Every year the same question -- when can we fit a Thanksgiving celebration into our over-scheduled November? Since our older kids were in kindergarten, we have celebrated this very American tradition with Maureen's family, also a mixed marriage in that her husband is German and she is from California (but I love her anyway!). Because Thanksgiving is a uniquely USAmerican holiday, there is obviously no special Thursday off for our husbands and kids here in Germany, so being the flexible women that we are, we pick a weekend somewhere around the real date when our children do not have a sports event or need to work and go for it.
On that day, our families get together to cook, eat and play games. We've standardized our menu over the years, so there is little pre-organization other than grocery shopping required. As Maureen has been traipsing around Australia for the last two months, her daughter Katrin took over the reigns in procuring the turkey this year. Their family has great connections to the American commissary, so it falls on them to make sure we get a Butterball, real Idaho potatos, American dinner rolls and jellied cranberry sauce, absolute essentials for our holiday meal. I was seriously impressed when I called Katrin a few weeks back to talk turkey and she already had a shopping list and a date with her connection to go to the store. She replied that this was her very favorite holiday, and she was going to do everything she could to keep up the tradition.
Wow, I thought, Maureen and I apparently did a decent job of passing on a holiday that goes totally unnoticed in Germany. But like Katrin, Thanksgiving has always been very special to me. When I was young, I knew it was Turkey Day the minute I got up and smelled celery and onions already sauteeing in butter and herbs for the stuffing. To this day, the holiday starts for me with that wonderful aroma, as I still use my Mom's stuffing recipe, written in her unique handwriting. Because I liked to bake (more specifically, eat what I baked), I took over the pie making at my parents' house when I was in my teens. We always had the same two -- pumpkin and mincemeat -- both of which I loved until I once read the list of ingredients on the jar of mincemeat. When Maureen and I started cooking together and each brought her own traditions to the feast, she made pecan pie, and I stuck with pumpkin. Her pecan pie was superb, pumpkin, on the other hand, was not the top of everybody's list. Since I could not do without it, I just enjoyed the ample leftovers on the following days. At some point I switched to apple pie, which is my family's favorite, but when Maureen brought a mud pie into the mix a few years ago, that became the dessert of choice and our own unique tradition.
Since my husband and I are vegetarians, I am always looking for a simple yet special main dish that the two of us can enjoy with all the wonderful sides. I have yet to find the dish that merits permanant addition to our menu, but I am getting closer to my ideal alternative to turkey. Cooked vegetables left our table long ago, but the day would not be complete without the raw vegetables and dip that everybody chomps on as the meal is being prepared. Christof used to say that this holiday consists of a half-day of cooking and a half-day of eating, but in reality it takes a surprisingly short amount of time to consume what has taken hours to prepare. Not a problem though, as Maureen and I work together equally well in her kitchen and in mine. The bottle of champagne we kill while cooking doesn't hurt either. Every year we are slightly amazed at how well dinner turns out, as it feels more like we have been talking, laughing and drinking than cooking.
Like my sons, her two daughters have been brought up bilingually, and the conversation at the dinner table tends to bat back and forth between the two languages (to keep up the boys' English, I am pretty strict about speaking it at the table unless German guests are present, but not on T-day). The younger generation sits at their end of the table laughing at jokes we wouldn't understand while Maureen, Michael, Christof and I engage in our own lively conversation. Everyone enjoys lingering after the meal, but at some point our newest tradition kicks in -- we send the man of the house and all the kids to clear the table, put away the food and do the dishes. Now it is our turn to sit and chill while the others are working. When the tasks are completed (which doesn't take very long with all those hands helping), it's time to break out the cards or other games. Michael is at somewhat of a disadvantage when we play games in English, but he is a great sport and enjoys the fun like everyone else.
Today is the "real" Thanksgiving holiday in the States, but I am not at all sad that it is just another Thursday for us. We celebrated our Turkey Feast at Spitzls last Sunday, and as always I enjoyed the day immensly. I am keenly aware that I have very much to be thankful for, so every day should be a little day of thanks-giving, but it sure is nice to celebrate one special day with American friends.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Change of climate
Last Saturday night I joined 7 other women to watch all 6 parts of a recently aired German mini-series called "Klimawechsel" ("Change of Climate" -- the pun works so much better in German!). It was a riot. Written and partially directed by Doris Dorrie, one of the top ladies in German filmmaking, each episode takes perimenopause head on, showing in a somewhat exaggerated manner how difficult "The Change" can be. Well-known German actresses play the teachers trying to deal with their own wacky hormones while keeping their high school charges in line, and the resulting situations are by turns embarrassing, comic and frighteningly realistic. Rather than admit their need for help to each other, they seek out professionals -- a neurotic psycologist and a scheming female ob-gyn who has her own issues with aging. The husbands and partners seem to be not only clueless, but also helpless, adding to the general amusement of the show.
As the group watching spanned the ages of mid-forties to early-sixties, we could all appreciate the very direct and rapid-fire dialogue, mostly bursting out in laughter in unison. Night sweats, weight gain and an out-of-kilt sex drive (either in overdrive or nonexsistant) -- portrayed in vivid hilarity -- are things we have all experienced, at least I think so. Curiously enough, just like in the show where each woman fends for herself, this is not a subject that we openly discuss with one another. During the course of the evening I never once heard the conversation veer toward anyone's own experiences in perimenopause. Instead, between episodes, helping ourselves to the finger-food buffet, we commented on the actresses, discussed the group of women celebrating carnival a few doors down and lamented the current invasion of fruit flies. True, this was not a close-knit group of friends so it should have come as no surprise that we didn't get into intimate decussions, but I wouldn't have minded swapping war stories about menopause. I, for one, have suffered through many of these "fun" symtoms (except that I don't sweat -- I tend to just have powerful hot flashes at night) but my gynecologist assures me I have almost reached the other side.
Following the final episode, as we were all yawning and stretching (six times 45 minutes in front of the box really make you want to come up for air, although I suspect younger generations have no problem with this), the conversation became more interesting. One of the women commented how during the course of shows, the men also went throught their own transformations. Hmm, I thought, she's right, but I did not even notice as I was watching. Sure enough, one of the guys had a full blown mid-life crisis, complete with sports car and affair with a younger woman. Shows how much I was paying attention. Then someone else casually compared this series to the American show "Sex and the CIty", and that is when I really woke up. I've never actually seen the show or either of the movies, but I do know that the women portrayed are younger and much more glamorous then the series that we had just watched. Yes, it was generally accepted that the two shows were not comparable, however apparently at least one character in SatC has some issues with perimenopause. Then came the topper -- "Well, it is all so fake anyway. I just hate it when the women in all those American films scream out in excitment upon seeing each other" threw in one friend.
I was caught off-guard, but my sister-in-law, who has known me since I was 17, quickly replied that that wasn't so fake -- it is a cultural thing and that really is what American women do. During our long friendship and on trips to the USA, she has gotten an inside view of what makes Americans tick. She turned to me and said "I can imagine you doing that if you ran into an old friend". Not only would I, I explained, only 3 weeks ago I DID scream and flutter, as I met old friends at my college's Homecoming.
People from the USA are (justifiably) perceived in Europe as a loud and boistous bunch, and I have become European enough that it sometimes makes me uncomfortable to be with Americans that inevitably draw attention to themselves. My friend Claudia recently commented that she never thought of me as an American until she read my blog, as I blend in here pretty well. But put me back in the States, and I can scream and flutter with the best of them!
As the group watching spanned the ages of mid-forties to early-sixties, we could all appreciate the very direct and rapid-fire dialogue, mostly bursting out in laughter in unison. Night sweats, weight gain and an out-of-kilt sex drive (either in overdrive or nonexsistant) -- portrayed in vivid hilarity -- are things we have all experienced, at least I think so. Curiously enough, just like in the show where each woman fends for herself, this is not a subject that we openly discuss with one another. During the course of the evening I never once heard the conversation veer toward anyone's own experiences in perimenopause. Instead, between episodes, helping ourselves to the finger-food buffet, we commented on the actresses, discussed the group of women celebrating carnival a few doors down and lamented the current invasion of fruit flies. True, this was not a close-knit group of friends so it should have come as no surprise that we didn't get into intimate decussions, but I wouldn't have minded swapping war stories about menopause. I, for one, have suffered through many of these "fun" symtoms (except that I don't sweat -- I tend to just have powerful hot flashes at night) but my gynecologist assures me I have almost reached the other side.
Following the final episode, as we were all yawning and stretching (six times 45 minutes in front of the box really make you want to come up for air, although I suspect younger generations have no problem with this), the conversation became more interesting. One of the women commented how during the course of shows, the men also went throught their own transformations. Hmm, I thought, she's right, but I did not even notice as I was watching. Sure enough, one of the guys had a full blown mid-life crisis, complete with sports car and affair with a younger woman. Shows how much I was paying attention. Then someone else casually compared this series to the American show "Sex and the CIty", and that is when I really woke up. I've never actually seen the show or either of the movies, but I do know that the women portrayed are younger and much more glamorous then the series that we had just watched. Yes, it was generally accepted that the two shows were not comparable, however apparently at least one character in SatC has some issues with perimenopause. Then came the topper -- "Well, it is all so fake anyway. I just hate it when the women in all those American films scream out in excitment upon seeing each other" threw in one friend.
I was caught off-guard, but my sister-in-law, who has known me since I was 17, quickly replied that that wasn't so fake -- it is a cultural thing and that really is what American women do. During our long friendship and on trips to the USA, she has gotten an inside view of what makes Americans tick. She turned to me and said "I can imagine you doing that if you ran into an old friend". Not only would I, I explained, only 3 weeks ago I DID scream and flutter, as I met old friends at my college's Homecoming.
People from the USA are (justifiably) perceived in Europe as a loud and boistous bunch, and I have become European enough that it sometimes makes me uncomfortable to be with Americans that inevitably draw attention to themselves. My friend Claudia recently commented that she never thought of me as an American until she read my blog, as I blend in here pretty well. But put me back in the States, and I can scream and flutter with the best of them!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Dogs
I love dogs, I really do, but not like some people love their pet canines. When I first came to Germany, I was quite surprised (shocked might be a better word) to find dogs accompanying their owners everywhere from work to shops to restaurants. We sometimes even had a dog under the table while eating out, as my sister-in-law often brought her dog along. I found it hilarious that there were special words for the master ("Herrchen") und mistress ("Frauchen") of man's best friend, not to mention a whole vocabulary of commands.
This was not the experience I had with pet dogs. When I was four, my parents brought us Chipper, a frightened little collie puppy that grew up with my siblings and me. Other dogs came and went in our lives, but this was the one I loved the most. He was just so affectionate and beautiful, and proved it too by winning first prize in the only dog show I ever entered him in (a very big deal for me in Junior High School). Still we all treated him more like an animal than one of the family. He was let out in the morning and back in at night, roaming the neighborhood freely as all the dogs did then (unless, ofcourse, someone down the street called to say that the dog catcher was driving around -- then we brought him in). He got a dish full of wet and dry dog food mixed every evening, and if he was lucky and someone (mostly me) thought about it, he got a haphazard brushing too. Otherwise he was on his own to do his dog stuff. When Chipper died from a cancerous tumor sometime around my 16th birthday, I was heartbroken, but life did go on.
I thought it was like that for everyone with their pets, and only when I got to Germany did I realize there were many ways to keep a dog. Here I noticed that dogs were truly considered family members and aside from strict feeding and walking schedules, they were often taken to obedience and/or agility school. I could understand the argument for leashes -- this area has a denser population then where I come from -- but it was more difficult to accept the reason for friends not going to the movies with us: they could not or would not leave their dogs home alone (cinemas are one place I don't think dogs have ever been allowed). It occurred to me then that owning a dog here was like a hobby, time-consuming and not inexpensive, considering insurance, vet and maintenence costs to name a few.
But I was to learn that this was not just a German phenomenon. When I was pregnant with our first child, an American friend asked if we could keep her dog for the week she and her husband were planning to visit Moscow. I agreed, thinking how difficult could it be to keep a tiny Pekinese for 7 days, but I knew I was in trouble when she told me what kind of beef to buy and cook for his dinner. This was her baby, as in a classic second wife situation, her husband had told her categorically he was not willing to have any more children. Ok, ok, I could cook for the dog, but I drew the line when she asked if he could sleep in our bed (somehow he ended up there anyway). All went well until we decided to be good Germans and take the dog for a walk on a leash. It was a beautiful but bitter cold Sunday afternoon with half the German population out for a stroll (a favorite Sunday pastime) when Chris and I set out with our four-footed friend, patches of ice still lurking on our chosen path near the river. I waddled along carefully, as my baby bump was huge, so when the dog suddenly slipped its little head out of the leash and took off down the road, only Chris could run after him. I tried hard not to laugh, even though the ensuing pursuit looked very much like something directly out of a Charlie Chaplin film, complete with an arm-flailing fall. The situation was serious -- I knew my friend would be devastated if anything were to happen to her darling. Luckily, Chris caught up with the little runaway, and holding the animal tightly in his arms, we made a beeline for home, never again setting foot outside our tiny backyard with that dog.
The years went by and I continued to observe my German friends' passion with their canine pets. I was again lulled into the belief that it was a cultural thing. Then a few years ago I took a short trip to the States, where I met the latest in-law addition to the family, just after her first baby was born. Well, first human baby. Her husband went shopping with us one day and shrewdly bought not only new clothes for his newborn son, but also 2 costumes for his wife's dogs (it was February, NOT October for heaven's sake!). Clearly this was the same level of dedication as in Germany.
And then this fall we visited New York City. In one section of the city I felt like I had died and mistakenly gone to dog heaven, trumping all that I had yet seen in Germany. Dog parks, dog walkers and signs for a dogs' Halloween party were just the beginning. We passed an indoor dog playground, a dog portrait studio and several dog grooming centers. Most likely they have these kinds of facilities in the big cities here too -- I just haven't been looking for them. Maybe German and American dog owners aren't so very different after all. But I still think only in a German eating establishment could you find a sign like the elegantly scripted one hanging in the upscale café where Claudia and I had tea yesterday: "Dogs should be kept on a short leash".
This was not the experience I had with pet dogs. When I was four, my parents brought us Chipper, a frightened little collie puppy that grew up with my siblings and me. Other dogs came and went in our lives, but this was the one I loved the most. He was just so affectionate and beautiful, and proved it too by winning first prize in the only dog show I ever entered him in (a very big deal for me in Junior High School). Still we all treated him more like an animal than one of the family. He was let out in the morning and back in at night, roaming the neighborhood freely as all the dogs did then (unless, ofcourse, someone down the street called to say that the dog catcher was driving around -- then we brought him in). He got a dish full of wet and dry dog food mixed every evening, and if he was lucky and someone (mostly me) thought about it, he got a haphazard brushing too. Otherwise he was on his own to do his dog stuff. When Chipper died from a cancerous tumor sometime around my 16th birthday, I was heartbroken, but life did go on.
I thought it was like that for everyone with their pets, and only when I got to Germany did I realize there were many ways to keep a dog. Here I noticed that dogs were truly considered family members and aside from strict feeding and walking schedules, they were often taken to obedience and/or agility school. I could understand the argument for leashes -- this area has a denser population then where I come from -- but it was more difficult to accept the reason for friends not going to the movies with us: they could not or would not leave their dogs home alone (cinemas are one place I don't think dogs have ever been allowed). It occurred to me then that owning a dog here was like a hobby, time-consuming and not inexpensive, considering insurance, vet and maintenence costs to name a few.
But I was to learn that this was not just a German phenomenon. When I was pregnant with our first child, an American friend asked if we could keep her dog for the week she and her husband were planning to visit Moscow. I agreed, thinking how difficult could it be to keep a tiny Pekinese for 7 days, but I knew I was in trouble when she told me what kind of beef to buy and cook for his dinner. This was her baby, as in a classic second wife situation, her husband had told her categorically he was not willing to have any more children. Ok, ok, I could cook for the dog, but I drew the line when she asked if he could sleep in our bed (somehow he ended up there anyway). All went well until we decided to be good Germans and take the dog for a walk on a leash. It was a beautiful but bitter cold Sunday afternoon with half the German population out for a stroll (a favorite Sunday pastime) when Chris and I set out with our four-footed friend, patches of ice still lurking on our chosen path near the river. I waddled along carefully, as my baby bump was huge, so when the dog suddenly slipped its little head out of the leash and took off down the road, only Chris could run after him. I tried hard not to laugh, even though the ensuing pursuit looked very much like something directly out of a Charlie Chaplin film, complete with an arm-flailing fall. The situation was serious -- I knew my friend would be devastated if anything were to happen to her darling. Luckily, Chris caught up with the little runaway, and holding the animal tightly in his arms, we made a beeline for home, never again setting foot outside our tiny backyard with that dog.
The years went by and I continued to observe my German friends' passion with their canine pets. I was again lulled into the belief that it was a cultural thing. Then a few years ago I took a short trip to the States, where I met the latest in-law addition to the family, just after her first baby was born. Well, first human baby. Her husband went shopping with us one day and shrewdly bought not only new clothes for his newborn son, but also 2 costumes for his wife's dogs (it was February, NOT October for heaven's sake!). Clearly this was the same level of dedication as in Germany.
And then this fall we visited New York City. In one section of the city I felt like I had died and mistakenly gone to dog heaven, trumping all that I had yet seen in Germany. Dog parks, dog walkers and signs for a dogs' Halloween party were just the beginning. We passed an indoor dog playground, a dog portrait studio and several dog grooming centers. Most likely they have these kinds of facilities in the big cities here too -- I just haven't been looking for them. Maybe German and American dog owners aren't so very different after all. But I still think only in a German eating establishment could you find a sign like the elegantly scripted one hanging in the upscale café where Claudia and I had tea yesterday: "Dogs should be kept on a short leash".
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Homecoming
We just got back from a vist to the States, and it was a wonderful trip. We crammed a lot into the two short weeks we stayed there, and as so often on such journeys, the time flew by, yet when I looked back before departing, it seemed as if we had been in the US at least a month. True to form, while there I realized once again how very American I am and at the same time, how German I have become. There are several blogs' worth of material to write about, but today I will concentrate on Homecoming, as it is the freshest in my mind and those are the words wanting to come out now........
This past weekend I went with my sisters Mary and Shirley to Homecoming at William and Mary, the college both Mary and I attended for undergraduate work. It was Mary's 25th Reunion, and since Shirley turned 50 in June, we decided to use this opportunity to celebrate together. We started our weekend in Williamsburg on Friday with a massage for each and then going to dinner at Christiane Campbell's Tavern in CW. We laughted alot (even BEFORE our "specialty" drinks came) and talked a mile a minute, constantly changing subjects and almost never completely finishing a thought before jumping to the next one. Since we were all staying in one hotel room, Shirl and I shared a bed, which was no problem, but I did have to fight for the covers. (It is one thing to share a bed, but something totally different to share blankets. This is an area where I believe the Germans are way ahead of the Americans -- no matter how many people sleep in one bed, each person has his/her own quilt or duvet, so no need to worry about "cover-hogs". Chris and I even had little tugs-of-war over the blankets when we slept in the same bed in NYC and at my parents' house, although we have been sharing a bed in Germany for many, many years!).
Saturday dawned bright and beautiful, and we rose early to get out for all the W&M Homecoming festivities. After watching the parade, we walked through the campus to Patty and Co.'s tailgate party, where friends from my freshman dorm were gathering for a mini-Reunion of our own. What a riot that was! We looked, talked and acted just as we did over 30 years ago, and it was so interesting to catch up on what everyone is doing now and so fun to reminisce about old times. Joan (my senior suitemate) and her husband Joe joined the party, just after their sons (both currently attending the college) showed up to check out the tailgate. Sitting there in the sunshine, back to a place and time and with people that meant so much to me, I couldn't help but wish that I lived closer so that I could visit more often. I even began to feel a twinge of jealousy that David and Gregory (along with thousands of other young students) daily walked the paths of this pictuesque campus, but even as the thought popped in my mind, I knew I was actually just pining to be young again.
My sisters and I made it into the stadium to catch the third quarter of the game, but then left to wander around campus one last time. So much has changed, but then so have we, so it was not easy to tell what was really different. For me, the look and feel of the school was the same as when I was a student there, and now I appreciate the term "Homecoming" even more. After eating supper separately (I went to dinner with Joan and family), Mary, Shirley and I went to Mary's Reunion Cocktail Party and then to the Alumni Bash. Both events were nice, but aside from Donna and Skip (both old friends from Chester and W&M), I saw no familiar faces and Shirley knew not a soul. Mary fluttered about, greeting old friends and acquaintances and those that thought they once were, so when Shirl and I left, she decided to stay for a bit. But it wasn't long before she came back to the room, and as the three of us got ready for and then into bed, none of us could stop chatting. It was our last night together, and even though we all knew the alarm was set for very early, it was tough to turn out the light and settle down. This too, was a homecoming for me, talking with my sisters about our big and diverse family, and I did not want it to end, but eventually we all found our sleep.
Early the next morning, after a quick but sad good-bye to Shirley, Mary and I started out for Northern Virginia where Christof, Sam and Lukas were waiting for me. We said our very last good-byes to Mary and her son Jonathan and then drove on to Philadelphia where we boarded a plane back to Germany. After a (thankfully) uneventful flight, we arrived in Frankfurt and as planned, our oldest son Tim was waiting to pick us up. It is only a 20 minute ride from the airport to our house, so it was not long before we were home. And suddenly I realized the answer to my own question: Homecoming -- can you ever really go home? I have come home, or rather I am home, right here in Germany. This is where my life is. Plus I am glad to be back in my own bed, under my own covers so I can cocoon myself and not have to share with anyone else.
This past weekend I went with my sisters Mary and Shirley to Homecoming at William and Mary, the college both Mary and I attended for undergraduate work. It was Mary's 25th Reunion, and since Shirley turned 50 in June, we decided to use this opportunity to celebrate together. We started our weekend in Williamsburg on Friday with a massage for each and then going to dinner at Christiane Campbell's Tavern in CW. We laughted alot (even BEFORE our "specialty" drinks came) and talked a mile a minute, constantly changing subjects and almost never completely finishing a thought before jumping to the next one. Since we were all staying in one hotel room, Shirl and I shared a bed, which was no problem, but I did have to fight for the covers. (It is one thing to share a bed, but something totally different to share blankets. This is an area where I believe the Germans are way ahead of the Americans -- no matter how many people sleep in one bed, each person has his/her own quilt or duvet, so no need to worry about "cover-hogs". Chris and I even had little tugs-of-war over the blankets when we slept in the same bed in NYC and at my parents' house, although we have been sharing a bed in Germany for many, many years!).
Saturday dawned bright and beautiful, and we rose early to get out for all the W&M Homecoming festivities. After watching the parade, we walked through the campus to Patty and Co.'s tailgate party, where friends from my freshman dorm were gathering for a mini-Reunion of our own. What a riot that was! We looked, talked and acted just as we did over 30 years ago, and it was so interesting to catch up on what everyone is doing now and so fun to reminisce about old times. Joan (my senior suitemate) and her husband Joe joined the party, just after their sons (both currently attending the college) showed up to check out the tailgate. Sitting there in the sunshine, back to a place and time and with people that meant so much to me, I couldn't help but wish that I lived closer so that I could visit more often. I even began to feel a twinge of jealousy that David and Gregory (along with thousands of other young students) daily walked the paths of this pictuesque campus, but even as the thought popped in my mind, I knew I was actually just pining to be young again.
My sisters and I made it into the stadium to catch the third quarter of the game, but then left to wander around campus one last time. So much has changed, but then so have we, so it was not easy to tell what was really different. For me, the look and feel of the school was the same as when I was a student there, and now I appreciate the term "Homecoming" even more. After eating supper separately (I went to dinner with Joan and family), Mary, Shirley and I went to Mary's Reunion Cocktail Party and then to the Alumni Bash. Both events were nice, but aside from Donna and Skip (both old friends from Chester and W&M), I saw no familiar faces and Shirley knew not a soul. Mary fluttered about, greeting old friends and acquaintances and those that thought they once were, so when Shirl and I left, she decided to stay for a bit. But it wasn't long before she came back to the room, and as the three of us got ready for and then into bed, none of us could stop chatting. It was our last night together, and even though we all knew the alarm was set for very early, it was tough to turn out the light and settle down. This too, was a homecoming for me, talking with my sisters about our big and diverse family, and I did not want it to end, but eventually we all found our sleep.
Early the next morning, after a quick but sad good-bye to Shirley, Mary and I started out for Northern Virginia where Christof, Sam and Lukas were waiting for me. We said our very last good-byes to Mary and her son Jonathan and then drove on to Philadelphia where we boarded a plane back to Germany. After a (thankfully) uneventful flight, we arrived in Frankfurt and as planned, our oldest son Tim was waiting to pick us up. It is only a 20 minute ride from the airport to our house, so it was not long before we were home. And suddenly I realized the answer to my own question: Homecoming -- can you ever really go home? I have come home, or rather I am home, right here in Germany. This is where my life is. Plus I am glad to be back in my own bed, under my own covers so I can cocoon myself and not have to share with anyone else.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
East meets West
Way back at the beginning of the summer, we had the pleasure of hosting two international travelers from two very different cultures, and what fascinated me most were not the differences between them, but the similarities. On her first trip abroad from the States, MacKenzie arrived in late June tö visit her boyfriend/our son Tim, and although she stayed with him in Mainz, we also spent time together, as it was the very first time we met in person. Overlapping with her visit was the 4th International Youth Music Festival here in Hochheim, and as Sam was participating in that event, we hosted Slavic for the week, a Russian piano player Sam's age that (luckily) spoke English quite well. MacKenzie and Slavic were both physically at our house at the same time on only one occasion I think, but during the days when both were our guests, it was interesting to observe and compare theses two young people from very different backgrounds.
I knew from my Russian friend Natascha (Sam's piano teacher -- do you detect a theme here?) that in certain little things American and Russian culture are not far apart, aspects not always shared by the Germans. For example, the floor on which one enters a building is the 1st floor and the next one up is the 2nd in both American and Russian. The Germans consider the bottom level "the ground floor", and only start counting floors one flight up, causing confusion for many international travelers. While watching Slavic eat his meals with us, I realized his manners also resembled those of Americans, constantly switching the fork from his right to his left hand when he needed a knife to cut his food, and then the knife was put down and the fork went back to his right hand again to pop the morsel in his mouth. If using two utensils for a meal (like fork and knife or fork and spoon for pasta dishes), Germans keep the cutlery firmly in their grip the entire time, a system much more efficient and practical, but requiring graceful eating with the "less-favored" hand. I adopted this custom very early on, especially after my father-in-law let me know that keeping my left hand in my lap while eating with the right one (as practiced in the States) was considered very bad manners in Germany. Should it not be holding a utensil, the polite thing to do is rest the hand on the table next to the plate he taught me.
But back to our young friends. Both showed a willingness to help that was downright touching. MacKenzie grew up with her parents and 2 sisters on a farm, and is clearly used to helping out all over the house and farmyard. As she is studying culinary arts, she is very familiar with the kitchen and loves to cook. Since her visit coincided with Lukas' birthday and assorted other events requiring food, I was very thankful for her assistance in preparing meals. She also pitched in when our new walk-in closet was completed and needed to be filled. Slavic lives with his mother and seems to be very involved with the housework too, a novelty among 15-year-old young men in Germany or the USA I dare say. He insisted on ironing his own shirts (which he did exceptionally well), and was super conscientious of rinsing out his glass and putting it back on the shelf (which I eventually talked him out of, as I got tired of finding wet glasses in the cupboard). His home obviously does not have all the conveniences we take for granted, as he was unfamiliar with the dishwasher (although he had seen one before at his aunt's place) and inquired what the peppermill was for.
We enjoyed the time with our visitors and are happy that we could share our home with them. For me it was fun to watch East meet West, and find myself once again inbetween.
I knew from my Russian friend Natascha (Sam's piano teacher -- do you detect a theme here?) that in certain little things American and Russian culture are not far apart, aspects not always shared by the Germans. For example, the floor on which one enters a building is the 1st floor and the next one up is the 2nd in both American and Russian. The Germans consider the bottom level "the ground floor", and only start counting floors one flight up, causing confusion for many international travelers. While watching Slavic eat his meals with us, I realized his manners also resembled those of Americans, constantly switching the fork from his right to his left hand when he needed a knife to cut his food, and then the knife was put down and the fork went back to his right hand again to pop the morsel in his mouth. If using two utensils for a meal (like fork and knife or fork and spoon for pasta dishes), Germans keep the cutlery firmly in their grip the entire time, a system much more efficient and practical, but requiring graceful eating with the "less-favored" hand. I adopted this custom very early on, especially after my father-in-law let me know that keeping my left hand in my lap while eating with the right one (as practiced in the States) was considered very bad manners in Germany. Should it not be holding a utensil, the polite thing to do is rest the hand on the table next to the plate he taught me.
But back to our young friends. Both showed a willingness to help that was downright touching. MacKenzie grew up with her parents and 2 sisters on a farm, and is clearly used to helping out all over the house and farmyard. As she is studying culinary arts, she is very familiar with the kitchen and loves to cook. Since her visit coincided with Lukas' birthday and assorted other events requiring food, I was very thankful for her assistance in preparing meals. She also pitched in when our new walk-in closet was completed and needed to be filled. Slavic lives with his mother and seems to be very involved with the housework too, a novelty among 15-year-old young men in Germany or the USA I dare say. He insisted on ironing his own shirts (which he did exceptionally well), and was super conscientious of rinsing out his glass and putting it back on the shelf (which I eventually talked him out of, as I got tired of finding wet glasses in the cupboard). His home obviously does not have all the conveniences we take for granted, as he was unfamiliar with the dishwasher (although he had seen one before at his aunt's place) and inquired what the peppermill was for.
We enjoyed the time with our visitors and are happy that we could share our home with them. For me it was fun to watch East meet West, and find myself once again inbetween.
Back to Blogging
Ah, a steaming mug of coffee next to me, the sun pouring in the window, complete sentances already formed in my head waiting to be written down, I am back to blogging! Well not really. I am actually in my bathrobe with no beverage in sight and my thoughts are more of a jumble, but they still are crying to get out. And although the sun is indeed shining, I am sitting on the north side of the house, so it never really "pours" into this room. No matter, I am still ready to start blogging again. In the last few months, life just moved too fast for me to write about it. As a matter of fact, due to all the remodeling we had done, I am now sitting in front of the computer in a completely different room -- how's that for a change of perspective?!? Ofcourse if I had a laptop, that wouldn't be anything special, but I actually enjoy having one place dedicated for the computer (just call me old-fashioned). So this is just a short post to get my fingers and my thoughts warmed up for the real thing.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Greetings
I've expounded on friendships in Germany, but have yet to mention how Germans will walk right past one another on the street without a hint of eye contact, a smile or any form of greeting. In the town where I grew up, people were quick to greet one another, even if they were not acquainted, so I was unprepared for the seeming rudeness of this culture when I first moved here. Back then, Christof warned me to be careful whom I smiled at in passing, as it could very possibly be interpreted the wrong way. Turns out he was right, so I curbed my natural instinct to acknowledge passersby, but inside I thought this was a cold folk indeed. Yet soon enough I was acting just like one of them, finding the exact moment to look away to expertly avoid eye contact when walking past anyone.
For their part, Germans do not understand what makes a cashier in the States ask "How are you today?", when she really only means "Hello". They think USAmericans* are quite superficial, not only in their greetings, but also in their relationships. I can't wholly disagree with this observation, as in my own experience, in the States, "Let's get together sometime" is code for "Maybe we will see each other again, but also maybe not. Whatever." And "Give me a call sometime" often means the exact opposite. Does the word "sometime" have a secret meaning that I have missed out on?.
But back to the subject at hand. Once I had lived here for a while, I understood that although they are distant with strangers, Germans are anything but cold with those closest to them. While chatting with the person ahead of them in line is not their strong suit, hugs, kisses and handshakes are the greetings of choice among friends. When they ask "How are you?", they really are interested, even if they prefer to hear the short answer.
And apparently I am not the only one who prefers cheery supeficiality to a reserved manner or downright churlishness at the check-out counter or on the phone. In the last years there has been a marked increase in pleasant voices, both in stores and on the telephone wires, as if marketing instructors are now taking their cues from practices abroad. I think it is a wonderful development and respond to all efforts on this front with my own smiles and wishes for a good day.
I've even gone back to greeting strangers I pass on the street -- at my age there is no longer a danger that anyone will take it the wrong way. Along with the confused looks and stuttered responses from most passersby, I have made a startling observation: senior citizens tend to light up when spoken to, and they happily return my greetings, even if we have never met before. Maybe these folks have mellowed with age, or maybe times were different when they were young, but it is heartwarming to to see their faces shine. Plus it brings back just a little bit of that Southern warmth of my childhood....................
*As my boys have recently pointed out, the term "American" applies to ALL citizens of North and South America, even if it is commonly used to mean US citizens. In an effort to be politically correct, I will try to use the phrase USAmerican, but old habits may be tough to break.
For their part, Germans do not understand what makes a cashier in the States ask "How are you today?", when she really only means "Hello". They think USAmericans* are quite superficial, not only in their greetings, but also in their relationships. I can't wholly disagree with this observation, as in my own experience, in the States, "Let's get together sometime" is code for "Maybe we will see each other again, but also maybe not. Whatever." And "Give me a call sometime" often means the exact opposite. Does the word "sometime" have a secret meaning that I have missed out on?.
But back to the subject at hand. Once I had lived here for a while, I understood that although they are distant with strangers, Germans are anything but cold with those closest to them. While chatting with the person ahead of them in line is not their strong suit, hugs, kisses and handshakes are the greetings of choice among friends. When they ask "How are you?", they really are interested, even if they prefer to hear the short answer.
And apparently I am not the only one who prefers cheery supeficiality to a reserved manner or downright churlishness at the check-out counter or on the phone. In the last years there has been a marked increase in pleasant voices, both in stores and on the telephone wires, as if marketing instructors are now taking their cues from practices abroad. I think it is a wonderful development and respond to all efforts on this front with my own smiles and wishes for a good day.
I've even gone back to greeting strangers I pass on the street -- at my age there is no longer a danger that anyone will take it the wrong way. Along with the confused looks and stuttered responses from most passersby, I have made a startling observation: senior citizens tend to light up when spoken to, and they happily return my greetings, even if we have never met before. Maybe these folks have mellowed with age, or maybe times were different when they were young, but it is heartwarming to to see their faces shine. Plus it brings back just a little bit of that Southern warmth of my childhood....................
*As my boys have recently pointed out, the term "American" applies to ALL citizens of North and South America, even if it is commonly used to mean US citizens. In an effort to be politically correct, I will try to use the phrase USAmerican, but old habits may be tough to break.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Clothing Sale
Yesterday afternoon Anne called to see if I wanted to go to a special clothing sale in the next town over. Her daughters had been at the sale earlier in the day and were raving about the offerings. Since all I had planned was a few hours of ironing, I quickly assented to coming along, although I did not exactly understand where we were headed. When she picked me up a few minutes later, Anne explained that she herself was not sure about this whole sale thing, as it was in a farmhouse (so I HAD heard correctly!) and this was the last day of a week-long sale. Totally curious and always on the look-out for something different to add to our wardrobes, we drove the short distance to Wicker and turned into a windy road leading to the farm buildings. It was a beautiful, pastoral scene with just a few small signs leading us to an idyllic courtyard, so we drove in and parked the car. Posted on the side of one of the buildings was a pricelist for game meat, but no real indication of where this "shopping event" was being held. So we entered the only open door to find ourselves in a wide area surrounded by renovated barn kind of buildings, but not a soul in sight. Undaunted, we just kept on until we found a door with a tiny sale sign and muted female voices behind it.
On opening this door, we were greeted by a perky young woman who thrust a price list in our hands. She explained that each type of item (dresses, pants, shirts, tops, skirts, belts and accessories -- more there wasn't) had a fixed price. The system was simple -- the racks set up around the periphery of the room were organized by size, and on tables in the middle lay folded T-shirts and jeans. The saleswoman then left us to our own devices, and we made our way over to our size (Anne and I share the same one in clothes, only her feet are tiny compared to mine) to see what we could find. The selection was not huge, but exactly to my taste, so within minutes I had my arms full. Similarly Anne found a few items, and we decided to start trying on some of the clothes. Only then did we realize that the women around us were in various stages of undress, and there appeared to be no changing rooms. Ofcourse not -- this was clearly a very temporary arrangement.
So we did what we had to -- stripped down to our underwear and tried on the clothes. Had I known, I would have given more consideration to my choice of undergarments that morning. It made me laugh and think that this would never fly in the States, but here it was absolutely no problem. We admired (or not) our reflections in mirrors propped up on chairs, all the while surreptitiously glancing around and noting that the women around us appeared to have the same "problem zone" around the waist that we had, the difference being they were all at least 10 years younger. Maybe our figures really aren't so bad after all.
The fixed prices being the bargain that they were, we both chose several items to take home. It was not a big surprise when we heard that they only accepted cash, unfortunately neither of us had enough. The helpful young saleswoman explained where the next ATM could be found, but blithely added that the day before it had been emptied by their customers. So we zipped back to our bank in our town and returned right away to pick up the clothes.
It was an unusual but highly successful shopping excursion, and I look forward to their return in September. Apparently these young women -- whoever they may be -- set up shop at the farmhouse 4 times a year, and I certainly intend to go back, as I definitely like their taste in fashion. Anne agreed that this is a good style for me and announced she now knows my type -- "Kindfrau" or Childwoman. I am just not sure if that is a compliment or not.
On opening this door, we were greeted by a perky young woman who thrust a price list in our hands. She explained that each type of item (dresses, pants, shirts, tops, skirts, belts and accessories -- more there wasn't) had a fixed price. The system was simple -- the racks set up around the periphery of the room were organized by size, and on tables in the middle lay folded T-shirts and jeans. The saleswoman then left us to our own devices, and we made our way over to our size (Anne and I share the same one in clothes, only her feet are tiny compared to mine) to see what we could find. The selection was not huge, but exactly to my taste, so within minutes I had my arms full. Similarly Anne found a few items, and we decided to start trying on some of the clothes. Only then did we realize that the women around us were in various stages of undress, and there appeared to be no changing rooms. Ofcourse not -- this was clearly a very temporary arrangement.
So we did what we had to -- stripped down to our underwear and tried on the clothes. Had I known, I would have given more consideration to my choice of undergarments that morning. It made me laugh and think that this would never fly in the States, but here it was absolutely no problem. We admired (or not) our reflections in mirrors propped up on chairs, all the while surreptitiously glancing around and noting that the women around us appeared to have the same "problem zone" around the waist that we had, the difference being they were all at least 10 years younger. Maybe our figures really aren't so bad after all.
The fixed prices being the bargain that they were, we both chose several items to take home. It was not a big surprise when we heard that they only accepted cash, unfortunately neither of us had enough. The helpful young saleswoman explained where the next ATM could be found, but blithely added that the day before it had been emptied by their customers. So we zipped back to our bank in our town and returned right away to pick up the clothes.
It was an unusual but highly successful shopping excursion, and I look forward to their return in September. Apparently these young women -- whoever they may be -- set up shop at the farmhouse 4 times a year, and I certainly intend to go back, as I definitely like their taste in fashion. Anne agreed that this is a good style for me and announced she now knows my type -- "Kindfrau" or Childwoman. I am just not sure if that is a compliment or not.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
English or German?
I've always cursed the cars that cut in front of me in traffic, and I've been known to speak softly to my garden plants while tending them, but recently I caught myself actually talking aloud to pots and pans, a very disturbing revelation. What worried me most though, was that I was doing it in German! Yo, things have gone too far if I start thinking and babbling in German when I am by myself!
Certainly I have come a long way since those timid words at the start of my Junior Year Abroad. The first milestone passed when people trying to judge solely from my accent couldn't place where I was from. I worked especially hard to avoid the typical American twang -- as if chewing gum while speaking, as once explained by my sister-in-law Anne-- so this was very encouraging. Next came the realization that, when speaking German, I was also thinking in the language, and no longer translating in my head. But I knew I'd reached real fluency when those people I communicated with in German during waking hours also spoke German in my dreams, and the same with English and English speakers. I had finally arrived.
Even before they were born, Christof and I decided to raise our children bilingually, which turned out to be not difficult at all. Our method of choice was to make English the "house language" as opposed to each of us speaking in our native tongue with the kids. This system has the distinct advantage of allowing only one language at the dinner table (otherwise the chatter at the family meal must be in two languages or one parent can not remain consistent), and worked well for us as I was a stay-at-home Mom and constantly with the boys in their first years of life. I sang, read and spoke to them in English, but to balance things out (at least a little), I took them to German playgroups, which is how I expanded my own vocabulary to include nursery rhymes and finger plays. Every activity outside our home -- going shopping, eating out, going to church, seeing doctors, visiting friends, etc. -- went down in German anyway. We also allowed an exception to our own house rule for when German-speaking guests were present, for it seemed impolite to talk together in a language that others did not understand. All three boys started out with English being the stronger language, but at the tender age of three, when each child went off to the local kindergarten (more like American preschool), the scales tipped, making German their "first" tongue. Still, we kept the iron-clad rule of speaking English with us and at the dinner table, but among themselves they could speak as they pleased. Our efforts paid off, as our sons are truly bilingual, and even though their English grades in school did not always reflect it, they are native speakers in both languages.
It fascinated Anne that as our boys learned to say their first words, they would speak in German to her and then turn to me and continue in English. She enjoyed showing off this "talent" by asking them to say a word and then request the English translation. The young boys were somewhat confused, as they associated each person with either German or English, and in their own minds did not translate, as they had no need to. For a while they played along, but the game quickly got old, as for them it was only normal to speak both tongues.
There were, however, those few instances where the boys' understanding was somewhat fuzzy. I once caught Tim when he was about 7 or 8 coolly explaining to a new acquaintance that his mother came from England. When I gently reminded him that I grew up in the US, he said "well, you always speak English, so I thought you came from England". I couldn't really argue with his logic, but I did correct his misinformation. Altogether this has always been our agreement -- when necessary, I correct the boys' English, and they in turn point out my mistakes in German. (obviously the same with Chris). Many people find it odd, almost disobedient, when the kids correct my near perfect German , but it is the very best way to improve. Only once did this plan back-fire. Many years ago, while attending a church retreat, I sat praying aloud to a group and right in the middle of the prayer, Tim corrected my slightly improper grammar. New exception to the rule -- no corrections during prayers! In the end, I am very thankful that all five of us feel at home in both languages, and can talk equally well to family and friends on both sides of the Atlantic.
Certainly I have come a long way since those timid words at the start of my Junior Year Abroad. The first milestone passed when people trying to judge solely from my accent couldn't place where I was from. I worked especially hard to avoid the typical American twang -- as if chewing gum while speaking, as once explained by my sister-in-law Anne-- so this was very encouraging. Next came the realization that, when speaking German, I was also thinking in the language, and no longer translating in my head. But I knew I'd reached real fluency when those people I communicated with in German during waking hours also spoke German in my dreams, and the same with English and English speakers. I had finally arrived.
Even before they were born, Christof and I decided to raise our children bilingually, which turned out to be not difficult at all. Our method of choice was to make English the "house language" as opposed to each of us speaking in our native tongue with the kids. This system has the distinct advantage of allowing only one language at the dinner table (otherwise the chatter at the family meal must be in two languages or one parent can not remain consistent), and worked well for us as I was a stay-at-home Mom and constantly with the boys in their first years of life. I sang, read and spoke to them in English, but to balance things out (at least a little), I took them to German playgroups, which is how I expanded my own vocabulary to include nursery rhymes and finger plays. Every activity outside our home -- going shopping, eating out, going to church, seeing doctors, visiting friends, etc. -- went down in German anyway. We also allowed an exception to our own house rule for when German-speaking guests were present, for it seemed impolite to talk together in a language that others did not understand. All three boys started out with English being the stronger language, but at the tender age of three, when each child went off to the local kindergarten (more like American preschool), the scales tipped, making German their "first" tongue. Still, we kept the iron-clad rule of speaking English with us and at the dinner table, but among themselves they could speak as they pleased. Our efforts paid off, as our sons are truly bilingual, and even though their English grades in school did not always reflect it, they are native speakers in both languages.
It fascinated Anne that as our boys learned to say their first words, they would speak in German to her and then turn to me and continue in English. She enjoyed showing off this "talent" by asking them to say a word and then request the English translation. The young boys were somewhat confused, as they associated each person with either German or English, and in their own minds did not translate, as they had no need to. For a while they played along, but the game quickly got old, as for them it was only normal to speak both tongues.
There were, however, those few instances where the boys' understanding was somewhat fuzzy. I once caught Tim when he was about 7 or 8 coolly explaining to a new acquaintance that his mother came from England. When I gently reminded him that I grew up in the US, he said "well, you always speak English, so I thought you came from England". I couldn't really argue with his logic, but I did correct his misinformation. Altogether this has always been our agreement -- when necessary, I correct the boys' English, and they in turn point out my mistakes in German. (obviously the same with Chris). Many people find it odd, almost disobedient, when the kids correct my near perfect German , but it is the very best way to improve. Only once did this plan back-fire. Many years ago, while attending a church retreat, I sat praying aloud to a group and right in the middle of the prayer, Tim corrected my slightly improper grammar. New exception to the rule -- no corrections during prayers! In the end, I am very thankful that all five of us feel at home in both languages, and can talk equally well to family and friends on both sides of the Atlantic.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Vacationing in Europe
Last night Christof and I poured over a map of Swizerland, trying to figure out the best places to go with my sister Mary and her family when they come to Europe this August. Switzerland is their choice, but are we more than happy to visit that lovely country once again. While discussing details of the trip, we also looked at the planning of our other upcoming travels, and I was amazed by how much we will be on the road and in the air this year.
Why I was surprised, I am not sure, as we enjoy traveling and do a fair amount annually, but even more relevant is the fact that here in Germany I swear it is a national pasttime to plan, book and take vacations. It seems like everybody -- and I mean everybody! -- wants to get away from it all, and as Germans have a very liberal amount of vacation time (especially as compared to Americans), the travel business is a booming one. My first years here I found it almost an obsession how people were always discussing where they were going on their next vacation. Germans not only travel tirelessly, they are also always talking about it: where they are thinking of going this year, how expensive certain areas have become, and how desperately they need to to get away among other topics. Slowly I realized that at least one of the contributing factors for the mass exodus (and the accompanying chatter) was the simple fact that people were hungry for the sun, as Germany is not known for its super weather. Even I found myself longing for sunshine in the summer. Having grown up in Virginia, I really missed those hot sunny days and warm summer nights, and my own thoughts turned to southern Europe. The weather in Germany gets a bad rap though, as sometimes we do have a beautiful spring, or summer or fall (or any combination thereof) -- you just can't count on it.
Plus admittedly countries are just smaller and closer together in Europe, so that we can go to all kinds of cool places without driving for days or taking super long flights. Last fall, Chris and I were in Paris for a long weekend, as it is less than 4 hours by train. In the summer we had hopped up to Holland with friends, a relatively spontaneous trip, but not a problem as it is within easy driving distance. The year before that, we stopped near Geneva, Switerland to visit a very dear friend of mine on our way down to the Provence area of France, arriving just in time to see the lavender in full bloom. Quite lovely Earlier years saw us in Tuscany (Italy), Athens and the Cyclades in Greece, and Lanzarote, where Christof's mother has taken up residence (OK, this is a 4 hour flight, but only one hour time difference). The super convenient thing about all these countries is that they share our currency. Well, almost all. Switzerland still holds onto its Swiss francs, but even there you can often use euros in a pinch.
Even school trips routinely have foreign destinations. Sam will be going by train with his tenth grade class to London in June. Last year the same group met up with French students in the Alps to have a cultural exchange while getting in some quality skiing. Lukas also traveled with his high school English class to London (by bus and boat -- they were on the go for quite a little while!), and in a separate school trip visited Holland. As far as I can remember, Tim's school excursions were all within Germany, but visiting Munich and Berlin with his class were also wonderful trips.
That's the thing -- Germany itself has a mulititude of super destinations to offer, ranging from world-class cities to North and Baltic Sea islands, beautiful lakes and majestic mountains to picturesque little towns, but I think many people miss out on what is practically in their own backyard in their quest for more exotic locations. Luckily we frequently have visitors from the States and we enjoy showing them the jewels of our region, which are many. Mary's family intends to stay at our house for several days before we head to Switzerland, so maybe we can take a cruise down the Rhine River and explore some of the castles in the area.
Time to stop blogging and start planning. So many places to go and so little time!
Why I was surprised, I am not sure, as we enjoy traveling and do a fair amount annually, but even more relevant is the fact that here in Germany I swear it is a national pasttime to plan, book and take vacations. It seems like everybody -- and I mean everybody! -- wants to get away from it all, and as Germans have a very liberal amount of vacation time (especially as compared to Americans), the travel business is a booming one. My first years here I found it almost an obsession how people were always discussing where they were going on their next vacation. Germans not only travel tirelessly, they are also always talking about it: where they are thinking of going this year, how expensive certain areas have become, and how desperately they need to to get away among other topics. Slowly I realized that at least one of the contributing factors for the mass exodus (and the accompanying chatter) was the simple fact that people were hungry for the sun, as Germany is not known for its super weather. Even I found myself longing for sunshine in the summer. Having grown up in Virginia, I really missed those hot sunny days and warm summer nights, and my own thoughts turned to southern Europe. The weather in Germany gets a bad rap though, as sometimes we do have a beautiful spring, or summer or fall (or any combination thereof) -- you just can't count on it.
Plus admittedly countries are just smaller and closer together in Europe, so that we can go to all kinds of cool places without driving for days or taking super long flights. Last fall, Chris and I were in Paris for a long weekend, as it is less than 4 hours by train. In the summer we had hopped up to Holland with friends, a relatively spontaneous trip, but not a problem as it is within easy driving distance. The year before that, we stopped near Geneva, Switerland to visit a very dear friend of mine on our way down to the Provence area of France, arriving just in time to see the lavender in full bloom. Quite lovely Earlier years saw us in Tuscany (Italy), Athens and the Cyclades in Greece, and Lanzarote, where Christof's mother has taken up residence (OK, this is a 4 hour flight, but only one hour time difference). The super convenient thing about all these countries is that they share our currency. Well, almost all. Switzerland still holds onto its Swiss francs, but even there you can often use euros in a pinch.
Even school trips routinely have foreign destinations. Sam will be going by train with his tenth grade class to London in June. Last year the same group met up with French students in the Alps to have a cultural exchange while getting in some quality skiing. Lukas also traveled with his high school English class to London (by bus and boat -- they were on the go for quite a little while!), and in a separate school trip visited Holland. As far as I can remember, Tim's school excursions were all within Germany, but visiting Munich and Berlin with his class were also wonderful trips.
That's the thing -- Germany itself has a mulititude of super destinations to offer, ranging from world-class cities to North and Baltic Sea islands, beautiful lakes and majestic mountains to picturesque little towns, but I think many people miss out on what is practically in their own backyard in their quest for more exotic locations. Luckily we frequently have visitors from the States and we enjoy showing them the jewels of our region, which are many. Mary's family intends to stay at our house for several days before we head to Switzerland, so maybe we can take a cruise down the Rhine River and explore some of the castles in the area.
Time to stop blogging and start planning. So many places to go and so little time!
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Change
This is what happens when I blog before getting ready for the day -- in the shower I have more thoughts that just have to be written down! Anyway, that inbetween feeling is aparent in many aspects of my life, one of which is that innocuously named stage of a woman's life called "the change". A more apt description would be "the roller coaster" as the ups and downs follow in rapid succession and you never know which way your mood may turn. My gynecologist tells me I entered perimenopause somewhat early (what luck!) but that is no guarantee that I will get through it quicker. Darn! The whole issue is certainly a topic of discussion among my friends, sort of like diapers and nursing when we all had young kids, although many of them have yet to enter the full experience.
Of course not every woman has a difficult time as she ceases to menstruate regularly, but I feel for every female who endures killer hot flashes, weight gain and a plunging sex drive. Some (I suspect male) voices may smugly ask "How bad can a hot flash really be?" (a thought, to be honest, I had myself before the fun started) but the best way I can describe it is sort of like plunging into a tub of ice cold water after 20 minutes in a hot sauna, only in reverse and you have no control over when or where it happens. My extra pounds may actually have other origins (for example the delicious dessert I made the other day and couldn't stop eating, or the fact that the Italian ice cream parlors have opened up for business again), but it is convenient and somewhat satisfying to blame perimenopause. Altogether, that is the one oh so positive aspect about the climacteric -- you can blame just about any bad mood or headache on.
Not that I wouldn't love to go one about this topic, but time to finally do something constructive for the day..................
Of course not every woman has a difficult time as she ceases to menstruate regularly, but I feel for every female who endures killer hot flashes, weight gain and a plunging sex drive. Some (I suspect male) voices may smugly ask "How bad can a hot flash really be?" (a thought, to be honest, I had myself before the fun started) but the best way I can describe it is sort of like plunging into a tub of ice cold water after 20 minutes in a hot sauna, only in reverse and you have no control over when or where it happens. My extra pounds may actually have other origins (for example the delicious dessert I made the other day and couldn't stop eating, or the fact that the Italian ice cream parlors have opened up for business again), but it is convenient and somewhat satisfying to blame perimenopause. Altogether, that is the one oh so positive aspect about the climacteric -- you can blame just about any bad mood or headache on.
Not that I wouldn't love to go one about this topic, but time to finally do something constructive for the day..................
Foreigners
Who is a foreigner? I know I sometimes feel like one here, but then I remember that I have lived over half of my life in Germany. On trips to the States I often have the reverse sensation, slipping right back into the culture I grew up with, but there are just as many moments on my visits where I recognize how European I have actually become.
Yesterday I met a woman new to me in our congregation. Our church merged with another a few years ago, the one she was connected to while living in Mainz and after being absent for several years, she has recently come back. Except for her beautiful dark looks, nothing about her gives away her Mideastern birthplace. I do not know her whole story, but apparently she came to Germany as a teenager with her brother, and after quickly learning the language, she also immersed herself in the culture. Is she a foreigner?
What about the kids in the after-school program I help out with on Mondays? Most of them have a "migrant background" and their parents speak little or no German. But the children certainly act very similar to their German counterparts. Yes, most of them celebrate Muslim rather than Christian holidays and their command of the German language (especially in the written form) is not always perfect, but one could say the same of many Germans.
Definitely an interesting question. I guess it boils down to basically two things -- the legal aspect and how you perceive yourself. For me the first concept is clear: applying for a German passport would mean surrendering my American one, a step I am not (yet) willing to take, even if my American citizenship occasionally causes some extra red tape. The perception part is somewhat more ambiguous. I have always considered myself "American" and the older I get, the stronger I feel my roots pulling inside. At the same time, for the last 25 years my daily life has revolved around a country, language and culture that were once new and strange, but now feel as comfortable as my favorite pair of shoes. Ofcourse some days the shoes don't seem to fit just right either.
Do I feel foreign here? Mostly not. Do I feel German? Most definetly not. Still chilling in that inbetween never-never land........................
Yesterday I met a woman new to me in our congregation. Our church merged with another a few years ago, the one she was connected to while living in Mainz and after being absent for several years, she has recently come back. Except for her beautiful dark looks, nothing about her gives away her Mideastern birthplace. I do not know her whole story, but apparently she came to Germany as a teenager with her brother, and after quickly learning the language, she also immersed herself in the culture. Is she a foreigner?
What about the kids in the after-school program I help out with on Mondays? Most of them have a "migrant background" and their parents speak little or no German. But the children certainly act very similar to their German counterparts. Yes, most of them celebrate Muslim rather than Christian holidays and their command of the German language (especially in the written form) is not always perfect, but one could say the same of many Germans.
Definitely an interesting question. I guess it boils down to basically two things -- the legal aspect and how you perceive yourself. For me the first concept is clear: applying for a German passport would mean surrendering my American one, a step I am not (yet) willing to take, even if my American citizenship occasionally causes some extra red tape. The perception part is somewhat more ambiguous. I have always considered myself "American" and the older I get, the stronger I feel my roots pulling inside. At the same time, for the last 25 years my daily life has revolved around a country, language and culture that were once new and strange, but now feel as comfortable as my favorite pair of shoes. Ofcourse some days the shoes don't seem to fit just right either.
Do I feel foreign here? Mostly not. Do I feel German? Most definetly not. Still chilling in that inbetween never-never land........................
Friday, April 30, 2010
May 1st.
Tomorrow is the First of May. Nice, you might think, hopefully the weather is good. It is also a holiday (comparable to Labor Day) in Germany, as in many parts of Europe. Even better, you may be thinking. Enjoy! And surely we will, but this year the date falls on a Saturday, so many Germans are griping about being cheated out of a day off from work. Whenever I hear this, I secretly wonder how anyone here can complain, as there are so many other holidays where they are guaranteed a free day. Wikipedia tells me that in Hessen, the German state where we live, there are 9 days legally considered holidays, mostly of a (Christian) religious natur; other states have up to 5 additional ones. That may not sound like more than in the States (I count 10 Federal holidays for the USA), but there is a huge difference in definition.
By law, Germany holidays are meant for the purpose of "rest from work, and spiritual edification" and as such no stores or businesses are allowed to be open (the same rules also apply to every single Sunday). There are exceptions, especially in tourist towns, but don't count on buying anything unless it is available at the local at gas station. OK, ok, it is true that on Sundays and some special holidays, bakeries and flower stores may be open for a few hours in the morning. Otherwise, unless you work in a hospital, at a restaurant, or as a pilot or train conductor, or, ofcourse somewhere in the clergy, you have the day off. Which is a wonderful thing. Only you are somewhat restricted in what you may do on the holiday. Besides not being able to shop, there is also the ban on making noise of any kind, so mowing the lawn is definitely out. Even depositing old newspapers and glass in the appropiate containers is a no-no. You are supposed to be resting and relaxing, maybe even going to church, and not puttering around the house. And if you don't think the ordinary Hans and Helga will care, think again. In our town, people have given us dirty looks and an earful when we once tried to surrepticiously get rid of our recyclables in town on a normal Sunday. If you are lucky enough to own a free-standing house, you may do as you please within your own walls, but in an apartment building or townhouse, hammering, drilling and any extra noise are defintely frowned upon, although most people are pretty understanding when people move in or out. I will say we have great neighbors, for they are quite forgiving when we bend the rules a bit, like the time one of our boys was celebrating his confirmation on Pentacost Sunday and the guests decided to have an impromptu basketball tournement. It was quite loud and boisterous, but we heard no complaints.
So, tomorrow is Saturday, but also a holiday, so no shopping or mowing the grass, but like any good German, I took care of the grocery shopping yesterday and just now sent our youngest son Sam out to do the lawn. Obviously I waited until after 3 P.M., as the daily "quiet time" rules require (a topic for another day). Still I am hoping that tomorrow Chris will help me with some silent garden work. Thanks to Marga and Christine, who went with me to buy plants, and to Monika, who spent her Friday morning putting them in the ground, our garden is really beginning to look quite lovely, but there is always more to do.
Have no fear, we will have our share of fun this weekend too. The asparagus season is in full swing, and there is no dearth of good places eat it. The Weinprobierstand ("Wine-tasting stand") opens for the first time this year, and ofcourse the Rheingauer Schlemmerwochen ("gourmet weeks in the Rheingau") are still going on. And now that we are have our tandem, we are good to go. Jjust hope the weather cooperates.......................
By law, Germany holidays are meant for the purpose of "rest from work, and spiritual edification" and as such no stores or businesses are allowed to be open (the same rules also apply to every single Sunday). There are exceptions, especially in tourist towns, but don't count on buying anything unless it is available at the local at gas station. OK, ok, it is true that on Sundays and some special holidays, bakeries and flower stores may be open for a few hours in the morning. Otherwise, unless you work in a hospital, at a restaurant, or as a pilot or train conductor, or, ofcourse somewhere in the clergy, you have the day off. Which is a wonderful thing. Only you are somewhat restricted in what you may do on the holiday. Besides not being able to shop, there is also the ban on making noise of any kind, so mowing the lawn is definitely out. Even depositing old newspapers and glass in the appropiate containers is a no-no. You are supposed to be resting and relaxing, maybe even going to church, and not puttering around the house. And if you don't think the ordinary Hans and Helga will care, think again. In our town, people have given us dirty looks and an earful when we once tried to surrepticiously get rid of our recyclables in town on a normal Sunday. If you are lucky enough to own a free-standing house, you may do as you please within your own walls, but in an apartment building or townhouse, hammering, drilling and any extra noise are defintely frowned upon, although most people are pretty understanding when people move in or out. I will say we have great neighbors, for they are quite forgiving when we bend the rules a bit, like the time one of our boys was celebrating his confirmation on Pentacost Sunday and the guests decided to have an impromptu basketball tournement. It was quite loud and boisterous, but we heard no complaints.
So, tomorrow is Saturday, but also a holiday, so no shopping or mowing the grass, but like any good German, I took care of the grocery shopping yesterday and just now sent our youngest son Sam out to do the lawn. Obviously I waited until after 3 P.M., as the daily "quiet time" rules require (a topic for another day). Still I am hoping that tomorrow Chris will help me with some silent garden work. Thanks to Marga and Christine, who went with me to buy plants, and to Monika, who spent her Friday morning putting them in the ground, our garden is really beginning to look quite lovely, but there is always more to do.
Have no fear, we will have our share of fun this weekend too. The asparagus season is in full swing, and there is no dearth of good places eat it. The Weinprobierstand ("Wine-tasting stand") opens for the first time this year, and ofcourse the Rheingauer Schlemmerwochen ("gourmet weeks in the Rheingau") are still going on. And now that we are have our tandem, we are good to go. Jjust hope the weather cooperates.......................
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
In Bed
You've got to love the German system of covers. The standard is a quilt (cleverly covered by a quilt bag) for each person which is not tucked in at all. The genius of this arrangement is that you needn't share your blanket with anyone, even the person sleeping right next to you. Another bonus is if your feet get too hot, you just stick them out the bottom -- there are no tucked in corners to fight with. With the exception of 3 years in college and one year in Münster, I have always shared a bed, first with my sister, then my husband, and although I hate to admit it, I was a cover hog. Since moving to Germany, I have my very own set of blankets and can cocoon myself in them however I wished. It is heaven. Only on our travels throughout Europe and on visits to the States do we still need to negotiate the blanket situation before retiring for the evening. We tend to pull out the fitted top sheets and blankets before sleeping (causing, I fear, more than one maid to wonder the next day exactly what went on during the night), but alas it is no help to my husband, for in the morning I am generally wrapped snugly in all available blankets and Christof is left with the fringes to keep him warm.
German pillows are also quite different from American ones. The most common size is 80cm by 80cm (you do the math -- I now think in metric) and although they are great to lie against while reading in bed, for the life of me I can not figure out how anyone can sleep with something so unwieldy. We have a second set of pillows (40cm x 80cm), ingeniously hidden under the big ones, that we actually use to rest our heads on when we sleep. Just the other day we bought two new pillows of the smaller variety, not the most expensive kind but still with the gentle curves for neck support that are all the rage over here right now. They are certainly comfortable, but in the end, I generally end up throwing even that pillow on the floor sometime during the night, preferring to sleep flat on my back or stomach.
It is also common for bigger beds (king and queen sizes) to have two separate mattresses, a plus when putting on the fitted bottom sheet, but a minus if the mattresses are ill fitting and there is a crack in the middle. Even worse are the old "Gasthäuser" where a double bed is made of pushing two singles together. Haven't seen that in many years, possibly because they are outdated or more likely because we have moved up to nicer accommodations when we travel. I still find it funny, though, that Germans always refer to "my bed" when Americans would say "my side of the bed", but if you have your own mattress and quilts, I guess that is the more appropriate designation. No matter, I am glad to have my own set of things, and it has to be a relief for Christof that he doesn't have to battle me nightly for the blankets.
German pillows are also quite different from American ones. The most common size is 80cm by 80cm (you do the math -- I now think in metric) and although they are great to lie against while reading in bed, for the life of me I can not figure out how anyone can sleep with something so unwieldy. We have a second set of pillows (40cm x 80cm), ingeniously hidden under the big ones, that we actually use to rest our heads on when we sleep. Just the other day we bought two new pillows of the smaller variety, not the most expensive kind but still with the gentle curves for neck support that are all the rage over here right now. They are certainly comfortable, but in the end, I generally end up throwing even that pillow on the floor sometime during the night, preferring to sleep flat on my back or stomach.
It is also common for bigger beds (king and queen sizes) to have two separate mattresses, a plus when putting on the fitted bottom sheet, but a minus if the mattresses are ill fitting and there is a crack in the middle. Even worse are the old "Gasthäuser" where a double bed is made of pushing two singles together. Haven't seen that in many years, possibly because they are outdated or more likely because we have moved up to nicer accommodations when we travel. I still find it funny, though, that Germans always refer to "my bed" when Americans would say "my side of the bed", but if you have your own mattress and quilts, I guess that is the more appropriate designation. No matter, I am glad to have my own set of things, and it has to be a relief for Christof that he doesn't have to battle me nightly for the blankets.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Language
I do love words. I'm a talkative kind of person -- my family called me Chatty Kathy when I was a kid, and it wasn't just because of the talking doll that was so named -- and I can not imagine a life without books. So when I decided that I wanted to go to Germany for an extended stay, my first task was to master the language, both written and spoken. I applied for the Junior Year Abroad Program from my university, feeling I had a pretty good basis due to the college German courses I had taken, but truth be told, I only had four semesters under my belt. At latest the warning bells should have gone off when I was accepted with the admonition that although my German was weak, the committee felt I was highly motivated (no wonder they didn't award me the scholarship slot!).
At any rate, off I flew, to a country I had visited only briefly before, totally confident about the adventure ahead. Until about halfway through the flight. Suddenly I realized I had no clue what I was in for, but short of jumping out of the plane, there was no turning back now. Luckily I was to spend the first month with the Brauns, the same family I had lived with while on a 3 week exchange just after high school graduation, and I knew they all spoke English (except the father, but he was hardly around anyway). It was a great month, full of travel and all manner of new experiences, and to help my language skills, the family increasingly spoke only German to me. The son Christof took things a step further, making me fend for myself when I wanted to buy stamps or some such thing, standing next to me and smiling at my fumbled attempts at communication. Sometimes I felt this was cruel and unusual punishment, but I had to grudgingly admit that learning by speaking is the only way to go with languages.
However what I encountered in the streets and stores had nothing to do with the high German I had learned at Willaim and Mary. My clearly enunciated phrase "ich weiss es nicht" ("I don't know" -- boy, did I use that one often!) was certainly not the common way of saying it in the area where the Brauns lived. It took me a while to realize that "isch weiis es nit" was the exact same wording (I really wish you could hear me pronounce these two sentances here -- there is a HUGE difference!). But wanting to fit in, I did my best to speak as spoken to.
Suddenly it was the end of September and time for me to go to Münster in the state of Nordrhein-Westphalen, where I would be studying at the university there. Christof and his friend Ekki drove me up, helped me get settled into the tiny apartment where I would be residing, guided me through the worst of the matriculation paperwork and then left again, as Christof had an exam the next day. The minute the door shut behind them I dissolved into the tears I had been holding back all day. What was I doing in this strange room in a foreign city? My entire life I had never even had a bedroom to myself, much less lived on my own. Now what? And to make matters worse, the next day was my 20th birthday. Seeing no other option, I marched across the hall to a room where I heard female voices talking and laughing, knocked loudly on the door and announced to the startled young woman who answered "My name is Kathy, I just moved in across the hall, and tomorrow is my birthday!" I didn't need to add that I was American -- that was obvious from my accent and I think now, my behavior. After a stunned moment of silence, I was invited in and introduced to the three woman inside. Annette, Inge and Petra all lived in the building and after a short visit with them, I felt much better. I was invited back for the next afternoon and and was very touched to see tea, cake and a small gift in my honor. From then on we were great friends and the three of them took me under there collective wings. Later Wilma moved in next to me and joined the gang, so that I had a wonderful group of friends in my new home.
I hate to stop now as I am having a great time writing this, but dinner calls, so maybe more tomorrow.....................
At any rate, off I flew, to a country I had visited only briefly before, totally confident about the adventure ahead. Until about halfway through the flight. Suddenly I realized I had no clue what I was in for, but short of jumping out of the plane, there was no turning back now. Luckily I was to spend the first month with the Brauns, the same family I had lived with while on a 3 week exchange just after high school graduation, and I knew they all spoke English (except the father, but he was hardly around anyway). It was a great month, full of travel and all manner of new experiences, and to help my language skills, the family increasingly spoke only German to me. The son Christof took things a step further, making me fend for myself when I wanted to buy stamps or some such thing, standing next to me and smiling at my fumbled attempts at communication. Sometimes I felt this was cruel and unusual punishment, but I had to grudgingly admit that learning by speaking is the only way to go with languages.
However what I encountered in the streets and stores had nothing to do with the high German I had learned at Willaim and Mary. My clearly enunciated phrase "ich weiss es nicht" ("I don't know" -- boy, did I use that one often!) was certainly not the common way of saying it in the area where the Brauns lived. It took me a while to realize that "isch weiis es nit" was the exact same wording (I really wish you could hear me pronounce these two sentances here -- there is a HUGE difference!). But wanting to fit in, I did my best to speak as spoken to.
Suddenly it was the end of September and time for me to go to Münster in the state of Nordrhein-Westphalen, where I would be studying at the university there. Christof and his friend Ekki drove me up, helped me get settled into the tiny apartment where I would be residing, guided me through the worst of the matriculation paperwork and then left again, as Christof had an exam the next day. The minute the door shut behind them I dissolved into the tears I had been holding back all day. What was I doing in this strange room in a foreign city? My entire life I had never even had a bedroom to myself, much less lived on my own. Now what? And to make matters worse, the next day was my 20th birthday. Seeing no other option, I marched across the hall to a room where I heard female voices talking and laughing, knocked loudly on the door and announced to the startled young woman who answered "My name is Kathy, I just moved in across the hall, and tomorrow is my birthday!" I didn't need to add that I was American -- that was obvious from my accent and I think now, my behavior. After a stunned moment of silence, I was invited in and introduced to the three woman inside. Annette, Inge and Petra all lived in the building and after a short visit with them, I felt much better. I was invited back for the next afternoon and and was very touched to see tea, cake and a small gift in my honor. From then on we were great friends and the three of them took me under there collective wings. Later Wilma moved in next to me and joined the gang, so that I had a wonderful group of friends in my new home.
I hate to stop now as I am having a great time writing this, but dinner calls, so maybe more tomorrow.....................
Monday, April 26, 2010
Bicycle Built for Two
So Christof and I got on our tandem yesterday, and with Sam on his own bike, we rode to Weingut Schreiber, a winemaker here in Hochheim. As it is the Rheingauer Schlemmerwochen (Rheingau = a winegrowing region along the Rhine River; Schlemmerwochen = Gourmet Weeks), they offerred a few choice dishes to go with the wine, and we ate supper there. Sam decided on the salad with goat's cheese, Chris went with the green and white asparagus soup and I opted for the "Spundekäs" which is like a paprika flavored cream cheese and a speciality of this area. Truth be told, we were at Schreiber's on Saturday night too, and had already tried (and enjoyed!) other items on the menu.
But on Sunday we went more for the company than for the food. We knew that Anne (Chris's sister), her husband Ekki, their daughter Hannah, and their daughter Sarah, plus Sarah's husband Hannes and their adorable son Mattis would be there. It was a fun evening, but as the sun went down, it cooled off quickly, and I was pretty tired due to all the garden work C and I did in the afternoon.
Back to the bike -- riding a tandem sure is a different experience. The person in front (in our case Christof) is in total control and the rider sitting in back (me) is just meant to sit and enjoy the ride, maybe adding a little pedal-power from time to time. Unfortunately I am somewhat of a control freak (or so my husband says), so it is not easy for me to relinquish any independence, even on a bike. This is like the ultimate test in faith and trust in my partner, and I am happy to say that after a touchy start, we found our rhythm and cycled in sync around Hochheim and all the way home. Looking forward to many more bike tours "zu zweit"!
OK, I admit, this is a pretty boring post -- seems like your basic "what I did on the weekend" kind of essay. Tomorrow I hope to do better. Now it is time for bed. K
But on Sunday we went more for the company than for the food. We knew that Anne (Chris's sister), her husband Ekki, their daughter Hannah, and their daughter Sarah, plus Sarah's husband Hannes and their adorable son Mattis would be there. It was a fun evening, but as the sun went down, it cooled off quickly, and I was pretty tired due to all the garden work C and I did in the afternoon.
Back to the bike -- riding a tandem sure is a different experience. The person in front (in our case Christof) is in total control and the rider sitting in back (me) is just meant to sit and enjoy the ride, maybe adding a little pedal-power from time to time. Unfortunately I am somewhat of a control freak (or so my husband says), so it is not easy for me to relinquish any independence, even on a bike. This is like the ultimate test in faith and trust in my partner, and I am happy to say that after a touchy start, we found our rhythm and cycled in sync around Hochheim and all the way home. Looking forward to many more bike tours "zu zweit"!
OK, I admit, this is a pretty boring post -- seems like your basic "what I did on the weekend" kind of essay. Tomorrow I hope to do better. Now it is time for bed. K
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tandem Time
Not much time to blog today, as it is a beautiful Sunday afternoon and we are going to take the tandem out for a spin. Plus I just formatted another blog site for the days when I want to bitch and moan. Don't need to mix up the two worlds, when life is going well and when the days are dark, even if they are sometimes just a breath apart. I try so hard to be positive, but there are times when I have nothing but black thoughts, and those I do not want to share here.
Anyway, time to cook lunch so we can hit the road. Later.
Anyway, time to cook lunch so we can hit the road. Later.
Friday, April 23, 2010
A Death in the Family
My sister's father-in-law died a few days ago, and I am very sorry for her family's loss. It took me back to a time almost exactly10 years ago when my own father-in-law passed away. He was a healthy and active man of 64, and while vacationing at a luxious hotel in the Black Forest his heart just ceased to beat in his sleep. Just like that, he was gone. My husband, his sister, and all those who knew and loved Walter, including myself, were shocked and unbelieving at first, and then the grief and sadness overwhelmed us. Somehow we got through those first horrible days, making arrangements not only for the funeral, but also to bring his body home. And I do mean home, as we put the open casket in his house, in the beautiful room with the fireplace where the blooming forsythias lightly tapped at the window. Word got around town quickly, as he was a very successful business man, heading his own company in our city, and the doorbell did not stop ringing as people came by to pay their last respects. As evening approached, we realized we should eat something, even though the adults did not really felt hungry, but the kids, his grandchildren, needed to be fed. So we ordered pizza at a local Italian restaurant where Walter spent many an evening and considered the proprieter and his wife friends. When picking up the order, my brother-in-law related the sad news to the owners Domenico and Barbara who were also stunned and saddened. A few hours later, Domenico came over to say good-bye, literally talking to Walter as if he would respond. When finished, he bent to kiss his friend one last time. The gesture surprised and touched us -- Italians obviously have a different way of grieving for the departed.
Clearly losing a loved one causes grief and sadness in any culture, but the ways of dealing with it are not always the same. My Thai sister-in-law Waree lost her brother when he was shot working as an undercover cop, and she told me the hardest part was to renounce her relationship to him as her religion (and culture?) required. I can see why that was tough. I have noticed differences between German and American traditions in dealing with death, although not quite so dramatic. When Walter died and people came to extend their sympathy (still days before the funeral), the family somehow managed to serve coffee to the visitors, and maybe something sweet to go with it. I was still in high school when my own Grandfather died, and my memory is that my family was inundated with food, which in all honesty is a wonderfully practical American tradition that I have never experienced here. Ofcourse after both funerals, there was food and beverage served to all that cared to stay after the service.
Because I have never really dealt with cemetaries or graves in the States, I do not know the exact customs, but the cemetaries of my childhood all had headstones with a field of grass gently covering all the plots. Here in Germany, the graveyards are almost like little garden cities, with individual or family plots lovingly cared for by family or a professional gardner. Very often people send sympathy cards containing money or a gift certificate for a plant nursery to help with the plant expenses. Birthdays, anniversaries of the death day, and certain relilgious holidays are special times when family and friends visit the graves of loved ones, bringing floral arrangements, candles or both. All Saints' Day (1 November) is the high point, when the cemetary seemingly turns into a park with so many visitors at once and the graves shine in a sea of candles. It is truly amazing what you can do with floweral arrangements even that late in the year. And people talk if a grave looks neglected -- something we unfortunately experienced first hand when for a very short period Walter's grave did not look as well kept as usual. I have mixed feelings about the whole cemetary issue here in Germany, but one can truthfully say that the cemetaries here are beautiful, serene spots where the dearly departed may truly rest in peace.
Clearly losing a loved one causes grief and sadness in any culture, but the ways of dealing with it are not always the same. My Thai sister-in-law Waree lost her brother when he was shot working as an undercover cop, and she told me the hardest part was to renounce her relationship to him as her religion (and culture?) required. I can see why that was tough. I have noticed differences between German and American traditions in dealing with death, although not quite so dramatic. When Walter died and people came to extend their sympathy (still days before the funeral), the family somehow managed to serve coffee to the visitors, and maybe something sweet to go with it. I was still in high school when my own Grandfather died, and my memory is that my family was inundated with food, which in all honesty is a wonderfully practical American tradition that I have never experienced here. Ofcourse after both funerals, there was food and beverage served to all that cared to stay after the service.
Because I have never really dealt with cemetaries or graves in the States, I do not know the exact customs, but the cemetaries of my childhood all had headstones with a field of grass gently covering all the plots. Here in Germany, the graveyards are almost like little garden cities, with individual or family plots lovingly cared for by family or a professional gardner. Very often people send sympathy cards containing money or a gift certificate for a plant nursery to help with the plant expenses. Birthdays, anniversaries of the death day, and certain relilgious holidays are special times when family and friends visit the graves of loved ones, bringing floral arrangements, candles or both. All Saints' Day (1 November) is the high point, when the cemetary seemingly turns into a park with so many visitors at once and the graves shine in a sea of candles. It is truly amazing what you can do with floweral arrangements even that late in the year. And people talk if a grave looks neglected -- something we unfortunately experienced first hand when for a very short period Walter's grave did not look as well kept as usual. I have mixed feelings about the whole cemetary issue here in Germany, but one can truthfully say that the cemetaries here are beautiful, serene spots where the dearly departed may truly rest in peace.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Friends
Friendship is a universal concept, but I have learned that the nuances are not the same everywhere. Whereas in the States the difference between a friend and an acquaintance is not necessarily how well you know the person, but how well you like them, in Germany the term "friend" is reserved for those who are truly close to you, and everybody else is an "acquaintance" with no negative connotation whatsoever.
I am blessed with many friends, both the German and American kind. Today a friend dropped by unexpectedly just to chat and see how I was doing. She brought her four-month-old grandson with her and we sat outside in the mid-day warmth as the child slept in his carriage. We sipped tea and touched on a dozen different subjects -- before we knew it more than an hour had slipped by and it was time for her to go and me to start cooking. As she left, we agreed that this was nice and we should do it again.
This may not seem unusual to Americans, but for Germans to drop by without advance warning is atypical, so I was touched that Rosie decided to stop by our house while out with her grandson. German friends mean it when they say they are there for you, and I feel lucky to know so many caring people in my hometown (and Selzen!) that I can call on when I need help, be it to accompany me to a doctor's appointment or go shopping for plants.
And I have found that distance is not necessarily a factor in the intensity of a friendship. I have friends that are very dear to me, not only in far away German cities like Berlin, but also in the US, Ireland and China. I count my sisters and sister-in-law in this group, except for the one sister-in-law who lives in the same town as me, and has been one of my closest friends since before I married her brother.
Enough for today. Thanks so much for coming by Rosie; I really enjoyed your visit!
I am blessed with many friends, both the German and American kind. Today a friend dropped by unexpectedly just to chat and see how I was doing. She brought her four-month-old grandson with her and we sat outside in the mid-day warmth as the child slept in his carriage. We sipped tea and touched on a dozen different subjects -- before we knew it more than an hour had slipped by and it was time for her to go and me to start cooking. As she left, we agreed that this was nice and we should do it again.
This may not seem unusual to Americans, but for Germans to drop by without advance warning is atypical, so I was touched that Rosie decided to stop by our house while out with her grandson. German friends mean it when they say they are there for you, and I feel lucky to know so many caring people in my hometown (and Selzen!) that I can call on when I need help, be it to accompany me to a doctor's appointment or go shopping for plants.
And I have found that distance is not necessarily a factor in the intensity of a friendship. I have friends that are very dear to me, not only in far away German cities like Berlin, but also in the US, Ireland and China. I count my sisters and sister-in-law in this group, except for the one sister-in-law who lives in the same town as me, and has been one of my closest friends since before I married her brother.
Enough for today. Thanks so much for coming by Rosie; I really enjoyed your visit!
Monday, April 19, 2010
To Iron, or Not to Iron
Today I think I will obsess about ironing. The fact is, right now I would rather write about it than do it, although I have wanted to wear my pink blouse everyday for the last 2 weeks, but it still needs to be pressed. Truth be told, I actually enjoy ironing, as I set up the board in front of the TV and iron my way through several episodes of a sitcom or a whole chick flick that none of my guys will watch with me. Even as a kid, when the task of pressing tableclothes and pillowcases fell to me, I found the chore almost fun, except for that one time when I burned my elbow during an exceptionally exciting episode of Wild, Wild West.
No, ironing is really one of the brighter spots in the household day, it's just that the German housewives have their own version of obsessing about it. My friends literally measure their ironing in baskets, meaning the load of clothes is washed, hung out to dry and then ironed. Or they put the laundry in the dryer and then give everything a quick press as soon as it comes out. And I do mean everything. When my boys were little, friends came to visit and one of their children soiled his pants. Since our kids were roughly the same size, we just lent them the necessary items, knowing we would get the clothes back soon. Imagine my surprise at our next meeting when I was handed those tiny jeans and underpants not only washed, but also ironed!!! Until then I had thought it was just a rumor that Germans ironed excessively, but now my eyes were opened. I came to find out that my friends really did iron their husbands' boxer shorts and all manner of bedding, in addition to all the articles of clothing I found normal. Most of them did not go as far as their own mothers though -- that generation still presses bath towels.
For years I tried to keep up and ironed not only shirts and blouses but also dish-drying towels, pillowcases, napkins and placemats. Now I'm back to just the upper garments, and pants and skirts only if truly necessary. Of course that is a very subjective distinction, but I do think my sister Mary has the right idea with her 15-minute rule: if after 15 minutes of wearing, you can't tell that an article of clothing was ironed, then you should never press it again.
I'd love to go on about this topic, but I promised Tim I would press his new shirts before he comes by this evening. My son, whose wardrobe until now has consisted entirely of jeans, Ts and sweatshirts (which no one ever ironed) starts a new student job today. His German side came shining through when we bought the shirts on the weekend and he announced that he plans to get an ironing board of his own in the near future. Hope he has a lot of fun DVDs to watch.
No, ironing is really one of the brighter spots in the household day, it's just that the German housewives have their own version of obsessing about it. My friends literally measure their ironing in baskets, meaning the load of clothes is washed, hung out to dry and then ironed. Or they put the laundry in the dryer and then give everything a quick press as soon as it comes out. And I do mean everything. When my boys were little, friends came to visit and one of their children soiled his pants. Since our kids were roughly the same size, we just lent them the necessary items, knowing we would get the clothes back soon. Imagine my surprise at our next meeting when I was handed those tiny jeans and underpants not only washed, but also ironed!!! Until then I had thought it was just a rumor that Germans ironed excessively, but now my eyes were opened. I came to find out that my friends really did iron their husbands' boxer shorts and all manner of bedding, in addition to all the articles of clothing I found normal. Most of them did not go as far as their own mothers though -- that generation still presses bath towels.
For years I tried to keep up and ironed not only shirts and blouses but also dish-drying towels, pillowcases, napkins and placemats. Now I'm back to just the upper garments, and pants and skirts only if truly necessary. Of course that is a very subjective distinction, but I do think my sister Mary has the right idea with her 15-minute rule: if after 15 minutes of wearing, you can't tell that an article of clothing was ironed, then you should never press it again.
I'd love to go on about this topic, but I promised Tim I would press his new shirts before he comes by this evening. My son, whose wardrobe until now has consisted entirely of jeans, Ts and sweatshirts (which no one ever ironed) starts a new student job today. His German side came shining through when we bought the shirts on the weekend and he announced that he plans to get an ironing board of his own in the near future. Hope he has a lot of fun DVDs to watch.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sunny Weather
Wearing my hat, sunglasses, lipstick and favorite earrings while sitting in my convertible, I certainly do not feel like a woman pushing 50. Granted the new sunglasses have progressive lenses and the cap effectively covers my greying hair, but driving along with the top down just makes me feel young. Possibly others feel the same way because I can't help noticing that the majority of convertible drivers are closer to my age than not, but no matter, as soon as the first warm sun rays brighten the landscape, convertibles appear on the road like puddles after a rain. Every other car seems to have its roof open, allowing the sunshine to fill every inch of the vehicle.
Here in Germany we don't take the sun for granted, so when it shines, we go out to meet it. Where Americans turn on the AC, Germans throw open windows and head for the patio to sit outside and enjoy the warmth. Cafés and restaurents with outdoor seating overflow with customers looking to savor a meal or just some coffee and cake in the fresh air and sunshine. Clothes are hung outiside to dry and suddenly everybody seems to be working in their gardens. Granted, the temperatures here do not always match those of my native Virginia, but we have our share of hot and humid days, and we survive them without air conditioning in our homes. Instead we cleverly adjust the shutters and blinds to keep out the hot sun, and know that airing out the house early in the morning brings in fresh, cool air. The too warm nights can be trying, but sleeping with open windows and a fan humming do bring some relief
I like the German's take on fresh air and sunshine, and on this particular issue consider myself one of their own. Even though I am thankful that many cars (including my convertible) have AC, and each summer finds more businesses outfitted with a cooling unit, it is wonderful to experience all the outdoor activity during the warm months of the year. Pools and parks are magnets here, as opposed to my hometown in Virginia, where we practically have the local pool to ourselves on a visit in July. Plus there is always the risk of freezing to death on summer visits to the States. Heaven forbid I forget my sweaters for when we go to a restaurant or the movies, or even my parents' house. If Americans would turn down their thermostats just a little, they would not only save energy, but also not be so shocked when going outside. It is the difference in temperature that kills you, or at least gives you one heck of a cold.
Darn, I ragged so long on this subject that I missed the last sweet hours of sunshine. Macht nichts, they are calling for another beautiful day tomorrow.
Here in Germany we don't take the sun for granted, so when it shines, we go out to meet it. Where Americans turn on the AC, Germans throw open windows and head for the patio to sit outside and enjoy the warmth. Cafés and restaurents with outdoor seating overflow with customers looking to savor a meal or just some coffee and cake in the fresh air and sunshine. Clothes are hung outiside to dry and suddenly everybody seems to be working in their gardens. Granted, the temperatures here do not always match those of my native Virginia, but we have our share of hot and humid days, and we survive them without air conditioning in our homes. Instead we cleverly adjust the shutters and blinds to keep out the hot sun, and know that airing out the house early in the morning brings in fresh, cool air. The too warm nights can be trying, but sleeping with open windows and a fan humming do bring some relief
I like the German's take on fresh air and sunshine, and on this particular issue consider myself one of their own. Even though I am thankful that many cars (including my convertible) have AC, and each summer finds more businesses outfitted with a cooling unit, it is wonderful to experience all the outdoor activity during the warm months of the year. Pools and parks are magnets here, as opposed to my hometown in Virginia, where we practically have the local pool to ourselves on a visit in July. Plus there is always the risk of freezing to death on summer visits to the States. Heaven forbid I forget my sweaters for when we go to a restaurant or the movies, or even my parents' house. If Americans would turn down their thermostats just a little, they would not only save energy, but also not be so shocked when going outside. It is the difference in temperature that kills you, or at least gives you one heck of a cold.
Darn, I ragged so long on this subject that I missed the last sweet hours of sunshine. Macht nichts, they are calling for another beautiful day tomorrow.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A Morning in the City
The world is a better place when the sun shines and my hair looks good. This morning the clouds parted early to let the sun through and in a rare moment of self-satisfaction, I was pleased with the results produced by blow drying my hair. I didn't have much time to admire my reflection though, as a friend was on her way to pick me up for a morning of shopping in the city. Uschi arrived as promised at 9:30 on the dot and we set out for our destination -- a beautiful city on the Rhine river, only 15 minutes from where we live.
Our main mission was to go shoe shopping for me, which may sound innocuous, but is actually quite a challenge these days as I wear a brace on my left leg. We headed straight for a medical supplies store that might be able to help, only to realize after a few minutes of browsing that they had nothing which fit my needs. However a very savvy and helpful saleswoman (and we both know about saleswomen, as my friend was for many years a part-owner of a small bookstore and she and I worked side by side selling books) took up my cause and called around until she got the name and number of the person in their company that makes shoes for such cases. So we left the store, unfortunately without any shoes, but at least armed with more information and a new optimism that I may be able to actually get halfway decent looking shoes in the near future.
I don't get to the city very often anymore, as walking is very difficult for me, and when I do, I literally need someone to lean on. And although I am less than thrilled that I cannot walk without aid, it does have the very positive side effect of getting physically close to my friends, which inevitably brings a unique kind of intimacy that strenghtens the friendship. So Uschi and I walked arm-in-arm in the morning sunshine to a nearby department store to work on my shopping list. I found all that I needed and more, whipping out my credit card every few minutes as we power-shopped out way through the store. I bought, Uschi carried, and we made a great team. After an hour and a lot of euros, it was time for a break so we headed to a café specializing in Italian ice creams. We skipped the calorie-ladened frozen creations, but the cappucino and waffel with fruit were truly delicious. Uschi thought the Italian waiter was hitting on me, as he repeatedly spilled coffee on my leg and kept wiping my jeans (the Italians definitely do have a different sense of personal space, probably closer to the American idea than the German). At any rate, just down the way from the cafe is my absolute favorite kitchen store, so of course we had to slip by there, and to my great pleasure, the soup plates for our newest set of dishes just happened to be on sale. Uschi instantly ageed that this was an opportunity not to be missed, so I added soup plates to our collection. She valiantly balanced me and all the packages, but it was clearly time to head back to the car.
We had one more errand to run, to take back some pants Uschi had recently bought so they could be altered, so we drove to the store where she purchased them in a trendy part of town. That area is also a favorite place for students to reside, and it just so happens the store is directly across the street from where our middle son Lukas lives. While Uschi was being measured, I called Lukas on my handy (the English word Germans use for cell phone. Go figure.) and he popped over in his sweat pants just to say hello. Our oldest son lives right around the corner from his brother, so I called Tim also, but even though he was home, he preferred to chat on the phone and not come out. I know better than to appear unannounced at either of their apartments, but I couldn't be in the area and not say hi.
It was a wonderful morning, and what luck that we picked such a beautiful day to go shopping. But the best part of all -- today is Friday, and the forecasts for the next few days all call for sunny weather. This evening we are going to kick off the weekend by meeting with Anne & Ekki at a nearby vintner and enjoying the elegant food and wine at his spring festival. Cheers!
Our main mission was to go shoe shopping for me, which may sound innocuous, but is actually quite a challenge these days as I wear a brace on my left leg. We headed straight for a medical supplies store that might be able to help, only to realize after a few minutes of browsing that they had nothing which fit my needs. However a very savvy and helpful saleswoman (and we both know about saleswomen, as my friend was for many years a part-owner of a small bookstore and she and I worked side by side selling books) took up my cause and called around until she got the name and number of the person in their company that makes shoes for such cases. So we left the store, unfortunately without any shoes, but at least armed with more information and a new optimism that I may be able to actually get halfway decent looking shoes in the near future.
I don't get to the city very often anymore, as walking is very difficult for me, and when I do, I literally need someone to lean on. And although I am less than thrilled that I cannot walk without aid, it does have the very positive side effect of getting physically close to my friends, which inevitably brings a unique kind of intimacy that strenghtens the friendship. So Uschi and I walked arm-in-arm in the morning sunshine to a nearby department store to work on my shopping list. I found all that I needed and more, whipping out my credit card every few minutes as we power-shopped out way through the store. I bought, Uschi carried, and we made a great team. After an hour and a lot of euros, it was time for a break so we headed to a café specializing in Italian ice creams. We skipped the calorie-ladened frozen creations, but the cappucino and waffel with fruit were truly delicious. Uschi thought the Italian waiter was hitting on me, as he repeatedly spilled coffee on my leg and kept wiping my jeans (the Italians definitely do have a different sense of personal space, probably closer to the American idea than the German). At any rate, just down the way from the cafe is my absolute favorite kitchen store, so of course we had to slip by there, and to my great pleasure, the soup plates for our newest set of dishes just happened to be on sale. Uschi instantly ageed that this was an opportunity not to be missed, so I added soup plates to our collection. She valiantly balanced me and all the packages, but it was clearly time to head back to the car.
We had one more errand to run, to take back some pants Uschi had recently bought so they could be altered, so we drove to the store where she purchased them in a trendy part of town. That area is also a favorite place for students to reside, and it just so happens the store is directly across the street from where our middle son Lukas lives. While Uschi was being measured, I called Lukas on my handy (the English word Germans use for cell phone. Go figure.) and he popped over in his sweat pants just to say hello. Our oldest son lives right around the corner from his brother, so I called Tim also, but even though he was home, he preferred to chat on the phone and not come out. I know better than to appear unannounced at either of their apartments, but I couldn't be in the area and not say hi.
It was a wonderful morning, and what luck that we picked such a beautiful day to go shopping. But the best part of all -- today is Friday, and the forecasts for the next few days all call for sunny weather. This evening we are going to kick off the weekend by meeting with Anne & Ekki at a nearby vintner and enjoying the elegant food and wine at his spring festival. Cheers!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
What's in a name?
What's in a name? Alot. It is what we identify ourselves with, even if we were given the original by our parents. I've changed my name so often over the years, that even I wonder what I prefer to be called. It started way back in first grade, when the teacher insisted on calling me Katherine, although everyone else called me Kathy. Not yet being able to read, how was I supposed to know that the way I was spelling my name, with the "e" sound and the "e" letter at the end, was not my nickname, but my full name? I've always suspected one of my older siblings had shown me how to write those letters and was enjoying a laugh at my expense. At some point in elementary school I got that straightened out, only to decide in the fourth grade I wanted to be known as Katie. That worked out for a year, but then I just HAD to be Kathy again, and my friends graciously switched back to my former moniker. There was a long stretch, all the way through high school where I was content to stay with Kathy (except for one sweet soul who called me Katie until we graduated, and if I ever see her again, she probably still would!), but the going got tough at the end. One of my brothers married when I was in the eleventh grade, and his bride's name was Cathy, which would not have been a problem except that the young couple also lived with my parents as I did. My friends were somewhat confused when they called our house and were suddenly asked which Kathy they would like to speak to. It got worse -- when they were expecting their first child, the rumors were flying in our town that Kathy U. was pregnant, which was true, but not really -- it was the other Cathy U., the one who didn't spell the name right, that was going to have a baby, but try telling that to the school gossips.
Having been somewhat traumatized by this experience, I decided to go with my full name in college. Few people would know me from my former life, as I was going away to college, so this seemed a reasonable thing to do. As luck would have it, the woman picked to be my new roommate was also a Kathryn, so for my own sanity I held on to Kathy, along with seemingly dozens of other freshman at the college. It was a turbulent 4 years, one of which was spent in Germany on a Junior Year Abroad Program, and the friendship I already had with a certain young German man turned into much more and we married a few months after I graduated. Being a pretty traditional kind of person, and desperately wanting to move up in the alphabet, I took his last name and replaced my middle name with my maiden name, naively assuming that once I got all the official paperwork taken care of, this would be the name I used for the rest of my life.
It turns out not every country works with this system. We moved to Germany a year after our wedding and suddenly I had my former middle name back and my maiden name was only an addendum, though not by my choice. Germans are very particular about names (before naming a baby, parents have to run the choice by some government agency, I kid you not) and any first and middle names which appear on your birth certificate stay with you for life, at least on paper. So now I have the dubious honor of having two official names: the American one on my U.S. passport and the one the Germans have decided is correct, and never the twain shall meet. The Germans still insist I sign First, Middle, Last and I just as stubbornly maintain First, Maiden, Last so that I literally have had to present official paperwork as to why my signature is different on various forms.
Aside from the redtape, it really makes no huge difference in my life how my official name is recorded, but what I am actually called is a whole nother matter. Knowing Germans have a hard time with the "th" sound, and not particularly caring for "Kessy" as so many people called me when I was on the student exchange, I had the brillant idea of tweaking my name when we moved so that it sounded at least close to the real thing. Out of Katherine, I made Kathrin. Voilà, once again a new name. For many years the people at church and the local bookstore where I had a part-time job knew me only as Kathrin. These were places where I was on my own, and if I said my name was Kathrin, that is what people called me. With the increase of internet usage and yes, Facebook (where I am back to being Kathy so friends in the States can find me), my email address and FB page are confusing to those who know me as Kathrin. Once again the distorted versions from Kaaty to Ketty and the everpresent Kessy make me envy my husband, who has been known by the same first and last name all his life, on paper and in speaking.
These days I just sign everything K.
Having been somewhat traumatized by this experience, I decided to go with my full name in college. Few people would know me from my former life, as I was going away to college, so this seemed a reasonable thing to do. As luck would have it, the woman picked to be my new roommate was also a Kathryn, so for my own sanity I held on to Kathy, along with seemingly dozens of other freshman at the college. It was a turbulent 4 years, one of which was spent in Germany on a Junior Year Abroad Program, and the friendship I already had with a certain young German man turned into much more and we married a few months after I graduated. Being a pretty traditional kind of person, and desperately wanting to move up in the alphabet, I took his last name and replaced my middle name with my maiden name, naively assuming that once I got all the official paperwork taken care of, this would be the name I used for the rest of my life.
It turns out not every country works with this system. We moved to Germany a year after our wedding and suddenly I had my former middle name back and my maiden name was only an addendum, though not by my choice. Germans are very particular about names (before naming a baby, parents have to run the choice by some government agency, I kid you not) and any first and middle names which appear on your birth certificate stay with you for life, at least on paper. So now I have the dubious honor of having two official names: the American one on my U.S. passport and the one the Germans have decided is correct, and never the twain shall meet. The Germans still insist I sign First, Middle, Last and I just as stubbornly maintain First, Maiden, Last so that I literally have had to present official paperwork as to why my signature is different on various forms.
Aside from the redtape, it really makes no huge difference in my life how my official name is recorded, but what I am actually called is a whole nother matter. Knowing Germans have a hard time with the "th" sound, and not particularly caring for "Kessy" as so many people called me when I was on the student exchange, I had the brillant idea of tweaking my name when we moved so that it sounded at least close to the real thing. Out of Katherine, I made Kathrin. Voilà, once again a new name. For many years the people at church and the local bookstore where I had a part-time job knew me only as Kathrin. These were places where I was on my own, and if I said my name was Kathrin, that is what people called me. With the increase of internet usage and yes, Facebook (where I am back to being Kathy so friends in the States can find me), my email address and FB page are confusing to those who know me as Kathrin. Once again the distorted versions from Kaaty to Ketty and the everpresent Kessy make me envy my husband, who has been known by the same first and last name all his life, on paper and in speaking.
These days I just sign everything K.
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