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".
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