Meine Prufung

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

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!

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

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

Missing My Mommy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have Stress, Will Travel

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

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

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

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

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

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