Trick or....Tricks?

In the five years we've been married, John and I have had a low success rate with trick or treaters. At first, we were both a bit offended. We'd go to the store a week in advance and buy all of the expensive candy we always wanted as a child. Then, we'd rush home with our loot at the door waiting in anxious anticipation for the hundreds of children we'd prepared to treat. We didn't want to that family--the cheapsakes who only bought healthy candy or didn't bother to answer their doors on Halloween. Somehow, though, we always ended up with just a few trick-or-treaters and LOTS of leftover candy to horde or take into the office. The last year we were in Atlanta we'd given up all hope and bought only two bags of candy, which was good because I think we only got three rings last year. "What's wrong with this kids?" We thought.

So, in moving here, we thought we'd washed our hands clean of this fated ritual. Maybe, Halloween was only an American thing.

"Do they even celebrate Halloween here?" I asked John last week.

"Yeah," he said, "but it's not like at home. Only kids participate and there are no parties for the parents."

"Well, should we buy candy, just in case?" I wondered.

"Nah, there aren't any kids in this complex and you can't get into the building without living here. I don't think we have to worry about it." He replied.

Then, a week passes and we both TOTALLY forget about Halloween. Then at 5:30 we're buzzed from someone outside.

"Who could that be?" I yell from the other room.

"Your guess is as good as mine." He picks up the ringer and I hear him buzz someone in and then I hear: "Uh, Oh."

"Who was it?" I ask.

"Uh, I think we have trick or treaters. Do we have any candy?" Scrooge screams in a panic.

"Well, no you told me not to buy any?" I retort.

Two minutes pass and I hear frantic russeling in the kitchen and then the flat door bell ringing. I hear more russeling, a muffled question from the kids, the word "Cookies!" from John, and hasty exit by the kids.

"What just happened? What did you give them?" I say.

"Ah, I gave them amaretti cookies from the pantry. The kids asked what they were and I told them." said the Mindless Horsemen.

"Amaretti cookies? Kids won't like them and there not even wrapped. There is no way their mothers are letting them eat those." I reply.

"Well, I only gave them three each but yeah, I'm not answering the door for the rest of the night. We have to be verwy-verwy quiet." says Elmer Fudd.

So, there you have it folks. We've become the people our parents warned us about. Those scary strangers who franctically dig in their pantries for leftover, unwrapped food so that they can poison the neighborhood kiddies. The people who are smart even to turn out the lights when they're home to discourage kids but who didn't think to lock up the dog--the only who didn't get the memo that TONIGHT we ignoring the door bell so you don't have to bark and run from room to room when it rings.

Since the first ring, we've received three more in the hour.

Hopefully, German parents warn their kids against people like us. You must for verwy, verwy careful during this time of the year.

Release Me

Ok. I'm back.

You (and by "You," I mean the two people who actually read this rag) probably thought I was gone for good but I'm not, so there.

Let's just say that I was doing a bit of research on German hospital culture. It had to be an up close and in depth investigation so I decided to stay a while. Only 12 days, no biggie. Just enough to get to know my German neighbors, spy on those truths they hold to be self-evident, and perfect my ability to spontaneously sob on cue.

The project was quite successful, actually. I've come to appreciate what it is like to have my own space--even if it is a bit foreign. Sharing a room with a strange person is bad enough when you already have a mild case of social anxiety. Sharing a room with a sick stranger is more intimidating when you have a stronger case of germ-a-phobia and realize that both of your roommates see little reason to use soap and water after clandestine trips to the bathroom. Sharing a room with a sick stranger who snores, speaks a language different than you, and strictly adheres to the German "frei corpe" standard of open nakedness when you are a light sleeper, insecure speaker of German, and someone who doesn't like to see herself naked let alone a complete stranger is a nightmare. Note to self: if there is a next time, you will have your own room regardless of the cost.

In spite of my heralding roomie experiences, I must say that my impression of the German healthcare system and as a result, Germany, has been improved. My nurses and doctors could not have been more knowledgable and caring than they were. I never, for a minute, doubted that were treating me as opposed to number. I loved the fact that my hospital--Humboldt University--was a teaching hospital that treated me on the interdisplinary ward. I must have been seen by every Professor in the discipline and while they still gave me the typical doomsday scenario for every procedure to protect themselves from malpractice lawsuits, they were always quick to point out their confidence that I would pull through, never seemed to be in rush, and were generous with their hugs and concerns. For once, the German efficiency, straightforwardness, and obsessive thoroughness that has been so frustrating since we arrived really paid off. I'm better. I've weathered the storm and I honestly believe that the care I received was as good--if not, better--than any I could have received in the states.

So, my investigation is complete and I am thankful to have been released from prison--I mean the hospital. I'm no longer an invalid with no control over what I eat, when I sleep, and how I spend my time. Germany's profile has been raised in my view and I've come to appreciate the comforts of my own space. My current roommate is much more conscientious and accommating than those I've had in the past two weeks. My bed doesn't move up or down to help me in or out of bed but it does have a sheet separating the duvet cover from the fitted sheet. No one serves me meals in bed every day but if I weren't so headstrong I know that Nurse Mom would accommodate--she's better at it anyway. I'm awakened in the middle of the night--but not my someone asking to take my temperature, that's just John coming in for a cuddle. It's great to home. Home. Hmmmm.....

Presidents and Circumstances

On Thursday, we made our way to Luneburg--a quaint, little village 30 miles east of Hamburg for the inaugural dinner of the Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter Foundation. I have to admit that having just flown 12 hours from Atlanta a day and a half before I was not looking forward to this dinner.

You know the drill. "Yes, My name is X...nice to meet you...Uh, huh, this town is SO cute...Mmmm, we live in Berlin...just four months now...No, no, I don't work right now but I did before...you know, trying to learn the dag on language first."

Sigh, these things can be exhausting especially if you have no interest in trying to justify the fact that you no longer work and yet have no children. Usually around the time we get to part in the conversation when I answer "I don't work right now," I start to see people's eyes glaze over. Putting you in the insignificant category and moving on to an interesting person, they say.

But instead, this was a surprisingly moving dinner the purpose for which was to encourage German universities to teach service learning--a foreign concept here--to their students. For one, how can you not be excited to shake the hand of a former president whom you admire? "Oh my gosh, I'm touching a President!" I thought. He visibly brightened when we told him we were from Georgia and we felt a swell of pride that little, 'ol Plains, GA had produced such a remarkably humble and giving creature. There was nothing phony about this man who still lives in his childhood home and takes time to teach Sunday school whenever he finds himself in town on a Sunday.

More than that though, I was moved by the way that he related to the crowd by encouraging them to take responsibly for their communities. He shared that in Plains the fates of the residents vary drasticly based on the color of their skin. Everyone's poor, he said, but the white families are just a bit more affluent, the blacks just a bit less. What blacks have as a trade-off, he explained, is a strong faith in God that has been tested by trails and tribulations. Walk into a Black church in Plains and you'd never know that such circumstances existed in their lives because, he said, the Spirit is tangible and the people giving. In spite of the fact that they had few material goods, their spiritual cup overflows. The point, he said, was that every person regardless of financial standing had something to gain in giving. Like the three universities that were in attendance that night, schools that participated in service would get back what they gave in spades.

It's a cliche but I felt really proud to be there and to be from the same place as this great man. I felt like I was witnessing the beginning of a movement that would result in Germany taking the lead in Europe as service oriented country. I got me thinking that circumstances like these confirm that we are in Berlin for a reason. I'm not sure for what reason--it's still a mystery--but I know that I didn't travel across the pond to here President Carter speak for nothing.

Now, how the same country could elect this man only once and our current President twice is an even greater mystery....but I guess those answers will have to be left for another post.

Reunification Day

Yesterday was Germany's version of Independence Day, Reunification Day (Deutsche Wiedervereinigung). It is the national holiday that cemmemorates German reunification in 1990. It is the day that the German Democratic Republic (East Germany) formally became part of the Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany). Banks and most shops were closed. There was a party thrown at the Brandenburg Gate and J was off from work.

The timing of the holiday was appropo as yesterday was my first full day back from Atlanta...the day after our reunification following three very long weeks apart.

Being in Atlanta was great. I got to see just about all of my friends for breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner. There was plenty of time spent bonding with the parental units. All conversations were conducted in english and there were no delays or translations needed. Copious amounts of processed foods, biscuits, grits, and sweet tea were consumed. The balmy, sweaty, humid Atlanta weather came through like a champ by providing day after day of perfect southern sun. And yet, something wasn't quite right.

Which way do I turn my key to open a door again? Left or right? Why is everyone smiling at me? Do I know you? Can you leave me alone while I shop? If I want to buy something, I'll let you know. Wait a second, can I really throw THIS down the garage disposal? Hey, where are the recycling bins? Was there always so much traffic here and why hasn't anyone figured out how great it is to be able to walk to your neighborhood grocery store?

So there seems to have been some small changes made in my brain without me knowing it. I felt both at home and strange about being on domestic soil. Does living overseas make me a stranger everywhere or at home anywhere? Am I more comfortable as being identified as an American or an expat? Both of these questions followed be throughout my stay and keep me guessing even now.

I'm back to my home away from my old home. I'm back with my dear cuddly husband and sweet furbabies (who missed me alot but I suspect had a pretty darn good time without me in spite of themselves). I'm back to fully live this foreign lifestyle and tackle all of my preconceived notions head on. I'm baaaack.