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.......................

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.

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.....................

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

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

Grocery shopping

I think my sister Mary is embarrassed to go grocery shopping with me when I am in the States. She says I am like a kid in a candy store, as I slowly go up and down the aisles, somewhat envious of all the foods she has at her local supermarket which are difficult for me to find in Germany (plus I am always trying to bag my own groceries as one does here). The funny thing is, most of the products I probably wouldn't touch if they were available in Germany. I try to stay away from foods like Fritos and Co. and since I am now vegetarian, my favorite Barbeque is out of the question. For years I would gorge on Oreos each time I returned, but since finding them here, I have dropped them into my shopping basket only once or twice as a gift for my kids. The list of goodies my boys are only able to enjoy during a stay in the States is shrinking too, as Mountain Dew, Jelly Beans and Swiss Miss have all entered the market here. At the risk of sounding like we eat nothing but junk foods, my family and I are somewhat lax about our diets for the few weeks we are visiting the States. It is telling however, that the American foods most poplular in Germany are generally the ones with very little nutritious value, and as I see the grocery store shelves in the States stocked with more and more prepared foods, I wonder how healthy these products really are?

Ofcourse one can find many foods and beverages packed with vitamins and minerals in American supermarkets. Sometimes I think too packed. Who knew we needed calcium in orange juice? Cereals and other foods have been fortified since I was a kid, but are these "functional foods" really good for us? Even the choice of milk is almost a lifestyle statement in the US -- I get a headache just trying to find the "normal" variety in the dairy section.

Oh dear, got off on a bit of a rant there. I'm very big on moderate eating and a healthy diet, and I tend to get quite adamant about it.

But back to the subject at hand. As the world gets smaller and smaller (not literally, but you know what I mean), some items that were once only available in Germany are now easily found in the US also. Imagine my surprise when I found that our special present from here -- the haselnut chocolate spread Nutella -- is now routinely stocked in Stateside stores. And one of my sisters-in-law just loves the German-brand muesli she gets at her favorite market in Northern Virginia. But what stunned us most was the first time we saw the German discount chain Aldi in New York; I only wonder if it has the same cult status it enjoys here. It is true, though, what goes around comes around -- last weekend at a gourmet store in Wiesbaden, I spied the "Swiss" cereal I loved as a child, marketed as an American specialty.

Nonetheless, we are still on the lookout for string cheese, Rice Krispies and Lucky Charms, so if anyone discovers them in the Rhein-Main area, please do tell!

Coffee

In the movie "Julie & Julia", the New Yorker puts on her pearls to cook, just as Julia Child did way back when. Just to get that same feeling of "really doing it" I decided to make myself some coffee to enjoy while writing and now I am ready to go. Granted it is decaffinated -- my nerves don't really tolerate any other-- but it is the sheer pleasure of a cup of joe while doing something creative. Plus I put on my pearls for good luck.

Anyway, today's topic is coffee, which is a culture unto itself here, and one of the most pleasant I might add. When someone invites you to afternoon coffee, it is generally not for a mug or two at the kitchen table while gossiping. Oh no, usually there is at least one cake (in a pinch, possibly even store-bought) and the polite guest brings flowers or a knick-knack for the hostess. Sunday afternoon is prime coffee time (truth be told, tea can be served too) and a full blown birthday party will often have such a selection of cakes, that you risk busting a button just by trying each one. Now that practically every household has some kind of fancy espresso machine, that has come into vogue for the obligatory espresso directly after a good meal, but even that has thankfully not replaced the traditional coffee hour, which is normally in the afternoon, sometime after the main meal.

And an hour it is, at least, generally several, as it takes time to eat all these good sweets. Homemade cookies are not commonly served, as baking cookies is reserved for the Advent Season (that will surely be a topic here one day too), but I have done my best to add brownies to the menu. Obviously I wasn't the only one spreading the good cheer, for when I first came, brownies were unheard of and it was impossible to get baking chocolate as used in the States. These days brownies are easily found in the grocery stores and bakeries, and recipes abound in baking books, but they don't really meet my standards, maybe because there is still no American baking chocolate to be found. Don't misunderstand me, I am definitely not complaining about the chocolate here (that heavenly confection! The Germans and Swiss really do know how to make that stuff!) but I need the real American product to make the real American brownies, so I ask visiting friends to stash it in their suitcases or I beg it off those with connections to the commissary. Of course I prefer not to eat the brownies myself, carefully preserving my calorie count for the other delicacies on the table. Unfortunately I almost never get up from a table of treats without having eaten at least one more piece than I meant to, regardless of how often I swear I am going to eat less...............

A New Day, A New Blog

Last night, Chris and I watched the movie Julie & Julia about a woman in New York City in 2002 who cooks her way through Julia Child's 1961 book Mastering the Art of French Cooking, blogging all the while. Not only did I enjoy watching Meryl Streep in her element as Julia Child (although I could have skipped some of the cooking scenes, as I don't eat meat and it was waaaay too much butter for me!), I also once again felt that urge to get up and write myself. The idea Julie Powell had, to write about her experience preparing all the recipes in Julia's bestseller was genius and I can not suppose that anything I do could compare, but still that old feeling of "if she can do it, so can I" got me, so here I am this morning trying to get a new blog project off the ground. And I even have my own theme, the one I've always wanted to actually write a book about: living inbetween. This idea started out as me, an American in Germany, somewhat caught "inbetween" the two cultures, but the thoughts ripened in my mind to include so many other topics, thus giving me license to write about more or less anything. Clever, huh? And when the spirit moves me to record something that can not even be remotely linked to anything "inbetween", I think I'll write about that too, just for the heck of it.

But there has to be a structure here, otherwise I will have trouble squeezing blog time into my day. And a goal, to make it worth doing. The other goal I set for myself – to write my autobiography by the time I am 50 – does not look like it is happening, even if there still is over one and a half years until that ominous date. So here's the new deal: I will blog 5 times a week until 22. September, 2010, my 49th birthday, and see how things are going at that point. Who knows, maybe by then I'll have a start for my book, or at least a lot of practice working on it.

Oh no, there it is, the oven timer, telling me I need to get off the computer so I can go take some flowers to Frau Jung for her birthday. Sigh. Just when I am getting going, it is time to stop, but I will be back tomorrow, hopefully full of words to add to my new blog.