Saturday, March 29, 2008

Missing My Mommy

I’m homesick today. I feel it way down deep, all the way into my toes. (♫ starts in my toes, then I crinkle my nose….) It’s still 50 days (and who’s counting) until I fly back to the states and honestly, there is so much to look forward to in these 50 days, so…I don’t know why my deal is. We’ve got lots of visitors coming our way, a trip to Holland, my German certification test (ok, not exactly looking forward to that one.) Still, today, I want my mommy.

I just got back from the grocery store, which was pretty uneventful. I was there purchasing a wide variety of booze for our beer tasting tonight. We’re celebrating the fact that Kevin has been here one year. (Happy 1st Anniversary Kevin and Germany!) Thought we’d eat some of his favorite food, Mexican, plus have an excuse to try some different kinds of beer. Although, let it be known that we’ve done pretty well on this front so far. I do not consider myself a ‘beer gal’, usually preferring wine, but I may be rethinking my ways. Anyway, I digress---got everything home and was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen when I got a little blue…um, that’s the American blue, not German (see More Notes on Booze.)

There are two things that usually bring on this feeling. Number 1 being that a ton of our friends and family are reproducing back home and we’re missing out on the early years when these kids are so darn cute. (Thank Goodness for webcams and telephones!) The other thing that I miss so much is sharing a kitchen and cooking with the women (and sometimes men) in my life. I cannot tell you how much I love this. The true party for me is always in the kitchen. The good news is that in 50-some days, I get to perch myself on our breakfast bar in Quincy to chat with my mom while making dinner, as my dad bustles around, filling our glasses and heating up the grill. I simply cannot wait.

So much of bonding for women takes place in the kitchen, and I guess I think it’s a wonderful thing. (I’ve just enraged feminists everywhere. Sorry!) Most of my deep, meaningful conversations with my mom happened at the breakfast bar. Not to mention, I truly came to love my sister-in-law Lori in her kitchen in New Orleans. We’ve also spent many a Sunday morning cooking up breakfast with our hosts at whoever’s house we’d spent the night, be it Club Curran, Matt-n-Natalie’s, my brother’s, and really anyone else who lives off of I-70. I truly believe that sharing your kitchen is sharing your heart. (Wow…that was sappy. Barf.)

I think this bonding-in-the-kitchen thing has taken over the getting-ready-to-go-out thing I had with my roommates in college. Since I didn’t grow up with sisters, I completely enjoyed the hustle and bustle that it took to get the four of us out the door and to the bar (err..I mean library, Dad.) The process included any number of the following exercises: The trying on at least 10 outfits (most of which you had borrowed,) the input on/or better yet hands on assistance with hair and make-up, a million phone calls with where we were to be when…all the while gossiping about what boys we were gonna meet up with (err…I mean study with.) But now that the days of living together are gone, we have resorted to another common bond—cooking.

Even though I’m longing for home, I’m still so grateful for my new friends here. We are each other’s family and have (in a very short time) thrust ourselves into one-another's kitchens. You seriously would not have believed the craziness that was Thanksgiving. There were at least 9 chefs in the kitchen at any one given moment and more than 5 on clean-up duty.

So tonight I get to go over and help Laura in her kitchen. She’s doing the tacos, Heidi’s bringing salad and nachos and Kristi’s baking a cake. What I’m missing, though, is sharing this goofy, daily, run-of-the-mill stuff with my Susan, with my girls in St. Louis and especially with my mom. So…50 days and counting.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Have Stress, Will Travel


My husband has been working like a dog these past few weeks. In fact, I think he’s almost stressed out. Almost. This furrows my brow just a little because I honestly don’t think Tim has ever felt stress before. Not for college exams. Not for deadlines at work. Not even all that bad before we moved across an ocean. Tim just ‘is.’ I truly believe that while the rest of us wake up each morning and run through a list of “have-to’s” in the shower, Tim gets up, rolls out of bed (smiling, no doubt) and says to himself, “What do I get to do today?” It’s unreal and (thankfully) completely contagious.

So the other day, I knew the bottom had dropped out. Tim came home rather late from work and I found him melted into the couch. We started to talk about the day, his job and that the fact that he might be feeling a little stress with this new position. He admitted to me that he’d looked up some of the symptoms for Stress online. (This is when I completely fall head over heels in love with him.) Seriously? You had to look them up online? I mean, I could just describe myself most days and probably hit the majority of the criteria! Anyway, suffice it to say he needs a vacation.

Consequently, we’re Eastering in the Canary Islands. Bring on the beach and um-brella (-ella, -ella) drinks.

The Canaries are islands off the coast of Morocco, but belong actually to Spain. (Yes, I’ll hold while you all play on Google Earth for a sec.) We’ve got a great all-inclusive hotel and hopefully the weather will be in the 70s. Unlike most of our other adventures, we do not have any desire to be good tourists. We could care less if there is anything cultural to see or do. Just gonna lay on the beach or by the pool, read a little, soak up the sun and rejuvenate.

Please don't feel to sorry for us though. (Sure you're crying for us right now.) We did get in a little mini-vacation last weekend. Saturday morning we drove down to the Zugspitze, which is the highest Alp in Germany. It’s just about a 2-hour drive from our place, which just couldn’t be more convenient. We did a little skiing on Saturday, and by skiing I mean Tim skied and I took a nap on a lounge chair with my ski boots on. The snow wasn’t all that good, but it was still beautiful. Sunday we took the cable car all the way up to the peak and should have seen 4 countries and 400 peaks. Shouldda, couldda, wouldda...didn't. It was a complete white out. Couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. Oh well, still had fun exploring the Igloo village up there. Looking forward to going back.

Wishing you all a Hoppy Easter. May you spend time with family and friends and find small ways to take care of yourselves.

More Notes on Booze

First of all, colors. Blue (blau) has a different connotation over here. Should you want to tell German passers-by that you’re feeling blue, they would probably move to the other side of the street and call you a cab. Now it's not because they are uncaring, it's that you just told them that you are drunk-as-a-skunk, schnockered, newcastled, pickled, blitzed, bugalooed, Chevy-Chased, having the whirligigs, five whinos gone, Boris Yelstinned, pissed, or my personal favorite…ten feet tall and bulletproof. In other words: drunk.

Secondly, animals. Should you have actually used ‘blau’ in it’s correct meaning and had a Barley sandwich (beer for lunch,) spent the night with one foot on the floor so the bed would stop spinning (“Make the move stop rooming!”) and perhaps prayed to the porcelain god most of the night—you would wind up the next day with “a boy cat.” Yes folks, the euphemism for a hangover is “ein Karter haben.” English translation: To have a male cat. Actually, this makes sense. After all, when you wake up from those nights of “bad venison,” as my husband says, that taste in your mouth does feel a little furry.

Here’s to drinking responsibly. (Probably should have written this one before St. Patties!)

Monday, March 10, 2008

Tools for becoming a Global Citizen

Just a couple of pointers to avoid Cultural Collisions (Cat’s-ass-trophies.)

Gestures: You can get into some serious problems here. First of all, let's start with nodding. Apparently, this doesn’t always translate. For Bulgarians, ‘no’ means ‘yes.’ They actually shake their heads side-to-side slowly as in noooooway-Jose (wait, that’s Spanish) when they are indicating yes. Maybe it’s Bulgarian chicks who’ve given women everywhere a bad name. (Doubtful.) To make matters more confusing, Italians have the opposite problem. When they want to say no, they cock their heads back, which unfortunately looks an awful lot like a nod. So…no means yes, but yes means no?
Secondly: Feeling good. Thumbs up—that one seems to be allrighty-roo across most cultures. The one that isn’t: the ‘A-OK.’ As in your thumb and pointer finger connected in an “O.” Just found out here, that doesn’t mean ‘Allrighty,’ or ‘Sure,’ or even ‘No Problem’ as I had been using it…frequently. Looks like here it means (Janene: close your ears) ‘Asshole.’ Whoops. I’ve got an awful lot of apologies to make.

Manners: Japanese consider it rude to blow your nose in public. They are required to get up and leave the room instead of snucking gracefully in their seat. My Asian friends are absolutely horrified when old Bavarian men pull out their hankies at the dinner table. Guten Appetit!
Also entering in the manners category is Birthday wishes. It’s very bad luck in Germany to wish someone Happy Birthday early. Thank goodness! Now I can appear thoughtful when in reality I’ve simply forgotten!

Booze: Germans DO drink their beer cold. Gott sei Dank. (thankfully.)

Toilets: A bidet is a great device for washing feet post dance class. (Disclaimer: we aren’t really using it for its intended purpose, so it’s clean.)

Driving: “Fahren” is the German verb that means ‘to drive.’ Unfortunately, when it’s in its conjugated form, it usually becomes some form of ‘fahrt.’ “Gute fahrt”—enjoy your drive. “Probe fahrt”—test drive. “Ausfahrt”—exit ramp. As Germans are a little obsessed with driving, there is quite a lot of fahrting around here. Not to mention that anytime you ride, you also fahrt. You fahrt on a bike, on a bus. Heck, you even fahrt on a train. Well, we are in the land of wurst.

Meals: “Jause” (prounouced ‘yow-zeh’) is Austrian for Lunch. Go-go-gadget-sandwich! (Can’t imagine the majority of you are gonna get that reference.)

Tipping the scales: The word for ‘fat’ can be a couple of different things. One is ‘speck’ which also means ‘bacon.’ In other words: “Do these jeans make me look bacony?” Which, honestly, I think actually sounds appealing. I mean, after all, aren’t most things better when wrapped in bacon? The other word I’m a little embarrassed to say because it’s one of our slang words for the male anatomy. Every time I hear it, I giggle. How old am I…12?

Monday, March 3, 2008

Memories...


'Like the corners of my mind.
Misty, watercolored memories of where I puked all over the steps of a cathedral…'

Yep, there it is folks. The scene of the crime. Walk with me down memory lane here just for a sec. Picture it. 1990. I was 11. My family had taken a 3 week European Adventure (for further research see National Lampoon’s European Vacation with my father staring as “Sparky”) to go visit my aunt in Germany. Aunt Sue has lived here for going on 40 years, and of course she knows all the amazing places to see. So, knowing we are going to travel all around the country with seven people, my uncle Georg (Sue’s husband) had rented a Volkswagen Bus that we all could pile into. Unfortunately, this particular morning, little Heather drew the short straw and got delegated to the back of the bus. This was not good. Not good indeed. (I had a history for getting a teensy bit seasick, and in fact may have booted on the school bus during the less-than-two-mile trek to junior high one day, if that tells you anything.)

So we wind around God knows where on our way to Limburg to see this beautiful little town with it’s amazing cathedral. We get there, park, and I can tell I’m starting to feel a little funky. I decide it’s nothing and join the hike with my family through all the half-timbered houses all the way up to the cathedral, all the while trying to convince myself that I'm allright. There we are, staring at this ancient cathedral in all its wonder, when disaster strikes and I have to bolt over to one side and vomit. (I love that word.) Ah, instantly I felt better. That was until I raised my eyes to see the giant tour group of at least 30 people standing directly in front of me. Hope they got some good pics. Ah, memories.

It's Time for a Healthy Breakfast


(not Vegetarian friendy)


Ah, Sunday morning brunch. What comes to mind? Coffee. Quiche. Omelets. Fresh fruit. Perhaps a pastry--my personal favorite being the Apple Bear Claw- here called the Apfeltasche (apple bag.) How’s about anemic-looking gray sausage, a pretzel and beer to get the day going? Ummm. Yummy.

And there you have it, folks, the traditional Bavarian breakfast. Weiswurst with sweet mustard, a pretzel and beer. Does the body good. I know it may not sound (or really look) all that appetizing, but I have to say, like anything else, don’t knock in ‘til you try it. Surprisingly, it’s not bad, not bad at all.

There is a little history here behind this scrumptious meal that I thought you might wanna know, just incase you decide to throw this into your Easter brunch delicacies. Apparently, Weiswurst is always served in the morning. There’s an old saying here that this pale sausage should never hear the church bells chime noon. This alluding to the fact that these little beauties aren’t smoked like their other wurst cousins, which makes them a little volatile, not to mention white in color. (Actually they're a little speckled in green too due to parsley or perhaps grass.) In the old days before refrigeration (let’s all take a moment to be thankful for technology) the meat would spoil in the summer before nightfall, so thus—weiswurst fer breakfast! As for the addition of the giant pretzel, mustard and beer, not sure when that was added in, but it truly does make the meal complete. All four food groups are covered: you’ve got your grain, your sausage group, your booze, and…well, can we call mustard a fruit?

Now there are a few different ways of eating this guy. (And this is where I might lose a couple of you.) Tradition states the proper way is ‘zuzeln.’ Aka, sucking. You’re supposed to cut the top off of the casing and then suck the stuffing out. This actually is possible, but I have to say, this is the point where I take the road less traveled. I choose option number two which is to slice the thin casing down the side, peel it back a little, then roll out the sausage. I find this method a little easier and perhaps a little more lady-like. But, to each, their own. I believe there is some kind of third scenario that involves hacking the sausage into bits, but that ones a little hazy for me.

Anyway, should you decide to trade in your Krispy Cremes, now you have an equally healthy option! Guten Appetite!