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
Saturday, March 24, 2012
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
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