I don’t want you kids going around thinking that all of my days are like today. Lemme just share with you my day on Tuesday to give you some context. It was the first day of my new class. I awoke late, as I always seem to do on first days, catapulted myself out of bed, into the shower and out the door in under 20 minutes. (Impressive, huh.) As I was nearing my school, what do I notice out my passenger window up ahead to the right? But of course, my daily nun. I was still down the road a stretch, so I took a moment to offer up a little prayer, as I do everyday when a sister crosses my path. In the meantime, what I believe to have happened, was that she had started to cross the street but decided midstream that the speeding car in front of me might just take her out. She must have been very busy that Tuesday morning and needed to get somewhere to further nun, because by the time I got to her she was spitting nails. I mean mad as H-E-double-hockeysticks. Now, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t actually cursing at Speedy Gonzales, but she was at least praying very loudly. And with a very angry face. So, a tad unnerving.
I get to class and settle in. (More on my new class later.) The first part of the lesson goes off without a hitch. But then disaster strikes just after our first break, right after I’d gotten a coffee out of the machine. (Can see what’s coming, huh.) Luckily, I was able to finish most of it before we jumped back into our discussion of Heinrich Steinweg (Henry Steinway.) Isa, my teacher, was explaining the german word for grand piano is “Fluegel”—aka a wing, as in a bird. Well I just didn’t get this the first go-round. So I’d asked for a second explanation, after which the light bulb went on and I got that the “wing” is the lid propped open. “Wing,” I say, “like the wing of a plane." And at that moment, I decided to gesture rather loudly imitating a crocodile’s mouth chomping and bump my notebook, which hits my water bottle, which I swear picked my little plastic coffee cup and sent it a-splattering.
At this moment, I try to jump into clean-up mode (probably before the damn thing had even overturned) but I’m sitting yoga-like with my legs in Indian-style (is that the P.C. term?) like I always do, which sometimes makes my feet go to sleep. So as I’m trying to unravel my 4-foot long giraffe legs, Isa and my new neighbor from the Ukraine have pretty much gotten things under control. Luckily, no coffee got on anyone’s books or clothing, so maybe the nun was blessing Senor Volvo and me...just maybe had a toothache.
After class I roped Laura into running with me to Ikea so I could return a carpet I had bought. (Which incidentally felt like you were walking on sandpaper.) But, of course, no gas. So I pull into a gas station but ended up with the pump on the wrong side of the car. This is not that big of a deal because normally you can just yank the hosey-thing around the back. Of course today, that didn’t quite work. So I pull into another spot. Get out again. Open the gas tank again. But for some reason the nozzle won’t go in my car. I try, try again, and again. Close the whole thing and reopen. Nope. No can do. Cannot figure out what’s going on. I finally call Laura out of the car and she takes two seconds to say, "This says ‘gas.’ Isn’t your car ‘diesel?’"
Thank you Lord (or maybe Sister Mary Curses-Sometimes) and even BMW for putting that feature on my car. Crises averted.
After I fed meines Auto, I go inside to pay the nice man behind the counter who’s been getting a kick outta my performance thus far. So I pay with my debit card, put in my pin number and we start to laugh and joke in German with the extremely classy and (naturally) handsome guy in a suit in line behind me about my brilliance at the gas pump. Mr. Benzine hands me my receipt and I go immediately for the pen on the counter and look for where to sign. He gives me a second, hoping I’ll get a grip, then gently puts his hand on mine in a not-at-all-sexual way and says is absolutely perfect English, “I don’t need your signature, you’ve already put in your pin number.”
Tshus and Danke. Got outta there as fast as I could. It appears that “Idiot” is spelled with a capitol ‘ME” after all.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I heart Europe
Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon here. 5 years. (Cannot believe Tim's put up with me for this long.) I think that's a pretty major feat and rather worthy of a celebration. So...today I kinda booked us a little weekend getaway to Barcelona. Ole! Yo quiero tapas!
As if that wasn't enough for one day, I got wind from Sarah, another expat (see http://www.regensblog.com/) that Air France was having a killer one-day sale on flights to Paris. So, whoopsie, I accidentally booked that too. Giggle. Barcelona AND Paris. Ah, good day. Very good day.
As if that wasn't enough for one day, I got wind from Sarah, another expat (see http://www.regensblog.com/) that Air France was having a killer one-day sale on flights to Paris. So, whoopsie, I accidentally booked that too. Giggle. Barcelona AND Paris. Ah, good day. Very good day.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Happy Anniversary Us and Germany
We’ll kids, we’ve been here one full calendar year. Does it feel like it? Do you still miss us at home? (Rhetorical question-there is clearly a correct answer here.) I feel that when you hit these mile markers in life, it’s a good time to glance back (I’m getting nostalgic, cue “Auld Lang Syne”) to see where all you’ve been and hopefully how far you’ve come.
So how far have we come? How do you measure a year? (Change music. “Season’s of Love” from Rent please.) Let’s try a quick list.
Year in Numbers:
Countries Visited—13
Number of Guests who’ve graced the Klaus Haus—30
Hours spent learning German—450 for Heather. 200ish for Tim. (And just so you know folks, he’s still kicking my kiester here!)
Weekends on the Road—24 (This number actually down from last year when we lived in Peoria. Shame on us.)
Kilometers driven—65,000 (No idea what that is in miles. You do the math.)
Calls home—Oh dear God, no idea. Thousands.
Tears shed—Quite a few.
Belly laughs—Twice the number of tears shed, without a doubt.
Nope, although interesting, the list doesn’t quite do it justice. I can honestly tell you that the ride so far has been a roller coaster. On the downside (grab your tissue) I wasn’t quite prepared for how difficult this was gonna be for me. I’ve struggled more than I thought I would with redefining myself over here. Next time I do this, someone please get me a few bottles of Prozac to take the edge off! On the up side, and wow, there are sooo many upsides. The travel, the meeting of new and exceptional people, the time I get to spend with my husband (which was normally spent at the dance studio), the great visits from our family and friends. The list goes on and on. I feel somehow like a new teacher freshly out of college. That first year is usually u-g-l-y, you ain’t got no alibi, defined a lot more by the mistakes you made (and learned from) and the very few, but hugely gratifying successes.
Anyway, long story short, so far, so good. And we can now say that we’ve got a year under our belt. Hopefully, my blunders through Europe now can be a little more graceful. Graceful…yeah, right. Shouldda spent more time in ballet class.
So how far have we come? How do you measure a year? (Change music. “Season’s of Love” from Rent please.) Let’s try a quick list.
Year in Numbers:
Countries Visited—13
Number of Guests who’ve graced the Klaus Haus—30
Hours spent learning German—450 for Heather. 200ish for Tim. (And just so you know folks, he’s still kicking my kiester here!)
Weekends on the Road—24 (This number actually down from last year when we lived in Peoria. Shame on us.)
Kilometers driven—65,000 (No idea what that is in miles. You do the math.)
Calls home—Oh dear God, no idea. Thousands.
Tears shed—Quite a few.
Belly laughs—Twice the number of tears shed, without a doubt.
Nope, although interesting, the list doesn’t quite do it justice. I can honestly tell you that the ride so far has been a roller coaster. On the downside (grab your tissue) I wasn’t quite prepared for how difficult this was gonna be for me. I’ve struggled more than I thought I would with redefining myself over here. Next time I do this, someone please get me a few bottles of Prozac to take the edge off! On the up side, and wow, there are sooo many upsides. The travel, the meeting of new and exceptional people, the time I get to spend with my husband (which was normally spent at the dance studio), the great visits from our family and friends. The list goes on and on. I feel somehow like a new teacher freshly out of college. That first year is usually u-g-l-y, you ain’t got no alibi, defined a lot more by the mistakes you made (and learned from) and the very few, but hugely gratifying successes.
Anyway, long story short, so far, so good. And we can now say that we’ve got a year under our belt. Hopefully, my blunders through Europe now can be a little more graceful. Graceful…yeah, right. Shouldda spent more time in ballet class.
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