Life: Idiotropic

Contrary to the Bitburger fest that was yesterday's parade, our little village parade in Gillrath was more of a simple family affair. A small group of friends assembled at our house and the parade came by slowly, but right on schedule led by a big green tractor, the float of choice in this area. It was smaller - about half the size of the Lanbroich one - but the kids were kids, the adults were fun and smiling. Everyone was smiling. My kids got more candy from our tiny local parade than yesterday's huge one, and we had more fun. Yes, there was a little alcohol. A few of the older kids had beer and I did get a shot of something herbal from a rabbit and some sweet Creme of Merula from a long haired angel, but it wasn't profuse and their weren't droopy eyed kids leaning on each other for support. The people in this parade interacted with the audience, smiled, laughed, and obviously were having fun - which, really, is the point of the entire holiday season here. So this was it. The end of Carnival for me and a happy one spent relaxed with good food and better friends. I will miss that. I miss it already.

MORE PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=93926&id=674507268&l=e5f3f

Lanbroich, Germany.

2 full hours of John Deeres hauling large boxy floats probably made from old barnwood. Some with moving parts like the tail on the cow and some with paper mache figures like Kung Fu panda. But almost all with teenagers both tipsy and beyond. Teens from 14ish on up with beer and vodka. Baby bottles with mixed drinks hanging from the necks of most of the girls. Boys gulping down booze from inverted bottles. Boys chugging beer from long tubes while their buddies hold the bottle at the other end. Big boom boom music. Smoking. Glassy eyed kids barely able to stand let alone walk the parade distance. "Ist slim," says Tante Tinny who says it's gotten worse and worse. Tinny says when she was young, they just drank soda in the parades. I think it's odd that they drink anything. As far as I remember, in parades back home, you'll just see someone with the occasional bottle of water on a hot day. Why do spectators need to see folks dressed up drinking? Interferes with the parade wave that I learned as a girl - elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist.

Yep. 'Twas interesting. On the up side we were able to enjoy the parade from the lawn of some friends of ours right on the parade route as it turned a corner, so it all slowed down near us enough for us to really get a good look at all the craziness. My girls seemed oblivious to the seedier aspects and just enjoyed the candy and costumes. Arianna screamed her glass shattering excited scream at Kung Fu panda. I enjoyed taking pictures. The costumes and makeup while nothing like the Dutch parades, were still fun. I was amazed at how many "American" themes there were... at least three cowboy/indian floats, 2 Ducktales floats, one with a Simpson's character, the Obamas, Miami police, Kung Fu panda, and an American school bus full of "school girls." It was strange. Also saw Chinese, Greeks, and Romans. The "German style" floats were mostly Bavarian - the story book alpine huts, lederhosen, and large steins of beer. All in all, I was glad to be there with the girls and friends. Knowing this was my last year, it was good to see as much as I could and it's always fun to see all the costumes.

Living where I do right on a main road I am still enjoying the floats - three days later as they announce their arrival with the thump thump that rattles the window glass. The vibration you can feel in your seat as they pass by. Three more just passed. And I have a front row birdeye from my office chair.

MORE PHOTOS:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=93785&id=674507268&l=6e123

Altweiber Day is the day that women are in charge in all ways naughty. They run with scissors - and if that's not naughty enough, they use those scissors to cut off the ties of unsuspecting (or quite expecting) men. They steal patches, they kiss boys. They throw out the rulebooks and just do what ever crazy women do during the Carnival days. And the boys usually are pretty excited that this day, unlike any other, they're pretty much guaranteed success. Everyone gets drunk and they call it a party.
















Well, like many villages, the base also has an Altweiberball - a big party with dancers at times, a band, lots of alcohol, and crazy people in costumes. Last year I went and had a great time dancing with the husbands of a few of my friends. It was safe and innocent, therefore, quite fun. This year I went, hung out with some friends, had an ok time, but it was pretty mellow on my end. Love to dance, but didn't want to dance with the guys there because they were all a bit creepy. Still, had to go. This was my last year. So I went, I danced a little, I met some great people and chatted with old friends. And then I went home and spent time with Kirk who is much more fun than a big drunkfest anytime.

Fashion and Spaezle.

One of the local sports shops brought clothing for 5 of our German members to model for us this evening. About 20 different outfits were modeled including a lot of items by Nike which they pronounce Niyk. No "ee" sound on the end. "And here's another nice pant by Niyk..." Over and over. It sounded funny. The ladies had a lot of fun modelling and really played the part well, peeling off layers like they were on a real runway! Thank you ladies!

Dinner was kaesespaetzle - a noodle they make in southern Germany. It's similar to the Hungarian dumplings, but the Hungarians serve it more with sauce. The Dutch serve it with sauces too. Cheese makes it heavy - like macaroni and cheese.

I sat with the Norwegians and we all tried a bar of Finish chocolate that I brought. It was spicy. We think it had Cardamon in it. Odd, but oddly good.

The recipe provided by the German ladies:

This was our last St. Martin's Day in Germany. It feels strange to think that. But, with that in mind, we went out last night into the cold to walk around our village with the children's lanterns shining bright.

Of course, I got the time wrong, so though I planned to miss the lengthy German mass at the church, we also missed the very beginning of the parade and the bonfire behind the fire station where St. Martin rides his horse around the fire and gives his cloak to the poor man. Still, the kids all had the lanterns that they'd made in school and we caught up in enough time to do most of the parade walking together with over 400 children and their families.

Our parade has gotten popular. The firemen here are in charge of it each year. They go door to door collecting donation and giving tickets to the children for a donation. They'd come by over a month ago to give out tickets. Then all the money collected is used to buy treats for the bags. For each ticket handed out, a bag of treats is put together. The ladies in the village over 80 years old get together and put them all together - large sacks full. This year they made over 450 sacks for the children. Each had a large Weckmannbrot, 2 clementines, 1 apple, 1 large package of Speculatus cookies, 1 large package of honey dominos (delicious!), a small bag of chips, a full sized snickers bar, a full sized Alpina chocolate bar, and seven other smaller candy treats - lollipops, cookies, and gummis.

The band led the parade with St. Martin on his horse. The firetruck ended the parade as the caboose keeping traffic at bay. And the firemen walked with us all along the parade route carrying long fire sticks and stomping out the bits of burning cinders that would fall from them every few minutes. We finished the parade wrapping around the church and heading to the new firehouse. All along the parade route people in the village stood outside their doors to wave or peeked from their curtains to watch the children walk by. Even at Il Genio's, our local pizza place, folks stood outside on the steps waving to the children and shouting hellos to people they knew.

At the firehouse the band played the traditional St. Martin's Day songs, the children lined up to greet St. Martin with his brass hat and Santa-like beard, and the parents gathered by the tent to the left where they sold hot chocolate, gluwein (hot, spiced red wine), and shots of amaretto to go in either. And oh, the gluwein was just that much better with a bit of amaretto in it! Delicious. And it certainly warms you up on a cold night. So we all stood together after we saw St. Martin, drinking our warm drinks and talking with our friends and neighbors before heading home. I was also able to meet the man in charge of the Carnival parade this year, so we may just have a float in our village parade!

Before we were home, all three little girls had already gotten into their bags and eaten the heads of their Weckmannbrots. So, the bread above with Arianna is actually Tiara's .... the only one that survived long enough for a photo op.

In my first post-op week at home I was home feeling as if I were under house arrest and teasing Kirk about it though I do appreciate his care of me. Instructions said no driving for two weeks which he interpreted as no sitting in a car in any way, shape, or form for at least two solid weeks. The little girls did vacation Bible school and my big girl enjoyed her last week of sleeping in.

On Thursday, Kirk went back to work... and you know the saying... "While the cat's away..."

I was well behaved, mostly, but resting gets boring. In the afternoon I heard Tinny come in and talk to the girls, so I went down to investigate. "Tinny was looking for you." So, I went through our courtyard to her place and instead of finding Tinny, who was at another neighbor's house looking for scissors, I found her niece, Alicia, tying ribbons around roses.

12 red roses sat in the bucket in Tinny's sink bound together for something later. 12 large white roses laid across the table in tangles of bright yellow wired ribbon, their ends already cut on a nice diagonal. So, looking for something to do and thinking that the tying of ribbons was well within my allowed activities, I sat and helped tie pretty yellow bows on the remaining roses neatly trimming the ends. When that was finished they brought in 14 gold luftbalons, big, helium filled, and clinging to the ceiling. That's when the fireworks came out. Yep. Fireworks and balloons. We took what seems like a really long time, paining our fingers by twisting the ends of large sparklers onto the balloon string in two places so that each balloon had two sparklers hanging from it. Some only held one, so just about the time we had finished poking ourselves with those thick wires, Tinny found a box of small sparklers. And we all three immediately took off all the big sparklers and put the small ones on. It was finished. I went home and Tinny promised to ring my door bell so I could come and take pictures of the balloons. Spaeter. Later. When it's dark.

15 minutes later the doorbell rang. It wasn't dark. I didn't see Tinny, but Finny was outside with another couple I didn't know. The tall man linked his arm in mine and invited me, Elise, and Luci (who had come outside too and without shoes) to come to the party. Ok. I ran inside quickly, told Tiara where I'd be, slipped my sandals on, and went. The party was at the house at the opposite of row of houses we live on - a whole 20 feet away. The side yard was set up with a large tent under which about 8 long, narrow tables with benches were set. People filled most of them already drinking and talking with each other. I sat down at one, then scooted into the end as people began to fill it. Finny, Kirt (the old man who lives in the house by us), Tinny, the hairdresser (Tanya), the couple in the big house (Paul and...), and the man with the white dogs sat at my table.

Tanya and Paul spoke a bit of English but everyone was friendly and tried to converse with me making me feel a lot less of an outsider. Young girls walked around serving drinks. Elise and Luci had Fanta. I shared theirs. Tray after tray of broetchen halves went by with mettwurst (raw ground pork) with onions, schinkenwurst, salami, cheeses... all with a thick smear of butter. The kids at some. I waited. Tiara was home cooking dinner.

We talked about wine from the Ahr regions. Tanya asked where I was from and I learned that almost everyone at my table had a relative somewhere in the states. The man with the little white dogs folded his napkin into triangles and then held it up like a bikini and everyone laughed. He started a conversation with me about ouzo. Strange, but ok. I can talk ouzo.

Kirt is the man next door who lives alone with his miniature pony, Bonzai. He's 79 with dark skin. Short with slightly tired shoulders. He is rarely seen without his thick cigar and he drinks schnapps - and only schnapps claiming that a shot in the morning and a shot in the afternoon has kept him healthy for years. This is the man who still stands on top of his ladder with a chainsaw to trim his 8' hedges and stood on top of his new awning when he was building it. May be schnapps is a health food. So Kirt sat at the end of the table listening, contributing just a little, and smiling with unnaturally white, perfect (I suspect false) teeth the entire evening, a cigar cocked out of one side of his mouth allowing him to continue to drink shot after shot of who knows what. Someone would take the bottle. He'd jovially yell, and one of the girls would fetch it for him. Tinny told me later that the men carried him home at midnight. She was walking back from his place at 9 the next morning checking in to make sure he was ok.

I left to check on the kids after a couple hours, but within a half hour the doorbell rung again... it was time for the singing. 12 school friends had gathered. Can you imagine??? You're old enough to celebrate your 50th wedding anniversary and 12 of your closest school friends are there singing? It's amazing. People stay in these villages for a lifetime.


Two ladies dressed up as the anniversary couple. Alicia played the small boom box inside the old fashioned looking crank organ and turned the crank as if she was playing it. The school friends had their white roses to give and we all sung "Rut Sin De Ruse" loudly until our lungs couldn't take it anymore. I don't know if it was badly typed or some strain of old German, but the spelling isn't what I've learned.


Soon the sparklers came. The school friends all gathered in a circle and lit the fireworks letting a few balloons go at a time. Then we all gathered (even me) in a half circle singing another well known song to the couple of honor. Soon after (it was around 10), I went home.

I heard Tinny come home after 11 laughing loudly with her friends. The party continued until midnight. That was the only portion that I was a part of, but the celebration continued. A 50th anniversary is a special thing in a small town.

On Friday the Mayor of Geilenkirchen came to their house to bring a gift from the city and to spend an hour visiting. Then in the evening there was a special anniversary mass at the church in Gillrath.

On Saturday all their family and friends gathered once more - this time for dinner at Haus Hammacher. It was a very nice dinner, Tinny said. She was there for about 6 hours.

She came over before the party to show me this balloon. It was a gift from 3 neighbors - the second neighbor to their left (Tinny), the second neighbor to their right, and the second neighbor in front of them. They put a wedding photo inside then filled the balloon and over 200Euros in 5 Euros bills, confetti, and smaller balloons.

It's tradition, says Tinny. It's beautiful.

Random Stuff...

First... today the traffic was slowed in front of our house because there was a spill of some kind. I don't know what spilled... don't really care. But what was interesting was the process by which it was cleaned. These guys were out there for well over an hour - may be even two with one big truck and the little fire van. Black powder was sprinkled liberally over the center of the road where the spill was, then the guys swept it into very neat piles near the sidewalk - meticulously. Nothing hurried. Nothing sloppy. The man by the firetruck? You can see in his hand a little wand with a reflector on both sides. Red and Green. He stood there the entire time directing traffic and inching up the firetruck as needed to keep up with the sweepers. When it was all swept into piles, they went back to where they'd started and began shovelling the piles into the back of a truck, sweeping more, shoveling, with one guy walking down the center of the street with a blower blowing the tiny granules back towards the brooms. The number on the truck - 112 - is the 911 of Germany.

Next: A German chocolate aisle. Before we move I really need to just walk the grocery store with my camera knowing that I'm leaving the country and it doesn't matter what they think. It is amazing. Chocolate is everywhere, but here, on this entire aisle, you'll find nothing but chocolate. Imagine - an entire grocery store aisle - both sides - walking down it surrounded by chocolate. The left side is the not so great stuff. The cheap stuff. The American stuff. The right side is pure heaven. Lindt, Sarotti, Lubeck, Tiamo... flavors from all over the world. Probably at least 10 different coffee flavored chocolates. Mmmmmmm. This aisle can be dangerous.

That happy-go-lucky era of the milkman is not dead. It just moved to Germany where your milk man, butcher, and baker all deliver. We have BoFrost too which is a lot like Schwans. And yes, I am serious, the butcher delivers to your door if you'd like. Twice a week I'll hear a very loud cling-a-lingggggg and sure enough, out my window is the meat truck swinging open it's large side door across the street, slicing deli meats in 100 gram portions and portioning out fresh pork roasts and steaks to my neighbors. Talk about fresh. It was probably walking yesterday.

The photos above are of my bus stop, a frequent convenience stop for weary travelers in need of a toilet, and, in this case, food. This truck is one of those mixed trucks with a bit of everything and fresh eggs too which are also delivered here. I am not sure how this trailer flagged him down, but they both pulled over. The trailer driver got out with his wallet ready, the trucks side door flipped up, and the transaction when quickly. By the time the hungry shopper was back in his seat, the door was down and the food truck was on its way again.

Rest. Quiet.

As if by magic, almost all the German flags and lined the streets flying out of every window of both house and car have disappeared. They are gone without a trace. As if there were none there yesterday when the air was filled with Euro Cup preparations. Just yesterday it was all over the radio, internet, and television. German companies would close early. Production lines would actually stop for the game costing the companies money - but this was the Euro Cup and it was worth it. All the Germans would be watching. And if they'd won, we would have heard the honking all night. The flags would still fly.

But Spain won. And today was silent. No talk. No flags. Just silence. As if it had never happened. As if there wasn't a Euro cup just a few hours before.

ganz ruhig

If you don't want to read the rantings of the quasi insane or the extreme overuse of the pronoun "I," then stop here. Don't read any further. It is just venting. Mindless frustration in orthographical form. I try to keep my delirium from this blog, but I need to vent.

Today was Elise's definitively last day of German school - ever. And Laurim's birthday party. Two German experiences neatly packaged into one day.

I made cupcakes last night, wrapped some nice gifts for the classroom, and had goodie bags with notes ready to pass out to all the children.

Elise was excited to hand out the gifts, but cried when I left. Good. I needed her to cry to remind me that I was making the right decision about ending our German school experience.

When I dropped her off, Dave's mom (who's always been very nice, but speaks minimal English - really) asked me if it was Elise' last day and looked genuinely sad when I told her that Elise wouldn't be returning. She'd hoped that Elise and Dave would start school together in two years. She told me that I really must stop at her home and have coffee with her. That's the first invitation I've ever received from a mom to be social. I reciprocated the offer and I will follow up. She, I think, honestly cares.

Then there's the others.

This year has been hard. Really hard. Hard on Elise. Hard on me. I went into that school from day one speaking German. Now, it's bad German - horribly infantile German, but it's German. I haven't expected them to speak English and I've muddled through. After all, I am in their country and I need to try. Parents spoke German to me. Teachers spoke German to me. I kind of assumed (wrongly so) that they didn't speak English. And that's ok. I was ok with that. When I couldn't express myself because the language impaired me, I didn't switch to English, I just let it go. It was obvious that there was a break in conversation. They heard the sigh of frustration and the "never mind." I walked away so many times frustrated and defeated just because I lacked the words to say what I needed to say. But, I kept trying. I kept speaking. Day after day we went. They'd send notes home and I'd read them. They'd post notes on the doors and I'd stand there for long minutes trying to decipher them. No one stopped to help. But that was ok.

I know that Germans can be slow to warm up. That's ok too. I get it.

So, this whole year Elise and I have been going through this experience doing our best. And then the week before Elise birthday party just last month a woman I've seen the entire year looked at me and asked me a question, in very clear English, about the party. So, after nine months, I learn that she has lived in England and speaks excellent English. At Elise' party, I meet a father who also speaks absolutely beautiful English and he speaks in English the entire time, quite cheerfully too.

Two weeks ago at the Schutzenfest, this tall father speaks to me at first auf Deutch, then says one sentence in English before switching back to German. I was shocked. Had no idea. Before it was just an occasional "hallo."

And today. Oh today. Today was like a slap in the face. Really. I'd come to the realization last week that probably one of the key factors in Elise' experience was my experience. That school wasn't just school, but a community and a circle of friends. At the International Preschool where English is the predominant language, even with the Italians, it is easier to make those friendships not only with the children, but with the mothers. We all live in separate villages, but we can get together outside of school and our children can nurture those friendships. Elise has needed that here too. She's wanted that. But as much as I've tried, I've been an outsider and haven't been able to connect with the mother's there. We've been cordial, but not enough to allow for play times or social events outside of school - and we're all neighbors. So I've felt bad. Felt like I failed Elise a little because I wasn't able to hold up my end of it. Wasn't able to connect enough to make those connections for her.

So, with all that - to pick up Elise today and hear all these mothers in their sweetest voices tell me IN ENGLISH how sorry they are to see Elise go just killed me. NOW??? Now is too late. We needed the warmth a couple months ago. And I needed to hear English - just a little - a couple months ago. If they couldn't speak it, fine. But when they can? Even a little helps.

And today at the birthday party, the tall father who'd muttered only a sentence before walks over and begins a full conversation in English almost without accent. And a woman walks up and joins in and we are all standing there speaking together. And they are friendly and warm. And we can communicate. And I'm thinking, why now? And why couldn't I have known sooner. Because I certainly didn't know them well enough relying on my pitiful German skills. And they certainly didn't know me. I was this ignorant sounding frau without a personality. How can you have a personality when you are stumbling over words?

And I asked this lady how her English was so perfect. "I work on the base, so I must speak English well." And so I asked her, "Why am I just learning that so many of you speak English?" And she replied, "Well, if we speak English to you, then how are you going to learn German?"

And I felt winded. Like she'd just punched me - hard. So they've listened to me struggle the entire year understanding and not saying anything - not even once - to help.

I am not an American who doesn't try. I'm not one who moves here expecting American and expecting people to speak English to me. I do try. But, I speak Spanish. A third language is hard. And, I have four children. The time for classes and study is nonexistent. But they don't know that because they don't know me. They've just decided with no information that I somehow need to learn and by not helping me at all, that they are somehow helping me. Americans move so much - should we learn every language when we land? No. Please, thank you, numbers... the things we need. That is reasonable.

So, this birthday party after 10 months of school was the first non-school thing that Elise has been invited to and we were happy to go. It was at the Hay Hotel and Elise had a fantastic time playing games on the playground, feeding a baby cow, seeing bunnies, and playing in the hay. She loved every minute of it and I'm sad for her that this is over. She will miss her friends and she will miss the German school, but I know that we've made the right decision. Next year she'll go to the International Preschool where she'll learn her letters and numbers, where she'll be prepared for an American kindergarten class, and where I can communicate with the parents and she can play with her friends.

I was editing a Lisbon entry on my other blog... but got distracted.

I think it's safe to say that Germany won. The air horn started up about 15 minutes ago followed by a few screaming teenagers yelling as they walked down the street. Now we have a parade of vehicles traveling in both directions blaring their horns (hand firmly pressed onto horn without release), driving with large German flags waving jubilantly from the open car windows and arms waving just as exuberantly from windows and convertible roofs, emergency lights blinking on and off, and one with the side doors of the car open clearly revealing the boys sitting inside with their open beer bottles in hand. How drunk do you have to be to 1) forget to close the door of your van, 2) not realize that it's open as you're driving down the B56 at non-legal speeds, and 3) don't really care that you're sitting next to a huge gaping hole in the car. I saw the open bottle of beer in his hand. Was too astonished at the rest of it to notice if he was wearing his seat belt. Dangerous, no? That's gotta top the list of something strange today.

It's almost 11 - too dark for photos... otherwise, I'd be posting one of four bicyclists riding together... the leader wearing the German flag like a cape, and the three others with large German flags held high in their hands waving in the wind.

Ok, seriously... the horns, I can handle, but airhorn boy has GOT to stop. It's making me cranky. I am so thankful that I live surrounded by old people. I can hear a constant drone of drunken yelling in the distance. Grateful it's in the distance and Tinny isn't whooping it up next door.

Just when I think it's quiet... it all starts up again. We were warned by the Turkish Embassies that if Turkey won that the party would last a while. I think this one may last a bit too. There is, well, without going into it, a bit of tension between the Turkish and the Germans. After all, there are scads of Turkish living here and when a non-indigenous population reaches certain levels, there are tensions. So, this was the big game. Let's get out the venom on the field. Good place.

My girls thrown off by summer break, a sleepless sun, and a friend over (Hattie's parents went to see the game with friends), just fell asleep literally about 4 minutes before the noise started. Good thing or they'd still be sneaking out of bed for water. Ever notice that the sneakier a kid is trying to be, the noisier they walk? Anyway... back to Lisbon...

Oh... and P.S. I did see something kind of strange yesterday too! Well, may be not so strange as irritating. I was out all day, came home a little after 4 and noticed two amorous middle aged folks showing affection leaning against what I later found out was the girl's vehicle. I stood and chatted with my friend for a long time. The couple stayed there, uh, um, enjoying each other's company. My friend didn't want to go to the bank there because she'd have to walk by them. Well... I didn't stand at my window all evening, but at 8:20 (a full 4 hours after I first saw them), I walked into my office and there they were STILL at her car in the same exact location, STILL not wanting to say goodbye - or to get a room for that matter. So the strange: 1) They weren't teenagers. One was quite gray haired. They both looked late 30's to mid+ 40's. (I'm not saying that teenagers are the only ones who can be amorous, but am just saying that I would expect the lack of control and indescretion from a younger crowd) 2)They weren't in a quiet area. They were leaning on the street side of the car right on a main road and next to a very busy ATM/banking facility and 3) They were there for at least FOUR HOURS!!! Really, my feet would hurt by then. And they both had cars! They could have sat down. Odd.

Today I went with a friend to Dusseldorf to see a specialist for a 6 hour appointment. We had no idea what to expect. The small office was spread up and down a narrow hallway, so we entered, checked in, filled out the paperwork, then was sent down to the first waiting room. Instead of seeing a nurse, I heard my friend's name called over the intercom, so we stood up and walked out of the room looking around. A nurse about 30 feet away waved at us, so we went to her and were told to wait in a different waiting room. We talked. Then it was her turn. For 30 minutes I waited, read, and people watched. I found it interesting that the seating rules are different here. Newcomers to the room would not skip a seat like we do in the states. They would sit right next to a person even if there were plenty of seats available. So, though half the room was empty, I was soon sandwiched - an old woman on one side who looked as if she wanted to talk and a young man on the other who had no desire to chat with anyone.

Rita returned with instructions to leave and return in 2 hours. So, we left, took a long walk, and had a mediocre lunch at an Imbiss (schnell cafe).

Two hours later we returned to the second waiting room to wait for 40 minutes before she went in for another test. Then I found her in a third waiting room a bit later waiting for a third test. When that was finished, we sat in the fourth and final waiting area until we could see the doctor. That was the first time she'd met the doctor. All the tests were administered by nurses and techs. Then, when he'd reviewed her entire file, he brought her in to talk with her.

We'd arrived at 9. We left at 3:30.

So, Rita is in her 60's and has a problem with her knee: atrosis. She wants an alternative to surgery. At this clinic, they can inject her knee with radioactive isotopes that will somehow attack the atrosis and lessen the swelling that causes pain. It's interesting.

When can we schedule? Not August. The only manufacturer in the world, according to this doctor, of these isotopes is in Paris, France and they are getting a new reactor in August and will not be producing anything. In his broken English, "So in the world no one has this procedure in August."

This clinic only does this procedure on Thursdays and Fridays because the "stuff" is delivered on Thursday and with time loses potency.

The cost. Yep. We had to ask. "So, if my insurance doesn't pay for this..."
"Oh, but the insurance will pay."
"But if it doesn't."
"No, all insurance will pay." (That's the socialized medicine talking)
"But I have American insurance... it may not pay..."
"Well, with the initial exam and everything, about 500 Euro."

Wow. So, knowing how insanely expensive American medicine can be, think about what a weight that was lifted of Rita's shoulders.

A long, in depth 6 hour appointment with three tests, an injection, and several scans, AND the actual fancy Radio Scintography with this stuff that is ONLY made in Paris and has a two day shelf life - all of this for only 500 Euro. That is amazing. And such a blessing.

Yes. It's after midnight and I was all warm and cozy, settled into a pile of pillows with my open copy of Reading Lolita in Tehran. Was. But the constant flow of traffic and stuttered honking of horns one, then two, then a trio... is keeping me awake. I live in a small village in farm country in a nation where a grocery store that stays open until 8 is open late. There is almost never any traffic. Past 8, the streets are almost silent except in the sugar beat season when the large trucks rumble by late into the night. And soccer season. Fussball. Germany beat Portugal. Now they'll play the winner of the Croatia v. Turkey game. Everyone watches soccer. Even the non-sporty folks like me know what's going on. And I don't even have to watch a match. The honking tells all.

Ooo... a lull. If I hurry, I might be able to fall asleep before the next round of symphonic horn blaring. Wish me luck!

The Evil Eye on the wine bottle below is a gift from a dear Turkish friend who just moved. The Evil Eye is a very important and popular symbol there and can be seen in jewelry and artwork all over Turkey. This will ward off evil spirits... if it would only ward off dust bunnies...

First the coffees....

1.
This morning was the second to last Spanish morning which is sad. Really sad. I'm not overcome with emotion, though I think there will be a huge hole left. The language barrier is just enough where we haven't leaned on each other as much as some friends might. But for the last 2+ years I've kept my Friday mornings sacred and protected - those were only for the Spanish. We talked - A LOT. We shared ideas, stories, compared our countries... ate and cooked.

This morning I sat with Pepe who will move back to Murcia and is worried because she'll be living in the upstairs flat above her mother. In Spain it's quite common for families to share houses - for adults with children of their own to share and live in the same house with their parents. There are benefits - lots of them, but for a women with children of her own - and big ones at that who has been living here completely independently for 3 years, it will be a big adjustment and she knows that.

Carmen was there. She's a newcomer to our group, so I don't know her as well, but she is spirited and fun. She laughs - a lot - and completely, so though sometimes the conversations speed supersonic and I lose the joke, I still get tickled by her infectious laugh. She's moving too - to Madrid, may be? I'm not sure.

Joana was there. She's been there from the beginning. She speaks very little English. Never speaks English at our coffees. But she understands enough, so that if I get lazy and just can't summon the words en espanol, I can lapse into English without too much guilt. Joana is from Mallorca. She is freckled and fun, extremely passionate about politics and always vocal about what she believes in. An excellent cook - amazing, fantastic cook that makes everything look as good as it tastes. And she's just fun to be around. A bit emotional (she's Spanish - so it comes with the territory), she's spent most of the time I've known her battling one stress induced issue after another, but I think she's better now. We've seen her improve. We've laughed and cried. She's ready to be "home" though she's going to Madrid. There is sunshine there.

We drank coffee - at least Pepe and I. Joana always takes just a little warm milk, like today, or herbal tea. And ate tomate - pureed tomato with a bit of garlic on bread with olive oil and salt. And talked about the moves - and the transportation strike that has all four ladies worried that their household items might not get to Spain - at least not in a reasonable time frame. In Spain right now they are throwing eggplant and zucchini in the streets and dumping out large barrels of milk. And it saddens my friends here... there are poor people in Spain who could use that food that is wasted thrown, broken, and trampled on the street. Do we have problems like this in the US, I'm asked. No, yes, but no... not like this. It would not be permitted to happen like this - not to this extreme. But, as I've learned from coffees before... something happens in Spain and "no pasa nada." Nothing happens. The government is impotent.

We met at Maria's house today - one of the original. I remember the first day she and Joana came to my house. I was so nervous then not knowing them at all... fussing about the table, trying to make everything right. After a few weeks, they relaxed enough to get up and microwave the milk. Spanish only take warm milk in their coffee. And then I learned to do that first to have it ready for them.

I think that of this handful of ladies, Maria and I are the closest. She speaks the best English allowing me to communicate my feelings more. We shared similar frustrations with the German schools trying to make the best decisions for our children. We share similar ideas about politics and what's right. We can just relax and be. She seems serious, but has a fun sporty side to her. Willing to try most anything - even cheddar cheese with an apple slice which is quite odd to them. She always smiles - always. She's leaving a year early because her youngest has had such a difficult time here in German school. We're spoiled with the American school here. The other nationalities don't have the same benefits. Now, she's treading water... ready to go. Work to do at her house - a new house they built just months before moving here. She's ready to relax and be home. And I'll visit... I need to visit. She is one of those people that I must stay in touch with.

2.
Just three blocks away from Maria's house is Lorella's house - an Italian friend. And it is humorously obvious that it is the house of an Italian when you drive up to it - especially today in the pouring rain with the dark grey skies and the street lined with similar orange brick houses and you see this Italian villa - this bright burgundy red stucco house just sitting there among the brick like they'd helicoptered it direct from Verona.

She goes to Kenya to have beautiful leather, beaded, and woven treasures made. Today was her open house, so I went to look at handbags and shoes, fabrics and jewelry. All bright and beaded and beautiful. I went to look mostly and to sneak in a short visit before I picked up Elise. Lori and I have been more acquaintances than friends up to this point, mostly because of time or lack of, but I think after today that will change. As friends leave new ones step in not to replace, but to fill the void. She and I had a marvellous time talking together today - about language and living in Germany, children, traveling in Italy, food... she approved of my methods of making tiramisu. "You learned the right way," she says. And then she told me her "secret" to make it that much better. At 1220, when I had only 10 minutes to drive from Geilenkirchen to the base to pick up Elise, she poured me a coffee. "Oh, I'm sorry... I really need to go and get Elise." "You have time. It's just a coffee." And she shot hers as if it were tequila on a hot night. And I sipped quickly, then shot out the door. Later I returned to pick up a couple things from her shoe collection... we chatted some more and then she asked me to take her 11-year old son, whom I'd never met, to his school (which is very near to my house). And, wow. I'd never met a more polite, confident boy in all my life. And he speaks English, German, Italian (and I think Spanish too) all fluently. Amazing.

Ok... so the photos:

1. The conscripts. Germany has them. They're young and they march a lot. I don't see them daily, but every month or two I'll see them marching, walking, or running down a street somewhere in the area. Sometimes they are in a long sprawled out line, so you'll only see a couple at a time. Sometimes they are in an organized clump like this. This is normal. Though at first it's strange to see German boys in uniform carrying (what I'm sure are un-munitioned) weapons and a guy in a sling, it becomes kind of almost normal. Still turns my head though, so today I took a few photos. This is just one clump of them and probably only a quarter of the total today walking right in front of my house.
2. And, though the German flag is not flown much here, it is flown A LOT now during soccer season. Everyone is talking about futbol no matter who they are. (Except the Americans, of course, and the Canadians who get more excited about hockey until they lose to the US like they did last month.) The Spanish - even the ladies - go to games, watch the games, and fly their flag. All over the area are Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, and German flags adorning windows and cars. It's fun to see people get excited. And when a game ends, we know it by the line of cars honking as they speed down the B56. (All the women are particularly impressed with the Portuguese team this year. Apparently they have a couple, ahem, decent looking players. :) A video of them is going around - though I haven't seen it yet - may be I'll google it now?)

Just a little thing we take fore granted. Language. It slows things down here. Had an ultrasound on a Thursday at a German clinic. The doctor's report was, of course, in German. I brought it to the American clinic on the Friday. That was over a week ago. The paperwork (though it's only a half page in length) has to go to a translation service. I went in today. The doctor hadn't seen it. They expect it back Friday of next week - a full 3 weeks after I originally turned it in. Good thing I don't have some fatal, time sensitive issue going on.

Of course, for me, the major frustration is that I was told that because it was short, that they would translate it there for the doctor and I could go ahead and make my appointment. It is frustrating to get up early and make special arrangements, go to the MD and have them say, "so why are you here? I don't have any paperwork." Yep. That's life here. Wonderful in most ways, but extremely irritating in others. Sometimes I feel like we live in another epoch long ago.

A friend of mine took her son to the emergency room on Sunday. They told her they don't take children. She had to drive 45 minutes to the next one who prescribed antibiotics. The hospital didn't have a pharmacy. All the pharmacies in town were closed. It's scary how ill prepared they are for some things here... how many things people just accept and don't make better. Medicine seems basic. Especially at a hospital.

Advil is prescription only here. Poor Tinny had the most horrible headaches sometimes and has nothing that works for them. Once in a while she'll ask if I have something and she is always so happy when one simple little advil tablet will quickly work.

Herbs are pushed here with the same vigor that medicines are in the states. Somewhere in between lies a balance that I haven't seen attained. A mentholated bath, menthol tablets, menthol tea, even menthol enemas to cure a cold... people use these things here. Doctors prescribe them.

Wednesday was the night that the Germans hail in May with parties and celebrations in the larger towns and villages in the region. It's also the eve before May Day when the young men drink beer, blast their music, and cut down trees for the women they love. There are birch groves where young boys can now legally pay and cut down a sapling, but some still find trees elsewhere or they buy huge elaborate crepe paper hearts and heart or tree get hung on the home of the girl in the night or early morning to show that she is taken. Girls used to guard the trees that their boys left so that another boy would not steal her tree and put down his own. That would mean that she would "belong" to that second boy. Tante Tinny told me that her husband put a 15" tree on top of her house on May Day when she was only 16. He was older and was conscripted into the army in the war, so he fought and they dated long distance until he came back when she was 22 and they got married.

Thankfully for us this year, the police announced that the loud music would not be tolerated, so we didn't hear nearly as much as we normally do.

May 1st is May Day in Germany. It also happened to be Ascension Day here too - Cristi Himmelfahrt - literally translates to: Christ Heaven-Goes. It's Cristi Hemmelvaart in Holland too and a long holiday weekend for us, so we took the two days and went to Holland to see the famous Keukenhof gardens that I've wanted to see since I moved here.

Even the drive there was pretty. The gardens lie in the bulb region of Holland where for miles around you drive by brilliantly striped fields of flowers.


I'm not going to ramble too much here, but these are absolutely the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen. Only open for a few short weeks each spring, this spring bulb garden has over 100 tulip varieties amidst many other bulb flowers. In fact, of 7 MILLION bulbs planted by hand here, 4.5 million of those are tulips. Amazing, huh?

We endured rain during which the restaurant was inundated with humanity to the extent of standing-room-only and no tables by the time we'd gotten our 4 trays of food. So I stood there bewildered with my 3 little girls, Tiara, and Kirk and our trays of hot food, wondering what in the world we'd do. Finally we put our trays down on an unused counter area and started to eat there. Seeing the little ones barely able to reach, one of the kind ladies working there told us to go to the wine table. So, there we ate. Standing at a small wine-covered island in the middle of the cafeteria style restaurant amidst people reaching in for wine every few moments. The little girls were finally at perfect height and I stood there holding my plate of hot chicken and rice in one hand and my fork in the other feeling quite conspicuous, but hungry enough not to care.


Umbrellas sold out in the first moments of that deluge. I didn't bring ours. But, thankfully it passed after a while and the sun eventually shone again.

The rain on the flowers was beautiful anyway, so I was happy. Squares of tulips laid to the side in unison, beaten by the wind and rain. I was a kid in a candy store with so many beautiful flowers and camera always poised. The kids enjoyed the freedom of movement there and the frequent little attention grabbers - kids playgrounds, baby ducks, pieces of art and sculpture... there's a great mix there.

All in all, we spent 5 hours there and would have easily spent more if the playground had not been so wet. But after 5 hours, the girls were tired and needed to rest. Thankfully, our hotel had a fabulous swimming pool in which the girls all got to play. Elise could even touch the bottom with her feet at the shallow end and Arianna finally mastered swimming underwater with her eyes open all by herself - an accomplishment for which she's quite proud.

This is a sign up in the ladies bathroom near the post office on the base. It's there for the Americans who are not used to the German way of sorting the trash. In German public restrooms, this is understood. I am SO very glad that I am not a cleaning lady. There is something to be said for throwing garbage and never looking at it again.

Springter - meaning, spring and winter, or, this strange time of year when we are walking with one foot in each.

All the daffodil bulbs in the medians and roundabouts in the area are blooming. And, we've actually had sun. But even with the sun shining and the flowers blooming in the trees and traffic circles, it's cold. Painfully cold - so much so that yesterday it snowed 20 whole flakes while I was walking through the Geilenkirchen centrum.

It felt like someone was playing a trick on us. Macaira asked - what was that? I didn't know what she was talking about, but then I felt it too. Huh? What was that? Couldn't be snow. But it was. And then I started mentally counting them. One, two, three.... 20 flakes in about 10 minutes of walking.

South of us near Spangdahlem the snow came down much heavier. They actually had real snow. Still, we can claim a small bit here and it compliments the daffodils quite nicely.

So, springter in and of itself is strange which seems to fit here where nothing is normal - at least by my ever dwindling definition of the word.

Today I was leaving my Spanish morning where my friends were all talking in warp speed making comprehension more of a task and the ability to jump into the conversation near impossible. Kind of like taking a walk in a tornado. Interjected comments into rapid conversations are gone before even getting out there.

Anyway... I turned the corner out of my friends' street to see a woman in her late 70's standing on the sidewalk facing her fence. She was wearing black wellie boots, a knee length blue skirt, a jacket, and a little knit cap. In her hand was a flimsy looking electric saw on a long extension stick "thingie" (we had a conversation about this at Spanish morning - they don't have words like "whatchamacolit" and thingie - instead they point and say this, that, or there). This little gray haired German lady was reaching as high as she could with her long saw, leaning into the fence, and pruning the upper branches of the tree in her yard. Amazing what meticulous workers the old generation here is. The younger generation is not the same. The do not work as hard. The ethic is not the same. They want to relax and drink the beer or eat the cake. But Tante Tinny works first. She spent three hours on Tuesday making the yard "shoene sauber." Beautifully clean.

The radio: This afternoon on the way to Schinnen I was flipping through my radio stations. The first was in Dutch. The second, a Belgian station in French. The third was a German station playing a classic American 50's tune (the title eludes me), traslated horribly into German and sung by a less than stellar singer. It was a bit odd. Kind of like The Lion Sleeps Tonight that I heard once in French, but at least that one sounded pretty good. It's hard to find consistent good music here. The stations play too much variety. More American music than local and the local German is, well, exactly what you'd expect at a tacky Octoberfest celebration with the old folksie OomPaPa music. I did hear a modern German tune recently, but it was a ballad to cake as far as I could tell. The entire song described different German desserts in detail. That's strange. One fun thing that has happened in this tri-border, multi-tongued world I live in, is that I can hear the differences between languages that I could never hear before and even in French - a language that is still really foreign to me, I can now hear where one word stops and the next one begins. It's fun.

The oddest thing: Today, post Schinnen, I stepped outside my front door onto the busy main street in my tiny little village to see not one, but two gaggles of German conscripts in full uniform with the German flag patch on their shoulders, their drab green packs full on their backs, and their big scary weapons swinging in one arm. I see them walking with their packs quite often here, but this was the first time I've seen a big group. When the second group got closer I could see feet. Each group carried a man laying in a sling - may be the squad leader? Who knows. In any country, seeing uniformed soldiers with weapons strikes me. Here, they just struck me as being very young. Their cheeks were all ruddy and full. Service in the Bundeswehr is obligatory for young men of age here. I've even seen an occasional female marching with them, but not today. They looked different than what I would expect though. Germany still holds onto a fleeting reputation. A hold over from wounds not yet healed. And with some Germans - the older generation and the police here, there is still that respectful fear. With these boys, there was none of that. They were children in green. Youth without even a glint of that which makes makes most of Europe still hold onto a general distrust of Germans and their Vaterland.

The above title was an actual headline in this Sunday's Super Sonntag - the weekly Sunday paper. It means, "Clothing forgotten?" or "Did you forget your clothes?"

This last Sunday was the first Sunday after the crazy Carnival Sunday and Monday when most of this region was celebrating with dual beers in hand... and shots of who-knows-what from those crazy costumed folks in the parades. Given that many Germans here try to take in at least 5 if not 8 or more parades and often go to the parties that follow... they do end up with a little bit to drink, thus, the headline.

So... here's the article (loosely translated):

Photos: 1) The first tractor "float" of the parade followed by group of Robin Hoods 2) A group of kids behind the Hansel and Gretel float. If you enlarge it, you'll see the one boy is smoking and the other is drinking beer. Not illegal and quite typical.

Today the party came to our house. We'd decorated with bright balloons and streamers in our front windows and like the rest of our neighbors, we put balloons on the upstairs windows as well. I made cookies and put out a few snacks. We served hot chocolate with marshmallows and Bailey's on the side.

Photos: 1) A group of people in front of our home. 2) Luci in the crowd with Kirk as a monk in the background
And then they came. Most of the Gillrath Americans live in the neighborhood behind us, but from all corners, Americans came to perch themselves in front of our home (not because we're so special, but because our home is conveniently located right on the parade route within easy walking distance from most of their homes) to watch the first Gillrath Karneval parade in 26 years. It was an effortless party thrown by the town so we just served some cocoa and enjoyed. We had over 53 friends in front of our home most of the parade with a constant flow of people in and out of our home. A couple times I turned around to see people I didn't even know walking in our front door. Kirk told me later that he'd escorted a couple German neighbors in to use our bathroom.

So, it was lively. The kids ran in and out of the street yelling, "ALAAF!" and gathering up all the candy they could to fill their baskets, bags, and inverted umbrellas. The adults watched the parade and other spectators with amusement visiting with each other and making funny faces for the cameras. The parade was fantastic - but NOTHING like anything we'd ever see back home.

The had floats, music, and a band. They had themes and wore costumes. They threw A LOT of candy. All that is pretty normal, right?

They also walked the parade while drinking beer. Many smoked. Many had a beer in one hand and a bottle of liquor under one arm and a stack of disposable shot glasses in the other hand. Many gave out shots to the adult spectators. I even got a shot of chocolate Bailey's from a chicken. There was no rowdiness... no obvious drunken behavior. They were relaxed and smiling and having a good time. They had no trouble walking. But - alcohol was prevalent, accepted, and handed out for free. An orange faced witch gave beers to a couple of the guys in our party. Not normal? It is here.

Photos: 1) The chicken who also gave a shot of Bailey's to me 2) A couple blue bears? Notice the bottle under his arm and the Bitburger beer bottle and shot glasses in the other hand.








Another "not normal" thing -- it wasn't just candy and shots. One green bear passed out cubes of cheese. He just reached out with a bag and you had to reach in and grab one. Our local produce guy passed out potatoes. Arianna and Luci both got apples and oranges in their baskets. Popcorn was popular too. And, the cooking group passed out soup mix, heads of lettuce, carrots, and other ingredients including little cocktail wieners on toothpicks.

Photos: 1) Sorry for the sideways photo - too tired to fix. This is Tinny with her head of lettuce she got from the parade folks and a small cocktail wiener in the same hand. 2) The green bear passing out cheese






Arianna, Luci, and Elise all had a great time running all around, playing with friends, and gathering treats. Arianna yelled "Alaaf!" as much as she could thinking it would bring her more treats. Elise spent most of the time with her best friend, Hattie. And Luci, my adventurous girl, was in and out of the street grabbing any candy between groups that had dropped short of the crowd. The yellow hat came from some one in the parade, so once she got it, she wore it the entire afternoon.

The clown and the tourist are Mike and Karyn - a fabulous German couple that lived in the states for a while, own a guest house and rental home in Gillrath and are very friendly and well-known among the Americans. They were at our house too.

The talk in Gillrath is that if this parade is successfull (and I think it was), that they'll do it again next year. And, if they do it again, you know who will be in the parade??? Yep. The Americans are going to put a float together... but I won't be passing out cheese and potatoes.

Note: After writing this, posting it, then finally going through the basket of candy the kids brought in, I must laugh at the absurdity of some. Obviously not all the things thrown are for kids. I enjoyed several Turkish coffee candies. And, in this pile of odd things I'll throw away, I have several "Rooibos Tee" tea filled candies, a couple cough drops, a "Classic New York" pear flavored chew, a hard candy labelled "golf son gual," several from "WWK Versicherungen," and one called "Air Liquide."