I don’t know why, but this year I am very much missing Thanksgiving. It may be because of the recent challenges my family has experienced, like the passing of my grandfather, my aunt’s cancer treatment, I really don’t know. Sure, the family bit is important, and I would like nothing more than to be able to give a hug or two to my parents and grandmother. Yeah, I would certainly enjoy the full turkey dinner and an afternoon of a bit of groaning (“I ate too much. Again.”), dozing in the living room, watching whatever game happens to be on. And the night before Thanksgiving….ah, a nice evening catching up with everyone that still might attend (or get a free pass to attend) the Old Monk Happy Hour, assuming that this tradition lives on in some fashion.
At any rate, I have said my piece: to those of you stateside, enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday, please. White meat for me, with extra cranberry and stuffing on the side.
Though I do tend to enjoy this time of year, regardless of where I happen to be, I am still stunned by how quickly the holiday decorations come out. I know that other countries tend to start getting into Christmas gear (ie…shop til you drop, no matter how shitty your economy happens to be) as early as possible, but I actually like the fact that things don’t really take off until late November in Germany. The German Christmas markets open up this weekend, running through until just before Christmas, and some shops have had their Advent Calendars on sale for the past few weeks, but there has not been a whole lot of visible decoration otherwise, until the last couple of days.
As I walked to the U-Bahn early yesterday morning, I noticed the white lights that get put up in my neighborhood. Today at work, the workmen came to put up the tree in the lobby of my office building.
Last year, I had the month of November and December off, and took a bit more time to enjoy the scene. I am glad I did, because this year, I am running around like a, erm, turkey with its head cut off. Twice in the past week I momentarily forgot which country I was in, which is sort of humorous, in a frequent flyer kind of way.
The constant activity keeps me from getting too bogged down with things that I can’t control but still tend to think too much about. On one hand, that is a positive. On the other, it is a bit nerve wracking, because I do not always have time to catch my breath.
Fortunately, my body does tell me when things need to slow down, and I tend to pay heed. OK, once or twice I misread the signals, but I do not actually believe that I can credibly use the excuse, “I accidentally had 5 shots of Jägermeister last night,” or “Whoops, I stayed at a party too late.”
That does not mean that I did not try, mind you.
So, I am off to enjoy my Thanksgiving Eve by watching a little Champions League football, and will hope not to have to “accidentally” have a Jäger or two (geez, will I be growing up anytime soon?)
As I mentioned above, please enjoy your Thanksgiving holiday. And another portion of stuffing and cranberry, please. OK, go on, a bit more turkey and a couple of rolls , too.
keep the faith
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
A Few Too Many Oops
Have you ever said something or done something and immediately wished you hadn’t? In a matter of days, I have managed to do that no less than three times, and it is only Tuesday!
I always was that kid who greatly enjoyed visits to the petting zoo or any other activity where children are encouraged to touch and feel and experience, craft fairs or science exhibits, for example. I seem to have continued that habit through my life, and more than once, have been chided for reaching out and touching a stucco wall or a piece of fabric as I ambled down a street. In fairness, I just wanted to know what those things felt like. For clarification, I am not in the habit of touching people’s clothing while they are wearing the garments, though I do enjoy hugging people in fuzzy sweaters.
Today in the hotel lounge, I was waiting on my coffee to come out of the espresso dispenser, and looked over at a rather large steel canister that was shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. It was the hot tea dispenser, but that did not compute when I , thinking I wanted to touch the smooth stainless steel , just reached out and burned the shit out of my finger.
I wish I hadn’t done that.
About an hour ago, after a visit to the repair site, I went back to the hotel lounge (yep, business travel is all about the boredom of tasting snacks in various hotels around the world) to do some work, have a little snack and try to calm down after a long day. I chose a table which seemed clean, put my laptop down on it, then noticed the adjoining table (always sit at a table for four, even when you are alone…it is fun!) had some liquid on it, most likely spilt beer. I told myself to watch out for that, then promptly put my notepad right on it, then immediately forgot about the wetness. I actually drank a beer for myself, then finished up the work and started packing everything back into my backpack. Well, the notepad got pretty well saturated, and I felt like a right plonker as I realized that I had seen it coming, but proceeded right ahead.
Instead of grabbing a napkin, I actually put the notepad back into my backpack before I finally wised up and cleaned things up, leaving a bit of a beer stain (and scent). Though it really is not that big of a deal, I do compare using a football club notebook with beer stains on it to walking into a business meeting after having been attacked by a hot dog with mustard on it (that has managed to get on your shirt). People tend to look at you curiously, and you know good and well that they are wondering just what the hell you have been up to. (I tend to try and act like nothing unusual has happened on these occasions, which is only semi-effective.)
At any rate, I wish I hadn’t done that.
So, I am quite able to brush off little events like this (and others, such as inadvertently spraying myself in the eyes with an aerosol spray, or swallowing a bit of febreeze, or sneezing at the exact moment that you are about to take a bit of waffles that you have carefully covered in syrup and powdered sugar…that last one took quite a bit of time with the vacuum cleaner) with a little “wow, thank goodness I didn’t hurt myself” kind of relief.
Alas, when it comes to saying things that I didn’t want to, I am not so fortunate. Over the past months, I have been choosing my words carefully. You might say I am a bit more guarded than before. Sure, I slip up from time to time, and usually I feel a bit silly (take that with a grain of salt) but get through the conversation without too much embarrassment. However, the other day I shocked myself by totally saying the wrong thing; not only wrong, but completely rude, senseless, and totally out of order.
I must say, I have not had such a sickening feeling . At home that night, I was unable to concentrate (I actually narrowly avoided yet another incident with febreeze, if you must know), and got only a few minutes (if that much) of very troubled sleep, and that came only after several hours of lying in bed, tossing, turning, really feeling horrible.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That was an expression that I only have half-heartedly believed in my life. Mostly, I try and convince myself otherwise, but in the end, I still believe that the wrong words can hurt. And it is particularly humiliating when you are the one who said the hurtful words.
Apology accepted, yes, thank goodness. But, like “out of sight, out of mind,” I don’t really practice the action “forgive and forget.”
Forgive? Almost always. Forget? Almost never.
Sigh, sometimes having a good memory and being a sensitive thinker (though obviously not ALL of the time) are not always the greatest traits…
Then again, those traits do enable me to say in three languages:
“I wish I hadn’t said that.”
Keep the faith
I always was that kid who greatly enjoyed visits to the petting zoo or any other activity where children are encouraged to touch and feel and experience, craft fairs or science exhibits, for example. I seem to have continued that habit through my life, and more than once, have been chided for reaching out and touching a stucco wall or a piece of fabric as I ambled down a street. In fairness, I just wanted to know what those things felt like. For clarification, I am not in the habit of touching people’s clothing while they are wearing the garments, though I do enjoy hugging people in fuzzy sweaters.
Today in the hotel lounge, I was waiting on my coffee to come out of the espresso dispenser, and looked over at a rather large steel canister that was shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. It was the hot tea dispenser, but that did not compute when I , thinking I wanted to touch the smooth stainless steel , just reached out and burned the shit out of my finger.
I wish I hadn’t done that.
About an hour ago, after a visit to the repair site, I went back to the hotel lounge (yep, business travel is all about the boredom of tasting snacks in various hotels around the world) to do some work, have a little snack and try to calm down after a long day. I chose a table which seemed clean, put my laptop down on it, then noticed the adjoining table (always sit at a table for four, even when you are alone…it is fun!) had some liquid on it, most likely spilt beer. I told myself to watch out for that, then promptly put my notepad right on it, then immediately forgot about the wetness. I actually drank a beer for myself, then finished up the work and started packing everything back into my backpack. Well, the notepad got pretty well saturated, and I felt like a right plonker as I realized that I had seen it coming, but proceeded right ahead.
Instead of grabbing a napkin, I actually put the notepad back into my backpack before I finally wised up and cleaned things up, leaving a bit of a beer stain (and scent). Though it really is not that big of a deal, I do compare using a football club notebook with beer stains on it to walking into a business meeting after having been attacked by a hot dog with mustard on it (that has managed to get on your shirt). People tend to look at you curiously, and you know good and well that they are wondering just what the hell you have been up to. (I tend to try and act like nothing unusual has happened on these occasions, which is only semi-effective.)
At any rate, I wish I hadn’t done that.
So, I am quite able to brush off little events like this (and others, such as inadvertently spraying myself in the eyes with an aerosol spray, or swallowing a bit of febreeze, or sneezing at the exact moment that you are about to take a bit of waffles that you have carefully covered in syrup and powdered sugar…that last one took quite a bit of time with the vacuum cleaner) with a little “wow, thank goodness I didn’t hurt myself” kind of relief.
Alas, when it comes to saying things that I didn’t want to, I am not so fortunate. Over the past months, I have been choosing my words carefully. You might say I am a bit more guarded than before. Sure, I slip up from time to time, and usually I feel a bit silly (take that with a grain of salt) but get through the conversation without too much embarrassment. However, the other day I shocked myself by totally saying the wrong thing; not only wrong, but completely rude, senseless, and totally out of order.
I must say, I have not had such a sickening feeling . At home that night, I was unable to concentrate (I actually narrowly avoided yet another incident with febreeze, if you must know), and got only a few minutes (if that much) of very troubled sleep, and that came only after several hours of lying in bed, tossing, turning, really feeling horrible.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That was an expression that I only have half-heartedly believed in my life. Mostly, I try and convince myself otherwise, but in the end, I still believe that the wrong words can hurt. And it is particularly humiliating when you are the one who said the hurtful words.
Apology accepted, yes, thank goodness. But, like “out of sight, out of mind,” I don’t really practice the action “forgive and forget.”
Forgive? Almost always. Forget? Almost never.
Sigh, sometimes having a good memory and being a sensitive thinker (though obviously not ALL of the time) are not always the greatest traits…
Then again, those traits do enable me to say in three languages:
“I wish I hadn’t said that.”
Keep the faith
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