I actually was about to get very weepy last night as I was trying to get to sleep...
A week ago today, I realized that I was coming down with something, very likely a cold. As one unwise (sometimes) does, I went to pub with the idea that a pint might help stave things off, or at least help me convince myself that I was NOT about to come down with a cold. Ironically, the first guy I saw there greeted me with a, "Hi, Bryan, it seems you are coming down with a cold, huh?"
"I certainly hope not, but I do not know, yet," I responded.
I left the pub after that beer, met up with a couple of other guys further down the street for another beer, then was home and in bed close to 10pm.
Tuesday, I felt it best to avoid coffee (gasp), and spent my working day sipping green tea. Again, early to bed, where I read for an hour before nodding off.
Wednesday, I realized that congestion was setting in. I managed to get through the working day, as well as deplete my stock pile of green tea. Thus, I headed off to the supermarket around 7pm to stock up on juice, tea, other fluids, other foodstuffs, and ice cream. En route, I bumped into a friend, explained that I was fighting off a cold, so would not see him later on that evening (as part of the weekly meet up for a couple of beers Wednesday nights). He wished me a "Gute Besserung," and I collected my purchases at the store and made for the safety of home.
Thursday morning, I actually thought I was going to be OK. I was beginning my third day of no coffee (gasp), my third day of no beer (double gasp), and, while I did feel a bit tired and run down, I figured that I should continue to just take it easy. I was staying semi-productive work wise, and was continuing to head to bed around 8.
Early early Friday morning, around 3am, I sort of woke up rather alertly, and thought to myself, "uh-oh, I am unwell."
I was rather frustrated, because, for a cold, I did not feel so congested, and had not yet gone through the runny nose misery that usually accompanies my bouts of Erkältung. However, I was really starting to feel lousy, and still a few hours before daylight.
I lay in bed for another 90 minutes trying to think myself well, then eventually fell back asleep. Somewhere around 9.30am or so, I sort of roused myself from bed, shuffled into the kitchen, started the PC, logged on, and immediately cancelled my 10am conference call.
Erm, I have the flu.
No trying to have green tea or anything on this day. I barely had cancelled the concall before I made my way to the living room recliner, where I tried to do a bit of comfort reading. This was rather unsuccessful due to the headache and weak, wobbly feeling I was enduring.
Fortunately, my suppliers understood my plight, and most of my UK colleagues were on holiday. Thus, it stood to be sort of a quiet day. Thank goodness.
I felt progressively worse over the course of the day, and it was all I could do to join a conference call with some North American colleagues at 4pm. I sort of grunted and forced myself through the call, then collapsed in exhaustion 45 minutes later as it concluded. From there, straight to be bed.
As I tumbled into bed, I felt bad for not calling my father to wish him a happy birthday. I had spoken with my sister the previous day ("happy birthday, and don't tell mom and dad that i am sick"), but had actually thought I would be feeling good enough to chat with pops on this special Friday. Alas, it was not going to happen.
From Friday afternoon until Saturday late late morning, I remained in bed, and for what it's worth, did get some reasonable sleep. There were a couple of potty breaks, and a couple of trips to the kitchen for a sip of juice or water, but then immediately back to bed. The headache was bothersome, the coughing fits annoying, and somehow my radiator wasn't working as well as it should have been. However, I was still warm enough under the duvet and blanket (wearing a tshirt and sweater and shorts for additional warmth).
By late Saturday morning, as I sort of lay their with my eyes open, I realized that I was feeling slightly better, but somewhat grateful that there was another day and a half before Monday. I might be able to get well by the first of the week. Ah, but first things first.
I decided to read a bit while still in bed, which actually turned into a read for 30 minutes, sleep for an hour, read for 30 minutes, sleep for an hour pattern which brought me to noon. I realized that the pharmacy would close early Saturday afternoon, and I very much needed to get some ibuprofen.
Managing to get myself into the kitchen for a bit of juice, I also noted that I needed to go back to the supermarket for more fluids, also.
After a long(ish) shower, I felt able to step down the street to the pharmacy, where I politely (interpret that as: spoke too softly and the lady could not understand me) asked for some ibuprofen. Eventually, the woman figured out which quantity I wanted. I asked for some of the vaporub from Vick's (the old stand by), and then headed to the market, where I quickly made my purchases, then headed once more for the safety of home.
It is never fun when you are feeling unwell, and there is something unpleasant about the burden of having to lug groceries home and up the steps. Actually, when I am ill, I do not want to be around anyone at all. I believe that goes for just about everyone, but it makes for sort of an awkward time.
So, relieved to be at home again Saturday afternoon, I decided to phone my parents quickly on skype, so as to get the belated birthday greeting out of the way, as well to inform them that i was under the weather.
We ended up talking for about an hour, and I was actually feeling about the best I have in the past 4 days, but things soon went downhill as I watched the streaming online version of the Arsenal match. I had decided to cook up a frozen pizza that looked pretty good in the box, but was not so fantastic out of the oven.
I then watched a bit of video, then headed for bed and a bit more reading. As luck would have it, a few coughing spells turned into a bit of an incident, and as I found myself bringing my dinner back up I thought to myself that I have had better weeks.
Back into bed, where I did drift off to sleep, and managed to sleep deeply until a reasonable hour Sunday morning. The deep sleep brought quite a few vivid dreams, fueled by the detective novels that I have been rereading, never mind the Inspector Morse video from the past days, as well as the wackiness of being ill. Sometime during the night, my bottom sheet actually ripped, having finally been washed perhaps one too many times. (that's what I am telling myself....but when I started awake upon hearing a "rrriiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppp" I was also thinking of a few other things)
Whew.
So, Sunday afternoon, I realized that I was not going to be 100% fit again by Monday, but at least I could demonstrate I was making progress. I watched the final episodes of "As Time Goes By," which happens to be a favorite little series of mine, then actually felt like a bit of piano playing for the first time of the week. Though short lived, it was nice to tickle the ivory briefly, before flopping back down to discover some episodes of "All Creatures Great and Small," which I watched until bedtime.
Once in bed, I realized I wasn't far from the end of the "final" book from my favorite detective series, so pressed on and finished the book (for the 2nd, maybe 3rd time) around 11.30. While I felt good to not feel so exhausted (as I had the whole week), I knew I was not quite well, and it is in this middle ground where I always find myself a bit stuck.
I always get a bit uptight when I reach the end of something, whether it be a good book, good series, good experience, etc. Now, one could argue that reaching the end of one's illness is not necessarily a good time, but it is a good thing. I do not dispute that. However, flooded with all the emotional bits of the "ATGB" episodes, combined with the completion of DI Rebus's retirement, and suddenly the rediscovery of James Herriot tv episodes (always very influential), all on a quiet Sunday night was just a bit much for me.
So, I tossed and turned a bit, thinking about life, thinking about beginnings, endings, pets, advent calendars, and the fact that Christmas is coming.
Sleep came, but the alarm sounded all too early this morning. Truth be told, I believe I have a few days left before I am really fit again, but the worst is behind me.
Of course, I needed to skip out to the market for more juice and fluids, which I did at lunchtime, and upon return found a Christmas card in my letterbox, with a nice line, "thanks again for kicking my Christmas off right with the Vince G track."
I smiled at the memory of a couple of weeks ago when I plinked out a little song right after Thanksgiving, and am glad to have had such positive feedback, through skype, email, text, and as of today, through the post.
I guess that it's one of the reasons I will sign off this post with a quote, "the magic of the holidays never ends, and its greatest gifts are family and friends."
Thanks kids.
bryan
Monday, December 03, 2012
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Playing Favorites
"What are your 10 most favorite songs?"
When I was asked this question last night I was caught off guard; I simply had not expected that question. This is one of those questions that I can usually answer immediately, so not surprisingly, I asked for a pen, intending simply to jot the list down.
As time was short, I ended up taking the challenge home with me, and before going to bed, sat down at my kitchen table and wrote. I quickly realized two things: the longer I thought about it, the more difficult the task would be, and second, there would be no way I could rank the songs.
What makes these my favorites? The common thing is that they ALL grabbed me right from the first listen, wherever or whenever that first listen took place. I am certainly not surprised that half of the songs come from the 80s, and sort of understand why none of the songs come from after I turned 30; my appreciation for music started early and the influences are obvious.
With the exception of Bruce, I have seen all of the artists at some point in my lifetime, though not necessarily the complete band line ups that did the original songs. What I do find to be very cool is that all of the artists (those that are still living, at least) still continue to make music.
A few of you who know me (and my CD collection) might question a few of my selections, but can also appreciate that this is a list of 10 and not 100 songs. You can also understand why it is so difficult to actually rank them. Fortunately, they all make for a good soundtrack regardless of the order in which they are listened to.
So, what are the songs? Here you go -
1) Joy Divison - Love Will Tear Us Apart
2) Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out
3) The Clash - London Calling
4) The Mission UK - Wasteland
5) The Bouncing Souls - Gone
6) The Alarm - Strength
7) Love Spit Love - Fall on Tears
8) The Wonderstuff - Sing the Absurd
9) The Who - Baba O'Riley
10) Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run
Further commentary is unnecessary. As indicated, any time you may have spent in my dorm room or apartment through the years, as well countless hours driving around with me lets you know why these are the songs. Tim, particularly, would likely be able to guess at least half of these songs as being on my list. Of course, that is what happens who you commandeer a stereo for so long, eh?
At any rate, there you have it. 8 songs from Britain, 2 from Jersey. Favorite songs of a guy from Texas who lives in Germany. Makes sense.
keep the faith
bryan
When I was asked this question last night I was caught off guard; I simply had not expected that question. This is one of those questions that I can usually answer immediately, so not surprisingly, I asked for a pen, intending simply to jot the list down.
As time was short, I ended up taking the challenge home with me, and before going to bed, sat down at my kitchen table and wrote. I quickly realized two things: the longer I thought about it, the more difficult the task would be, and second, there would be no way I could rank the songs.
What makes these my favorites? The common thing is that they ALL grabbed me right from the first listen, wherever or whenever that first listen took place. I am certainly not surprised that half of the songs come from the 80s, and sort of understand why none of the songs come from after I turned 30; my appreciation for music started early and the influences are obvious.
With the exception of Bruce, I have seen all of the artists at some point in my lifetime, though not necessarily the complete band line ups that did the original songs. What I do find to be very cool is that all of the artists (those that are still living, at least) still continue to make music.
A few of you who know me (and my CD collection) might question a few of my selections, but can also appreciate that this is a list of 10 and not 100 songs. You can also understand why it is so difficult to actually rank them. Fortunately, they all make for a good soundtrack regardless of the order in which they are listened to.
So, what are the songs? Here you go -
1) Joy Divison - Love Will Tear Us Apart
2) Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out
3) The Clash - London Calling
4) The Mission UK - Wasteland
5) The Bouncing Souls - Gone
6) The Alarm - Strength
7) Love Spit Love - Fall on Tears
8) The Wonderstuff - Sing the Absurd
9) The Who - Baba O'Riley
10) Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run
Further commentary is unnecessary. As indicated, any time you may have spent in my dorm room or apartment through the years, as well countless hours driving around with me lets you know why these are the songs. Tim, particularly, would likely be able to guess at least half of these songs as being on my list. Of course, that is what happens who you commandeer a stereo for so long, eh?
At any rate, there you have it. 8 songs from Britain, 2 from Jersey. Favorite songs of a guy from Texas who lives in Germany. Makes sense.
keep the faith
bryan
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Ein Unbefristet Bryan
Three years ago, I went off to the Ordnungsamt to get my visa extended. That little escapade went relatively ok, despite some nervousness on my part. In the end, I was granted an extension through the 1st of August, 2012.
A couple of months ago, around the last day of May, I received a letter in the mail from my friendly civil servant inviting me to an appointment for today at the Ordnungsamt. Now, I did not bother to open this letter until a few weeks after receipt. I knew my visa was valid up til the beginning of August, so after confirming the appointment date, I did not review the letter again until the first of July.
As usual, there were a few forms to fill out, and as well a few documents to be completed by my employer. I tend to procrastinate at the best of times (you should see when I do my taxes each year), but this time it sort of worked out in my favor. Sure, when I received the initial letter, I was not aware that my employment situation was going to change so quickly, but once I had been informed of my transfer, I got cracking on compiling all the appropriate docs.
I first identified all of the things that required external support. Namely, a document that required a signature from my landlord and a letter of confirmation from my employer (complete with company stamp) regarding my employment. My landlord and I agreed to meet up in mid-July, and my new company stepped up and delivered stamped letters in a matter of days.
Feeling a bit encouraged by my progress (hey! this is pretty easy!), I checked the list for the outstanding things I would need to get. Pay stubs was also pretty easy, and a new biometrisch photo was just a phone call (for an appointment at the local photo studio) away. On a Friday afternoon, my last working day with the previous company, I phoned the studio and arranged for an appointment the following morning at 12.30. I then went out for a nice dinner, ate way too much, drank a fair amount, and managed to become violently ill upon returning home late that night.
Alas, the days of being able to puke (kotzen is the German term, in case you are asked at the next cook out or cocktail party) and look fresh and recovered the following day are faint faint memories for me. After I turned 30, unfortunate nights out at the pub that resulted in a sicky usually meant that the following day, my eyes would be puffed up little slits, my face would be red, and I generally appeared more frightening than usual. At the time (though these moments were somewhat infrequent), it was not uncommon for someone (ie..my boss, etc) to ask the question, "What the fuck has happened to you?"
Well, turning 40 has made this experience even worse. Fortunately, those times are ever more infrequent (usually just the night before I begin Christmas holidays). However, the particular Friday evening was (at least up until the moment I was wrecking my bathroom) quite a pleasant evening. That said, I was full of food and bevvie, and through it all enduring the stress of having suddenly changed jobs.
As I cleaned up late that Friday night, I refused to look at myself in the mirror, and desperately hoped for a miracle for the following morning. I stayed in bed as long as possible, and even put a bag of frozen peas (purchased just in case this ever happens) on my eyes to take away some of the swelling.
I woke up around 10.30 that Saturday morning, showered and shaved, and decided that it was as good as it could get. I grabbed my backpack, and headed to the photo studio.
The photographer told me to mop off my face (to remove the perspiration), then snapped a few pictures, then told me to wait a couple of minutes; he would have the photos ready quickly.
Indeed, 10 minutes later he brought me the finished product, and commented that he had "removed the red from my face" during the development. Thus, I looked only scary, as opposed to sunburned and scary. I paid my 10 Euro and put my photos in my little pile of stuff for my Ordnungsamt visit.
Later in the afternoon, I stumbled upon a birthday party, and ended up spending the next 8 hours in the pub, which resulted in me repeating Friday night's performance, only less the pleasant food and company. Damn.
Not surprisingly, I took it easy on Sunday, then headed off to Bochum early Monday morning for my first day with the new company. I met a few colleagues, many of which commented on my suntan.
Damn.
As indicated in the previous post, I have experienced a rather hectic past two weeks getting things sorted out as a new employee. Meanwhile, I met up with my landlord, who signed my needed document, and I found myself getting closer and closer to appointment day.
I reviewed the outstanding items, and found two left that concerned me. One, was a document that would show that I had paid into the social security system for the past 60 months. The second was a document or something to prove that I had completed an Integrationskurs. From my last visit three years ago, I understood that I only had to demonstrate my ability in the language. This started to give me some worrying moments.
Upon my arrival in Germany, I went out of my way to take private classes and learn the language as quickly and competently as possible. True, I stopped my private classes almost two years ago, but my level has reached (in my opinion, as well as many others) an acceptable level. I would not say that I am fluent, and I still constantly get comments about my accent, but I can certainly hold my own. Furthermore, I know loads of expats living in Germany who can't speak a bloody word of German, and they have lived here much longer than I have.
That said, I was not really interested in having to discuss this with the civil servant who would be making the decision on my visa extension. I actually panicked just a wee bit as I thought about having to possibly explain that two weeks before I was to extend my visa I had changed jobs. Though I feel more than able to discuss these topics individually in German, the added bonus of having to explain it while under pressure of sitting in a government office.
I may have expressed this sentiment once or twice before, but any dealings with the civil service for me are very stressful encounters. I compare it to sitting in the Principal's office taking a bollocking for something that I may or may not have done. For me, because I am pessimistic, I usually immediately feel guilty for no reason whatsoever, which comes across in my actions and words. Thus, the situation (at least in my head) explodes out of proportion to a point where the person I am dealing starts wondering just what the hell is wrong with me. "Nice suntan, were you recently on holiday?"
Nope. Just in the pub.
With all of these thoughts on the brain, I strolled over to the pub one afternoon and ran into an Australian friend of mine. I remembered that he had recently extended his visa, so asked him about the two documents and what had been his experience.
He went on to tell me that no one had bothered with him about the Integrationskurs, and he also pointed out that he spoke very little German. Though comforting, I was not 100% convinced. Fortunately, he did confirm that there was a little office off of Zeil where one could go and get a statement indicating that they had paid 5 years into social security.
I spent a few more days making sure that I had all of my documentation together, then planned this past Monday morning to slip off to the local office to get the SS statement. It turned out to be one of the most pleasant experiences I have had with a civil service office. The lady smiled the whole time, took my SS number, clicked a button, then handed me two sheets of paper from the printer. No charge.
Another quick trip to the local photocopy shop across the street from my house, and I had a full copy of the original forms and docs; this was a request from the Ordnungsamt to bring a set of copies to the appointment.
In the end, I elected to just "wing" it when it came to discussing any integration course. I felt confident enough to converse with anyone about any topic, in German, to demonstrate my command of the language, and why I wanted to extend my visa.
With my documentation complete Tuesday evening, I did a final check that I had everything prepared, then set out clothes for this morning's appointment. Then, I went to the pub.
Sure, I had not slept well the past few nights, my mind somewhat antsy about this (important) appointment. A few beers (ONLY a few beers) can help in these matters, but I really just needed a bit of quiet time. Fortunately, I found just that, and had a very relaxing, charming evening, and went to bed with a bit of weary heart, but not too much anxiety about Wednesday morning.
I popped up this morning, had a couple of coffees, showered, then headed off for my appointment which began at 9.30.
In the Ordnungsamt, I walked through the maze of corridors to the office where I was to meet with Frau H. I knocked on the door promptly at 9.30, peeked my head in, and found three people sitting at their desks. Furthermore, I realized that it was the same office I had been to three years ago, and the lady who had helped me at the time was not the friendliest of folks (back then). I announced my presence, and then she responded by asking if I really had an appointment. Gulp.
"Ja," I responded.
OK, please wait in the hall for a couple of minutes and I will call you when I am ready.
So, I skulked in the hallway for about 10 minutes, somewhat concerned as to why I had a sheet of paper confirming an appointment with her, yet she did not seem to be aware of it.
She opened the door, called me, and I sat down and pulled out my stuff.
Sweat is not an option for me, it comes pouring out of me whether I want it to or not.
Frau H. pulled up my file in the computer and she quickly checked that all my documents were present. She left the room to make copies of a few things (never mind I had copies right there), then returned and asked me about my German study.
Panic.
I briefly explained that I had had private classes for almost three years, and went on to mention that I spoke German daily in the work place, as well as good portion of my personal life. I considered pulling out a Learn KrimiDeutsch book that happened to be in my backpack (they have these little novellas that are really short crime novels. In each chapter, you have to do some basic grammar stuff (like underline all the verbs, etc) and it is quite a cool way to continue self study of the language) but decided that might not be so appropriate, so just shut my mouth.
Apparently my explanation was satisfactory, so we proceeded to the next step, which is when she said, "OK, we normally expect a German resident to take some sort of language course," (shit! Panic!) "but as of 2011, the requirement has slightly changed. Now the applicant must provide proof of completing your education. Do you have a college degree?"
I knew the answer to this question, and quickly confirmed.
"Good, in order to issue your visa, I just need to have a copy of your Diploma."
"No problem, I can email you that within an hour."
Suddenly, Frau H's mood softened, and she actually almost smiled when she wrote her email address down for me.
Then, she proceeded to process the rest of the things in the computer. Once, she paused and asked me how tall I was, and I momentarily blanked, actually started stuttering (6 feet is not the correct answer in a country that uses the metric system), and feebly pointed to the application, where I had actually written down the correct answer when I looked it up last weekend on the Internet.
"Cool," she said, as she moved on the next field she had to fill in.
As a few things started coming off the printer, she asked me if I wanted the guidebook for the new electronic Aufenthaltstitel in German or in English. I indicated that I preferred it in German, and she gave a bit of a satisfactory look as she slid a pamphlet across the desk.
She took my bank card and processed the fee, then explained that my resident card would be available in about 4-5 weeks; I would be alerted by mail.
And that was it. Bryan action - email my college diploma to the German Ordnungsamt (ironic that my Alma mater, the one I raved about last month, helps me earn my right to stay in the country, eh?)
Germany action - issue a permanent resident card to me. Open ended or unlimited or indefinite is the meaning of Unbefristet.
Thus, I am now fully able to live, work, and do whatever (within reason) in this country. For as long as I like. It's what 5 years living in a country will get you. It is not so much about staying, but more about the ability to not have to leave. Maybe not so easy for everyone to understand, but it makes a bit of sense to me.
I bid the woman thanks, and headed out on the street where I paused for a moment and just enjoyed the sunshine, as a resident, before heading off to work.
Today was a pretty good day.
Later, I am sure that a couple of people will ask me about my experience from this morning, as they had seen how anxious I was in the past days.
"Nothing to it."
see you out there
bryan
A couple of months ago, around the last day of May, I received a letter in the mail from my friendly civil servant inviting me to an appointment for today at the Ordnungsamt. Now, I did not bother to open this letter until a few weeks after receipt. I knew my visa was valid up til the beginning of August, so after confirming the appointment date, I did not review the letter again until the first of July.
As usual, there were a few forms to fill out, and as well a few documents to be completed by my employer. I tend to procrastinate at the best of times (you should see when I do my taxes each year), but this time it sort of worked out in my favor. Sure, when I received the initial letter, I was not aware that my employment situation was going to change so quickly, but once I had been informed of my transfer, I got cracking on compiling all the appropriate docs.
I first identified all of the things that required external support. Namely, a document that required a signature from my landlord and a letter of confirmation from my employer (complete with company stamp) regarding my employment. My landlord and I agreed to meet up in mid-July, and my new company stepped up and delivered stamped letters in a matter of days.
Feeling a bit encouraged by my progress (hey! this is pretty easy!), I checked the list for the outstanding things I would need to get. Pay stubs was also pretty easy, and a new biometrisch photo was just a phone call (for an appointment at the local photo studio) away. On a Friday afternoon, my last working day with the previous company, I phoned the studio and arranged for an appointment the following morning at 12.30. I then went out for a nice dinner, ate way too much, drank a fair amount, and managed to become violently ill upon returning home late that night.
Alas, the days of being able to puke (kotzen is the German term, in case you are asked at the next cook out or cocktail party) and look fresh and recovered the following day are faint faint memories for me. After I turned 30, unfortunate nights out at the pub that resulted in a sicky usually meant that the following day, my eyes would be puffed up little slits, my face would be red, and I generally appeared more frightening than usual. At the time (though these moments were somewhat infrequent), it was not uncommon for someone (ie..my boss, etc) to ask the question, "What the fuck has happened to you?"
Well, turning 40 has made this experience even worse. Fortunately, those times are ever more infrequent (usually just the night before I begin Christmas holidays). However, the particular Friday evening was (at least up until the moment I was wrecking my bathroom) quite a pleasant evening. That said, I was full of food and bevvie, and through it all enduring the stress of having suddenly changed jobs.
As I cleaned up late that Friday night, I refused to look at myself in the mirror, and desperately hoped for a miracle for the following morning. I stayed in bed as long as possible, and even put a bag of frozen peas (purchased just in case this ever happens) on my eyes to take away some of the swelling.
I woke up around 10.30 that Saturday morning, showered and shaved, and decided that it was as good as it could get. I grabbed my backpack, and headed to the photo studio.
The photographer told me to mop off my face (to remove the perspiration), then snapped a few pictures, then told me to wait a couple of minutes; he would have the photos ready quickly.
Indeed, 10 minutes later he brought me the finished product, and commented that he had "removed the red from my face" during the development. Thus, I looked only scary, as opposed to sunburned and scary. I paid my 10 Euro and put my photos in my little pile of stuff for my Ordnungsamt visit.
Later in the afternoon, I stumbled upon a birthday party, and ended up spending the next 8 hours in the pub, which resulted in me repeating Friday night's performance, only less the pleasant food and company. Damn.
Not surprisingly, I took it easy on Sunday, then headed off to Bochum early Monday morning for my first day with the new company. I met a few colleagues, many of which commented on my suntan.
Damn.
As indicated in the previous post, I have experienced a rather hectic past two weeks getting things sorted out as a new employee. Meanwhile, I met up with my landlord, who signed my needed document, and I found myself getting closer and closer to appointment day.
I reviewed the outstanding items, and found two left that concerned me. One, was a document that would show that I had paid into the social security system for the past 60 months. The second was a document or something to prove that I had completed an Integrationskurs. From my last visit three years ago, I understood that I only had to demonstrate my ability in the language. This started to give me some worrying moments.
Upon my arrival in Germany, I went out of my way to take private classes and learn the language as quickly and competently as possible. True, I stopped my private classes almost two years ago, but my level has reached (in my opinion, as well as many others) an acceptable level. I would not say that I am fluent, and I still constantly get comments about my accent, but I can certainly hold my own. Furthermore, I know loads of expats living in Germany who can't speak a bloody word of German, and they have lived here much longer than I have.
That said, I was not really interested in having to discuss this with the civil servant who would be making the decision on my visa extension. I actually panicked just a wee bit as I thought about having to possibly explain that two weeks before I was to extend my visa I had changed jobs. Though I feel more than able to discuss these topics individually in German, the added bonus of having to explain it while under pressure of sitting in a government office.
I may have expressed this sentiment once or twice before, but any dealings with the civil service for me are very stressful encounters. I compare it to sitting in the Principal's office taking a bollocking for something that I may or may not have done. For me, because I am pessimistic, I usually immediately feel guilty for no reason whatsoever, which comes across in my actions and words. Thus, the situation (at least in my head) explodes out of proportion to a point where the person I am dealing starts wondering just what the hell is wrong with me. "Nice suntan, were you recently on holiday?"
Nope. Just in the pub.
With all of these thoughts on the brain, I strolled over to the pub one afternoon and ran into an Australian friend of mine. I remembered that he had recently extended his visa, so asked him about the two documents and what had been his experience.
He went on to tell me that no one had bothered with him about the Integrationskurs, and he also pointed out that he spoke very little German. Though comforting, I was not 100% convinced. Fortunately, he did confirm that there was a little office off of Zeil where one could go and get a statement indicating that they had paid 5 years into social security.
I spent a few more days making sure that I had all of my documentation together, then planned this past Monday morning to slip off to the local office to get the SS statement. It turned out to be one of the most pleasant experiences I have had with a civil service office. The lady smiled the whole time, took my SS number, clicked a button, then handed me two sheets of paper from the printer. No charge.
Another quick trip to the local photocopy shop across the street from my house, and I had a full copy of the original forms and docs; this was a request from the Ordnungsamt to bring a set of copies to the appointment.
In the end, I elected to just "wing" it when it came to discussing any integration course. I felt confident enough to converse with anyone about any topic, in German, to demonstrate my command of the language, and why I wanted to extend my visa.
With my documentation complete Tuesday evening, I did a final check that I had everything prepared, then set out clothes for this morning's appointment. Then, I went to the pub.
Sure, I had not slept well the past few nights, my mind somewhat antsy about this (important) appointment. A few beers (ONLY a few beers) can help in these matters, but I really just needed a bit of quiet time. Fortunately, I found just that, and had a very relaxing, charming evening, and went to bed with a bit of weary heart, but not too much anxiety about Wednesday morning.
I popped up this morning, had a couple of coffees, showered, then headed off for my appointment which began at 9.30.
In the Ordnungsamt, I walked through the maze of corridors to the office where I was to meet with Frau H. I knocked on the door promptly at 9.30, peeked my head in, and found three people sitting at their desks. Furthermore, I realized that it was the same office I had been to three years ago, and the lady who had helped me at the time was not the friendliest of folks (back then). I announced my presence, and then she responded by asking if I really had an appointment. Gulp.
"Ja," I responded.
OK, please wait in the hall for a couple of minutes and I will call you when I am ready.
So, I skulked in the hallway for about 10 minutes, somewhat concerned as to why I had a sheet of paper confirming an appointment with her, yet she did not seem to be aware of it.
She opened the door, called me, and I sat down and pulled out my stuff.
Sweat is not an option for me, it comes pouring out of me whether I want it to or not.
Frau H. pulled up my file in the computer and she quickly checked that all my documents were present. She left the room to make copies of a few things (never mind I had copies right there), then returned and asked me about my German study.
Panic.
I briefly explained that I had had private classes for almost three years, and went on to mention that I spoke German daily in the work place, as well as good portion of my personal life. I considered pulling out a Learn KrimiDeutsch book that happened to be in my backpack (they have these little novellas that are really short crime novels. In each chapter, you have to do some basic grammar stuff (like underline all the verbs, etc) and it is quite a cool way to continue self study of the language) but decided that might not be so appropriate, so just shut my mouth.
Apparently my explanation was satisfactory, so we proceeded to the next step, which is when she said, "OK, we normally expect a German resident to take some sort of language course," (shit! Panic!) "but as of 2011, the requirement has slightly changed. Now the applicant must provide proof of completing your education. Do you have a college degree?"
I knew the answer to this question, and quickly confirmed.
"Good, in order to issue your visa, I just need to have a copy of your Diploma."
"No problem, I can email you that within an hour."
Suddenly, Frau H's mood softened, and she actually almost smiled when she wrote her email address down for me.
Then, she proceeded to process the rest of the things in the computer. Once, she paused and asked me how tall I was, and I momentarily blanked, actually started stuttering (6 feet is not the correct answer in a country that uses the metric system), and feebly pointed to the application, where I had actually written down the correct answer when I looked it up last weekend on the Internet.
"Cool," she said, as she moved on the next field she had to fill in.
As a few things started coming off the printer, she asked me if I wanted the guidebook for the new electronic Aufenthaltstitel in German or in English. I indicated that I preferred it in German, and she gave a bit of a satisfactory look as she slid a pamphlet across the desk.
She took my bank card and processed the fee, then explained that my resident card would be available in about 4-5 weeks; I would be alerted by mail.
And that was it. Bryan action - email my college diploma to the German Ordnungsamt (ironic that my Alma mater, the one I raved about last month, helps me earn my right to stay in the country, eh?)
Germany action - issue a permanent resident card to me. Open ended or unlimited or indefinite is the meaning of Unbefristet.
Thus, I am now fully able to live, work, and do whatever (within reason) in this country. For as long as I like. It's what 5 years living in a country will get you. It is not so much about staying, but more about the ability to not have to leave. Maybe not so easy for everyone to understand, but it makes a bit of sense to me.
I bid the woman thanks, and headed out on the street where I paused for a moment and just enjoyed the sunshine, as a resident, before heading off to work.
Today was a pretty good day.
Later, I am sure that a couple of people will ask me about my experience from this morning, as they had seen how anxious I was in the past days.
"Nothing to it."
see you out there
bryan
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The Summertime Update
The temperatures in Germany this past week were above 30 degrees Celsius (high 90s for the Farenheit crowd), which was rather unpleasant. However, I am always a bit embarrassed to comment, since it has been much warmer in Texas (and everywhere in the states, for that matter), still is much warmer in Texas, and will remain much warmer for at least three more months. Thus, I really cannot complain.
As it were, I was in various parts of Germany during the week, and fortunate to be in hotels that had air conditioning, so I was able to sleep fairly well (and cool). Friday was the "hot" day, which actually prompted my mother, who is currently celebrating her birthday with a week in "wonderfully cool" northern California, to send me a text to inquire as to whether we were ok. Mom gets concerned when the temperature gets too warm, as she knows I have a tendency to sweat profusely as soon as the temperature rises above 70 degrees F.
Yesterday afternoon the rain returned, making things a bit sticky and humid, but the rain continued steadily (if not heavily) through the night, and I woke up this morning to a rather quiet, cool Sunday. Highs in the mid 70s, lows in the mid 50s. Nicht schlecht.
The rain that continues this morning is quite peaceful, and I am glad to have a nice rain jacket to protect me when I am out and about. Erm....
Said rain jacket was a rather high quality gift from the company I joined about a year and a half ago. I quite like the jacket, but was a bit annoyed that the company logo was embroidered on the sleeve. I am one of those guys that refuses to wear the company uniform (Alberton's, It's Your Store, being the one exception), and have never liked seeing a bunch of folks at a trade show all wearing the company polo.
While this small nuisance was always in the back of mind when I wore my jacket on trips, I had never quite considered what I would do should I ever stop working for the company.
As part of life's surprises, I was informed about four weeks ago that my position had been outsourced to another company and I basically had two options: take the new job (which kept all the terms of my previous contract in place (salary, benefits, etc), or be made redundant.
Hmmmmmm.
On the surface, the decision seemed pretty obvious. I took a day or two to get over the surprise, as well to discuss the topic with other colleagues who were in the exact same situation. While several colleagues found reasons why they were not so keen, I quickly realized the opportunities and the chance to play in another sandbox. Thus, I signed the new contract, and am now about to begin my third working week with a new employer.
The job itself pretty much remains the same. However, the tasks will become somewhat more challenging as we are an additional link in the supply chain. Things are far from settled, and I expect it to be a choppy ride in the months to come.
Sure, over the past frantic weeks I have taken a few minutes to reflect. Ultimately, my biggest irritation is that I once again was pushed onto the back foot and was not in control of my employment. For the second time since I have come to Germany, I have been pushed into another situation where I have to react quickly; I would much prefer to be more on the forefoot, creating my own opportunities, thus holdiing a bit more control with my personal and professional life.
But it can't always be like that, can it?
True, but I also note that perhaps it was my complacency that causes this irritation. I am aware that in my personal life, I am less trusting and certainly more guarded. Most of this is due to my lack of self confidence. This can hinder my career progression from time to time, but on an ironic note, I do tend to stand up and speak out in the workplace, and over the years my experiences and efforts have earned me quite a bit of respect.
I already recognize that with this new company, and I know that I am able to play in this space. There are not that many of us that seem to paddle around happily in the deep end of the pool, one filled with sharks and piranhas.
This new employer is quite a bit smaller than my previous one. This is also a very positive thing, because I will be able to drive change faster and more effectively than before.
I will skip the rest of my little pros/cons list (that is written in a notebook somewhere) and simply say that this new change in my life will be interesting and ok, going so far as to say that the lyrics to "La Vida en la Frontera" seem rather fitting. This is a good feeling. Regarding the rain jacket, I was able to make a minor modification to the sleeve, using the help of a Sharpie pen that I bought.
Although I have not written a post in months (despite the requests), I have toyed with various themes, and will actually touch on a couple of them now.
Three months ago I started playing piano again, and wow, what a train wreck. My left hand was initially useless, which proved to be most frustrating. However, I picked up some practice books and tend to find several hours a week where I sit down and play. The enjoyment is almost indescribable. (side note - yesterday I recorded a couple of tracks with both piano and lyrics and I must say that the results were bloody awful. Back to the practice room.)
Simply having a piano close by helps with my motivation and creativity. Of course I play a lot of the old stuff that could be heard regularly from Little Goliad, but I have found a few new songs to try, and so far the results are positive. With a bit of luck, I might even collaborate with a few folks in the coming months; the local Rockabilly shop owner has a band and needs help with a couple of tracks.
We will see.
Though I would quickly argue against the statement, "I am in a rut," I would concede that motivation and enthusiasm are two things that have been absent in my life for most of the year. Of course the return of the piano has helped immmensely. However, even the 88s has not prevented some down time and some very unpleasant moments of anxiety, particularly on Sundays.
Times like these can be rather difficult for anyone, and I know that I am certainly not alone with these feelings. But, how one copes with this tends to be an individual effort. Hence my "psych it up" moments, which I must say have created some rather cool stream of consciousness piano tracks.
Though these "psych it up" moments usually work for me, I do notice that they do not always the same level of effectiveness as they did 10 or maybe 20 year ago. While frustrating, I do understand that life changes over time, and perhaps more significantly, I have changed over time.
There are four little quotes that came from an old calendar I received years ago that I have on a little space in my kitchen, where I can always see them. I appreciate the constant reminders, but have struggled with one of the quotes.
"Hope is always about possible future."
For most of the year, I have relied less and less on hope. This is tricky. I will be the first to stand up and say, "hey, not the wisest thing you are doing in your life, living it with less hope," but currently, it is what it is.
Meanwhile, I do find opportunties in which I feel compelled to try and help motivate others, both in professional and personal environments. Sometimes, though, I wonder how my efforts come across. Do they help at all? Sometimes I am not sure.
I find a lot of my strength in others, and use this to help motivate myself, knowing that those that I interact with are often unaware of how significant this is to me. Many times it is simply their postive reactions, other times it is merely their comforting mannerisms.
Last week in Munich I met some new colleagues as I went through the office. Obviously the introductions were all pretty much in German, despite the fact that everyone noticed my non German name. With one colleague from Madrid, I inexplicably switched into Spanish, much to their delight. (mine, too, for that matter as my Spanish needs work).
A couple of weeks ago, I received a random email from someone working at my old college. He wanted to get my feedback on my collegiate experience. I phoned the guy up and was amazed that I started gushing about all of the wonderful experiences my education gave me: the lifelong friends, the intelligence, the ability to put up with the kind of experiences I am encountering currently, etc. The guy listened closely to my story, of how I managed to get over to Europe, change jobs a couple of times, learn a couple of languages, and so on. He was really positive in his feedback, and it felt great to be so overwhelmed with so many postive memories all at once.
Those of us who graduated from this school can fully appreciate the experience, and we have discussed how much it means to us over the years. Sure, most of us rarely put on an AC sweatshirt or dream of a bacon roo on a regular basis, but still, 20 years later, it is an amazing feeling. Those brief four years helped develop us to what and who we are now.
And who am I?
I am the guy who still listens to Bob Mould on a regular basis, and appreciates the meaning of "The Act we Act" as a mantra, just like "keeping the faith."
With a quick glance on my kitchen wall, I read one of the other quotes.
"Some pursue happienss, others CREATE it."
Here's to creativity.
see you out there.
bryan
As it were, I was in various parts of Germany during the week, and fortunate to be in hotels that had air conditioning, so I was able to sleep fairly well (and cool). Friday was the "hot" day, which actually prompted my mother, who is currently celebrating her birthday with a week in "wonderfully cool" northern California, to send me a text to inquire as to whether we were ok. Mom gets concerned when the temperature gets too warm, as she knows I have a tendency to sweat profusely as soon as the temperature rises above 70 degrees F.
Yesterday afternoon the rain returned, making things a bit sticky and humid, but the rain continued steadily (if not heavily) through the night, and I woke up this morning to a rather quiet, cool Sunday. Highs in the mid 70s, lows in the mid 50s. Nicht schlecht.
The rain that continues this morning is quite peaceful, and I am glad to have a nice rain jacket to protect me when I am out and about. Erm....
Said rain jacket was a rather high quality gift from the company I joined about a year and a half ago. I quite like the jacket, but was a bit annoyed that the company logo was embroidered on the sleeve. I am one of those guys that refuses to wear the company uniform (Alberton's, It's Your Store, being the one exception), and have never liked seeing a bunch of folks at a trade show all wearing the company polo.
While this small nuisance was always in the back of mind when I wore my jacket on trips, I had never quite considered what I would do should I ever stop working for the company.
As part of life's surprises, I was informed about four weeks ago that my position had been outsourced to another company and I basically had two options: take the new job (which kept all the terms of my previous contract in place (salary, benefits, etc), or be made redundant.
Hmmmmmm.
On the surface, the decision seemed pretty obvious. I took a day or two to get over the surprise, as well to discuss the topic with other colleagues who were in the exact same situation. While several colleagues found reasons why they were not so keen, I quickly realized the opportunities and the chance to play in another sandbox. Thus, I signed the new contract, and am now about to begin my third working week with a new employer.
The job itself pretty much remains the same. However, the tasks will become somewhat more challenging as we are an additional link in the supply chain. Things are far from settled, and I expect it to be a choppy ride in the months to come.
Sure, over the past frantic weeks I have taken a few minutes to reflect. Ultimately, my biggest irritation is that I once again was pushed onto the back foot and was not in control of my employment. For the second time since I have come to Germany, I have been pushed into another situation where I have to react quickly; I would much prefer to be more on the forefoot, creating my own opportunities, thus holdiing a bit more control with my personal and professional life.
But it can't always be like that, can it?
True, but I also note that perhaps it was my complacency that causes this irritation. I am aware that in my personal life, I am less trusting and certainly more guarded. Most of this is due to my lack of self confidence. This can hinder my career progression from time to time, but on an ironic note, I do tend to stand up and speak out in the workplace, and over the years my experiences and efforts have earned me quite a bit of respect.
I already recognize that with this new company, and I know that I am able to play in this space. There are not that many of us that seem to paddle around happily in the deep end of the pool, one filled with sharks and piranhas.
This new employer is quite a bit smaller than my previous one. This is also a very positive thing, because I will be able to drive change faster and more effectively than before.
I will skip the rest of my little pros/cons list (that is written in a notebook somewhere) and simply say that this new change in my life will be interesting and ok, going so far as to say that the lyrics to "La Vida en la Frontera" seem rather fitting. This is a good feeling. Regarding the rain jacket, I was able to make a minor modification to the sleeve, using the help of a Sharpie pen that I bought.
Although I have not written a post in months (despite the requests), I have toyed with various themes, and will actually touch on a couple of them now.
Three months ago I started playing piano again, and wow, what a train wreck. My left hand was initially useless, which proved to be most frustrating. However, I picked up some practice books and tend to find several hours a week where I sit down and play. The enjoyment is almost indescribable. (side note - yesterday I recorded a couple of tracks with both piano and lyrics and I must say that the results were bloody awful. Back to the practice room.)
Simply having a piano close by helps with my motivation and creativity. Of course I play a lot of the old stuff that could be heard regularly from Little Goliad, but I have found a few new songs to try, and so far the results are positive. With a bit of luck, I might even collaborate with a few folks in the coming months; the local Rockabilly shop owner has a band and needs help with a couple of tracks.
We will see.
Though I would quickly argue against the statement, "I am in a rut," I would concede that motivation and enthusiasm are two things that have been absent in my life for most of the year. Of course the return of the piano has helped immmensely. However, even the 88s has not prevented some down time and some very unpleasant moments of anxiety, particularly on Sundays.
Times like these can be rather difficult for anyone, and I know that I am certainly not alone with these feelings. But, how one copes with this tends to be an individual effort. Hence my "psych it up" moments, which I must say have created some rather cool stream of consciousness piano tracks.
Though these "psych it up" moments usually work for me, I do notice that they do not always the same level of effectiveness as they did 10 or maybe 20 year ago. While frustrating, I do understand that life changes over time, and perhaps more significantly, I have changed over time.
There are four little quotes that came from an old calendar I received years ago that I have on a little space in my kitchen, where I can always see them. I appreciate the constant reminders, but have struggled with one of the quotes.
"Hope is always about possible future."
For most of the year, I have relied less and less on hope. This is tricky. I will be the first to stand up and say, "hey, not the wisest thing you are doing in your life, living it with less hope," but currently, it is what it is.
Meanwhile, I do find opportunties in which I feel compelled to try and help motivate others, both in professional and personal environments. Sometimes, though, I wonder how my efforts come across. Do they help at all? Sometimes I am not sure.
I find a lot of my strength in others, and use this to help motivate myself, knowing that those that I interact with are often unaware of how significant this is to me. Many times it is simply their postive reactions, other times it is merely their comforting mannerisms.
Last week in Munich I met some new colleagues as I went through the office. Obviously the introductions were all pretty much in German, despite the fact that everyone noticed my non German name. With one colleague from Madrid, I inexplicably switched into Spanish, much to their delight. (mine, too, for that matter as my Spanish needs work).
A couple of weeks ago, I received a random email from someone working at my old college. He wanted to get my feedback on my collegiate experience. I phoned the guy up and was amazed that I started gushing about all of the wonderful experiences my education gave me: the lifelong friends, the intelligence, the ability to put up with the kind of experiences I am encountering currently, etc. The guy listened closely to my story, of how I managed to get over to Europe, change jobs a couple of times, learn a couple of languages, and so on. He was really positive in his feedback, and it felt great to be so overwhelmed with so many postive memories all at once.
Those of us who graduated from this school can fully appreciate the experience, and we have discussed how much it means to us over the years. Sure, most of us rarely put on an AC sweatshirt or dream of a bacon roo on a regular basis, but still, 20 years later, it is an amazing feeling. Those brief four years helped develop us to what and who we are now.
And who am I?
I am the guy who still listens to Bob Mould on a regular basis, and appreciates the meaning of "The Act we Act" as a mantra, just like "keeping the faith."
With a quick glance on my kitchen wall, I read one of the other quotes.
"Some pursue happienss, others CREATE it."
Here's to creativity.
see you out there.
bryan
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Whew! Nick of Time!
Amazing. The past few weeks, months, even, have proven to be a bit of a struggle for me on the personal front. Lots of reasons as to why, most of which will not be discussed here, but it has been tough. Things that never used to bother me seem to really create problems now. I know many things are beyond my control, and anyone with sense would simply not let those things get to them. I seem to be losing common sense...
That said, I still seem to find ways to bugger through, though it is far from pretty.
At the beginning of the year, I realized I was lacking something in my life and decided it best to purchase a piano (as you do). Well, I ordered the piano, was told it would arrive in middle March, and quietly waited (desperately) for March to arrive. Meanwhile, as mentioned, things were getting more and more difficult, and I was getting a bit antsy. (you might interpret that as full scale panic).
When I inquired with the piano store as to the status of my order in mid March, I discovered that the keyboard had arrived, but the stand did not. That would take another week. Another week came and went, followed by another week, and finally the week before Easter. Again, I will spare you the story as to why so many delays.
Though I do not smile or laugh as much these days, I did have a few cynical chuckles with a couple of people; the whole thing seemed to be taking way too long.
As soon as you learn how to go through the motions, one can basically get through. That is more or less what I did over Easter and the past couple of weeks (months).
Yesterday, I woke up from a sleepless night (try that with your eyes closed), managed to get out of bed (which lately has taken a lot of effort)and started working. Unfortunately, I had too many things on the brain, too many unhappy thoughts in my head, and I found myself completely incapacitated.
As usual when this happens (and yes, this is not the first time), I frantically try to find the right music to help me through. Recent efforts have been in vain, and this day was no exception. Imagine, 70 some odd GB of music, and not a thing that strikes an emotion. I willed myself not to completely lose control, and tried to regain my composure. I paced around the flat, trying to figure out what do next. I tried to concentrate, but felt everything slipping.
Still, I was keeping an eye on emails (I was working afterall), and suddenly noticed a new email from the piano store guy: the stand had arrived!
I quickly answered that I would come by that evening to make payment, but also found that delivery would not be until Friday. Close, but not in hand.
So, I made the payment, arranged the time on Friday for the guy to bring the piano, and felt slightly better.
Another restless night, followed by an early train ride to Aachen this morning. I was on autopilot, which was a bit alarming because early mornings can be peaceful on the trains; I usually enjoy them quite a bit. However, the way things are going for me at moment, all bets are off.
I found a seat in the dining car, and powered up my tablet pc to listen to a little music.
Last weekend during a frantic quest to find something to spark my mood, I pulled down an album where Ben Folds wrote the music and performs, with lyrics by Nick Hornby. These two guys have tremendous influence on me and the album is quality.
It was this album I selected and one particular song grabbed me today, and as I teared up, I couldn't help thinking that at least I was reacting to the music; I had thought the music had almost stopped. The song was all about the lack of hope, and pretty well sums up my current situation.
Regardless of how you interpret lyrics, "hope is a bastard,hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease" is a pretty clear feeling.
Expressed as only Nick and Ben could do, I listened to the song repeatedly for the next few minutes and I found it ironic and fitting that I will soon have my 88s back with me; I simply have to have that instrument close by in my life. When someone goes too long without eating, their blood sugar goes crappy and weird things start to happen (yep, that happens to me too). It must have been a really alarming moment for the person across from me on the train that got the front row seat, but for what it's worth, it was much more alarming for me, the guy going through it.
While I may have a cynical side, and i am certainly more guarded than ever before, I know that I came really close to going over the edge. Rather than lose the music, and have it stop forever, I am rather thankful that in the nick of time, my closest friend will soon be back with me.
And that is what keeping the faith is all about.
Here's hoping to more smiles soon...
That said, I still seem to find ways to bugger through, though it is far from pretty.
At the beginning of the year, I realized I was lacking something in my life and decided it best to purchase a piano (as you do). Well, I ordered the piano, was told it would arrive in middle March, and quietly waited (desperately) for March to arrive. Meanwhile, as mentioned, things were getting more and more difficult, and I was getting a bit antsy. (you might interpret that as full scale panic).
When I inquired with the piano store as to the status of my order in mid March, I discovered that the keyboard had arrived, but the stand did not. That would take another week. Another week came and went, followed by another week, and finally the week before Easter. Again, I will spare you the story as to why so many delays.
Though I do not smile or laugh as much these days, I did have a few cynical chuckles with a couple of people; the whole thing seemed to be taking way too long.
As soon as you learn how to go through the motions, one can basically get through. That is more or less what I did over Easter and the past couple of weeks (months).
Yesterday, I woke up from a sleepless night (try that with your eyes closed), managed to get out of bed (which lately has taken a lot of effort)and started working. Unfortunately, I had too many things on the brain, too many unhappy thoughts in my head, and I found myself completely incapacitated.
As usual when this happens (and yes, this is not the first time), I frantically try to find the right music to help me through. Recent efforts have been in vain, and this day was no exception. Imagine, 70 some odd GB of music, and not a thing that strikes an emotion. I willed myself not to completely lose control, and tried to regain my composure. I paced around the flat, trying to figure out what do next. I tried to concentrate, but felt everything slipping.
Still, I was keeping an eye on emails (I was working afterall), and suddenly noticed a new email from the piano store guy: the stand had arrived!
I quickly answered that I would come by that evening to make payment, but also found that delivery would not be until Friday. Close, but not in hand.
So, I made the payment, arranged the time on Friday for the guy to bring the piano, and felt slightly better.
Another restless night, followed by an early train ride to Aachen this morning. I was on autopilot, which was a bit alarming because early mornings can be peaceful on the trains; I usually enjoy them quite a bit. However, the way things are going for me at moment, all bets are off.
I found a seat in the dining car, and powered up my tablet pc to listen to a little music.
Last weekend during a frantic quest to find something to spark my mood, I pulled down an album where Ben Folds wrote the music and performs, with lyrics by Nick Hornby. These two guys have tremendous influence on me and the album is quality.
It was this album I selected and one particular song grabbed me today, and as I teared up, I couldn't help thinking that at least I was reacting to the music; I had thought the music had almost stopped. The song was all about the lack of hope, and pretty well sums up my current situation.
Regardless of how you interpret lyrics, "hope is a bastard,hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease" is a pretty clear feeling.
Expressed as only Nick and Ben could do, I listened to the song repeatedly for the next few minutes and I found it ironic and fitting that I will soon have my 88s back with me; I simply have to have that instrument close by in my life. When someone goes too long without eating, their blood sugar goes crappy and weird things start to happen (yep, that happens to me too). It must have been a really alarming moment for the person across from me on the train that got the front row seat, but for what it's worth, it was much more alarming for me, the guy going through it.
While I may have a cynical side, and i am certainly more guarded than ever before, I know that I came really close to going over the edge. Rather than lose the music, and have it stop forever, I am rather thankful that in the nick of time, my closest friend will soon be back with me.
And that is what keeping the faith is all about.
Here's hoping to more smiles soon...
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Books, Burgers, and Too Many Bahncards
As 2012 thus far has been a somewhat interesting year (I might describe it as bizarrely unusual), I should not have been all that surprised to suddenly realize that I do not seem to be reading as much as I have in years past. I must have read about 40 books last year, this year only about 2. True, this is probably still above the average, but still, I was a bit amazed.
A couple of months ago while at a birthday party, I had a conversation with a woman who is also a pretty avid reader. She explained that she had recently purchased an e-book device, and was really pleased with it, especially since it allowed her to read in bed at night without disturbing her husband. I conveyed my own reluctance to move in the direction of Kindles and the like, despite the fact that I carry a tablet pc, perferring instead to hold a book in my hands. Furthermore, I actually like the experience of browsing in bookstores for hours at a time, just seeing what it there. I prefer this much more than checking online through amazon or wherever.
The woman and I exchanged some author names and titles of our personal favorites. I took her list and put it in my wallet, next to another list I have been carrying for the past year or so which lists a series of books by one of my favorite Swedish authors. Last year, I had hunted regularly for the books on my list, and had managed to find (and read) all but one.
As I am regularly in train stations and airports, I always take a few minutes and hit the bookshops in hopes I will come across something on my list. Towards the end of last year, I became a bit discouraged, as this one outstanding book was nowhere to be found. My sister has a copy on her bookshelf, albeit in Spanish, and, while I read in Spanish from time to time, I really wanted this book to be in English, so as to complete my collection.
The other Friday I was in Edinburgh airport waiting on a flight, and decided to take a look in a bookshop that I had searched through just two weeks before, merely out of habit. I walked past the top 10 bestsellers, past the Dan Brown, James Patterson, and John Grisham stuff, and checked once more the little shelf. For a second, I almost thought it was a mistake, but then I realized the one title I had been searching for was sitting quietly, waiting for me to grab it. Result! I now have my set complete, and can discard the little post-it note list from my wallet, leaving more space for the new list I acquired from the woman in January.
And of course the book is turning out to be well worth the wait.
I had a nice chat with my grandmother last weekend on skype, during which I excitedly related the book finding tale. She, too, reads a fair amount, and appreciated the story. She then told me of her recent urge to find a good, tasty hamburger. My grandmother is very humble, rarely complains (choosing instead to find the tiniest positive bit from even the shittiest of circumstances), and always tends to go with the flow.
She lives in a retirement community, kind of a posh one, so the dining tends to be pretty good. However, she explained, the burgers (albeit infrequently served) left a "little bit to be desired." Recently, she went to a restaurant, kind of a trendy bistro with some friends, and decided to order the hamburger on the menu, as it sounded pretty good. Apparently it came with a gourmet cheese and fine bacon on top, and she found it almost inedible. It was too rich for her tastes.
Disappointed to say the least, she continued to crave a good burger over the next week. Then, on Saint Patrick's day, while on a shopping excursion to the grocery store, she noticed a Braum's in the same shopping center. She and a friend ordered a simple hamburger and fries, and went back home to eat lunch on her patio. Well, you would have thought she had hit the lottery. "Bryan, the burger was simply delicious! The patty was juicy, the pickles and onions tasty, the bun just right..."
With a smile, she finished her story, then asked me if I missed anything like that, did I crave any particular foods that I can't get in Germany.
Though Braum's brings back fond memories of childhood for me, I can't say that I have been overwhelmed with a craving for their burgers or ice cream, but I thought for a moment before answering. With the exception of good mexican food, I am really able to get anything that I want, and very rarely get that type of craving for a certain food (though sitting here on a Saturday morning, I probably could do with a trip to IHOP or Denny's for some hashbrowns).
Nonetheless, burgers were on the brain this past week, and on a visit to a supplier, I chuckled when I saw "hamburger special" offered as the plate lunch that the canteen was serving. We all ate the hamburger and fries, commenting that the burger tasted pretty good.
The following evening, as a way of bringing my visit to a close, we went to a local bistro which was noticeably trendy. Ironically, there was a gourmet burger listed on the menu, and on a whim, I decided to order that. This one was served with camembert cheese on top (unlike the gourmet burger my grandmother ate the other week which had brie). A couple of the others had ordered the same thing, and we all agreed that, while tasty, and certainly better than the burger we had eaten in the canteen the day before, it was a bit rich for our tastes. I told everyone about my grandmother's recent burger experience, and we all had a bit of a laugh.
To wrap up this post, I will quickly mention my recent Deutsche Bahn experience. Last year about this time, I had upgraded my railcard twice in about a four week period. At the time, everyone was most helpful, and I have been a very content passenger. I was a little surprised the other day to find a new Bahncard waiting for me in the letter box when I arrived home from work. This one was a Bahncard 50 first class, which I had briefly last year before I made the upgrade to the Bahncard 100. Somewhat concerned that DB would withdraw the cost of the card from my bank account (to the tune of several hundred euro), the next day I went to the DB office in the train station, stood patiently in line for my turn (thinking about burgers), then told the lady at the counter that I once again, was the holder of too many Bahncards. One person, only one Bahncard necessary. She apologized profusely, took my new Bahncard 50 back from me, filled out a little form, and assured me that order was restored: my Bahncard 100 is up for renewal at the end of May, and no further action from me is required. Customer satisfaction at it's finest.
So, there you have it. Springtime is here, and today we change the clocks.
See you out there
bryan
A couple of months ago while at a birthday party, I had a conversation with a woman who is also a pretty avid reader. She explained that she had recently purchased an e-book device, and was really pleased with it, especially since it allowed her to read in bed at night without disturbing her husband. I conveyed my own reluctance to move in the direction of Kindles and the like, despite the fact that I carry a tablet pc, perferring instead to hold a book in my hands. Furthermore, I actually like the experience of browsing in bookstores for hours at a time, just seeing what it there. I prefer this much more than checking online through amazon or wherever.
The woman and I exchanged some author names and titles of our personal favorites. I took her list and put it in my wallet, next to another list I have been carrying for the past year or so which lists a series of books by one of my favorite Swedish authors. Last year, I had hunted regularly for the books on my list, and had managed to find (and read) all but one.
As I am regularly in train stations and airports, I always take a few minutes and hit the bookshops in hopes I will come across something on my list. Towards the end of last year, I became a bit discouraged, as this one outstanding book was nowhere to be found. My sister has a copy on her bookshelf, albeit in Spanish, and, while I read in Spanish from time to time, I really wanted this book to be in English, so as to complete my collection.
The other Friday I was in Edinburgh airport waiting on a flight, and decided to take a look in a bookshop that I had searched through just two weeks before, merely out of habit. I walked past the top 10 bestsellers, past the Dan Brown, James Patterson, and John Grisham stuff, and checked once more the little shelf. For a second, I almost thought it was a mistake, but then I realized the one title I had been searching for was sitting quietly, waiting for me to grab it. Result! I now have my set complete, and can discard the little post-it note list from my wallet, leaving more space for the new list I acquired from the woman in January.
And of course the book is turning out to be well worth the wait.
I had a nice chat with my grandmother last weekend on skype, during which I excitedly related the book finding tale. She, too, reads a fair amount, and appreciated the story. She then told me of her recent urge to find a good, tasty hamburger. My grandmother is very humble, rarely complains (choosing instead to find the tiniest positive bit from even the shittiest of circumstances), and always tends to go with the flow.
She lives in a retirement community, kind of a posh one, so the dining tends to be pretty good. However, she explained, the burgers (albeit infrequently served) left a "little bit to be desired." Recently, she went to a restaurant, kind of a trendy bistro with some friends, and decided to order the hamburger on the menu, as it sounded pretty good. Apparently it came with a gourmet cheese and fine bacon on top, and she found it almost inedible. It was too rich for her tastes.
Disappointed to say the least, she continued to crave a good burger over the next week. Then, on Saint Patrick's day, while on a shopping excursion to the grocery store, she noticed a Braum's in the same shopping center. She and a friend ordered a simple hamburger and fries, and went back home to eat lunch on her patio. Well, you would have thought she had hit the lottery. "Bryan, the burger was simply delicious! The patty was juicy, the pickles and onions tasty, the bun just right..."
With a smile, she finished her story, then asked me if I missed anything like that, did I crave any particular foods that I can't get in Germany.
Though Braum's brings back fond memories of childhood for me, I can't say that I have been overwhelmed with a craving for their burgers or ice cream, but I thought for a moment before answering. With the exception of good mexican food, I am really able to get anything that I want, and very rarely get that type of craving for a certain food (though sitting here on a Saturday morning, I probably could do with a trip to IHOP or Denny's for some hashbrowns).
Nonetheless, burgers were on the brain this past week, and on a visit to a supplier, I chuckled when I saw "hamburger special" offered as the plate lunch that the canteen was serving. We all ate the hamburger and fries, commenting that the burger tasted pretty good.
The following evening, as a way of bringing my visit to a close, we went to a local bistro which was noticeably trendy. Ironically, there was a gourmet burger listed on the menu, and on a whim, I decided to order that. This one was served with camembert cheese on top (unlike the gourmet burger my grandmother ate the other week which had brie). A couple of the others had ordered the same thing, and we all agreed that, while tasty, and certainly better than the burger we had eaten in the canteen the day before, it was a bit rich for our tastes. I told everyone about my grandmother's recent burger experience, and we all had a bit of a laugh.
To wrap up this post, I will quickly mention my recent Deutsche Bahn experience. Last year about this time, I had upgraded my railcard twice in about a four week period. At the time, everyone was most helpful, and I have been a very content passenger. I was a little surprised the other day to find a new Bahncard waiting for me in the letter box when I arrived home from work. This one was a Bahncard 50 first class, which I had briefly last year before I made the upgrade to the Bahncard 100. Somewhat concerned that DB would withdraw the cost of the card from my bank account (to the tune of several hundred euro), the next day I went to the DB office in the train station, stood patiently in line for my turn (thinking about burgers), then told the lady at the counter that I once again, was the holder of too many Bahncards. One person, only one Bahncard necessary. She apologized profusely, took my new Bahncard 50 back from me, filled out a little form, and assured me that order was restored: my Bahncard 100 is up for renewal at the end of May, and no further action from me is required. Customer satisfaction at it's finest.
So, there you have it. Springtime is here, and today we change the clocks.
See you out there
bryan
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Leaving Out the Wipe Outs
Last Wednesday night, I got an email from my mother in which she sheepishly explained that, while at a film festival over the previous weekend, she had been walking down the stairs, missed a step, stumbled, and ended up crashing into a doorframe, and finally ended up on the floor.
My sister was the one who actually alerted me of the email; Lynne had sent a quick skype asking, "did you see mom's email?" which turned into a little conversation. My mom tends to write somewhat cryptically, so for a few minutes my sister and I tried to piece together what had exactly happened. Which flight of stairs? At the cinema? Why did my mother write that my uncle had been extremely helpful over the following days (through the rest of the weekend) but had no mention of my father, who was there the whole time?
At any rate, I have not yet spoken with my folks, so will clarify things later on during this weekend, I am sure. Fortunately, the final line of my mother's email was, "I am ok," which is pretty much sufficient for me. If mom says she is ok, then she is ok.
Later that evening, I thought further about the email, because my mother frequently has complained when she is not informed of any "incidents." For example, my grandfather had fallen once or twice in the past, and had never told my mother about it. True, he was in his 90s at the time, and any fall was kind of a serious thing. However, both times he was ok. I think my mother worried more about NOT being informed immediately than by the fact that he actually fell.
As I have previously mentioned in earlier posts, my mother tends to be a worrier, particularly about things way beyond her control. Over the christmas break, my nephew discovered that my toes can do something weird, which he found totally cool and gross all at the same time. He proudly announced to the rest of the family that Uncle B's toes could do something cool because I had broken my foot once (or twice) playing football, which prompted my mother to immediately ask for all the details, completely concerned about what had happened to me (and my foot). I ended up creating a story, which I think was a combination of multiple events, since I am not really even sure when or how or what I did to put my toes in this condition, though I do believe it was football related. Ultimately, it has been my primary excuse for NEVER wearing sandals, and I have left it at that.
My point is that my mother has always wanted to know as soon as possible when something happens to a family member, a friend, or pretty much anyone, for that matter. However, when something happens to her, she does not just run out and tell everyone. Like my grandfather, I tend to let events (notice I use the plural!) quietly pass before relating any details, especially if it was not something that serious. After all, there is no reason to create any unneccessary worry. So, my mother pretty much did the same thing: she told us after the fact, once things were seemingly ok.
This all brings me to Thursday morning. It was just before 6, and I was headed for the U-bahn. I bought my ticket, then walked down the first flight of stairs, then rounded the corner and got to the escalator. It had been a bit drizzly outside, so the souls of my shoes (Chucks) were wet. I was singing "happy birthday" under my breath (Thursday was a special day) when suddenly, my feet shot out from underneath me, and I fell hard on the downward escalator stairs. As I am not the smallest guy there is, this was not the quietest of falls. Fortunately, the only person in the vacinity was at the bottom of the stairs, and she was wearing her headphones (apparently on full volume).
I yelped "shit" in surprise, but quickly got myself vertical again, feeling fortunate for two things: first, that no one really saw it happen (the woman ahead of me had her back to me), and second, that my hands were not in my pockets. (I learned in the past years the importance of walking down stairs or riding escalators with the hands NOT in the pockets).
By the time I rounded the corner to the platform, I was smiling; the whole thing was pretty funny. That said, I could feel where the teeth of the steps had dug into my calves and back. I quickly remembered Pablo's story of the guy in Madrid who had also wiped out on an escalator, but he had cut his head open and ultimately required medical treatment.
Once I got to the train station, I boarded my train and went straight to the lavatory to inspect any potential damage. Indeed, I have some little escalator teeth marks on my calves and back, and here, a few days later, I can certainly still feel the impact. But, it is still funny. A wipe out that was not too serious and without complete and utter embarrassment.
By the time I got to work, I wanted to tell people about the event, but it is one of those stories that needs to wait for the right time and audience, like a Saturday morning blog.
That said, I will leave the tale out of the next conversation I have with my mom.
Watch that first step, it can be a doozie.
See you out there.
bryan
My sister was the one who actually alerted me of the email; Lynne had sent a quick skype asking, "did you see mom's email?" which turned into a little conversation. My mom tends to write somewhat cryptically, so for a few minutes my sister and I tried to piece together what had exactly happened. Which flight of stairs? At the cinema? Why did my mother write that my uncle had been extremely helpful over the following days (through the rest of the weekend) but had no mention of my father, who was there the whole time?
At any rate, I have not yet spoken with my folks, so will clarify things later on during this weekend, I am sure. Fortunately, the final line of my mother's email was, "I am ok," which is pretty much sufficient for me. If mom says she is ok, then she is ok.
Later that evening, I thought further about the email, because my mother frequently has complained when she is not informed of any "incidents." For example, my grandfather had fallen once or twice in the past, and had never told my mother about it. True, he was in his 90s at the time, and any fall was kind of a serious thing. However, both times he was ok. I think my mother worried more about NOT being informed immediately than by the fact that he actually fell.
As I have previously mentioned in earlier posts, my mother tends to be a worrier, particularly about things way beyond her control. Over the christmas break, my nephew discovered that my toes can do something weird, which he found totally cool and gross all at the same time. He proudly announced to the rest of the family that Uncle B's toes could do something cool because I had broken my foot once (or twice) playing football, which prompted my mother to immediately ask for all the details, completely concerned about what had happened to me (and my foot). I ended up creating a story, which I think was a combination of multiple events, since I am not really even sure when or how or what I did to put my toes in this condition, though I do believe it was football related. Ultimately, it has been my primary excuse for NEVER wearing sandals, and I have left it at that.
My point is that my mother has always wanted to know as soon as possible when something happens to a family member, a friend, or pretty much anyone, for that matter. However, when something happens to her, she does not just run out and tell everyone. Like my grandfather, I tend to let events (notice I use the plural!) quietly pass before relating any details, especially if it was not something that serious. After all, there is no reason to create any unneccessary worry. So, my mother pretty much did the same thing: she told us after the fact, once things were seemingly ok.
This all brings me to Thursday morning. It was just before 6, and I was headed for the U-bahn. I bought my ticket, then walked down the first flight of stairs, then rounded the corner and got to the escalator. It had been a bit drizzly outside, so the souls of my shoes (Chucks) were wet. I was singing "happy birthday" under my breath (Thursday was a special day) when suddenly, my feet shot out from underneath me, and I fell hard on the downward escalator stairs. As I am not the smallest guy there is, this was not the quietest of falls. Fortunately, the only person in the vacinity was at the bottom of the stairs, and she was wearing her headphones (apparently on full volume).
I yelped "shit" in surprise, but quickly got myself vertical again, feeling fortunate for two things: first, that no one really saw it happen (the woman ahead of me had her back to me), and second, that my hands were not in my pockets. (I learned in the past years the importance of walking down stairs or riding escalators with the hands NOT in the pockets).
By the time I rounded the corner to the platform, I was smiling; the whole thing was pretty funny. That said, I could feel where the teeth of the steps had dug into my calves and back. I quickly remembered Pablo's story of the guy in Madrid who had also wiped out on an escalator, but he had cut his head open and ultimately required medical treatment.
Once I got to the train station, I boarded my train and went straight to the lavatory to inspect any potential damage. Indeed, I have some little escalator teeth marks on my calves and back, and here, a few days later, I can certainly still feel the impact. But, it is still funny. A wipe out that was not too serious and without complete and utter embarrassment.
By the time I got to work, I wanted to tell people about the event, but it is one of those stories that needs to wait for the right time and audience, like a Saturday morning blog.
That said, I will leave the tale out of the next conversation I have with my mom.
Watch that first step, it can be a doozie.
See you out there.
bryan
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Chilly Weather and Clean Flats
Last Sunday afternoon, I ran out of hot water.
For several years now, I have been easily defeated by a seemingly simple process known as Nachfüllen; a process where you have to top off the water level in the hot water heater, which utilzes the radiators throughout the flat to provide warmth and the needed hot water for clothes cleaning and showering.
Last year, the Hausmeister had come by to sort things out in early January, and I watched closely, thinking I was comprehending exactly what to do: connect the hose to the main water source, connect the other end to the radiator, bleed it of excess air, then slowly fill the thing up until the gauge reached the appropriate level.
Through a bit of research on the internet, I discovered that in some flats, people have to regularly top off the water level. I always found this strange, thinking it might be nice if it just worked all the time. (yes, I can be extremely naive, huh?)
I asked several people about this process, and received not only lots of shoulder shrugging (i don't know but also some bits of helpful suggestions. Unfortunately, the process works differently in each apartment, depending on the radiators, the age of the apparatus, and the overall set up.
One friend actually knew exactly what to do, as she had done the same thing previously in her own place. However, even when I did make the effort, following her instructions, I did not achieve the required result, and she was at a loss as to how to direct me further.
At any rate, it is one of those things that, once the immediate crisis is past, you tend to forget about the problem. Until it happens again, which it did last Sunday.
Willing myself once and for all to solve personally this challenge, I connected up my hose, crossed my fingers, made a bit of a watery mess on the slab of concrete on my bathroom floor, and presto! It worked. The water level rose quickly, and I did a little leap of joy.
I immediately took a hot shower, put a load of laundry in, and went off to watch a football match.
Upon my return later that evening, I was a little fuzzy in the head. Since I had already packed for my weeklong business trip, I pretty much went straight to bed, and woke up early Monday morning, giving myself plenty of time to shower before heading to the train station.
The bathroom seemed a bit chilly, and I cursed when I saw the blinking light on the water heater flashing the error message indicating once again the water level was too low. I did not have time to get the hose out, and did not have the guts to take a quick freezing cold shower, so I put on my clothes and headed for the station.
As it was so early in the morning, I waited a couple of hours, then sent an SMS to the houseworker (who was coming Monday to lay the tiles on the bathroom floor) and asked him to please sort things out.
I stayed in Düsseldorf for a couple of days, as a colleague from Scotland had come over. Each day became progressively colder; the week started somewhat chilly, but the temperatures dropped dramatically by Tuesday morning.
Tuesday was a long work day, and around 8.30pm, my colleague and I called it a day, and headed next door to the hotel, electing to just eat in the hotel restaurant rather than venture into the cold. The hotel restaurant had pretty good food (we had eaten there the previous evening, also) but rather expensive, as hotel restaurants tend to be.
Towards the end of dinner, an email came in from our boss giving us an fyi that the new travel expense policy had lowered the acceptable amounts for dinners. We had been sitting there having a couple of beers, and sort of laughed, since our tab was way higher than the allowable limit. My colleague had paid the previous evening, and now it was my turn. (probably going to turn out to be a rather expensive trip, now). It is not as if I tend to abuse the travel budget, but things add up quickly.
Wednesday morning, we made our way to Aachen, where it was even colder than Düsseldorf. Fortunately, I had planned accodingly, with gloves, scarf, and heavy coat. My colleague was not so fortunate, thinking that rarely would we be outside long enough to require a really heavy coat. Thus, as we stood on the train platform, he took the opportunity to express his displeasure at the temperature.
"Um, it is the last day of January."
In fairness, it has been a pretty mild winter up until now, and, a few days later as I checked out my hotel early Friday morning, the woman asked me if I was properly bundled up, indicating that it was really cold outside. "Winter is finally here," she said.
I was kind of touched, because it is rare that I hear someone say that. In fact, I think only one other person in Germany has ever constantly reminded me to dress appropriately during the colder months.
Indeed, I was wearing multiple layers, and very glad of that fact.
I arrived home late Friday morning, and my heart sank as I entered my flat. The floor was still covered with the butcher paper (to protect my hallway), and my washing machine was still sitting inconveniently in the hallway, as was the door to my bathroom, which had been removed in order to allow the guys to work.
However, I peeked in the bathroom, and saw a freshly laid tile floor and a gleaming shower. It looked to be a pretty good job.
I phoned up my landlord to compare notes. I had briefly spoken with the houseworker on Wednesday, who had indicated that the job would be finished before Friday, and that he would see to my hot water issue.
My landlord was a bit out of touch, as he had also been travelling, but he promised to make somme quick phone calls and then phone me back with the update.
Minutes later, he phoned again to report that the houseworker was on his way to my place, to put the final bits back in order. And he would be bringing the hot water specialist, also.
The guys arrived half an hour later, and together we inspected things. The hot water guy pointed out a few things that needed to be done in order to get my water heater functioning properly again. He'd had the good sense to bring all his gear with him, and busied himself getting my place sorted out. Upon completion, he gave me a detailed explanation on how things were supposed to work, and how I could keep things working better in the future (waterheating-wise).
They put the washing machine back in the bathroom, secured the door, then wished me a very nice weekend, urging me to call them should I experience any further problems with my water heater.
I declined the offer of someone coming in to clean the flat, as dirty as my place was at the moment. I did not want to wait until the following week before someone could come in and tidy up.
After finishing my workday Friday afternoon, I ended up having a few beers instead of jumping right into the project "clean the crap out of my flat." It had been a long cold week, and one more day would not hurt.
Thus, Saturday was all about extensively removing all the dust and dirt that had literally covered my place over the past weeks. I kept the tunes on throughout, and made decent progress. It was a bit tedious, but I felt good to know I was finally getting things respectable again.
By early evening, I had finished the bathroom, the bedroom, and was almost done with the living room, when I took a bit of a break to skype with my parents and grandmother. Two different calls, but it had been several weeks since we had spoken, so we needed to catch up.
Late last night, I finished mopping the kitchen, leaving a very large (and full) garbage sack parked on my balcony: proof of my domestic cleaning success from the past 12 hours.
I took a shower and went to bed in a clean, warm, and cozy flat.
While the temperatures outside remain frightfully chilly, even with the sun shining, the domestic front is back on track.
It has certainly been an educational week, and I have learned a lot.
One step at a time, you know?
keep the faith
For several years now, I have been easily defeated by a seemingly simple process known as Nachfüllen; a process where you have to top off the water level in the hot water heater, which utilzes the radiators throughout the flat to provide warmth and the needed hot water for clothes cleaning and showering.
Last year, the Hausmeister had come by to sort things out in early January, and I watched closely, thinking I was comprehending exactly what to do: connect the hose to the main water source, connect the other end to the radiator, bleed it of excess air, then slowly fill the thing up until the gauge reached the appropriate level.
Through a bit of research on the internet, I discovered that in some flats, people have to regularly top off the water level. I always found this strange, thinking it might be nice if it just worked all the time. (yes, I can be extremely naive, huh?)
I asked several people about this process, and received not only lots of shoulder shrugging (i don't know but also some bits of helpful suggestions. Unfortunately, the process works differently in each apartment, depending on the radiators, the age of the apparatus, and the overall set up.
One friend actually knew exactly what to do, as she had done the same thing previously in her own place. However, even when I did make the effort, following her instructions, I did not achieve the required result, and she was at a loss as to how to direct me further.
At any rate, it is one of those things that, once the immediate crisis is past, you tend to forget about the problem. Until it happens again, which it did last Sunday.
Willing myself once and for all to solve personally this challenge, I connected up my hose, crossed my fingers, made a bit of a watery mess on the slab of concrete on my bathroom floor, and presto! It worked. The water level rose quickly, and I did a little leap of joy.
I immediately took a hot shower, put a load of laundry in, and went off to watch a football match.
Upon my return later that evening, I was a little fuzzy in the head. Since I had already packed for my weeklong business trip, I pretty much went straight to bed, and woke up early Monday morning, giving myself plenty of time to shower before heading to the train station.
The bathroom seemed a bit chilly, and I cursed when I saw the blinking light on the water heater flashing the error message indicating once again the water level was too low. I did not have time to get the hose out, and did not have the guts to take a quick freezing cold shower, so I put on my clothes and headed for the station.
As it was so early in the morning, I waited a couple of hours, then sent an SMS to the houseworker (who was coming Monday to lay the tiles on the bathroom floor) and asked him to please sort things out.
I stayed in Düsseldorf for a couple of days, as a colleague from Scotland had come over. Each day became progressively colder; the week started somewhat chilly, but the temperatures dropped dramatically by Tuesday morning.
Tuesday was a long work day, and around 8.30pm, my colleague and I called it a day, and headed next door to the hotel, electing to just eat in the hotel restaurant rather than venture into the cold. The hotel restaurant had pretty good food (we had eaten there the previous evening, also) but rather expensive, as hotel restaurants tend to be.
Towards the end of dinner, an email came in from our boss giving us an fyi that the new travel expense policy had lowered the acceptable amounts for dinners. We had been sitting there having a couple of beers, and sort of laughed, since our tab was way higher than the allowable limit. My colleague had paid the previous evening, and now it was my turn. (probably going to turn out to be a rather expensive trip, now). It is not as if I tend to abuse the travel budget, but things add up quickly.
Wednesday morning, we made our way to Aachen, where it was even colder than Düsseldorf. Fortunately, I had planned accodingly, with gloves, scarf, and heavy coat. My colleague was not so fortunate, thinking that rarely would we be outside long enough to require a really heavy coat. Thus, as we stood on the train platform, he took the opportunity to express his displeasure at the temperature.
"Um, it is the last day of January."
In fairness, it has been a pretty mild winter up until now, and, a few days later as I checked out my hotel early Friday morning, the woman asked me if I was properly bundled up, indicating that it was really cold outside. "Winter is finally here," she said.
I was kind of touched, because it is rare that I hear someone say that. In fact, I think only one other person in Germany has ever constantly reminded me to dress appropriately during the colder months.
Indeed, I was wearing multiple layers, and very glad of that fact.
I arrived home late Friday morning, and my heart sank as I entered my flat. The floor was still covered with the butcher paper (to protect my hallway), and my washing machine was still sitting inconveniently in the hallway, as was the door to my bathroom, which had been removed in order to allow the guys to work.
However, I peeked in the bathroom, and saw a freshly laid tile floor and a gleaming shower. It looked to be a pretty good job.
I phoned up my landlord to compare notes. I had briefly spoken with the houseworker on Wednesday, who had indicated that the job would be finished before Friday, and that he would see to my hot water issue.
My landlord was a bit out of touch, as he had also been travelling, but he promised to make somme quick phone calls and then phone me back with the update.
Minutes later, he phoned again to report that the houseworker was on his way to my place, to put the final bits back in order. And he would be bringing the hot water specialist, also.
The guys arrived half an hour later, and together we inspected things. The hot water guy pointed out a few things that needed to be done in order to get my water heater functioning properly again. He'd had the good sense to bring all his gear with him, and busied himself getting my place sorted out. Upon completion, he gave me a detailed explanation on how things were supposed to work, and how I could keep things working better in the future (waterheating-wise).
They put the washing machine back in the bathroom, secured the door, then wished me a very nice weekend, urging me to call them should I experience any further problems with my water heater.
I declined the offer of someone coming in to clean the flat, as dirty as my place was at the moment. I did not want to wait until the following week before someone could come in and tidy up.
After finishing my workday Friday afternoon, I ended up having a few beers instead of jumping right into the project "clean the crap out of my flat." It had been a long cold week, and one more day would not hurt.
Thus, Saturday was all about extensively removing all the dust and dirt that had literally covered my place over the past weeks. I kept the tunes on throughout, and made decent progress. It was a bit tedious, but I felt good to know I was finally getting things respectable again.
By early evening, I had finished the bathroom, the bedroom, and was almost done with the living room, when I took a bit of a break to skype with my parents and grandmother. Two different calls, but it had been several weeks since we had spoken, so we needed to catch up.
Late last night, I finished mopping the kitchen, leaving a very large (and full) garbage sack parked on my balcony: proof of my domestic cleaning success from the past 12 hours.
I took a shower and went to bed in a clean, warm, and cozy flat.
While the temperatures outside remain frightfully chilly, even with the sun shining, the domestic front is back on track.
It has certainly been an educational week, and I have learned a lot.
One step at a time, you know?
keep the faith
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Finding the Way With Less Way Tooting
Though I have had several pauses between blog posts through the years, I think that I have only experienced "writers's block" once before. That was immmediately after Joe Strummer died, and it was almost 18 months before I wrote again.
Not long after my last post, I took a few weeks of vacation, as I tend to do over the Christmas holiday. Because the last couple of months of last year were pretty rigorous, I found myself pretty well exhausted over the break. It took a couple of weeks before I could settle down, and suddenly it was right back into the mix of things. This year has started off at an equally hectic pace.
While I certainly have had a few things to write about, I just had other things going on, and have not been able to find time to sit down and post something. Or so I thought.
Initially, I thought I simply did not feel like writing; ich hatte kein Bock. After further consideration, however, I suspected it to be another bout of writer's block. A bit of prodding from earlier this week helped me to actually sit down this morning to bang something out. First thing I did was look up "writer's block" on wikipedia, and bingo: I had my answer The definition as listed in the entry was pretty much me to a T for the past few months.
Fortunately, the block has been only temporary, and I did kind of need the break.
Sure, I have been taking time to do some journal writing over the past few weeks, but that has always been pretty personal stuff and certainly recent material is not (and will not) be included in postings here. (Though there are a few oneliners which might appear in future posts; we will see.)
What prompted me to write again after the hiatus in 2003 (Joe S. died in December of 2002) was hearing a song while driving to work one day. The catalyst this time around was somewhat similar.
Last weekend, I was at a local club to see a concert by an industrial band that has been around for years. From the get go, I was jolted back into a bit of reality. Quite a good show to be at, and it was nice to get a concert experience in so early in the year. Somewhat embarrassing is the fact that for 20 years I have been a fan of this kind of music (though much more an active listener in the late 80s/early 90s), but somehow, though I happen to know almost every OTHER band from this genre, I had never knowingly heard this group before.
OK, so it is a German band, but so were the majority of the other industrial bands I was listening to yeara ago. I can honestly laugh at the fact, but I will certainly avoid additional embarrassment by NOT listing the group name in this post.
The show was explosive, aggressive, and I was thrilled to be there, not just because it was a good show, but because I suddenly felt as if a door or two were opening again in my life. I spent much of last year closing a lot of doors behind me, and while I will continue to do so, I needed the reminder to keep pushing forward, despite any tough times, whether real or imagined.
As I have written here so many times, it is the music that so often gives me the drive, the perspective, and the feelings. Sometimes, though, even the music is not enough to prevent a momentary panic or blocked period where I cannot express a thought or two. But that is just part of it, I guess.
Late last summer, I was visiting my sister, and took a few minutes to play her piano. My hands felt out of touch, it had been so long since I had played. That said, I did find a groove and soon was blazing away in a melodic stream of consciousness. At the end of the session, which was about 45 minutes or so, my brother in law walked in to the room and remarked how good I sounded. "You sound like you practice a lot," he said.
"Haven't played since last year," I responded, knowing immediately that I would have to change that. I simply cannot afford to not have a piano at, erm, my fingertips.
Thus, I did a bit of financial review of my personal finances (leave it to me to always need to play expensive musical instruments) and, immediately upon my return from Christmas break, went to the local piano shop in Frankfurt, knowing fully which model I wanted.
The piano (digital, of course) is now ordered, and while I am forced to wait another 6 weeks for delivery, it is nice and comforting to know that soon I will soon have an important fixture in my life.
One of the reasons that I can actually wait the 6 weeks in patience is that the bathroom in my flat is being renovated. Sometime in November of last year, on a quiet Sunday morning, I had just finished showering, when the doorbell rang.
This came as a bit of a surprise, because I certainly was not expecting any company. It was my downstairs neighbor, who came upstairs to tell me that water from my flat was coming through into her flat.
Shit.
I made a phone call to my landlord, who sent someone out early the next week to take a look. His diagnosis? Stop using the shower and only use the bathtub (two separate fixtures in my flat) until we could confirm where the source of the leak was.
A week later, my landlord sent another guy to inspect the bathrooom, and he confirmed that extensive repairs needed to be made: change out the entire shower, and also replace the entire bathroom floor.
Shit.
The homeworker spoke with my landlord, and they came up with the plan of action. The next decision was: when could the repairs start?
We ultimately agreed that they would come in early January to sort things out. The homerepair guy came in with his team one morning, took a look, and indicated that it would be about a 4 day job.
So, they started about 2 weeks ago, and what was supposed to be a 4 day job seems to be closer to 4 weeks!
I will spare you the details, but the past few weeks has been all about guys coming in early in the morning to start playing with jack hammers, tearing up tiles, creating fuckloads of dust, dirt, and disturbance. All of this I failed to realize prior to the start of the work, but I have been patiently putting up with the fact that my flat is in a state of disorder at the moment.
Normally, I like to keep the flat quite tidy, but with the chaos of late, that cannot be. There is nothing quite like seeing your bathroom floor a simple slab of concrete. The guy told me that they will lay the tile during the coming week, but I will believe it when I see it.
I know that I have relatively no experience with homee workers, but they seem to be turning an albeit complicated job into a real project, with me smack in the middle of things.
Like I said, things are pretty chaotic and unclean. Thus, I do not want my new piano in the flat until the renovation is done. I certinaly have not told them my piano is not due to be delivered until March, as that might encourage them to continue the work for another 4 weeks. Arggh.
Thus, in a short time things should be looking a whole lot more rosy on the home front: a shiny new bathroom and some musical pleasure.
When everything gets out of whack and a bit too chaotic all at once, in my case professionally, domestically, and in private life, it can be a bit of a challenge. Some things can be painful (es tut weh!), but as one goes forward, finding the way, then order will slowly be restored.
And for what it's worth, sin dolor no te haces feliz...
keep the faith
Not long after my last post, I took a few weeks of vacation, as I tend to do over the Christmas holiday. Because the last couple of months of last year were pretty rigorous, I found myself pretty well exhausted over the break. It took a couple of weeks before I could settle down, and suddenly it was right back into the mix of things. This year has started off at an equally hectic pace.
While I certainly have had a few things to write about, I just had other things going on, and have not been able to find time to sit down and post something. Or so I thought.
Initially, I thought I simply did not feel like writing; ich hatte kein Bock. After further consideration, however, I suspected it to be another bout of writer's block. A bit of prodding from earlier this week helped me to actually sit down this morning to bang something out. First thing I did was look up "writer's block" on wikipedia, and bingo: I had my answer The definition as listed in the entry was pretty much me to a T for the past few months.
Fortunately, the block has been only temporary, and I did kind of need the break.
Sure, I have been taking time to do some journal writing over the past few weeks, but that has always been pretty personal stuff and certainly recent material is not (and will not) be included in postings here. (Though there are a few oneliners which might appear in future posts; we will see.)
What prompted me to write again after the hiatus in 2003 (Joe S. died in December of 2002) was hearing a song while driving to work one day. The catalyst this time around was somewhat similar.
Last weekend, I was at a local club to see a concert by an industrial band that has been around for years. From the get go, I was jolted back into a bit of reality. Quite a good show to be at, and it was nice to get a concert experience in so early in the year. Somewhat embarrassing is the fact that for 20 years I have been a fan of this kind of music (though much more an active listener in the late 80s/early 90s), but somehow, though I happen to know almost every OTHER band from this genre, I had never knowingly heard this group before.
OK, so it is a German band, but so were the majority of the other industrial bands I was listening to yeara ago. I can honestly laugh at the fact, but I will certainly avoid additional embarrassment by NOT listing the group name in this post.
The show was explosive, aggressive, and I was thrilled to be there, not just because it was a good show, but because I suddenly felt as if a door or two were opening again in my life. I spent much of last year closing a lot of doors behind me, and while I will continue to do so, I needed the reminder to keep pushing forward, despite any tough times, whether real or imagined.
As I have written here so many times, it is the music that so often gives me the drive, the perspective, and the feelings. Sometimes, though, even the music is not enough to prevent a momentary panic or blocked period where I cannot express a thought or two. But that is just part of it, I guess.
Late last summer, I was visiting my sister, and took a few minutes to play her piano. My hands felt out of touch, it had been so long since I had played. That said, I did find a groove and soon was blazing away in a melodic stream of consciousness. At the end of the session, which was about 45 minutes or so, my brother in law walked in to the room and remarked how good I sounded. "You sound like you practice a lot," he said.
"Haven't played since last year," I responded, knowing immediately that I would have to change that. I simply cannot afford to not have a piano at, erm, my fingertips.
Thus, I did a bit of financial review of my personal finances (leave it to me to always need to play expensive musical instruments) and, immediately upon my return from Christmas break, went to the local piano shop in Frankfurt, knowing fully which model I wanted.
The piano (digital, of course) is now ordered, and while I am forced to wait another 6 weeks for delivery, it is nice and comforting to know that soon I will soon have an important fixture in my life.
One of the reasons that I can actually wait the 6 weeks in patience is that the bathroom in my flat is being renovated. Sometime in November of last year, on a quiet Sunday morning, I had just finished showering, when the doorbell rang.
This came as a bit of a surprise, because I certainly was not expecting any company. It was my downstairs neighbor, who came upstairs to tell me that water from my flat was coming through into her flat.
Shit.
I made a phone call to my landlord, who sent someone out early the next week to take a look. His diagnosis? Stop using the shower and only use the bathtub (two separate fixtures in my flat) until we could confirm where the source of the leak was.
A week later, my landlord sent another guy to inspect the bathrooom, and he confirmed that extensive repairs needed to be made: change out the entire shower, and also replace the entire bathroom floor.
Shit.
The homeworker spoke with my landlord, and they came up with the plan of action. The next decision was: when could the repairs start?
We ultimately agreed that they would come in early January to sort things out. The homerepair guy came in with his team one morning, took a look, and indicated that it would be about a 4 day job.
So, they started about 2 weeks ago, and what was supposed to be a 4 day job seems to be closer to 4 weeks!
I will spare you the details, but the past few weeks has been all about guys coming in early in the morning to start playing with jack hammers, tearing up tiles, creating fuckloads of dust, dirt, and disturbance. All of this I failed to realize prior to the start of the work, but I have been patiently putting up with the fact that my flat is in a state of disorder at the moment.
Normally, I like to keep the flat quite tidy, but with the chaos of late, that cannot be. There is nothing quite like seeing your bathroom floor a simple slab of concrete. The guy told me that they will lay the tile during the coming week, but I will believe it when I see it.
I know that I have relatively no experience with homee workers, but they seem to be turning an albeit complicated job into a real project, with me smack in the middle of things.
Like I said, things are pretty chaotic and unclean. Thus, I do not want my new piano in the flat until the renovation is done. I certinaly have not told them my piano is not due to be delivered until March, as that might encourage them to continue the work for another 4 weeks. Arggh.
Thus, in a short time things should be looking a whole lot more rosy on the home front: a shiny new bathroom and some musical pleasure.
When everything gets out of whack and a bit too chaotic all at once, in my case professionally, domestically, and in private life, it can be a bit of a challenge. Some things can be painful (es tut weh!), but as one goes forward, finding the way, then order will slowly be restored.
And for what it's worth, sin dolor no te haces feliz...
keep the faith
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