Tim and Heather's Sprocket Spot

Roots

2009-08-05T18:39:00.003-05:00

I’m a little late in posting this blog, seeing as the events you’re about to see took place two weeks before we moved back stateside. So if you would, please rewind yourselves back to mid-March. Picture Tim and I frantically trying to tie up loose ends before exiting our European adventure. (And by tying up loose ends, I mean squeezing out every bit of fun and travel humanly possible.) As I was entertaining two of my girlfriends with a weekend getaway in London, Tim took himself on an adventure all his own.

Background: Before Tim and I moved to Germany in August 2007, his great-aunt Dorothy had given him copies of old letters sent from long lost relatives in the Czech Republic to his great-grandpa Frank many years ago. Frank Pavlik had immigrated to the US (Nebraska to be specific) in 1914, but honestly, we didn’t really know much else.

So, wanting to be able to show Grandma her roots, Tim decided to see if he could find these addresses and maybe take some pictures along the way.

Without giving too much away, let’s just say he had a very lucrative journey indeed. (Please be forwarned, it's a 23 min long video. Grab some popcorn for your viewing pleasure.)

Travel 101 Continuing Education, with Heather H. Klaus

2009-02-19T16:42:00.002-06:00

Tip #462—buy a good guidebook. (Have I said this before?) They can be costly, around 25 or 30 dollars, but this is money well spent. I am in love, I repeat LOVE with the Rick Steve’s Guidebooks. He is my travel god, and guide. Completely nerdy guy, but man, does he make traveling easy! His books are little tidbits of history and culture that make you feel exceptionally smart, like you’re getting some insider information about the town and people you’re experiencing. Not to mention that he has free podcasts on itunes of historic walks in quite a few European cities. We downloaded his guided walk through Paris as well as his museum tours for both the Louvre and the Orsay. He rocks.

Tip #573—Your perception about a city you’re visiting is hugely based on something so simple as how you feel that day. Yes, this town you are borrowing is a new and vibrant place, something that has its very own feel and story. But...you are taking it in through your eyes, filtering it through your mind your own story. It can’t help but be colored by what is going on in your own life at that very moment.

I offer up our trip to Istanbul. Amazing town, but that weekend Tim was at a stalemate between two job offers in two completely different places. Unfortunately, both of us were probably pretty darn distracted. Not to mention that it rained from start until the day we left, which always makes things more difficult. (The weather has the same affect on me as being hungry--sheesh, can I be a monster!) The opposite happened in Paris. We didn’t have a major life decision to wrestle with, and this time around, the weather was beautiful. Thus, a great trip. We’ve read (probably in Rick) that traveling requires you to be insanely optimistic. Couldn’t agree more. When we approach a city with a free and open mind, it always seems to go surprisingly well. If you come in with a lot of baggage (both literally and figuratively) it'll weigh you down and you're probably gonna miss an awful lot. Of course, as with most things…easier said than done.

Gay Par-Oui!

2009-02-19T15:49:00.002-06:00

We valentined in Paris. (Go ahead I’ll hold while you either sigh if you’re a chick or barf if you’re a dude.) Before you all decide that you wanna trade in your hubbies for Tim, let me assure you that, yes-he is indeed exceedingly romantic, but actually I booked this trip back in September. That, and we took friend Kristi. So…perhaps not the romantic getaway that you all were picturing. Note: we’ve taken to calling Kristi ‘wife’ since we travel with her so much. (Sweden, Istanbul, skiing in both Switzerland and Italy.) She will rank WAY up there for one of the things we will miss most about living in Europe. We love traveling with her. Wife, come visit us…often!

I absolutely loved Paris this time around, this being my third adventure here. The first was with my mother in 2002, amidst my quarter-life-crisis-frolic through Europe. Mom and I had a great time celebrating Bastille Day on the grass under the Eiffel Tower with millions of our closest friends. The second, well, it just wasn’t as much fun. Tim and I decided to skip Thanksgiving in 2006 (before we moved to Germany) and be thankful eating crepes instead turkey. It was completely crummy weather—literally raining sideways. Not too mention that we came across a rash of not-so-friendly people. It was fine, but honestly, not our favorite trip.

Well, third time must be the charm. Paris was fantastic! The weather was chilly, but for the most part, clear-blue skies (which knocked the socks off rain blasting you in the face that we had the time before.) We wandered all day and night through museums and neighborhoods soaking in the history and culture. (Seriously how much coffee can I put in my body?) Parisians were out of their way friendly. (I know!) And the people watching was fan-freaking-tastic! I totally got this city. I can completely see why artists, writers, dancers, sculptors, and really anyone creative has been drawn here to Paris for decades. There is just something there. Unexplainable. I would move here tomorrow. Except for all the dog poop on the street. That stunk—literally.

Istanbul or Constantinople?

2009-02-10T08:39:00.002-06:00

(written Tues Feb 3rd)

Yep. We may truly be crazy people. Just got back from a weekend in Istanbul, Turkey that we booked, oh about 10 days before we left. I have no idea how to form my thoughts into any kind of a coherent story about this place. What a collision between Europe and the Middle East! (Which actually it truly is, since it’s the only city to sit both on the European and Asian continents.) Our days were filled with wandering through the bazaars, going into the historic mosques, putting our feet on Asian soil, eating Doner Kebabs, and truly taking in the major historical events that have happened here.

Things that astounded me:
The Muslim call to prayer five times a day. Wow, it’s loud and a little frankly a little frightening. (Why is a lot of religious music written in a minor key?) There are mosques literally every few blocks (guess they gotta be if you need to get there that often) and the call to worship echoed throughout the city from what seemed like warring mosques vying for your attention. Made my brain rattle a little.

Being blond in this area of the world just doesn’t happen. Kristi and I stood out like sore thumbs in the land of dark hair and head scarves.

The Haggia Sofia. Once Greek Orthodox church, then mosque, now museum. It contains golden mosaics of the apostles that had been plastered over to plain walls with Arabic writing from the Qur'an. Again, collision of Eastern and Western. I could have spent all day here.

The sheer population. We read somewhere between 12-19 million people live here. Holy cow! There were seriously buildings as far as the eye could see. Some of them beautiful, some falling apart…and both standing right next to each other. There was no rational that could explain this city. So interesting.

As much as I enjoyed seeing something so completely out of my frame of knowledge, a couple of things got in the way of truly loving this city. One being, we had to make a decision while we were there of where we were gonna move next (read Big News) and I felt very distracted. Another was that it was cold and rainy. Does everyone feel depressed in January? Think I needed a little sunshine. It truly is an intriguing city with great little alleys to get lost in and beautiful architecture to study. I did happen to read “Murder on the Orient Express” which Agatha Christie wrote while living in a hotel here. Great trip, but glad to be home.

Big News

2009-02-10T08:17:00.001-06:00

We’re moving back to the US! There I said it. I’ll wait just a little until that sinks in to explain how we got here. (Pause.)

Due to the economic down-turn (understatement of the century) Caterpillar notified us a couple weeks ago, that we needed to head stateside. The good news is that thanks to a lot of the managers that took the buy-out package, there are some great jobs available. And luckily Tim’s secured something that he’s really excited about and will be taking us to Aurora, IL (right outside of Chicago.) The bad news is that we’re just not quite ready to leave Germany. We’ve loved it here and as Tim said, it’s like watching the first half of a really great movie. But, we’re truly thankful that Tim still has a job and we’ll be seeing a lot more of friends and family. Oh…did I mention we’ll be home by April 1st? Yeah…it’s all happening at lightning speed.

So there it is…Aurora. Chicago-land here we come! On to the next adventure...

Bad Karma

2009-02-10T08:09:00.002-06:00

I should start this tale by saying that I love to watch people fall. I am usually a very nice person in most other areas of my life, but watching people eat-it tickles me so deeply that I should know I would have to pay for it later. I will, of course, make sure no one’s hurt. But soon after, the cackling begins. Kristi and I sat in Davos one afternoon in full view of a drag lift (T-bar) and watched the mayhem unfold. I would offer that activity up to anyone that needs to find some joy in their life. Note to self…what goes around, comes around. You cannot laugh at someone else’s expense without paying the piper at a later date. My later date was Sunday. And poor Steve, just got caught in the crossfire.

It was the end of our Italian ski adventure. We had conquered nearly all of the that mountain we could. It was time to make our way back down to the car and head off on our merry way. At this point, Kristi, Jen and little Ella were already on the road homeward bound. (With a debacle all of their own involving a snowy street, 8 muscular Italians (one of which driving her car,) and a near collision.) So, the four of us that were left hopped on a 4-person chair lift. From right to left: Bryan (with snowboard), Steve, me, then Tim. Well, I was a little exhausted after trying to keep up with the boys and somehow as I sat down on the seat, I dropped one of my ski poles. I said, “My Pole!” and reached forward, hoping to grab it before the lift scooped us off the ground. (It’s also perhaps important to note that the pole was laying across my right ski and Steve’s left.) Being the nice guy that Steve is, he also reached for the pole (picture us both leaning forward) and before we knew it…both Steve and I were under the lift. Me, getting all jumbled up in Tim’s skis and getting dragged about 25 feet. Yep, we fell off a chair lift.

As soon as I came too, I looked up and noticed that I was, indeed, under the chairlift. Still, I’m not entirely sure what all had to happen for me to get there. I just remember a lot of metal. I glance behind me, and Steve was sitting up looking at me in sheer disbelief. At this point the lift dude runs over (after he stops the lift before we could get clocked in the head with more metal.) He starts rattling off German, making sure we were both ok (which thankfully we were.) Picks us up and plops us onto the next chair. I was still in some sort of shock. It took until Steve turned to look at me (I should also note here that Steve is an amazing, advanced skier) and says, “Heather in all my years, I have never, never, EVER fallen off of a skilift.” And I started to laugh. I laughed the entire way up the lift. I could see Tim and Bryan’s chair up ahead also shaking with their laughter. Steve, in between cursing me, started laughing too. You know what they say about paybacks.

Alpine Dreams

2009-02-10T07:36:00.005-06:00

Tim and I in the Dolomites, Italy

Bryan, Steve, Jen, me and Tim

Davos, Switzerland

Davos

Tim asks for very little in life. Indian food once in a while. A to-go-cup-a-joe in the mornin’. A little football on the telly. (He does get a touch high-maintenance if he steps in water with his socks on.) But truly, his only major request whilst we live here in Europeland is this: Ski in every country that has Alps. I am happy to report, we can check this one off the list.

Last year we skied in Austria with Maarten and Heidi, France with B.Lo and Ewan, and Germany at the Zugspitze. A couple weeks ago we took Bryan and Kristi to Davos, Switzerland (two days before the World Economic Forum—no wonder it was hard to find a room.) And then this weekend, we rounded out our quest with amazing Italy. And oh my goodness, was it a grand finale.

These mountains were like nothing I’d ever seen. They’re called the Dolomites, which somehow refers (maybe in French??) to the carbonate rock that makes up these majestic and severe looking mountains. When the sun came out and the snow stopped pelting you in the face (free microderm-abrasion anyone?) it made for some of the most beautiful scenery we’ve ever seen.

Of course the trip didn’t quite go off without a hitch. Securing a room was a touch challenging, seeing as how we had 6 adults, a two year old, and a dog. (We took Steve & Jennifer with little Ella, Bryan, Kristi and Kristi’s dog Jax.) But Thursday morning, after at least 40 e-mails, a hotel with a vacation apartment came through, so we could all stay together. I will say, hotels in Europe are not anything like American ones. Furniture definitely from the 70s, twin beds pushed together like my Grandparents had, and towels that you and I would probably designate for the garage. But, it was clean and big enough for everybody to have their own space, and perfect for our needs.

So...my husband is a very happy camper...err..skier, and we had a truly amazing time. That was, until I nearly killed myself and Steve. (Read on.)

Selective Memory

2009-01-18T09:06:00.002-06:00

The title of my last entry, I have just learned, may need to be revised. This is something that I thought I remembered my mother saying when we’d come home from our family adventures. (Like driving to Florida, or New England, or Yellowstone…3 times.) I’m sure it had to come from a riddle or rhyme or song, but I couldn’t quite place it. I spouted it off to Tim once early in our relationship, expecting that everyone said that as they pull in the drive. He looked at me like I had three eyeballs. What? You don’t say that? Huh. At that moment, I shrugged it off. Perhaps it was just one of the quirky things that the Hulsens did. Like singing songs from The Muppet Show.

I vowed to ask my mother later, which I plum forgot for a good long while. Finally, I remembered not that long ago (after so many years of saying this to Tim that it now sounds completely logical to both of us.) My mom had no idea what on earth I was talking about. Huh. Oh well. Fast forward to last week. As I was searching for the title to my last blog, I thought, what would be more perfect? I did, however, send a quick text to my big brother who remembers everything. “Um..Thomas, where the heck did I get this?” To which I had this reply. (I may take some liberties here with what he was implying in tone.)

Dear Little Sister,
You are a moron and confused…again. Think you’re thinking of this nursery rhyme.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.

Huh. I sit corrected. And then he lovingly noted, “'Clickety-clack' would only work if it was Thomas the Tank Engine’s trip to the market." Huh again. My world was kinda rocked. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig? Really? Why would one need both a pig and a hog? And what, pray tell, is a plum bun? Is that what happens when sledding goes horribly wrong?

In all honestly, this is not the first time that I’ve “remembered” things from my childhood that I find out later to be completely off. For example, I may have thought that my Grandfather was part Indian (and have proceeded to tell people I was part Cherokee) because he had redish skin and collected Native American artifacts. Not so much. Or figuring out a few years ago that Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” was ‘prayer’ not ‘prairie.’ (Totally had this image of Jon and Richie in cowboy hats riding horses over the plains.) Anyhoo—thought I’d set the record straight. However embarrassing it might be.

Home Again, Home Again, Clickety-Clack

2009-01-10T13:25:00.003-06:00

We’re home. And by ‘home’ I mean Germany. Of course, the word “home” is kinda like “smurf” or “marklar”—it can mean any number of things. Quincy, Peoria, Germany, Van Down by the River…whatever. Guess that’s what happens when you’re a nomad.

Anyway, the flight was good except for the first hour, which was a teensy bit turbulent. I may have double- (read: triple) checked for the barf bag. (How long does it take Dramamine to kick in?) Got our luggage without any problem, which was a festivous miracle. You would not believe what Tim and I brought back. Let’s just say that this was a very lucrative Christmas for the Klaus Haus. We were under the assumption that the gift-giving portion of the holiday would be reigned in a little. But, no. Pretty sure our families are going to single-handedly pull the U.S. right outta recession. May I also note that everyone gave us great and thoughtful gifts, but perhaps a little on the bulky/heavy side. Trying to pack a cookie jar, leaded china, a ski helmet, about 6 hard-back books and a golf club got a little interesting. (Also interesting, we had asked for most of it. Duh.) I will say, nearly all made it here. Except the golf club. Apparently, the airlines think it warrants “weapon” status. (Little do they know, I’m a heck of a lot better with a high heeled shoe. More wieldy. In college, I used a black pump as a hammer more than once.)

We walked in the door to our house and were immediately pounced on by two very excited and attention-starved kitties, whom have been gorilla-glued to us ever since. They seemed to do pretty darn well for being left alone for three weeks. (Yes, we did have someone coming in to check on them.) There was a small sign of rebellion though. Think they set off a cat-hair bomb. No joke, cat-hair everywhere! Our rugs look like they’re wearing fur coats. How could this much hair come off of two rather small creatures? Unbelievable. Isn’t it winter? Shouldn’t they being putting on their heavy coats? Then why in all things seasonal, is it all over my floor, couch, bed, carpet...

Other things that greeted us? Some goodies that got left in the fridge to decay (always fun) and a very sad looking Christmas tree. To begin with, our tree was not quite as manicured as the ones in the states. A little pear-shaped to be honest. Now its saddlebags are sagging, the garland is drooping, and the ornaments closer to the ground are now actually on the ground. Charlie Brown would have loved it. Home Sweet home.

My dork Brother

2008-11-15T08:28:00.002-06:00

Fun with Dave! (This time captions courtesy of my husband.) Had a truly exceptional time. We hit Regensburg, Nurnberg, Cesky Krumlov in the Czech Republic and Munich. Not bad for 5 days, huh.

Fotos de Espana

2008-11-15T08:15:00.001-06:00

(Notice there aren't any of our hellhole, I mean B&B. Choosing to remember only the good.)

Fall

2008-10-24T07:11:00.005-05:00

Fall is here, but may not last much longer. One last shot of my garden. The trees are almost done changing here, but they've been beautiful. I love Fall. Sigh.

Well, we're off to Munich for the weekend. I'm taking a Yoga workshop with Seane Corn (very, very excited, hope I can walk afterward!) and Tim's coming with. No doubt we'll find trouble along the way...

Dance 10, Looks 3

2008-10-23T16:13:00.002-05:00

Our 5th Anniversary was at the beginning of the month, so we decided to celebrate with a trip to Barcelona. I’d booked the trip a little while ago, but I had maybe waited until the last minute to find accommodations. (First mistake.) In my defense, I was waiting for the guidebook I had ordered from amazon.de which never came, and never came, and honestly, never came.

Tim’s and Heather’s Plan for Traveling: Pick a destination. Book a flight. Do not do any research ahead of time, but consider “planning ahead,” buying a guidebook. Bust it open for the first time on the plane to your destination.

Well, a couple of days before we left, I had realized that perhaps I shouldn’t dally forever and I started to look into a Bed and Breakfast. So far, we’ve had a wonderful experience with B&Bs. The place in Bruges felt like we were visiting long lost relative. One in Interlaken was a working farm overlooking the lake. Not to mention the vineyard in Italy. So, I took my chances, hopped onto a few B&B sites and sent out a bunch of e-mails.

Uncle Georg’s Wine/Life Tip: When I was traveling around Europe in 2002, my uncle Georg gave me truly wonderful advice. We (with my aunt Sue, of course) were at a German Winefest on the Mosel River trying to decide what wine to sample. His rationale was, “Never get the cheapest wine. You'll always be disappointed. The best deal is always the second least expensive.” Good theory, I thought. And this man knows his wine.

So I heard back from a few B&Bs and a lot of them were full. Panick set in a little. I e-mailed a few more, without really checking into them fully. (Second mistake). Good news, I heard back from a couple that had some openings. So, did I head Georg’s advice? Did I take the second from the bottom in price? Nope. Went for El Cheapo. (Fatal mistake.)

So we arrive in Spain, really without too much problem, show up to the address and look around. The street in front of us is lined with Pawn Shops. (Not a good sign.) We ring the bell and this little Spanish lady comes down to get us. We go up the narrowest steps ever on the planet to the apartment. We walk in and are hit over the head with a smell of, well not quite body odor, but maybe body oil. Instantly know this is gonna be a long stay. Not to mention all of this is happening as the women is freely bashing America because she thinks we’re German. That’s always fun.

I tell you what, whoever took the pictures for the website was a magician! He couldda made Quasimodo’s headshots look like Brad Pitt. The place was actually an apartment that this lady lets to students, but was free at the moment. (Can’t imagine why.) Come to learn later that she actually runs a Bed and Breakfast, but this is not it. There was a kitchen (ette) with water that tasted like sulfur and an overall smell of natural gas. The towels in the bathroom were as soft as sandpaper and put off an overpowering musty scent when wet. (I actually gagged once while toweling off. No joke.) The living room was about 3 feel wide, with an old futon parading as a couch. Not to mention the bedroom which had two single beds donned in orangy-brown spreads from the 70s and a wad of something that was supposed to be a pillow.

But the kicker was that over the headboards, in between the two Ozzie and Harriett beds was a rather large, extremely graphic and dark and honestly terrifying picture of the Crucifixion. I hope God forgives me for my next statement, but if that isn’t a mood killer, I don’t know what is. So…welcome to Barcelona!

The good news is that we’re never in our hotel rooms very much anyway, so this was just further inspiration to get out on the town. And, we did have free Internet, which was nice.

We did a ton of wandering the city, as we always do, taking in tourist cites as well as trying to be somewhat Spanish. Highlights: Friday night, Tim and I took ourselves on a Tapas and Pub Crawl. Pretty sure we ate (and perhaps drank) at every tapas restaurant, ever. (Warning: Spanish wine goes straight to your noodle!) Saturday we took a Spanish cooking class through Cook and Taste http://www.cookandtaste.net/ led by the amazing Bego. Learned how to make Spanish Omelets and Paella, among other things. Met another American couple and a couple from Australia. (Tim and I are convinced that Australians might just be the coolest people on earth. Every Aussie we’ve met totally rocks.) Sunday night we hit Cirque de Soleil, which was absolutely unreal. So, overall, amazing trip. Great Anniversary. And guess what was on the doorstep when we arrived home---guidebook. Perfect timing.

Oktoberfest!!!

2008-10-12T09:39:00.002-05:00

We came. We saw. We fested. We have now been to the biggest party on the planet. And no, I'm not joking, with over 6 million people in attendence, it is truly the biggest party. Ever.

And now for just a little hint of trivia. Oktoberfest is a 16 day festival honoring the 1810 marriage of King Ludwig (the first, not the crazy dude) with Princess Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen. (Take his married name, sweetie.) It looks like the party was so killer, they decided to make it an annual occasion. (I heart Bavarians!) Aside from the years when Germany was at war or battling cholera (sorry to bring you down), the party’s been going on ever since, although comically it’s been moved to September to avoid the sketchy October weather. Guess Septemberfest didn’t have the same ring.

I can't find the exact data for 2008, but came across the numbers for 2003
6.3 million visitors
6.2 million liters of beer (well, someone wasn't quite pulling their weight.)
36,000 liters of wine
487, 400 roast chickens
190,635 pairs of grilled sausages
56, 036 pork knuckles
91 oxen, whole on the spit.

I repeat biggest party on the planet!

More Jungfrau pics

2008-10-12T09:24:00.003-05:00

These from their guide Krister. Unreal. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it!

Q. Why Did The Nun Cross the Road? --To Get To The Other Tithe!

2008-09-18T14:31:00.007-05:00

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.

I heart Europe

2008-09-18T14:31:00.003-05:00

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.

New Digs

2008-09-07T07:10:00.002-05:00

Happy Anniversary Us and Germany

2008-09-07T06:58:00.002-05:00

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.

Tim's little Swiss climb

2008-09-07T06:39:00.000-05:00

Tim and our friend Brian climb the Jungfrau Mountain in the Swiss Alps.

My 30th Birthday in LONDON!!!!

2008-08-27T14:19:00.003-05:00

(push the little bubble icon on bottom left for captions.)

Goose Gottin'!

2008-08-27T03:51:00.008-05:00

Four days after my parents left, we met up with Tim's good friend from college, Seamus, and his wife Tiffany. We intercepted them in Salzburg, brought them home with us for a beerfest, then headed on to Prague. Seamus mastered quite quickly the most important Bavarian phrase, "noch ein Bier, bitte," but wasn't satisfied with the normal hello of "Gruss Gott." Instead, the greeting went through a series of stages until Seamus landed upon "Goose Gottin", which honestly, we all liked much better.

Tim did an entire montage of pictures entitled "Seamus in Prague" but those are for a different day.

Stage Fright

2008-08-27T03:21:00.004-05:00

Take a good look at the picture. Notice the water bottles? Hmmm--are these people around Como just REALLY thirsty? (I have heard that the lake is rather dirty.) But seriously what's the skinny? My aunt had heard that this is some kind of throw back to early times when weary travelers wandering by would need something to wet their whistle. (Noble, huh.) But alas, no, our Rick Steve's guidebook said that it's an altogether different type of wetting. The locals here in Como set these water bottles out so that stray cats, which are seriously all over this area, don't pee on their doorstep. Something about seeing their reflection and getting stage fright? Well, now you know.

More on Italy--Lake Como

2008-08-27T03:04:00.004-05:00

(from our journey there the end of July)

Next stop: Lake Como. If it's good enough for George Clooney, it's good enough for me.

Como seems to be the hotspot for the Milanese (is that what you call people from Milan??) to get away from the city. No one does anything here except relax, read a good book, and eat absolutely amazing food. Check. Check. Chicketly-check. The highlight for us was definitely cuisine--amazing lamb dishes and the most wonderful handmade pasta that I could swear was stuffed with love.

Little Taste of Heaven

2008-07-29T16:38:00.003-05:00

Never coming home. Our little Agritourismo, the working vineyard where we are staying, has to be the closest thing to Heaven possible. (Okay—Hawaii may be in the running too.) This may have just replaced Tanner’s Apple Orchard with my Happy Place. Again---I am never, ever, and I mean ever coming home.

Lake Garda

2008-07-29T16:22:00.002-05:00

(Written Thurs. July 24.) Destination number two on the Hulsen’s Tour de Italia: Lake Garda. Thinking that this is the largest of the lakes in the “Lake Region,” but honestly that may be malarkey. No idea where I read that or who told me that. Not even sure what all the “Lake Region” entails, but there you have it anyway. (I do know that we’re still pretty far north up on the ole Boot, geographically speaking.) As I write, I’m sitting on a plastic lawn chair that I rented for 3.50 Euros. (I know, big spender.) My parents have booted me out of the car and are driving (hopefully not crashing) Tim’s car along the east coast of the lake (aka The Olive Riviera) toward the mountains.

My view here: Directly in front of me is the most adorable older Italian couple basking in the sun (I’ll come back to them in a sec.) Beyond Mr. and Mrs. Spaghetti, spanning almost the whole range of my peripheral vision is the most beautiful, crystal blue lake I have ever seen. A clear ocean-blue, dotted with bright white boats and an occasional sail. Not to mention, to my right are the tips of the Italian Alps. So I’ve got sun, mountains, a stunning lake, comfy chair, a good book…all I need right now is my husband and some French fries and I would be set!

The people watching here is exceptional. Looking dead ahead is the old Italian gentleman—lets call him Mario. Mario: head to toe. White hair. HUGE sunglasses. Gold cross on his leather chest. Olive-green checkered Bermuda shorts--he is honestly an exception here to his Speedo-wearing brethren. Not to mention dark socks pulled halfway up his calves. Completing the ensemble with some beige orthotics of some kind. Very practical.

Aaah, my ADHD just kicked in. A large Dutch family just set up shop just about on top of me. That reminds me that Lake Garda is a very popular destination for Germans and Dutch. I’ve heard plenty of both languages with some Italian sprinkled in. I’m doing much better communicating in German here than in English.

Oooh, missed my chance! Now my Italian couple just moved on (probably in search of gelato.) Boogers. Can’t quite remember what Mrs. Mario was wearing, but I will tell you that there seems to be 2 types of Italian women, from what I can surmise. Type 1: young, gorgeous, teeny-tiny, leggy beauties with dark eyes and always, always high-heels. Or…type 2: grandmas with huge, puffy, cotton-candy-like, brightly colored hair and even bigger sunglasses, wearing housedresses with horrible 80s floral print on them that look like tents. I will say that Mrs. Mario was unfortunately not belonging to the first category.

Have yet to mention where we are staying, mostly because we haven’t spent much time there thus far. We’re on a working vineyard. (Yep, thought my dad would be pleased to be so close to the grapes. Just taking out the middleman!) All I know so far is that we’ve been drinking coffee out of a bowl. Quite good, but gets cold fast. I’ll keep you posted…

Ah...Venice

2008-07-29T15:55:00.006-05:00

Last time I was in Venice, my boyfriend (now my husband) and I spent some serious time searching for the library building featured in Indiana Jones, the Last Crusade. Picture Marcus Brody saying, “It looks like a converted church.” (Funny, the things that drive your travel experience.)

This time around, I believe the point was just to get as lost as possible. (Total Success.) Mom, Dad and I LOVED the wandering. After all, we’re on an island—how far can we really go? Strolling through all the little back streets, over something like 400 bridges, was just about as charming as you can get. Not to mention, sailing down the Grand Canal in a water taxi reading the history of the city and palaces along the way. My dad-being the eternal boater that he is-was quite happy.

For me, and this I can’t quite explain, but there is just something very New Orleans-esk about Venice. Both places seem to be…well…kinda…rotting. It’s not so much that the city is sinking (as is the common thought), but more that the water--due to things that a dance teacher doesn’t get (i.e. wind off the coast of Africa, the barometric pressure of the Adriatic sea, and throw in a little global warming)--is rising. So the first floor of most of the buildings here floods something like 100 times a year. Not to mention that the facades of the buildings are peeling and crumbling off. Unfortunately, Venetians aren’t allowed to fix them due to codes for historical preservation. Depressing on one hand, but fascinating on the other. Not to mention that every other little store here sells Carnival masks. Mardi Gras, anyone? What is it with my fascination with these corroding towns?

Anyway, we liked Venice, but two days was just enough. Time to find the source of the wine…

Neglect

2008-07-29T15:15:00.002-05:00

I haven’t written in so long, not even sure I remember how. Hi Computer. It’s Me, Heather. Member me??? Tall, blond, crazy hair? Oh, say that reminds me. I got told by the Bulgarian guy in my class that I had ‘golden ringlets,’ which of course I ate up like a double dip of strawberry gelato. I took a moment to picture myself as Goldilocks, or maybe even Rapunzel. Ah… BUT, no fear, no need to knock my ego off its high horse. My German teacher took care of that in no time. She happened to mention that Germans also call curls like mine “snails.” Great, so I have snail hair. Moving to Bulgaria where I sound prettier.

So, my Mom and Dad arrived about 2 weeks ago. Yeah-scray! Thus, I’ve been so busy playing tour guide that I haven’t kept up the blog with what we’ve been doing. For starters, we just got back from 9 days in Northern Italy. Goodbye beer, Hello red vino! I kept some notes (wouldn’t even go as far to call it journaling) along our journey. They may be a little scatterbrained since I can’t read my own handwriting. Anyway…enjoy.

Bruges

2008-07-04T09:11:00.003-05:00

What does anybody know about Belgium? Not much, is my guess. All I knew was that it neighbors Germany and that they brew good beer. That, my friends, was the extent of my knowledge. So last week, Tim and I had the opportunity to do some investigation. We came up with a theory. We think Belgium is doing something really horrible, like smuggling drugs or selling small children or ripping tags off of mattresses because it falls just a little under the radar. Even here in Germany, no one seems to know much about their neighbor. For example: Tim found out they have a King. Did you know that? How come he isn’t painted all over the tabloids like Chuck and QE’s fam? Curious, I say.

Anyway, Tim was working most of the week south of Brussels, which is in the French speaking part of Belgium. (Belgium Random Fact: They speak French in the south and Flemish in the north, which is essentially Dutch, although neither the Flemish nor the Dutch will claim the other’s language.) So I picked him up on Friday there and we drove on to Bruges. What an absolutely beautiful city! Belgium, like the Netherlands, is considered a “Low Country” so picture a lot of canals, not to mention absolutely beautiful gothic buildings from the Middle Ages.

Quick history on Bruges. Back in the 12-1500s Bruges was a big trade city due to its proximity to the North Sea. But in the middle 1500s, their Queen-type person fell off a horse and died at about the same time the canal to the sea filled up with silt. Not so good for the Bruggian economy. Thus, the town got pretty much wiped off the map for a few hundred years. They were so poor that they couldn’t even afford to tear down the old buildings to build new. But, that misfortune later became their good fortune. Because they had no money, the town got kinda pickled in the Middle Ages and now enjoys a pretty kickin' tourist industry. (Yippee--Happy Ending.)

Tim and I got in on Friday evening and stopped first at our Bed and Breakfast. Just perfect. It’s an old leather mill turned into a home right in the middle of the Old City. The woman that runs it lost her husband a few years ago and essentially takes you into her house to enjoy your company. Saturday we spent the day sight seeing: cruising on the canal, checking out the Gothic Cathedrals, climbing the Belfry, and perhaps tasting the Belgian beer.

At dinner that night, I left our table for absolutely no longer than 2 minutes, came back to find that my husband had befriended an entire Scottish family of 10. Before we knew it, we had been adopted and spend the evening with Gram and his wife Gail, his 2 small children, his Aunt Doreen and Uncle Billie (who live in Malaysia,) his cousins, his dad-Papa David and his mother, which he lovingly referred to as “the Dragon.” The Scottish drinking songs entertained the whole restaurant and the Guinness and whisky flowed like water. So apparently, when in Bruges…do as the Scots do!

A truly wonderful weekend.

Filtering

2008-07-04T08:15:00.002-05:00

Quote for the day. Heck, quote for the past 10 months. Tim and I were trying to sum up our Ex-pat experience the other day as we sat in this beautiful garden on a canal in Bruges (more on that later). I mentioned that for me, learning this language and culture has been 80% amazing and 20% “Oh Dear God, What Did I Get Myself Into.” I’m finding that right now I’m doing a lot of filtering, unfortunately, when I can’t quite understand the people around me. Yep, pretty sure I have the vocabulary of about a 5-year-old. (But a really bright 5-year-old, dad-burn-it!) Not sure if you remember being that age, but there’s a heck of a lot that you just don’t get. Thus, one method to deal with your unsure-ity (is this a word?) is to completely tune out. This is what Tim and I lovingly call, "Screen Savor Mode." I know this place well.

Tim, as usual, put it a lot more eloquently. He said, “It’s like trying to get a drink out of a fire hose.” Amen. Welcome to our world.

My Hero

2008-06-23T16:17:00.002-05:00

Bad Dancer. Seriously Cool Guy. Check it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNF_P281Uu4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY&feature=user

Seven Sleepers Day

2008-06-21T06:20:00.003-05:00

I’ve figured it out!!! I no longer need a Meteorology degree to predict the weather here. Next Wed is Siebenschlaefertag! Seven Sleepers Day, which is the German version of Groundhog’s Day. Ok, so, my details are a little shaky, and I’m gonna warn you that my normal research (aka google-ing and wikipedia-ing (Dude, I’m sooo gonna Wiki that!)) have left me with some holes. My recommendation: Use your imagination and make it up. That’s my plan.

Sooo—Seven Sleepers Day has a couple of meanings from what I’ve come across. It is both an animal (a cute little hibernating dormouse), and also an old Christian Legend. I’ll start with history and work my way into cute little furry creatures.

The Tale
Picture the year 250. Seven men are accused of “Christianity” by the pagan Roman Emperor Decius (Rome didn’t become Christianized until Constantine in 315ish) and, of course, the guys are persecuted. The de-ci-ent Decius (laugh here), gives the seven dudes time to repent. But, in the ways of all martyrs, the Seven give all their money to the poor and go off to a cave to pray. Where they promptly fall asleep. (Whoops.) During their slumber (persecution must be REALLY tiring) Emperor Decius has the cave sealed off. Fast forward now to about 400 a.d. The Landowner of the cave decides to open it up to make cattle pen. And lo! What do his wandering eyes did appear? But seven guys starting to wake up from a long winter’s nap. Long winter’s nap of about 150 years! (Time varies here depending on whom you ask.) The men thought they’d been asleep only one day (crazy Christians) but were thrilled that crosses had replaced the pagan gods. So the sleepy seven become saints—thus Seven Sleepers Day.

The Tail
There actually is an animal the ‘Siebenschlaefer’ that’s some sort of a dormouse. (Actually, believe he’s called the “Edible Dormouse” which makes me think twice about eating sausage.) Anyway, he hibernates not really for seven months, which one would think, given his name, but from about September through the end of May. Now how a dormouse correlates to seven Christians I’ll never know. Makes about as much sense as a fat guy in a red suit coming down your chimney on Jesus’ birthday, huh.

So what does this have to do with weather you ask? No idea. Just that June 27th happens to be called Siebenschlaefertag, and according to the German version of the Farmer’s Almanac, this very day will predict what the weather will be like for the next 7 weeks. Or throughout July. (I’ve read both, so not sure.) They’ve got cute little rhyming things here like:

*Wie das Wetter am Siebenschläfer sich verhält, ist es sieben Wochen lang bestellt. (How the weather behaves on Seven Sleepers Day, is what we order for the next seven weeks. Sorry—no attempt at rhyming.)
*Ist der Siebenschläfer nass, regnet’s ohne Unterlass. (Is the Edible Dormouse wet, then prepare to get seriously soaked. Yep, I took liberties with the translation of that one.)
Or my fav:
*Wenn die Siebenschläfer Regen kochen, dann regnet’s ganze sieben Wochen. (Which I think translates into something like we’re gonna get real wet here if we happen to cook the edible dormouse in rainwater. Blechhh.)

Here’s the kicker. Looks like this forecast is not so accurate for Northern Germany because of the Jet Stream. BUT…in Southern Germany, where we live, it’s 60-70% accurate. Halleluiah! Happy Seven Sleepers Day to all! And to all a Good Night!

Wie ist das Wetter?

2008-06-20T12:18:00.003-05:00

Many of you have asked what the weather is like over here in these parts. Well, to tell you the truth, I have no clue. I am truly not smart enough to figure it out. I cannot, repeat: cannot, understand the weather here in any way, shape or form. So don’t ask me what to pack for those of you coming to visit, for I will inevitably tell you the wrong thing. We are not in Spain, so the rain does not stay mainly on the plain.

Let me tell you a little of why I’m rather Confucius.

Before we made this move, we had heard that the weather here was basically a milder version of the Midwest. Take, oh say Peoria, and drop about 10 degrees off either end. The colds shouldn’t be so cold and the hots shouldn’t be so hot. Ok. Easy-peasy. Well, let me just tell you that if I ever figure out who told us this load of horse manure, I might just haul off and shoot that messenger di-rectly!

Midwest weather, although miserably humid in the summer (which turns my hair into a beast that resembles the blond version of whatever dead animal Diana Ross has on her head nowadays) at least has seasons. Summer—hot. Winter—cold. Fall—crisp. Spring—grab your umbrella. Even things like March—in like a lion, out like a lamb are truly helpful in “How do I let my kid leave the house for school this morning?” Or in my case, “How do I let myself leave the house for school this morning?” (Don’t forget your sack lunch!)

Let me pause here and give a quick sidenote with one of my theories: There is truly no bad weather, only bad fashion choices. I love rain, as long as I’m not wearing dyed satin shoes (as per Homecoming senior year.) No one celebrates snow as much as I do, carefully donned in hat, gloves, scarf and heavy coat. Sun’s out? No problem, just throw me a visor and perhaps some SPF 15. I love seasons. I love storms. I love to run in the rain, because somehow being out in the elements makes you feel more alive. After all, my dream job is to be a mailman, errr woman, that’s how much I love weather.

Let me now add what has been my German experience, because honestly, it’s all I got.

Screens
Germans do not have air-conditioning. We have giant windows that open like doors or tilt back to let air in. So you would think we would have screens, right? Nope, you thought wrong. Most homes are sans screens. And anyone who tells you that Germany doesn’t have bugs is a liar-liar-pants on fire. As we haven’t gotten into truly hot summer yet (assuming it exists), and seeing as how we have indoor cats, I have NO idea how this is gonna pan out.

Meteorolo-huh?
I have no idea when I leave the house in the morning what the day has in store. Just because it’s sunny and warm in the village where we live, it may be cold and rainy in Regensburg, which is only 12 km away. I find that half the time the weather is completely different in all of the little villages around here, which makes me think, maybe we aren’t all living underneath the same big sky. (Yep, just quoted Fievel Mouse.) We don’t seem to have storm systems, which can give a little warning on the ole Doppler radar of what’s coming ‘round the mountain. Unfortunately, all of a sudden a huge, gray, fast-moving cloud just appears out of nowhere and as soon as you notice it, the heavens open up. Germany Travel Tip #42: Don’t leave home without your umbrella. I have come home looking like a drowned rat more times than I can count on both hands. Or toes. Whatever you choose. (I choose toes; with fingers I always forget where I started.)

Freezing my cha-chas off.
We came over for our house hunting trip the first week of July last year. I packed sundresses and flip-flops. FROZE. Moved here at the end of August. Again, only had summer things with a couple pairs of jeans and a jacket. FROZE. Had to buy a fleece third day we were here. (And here is where I’ll lose your sympathy.) I know you people in the Midwest are gonna tell me I’m ridiculous since you all had the coldest, most snowing-est winter in about a thousand years, and I have to report that our winter was very, very mild. Think we only had snow in November, just in the knick of time to hit all of our visitors, then again around Easter, which as memory serves was in March. Already I can hear you saying “huh?” Yep, me too. Isn’t snow supposed to be in the winter? Does El Nino affect Deutschland too?

So now, after I’ve spent a month at home during truly beautiful Midwest May weather (I missed most of these horrible rains that are flooding nearly every county on the Mississippi), I expected it to be sunny and warm here in Germany. Just to make sure I was prepared, I made some great contributions to my summer wardrobe during my journey. So you can imagine how I felt when I got off the plane last week, FROZE and reached for my fleece.

After all that ranting, okay--whining, I have to say, all’s well that ends well. Yesterday it was finally warm enough to break out the summer clothes. I think it may have gotten up to 80 both yesterday and today. (Not entirely sure since I don’t speak Celsius yet.) Anyway, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but today sure is a beaut’. Come over and see for yourself!

Remind Me Again, Why Are We Doing This?

2008-06-15T17:34:00.005-05:00

Hi all. I'm back in Germany after a wonderful month home in the states. I have to admit, getting on the plane this time was pretty difficult. Knowing that my amazing husband was there on the other side waiting for me (oh, and my kitties) was just about the only thing that got me aboard. If all you people that I visited would have been just a little grouchier and treated me a little less like a celebrity, maybe I wouldn't have had this problem! (Umm...but please do it again next time.) Anyway, after a 10 hour attitude adjustment on the plane, I'm back and glad to be back and ready to continue our journey here.

I just came across this quote in Yoga Journal yesterday from Don George, the global travel editor of The Lonely Planet Publications. For me, it has given a little meaning as to why Tim and I are here. Hope you enjoy. (And I promise a less sappy entry next time.)

Traveling to unfamiliar lands can be more than a simple vacation. When you don't understand the language, the need to rely on others for help can refine your practice of vulnerability. Becoming vulnerable requires concentration, devotion, and a leap of faith—the ability to abandon yourself to a forbiddingly foreign place and say, in effect, "Here I am; do with me what you will." It's the first step on the pilgrim's path.

The second step is absorbing a lesson that grows from the first: The more you humble yourself, the greater you become. The more you see of the world, the more you realize what a vast and awe-inspiring place it is. Travel teaches us how small we are, and when we truly understand this, the world expands infinitely. In that moment, we become part of the larger whole. Every journey takes us inward as well as outward. As we move through new places, encountering new people and food and artistic creations, new languages and customs and histories, a corresponding journey winds within as we discover new morals, meanings, and imaginings. The real journey is the ongoing and ever-changing interaction of our inner and outer lives.

Get Thee to a Nunnery!

2008-05-18T07:52:00.004-05:00

Just read that throughout the years, Regensburg has played host to at least 6 monasteries. Well no wonder I see my daily nun! Duh. We’ve had Benedictine monasteries, Carolinian, Dominican, Minorite, Scottish-Benedictine (and how that’s different from Regular Benedictine I have no idea,) and even one that was kind of a dorm for wealthy old women. Now I have yet to research what makes an abbey different from a monastery different from a cloister, but I will. This is gonna be an on-going process, I have a feeling.

Regensburg truly has a volatile history when it comes to religion. Tim and I are actively trying to piece all of this together, but it’s difficult to get the big picture. From what we understand, Regensburg was Catholic before the Reformation, then became Lutheran shortly thereafter (so we’re in the middle 1500s now.) Actually the Duke-type people in Regensburg had a pretty major part in igniting the Thirty Years War (1618-1648), even though the conditions were ripening for some time before it. (Side note: Tim read Germany lost a third of its population during the war because most battles were fought on German soil. That and the fact that the plague had outbreaks as well.) After the war, the city went back and forth from being Protestant to Catholic often, depending on the beliefs of the reigning Prince. How’d you like that? Today you’re Protestant, tomorrow Catholic. Even the clergy had to change, or choose to leave the city.

Unfortunately, Jews have been persecuted here since the dawn of time too, like so many places we’ve visited in Europe. It seems that Christians were not allowed to lend money, so in time of need, they would borrow from the Jews. When the debt could no longer be paid, the answer was simply to run the Jews out of town. And thus, the debt was cleared. Gives you a little insight into some history well before our years, doesn't it?

On a much lighter note, my nun spotting is going very, very well. I’ve even included our visitors and my husband on my quest. We’ve seen a nun eating ice cream in Prague. A nun on the boat to the Cloister Brewery (atta girl!) We saw one on a bike in Wurzburg. And actually, one day Amanda and I saw a nun, a monk and two priests all in the time frame of about 10 minutes. But to top it all, Tom, Jennifer, Tim and I ducked into the Cathedral Dom to check it out and ended up getting blessed by the Bishop of Regensburg. Not bad, huh.

Fish and Visitors

2008-05-18T06:34:00.003-05:00

You know that old saying (think it's Ben Franklin) that Fish and Visitors smell after 3 days? Not true. Totally not true. At least this is what I keep telling myself as I prepare to be a visitor in the states for almost a month. (Okay, the fish part may be true. I left salmon in the fridge for almost a week once. Pee-uuu!)

After having a steady stream of visitors (stream--get it? I’m going with the fish metaphor here) we’ve just shipped off our last guest on Wednesday. I tell you what, it is so much fun to finally be the destination. We've spent pretty much every weekend for the last 7 years in a guest bedroom of either a friend or family member. Now, it feels like the tides have changed and we are getting to play host and hostess and return the favor.

A few High-Lights:

Catching up with my old friend Amanda. Her visit was wonderfully low key, focusing less on the touristy side and more on real-life Bavaria. I did manage to take her on a few Death Marches and a road trip to Prague for lunch.
Soccer game in Munich with my bro and sister-in-law, followed by dinner at the Weissesbrauhaus (an old haunt of Hitler and cronies.) Did I mention that it’s “Spargel (asparagus) Season” here? Great cream of asparagus soup to accompany our sausages and potato pancakes. We also took them for a boat ride up the Danube to the Cloister Brewery, where Monks have been making beer for nearly 1,000 years. (Yep, I said a thousand. It’s not a typo.)
Middle Ages Festival in Rothenburg with my former Bradley student Kristen. This medieval walled-city from the 1500s had a weekend long, town-wide Middle Ages festival, complete with parades, wandering bands of singing knights, court jesters juggling, and of course, beer tents. Not to mention we had a breakthrough with the German language. Tim and I stayed up until 4am speaking German with our Pension Proprietress and her husband. Exhilerating.

A few Low-Lights

Amanda and I were searching for a great workout the form of a Yoga class. Yoga class—check. Great workout—uncheck. Think I’ll keep looking.
Middle Ages festival in Munich
What we had in mind was a carnival atmosphere, with people dressed up in Elizabethan clothes and perhaps a simulation of knights jousting. What we found was a cross between a Star Trek and a Dungeons and Dragons convention in a mud pit. (The irony is that we found the perfect festival in Rothenburg a few days later, but Tom and Jennifer had already headed home.)
My Midnight Dash to Berlin
Lovingly called my “blitzfahrt” by my husband. Kristen was supposed to take a train from Regensburg to Berlin on Tuesday to catch her flight home early on Wednesday morning. Unfortunately, in Nurnberg at about 8pm, we realized that no train could get her there in time. Thus, the mad dash. We were successful though. Tired, but successful!

Anyway, tell Poor Richard that his Almanac is full-a-crap. He just needs to throw out the fish…

Meine Prufung

2008-04-24T14:24:00.002-05:00

Some of you have asked what do with myself all day. I assure you, I am not laying around the whole time watching Soaps and eating bon-bons. (Mostly because I can’t get Soaps over here. Or bon-bons.) Actually, I’ve been taking an Intensive German class for 4 hours everyday. And that, my friends, is a lot of German. Mind you, not enough really to know what I’m saying, but just enough to get into trouble. So after 6 months of study, I take a rather large exam on Saturday to prove to the government that I can speak basic German. The test consists of a reading/comprehension section, a listening test, a written part, and an oral exam, taking up most of my day on Saturday. (And wouldn’t you know, it’s supposed to be beautiful!)

I thought in honor of my test (actually to postpone studying) I’d offer up a few of the stages that one goes through on the quest to learn another language. This list is by no means complete. Any of you are invited to add to it, as I’m sure I will as I travel down this road.

The “Wee! Won’t this be Great Fun to Speak Another Language” Stage:
Beware. This one is very short lived. It lasts just until you set foot in your foreign country of choice.
The “Oh Dear God, What Have We Gotten Ourselves Into” Stage:
Closely follows the aforementioned “Weee! Stage”
The “Ok, There Are Stupider (no, that’s not a word) People Than Me Who Speak Multiple Languages” Stage:
Very important as your build up your self-esteem for the fight that will ensue.
The “You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me” Stage:
Where you find yourself asking: How many words does this stupid language have? And why did they let a schizophrenic invent the grammar rules?
The “Filter” Stage:
Using selective hearing to only understand the words you already know. The rest just washes through.
The "Ass-Outta-You-And-Me” Stage:
Understanding 1 out of 10 words, then assuming you know what’s going on.
The "Whoops, I’m So Sorry” Stage:
Usually follows shortly thereafter.

That’s about as far as I’ve gotten. Okay—must study. I just need to pass, right? No need to nail it to the wall. After all, in the words of the very wise Brian Curran, “C’s get Degrees.”

Train Spotting

2008-04-24T12:48:00.002-05:00

I am leaving my profession of teaching dance in favor of turning my favorite past-time into a full-time career. People watching. I have often enjoyed the airport for this reason. But now that the non-traveling public can no longer go to the gates, it’s not as good. Disappointment. I’ve been continually searching for new avenues. Coffee shops. Late-night Steak-n-Shake. Theatre cast parties. So over here, naturally, I'm ever on the same quest. I believe I've found my new venue. Let me offer up...Train Stations.

Here's just a taste of what my world looks like:

People going to work with briefcases and seriously furrowed brows. Teenagers dressed in the grungy-funk thing with tight black jeans and bright white chucks heading to Gymnasium (high school.) Lovers of all ages saying tearful goodbyes. Athletes with their bikes slung over their shoulders. Old, weathered women carrying baskets with truly strange things sticking out. (Germans love baskets.) Completely worn out mommies with screaming children attempting to get the giant kinderwagen (stroller) onto the train.

But hands down, what do I find most interesting? Nuns. I see one everyday, I’m not kidding. (Hmmm, is God trying to tell me something? Speak louder…I can’t understand German!) Being a nice protestant girl from the Midwest, I am completely fascinated. Where are they going? And actually where have they been? How does someone choose to be a nun? And once you do, what does your life hold? (Do nuns gossip?) I actually don’t believe I’ve seen the same sister twice. So why in the land of Martin Luther are there so many nuns?

I’ve seen many in the train station coming and going. I’ve passed a few on the street in the Old Town. On the train the other day, a very nice sister helped me with my German homework. Yesterday, actually I saw one recycling.

But, do you know what interests me most, and this is just ridiculous. Their shoes. (This says so much about me as a person, doesn’t it.) All of the sisters I’ve recently seen have the black habit and headpiece, but a very different choice in shoes. So I got to wondering why and realized, it’s only shoes that differentiate them from the rest of the flock. Wonder where they shop…

Just a normal weekend in...SWEDEN!

2008-04-22T08:48:00.005-05:00

A couple weeks ago on a normal Wednesday evening, Kristi, Tim and I were sitting around our dinner table chatting about Godknowswhat when Tim happened to mention that Luftansa was having some sort of a sale. My first question: Do airlines have sales?!? Followed shortly by the second question: Where are we going? Kristi has been looking for a way to fly her husband over here in May, so out came the laptop amidst the chicken-salad-sammies and my nerd husband began doing his thing. Unfortunately for Rick (Kristi’s hubby) we came up short on transatlantic travel. But…we happened to stumble upon some good European deals. Dublin, Scandinavia, Beijing…(yes, I realize Beijing is not in Europe.) In short, on a Wednesday evening at 9:30pm we booked ourselves a nice little weekend va-ca to Stockholm leaving just two days later. These are the days when I love, love, LOVE living in Europe.

Ah, Sweden, home of such greats as Abba, Pippi Longstocking, Swedish Meatballs and one of the largest grossing companies: IKEA. Side note: I hate Ikea. Yes, I did furnish my entire Chicago apartment post college with this build-it-yourself furniture. But the fact that they traipse me all around the store through the Kinder department and bedroom sets when all I really want is a picture frame makes me avoid it like the dentist’s office.

Stockholm is just beautiful. It's been called the “Venice of the North” due to all the canals and water that have made it an important port city. For us, we thought it was kinda New England meets Munich—with a little water splashed on top. The three of us had a wonderful weekend. Had a beautiful little hotel, complete with a very helpful receptionist. We got in Friday in time to wander the old town and find dinner. Saturday we followed a Harbor tour that was in Kristi’s guidebook. (Travel tip, oh what number are we on now, 6? Get a good guidebook for any adventure. You see so much more.) Then we ended up at the Vasa Museum, which might just be the coolest museum ever.

A little bit of history: The 'Vasa' was a Swedish warship built in 1628 that sunk on her maiden voyage due to improper counterweighting. (Whoops. Can't imagine that went well for the engineers.) Anyway, they didn't have the technology at the time to bring her back up to the surface, so she sat at the bottom of the Stockholm Bay for something like 333 years. Because the water is a combination of sweet and saltwater, she was almost completely preserved. Fast forward to 1962 when she was rediscovered and raised again to the surface. Not to mention painstakingly restored. I believe nearly 90% of the boat on display today is original. I'll add some pictures here soon to give it some justice, but looks like one of the boats from Pirates of the Caribbean.

Sunday, we took most of the day to see the folk, open-air museum, which shows the homes of the Swedish people through the last couple hundred years. Then had time to swing through the Nobel Museum (Alfred Nobel lived here) before we flew home.

You know, just your normal, standard, everyday weekend.

Keeping It Real

2008-04-13T05:49:00.001-05:00

I realize that my last entry about my mom and cooking was pretty sappy. Although I had some positive feedback from the women in my life, it seems the men were not so pleased. I received this from one of my high school friends. And I quote, “Mrs. Klaus, your last blog post was so intensely cheesy that I needed to take a nap after reading. Seriously. But I enjoyed it nonetheless” he added, diplomatically. “I want to hear more comical fish-out-of-water, HSK, a stranger-in-a-strange land stories. Less Little Women and more Lost in Translation.”

Thank you Andrew for dowsing me in cold water to bring me out of my funk. It was pretty bad, huh. I’ll see what I can do. Lord knows I do something ridiculous everyday.

Canary Island Getaway

2008-04-03T15:42:00.002-05:00

Missing My Mommy

2008-03-29T11:45:00.003-05:00

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.

Have Stress, Will Travel

2008-03-19T06:54:00.004-05:00

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

2008-03-19T06:42:00.002-05:00

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!)

Tools for becoming a Global Citizen

2008-03-10T06:35:00.004-05:00

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?

Memories...

2008-03-03T15:23:00.004-06:00

'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

2008-03-03T14:27:00.003-06:00

(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!

Skiing in Grenoble

2008-02-14T03:54:00.003-06:00

Bamberg

2008-02-14T03:38:00.004-06:00

A few weekends ago we roped Kevin and Kristi (other ISEs) into checking out the medieval town of Bamberg, which is just about two hours away from us. The top pic is Kev and Tim tasting the local beer--which incidentally is smoked. Yeah, smoked beer. "Tastes like Liquid Beef Jerky." says Kev. I tried it. Pretty rough

...

The second one is the old town hall that was built in the middle of the Regnitz River sometime in the 15th Century.

...

That's me in the third with the beautiful St. Michael's in the backgroud.

...

And yep, that's my husband crawling through a tomb there in the last one. Apparantly, local folklore claims that if you crawl through this hole in St. Otto's tomb, it's an instant cure for lumbago. So Tim and I should be free and clear of any back pain for a while. Thanks Otto!

Potty Humor

2008-02-14T03:11:00.002-06:00

(not meant for the weak of heart.)

Harry’s editing the blog today. He’s snuggled-in on my lap nudging my right hand with his very cold, wet nose, making the backspace key a necessity. Can tell this is gonna be rather slow-going. Have to stop…every few words…to scratch his neck. Attention hog.

Hope all of you are having a wonderful Valentine’s Day. Oh! Harry just sat on the computer, ghiho;sfnfskgfiso;;. Yup, then walked on it. Perfect. Thank you, boy, that’s helpful. Speaking of Harry, had a rather comical day yesterday that I’m sure will enamor all of you, most of all, my dad. I’m off of school this week, so I indulged myself yesterday by sleeping in a little, which is probably one of my favorite things in the world, second only to French fries. (Err, right now, trying to see the computer screen by peering in between two black, furry ears. Umm..okay, now he’s chosen to lay on my left arm. Super.) Anyhoo, after a little breakfast and little Yoga I sat down to check some e-mails, surf the web a little and IM my friend Jackie, whom I believe to be the only American on Central European Time. Jackie’s a Medical Transcriptionist (at least that’s what I think she does) and works the graveyard shift, thus somehow we always seem to be on the computer at the same time. So, I’m having a wonderful conversation with her about her three daughters (whom I used to teach) and generally discussing life’s most important issues (i.e. do I have a hairdresser in Germany) when I notice Harry, yes the same cow-print loveable kitten draped across me currently, dragging his cute little furry behind all across the carpet in the dining room. Joy.

Since my dad has a weak stomach, I’ll spare you the details on what trailed behind him on my carpet or the fight that ensued as I cornered him to detach the dingleberry that was so insistent on clinging to his fur. Suffice it to say, this spawned a massive cleaning spree. Decided to trade in Madonna for the Grammy-winning, albeit druggy, Amy Winehouse. (Wonder if I would like her if she wasn’t so strung out. Kids: Don’t do drugs!) So cleaning away to rather loud music when the doorbell rings.

Now I was expecting the technician from Deutsche Telecom, as the Internet has been a big ole pain in the be-hind. So I see this technician-y looking dude and not wanting Harry to make a mad dash for the door (as he usually does), I immediately invite the guy in without question. This may have caught him a little off-guard that I shuffled him in so quickly before he could explain himself. Come to find out, he wasn’t from Deutsche Telecom at all, but was there to read the natural gas meter for the heaters. Oh. Whadaya know? Well I’m awful glad that he told me that pretty quickly there in my foyer, because think I had started to come across as a ‘Desperate Housewife’ which would have been compounded by the fact that one of the Internet outlets I was gonna show him was in our bedroom. Couldda been very embarrassing indeed. Instead, I led him down to the basement to show him where the utility room was. I get down the stairs and realize Harry also had tried the tushie-scoot here as well. Now that is exactly what you want the nice man from the heating company to step over on his way to the furnace.

The rest of the day remained relatively fecal-free. (Sorry Dad, I know that grossed you out.)Had a German lesson with the Caterpillar tutor, the DT technician did come and (finally!) fixed out Internet, thankfully without having to dodge anything. I made Ratatouille, which I loved, but Tim did not so much. Then we had family movie night (Sally and Harry joined us) and watched Ocean’s Thirteen.

Well, Harry left me just a few minutes ago, probably deciding that I moved too much for his naptime, but Sally sensed his departure and just jumped up here to duck and roll right next to my right leg. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

May you all have a wonderful Valentine’s Day...and watch your step!

Polar Opposites

2008-02-03T06:52:00.000-06:00

I’ve decided I’m bipolar. (No comments from the peanut gallery here.) The battle with my two languages is pulling me in completely opposite directions, and giving me a Kopfschmerz (headache.) On the one side, I’m ever on a quest to try to expand my knowledge of the English language and how people use it in interesting and creative ways. On the other, in German, I’m just fighting for sheer survival. Thus, the pendulum is ever swinging.

Side One: English. I have long been fascinated with the bending, adapting and molding of our language to not only communicate, but to do so with style. For example-I just lost 10 minutes of the day trying to figure out (to no avail) where the phrase “on the fritz” came from. (Just so you know it’s not from WWII as many think, but was used as early as 1900s. Unfortunately, didn’t find any good info on what the heck it actually means.) I find that I’m definitely drawn to people that have great dominance with vocabulary and unusual sentence structure. We have a couple of friends who speak with such style. I could hang out with them all day just to see the world for a little while through their eyes. To me, it’s as fascinating as listening to someone with a beautiful accent.

On the other end of the spectrum: German. Trying to learn a new language from the ground up. I mean there is no attempt to be flowery or descriptive at this point. Just get the basic information across so that you can get food, shelter, maybe a Wheat beer if you’re lucky. In fact, the more desciptive and interesting they get with language, the less I understand! This bipolarity concept came to me as I was learning the Passive tense last week in class. (Think inactive verbs with no subject, like “The house was built” or “The apple cake was eaten …by Heather.”) I remember my English professors in college would absolutely tear us to shreds when we wrote in the passive tense. After all, there is usually a more creative way to paint what you're trying to say using an active verb instead. But here, I am spending hours learning this specific grammatical structure and damn proud of myself, I have to say, when I do it well!

Speaking of German grammatical structure, I am absolutely entertained (okay, occastionally frustrated) by the formation of some sentences. Without getting into too much detail, often times the active verb of the sentence gets tacked on the end. So you may not any idea where the sentence until about three minutes down the line after many many twists and turns is going have. Or perhaps, need I German flashcards after blogging and piddling away most of my day on silly things have you lost the focus yet of this sentence to make. Also must I my mother soon to call. (I have got to talk to Claudia soon to compare notes on what was crazy for her to learn as she conquered English.)

That's enough Language Training for the day. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!!!

"Shin Bone Pain!!!"

2008-01-30T10:08:00.000-06:00

Quote by Adam Ruebsam on Day Two of one of our many Mizzou ski trips. He spoke such wisdom, such truth. Not to be confused with the first day. No, the first day, this does not apply for there really is no pain as of yet. The first day skiing you slip right on into those ski boots without much problem. Buckle those things on up, make sure you can wiggle the toes. Good to go for a whole day of skiing. Take ‘em off that night, do a little soaking in the hot tub, feeling pretty good. But, you know even then what’s lurking right around the corner: Day Two Torture.

That second day as you awaken, you notice immediately that your thigh muscles feel like they’re gonna rip off the bone and your calves are so tight you have to walk on your toes. Yet somehow, you hobble over to the ski boots. There they are, looking like a Chinese torture device. Doom is right around the corner. But, alas, you know you have to do it anyway. You pick whichever leg you feel may be slightly less bruised than the other and slip in your foot. Instantly—wham—Shin Bone PAAAIIN!!!

Ah, the joys of skiing. Speaking of which, we spent this past weekend skiing in the Austrian Alps with Heidi and Maarten. And even though we’ve been home for a few days, not to mention took it quite easy, my shins are still a little bruised! Oh well, minor war wounds did not get in the way of a wonderful weekend. Maarten found us a ski-in/ski-out hotel in Kuhtai (means cow-something, but can’t seem to figure out what ‘tai’ means in German. Hope it’s not ‘chip’ or ‘patty’) just about 3 hours away from here. Yep, three hours away from skiing in the Alps—I love it here!!!!

Heidi and Maarten totally get how to vacation, as do most Europeans. We actually came back feeling rested and rejuvenated, not to mention well fed. I mean for starters, Heidi had brought along survival goodies for the car—complete with homemade carrot cake. (Swear she is the Dutch Martha Stewart.) So, instead of killing ourselves and attempting to conquer the entire mountain before lunch, we chilled out quite a bit and found ways to pamper ourselves, even on the slopes. We’d ski for a few hours, then stop and have coffee. Ski a little more—lunch break. Get back out there to work up towards another coffee break, then just have time for a few more runs before Apres Ski (a drink at the bar.) I heart Europeans. Not to mention that the hotel had four course dinners at night. Pretty sure calories in were far greater than calories burned. Whoops. Better luck next time.

We got back Sunday just in time to intercept Claire Happel from the train station. Think I’ve mentioned before, but Claire is a little sister of a good friend of mine, Katie, from both high school and college. She's been studying Harp in Prague for the last few months and had an audition Sunday in Munich. I talked her into hanging out with me for a few days afterwards. Now I have truly loved hanging out with all the Happel girls, and Claire is no exception. There just seemed like there was so much to catch up on with our Quincy roots as well as our quest for trying to acclimate into a new culture. But her visit was short, and I had to return her home yesterday. So, talked Heidi into going with me for a quick day trip into Prague. All in all, skiing in Austria, coffee in Prague--a good weekend, I'd say.

All Quiet on the Western, errr Eastern, Front

2008-01-30T08:53:00.000-06:00

Hello cnn.com. Hi there, hotmail and even facebook. Oh Vonage phone, how I’ve missed you! After a very frustrating small scale war with our Internet (it’s been giving us the silent treatment for the last two weeks,) we’re back online. Had a very interesting (and seemingly lucrative) conversation Monday with Tcom, and think we’ve (read: they’ve) got the problem solved. Have no idea what said problem was, as my conversation with dear Helga the Internet Technician was mostly in German. But seeing as it’s working now, not gonna stop to ask any questions. What’s that saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth? Anyway, I’ve truly missed blogging and pretending like I’m having a conversation with all of you. (Even if it is rather one-sided.)

Rough Start

2008-01-14T06:23:00.000-06:00

Was really planning to establish a great routine today. New Year. Good time to reinvent yourself. Good idea...right? Nope. Not gonna happen. For starters, got sidetracked last night and didn't even get into bed until almost one. So much for a good nite's rest. Sleep went as follows.

Hmm, 1am, not sleepy so much. Allrighty, let's try a book. (Time lapse: 20 min.) Okay-eyes are feeling a little droopy, let's close them. Flip off the light. Immediately, eyes wide awake. It's ok Heather, just focus on your breath for a while. In. Out. In. Out. (few minutes pass.) Humph, not working. Sheep--yeah sheep. Count 'Em. 1, 2, 3...87. Wow, that's really stupid. Onto something else--daydream of something--what about dance (which at this point brings on a little heartache.) Okay--subject change. What about counting your blessings? Okay. Good. Number One: my family--Oh, my family. I miss my family. Okay--cannot feel my arm. Is it there? Yep. Found it. Oh no, it's asleep...here it comes...here comes the pain. Pins and needles, pins and needles! (good two minutes of silent agony here.) Maybe if I just flip over--nope, can't move that way. Harry (the cat)--must you lay horizontally on the bed? (adjust, adjust.) Maybe if I shimmy over this way...nope, Tim--wow--you are an inferno right now. (finagle around to get leg outside the covers.)

I remember seeing the clock almost every half hour amidst my tosses and turns until I had wound myself so tightly into a cocoon that I had to peel myself out like an onion. Finally got up and went to the guest bed where there was no Tim and no Harry. Think I had just shut my eyes when the alarm went off. "Heather. Heather...where are you." So in comes Tim to lay down with me for a sec before he hops in the shower. Silence. Then breathing. zzzzzzzz. Both of us totally pass out. Didn't even feel Harry jump into bed with us and assume his position.

So as we were in the other bedroom, slept right on through the snooze button. Got up an hour late. How's that for routine?

Change in Tempo

2008-01-13T16:44:00.000-06:00

Before we left the states another Cat wife said to me that she didn’t think Tim and I would ever settle down. Settle down—what does this mean? For some reason, I think about this statement all the time. I can’t decide if it bothered me-that she was telling me to act my age, or if it was a good thing-that perhaps Tim and I were out living our lives to the fullest. Or maybe (and this is most likely) it was just one of those statements that force you to look at your life big picture instead of being stuck in the day-to-day. Regardless, I think she was pretty accurate.

When I think about our life in Peoria, it’s pretty obvious that we never really put down roots. We never bought a house—always choosing to rent. We left town nearly every weekend to travel or to see friends and family. A lot of our friends were having babies— we had cats. I was usually up way too late, sleeping in (we all know what time of the day I like to awaken), and usually eating something quick like Jimmy John’s (oh, yum—sorry got distracted.) I was still living in that limbo world between college and becoming a real person.

Well, things have changed. My personal tempo has come to a screeching halt. I noticed it today on this lazy Sunday. My big accomplishments today include, sleeping in, making some breakfast, glancing at some cartoons, and writing a little. On any given Sunday at home, we’d normally be driving home from God knows where, probably more tired than we were before the weekend, all the while choreographing in the car. (Um, I was choreographing, not Tim.) Just seems so comical to me that I had to move to Germany in order to slow down.

On the downside, it’s not just my tempo that’s had an upheaval. A lot of the things that defined me are no longer there to fall back on, which is something I’m still struggling with. Dance, theatre, teaching, even Yoga are kinda on hold right now. In fact, the image of treading water comes to mind. (Think they are all here somewhere, but this damn language thing gets in the way.) BUT…on the upswing, I think I may be becoming a normal person. I’m actually home at night to cook dinner with my husband. I get to read and write, not to mention explore this amazing city, and spend whole afternoons on Coffee and Kuchen with Laura and Heidi. I think I’m taking a lot more time to live each day, which is such a gift.

So, I sat down to read the paper today, which is what inspired this whole tangent. This is something that I haven’t ever done before. First of all, we didn’t even get the paper in Peoria, which further disconnected us from that community, and even if we did, we weren’t ever home to read it. In fact, I don’t really know how to “read” a paper. Do you just kinda skim through looking for words that interest you? Are you required to read each headline? “Sports section—pass, Politics—just a glance. Where are the comics?” Plus the thing is a completely awkward size and shape that you have to fold all over the place to make it accessible. And what’s with the black crap that gets all over your hands?

Anyway, the point is, I would never have made time to read the paper at home. And even though it was in German and I understood about, oh, about 20 percent of it, I felt connected to the people around me. Maybe I’ll like this slower tempo. Maybe it’s just more of a tango instead of a salsa. (Ummm…salsa.)

Chapters 3-12: Story in pictures

2008-01-13T07:17:00.001-06:00

Chapter 2: Double Axle

2008-01-06T16:03:00.001-06:00

Dec 16th

Well, I was on my way to Peoria to work at The Company and spend some time with friends for a few days, but I got a little derailed when I hit a teeny-tiny little patch of ice on I55. Ice 1, Heather 0. Ended up backward in the ditch (as you'll notice that's a concrete ravine there) along side of about five other cars. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but well...my car had seen better days.

So, after meeting some truly wonderful people that pulled off to make sure I was ok, I came across two characters (again, I can attract 'em) that had just flipped their car moments before my X-terra decided to try a double axle. Tell you what, these guys were about the shadiest shadsters to ever shade. Terrifying. Hmm, little frame of reference: I was way more scared being around these dudes than I was actually having the accident. They were definitely hiding stuff in their jackets, trying to dodge the state troopers. My internal red flags were going off again and again rather loudly. Actually, I think they may have been hitting me up for money at one point, but I pretended to be German and said I didn't have a bank account in the states. (Dear God, please forgive me for lying through my teeth.) Luckily, the tow truck arrived just at that time.

After I'd been pulled out (which actually was pretty darn funny, because as I stood by the side of the road about six ginormous semis drove by and completely covered me head to toe with a salt/snow treatment) I found myself at a nearby Shell station where my friendly Tow truck driver had dropped me. He was also a little alarmed with these hooligans and thought this was the safest place he could leave me. Safe...not so much. Few minutes later, who walks in but my two terrifying friends. Within seconds, I found myself (still partly damp from my road-side spa) hunkering down behind a pyramid of Pepsi One fridge packs, praying that I would avoid detection. It worked. New Years Resolution Number 1: Make the switch from Coke to Pepsi.

Now I honestly don't think there was anything these boys could do to me, but after a long and, oh, mildly stressful day, there is not much rational thought that was happening. About the time I'd had enough, I got a phone call that my brother was just a few minutes away. Big brother Tom to the rescue! Luckily, my car had decided to go off-roading just a few miles from where he works, so he was there in no time to save me. In all my years, I have never been so excited to see my brother!

A couple hours later, my chariot arrived. Neighbor Mark from Peoria had taken off shortly after he had heard about my little ordeal to come get me. The day ended up pretty darn good despite my rough start. Mark made me laugh the whole way home (I highly recommend getting a daily dosage of Mark TV--laughter is the best medicine to take your mind off of hundreds of dollars of damage.) Then I finally got to the dance studio, oh, say about 5 hours late. It was just insane. These girls had been waiting for 3 months and 5 hours for me to return and they were emotionally spent. They were pressed up against the door looking for any sign of a car and when I came in, it was like Elvis just rose from the dead. There was screaming, crying, hugging--all sorts of craziness. Nothing like feeling like a rockstar for a few minutes to erase a bad day.

Chapter 1: Stranger in a Strangeland

2008-01-04T14:52:00.000-06:00

Dec 13th--flying home sans Tim. (Guess some of us have to work.)

As I was situating myself on the plane…you know cramming my carry-on luggage overhead (which incidentally was WAY too big to be carry-on luggage, but I’d already checked two other pieces crammed full of gifts (and shoes) so it had to be) and stuffing my ipod and journal into the seat pocket in front of me, nestled along side of the safety manual and barf bag…when what to my wondering eyes did I appear, but a small Asian man coming down the aisle with what looked to be a lamp shade on his head.

With further notice, it wasn’t a lamp shade at all, but some sort of a hat. Huh. If memory serves, I believe it either was coated in fur, or feathers, or maybe pomped (for those of you Mizzou grads.) Or maybe it was a piñata. Unsure. Anyway, I cannot describe it any better than a lampshade with a fat band of hot pink on the top, mustard yellow in the middle, and kelly green rounding out the bottom. So naturally, I was intrigued.

For those of you who don’t know me all that well, I have a knack for drawing in strange characters. Well, this particular day (although I was exceptionally tired) my tractor beam was functioning quite well and this poor gentlemen didn’t stand a chance. Of course, he was pulled in and destined to be my seatmate. He placed his satchel down on the seat next to me and we exchanged a kind “hello” and a quick smile. Then I tried not to stare as he took off his grey and black pinstripe blazer and placed his, err, headdress next to my overstuffed suitcase in the overhead compartment.

I was able in this brief moment to catch a quick glimpse of his entire attire. It was as follows: Black pants (nothing crazy there.) Black button up shirt that had geometric shapes with the same colors echoed in his, um, cone-shaped fedora. Then overtop of this, was a green fur vest. Nope…not doing it justice. Not just green, bright green. And by ‘fur’ I mean whatever that stuff is that covers teddy bears. Is it possible it was from a green polar bear? And actually, come to think of it, this vest didn’t have buttons and came up all the way to his tiny Adam’s Apple. So I did what any normal person would do, and took a quick moment to thank God for creative people.

Turns out, this man was fascinating. He was Chinese, but was going to visit his family in Manhattan. He worked in Munich in the fashion industry (go figure) and had lived in Germany, Milan, Paris, London and New York. After he told me this, I looked down and realized I was donned in classic ‘Dance Teacher’ attire (mostly black and the focus being on comfy, not cute.) Could tell he was contemplating turning me in to “What Not To Wear.” Anyway, through the rest of our conversation I learned he was fluent in Chinese, English, Italian, French and German, all the while applying at least six different creams to his face throughout the flight. (Highly recommend getting whatever it was he was applying because he head to be nearly 40 but looked not a day over 21.) My flight ended up being delightful. Had interesting conversation and my nose was filled with the light scent of Lancome.

Intro to 12 Blogs of Christmas

2008-01-04T14:34:00.000-06:00

German Christmas Trivia:

Which two reindeer on Santa’s sleigh have German names?
a. Donner and Blitzen
b. Harry and Sally
c. Rudolph and Adolf

Extra points if you guessed (b), but the correct answer is of course Donner and Blitzen. I was surprised to discover (during the weather chapter in my class) that Donner and Blitzen mean Thunder and Lightning. That’s just shocking! (laugh here.)
....................
Who do German children send their Christmas Wish lists to?
a. St. Nikolaus
b. The Pope (he is from Regensburg)
c. Kristkind (the Christ child)

My guess is that most of you chose (a), which is gonna cost you. The correct answer is is (c) the Christ child. “Dear Baby Jesus, It’s me Heath. I’m wondering if this year instead of world peace (or salvation) I could get Guitar Hero 3.”

Anyway…Hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Tim and I spent our vacation gypsying around (verb?) the Continental US in true Klaus fashion. I apologize for not keeping the blog updated, but there just wasn’t enough time to write. It was a little strange, ever since I’ve lived in Germany I’ve written something, whether it be journal or blog or nonsensical ramblings (mostly the latter) every single day. Writing is honestly one of two things that keeps my feet on the ground. (The other one being Tim.) I did write a little on the plane, but the moment I touched US soil, I did not write one single word. Ok not true, I did do my fair share of texting. But typing ‘I M 2 BZ 2 P’, although clever, is not exactly my most impressive work. But I’m back at it now. Thought I’d just write a few chapters from our journey to catch you all up to date. Never fear, can't imagine I'll actually write 12 chapters. Hope you enjoy. Miss you already.

Found 'Em

2007-12-06T16:03:00.000-06:00

Found my legs. I know you won’t believe it, but they actually were under me the whole doggone time. (Did you get the tone of that last statement? Unfortunately, sarcasm is usually completely lost via Internet. It also fails miserably in translation, as I’ve discovered by the deadpan look I tend to get from Bavarians as I attempt to be funny. (Hmmm, I get that look from Americans too, come to think of it.)) I’m now adding my legs to the list of things I’m thankful for because for the past few days these babies have carried me all over the creation while I rediscover my sense of adventure.

Monday started out a ein bisschen (a little) rough. I got up early to do some Yoga. Rather noble, I thought. Perhaps if I could just start the week off on the right foot, it might go more smoothly. So I actually got myself out of bed without hitting snooze 17 times (pretty major feat in itself). Minor problem, apparently it was not early enough. After yoga, shower, and rummaging through closet to find favorite sweater, I found myself with only 10 minutes left to make it to the train. That would normally be fine, but seeing as how it’s a 15 min journey, I was up a creek without a paddle. So I took off in a dead sprint…complete with my purse, backpack, heeled boots, and to top it off—a togo cup of coffee. Pretty positive my scarf was waving behind me like Snoopy’s when he fights the Red Baron. But, you know what, my legs got me there, with just about 20 seconds to spare. (Hey--that rhymed.)

Tuesday my legs carried me all around the city as I shopped for some Christmas gifts (one for you, two for me…) and explored the Christmas markets. Regensburg is truly beautiful this time of year. Twinkly white lights, candles in the windows, O’ Tannenbaums in any nook and cranny. Everywhere you look, it’s as if St. Nick has puked all over everything (but I mean it in a good way.) I spent most of the day reacquainting myself with all the places I fell in love with when we first moved here. The stone bridge, my favorite café, the cathedral. Actually, I think I took myself on my own death march! Later that night, our friend Laura came in to meet me so we could partake in the Christmas market. It was wonderful. In fact, it was so wonderful, that I brought Tim again last night (he’s feeling much better.) Picture a German town square filled with little wooden booths that sell everything from ornaments and wooden figurines to ½ meter long sausages and Gluhwine. (Gluhwine: a hot spiced wine that is the traditional German cold weather drink.) Honestly, I never really liked before until I had it in this perfect place. It was exactly what I needed to get into the Christmas spirit.

Today, ye ole legs took me to Yoga class. Yep, still can’t understand a thing. Perhaps Sanskrit doesn’t translate.

As for tomorrow, now Dad don't freak out, I'm skipping my German class. (It's really ok, Dad. I did my homework and told my teacher.) Iris, the German tutor from Caterpillar, is taking me to Munich for the day. I thought this might be a relaxing way to end the week. Um, no. Dead wrong on that one. When I spoke to her earlier, she happened to mention that she was glad I'm in good shape because we're in for a marathon of shopping. Oh Goodness. (Hopefully Tim won’t read this until I’m safely on my way, credit card in hand.) May my legs be strong enough for this event! I’ll get by…somehow (again with the sarcasm.)

By the way, Happy St. Nikolaus Day! Here he brings children nuts and chocolate or an orange. Think he’ll bring me a foot rub instead?

Stand up and Look Around

2007-12-02T10:35:00.000-06:00

It’s Sunday afternoon and Tim and I are snuggled up on the couch. (Yes, we love the new couch, even though it’s white and I’m sure I have about 2 more weeks of it to remain so before I trip over my own two feet, flailing both arms in the air, and spill red wine all over it. Guess that’s why they make throw pillows. Until then, it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever purchased.) Tim is fighting off some sort of cold/flu bug that’s limited him to the couch most of the weekend. I did drag him out yesterday (before I knew how bad he felt) in the cold and the rain to get a Christmas tree. Bad wife. Then we woke up last night at 2 am to listen to the Mizzou game, which they lost. So, unfortunately, this has not been the greatest week.

You know, sometimes, the language barrier just slaps you across the face. I’ve been working my little tail off in class all week trying to absorb as much of this language as humanly possible. Even though I jumped from Level One to Level Three, I really thought I was doing quite well. Then on Friday, for some reason, the bottom dropped out. All of a sudden my brain stopped working and my internal German translator stepped out for a much-needed vacation. Consequently, I had a series of conversations where everything was a struggle. With my classmates, with my coffee boy, with this woman from Immigration who may deport me for not knowing the ridiculously tedious process of recycling here. During one conversation, pretty sure I found myself thinking about the ballerina ostriches from Fantasia. They really do have knobby knees.

There is a lot of push and pull emotionally as you assimilate (or try to assimilate) into a new culture. (At least there is for me, Tim for some reason adjusts without too much problem, which makes me a little batty.) There are moments when the adventure is so exciting and you can hardly wait to tackle the day. So much to see and do and experience. Then there are the days when you are simply not up for the battle. My mantra for these more challenging days comes from this mountain climbing guide I had when I was 16. My family (minus Tom) had gone to Yellowstone and David and I had decided to take climbing lessons in the Grand Tetons. I just had never experienced fear like this before. Had no idea I was scared of heights until I found myself hanging off the face of a mountain dangling by a rope. I remember crying at one point, in sheer terror as I was scaling the most difficult pass we did that day. I got to a place where I could just barely see my teacher and said, “Andre…I can’t do it. I can’t go any farther.” Then very simply and quietly, he said, “Stand up Heather. Stand up Heather and look around. The way will appear.”

So today, resting my legs on my very comfortable couch. Tomorrow, the goal? Just standing up. I know my legs are under me here somewhere.

Bakers can't be Choosers

2007-11-27T16:09:00.000-06:00

Picture my life just for a sec. At this very moment, my house is totally trashed, every room needs to be hosed down and started over, I have probably 12 loads of laundry that need to go in, the refrigerator is jam-packed with Thanksgiving leftovers, guidebooks are strewn upon the floor, have various forms of currency lying about, crates of German beer bottles that need to be recycled, I’m on the couch snuggled up with my cats and my computer, and my stomach muscles still hurt so much from laughing that sitting up is a struggle. I’d say that’s a sign of a wonderful week.

We’ve just spent the last 8 days with our old Peoria neighbors, the Bakers. Oh my goodness, did we have a great time. First of all, I’m just so grateful that they are crazy enough pull their kids out of school, miss work, and skip Thanksgiving with their families to come see us. (Seriously, I have no idea what they were thinking, Tim and I are not that cool.) Laurie and I have been on the phone nearly everyday planning for this adventure, so actually even still today I’m feeling a little postpartum. (Or as best friend Susan called it, Post-de-partum.)

They arrived here a little bleary eyed at the BCD (that’s butt-crack o’ dawn) after what I think was a little bit of a hairy travel day. Pretty sure the alarm didn’t go off at the right time (or at all) and Mark may have swore in front of his children on the way to the airport. Whoops. Luckily things picked up as soon as they made it through customs. Dinner that night was at the Bishopshof Brewery (yes, the high ranking priests here in Germany make darn good beer) with our group of friends. My favorite moment of the night was while discussing Thanksgiving, Mark commented to our British friend Ewan that it’s a celebration of “us getting the heck away from your people.” Brilliant. The fact that Mark said this just a few minutes after trying to relieve himself in the woman’s bathroom began the abdominal workout of hysterical laughter that would carry me through the week.

I want you all to know that I really, really tried not to kill them with too many frigid Death Marches. These are great friends of ours and we want them to still like us, but, I did just about lose Emma one day. It was Monday and we’d gone to the Alps to check out Crazy King Ludwig’s (Luddie) castles. Well, we were about halfway up the gigantic climb to Neuschwanstein that you must do by foot when Emma, who is 12 going on 19 most days, forgot her favorite scarf at the bottom of the mountain. So the three girls (Emma, Laurie and myself) took off back down to get it. Found it—no problem, but then you’ve got Emma who is just over 5 feet and Laurie who’s maybe 5’4” attempting to keep up with me at my towering height of nearly 5’20”! It just wasn’t quite fair. Thought we were gonna lose little Em, but she pulled through. (Picture her little legs just a-scurrying away.) She slept the whole way home, poor thing.

Other highlights of the trip: Pretty sure Andrew and Mark were quite pleased with the beer here in these parts. We did our best to expose them to the true German culture, by making them try many different beers as we could. Honestly, they did not put up much of a fight. Think their favorite was a Franzenkaner in the Ratskeller just below the Munich Marianplatz. Perhaps the Jacob Dunkleweissen as a close second. I think Emma was most affected by our trip to Dachau, the concentration camp. (Dear God, please don’t let her have too many nightmares.) In true Emma fashion, she held my hand and was trying to make sure I was okay the whole time. (I miss this munchkin so much it makes my heart hurt sometimes.) As for Laurie, taking her to Prague was like taking a toddler to Toys R Us. Thought she was just going to weep looking at the amazing architecture. The two of us have already decided to come back to spend a few days antiquing here when the weather’s warmer and we’re not frozen!

Highlights for me were less cultural and more about just spending time with our friends. Again our house was filled with music as Mark played the piano, Andrew played the guitar and Emma and I sang to our hearts content. We stayed up late goofing around, as we’ve always done with the Bakers, replacing their porch that we lived on in Peoria with our couch. In fact one of my favorite memories will be Laurie and I baking pumpkin pie at 1:00am from scratch. Think it only took 4 phone calls home, one to her dad, one to my mom, one to her mom and one to my aunt Marty to get the job done. Leave it to two dance teachers to do heavy duty baking! My other highlight was Thanksgiving…but that’s gonna take a whole ‘nother blog to conquer that one.

We dropped them off Sunday morning at 5am for their flight back home. I cried like a baby, even though I’ll be heading stateside in just a little over two weeks. Silly. I’d love to have them here for longer, but I guess Bakers can’t be choosers.

Hochzeit

2007-11-27T14:04:00.000-06:00

“Here comes the bride…
Das tut mir lied.”
(translation: Here comes the bride. Man, am I’m sorry.)

Just found out some interesting trivia about German weddings today in my class that I thought you might enjoy. Forewarning: I did learn all of this auf Deutsch, so there’s no telling as to what’s been lost (or added) in translation. My teacher Isa is always telling us little bits of German and Bavarian culture amidst our lessons and asking us to share about our homelands. I cannot tell you how interesting this is, seeing as how we have 15 countries represented in my class. Anyway, today the subject of weddings came up and Isa shared with us common Hochzeit (‘high time’ aka—wedding) traditions. From what I understood, that the greater majority of Germans no longer have formal, traditional church ceremonies. Most just head to a Rathaus (town hall—not house of rodents) in front of a justice of the peace and say “Tschus!” (See ya!) to the whole rigmarole. But one of the things that has lasted is the traditional ‘kidnapping of the bride.’ Apparently, after the wedding and before the reception the bride is kidnapped lovingly by the groomsmen and hidden in a bar somewhere in the city. The groom has to then traipse all around looking for his bride, buying everyone drinks along his journey. She said that it can get quite expensive if you have a stupid groom! (aka—ein Dummymann.)

Wait tell I tell you about Christmas. Just a taste: the traditional Christmas Eve dinner is…wait for it, wait for it…brats and kraut. Couldn’t possibly be more perfect if I made it up myself!

Wet Socks and Thanksgiving Wishes

2007-11-26T08:34:00.000-06:00

A few minutes ago, I sat down to sort through my thoughts from an absolutely amazing week that we shared with the Bakers. As soon as I did, it started to snow the biggest snowflakes I have ever seen. I mean, these flakes were not just a littly whispy things, but huge, fluffy balls of white, somewhere between a cotton and a golfball. Now, I absolutely love snow, so you can just picture me as I ran outside in my thin little sweater and sockfeet—no time for wintergear—just to be a part of it. It was just beautiful. Breathtakingly silent. And, holy cow, wet and cold. After the 20 seconds it took to completely soak my feet and most of my body, I decided to run upstairs to grab the camera in an attempt to capture the moment. But as soon as I had it in hand, the snow stopped. So no pictures, just wet socks. Now after a quick change of clothes, I’m feeling very grateful for those 20 seconds. Actually, it just reminded me of so many things that I’m grateful for this year. Here’s just a sampler.

I’m thankful for snow. And for warm socks. Oh, and blankets.
I’m thankful for an amazing family that could not possibly be more supportive. I’m also thankful that they were all together for Thanksgiving and that everyone is happy and healthy.
I’m so thankful that my husband thinks I’m cute. If he didn’t, I could never get away with half of the stunts I pull.
I’m thankful that our old neighbors the Bakers were stupid enough to bring their whole family over for a week to be with us. (more on this later.)
I’m thankful that the Bavarians are about the nicest people on the planet. Sure, maybe they are making fun of me behind my back, but at least to my face they are positive and helpful and don’t let me publicly suffer.
I’m thankful that we’ve met absolutely stellar people over here. Our Cat friends have truly become our family and support system.
I’m also thankful that our Landlords (the Klebers) have done everything physically possible to make us feel at home.
I’m thankful that Laurie Baker smuggled an entire suitcase of American delicacies (Pumpkin puree, jello, cornstarch…) over here so that we could make a Thanksgiving feast.
I’m soo thankful that Mark Baker didn’t break anything when he fell down our staircase. (Cannot afford a lawsuit.)
I’m thankful that little Emma Baker still thinks I’m reasonably cool (think I’ve maybe got a year left on that one, she’s almost 13.)
I’m thankful that Andrew Baker was pleased with German beer.
Oh—I’m thankful for German beer too.
I’m thankful that our friends were just bored enough on Friday to come over to play Thanksgiving with us. (more on that later too.)
I’m thankful to be back in my German class after a month away. Not only am I learning the German language and culture, but also learning about my fellow classmates from all over the world.
I’m thankful for all the visitors that we’ve had thus far and hope for many, many more. (Repeat visitors welcome.)
I’m thankful to have this opportunity to live in Germany and to be European for a while.
I’m thankful that my best friend Susan can multitask—mothering two boys while making sense of my life and calming my separation anxiety.
I’m sooooo thankful for Vonage telephone and Internet, without both I would probably be a disaster. (or more of a disaster.)
I’m thankful for itunes so that I can download Grey’s Anatomy and still get my McDreamy fill.
Did I mention I’m thankful for my husband? I am. More than I can possibly say.

Most of all, I’m thankful for the amazing people that we have in our lives. You all are the biggest gap missing in our new life here. We are moving forward the best way we know how, but still wanting to keep all of you as close as possible. Hoping you all had a great holiday and that you also have a litany of things to be thankful for. Wishing you all the best…and warm socks.

Invasion of the Klauses

2007-11-15T04:55:00.001-06:00

I have no idea where to begin to share with you our last week. Tim and I played host (and hostess) to pretty much the entire Klaus family. Tim’s Mom, Dad, Grandma, brother Matt, sister-in-law Lori (who is 7 months preggo), and 2 year old niece Makenzie just left us to head home after a wonderful week-long European visit. They arrived last Tuesday very, very sleepy. Apparently, Makenzie did not think sleeping on the flight was all that keen of an idea. They said at one point the entire plane was fast asleep and she was in the aisle jumping up and down giggling. (You cannot even begin to imagine the weekfull of cuteness that followed. “Daddy Hold-ju?” Thought Uncle Tim was going to cry when we had to say goodbye.) So after we got them home, we put everyone down for a much needed nap.

I am just amazed at what we accomplished in the days that followed even though the weather did NOT cooperate! Wednesday we attempted a tour of Regensburg (aka Heather’s Death March) but the rain derailed that one. That night, though, Tim’s aunt, uncle and cousin from Idar-Oberstein, Germany arrived and instantly everyone’s spirits were raised again. We somehow fit 11 people around the Klaus dinner table. So many laughs. But watch your step going to the bathroom, because there were bodies sleeping everywhere! The Klaus Haus was at full capacity!

Thursday the 11 of us took the train into Munich. What a beautiful city. I hadn’t really had the chance to explore it yet, and oh my gosh, I cannot wait to get back. There is a pedestrian mall there built for the 1972 Olympics where 9,000 shoppers shop every hour. Dying to be one of them. We arrived just in time (I’m talking four minutes to spare) to catch the Glockenspiel strike at noon in the middle of the Marianplatz. Realizing we were hungry, Matt and Lolo then treated us to lunch at the Hofbrauhaus, which was just as perfect as I thought it should be: An Oompah band which Makenzie and I polka-ed too, customers in lederhosen, huge steins of cold bier, and I guess the men’s room is equipped with a ‘Vomitorium’ in case you have too much of a good time. From there we wandered a bit then caught a bus tour, which was for me Information Overload. Must go back to make sense of all the buildings we saw!

Friday we decided to take it easy. Little shopping, little tennis, a lot of eating! Tim’s aunt Jeannie took over the kitchen (thank the Lord) and we had Raclette for dinner. Not sure how to describe, but picture something hibatchi-esk, where the grills were on the table and you kinda cook your own meal. Highly recommend getting your hands on one of these things. It was probably my favorite meal all week. But, perhaps that was mostly due to the people sitting around my table.

Saturday and Sunday were spent in Prague. Again, the weather was not totally cooperative; in fact, we had a dusting of snow that turned into rain both days. But, we must have hardened this crowd (poor Lori is from Florida) because this really didn’t slow us down too much. Pretty sure, we left no stone unturned. We had lost Del, Jeannie and Travis (Tim’s uncle, aunt and cousin) on Friday back to their normal life, but we gained three more in Prague. A girl that Tim had grown up with, Karli, lives in Prague with her husband Joe who works for DHL. Plus, Claire Happel, a girlfriend of mine from Quincy is there too studying Harp with someone from the Prague Symphony. So again, we were 11. Magic Number, I guess. I think Prague just blew everybody away. The scale of this city is like no other. Think the view from the Charles Bridge was a highlight once again. Janene (Tim’s mom) mentioned standing on the bridge just slowly rotating 360 degrees. Each view better than the next.

Monday, we needed to do a little retail therapy back in Regensburg after working so hard as tourists all weekend. And Tuesday, it was time for them to fly back. I got home after taking them to the airport feeling completely exhausted, and (you are not going to believe this) a little lonely. Where is everyone? Wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. Luckily we don’t have to wait long. On Saturday we get the next batch of visitors. Our neighbors from Peoria, Mark and Laurie Baker, are coming with their 20 year old son Andrew and 12 year-old daughter Emma. We practically lived with them all summer long, so very, very excited to see them. Off to do laundry and clean a bit. Where is my Madonna…?

Tim's Geburtstag

2007-11-05T07:34:00.000-06:00

“They say it’s your birthday. Da na na na na na nah.
Well it’s my birthday too-oo. Da, na na na na na nah.”

Hope you all sang that. So today is not my birthday (although I will shamelessly except gifts any day of the year) but we did have a celebration weekend here at the Klaus Haus. Yesterday was Tim’s 31st birthday! Weee!!! I do love birthdays, even if it’s not mine. (Ok, I guess I prefer mine just a little.) I think Tim would say the day was a success. On Friday he and Maarten went car shopping and I believe tomorrow (after seriously 16 tedious steps: bank-insurance-salesman-license plate place-salesman-registration-actually drive the car off the lot) he will have a 1998 black BMW 523. I think he’s rather excited. And speaking of cars, mine should be coming from the dealer tomorrow as well. Happy Birthday to me! So after 9 weeks of sharing rental cars, we will both have wheels of our own.

Back to the birthday: I did find my inner domestic diva yesterday, in honor of Tim’s special day, and whipped up some bre’fest. This is unusual for many reasons.

Number One: Tim is the breakfast chef in our household. His omelets and French toast put mine to shame. Hmmm, wondering if this is a common theme in the American home. Most dudes I know cook breakfast on the weekends. My dad, our old neighbor Mark (old meaning former, not referring to his age), Brian Curran of the famous Curran Bed and Breakfast in St. Chuck, MO, think maybe my brother Tom too. Anyway, I made egg sandwiches, which were good to quite good. The bacon here is not nearly as crispy as the stuff at home though, so they weren’t brilliant.

Reason Number Two: Mornings are not my best time of the day. In fact, I may be part vampire. I seriously have to force myself out of bed nearly every morning. And it hurts. I would stay up all night if I could, and then sleep in until 11. This actually runs in my family. All the Heidbreder women are like this. My mom, her sisters, my cousins, even my Grandmother. Isn’t it a rule in the Grandmother Guidebook that you have to get up before the sun? Not for my GM. You cannot call her any before 10am. That—and she doesn’t drink coffee. Crazy.

Reason Number Three: See last blog entry for notes on domestic skills.

So after attempting to pamper him most of the day, Tim and I met up with our friends at a Mexican place for dinner. Yep. A German-Mexican restaurant. Tim’s been craving Taco Bell something fierce, so I thought this would be the next best thing. Actually, I thought the food was quite good. Margaritas a little on the strong side though. (Paying for that today.) From there the evening progressed as Ewan took over as tour guide and presented the nightlife of Regensburg. Had an amazing time. The people that we’ve met through Cat are truly wonderful. Thankfully, they’ve kind of adopted us and have become our family. We feel so lucky to have them in our lives. (Geez that was sappy.) All in all, a good day. Tim’s family arrives Tuesday, so more celebration will surely ensue. Hope you all had a great weekend.

P.S. Did you know that Germans sing the American version of Happy Birthday? Thought you should know.

Failing Housewifery

2007-11-01T06:28:00.000-05:00

Why, oh why, didn’t I take Home Economics in Junior High? Tim did. I believe he sewed (past tense sowed, sewn?) himself a rather kicking pair of jams. I, however, did not take it, probably due to one of the 17 music courses that filled my day. And although I can identify every instrument in an orchestra, and sing harmony to nearly anything, I cannot sew a button on a shirt. Every time I see my mother, and this is kinda embarrassing, I have a stack of mending for her. You would not believe the rationale that happens in my head as I try to convince myself that she actually enjoys patching a hole in a sweater! Ridiculous. Sorry Mom.

I’ve decided that if Housewifery were a course, I’d fail. I don’t know why, my mother sets an amazing example. She cooks nearly every night with seemingly little effort. The fridge is always full of food. And, here’s the kicker for me, her house is always immaculate. I mean, for Pete’s sake (Pete? Who is this guy?) we have a Persian cat at my parents’ house and there is nary a cat hair to be found on any piece of furniture. If these skills were supposed to be inborn, guess I’m at the shallow end of the gene pool.

For a while there, I blamed my lack of Hausfrau skills on the fact that I worked at night. I simply wasn’t home to cook my husband dinner. And yes, I did spend an awful lot of my days choreographing. But as far as keeping the house clean, well…pretty sure that’s just sheer laziness. Luckily, I just remembered a tip from a Tonya, my partner-in-crime in Eastlight's Cats. There is some sort of time-warp thing with old-school Madonna albums. You put in, oh say…Like a Prayer, and before you know it, your house is clean. Planning on trying it this weekend.

So I’m feeling a bit of culture shock. Not German vs. America actually, that seems to be going quite well at the moment. It’s the adjustment from Dance Teacher into Housewife. I am now a kept-woman. It’s not like I’m a mom and making the choice to stay home to raise my kids. (My cats are middle-aged in cat years now—pretty sure they don’t need to be home-schooled.) I now have the time and energy to do all those things that I’ve never made time for before. Next stop…itunes. Searching for any/all Madonna. Planning to give myself a dance class as I mop the floors. That should be interesting…

Fall-O-Ween

2007-10-28T13:27:00.000-05:00

Last night European Daylight Savings time ended, which is going to do nothing but confuse me for the next few weeks. As a dancer, or maybe just a whacko, I’m usually pretty affected by this time change. I’m sure all of you non-dancers will think I’m crazy (just chalk it up to the many, many other logs that fuel my ‘crazy fire’) but time changes have always made my body feel, well…kinda funky. Almost like my joints are a little stiffer, my muscles less elastic, and my head not as clear. Like I’m dancing through fog. Maybe it’s because I’d be teaching until 9pm, which really felt like 10. Does that make sense? (Don’t answer that.) So this year, as I’m not dancing, I’m not sure how it will manifest. I do know, that since all of you in the states don’t ‘fall back’ for another week; I’ll be constantly calling home at all the wrong times. I apologize in advance for waking you up, Mom.

Well, we are in the heart of fall here. The weather is getting colder (mind you, it was never warm), the days are getting shorter (it’s 5:15 and dark at the moment), and actually I think the trees peaked just last week. I know for some people, Autumn can be a touch depressing. I mean, if you think about it, we are truly celebrating the darker portion of the circle of life. Leaves are falling, birds are migrating, bears (and the Klauses) are getting ready for winter hibernation. Not to mention, our choice of holiday--Halloween. (Side note: my Yoga friend Peg bakes the greatest Halloween cookies each year. Picture a beheaded gingerbread man with blood icing pouring out. Very Tim Burton.)

Somehow, even though slightly morbid, Fall has always been my favorite season. (Go ahead…chalk up another tick mark on the ‘Heather is crazy’ scoreboard.) Maybe it’s the gorgeous colors that come with the leaves changing, or getting to play dress up for one night. Ok, it may just be hot apple pie. Whatever it is, this is the time of year when I feel most alive. Come to think of it, when I need to go to ‘my happy place,’ I always picture this apple orchard in Peoria that Tim and I go to this time of year. (Thinking of naming my first-born Tanner after it.)

Tim and I were discussing last night with some Cat friends what Halloween is like over here. I guess costumes and trick-or-treating is gaining some momentum, but only in areas where Americans have brought it over. The Halloween-ish Holiday here is All Saints Day, which is November 1st. Germans (I think mostly Catholics) get together with their families and go to graveyards to honor the dead and celebrate their lives. I read somewhere that there is even some sort to “soul bread” made somewhere in Germany. Oh--more trivia. I also read that it was the Irish that made the first Jack-o-lanterns and, here's the interesting part, that they were made out of...turnips. (Nope, not been to Ireland yet, but it's on the agenda.)

I’m just fascinated that cultures can be so different—different language, race, religion, government, but yet have astounding similarities. We all must need some way to deal with the “death” of this season, so we create a way to celebrate it, enjoy it, even mock it a little. Man must have a device to make death less scary. All Hallow’s Eve, Dia de Los Muertes, Halloween, All Saints Day, a different name in each place, but I think essentially the same idea. Hmmm, wonder if this day transcends all culture. Need more investigation.

When my Oma was alive (my dad’s mom) she would go to the cemetery in Quincy every change of the season to decorate and clean up the graves of her loved ones. My mom got to go with her a few times as she got older. Mom said it wasn’t morbid at all, in fact she would look forward to these days. Oma had just an amazing memory. I guess she would get to talking about her relatives, telling funny stories and sharing memories. Essentially, making them all come alive for my mother as they would clean the gravestones.

On a different note, I’d also like to take a moment and celebrate life for just a minute. My Grandmother (on my mom’s side now) will turn 90 on October 30th. Think that is amazing too. Happy birthday GM! Thinking about you from a few thousand miles away.

Happy Halloween everybody! Hope you all enjoy this Fall.

Yoga for Dummies

2007-10-16T14:55:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday I took my first Yoga class here in Germany. I have to say, that my body is a little irked at me for not dancing or doing much Yoga since I’ve been here. Yes, I’ll do a down dog from time to time, maybe some sun salutations twice a week, but nothing like I was doing back in the states. So, I enrolled myself in a Yoga class every Thursday evening for 90 minutes here in my village. My neighbor Claudia took me for my first class since I don’t have a car yet and to help me explain to the teacher that my German is nicht so gut. (Read with a hint of sarcasm.) But I’ve got to do something with my body and I figure that since the poses are in Sanskrit, I’ll be just fine. I mean I have spent nearly a quarter of a century in dance classes; I can follow just about anybody.

Let me interrupt myself and say that my German is rapidly improving (only way to go is up!) But I tell you what, I did not understand one word my entire class. Nichts. Nada. Null. Nothing. Ok, not entirely true, I did get ‘Fuss’ (foot) and ‘Augen’ (eyes) and think that ‘aus’ was telling me to breathe out--but that is seriously all. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, except that the majority of the class was a guided meditation. I’m sure it was brilliant, but I had no clue, and I mean NO clue what was going on.

I did just fine once we got to the physical postures though!

You’d better believe that I’m looking up every German word for parts of the body and anything that has to do with relaxing. This week’s goal—just five words!

A Taste of Home

2007-10-16T13:35:00.000-05:00

Well, we just shipped my Mom and Dad back home yesterday after 10 days here in Deutschland. Had an amazing time. Usually, Hulsen-family vacations have a strange likeness to the National Lampoon's Vacation Movies, but I think we survived this one unscathed. Yes, there may have been minor blunders along the way, but no one tried to hang my dad, so I’d call it a success. Never have I been so excited to see my parents. Yes, I miss them more than I’d like to admit, but the truth of the matter is that they got off the plane with a few bottles of duty-free scotch and an entire suitcase full of Midwest, corn-fed, fat, juicy steaks. Yippee! I’ve always thought that I really could be a vegetarian most days, just one minor problem--Fillet. And Rib eye. Oh, and New York Strip. Oooh, and Prime Rib.

The original idea was that my parents would come over and get us settled, but I think Mom knew that I’d need a little taste of home about this time. (Smart woman.) It was also really important to me that they get to know our area and feel comfortable here. You know, a home away from home. Well, within hours my mother had vacuumed my entire first floor (would have done more but the damn thing needed to be emptied) and my Dad had burned up our coffee grinder. Ah, Home Sweet Home.

My class kinda clipped our wings this week, so we spent the majority of the time close to home. Most days Mom and Dad would meet me in Regensburg for lunch after my class and we sightsee or do some shopping. Monday, I thought I’d take them around to show them some of Regensburg’s highlights. The Roman Wall from 179 A.D., the cathedral, the opera house, the stone bridge. You know, just a few things. Few hours later, they decided they were on “Heather’s Death March.” (Well, someone had to be a guinea pig! Might as well choose someone that’s required to love you.)

On Tuesday night my aunt and uncle that live here in Germany arrived as well. They brought the traditional German housewarming gifts of flour (in the shape of an apple cake) and salt (housed in automatic salt-n-pepper grinders.) Wednesday we biked all along the Regen River, which was just beautiful. And Thursday the whole gang—complete with Sue and Georg’s dog Xack biked to Regensburg to meet me for lunch.

We did get a little traveling in, though, this weekend. We decided to head into Prague to “Czech” it out. (Insert laugh track.) What an amazing city. It has got to make the short list of the most beautiful cities in the world. Amazing architecture that unbelievably survived the World Wars and Communism. The true highlight for me, though, was the music that seemed to be at every corner. A trio in the streets of the Old Town, a violinist at our dinner restaurant, a flautist on the steps of the castle—and all of them quite good. That night we took in a symphony concert featuring the Czech composers Smetana and Dvorak. It was wonderful to hear the music that they had written for this city. It moved me almost as much as my mom playing my piano back at home in our apartment. Almost, but not quite.

German Culture Training

2007-09-30T15:26:00.000-05:00

More things you all need to know about our adopted home.

Mowing on Sundays is illegal in Bavaria (…and the Lord said, “On the Seventh Day, I took repose. Ye shalt too. Thou Shalt Not Mow.”)
You can be “pulled over” and arrested for Bicycling under the Influence. (Not sure, but think it’s called Der BUI.)
Telephone numbers have any variety of length. It’s not just the 10 digits that we have in the states. Consequently, remembering them is just ridiculous. I honestly have no idea what either of my phone numbers are and have given many new friends the wrong numbers. That’s why the phone hasn’t been ringing…right?
911 doesn’t work. The code here is 112. This is good to know as Tim is monkeying around with the drier, trying to get it to work on European voltage. He’s blown a breaker at least five times. Not sure that’s the best sign.
And most importantly, I read somewhere that it may be illegal to have a Brazilian wax here. Something to do with cosmetologists dealing with mucous membranes. (Yow-zah!) Sorry if any of you are eating…

And so goes my German culture training.

As for my German language training, I’m halfway done with my four week intensive. I can now say such important phrases as, “My name is Heather and I come from the USA.” “I need 500mg of liverwurst.” (Remember, we’re metric in these parts.) “Is that your BMW?” And to the painter who just painted my living room an aqua straight from Miami Vice, “I’m an idiot and chose a terrible color. Can you come back next Thursday to repaint?”

This class has been the best possible thing I could have done to ease my transition. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that if we were graded, I’d get an A. (Maybe even an A+.) It reminds me how much I love school and how intoxicating the thirst for knowledge is for me. I think I’m understanding at least 80% of what my teacher is saying. Plus, I’m communicating pretty darn well with the Pakistani mom of six kids, the Hungarian teenage soccer player, and the Bulgarian McCafe employee that sit right next to me. (McDonalds is called the much more classy ‘McCafe’ here…and yes, not proud, but I have eaten there.) I’ve also made good friends with Fatima from Mexico, who challenges me to remember un poco Espanol. Last week I went to coffee after class with Fatima and one of her Latina friends, Zaleica (sp?), from the Dominican Republic. Fatima’s German isn’t wonderful, my Spanish has serious limitations and Zaleica doesn’t really speak English. So I was speaking English with Fatima, those two were rattling off Spanish and Zaleica and I were attempting German. What a crazy triangle! But we all understood, I think, what the other was saying.

So after meetings like this, I start to feel good, maybe even a little cocky. Then I get on the train to go home, immersed in the German world, and realize that I can’t understand a single word of any of the conversations going on around me. Slice of humble pie, anyone? Honestly, I really prefer strudel.

Paradigm Shift

2007-09-22T07:03:00.000-05:00

Well, I think the Heather of old has returned. For a few days (okay, week and a half) after we moved, I wasn’t exactly sure who it was that was inhabiting my body. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with the language barrier and quite honestly, I think was trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible for fear someone may talk to me. This is quite unlike the Heather that most of you know (and I’m sure adore.) But…somewhere in between Geneva and Grenoble, a shift took place (actually I think it may have started in that Starbucks) and I moved from being scared as all get-out of this German life—back into gratefulness and excitement for this blank slate I’ve been given. This seems to be a pattern in my life, that when huge changes come about, my first reaction is to completely wig-out. After a few tears one day, my big brother Tom put it something like this. “Heather, sometimes things stink in the beginning, but then turn out really, really great.” (Rather poetic, I thought.) Tom, I’ll let you believe that it was your advice that I listened to, but actually I think it had more to do with this cute new pair of red shoes I bought. It’s awfully difficult to be invisible with bright red patent leather shoes. So anyway, I’m feeling good.

This week has been crazy, but wonderful. I feel like life has truly begun here. First of all—shame, shame, shame on me for not writing during the week. But, I’ve been so tired after my days that the words weren’t coming. I did attempt to write this on Wednesday, but my sketchy Internet decided it wasn’t good enough for the World Wide Web.

“Klaus Haus to US.” “Klaus Haus to Us.” “Come in US...The Eagle has landed.” “We have been connected.”

Internet—check.
German landline—check.
Vonage phone—chickety-check.
Delivery of air shipment—yep.
Arrival of sea shipment—uh huh.

Exhaustion from packing—intense. Please send reinforcements. Over. SOS. Mayday!

That pretty much sums up what’s been going on at home. We now have Internet, phone, and most importantly Vonage. All of you can call anytime (and when I say that, please remember that we are 7 hours ahead of Central Time.) We haven’t quite got all the kinks out yet, so sometimes it boots me off, but that’s a small price to pay to talk to your friends and family for free.

We are slowly digging ourselves out of what feels like a million boxes. I was on the phone the other day when I realized that box number 186 was right in front of me. Ay Carumba! Holy Stuff! But we’ve made serious headway and may only have 15 boxes left. Of course nothing is in a logical spot (toothbrush next to hairbrush…ewww.)

But more importantly, I started my German Intensive class this week. Wow, how to even describe…all I can say is that I just love it. There are 15 students in my class and no two people are from the same country. We have someone from Hungary, Slovakia, Bulgaria, Mexico, Canada, Kenya, Mali, Togo, Yemen, Pakistan, Vietnam, Indonesia, and Thailand. There is every race, color, language, and religion, that you can possibly imagine. I’m very lucky that some of them speak a little bit of English, but honestly the common language is German, so we have to use that. I’m just amazed at the number of things that transcend every culture, for example smiling, laughter, blushing, and (Janene close your ears) the word for shit. This is a HUGE exercise in thinking outside the box. Trying to communicate your point with only about 100 German words is very tricky, BUT, as I’m learning, it can be done. If nothing else, this course is boosting my confidence and making me less frightened to attempt German in public. Each day I’m getting better at ordering food, asking questions, heck-I even had a German conversation with someone from my cell phone company today. I may have just signed up for a calling plan to Egypt, but I think she was asking me to buy insurance for my phone. Anyway, the journey has begun.

Calm before the storm

2007-09-15T16:31:00.000-05:00

Bonjour from Grenoble! Tim and I are in France right now enjoying just a little bit of downtime before Monday comes in like a freight train. We have eaten soft cheese, drank red wine, attempted to speak French, and strutted around town with high cheek-boned women with miniature, yippy dogs, and beautiful men with 20 inch hips. I'd say we covered a lot of ground for two days!

Friday, Tim hit the Grenoble CAT plant to meet-n-greet the guys that will be manufacturing the Wheeled Excavators that he'll be working on. (At least that's what I translated from his nerd-speak.) Meanwhile, Amanda picked me up, with her mom, grandma, and baby Maddie in tow, and we filled the day with quite a bit of shopping--including a trip out in the middle of the French countryside to see her favorite potter. I happened to walk away with a few Provencal looking pieces, which I'm sure makes my parents a little nervous. My dad may be taking bets at on how long it will be until I brake something. People don't call me 'Grace' for nuthin!

Grenoble is a pretty darn big city, maybe close to 750,00 people, surrounded on most sides by the Alps. "The Hills are alive...with the sound of ooh-la-la!" We may not have had the greatest view from the window of our Best Western, but I personally fell in love with the charm of the Old Town and Tim with the mountains. Truly, both are amazing. Last night we finagled Amanda's mom into babysitting Maddie and we went out for a fabulous French dinner with Brian and Amanda. Today, the four of us hiked a mountain. Ok, not entirely true. We hiked on a mountain. (I just think it sounds a little more impressive when I say it the other way.) Then the Lowrys invited us to dinner at their house a little outside of Grenoble in the quaint village Herbeys (not like the VW bug, remember the French don't really believe in consonants. Think something like "Errr-bay.") Good food, good wine, good friends equals great evening.

So hitting the hay soon, in fact, Mr. Sandman has all ready visited my husband. Tomorrow we'll drive back and hopefully leave ourselves enough time to get our heads around what needs to happen Monday. Quick run-down: I start class, we should have both Internet and phone (which means Vonage should be good to go) AND all of our stuff is arriving! Cannot wait! Ah, actually, not entirely true. Sounds like a lot of work. Mom...are you coming over here yet?

United Colors of Benetton

2007-09-13T08:24:00.000-05:00

Right now, I’m sitting at our Hotel Bar in Archamps, France, just outside of Geneva. No, Mom, I’m not drinking yet (although it is past noon.) Actually I’m having an Orangina in honor of my little neighbor Emma and enjoying a view of the beautiful courtyard. It is sunny and warm here, but when I say warm, I still mean long sleeves and jeans.

Side note: I’ve gotta find dance soon. I am completely uncomfortable in ‘normal people clothes.’ I’ve worn a leotard, tights and comfy jazz pants for the last five years of my life and now I’m totally unsure of how to wear anything else. How do you people do it? I feel so stuffy and prohibited in my movement. Jeans are so constricting!

Speaking of uncomfortable, my self-esteem has just plummeted. We are now in France, the land of beautiful people. No, it’s not quite Paris, but darn close. As my mother says, “Our finest clothing is about on par with what the French would wear to walk their dogs.” It’s true. Maybe there’s a Wal-mart close by that I could go into so I can feel good about myself again!

Geneva, Switzerland is what I would consider an International city. I think most of the people here actually speak French, but I did hear some Swiss German and a little bit of English. In fact in driving here, and by the way we went through 4 countries Tuesday, it seemed Switzerland was just blending us from Germany into France. One big difference is that they use the Swiss Franc here, because neutral Switzerland is not a part of the EU. (Almost found that out the hard way at the parking deck.) Yesterday I drove into the city from our little French village and did some sight-seeing while Tim was in his conference. I didn’t really have an agenda, but for some reason I always seem to find myself seeking out gardens and churches…usually in that order. Yesterday was no exception. Highlights: A Rose Garden with over 40,000 rose bushes (I thought of you, Mom), and the old city-complete with a Roman wall that rises up to the cathedral. Churches here are always built on the highest spot in the city. Not only does it create a beautiful skyline, but it gives you some point of reference in case you get lost (which I do quite frequently.) I also got in some good people watching while I sat at Starbucks (see, maybe I am in Seattle!) The women I mentioned before and the men all look like David Hyde Pierce, complete with dark suits. Think they’re all bankers.

Last night, as a part of Tim’s conference, we took an excursion to this medieval French village. Yes, that was truly beautiful, but I was much more entranced by the people that Tim is training with. I met four guys from South Africa, a very charming Frenchman, a Brit, a Dutchman, an American who’s lived in France for 27 years, a Russian chatter-box, and Sergio Garcia (no, not the golfer) who is a Spaniard living in Italy. It was the United Colors of Benetton!

Side note 2: I’d like to just take a moment to say how proud I am of my husband. He’s accomplished so much thus far and his intellect and laid-back personality amaze me everyday. Not to mention his nerdiness—we have to make a drive by of CERN before we leave today just so he can sense the brain-power behind those walls. (Nerd alert!)

We take off later today for Grenoble. Tim will meet some of the guys he’ll be working with tomorrow and I plan to hang out with the Lowrys. Oh, good news! We just found out that both our air shipment and sea shipment have cleared customs. Everything is supposed to be delivered Monday. Halleluia!!!

Home of Starbucks or Liver pate'?

2007-09-11T05:01:00.000-05:00

Another little German quiz for you. Our Street name, Buchenstrasse, means:
a. Book Street
b. Bridge Street
c. Beech Street.

Guesses??? Text or e-mail your answers to http://worthlessknowledge.com
The correct answer is actually c. Beach Street. We had originally thought that Buchen must be plural for Buch, which is Book. But, nay, we were wrong. That Buchen appearantly has an umlaut over the u and is a completely different word. Nor is it Bruckenstrasse (Bridge street) that the IKEA drivers thought it to be. Our home is now on Beech Street and actually a lot of the streets around us are tree names. UlmenStrasse (Elm Street), NussStrasse (Nut Tree), SensibleStrasse (Sensibili-tree.) Okay, made the last one up.
Hmm...is this interesting to anyone but my Dad, probably not.

Moving on. We took Kevin out to dinner last night up by Cat at the Hotel Jacob. The Jacob brewery has won the best Wheatbeer in Germany for something like the last 17 years. The food ain't bad neither. We were bribing Kevin to let us use his washer and drier so we could again wear underwear. The three of us got into a discussion that we actually think we might be living in Seattle instead of Germany. The weather here is exactly what I would picture Seattle to be like. Cold, overcast, rain everyday. Do you think Cat just imported a couple thousand Germans? I mean, I didn't actually drive here afterall. The plane could have just done loops for all I know and landed in Washington State. Consequently I'm freezing my cha-chas off. I packed only four long sleeve shirts and no warm jackets. Not to mention flip-flops instead of boots. Customs---let my clothing go!

This last weekend was great and pretty relaxing. Tim went to the 'Dult' Friday with the boys and saw much of what I had described earlier. I believe the highlight of the evening was when the band, 3 men in lederhosen, did a stunning rendition of "It's Raining Men." Then on Sunday, Tim and I again wandered the streets of Regensburg tyring to soak it all in. Claudia had given us a book, in English, that has three walking tours of the city complete with historical background. I am just so humbled by the History that is here. There is still a portion of the old Roman Wall here that was built in 179 AD. I mean, that's old. My Grandmother hadn't even been born yet!

Well, we are just about to take off for our first excursion. We are headed today (it's Tues) to Geneva, Switzerland then on to Grenoble, France on Friday. Tim has some of his black belt leadership training to finish up and I'm going along for the ride. Hoping to spend the weekend with our friends Brian and Amanda Lowry who've been living in Grenoble for the last year. Maybe it's warmer there...

P.S. Tim just finished his first package of liverwurst. "Amazing," he says, "Looks terrible, smells worse, yet tastes delicious!" I'll take his word for it.

German-glish, Germ-glish, Eng-man

2007-09-07T08:07:00.000-05:00

It's Friday and our IKEA couch finally showed up Yipee!!!! Yes, it was supposed to arrive on Wed, in fact I sat around our apartment feeling like a caged bird waiting for it to show up all day. I was starting to get a little nervous when about 2:45 I got a call, in German, from a very lost delivery man. Well, he didn't speak English and my German is, well, let's just say not fluent, so our discussion did not go well. After a few hours of trying to figure out what the problem was (ended up our address was spelled wrong) the couch went on back to Munich without making it into our office. Grrrr.
But, all is well today. Neighbor Claudia to the rescue who discovered the problem and set the delivery people on the right course. We also found out today that our sea shipment has arrived in Germany. It's probably now in customs, for god knows how long, but at least the boat didn't sink.

Tim and I are becoming more German everyday. I went to the grocery store Wed and bought red cabbage, sauerkraut and schnitzel, all of which were very good. I actually had intended to buy some chicken, but got a little flustered at the meat counter and decided to cut my losses and head for the frozen food. First of all, I couldn't even find chicken among all the different types of sausages, plus I had completely forgotten the word for chicken and didn't have my pocket dictionary on me. Travel tip #3: Never leave home without your pocket dictionary...or your house keys. (The door locks behind you, as I've discovered.) I guess I could have just clucked around the aisle a little and the butcher may have gotten the idea, but I opted not.

Things I love about Germany all ready:

1. The country side is green, lush and just breath-taking (due to the fact that it rains everyday here. Should have known. "Regen" means "Rain.")
2. Our house (as soon as we have furniture) is just perfect.
3. You can buy bottles of wine here for $3!
4. Driving on the Autobahn. Weeeee!

Things that I will need to learn to love
1. 80s music. We've heard some killer tunes on the radio stations. In one day we heard such classics as "Beat It," "Take My Breath Away," some Wham song that I can't remember at the moment, and Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All." Yes folks that was from at least the '88 Olympics, if not recorded before. But, ah, a classic.
2. The grocery carts have four wheels that swivel, not just the two that we're used to. Consequently, I cannot steer the stupid things. It makes trying to be as invisible as possible in the store quite difficult. I'm too afraid to make eye contact with anyone in case they speak to me, so I end up spending all my energy trying to take my cart in the right direction.

Other than that, not much to report. Tim is going to the Dultfest tonight with some boys from work. I can't seem to find out from anyone what a "dult" is, but I think it's just another excuse for Bavarians to get together, have a festival and drink beer. We actually went with Ewan and Kevin last Friday (that would be the part of Day 1 that I still haven't finished...and actually may not) and it was a blast. Picture an outdoor market place that sells everything, including socks, and dentistry tools. Then you find yourself in an enormous beer tent complete with Bavarian food, HUGE mugs of beer, and a band in the front wearing lederhosen singing all American songs and a few German drinking songs. Tim will have more details for you all tomorrow. Until then...bis spaeter. Auf Wiedersehen!

Breaking Rule Nummer Eins

2007-09-04T11:47:00.000-05:00

Little bit of trivia from one of my German books:

How should you demonstrate your efficiency at work?
a. Always leave on time.
b. Always work late.
c. Work late in an emergency

Guesses? Great news---the answer is a! In other words, Tim, get your cute little tushie out of the office. I’m currently waiting for him in the parking lot after work since we are sharing our rental car. Oh, did I mention that we’re driving a Mercedes as our “hired car.” Nice. Very, very nice.
The last two days we finally had to break neighbor Laurie’s Rule #1. You may not know these rules by heart as Tim and I do, so here’s a quick refresher.

1. Always stay with your buddy.
2. Use your party manners.
(and for good measure) 3. Don’t show your underpants to anyone.

The time has come for my buddy to leave me and go off to work. Honestly, I had been dreading this all weekend. Not sure I was ready to function in this new country with nary a language skill. I should have had a little foresight and weaned myself off of the social interaction, but the last few weeks before the move were a race to spend every waking moment with friends and family. I think I may have forgotten what it feels like to be alone. Isolation is probably the thing that scares me the most here. BUT, I’m glad to say that I’m doing just fine. Well, most of that is because I really haven’t been alone that much. (Not quite sure if that’s good or bad, but I’m so grateful!) Yesterday (Monday) Claudia took me to the DEZ (pronounce Deets) which stands for the Donau Einkaufen Zentrum—auf English, the Danube Shopping Center—aka the Mall. No time for shopping, just getting signed up for Internet. I’m so glad that Claudia was there. I can only imagine the mess I would have gotten myself into without her.

Today I was prepared to spend the day by myself. I got up, took Tim to work so that I could have the car, went for a nice long run (and when I say run, I mean mostly walk after my weeks of sitting on my can before we left) and a quick German lesson. I was walking out the door to go into Regensburg to wander around when our Dutch friend Heidi called. Heidi’s husband Maarten works at CAT with Tim and we met her during our house hunting trip. She is exactly what I needed today. She is warm and outgoing, not to mention she’s fluent in both German and English. So instead of spending the day by myself, I went shopping with Heidi and her mom.

That reminds me. My mother-in-law gave me the most perfect book for my birthday. Can’t remember the exact title, but it’s something like “A Guide for Spouses Abroad: How not to Lose Your Identity.” In it, one of the first comments they make is that wives abroad tend to either eat too much, eat too little, drink to much or shop excessively. Wonder if I can knock out all four of them!

Lazy Weekend

2007-09-03T10:29:00.000-05:00

Saturday:
My fellow America expat and I made a trip to IKEA for a scratch and dent sale, and each ended up with a brand new couches. Good news is, I acquired a sofa-bed for the office to help accommodate visitors. Bad news is, I had to jump through about seventeen hoops to get up the cash necessary to buy it. German Travel Tip #1: Even places that you are certain will take credit cards, probably won't. Cash rules, credit drools. So, after signing up for some sort of IKEA family card (isn't that kind of like having family in a cheap trailer park?) and maxing out my daily withdrawal limit via 13 tries and 2 successes at the ATM, we are having the couch delivered Wednesday.
After dropping off Kevin's purchases and gathering up my wife, we headed into Regensburg to meet our British friend Ewan Scattergood for lunch and a personalized tour walking tour (provided we buy lunch.) Ewan's knowledge of Regensburg was impressive from the old Roman walls to the Thurn und Taxis castle. Cheers Ewan! We loved it!

In the evening we made our first trip to the supermarket, had our first meal at home, and headed to Kevin's to hijack some internet and make some phone calls. Good day.

Sunday:
Slept in again. We're still adjusting to the time zone. Tomorrow is my first day of work and getting up on time is going to hurt. We bummed around the house and sat on our front patio and soaked up some afternoon sun. Then our wonderful neighbor Claudia cam over and we chatted and borrowed her internet to answer some e-mails. She has been amazing and will continue to be a lifeline until our language and local knowledge improves.

This evening we decided to tackle the train system and fumbled our way onto the local train to Regensburg. We had a nice dinner outside and wandered the old city streets. Travel Tip #2: With the exception of a few restaurants, nothing is open on Sundays. We are sitting in the train station waiting for our return train and had time to type out the weekend. We hope to upload it tomorrow (which Heather is currently doing :) ) Love you all and miss you.

Klaus'

Day 1

2007-09-01T11:28:00.000-05:00

First full day in Germany. Well, we got up about 10am and had a full day planned. Both Tim and I couldn't wait to explore our neighborhood and get in some exercise. Our village is something straight out of a storybook. Quaint, quiet houses, mostly white or pastel colored with red tile rooves. After our long walk we made friends with our baker then went home to shower. So, at this point, it's about 12:15 and I hear my cell phone ring. It was our friend Kevin. The conversation went a little something like this.
"Hey Kev. You at work?"
"Um no. I'm home."
This was strange because Kevin borders on workaholicism (is that a word?) and I knew he would never have taken a half day.
"What are you doing there?" I ask.
"Well, it's what I do most days after work."
"After work???" About that time the light went on. We had no working clocks. We had relied on Tim's old cell phone which is pretty darn confused since we are no longer in the U.S. "Kevin, What time is it?" And here's the kicker...
"5:15."

In one sentence Tim and I lost five hours of the day. In our defense it was very cloudy.

Ahhh.. our wireless time has run out. To be continued...

Day Zero

2007-08-30T12:12:00.000-05:00

We've landed in Germany in one piece. Sure, Tim has a little cat poop on his pants (more on that later) but we arrived unscathed. Trip was pretty uneventful. Heather cried most of the way to the airport until Sally decided she needed to relieve herself in Tim's crotch. Flight was long, but just fine and the cats did not need sedating. We were a little concerned to go through customs because when Sally get's motion sickness, she drools all over herself and looks rabid. But, the bleary-eyed custom agent (it was 5:15am) just waved us through. So all the hundreds of dollars we spent on microchips, antibiotics, sedatives, vet visits, etc were rendered obsolete with one flick of the agent's wrist. NOT complaining though!
We got to our house about 8am and Claudia (our landlady's daughter) had it all set up for us. They are loaning us a bed, table and chairs, desk, dishes, towels, just about anything we could possibly want until our things arrive.
The only thing major that's missing right now is means of communication. We probably won't have internet for at least two weeks, and no telephone yet either. We'll be finding hotspots most days though, so e-mail will be great.
Miss you all already.
Love,
The Klaus Haus

And so...the Journey Begins

2007-08-07T14:32:00.000-05:00

Well, I think we're really moving now. Until this point, moving to Germany seemed like this huge idea that kinda felt like I was talking about someone else's life. Well, now that the movers are here packing up all of our earthly posessions, I think it's sunk in. Trying to figure out how I'm going to live out of two suitcases for the next 6-8 weeks. Hope you all like the things I've kept...cuz you'll be seeing a lot of the same outfits!

Dear God,
It's me Heath. Please grant me serenity.
Amen.