we were required to have coffee, like the locals, at a city café which featured Sacher Torte. I have learned that Europeans don’t value sugar in quite the manner that Americans do. Nor do they feel that moisture is a good attribute for a baked good, in many cases. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll marvel at the beauty of a French pastry for hours on end, and when I’m in the mood for a breakfast roll of some sort, a German bakery is my first choice….but cakes and pies?? Meh….I’m kinda more inclined toward Betty Crocker. So Sacher Torte, is a chocolate cake, covered in a thick chocolate grenache. It has all the makings of a chocoholic’s holy grail...but I was wary and passed it up for a pomegranate mascarpone tarte (turned out to be an excellent choice). Hubz however, embraced the local culture and subsequently was a little disappointed. However, fear not, my American friends, I happen to know that Costco sometimes features a Sacher Torte in their bakery that LOOKS just like the one in the Vienna Tourism ads, but has all of the chocolatey goodness that warrants a big glass of cold milk chaser. So, you can have the best of both worlds…and in the meantime, I’ll stick with my breakfast pastry and count myself among the lucky :)
Thursday, January 6, 2011
SILVESTER, COLOGNE AND A TON OF EXPLOSIVES
NYE is a big deal around these parts. In German they call it “Silvester” (named after a saint of yore). For a loosely accurate history, I’ll offer this: Back in the day when Germanic tribes provided the logic and guidance for how the world works, the Winter Solstice was marked over a few days – in which the world was at its darkest. Believing that the sun was a big wheel of fire that rolled through the sky, there was a fear that perhaps the increasing hours of darkness meant that it may not roll back again, (This darkness part hasn’t changed, with sunrise at 830am and sunset at 430pm, you kind of understand their thinking) SO – the tradition was that in the days of darkness, one must chase out the evil spirits and entice the sun back. The former was done with smoke and noise, the latter with big fires. These traditions have evolved into a HECK of a lot of fireworks being shot off on New Year’s eve. It puts our 4th of July to shame.
Fireworks are illegal to purchase here – except for in the days leading up to Silvester – and in those days – you can get them EVERYWHERE. We saw some footage on the local news here which showed the lines of folks waiting to buy them at a warehouse. There were limits to what each individual could purchase – the “small box”, of which you could buy five, was about as big as a kitchen sink. The “large box” was as big as a coffee table, limit three per customer. People were carrying boxes back to their cars with HANDCARTS. Add freezing cold weather, the fact that you basically sit and drink until midnight, and the FAR less litigious society of Germany and the result looks something like this amateur video (shot on NYE this year from the center of downtown Stuttgart.) It’s long, you only need a few seconds to see what I mean!
It worked out that Hubz and I had planned to meet a friend and her family to explore Cologne on New Year’s Eve. They are stationed in Brussels, so Cologne is about a halfway point that allowed us to meet for a day trip. The plan was to spend the day exploring, have dinner and then part ways, with them heading back home (they have young kiddos) and us to spend the night in Cologne and return the next day (thank you Marriott points). Well, it worked out that they couldn’t make it, but with train tickets and sleeping room booked, we decided to venture forth just the two of us.
Cologne is famous for its cathedral – the biggest in Northern Europe – which holds as its relics, the remains of the three Magi (no kidding!). Rick Steves designates it as a “must see”, but also indicates that it’s a good city for a one day trip. We were spending a sum total of 24 hours there, so it seemed like a good fit. Along with the cathedral, Cologne has a fairly impressive collection of museums, among them is a chocolate museum….how can one go wrong? Here’s how – one can go on New Year’s Eve. A national holiday. A day when everything but churches and restaurants are closed.
We did spend an hour or so exploring the cathedral. It was impressive and beautiful and very, very cold inside (imagine the cost to heat that place!). We had lunch (excellent soup in excellent soup weather!) and sampled the local brew. We followed the points of interest that Rick Steves outlined in his book and noted each CLOSED museum along the route. We even pressed our noses up against the doors of the chocolate museum - no luck. What was left to do but find a pub and drink?!?
That’s exactly what we did! Hubz was thrilled to find an Irish pub that served his favorite ale (Kilkenny) and gleefully shared the experience with me. We chatted a bit with other tourists gathered there, discussed our highs and lows of 2010, and participated in some general merry making inside the warm (and smoky!) little pub. A few beers later, it was only 4 pm but we were ….um….at a good stopping point, and bereft of sites to experience – so back to the hotel we went, where room service and an in-room movie was just what the doctor ordered!
The midnight fireworks were impressive – both professional and amateur (there were far more of the latter than the former). We wondered about the form of the revelry back home in Stuttgart and shared a kiss for luck. I hope that each of you welcomed the new year with people that you love, as we did, and that 2011 brings you unimagined joy and happiness!
Fireworks are illegal to purchase here – except for in the days leading up to Silvester – and in those days – you can get them EVERYWHERE. We saw some footage on the local news here which showed the lines of folks waiting to buy them at a warehouse. There were limits to what each individual could purchase – the “small box”, of which you could buy five, was about as big as a kitchen sink. The “large box” was as big as a coffee table, limit three per customer. People were carrying boxes back to their cars with HANDCARTS. Add freezing cold weather, the fact that you basically sit and drink until midnight, and the FAR less litigious society of Germany and the result looks something like this amateur video (shot on NYE this year from the center of downtown Stuttgart.) It’s long, you only need a few seconds to see what I mean!
It worked out that Hubz and I had planned to meet a friend and her family to explore Cologne on New Year’s Eve. They are stationed in Brussels, so Cologne is about a halfway point that allowed us to meet for a day trip. The plan was to spend the day exploring, have dinner and then part ways, with them heading back home (they have young kiddos) and us to spend the night in Cologne and return the next day (thank you Marriott points). Well, it worked out that they couldn’t make it, but with train tickets and sleeping room booked, we decided to venture forth just the two of us.
Cologne is famous for its cathedral – the biggest in Northern Europe – which holds as its relics, the remains of the three Magi (no kidding!). Rick Steves designates it as a “must see”, but also indicates that it’s a good city for a one day trip. We were spending a sum total of 24 hours there, so it seemed like a good fit. Along with the cathedral, Cologne has a fairly impressive collection of museums, among them is a chocolate museum….how can one go wrong? Here’s how – one can go on New Year’s Eve. A national holiday. A day when everything but churches and restaurants are closed.
We did spend an hour or so exploring the cathedral. It was impressive and beautiful and very, very cold inside (imagine the cost to heat that place!). We had lunch (excellent soup in excellent soup weather!) and sampled the local brew. We followed the points of interest that Rick Steves outlined in his book and noted each CLOSED museum along the route. We even pressed our noses up against the doors of the chocolate museum - no luck. What was left to do but find a pub and drink?!?
That’s exactly what we did! Hubz was thrilled to find an Irish pub that served his favorite ale (Kilkenny) and gleefully shared the experience with me. We chatted a bit with other tourists gathered there, discussed our highs and lows of 2010, and participated in some general merry making inside the warm (and smoky!) little pub. A few beers later, it was only 4 pm but we were ….um….at a good stopping point, and bereft of sites to experience – so back to the hotel we went, where room service and an in-room movie was just what the doctor ordered!
The midnight fireworks were impressive – both professional and amateur (there were far more of the latter than the former). We wondered about the form of the revelry back home in Stuttgart and shared a kiss for luck. I hope that each of you welcomed the new year with people that you love, as we did, and that 2011 brings you unimagined joy and happiness!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
50% OFF RAIL TRAVEL, AT A PRICE
Good Morning Readers! It is a balmy 17 degrees outside here (Fahrenheit) on a day on which I had planned to run some errands. I have decided instead to snuggle up with a cup of coffee and a laptop (both of which provide warmth) and spend a little time with you instead :) I’m not complaining, mind you. I actually get a HUGE kick out of the snow and the defined seasons around here. But I am a California girl by birth – so driving on potentially icy roads and navigating in these low temperatures are, I admit, a bit intimidating! PLUS – in California, weather was rarely (if ever) a good excuse for hunkering down and avoiding a To Do list outside of the house. I’m rather enjoying the new found excuse to be a homebody!
Another interesting discovery has hit my radar of late: Apparently, my husband has utterly fallen in love with public transportation. This is a completely new side of the man who could not be convinced to take an airport shuttle for the entire time that I have known him. Only time will tell if this is a personality aspect of German Hubz, or if it’s a quality that he will embody in perpetuity. I guess we will both just have to stay tuned for the answer to that one….
As a result of his new found passion, Hubz has been a great advocate of taking the train to our ultimate destinations as we make our adventures here. I am supportive, although less enthusiastic than he (I enjoy “regional shopping” and there are only so many purchases one can make with the idea of schlepping bags from station to train and from train through station to home….now that I think of it, this may be a major driver for his newfound passion…). At any rate, this desire to ride the rail has prompted us to purchase a discount pass for the German Rail System – and gives me an opportunity to tell you all about it!
DeutscheBahn is the country’s train system, which oversees regional trains as well as high speed trains that traverse through the country. So far, we have taken this train to the very southern end of the country to Garmisch (a ski area where Hubz had a work conference) and to Nuremberg (for a day trip to the Christmas Market) and most recently, to Cologne for our New Years Eve excursion (more on that later). The trains are comfortable and provide dining cars, large windows, bathrooms and even power connections for laptops and the like. By and large, we are very comfortable on them.
DeutscheBahn sells annual discount passes for train travel in three basic categories. Basically, each card allows you a perpetual discount of 25%, 50% or 100% off of your train ticket for a 12 month period. Hubz was very excited upon learning of this little tool when we arrived last summer. I, of course, was less enthusiastic. Would we really get our money’s worth? Would we even enjoy train travel? Would we be doing THAT much travel within Germany, when we have so many other neighboring countries to explore?
I assumed my role of “Killer of Hubz’s Dreams” and passed on the pass, as it were, suggesting that we hold off for awhile and investigate the situation a bit more. The cost is significant, so it was a good idea to make sure the passes would ultimately pay for themselves if we were going to buy them. However, following our trips to Garmisch and Nuremberg, we agreed that it was time to renew our research and move forward on the DB Card acquisition. Of course, this was an opportunity for me to grow as a person and gracefully endure the repeated accounting of how much money we would have saved on the previous trips had I seen the brilliance of the DB Pass plan months earlier. Ah, the glory of a lesson learned!
This is how I found myself running through a crowded train station one night, in frantic search of a photo booth. Not Kidding!! I jumped ahead a little bit for dramatic effect, so I’ll take you back a bit and fill in the middle part.
On the night we decided to get said DB passes, we met at the Hauptbahnhof (Haupt - "Main/High” bahnhof = "train station”). I came from home, armed with our passports, a VAT form and the credit card and met Hubz on his way home from work. After some triangulating via cell phone, we met at the DeutscheBahn office and took a number for service …which was 25 numbers behind the number currently being helped. We had done a little research online about the discount passes, using Google Translate to aide our plight (Sidebar: the DB website does have an English version – but since only German Residents can purchase the annual discount cards, the information page on this topic is excluded from the English website. DOH!). We had pretty much put together (meaning: guessed!) that the discount card we wanted to purchase was the 50% discount card – and we got the impression that a card for the spouse would be considerably cheaper when both cards are purchased in tandem.
The cards themselves are like ID cards, complete with photo. In some cases for cards like these, they will scan your passport and use that picture for your pass. As we took our number, I asked the young man at the information booth (who spoke excellent English) whether I needed a new photo for my pass, or if the passport would be sufficient (Hubz had photos at the ready). He assured me that the passport was fine (which is actually not a bad pic of me, so that made me happy). I’m sure that by now you know what direction this story will take.
We finally see our number come up, and we step up to the desk where an older woman is prepared to help us. From first appearance, she seems a bit surly and not at all happy to see us. But I have learned to reserve judgment….although in this case, no reservation was required! We greet her with a “Hallo” and she stared back. We asked her if she spoke English, and she stared back. We plopped down the brochure for the DBCard and our passports, which she took, and then she looked at me and said “Photo?” Ugh. I pointed to my passport photo and said: (with the international signal for question mark of raised eyebrows) “Dis Photo?” At which she (finally) smiled and triumphantly said “Nein”. Fabulous. Little Information Man had been WRONG. Too bad that 20 minute wait spent staring at a wall of German brochures hadn’t been put to better use in acquiring a photo.
So Hubz shoved me off in the direction of the door, and proceeded to get the ball rolling in getting our pass worked out. I sped out and once again encountered Little Information Man by the front door. “Where can I get the photos I need for my pass?” I asked him, hurriedly. “There is a booth by Track 16” he replied, smiling the warm smile of a person who has reached out and helped a troubled soul.
Now – I have read before that the definition of insanity is repeating a behavior in hopes of a different outcome. I understand this. I subscribe to this, in most cases. However, when you are in a foreign land, anyone who speaks the native language AND your native language naturally becomes a trusted resource of sorts. So, while in hindsight I can see that asking Little Info Man another question, after he had been so wrong just 30 minutes before, would seem a little foolhardy, I justify the action using the “English speaking equals trust” theory, with a “I was in a big dang hurry” chaser!
Of course, no photo booth was at track 16….or 15…or 14…or 13 for that matter. I DID find that little box next to track 12…after running for 10 minutes….through the crowd….in my winter coat and scarf. Resulting in the harried, rumpled and oily look one really craves when having their picture taken for a card they have to show people on a semi regular basis (see this post about getting my base ID, if you’re interested in the pattern I seem to be adapting here) .
The photo booth, by the by, has explicit instructions about what your ID photo must look like…..all in German. But – fear not – the instructions are conveyed via a 5 minute video presentation on the screen of the photo booth, before the “take my picture” button will activate. Of course, I didn’t realize that this was the case, until I had perched myself on the stool, tucked away errant wisps of hair, and practiced my smile for the camera. Had I known I’d have so much time to waste, I’d have saved the primping for the time spent watching the video (I’m a big fan of multi-tasking like that). Sooooo, I sit, primp, smile, hit the button, and then try not to scream in frustration at the time this video presentation is taking. (Images of my angry husband are running through my head. Thoughts of having to take a new number and start all over because I didn’t have pictures in time are making me cringe!). The videos instructs me NOT to smile, so I spend the last half of the preso practicing a non-smiling but pleasant expression for my picture.
FINALLY – the screen seems to indicate that it is photo op time! The screen brings up an outline of where my head should be positioned for my picture. Hmmm. I look down and see a button surrounded by arrow shaped buttons. Gotcha! Those must be camera positioning buttons. A little to the left and we’re golden! OR…….. as it turns out, the left button is actually a BACK button…..so we START THE PRESENTATION OVER AGAIN. Seriously? (counter to my new and hopeful logic, the right button does NOT frame the presentation forward any faster. I checked. I checked many times….with enthusiasm.)
Finally the encore presentation ended, and I was determined NOT to take any more time. I fixed my pleasant expression, hit the center button….and nothing… No flash. No change to the screen. Finally I noticed there was a little countdown happening at the bottom of the screen…..I noticed this at countdown number: “3”. When it clicked for me that it was counting down, we had reached countdown number: “1”. Needless to say, this is NOT a photo that I’ll be reaching for when asked to present photo ID in the future!
Long story short – I got the photos back to the DB office in time for our pass application process. Hubz had handled the arrangements beautifully. And as luck would have it, the surly counter lady had passed us off to a young and enthusiastic service person who spoke beautiful English. All was right with the world – and we are now equipped for a year of riding the rail and seeing the sites of our host nation. Even if I look like a bridge troll in my pass photo….sigh.
Another interesting discovery has hit my radar of late: Apparently, my husband has utterly fallen in love with public transportation. This is a completely new side of the man who could not be convinced to take an airport shuttle for the entire time that I have known him. Only time will tell if this is a personality aspect of German Hubz, or if it’s a quality that he will embody in perpetuity. I guess we will both just have to stay tuned for the answer to that one….
As a result of his new found passion, Hubz has been a great advocate of taking the train to our ultimate destinations as we make our adventures here. I am supportive, although less enthusiastic than he (I enjoy “regional shopping” and there are only so many purchases one can make with the idea of schlepping bags from station to train and from train through station to home….now that I think of it, this may be a major driver for his newfound passion…). At any rate, this desire to ride the rail has prompted us to purchase a discount pass for the German Rail System – and gives me an opportunity to tell you all about it!
DeutscheBahn is the country’s train system, which oversees regional trains as well as high speed trains that traverse through the country. So far, we have taken this train to the very southern end of the country to Garmisch (a ski area where Hubz had a work conference) and to Nuremberg (for a day trip to the Christmas Market) and most recently, to Cologne for our New Years Eve excursion (more on that later). The trains are comfortable and provide dining cars, large windows, bathrooms and even power connections for laptops and the like. By and large, we are very comfortable on them.
DeutscheBahn sells annual discount passes for train travel in three basic categories. Basically, each card allows you a perpetual discount of 25%, 50% or 100% off of your train ticket for a 12 month period. Hubz was very excited upon learning of this little tool when we arrived last summer. I, of course, was less enthusiastic. Would we really get our money’s worth? Would we even enjoy train travel? Would we be doing THAT much travel within Germany, when we have so many other neighboring countries to explore?
I assumed my role of “Killer of Hubz’s Dreams” and passed on the pass, as it were, suggesting that we hold off for awhile and investigate the situation a bit more. The cost is significant, so it was a good idea to make sure the passes would ultimately pay for themselves if we were going to buy them. However, following our trips to Garmisch and Nuremberg, we agreed that it was time to renew our research and move forward on the DB Card acquisition. Of course, this was an opportunity for me to grow as a person and gracefully endure the repeated accounting of how much money we would have saved on the previous trips had I seen the brilliance of the DB Pass plan months earlier. Ah, the glory of a lesson learned!
This is how I found myself running through a crowded train station one night, in frantic search of a photo booth. Not Kidding!! I jumped ahead a little bit for dramatic effect, so I’ll take you back a bit and fill in the middle part.
On the night we decided to get said DB passes, we met at the Hauptbahnhof (Haupt - "Main/High” bahnhof = "train station”). I came from home, armed with our passports, a VAT form and the credit card and met Hubz on his way home from work. After some triangulating via cell phone, we met at the DeutscheBahn office and took a number for service …which was 25 numbers behind the number currently being helped. We had done a little research online about the discount passes, using Google Translate to aide our plight (Sidebar: the DB website does have an English version – but since only German Residents can purchase the annual discount cards, the information page on this topic is excluded from the English website. DOH!). We had pretty much put together (meaning: guessed!) that the discount card we wanted to purchase was the 50% discount card – and we got the impression that a card for the spouse would be considerably cheaper when both cards are purchased in tandem.
The cards themselves are like ID cards, complete with photo. In some cases for cards like these, they will scan your passport and use that picture for your pass. As we took our number, I asked the young man at the information booth (who spoke excellent English) whether I needed a new photo for my pass, or if the passport would be sufficient (Hubz had photos at the ready). He assured me that the passport was fine (which is actually not a bad pic of me, so that made me happy). I’m sure that by now you know what direction this story will take.
We finally see our number come up, and we step up to the desk where an older woman is prepared to help us. From first appearance, she seems a bit surly and not at all happy to see us. But I have learned to reserve judgment….although in this case, no reservation was required! We greet her with a “Hallo” and she stared back. We asked her if she spoke English, and she stared back. We plopped down the brochure for the DBCard and our passports, which she took, and then she looked at me and said “Photo?” Ugh. I pointed to my passport photo and said: (with the international signal for question mark of raised eyebrows) “Dis Photo?” At which she (finally) smiled and triumphantly said “Nein”. Fabulous. Little Information Man had been WRONG. Too bad that 20 minute wait spent staring at a wall of German brochures hadn’t been put to better use in acquiring a photo.
So Hubz shoved me off in the direction of the door, and proceeded to get the ball rolling in getting our pass worked out. I sped out and once again encountered Little Information Man by the front door. “Where can I get the photos I need for my pass?” I asked him, hurriedly. “There is a booth by Track 16” he replied, smiling the warm smile of a person who has reached out and helped a troubled soul.
Now – I have read before that the definition of insanity is repeating a behavior in hopes of a different outcome. I understand this. I subscribe to this, in most cases. However, when you are in a foreign land, anyone who speaks the native language AND your native language naturally becomes a trusted resource of sorts. So, while in hindsight I can see that asking Little Info Man another question, after he had been so wrong just 30 minutes before, would seem a little foolhardy, I justify the action using the “English speaking equals trust” theory, with a “I was in a big dang hurry” chaser!
Of course, no photo booth was at track 16….or 15…or 14…or 13 for that matter. I DID find that little box next to track 12…after running for 10 minutes….through the crowd….in my winter coat and scarf. Resulting in the harried, rumpled and oily look one really craves when having their picture taken for a card they have to show people on a semi regular basis (see this post about getting my base ID, if you’re interested in the pattern I seem to be adapting here) .
The photo booth, by the by, has explicit instructions about what your ID photo must look like…..all in German. But – fear not – the instructions are conveyed via a 5 minute video presentation on the screen of the photo booth, before the “take my picture” button will activate. Of course, I didn’t realize that this was the case, until I had perched myself on the stool, tucked away errant wisps of hair, and practiced my smile for the camera. Had I known I’d have so much time to waste, I’d have saved the primping for the time spent watching the video (I’m a big fan of multi-tasking like that). Sooooo, I sit, primp, smile, hit the button, and then try not to scream in frustration at the time this video presentation is taking. (Images of my angry husband are running through my head. Thoughts of having to take a new number and start all over because I didn’t have pictures in time are making me cringe!). The videos instructs me NOT to smile, so I spend the last half of the preso practicing a non-smiling but pleasant expression for my picture.
FINALLY – the screen seems to indicate that it is photo op time! The screen brings up an outline of where my head should be positioned for my picture. Hmmm. I look down and see a button surrounded by arrow shaped buttons. Gotcha! Those must be camera positioning buttons. A little to the left and we’re golden! OR…….. as it turns out, the left button is actually a BACK button…..so we START THE PRESENTATION OVER AGAIN. Seriously? (counter to my new and hopeful logic, the right button does NOT frame the presentation forward any faster. I checked. I checked many times….with enthusiasm.)
Finally the encore presentation ended, and I was determined NOT to take any more time. I fixed my pleasant expression, hit the center button….and nothing… No flash. No change to the screen. Finally I noticed there was a little countdown happening at the bottom of the screen…..I noticed this at countdown number: “3”. When it clicked for me that it was counting down, we had reached countdown number: “1”. Needless to say, this is NOT a photo that I’ll be reaching for when asked to present photo ID in the future!
Long story short – I got the photos back to the DB office in time for our pass application process. Hubz had handled the arrangements beautifully. And as luck would have it, the surly counter lady had passed us off to a young and enthusiastic service person who spoke beautiful English. All was right with the world – and we are now equipped for a year of riding the rail and seeing the sites of our host nation. Even if I look like a bridge troll in my pass photo….sigh.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
DIVISION OF LABOR
One of the things that I have learned since I have become Somebody’s Wife (!?!?) is that there has to be a sort of division of labor on some of the household "jobs". For example, both Hubz and I felt that we were fairly adept at managing our finances when we came together. We were both organized and dedicated and interested in money management. When we started to merge our money, we realized that one of us had to step back and let the other be the “Team Captain” of the money department, while the other gave up the “execution” aspect and was instead only an equal voice in decision making. After much negotiation, it was decided that he would lead the charge – making him the Money Expert of our little family. (And I must give him quite a lot of credit for the fact that he consults me regularly before he executes anything, and we truly do talk through each money decision with a very even distribution of outcomes between his and my ideas).
The division of “expertise” in our family is somewhat traditional. I head up all matters of food, home upkeep and décor, socializing and family events/gifts. Hubz has the con on money, technology and handy work. But now we live in Germany – so our area of influence has opened a bit. I am now the Chief Officer in Charge of Menu Reading and Guessing What that German Thing Says. Hubz is the In House Counsel for German Public Transportation. He is also the President of Counting in German. (seriously, can't count past 12 over here, how lame am I???)
Second only to Finance Manager, Hubz’s favorite role around here is the Public Transportation Guru gig. He is passionate about it. He has even taken to giving me a rough time about taking the car to base when I run my errands (seriously? Slogging onto the bus and then a train with arm loads of groceries or dry cleaning or boxes we've received in the mail? No thanks!). I, on the other hand, who have travelled a fair amount, and navigated on my own with only a few stumbles in a lot of countries, have completely let that part of my brain atrophy. When I need to take a train someplace, I usually work it into conversation with Hubz and hope that he takes the bait. He is pretty reliable about advising me, in detail, about which ticket to buy, which connection to make, and on which side of the platform to wait. I’m sure I COULD figure it out by myself….just like he COULD make his own dinner – but hey, what kind of a fool would I be to forego the use of a resident expert!?
The division of “expertise” in our family is somewhat traditional. I head up all matters of food, home upkeep and décor, socializing and family events/gifts. Hubz has the con on money, technology and handy work. But now we live in Germany – so our area of influence has opened a bit. I am now the Chief Officer in Charge of Menu Reading and Guessing What that German Thing Says. Hubz is the In House Counsel for German Public Transportation. He is also the President of Counting in German. (seriously, can't count past 12 over here, how lame am I???)
Second only to Finance Manager, Hubz’s favorite role around here is the Public Transportation Guru gig. He is passionate about it. He has even taken to giving me a rough time about taking the car to base when I run my errands (seriously? Slogging onto the bus and then a train with arm loads of groceries or dry cleaning or boxes we've received in the mail? No thanks!). I, on the other hand, who have travelled a fair amount, and navigated on my own with only a few stumbles in a lot of countries, have completely let that part of my brain atrophy. When I need to take a train someplace, I usually work it into conversation with Hubz and hope that he takes the bait. He is pretty reliable about advising me, in detail, about which ticket to buy, which connection to make, and on which side of the platform to wait. I’m sure I COULD figure it out by myself….just like he COULD make his own dinner – but hey, what kind of a fool would I be to forego the use of a resident expert!?
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