The Naivety of Being Ignorant, The Relief of Sanft und Frei Tempo, and Other Drippy Stories

Last Saturday morning I woke up feeling like I had swallowed a cup or two of dust.  It was as if all the dust bunnies under my bed all ventured out of their warren and into my mouth during the night.  My epiglottis seemed to have quadrupled in size, and I spent the first hour or two of the morning having a few cups of coffee and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

I have been known to snore from time to time, and after a night of heavy snoring, I have had a similar feeling, but when I suddenly started sneezing later on that morning, I was not only irritated, but confused.  Once, in college, while I was at a friend's house, some girl decided to get cute, and as we were all hanging out on the porch, she decided to try out a can of mace (or some other self-defense spray), and inadvertently sent a burst in my general direction.  Due to the direction of the wind, I caught it more or less directly in the face, and spent the next half an hour sneezing nonstop. 

Obviously it took me a bit of time before I found that particular incident amusing, but at least I knew why I was sneezing.

By lunchtime on Saturday, I was not feeling particularly amused, either, but apart from the sneezes, I was physically feeling fine.  That said, I sat curiously around the house and skipped my trip to the gym, believing that I would not be able to get through a workout.   I did, however, skype with my parents and my mother asked if I had a cold.  Nope.

Sunday, the congestion and the sneezing continued, but I was determined to get to the gym and also watch the Arsenal match.  During the afternoon match, I did have to blow my nose a few times, but otherwise felt okay. 

Monday morning I woke up extra early, as I had to travel by train to a city several hours away.  We had a meeting scheduled at 10am with the new president of our company.  Though I usually work out of  my home, I technically belong to that particular office location, so it was important that I be there to meet our new leader.

Armed with loads of tissues, I took the train at 5.45am, and two hours later my colleague picked me up at the station, and we drove another hour to our office.  Thankfully, the sneezing episodes had mostly subsided.  We arrived about 9.30, and I made the rounds to greet some of the colleagues that I do not see too often.  After a couple of  my attempts at making myself a coffee from the automated machine resulted in foamy milk spilling onto the counter, someone showed me how to properly use the machine, and I celebrated by taking my coffee downstairs and went outside for a cigarette. 

I narrowly avoided getting hit by someone on a bicycle, then found that I was locked out of the entrance to the building, as one needs an access badge.  I sheepishly pressed the button and explained to the receptionist that yes, I had just arrived 15 minutes ago, but yes, I had already managed to lock myself out of the building.  She buzzed me back in, and was waiting for me at the top of the stairs with a guest badge. 

No sooner had I settled myself at a spare desk when suddenly the floodgates opened, and my nose started running, and continued to run for the rest of the day. 

We all gathered in the conference room to meet our new president, and after that meeting I had a 30 minute conversation with my boss.  The whole time I held a kleenex to my nose. 

Monday was certainly turning out to be a lousy day, and while I was not too concerned about the fact that I had used up most of tissue supply already (as there was a little drugstore across the way from the office where I could buy more), I was extremely irritated by the disruption.  Every once in awhile, I needed to sneeze, but other than that, no aches, pains, or any feeling of having fever.   Was I experiencing severe allergies?  How many packets of tissue would I have to use during the 4 hour trip home?  Would my nose ever stop running?  How many of the train passengers would be annoyed that they were sitting next to a sneezy, drippy guy?

The answers to these questions came around 8pm that night, when I returned to Frankfurt:  No, fuckloads, no, and fuckloads.

I woke up Tuesday morning with a runny nose, not surprisingly.  I still felt physically fit, and was rather relieved that I could stay at home for the day.  The work day was semi-productive, and during a break I headed to the store to pick up new supplies of tissues.  When using the first tissue out of the pack, I found myself in the new position of having a stopped up ear.  Neat.

At 6pm that evening, I logged off my work laptop, made myself some dinner, and figured it best to go to bed very early.  My grandmother skyped me and we caught up briefly, but after a few minutes, I told her that I was a bit unwell and needed to ring off.  I then immediately went to bed and stayed there for the next 12 hours, getting up each hour trying to clear my nose.

Wednesday morning brought me the realization that this was a cold, and not some bit of allergy.  I was congested, which brought only the comfort that my nose was no longer running as freely as it had the previous 2 days.  Unfortunately, I needed to travel by train that afternoon, and meet with a supplier (and our new president) on Thursday.

For a few hours I debated whether or not I should simply cancel the trip, but ultimately decided to catch an early afternoon train, which got me to the little town where my supplier is located shortly before 6pm.  I checked into my little hotel and actually was feeling pretty good, save for the congestion (which now had noticeable impact on how my voice sounded) and the redness that my nose showed due to the 50,000 tissues I had used in the past days. 

Wednesday evening was a big Champ's League night for me:  Arsenal vs Bayern.  Part of me was glad not to be in Frankfurt watching the match at my local, but truth be told, had I had been in Frankfurt, I probably would have stayed in, anyway.  But, because of Thursday's visit to the supplier with our new executive, I knew it was important to try and make an impression; too many beers because of celebrating victory or commiserating loss might not go over so well Thursday morning, and the cold I was suffering would certainly not be helped either way.

In the end, I watched most of the match in the hotel restaurant, and despite the fact that my team lost, I went to bed knowing that we had not played that badly. 

During the night, I must have had a bit of fever, but it did me some good.  I woke up Thursday feeling ready for the day.  Everyone would simply have to deal with my congested voice, but at least I was no longer drippy. 

The supplier visit went ok, but I was glad when it was time to catch the train home.  I was looking forward to one more day of working quietly from home, then the weekend.  The train connections were all punctual, and as I found a seat in the bordbistro on my final transfer out of Cologne, I was almost delighted when four attractive girls sat in the same vicinity, and even more delighted that they were all Spanish. 

I am certainly no head turner, and with a crusty red nose and voice affected by my cold, I was somewhat relieved that they ignored me and chatted amongst themselves.  Meanwhile, I read my book and enjoyed a beer.  During the 75 minute journey, there was a moment where I almost had to jump in and assist with the communication:  once when the conductor came to check the tickets, and once when the guy in the restaurant car was taking drink orders.  However, I did not feel so inclined to break out my spanish on the grounds that I did not want to find out how my voice sounded speaking spanish with a guiri accent and a cold.  Fortunately, everything worked out without me having to say a word. 

As we pulled into Frankfurt station and prepared to exit the train, I murmured "cuidado" to one of the girls (the cute brunette wearing the mini-skirt and the DMs) as she put her coat on; she had not realized that her purse strap was hooked onto arm of the seat.  She smiled a thanks, and then, as usual, bupkis.  I headed for the U-Bahn, and the girls headed off to wherever they were headed.

I threw my bags upstairs and headed to the pub for a couple of beers, though I was probably pushing my luck.  I was only just feeling that I was over the worst of my cold, but I was relieved enough that the weekend was close that I figured it was worth the risk.

Having stayed in for most of the week, I greeted a few friends that I hadn't seen, and we talked about the incidents of my week:  the confusion over what ailment I was suffering from, the fact that my voice sounded like shit, why our new president spoke to me in English despite the fact that our meeting had been conducted in German the whole day, and at what point does someone suffering from a cold's ear become unblocked.

It certainly was not a late night, and I woke up feeling rested Friday morning and celebrated the start of the weekend with a couple of pints later that evening.  Despite feeling better each day, I have not completely recovered, thus spent most of the weekend lying low and catching up on a few films. 

The goal for this upcoming week is to avoid any relapse and wait for my ear to become unstopped.  I just realized that the stereo volume has been on louder than normal, and while there was a little Carter USM in my music mix this week, most of what I have been listening to has been a continuation of the electronic body music stuff, and that tends to have a bit of a darker, heavier edge to it.  Sure, it needs to be listened to at a louder volume, but perhaps not at a volume that has been compensated for my decreased hearing. 

My neighbors are already a bit annoyed by the fact that the trashbin in back of our apartment is overflowing with my used tissues.  Now is not the time to aggravate them further with a noise disturbance.

At least not until my ear becomes unblocked.

see you out there
bryan

Hunting Heads in a Mild Winter

Every week I seem to get an email or text from my mother or someone else stateside telling me just how cold it is this winter, and that is just in Texas.  Likewise, I have lost count of the number of reports I have seen where another storm hits the Northeast or the upper Midwest.

Meanwhile, here in Germany, it continues to be very mild.  OK, you still need a coat most days, and a couple of weeks ago I actually bought woolen socks for the very first time in my life.  I didn't buy them on a whim, really.  Instead, I happened to be doing some other shopping on a day when my feet were particularly cold, saw the socks, and thought, "why the hell not?"

I felt a bit silly the following day when the temperature got up almost to 11 degrees Celsius, but I have actually worn the socks on cooler days a few times since and been rather pleased (and cozy).  I do not consider myself to be a wimp when it comes to tolerating cold weather, but I admit that after several years of living in a colder climate my body has acclimated.  No longer do I run off to the grocery store in a sweatshirt and shorts on a chilly Saturday afternoon, frankly because it's, erm, cold.

 Similar to the weather in my hometown, here in Frankfurt it can be sunny and pleasant one minute, and suddenly the temperature plummets and you are freezing your tail off.  Thus, it makes sense to do the "layered" approach:  piling on a a couple of shirts, a sweater, a jacket and a coat when it is cold, and when you are uncomfortable, just take another layer off.  It used to really annoy me when going out to restaurants or pubs or shows, etc, because it always takes everyone a few minutes to unwrap after entering an establishment where the heating happens to be on full blast. However, I  eventually stopped saying anything once I realized that I was actually doing the same thing. 

I do smile from time to time when I see the little lost and found boxes that tend to be in a lot of places for those inevitable moments when someone leaves a scarf, a glove, or even a sweater behind before going out into the cold.  This becomes even more comical at the end of a night in a crowded pub, when everyone is trying to find their coat and other articles.  The scene is not that far different from the end of a normal school day at kindergarten or first grade, when all the kids troop off to the cloakroom to get ready to go home, scrambling to find their hat and mittens, and always forgetting something.

The other night, I met a few friends for dinner, and upon entering the restaurant, I took off my jacket, feeling comfortable enough in my long sleeve shirt and sweater.  After dinner, we had a quick schnapps before I headed off to to a concert at a local venue just a few U-Bahn stops away.

I deliberately skipped the opening act, and as I approached the club entrance and saw the numbers of smokers standing outside, I knew that my timing was good.  I grabbed a couple of beers and headed into the concert hall to find a place to stand.  Though full, it was not so unbearably packed.  I actually found a spot with a good view of the stage, and about 2 minutes later, Front 242 walked on stage a launched right into their set.

More than once on this blog I have acknowledged that my concert going experiences have dramatically reduced over the years, much to my annoyance.  So, when I don't have any previous engagements or work travel to get in my way and basically do get my act together to actually get to a show, I tend to enjoy it thoroughly, particularly if it involves a group I have not seen before.

EBM has always had a pretty big influence on me, despite the fact that I never really was a huge fan of clubbing, and furthermore, I can't actually remember all that many electronica concerts.  I can remember NOT being allowed to go to Front 242 back in Dallas in 1987, and how many more times they ever played in Texas, or the US, for that matter, i can only guess. Though I have always continued to listen to the heavy industrial stuff, I have not followed the scene all that closely. 

But none of that matters when you are actually at the show, enjoying the beat, and just taking it for what it's worth.  In this case, everyone at the show seemed to be about my age, and while we all can probably admit that we have aged a wee bit since 242 first came on the scene, things just seemed right.  I certainly didn't feel over the hill, not by any stretch.

Before I knew it, they were playing their encore, and then the lights came up, and the crowd exited the hall.  I met a few friends at the show, and, as none of us had checked our coats, we were able to just bypass the long line of folks waiting to get their jackets and head right outside and down the street to wait for the next U-Bahn, along with other concert-goers.

As we boarded the train, I heard someone behind me exclaim, "Shit, I left my scarf in the club!"

I zipped up my own jacket and smiled.  It never stops.

Stay warm.

The Benefits of Improving Vocabulary During Resturlaub

At the end of last year, I found myself in a bit of hot water with the HR department of my company, as I had a large number of unused vacation days as we approached 2014.  I must admit that this topic has always been very challenging for me.  As much as I like having time off, I come from a background where 10-15 days of holiday per year is the norm.  Thus, living in a culture where I automatically get twice that amount of days each year has proven not only to be rewarding, but also a considerable obstacle.   In the 7 years I have lived in Germany, I have yet to get my holiday planning in control.

OK, I fully understand that I work in an industry that is extremely volatile, and somehow, I have always worked in roles at companies where the pace is pretty frantic, and no matter how proactive you try to be, you always have to be able to react to the next challenge, problem, or opportunity.  Over the years, I have feebly attempted to justify the reasons as to why I never seemed to take too many holidays to colleagues, friends, and family.  Sometimes, my justifications were simply excuses, and sometimes it was clear that the time was not right to go off on holiday.

Quite a few friends have berated me about my work habits (long hours), my lack of vacations, and even my philosophy on the subject.  However, many of those same friends have later on found themselves in similar situations, where work suddenly takes precedence over other elements of life.
I also have friends who work in equally challenging professions, and they, too, have commented from time to time about their struggles to plan vacations around very busy work schedules.

In short, it is not so easy to go off and plan to 30 days of holiday per year, plus the national holidays that pop up every other month, as well as complete all the tasks that your employer needs you to finish.  Throw in a life that involves knowing people named "May" and "Hem," or "Com" and "Pletefuckingshambles," and I personally can fully understand that holiday planning is nigh on impossible.

Late last year I was particularly frustrated, as my HR department were really holding firm.  I had to  take my remaining days from 2013 by mid 2014, and likewise take all of my 2014 days during the same year.  Laugh if you want, because having to take 3 months off from work can seem like a very nice problem to have.  However, as I stated above, I work in an industry (that I very much like working in) where taking 3 months off is not really an option.

The key, of course, is planning. 

Gulp.

Right, I admit that I am not so strong in this area, but have recently realized that I simply had to sit down and do it: come up with a plan on how to take all my holidays from 2013 and 2014 in one year.  (For those of you who saw me during my vacations last year, I was taking holidays from 2011 and 2012)

I considered doing something a bit silly, like taking vacation "hours" at random points during the week.  For example, I could say, "hi, i am on vacation from 12.30 to 15.30 today," which is exactly when one of my least favorite weekly conference calls takes place.  I also considered taking every Friday off this year.

In the end, I came up with a bit of a compromise, including both ideas above, as well as some proper weeks off.  I submitted my plan to my boss and the HR department, and more or less got things sorted. It was kind of a good exercise, and it is kind of neat knowing that I have mapped out all my days off for the year.

Rather than dillydally, I decided to jump right on to the vacation trail and took this last week off from work.  It has been a quiet, relaxing, and productive week. I have done things that I wanted to, at my own pace.  This has included a bit of work, but again, on the terms that I wanted.  I have been able to plan (ironic, huh?) some of my projects and ongoing programs without too many distractions from customers or colleagues.

Additionally, I have had some down time where I could focus on  some of  "want to-dos" from my mental list.  Although it was not really a new year's resolution, I have recently looked for new ways to improve my German ability. 

While I am proud that I have been able to reach a certain level with the German language, I am constantly reminded that I am far from fluent.  I can switch happily from English to German with few problems, both professionally and in private life, but do recognize that I should be reading and writing more.  I have a tendency to write in English when under pressure, and all too often I tend to pick up a book in English as opposed to German.

A few weeks ago, I purchased a few grammar exercise books in my local bookstore in effort to do a little more self study.  These are perfect for when I am sitting on the train, or in a random cafe.  I can work on a few little exercises, and refresh (or relearn) my language skills.

I am still contemplating taking a proper German language course.  I took private classes for several years, and because much of my daily life is in German, verbal communication is rarely a problem.  (If you use it, you don't lose it).  That said, sometimes I think it would be beneficial to regularly do "intercambios" with native speakers, particularly those who want to improve their English.

Reading for pleasure is a huge thing for me, but reading in a foreign language for pleasure requires some effort.  I can probably read "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" in German without a problem, but a novel by Ian Rankin continues to be tedious, mainly because it takes longer to get through the vocabulary; there are always words that I have not experienced before.  Unfortunately, I do not always have the patience to sit down with a novel and a dictionary, looking up words every few minutes.

But, this week, as I quietly have toodled around the house, I have tried to make myself more aware of opportunities to expand my vocabulary, not just from words I read in print, but also things I see or think about.  For example, just across the garden that my balcony overlooks, they are constructing a new house.  There are all sorts of construction equipment and guys with hard hats around.  As a child, it was easy to be fascinated by any construction site, it was like seeing really big Tonka trucks in real life, just like the ones I was playing with.

I consulted my big picture dictionary and learned a few new words this week.  True, neither der Tieflöffelbagger nor die Planierraupe rolls off my tongue with ease, but I am glad to know both of those words, even if I won't necessarily be able to use them all that regularly. 

That said, I am going to enjoy the rest of today thinking of ways I can say "hydraulic shovel" and "bulldozer" next week when I return to work.

Here's to quiet, productive vacations.  See you out there. 

The Bottom Line

A few weeks ago during the Christmas break, we took a little day trip to a town about an hour away from Valencia.  I was sitting in the backseat of the car, collecting my thoughts and enjoying the ride.  My brother-in-law put a mix on the stereo, a mix of tunes that he had put together for a party a few years before.  I knew all of the songs, which was really no surprise considering that my brother-in-law and I come from the same era.  As I listened to the intro to one song, I kind of smiled at the memories; I hadn't heard the song in quite a while, and prepared to sing along.

"The horses are on the track," came a voice to my right, just as I was opening my mouth to say the exact same thing.

I turned in surprise to my nephew sitting next to me.  "You know this song?" I asked.

"Sure, Uncle B," he responded.  "I think it is a great song except for when the guy sings.

"Well, we can't all have a voice as good as yours," I commented jokingly, then went on to sing the rest of the song with my nephew, kind of a nice bonding moment.  This is probably the first time that he has expressed interest in my music.

Of course, the fact that he knows the song is no surprise.  Obviously he has ridden countless times in the car with his parents and listened to whatever they were listening to.   When I was his age, I, too, listened to whatever my parents were listening to, and as a result, I am fairly well versed in the likes of Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Tony Bennett.

That said, I certainly would not call myself a fan of those three singers, just like I would not expect my nephew to be a fan of Big Audio Dynamite.  Still, I think it is pretty cool, all the same.

Over the past several years, I have noticed that I do not listen to music nearly as often as I did before, and while there are a variety of reasons for why that is, it kind of took this brief moment with my nephew to remind me of what I am missing.  Sure, there are loads of excuses, such as being too busy or whatever, but those excuses are pretty lame.

True, I can remember (fondy, I might add) spending complete Saturday mornings sitting around the house doing nothing more than grooving to tunes, only to feel guilty half a day later that I had done sod all.  Sure, this was not such a significant problem for me 20 years ago.  Who hasn´t spent the better part of a day reading liner notes to a few records?  But now, I do home office, and perhaps it not so easy to explain away the work day by having to get up every 3 minutes and dance around to whatever is shuffling on my stereo?

Sigh.  Those were the days, eh?

I think I needed this catalyst from my nephew to sort of kick me back into gear.  For years, I proudly told anyone and everyone that I would NEVER become that guy that stopped going to shows, NEVER stop listening to music, or worst of all, to STOP allowing music to remain such a huge influence in my life.

Unfortunately, that is what I have become, or should I say, had become.

The bottom line is, the decisions rest with me, so here I sit happily on a Saturday morning, rediscovering some wonderful tracks, singing along (dancing optional) and preparing to say, "hey, I have spent the last four hours doing something really great."

It's not a bad start to the weekend, finding the starlight, keeping the faith, and realizing once again how important music really is to me.

Thanks for the reminder, Bubba, I almost forgot.

Always a Delight to Get Mail...Part 2

"Thump!"

I was situated in my seat on the airplane, eyes closed, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing flying to Berlin at 7am on a Friday morning. 

I glanced back in surprise at the noise, and saw that clearly something had fallen out of the overhead compartment.  I closed my eyes again and waited for boarding to be completed. 

A couple of minutes later, the flight attendant came on the PA and asked if there was a doctor on board, and if so, to please contact the staff immediately.  No sooner had the woman made the announcement, the PA crackled again, this time with the question, "Is there a Paramedic on board?"

The girl sitting to my left (next to the window: I was in the middle seat), who was English, turned to me and asked if they had just asked for a doctor, then got up and made her way to the front of the cabin.  Obviously, the announcements had all been in German, but as both English and German tend to sort of run together in my head now, I don't always consciously recognize which language is spoken.  Prime examples are during business travel when I stay in some hotel.  Sometimes I will switch on the television and watch part of a film before falling asleep.  Months later, I might discuss a movie with someone, and half the time cannot remember which language I saw it in. 

The importance of language might be highlighted by a brief, perhaps slightly drunken conversation that a couple of friends and I had with a couple of German football fans a few months back.

My two friends and I were standing outside a pub finishing our drinks before we headed off to the opening of a new pub across town.  The two friends had been at the Eintracht match during the afternoon (thus, they had started much earlier than me), and were enjoying themselves, particularly since Eintracht had won their match.  One of the guys was English, and spoke no German, but the other friend and I rarely speak English with one another.  Said friend saw two German guys standing on the sidewalk, with cans of beer at their feet.  (Public alcohol consumption is common in the area)

The five of us (ok, 4 of us) spoke in German about soccer, the afternoon's match, and then turned to our English friend and said it was time to go to the next pub.  The two German guys we had met asked us to be careful, as their full cans of beer were still on the ground.  Again, all of this conversation had been in German, but I forgot to tell the English guy with us to not step on the beers that were on the ground. 

In fairness, it was dark outside, but the two German guys looked at us in dismay as we passed by them, with our English friend, who inadvertently kicked one of the full cans of beer as he strode by.  We sort of laughed and apologized sheepishly,  It never dawned on me that the Englishman had not understand what we had been talking about.

At any rate, back to the English girl who apparently was a doctor.  Halfway to the front of the plane, the attendant motioned that she should instead go to the back of the plane, where someone needed medical attention.

About five minutes later, the girl came back to her seat, and explained that the "thump," we had heard was actually a suitcase (albeit small) that had fallen out of the overhead onto a passenger's head, hence the need for a bit of medical attention. 

"I only thought something had fallen out of the overhead onto the floor," she explained.  "Poor thing, she got a bit of a bump on her head." 

Very likely this was the assumption of almost everyone on the plane, because there were no cries of surprise or pain, or the sound of someone collapsing on the floor after being clocked by a suitcase.

Just a thump. 

Of all the years that I have been flying, I have never been on a flight where this kind of thing has happened, but fortunately, everything turned out okay; only a minor incident, really.

So, we took off, and an hour later were landing in Berlin.  I met up with my colleague who had flown in from Munich, then we took a taxi to the supplier's location, about 30 minutes outside of the city. 

The purpose of this visit was to have a "kick-off" meeting with a new repair supplier in preparation for a new project we are doing for our customer.  As the operations representative, I joined the project manager and as well a technical-training manager (from Madrid) for this meeting. I have had serious concerns about the success of this project prior to this meeting, and as we discussed things through the course of the day, I realized that all of my concerns were being confirmed. 

As the overall situation with my work over the past 6 months has been summed up with the words; chaotic, frantic, and out of control, I was feeling rather discouraged, particularly since most projects get thrown over the fence to the ops team, who have to work harder to simply try and clean things up.  This is not unusual in my industry, and even though my career can also be described as chaotic, frantic, and out of control, I have usually, despite the stress levels, been able to cope, and somehow dig myself out of the messes. 

I will likely have to do the same with this upcoming project, but like I said, I was finding myself particularly discouraged, because I have yet to be able to truly visualize what it is we are actually trying to accomplish.  This is a significant difference from some of the other projects I have worked on, or am currently involved with. 

That said, we were working through issues with this new supplier, and then suddenly I looked down at my emails (which I had been monitoring throughout the afternoon), and saw a new message from Lufthansa, announcing the cancellation of my return flight to Frankfurt. 

I quietly sent a panicky email off to our travel agent asking for immediate assistance, and thankfully, they responded somewhat quickly that I could perhaps take an earlier flight, or alternatively, the flight that was 2 and half hours after my originally scheduled flight.  I elected to take the later flight, which was going to severely interrupt my evening, but I felt it was the right decision, as we still had a a few points that we needed to discuss in the meeting.

10 minutes later, the skies opened up and it started storming like hell. 

"Great," I thought to myself.  "I have just booked myself on the last flight out of Berlin this evening, and things look like they will create additional delays."

Well, we wrapped up the meeting (with more questions than answers), and then one of the guys offered to drive me to the airport.  We would first drop by his house, have a coffee, then eventually go the airport a bit closer to my flight time. 

I was touched, as this is somewhat uncommon in German culture, to simply invite someone you just met into your home.  Furthermore, this guy was doing a complete renovation of his house, so only the living room and dining room were actually presentable.  (On the drive to his house, the guy called his wife to mention that we were on our way, and I overheard her ask, "what???? You have just invited someone to our half-finished house?)

Eventually, the guy drove me to the airport, and I checked in, only to find out that my flight was going to be delayed. 

I had been up since 4am, and was starting to think that I might have to stay overnight in Berlin.  While that in itself would not be a bad thing, I was in no mood to be so adventurous.  The past two weeks have been particularly difficult for me, and for that matter, the entire month of May has been pretty nutty. 

Of the four public holidays we had in May, I have worked 3 and half of them.  I have managed til now to remain rather positive about things, but suddenly too many things are going the wrong way at the same time, and that is about the time I start to slip up, trip up, and ultimately flop around on the floor. 

True, I tend to remain a swash-buckling ops guy who has a reputation for getting things done, but unfortunately with a fair amount of consequences, many of which I have been unable to rectify. 

But never mind that, the simple fact was that at 9.30 on a Friday night, I was stuck at an airport, and was completely exhausted. 

Furthermore, my favorite barman at my local was working his last shift at the pub on this evening.  I wanted to at least get in and have a last couple of pints with him on that side of the bar, at the very least to be able to say thanks for all the nice times.  (note - he is a personal friend, so I will certainly see him regularly, but as we all have our favorite staff at our favorite haunts, we all know that when it is time for one of them to move on, it is bit sentimental.)

Upon arrival in Frankfurt, I exited the terminal and got in the fastest looking taxi I saw, and headed for home.  Indeed, the trip was quick, and I quickly threw my backpack into my flat, then walked over to the pub. 

Although I can't really say I caught a second wind, I did feel better after a couple of pints and a few chats with folks who were clearly enjoying their evening already. 

I sat down with a couple of friends, one a musician, the other a photographer, and relayed the events of the day, including the story of the unfortunate woman who had a suitcase land on her head earlier that morning. 

I allowed myself to be talked into having a couple of shots of Sambuca, which was not the cleverest of things to do, but sort of fitting for the evening, all the same. 

The musician plays mostly blue-grass, which is a bit unusual for Germany.  However, the guy is a bit unusual anyway.  His wife is from California, though she and I have never spoken anything but German together.  We talked a bit about the Bouncing Souls, as well as some other groups, and about music in general. 

I tend to practice piano about 45 minutes to an hour a day, and the other guy plays banjo.  The conversation turned to identifying other ways to disturb our neighbors (though we never discussed playing together.  probably for the best, as I am not a big fan of blue-grass)

The night wore on, and finally my friend the barman finished his shift, and we had a beer together, laughing about some of the good times (and bad) over the past several years.  Another good friend of mine stopped working in the pub several years back, and her final day working in the pub was equally reflective:  the recognition that one chapter is closing and another beginning. 

Eventually, I needed to make my farewells, and the barman walked outside with me for a cigarette before I walked home.  We took a few minutes to thank one another, embrace the future, and continue to laugh about anything and everything, despite the challenging times. 

I walked upstairs and fell into bed, finally able to sleep after a really really day. 

Honestly, I tend not to sleep all that well, presently.  Thankfully, I get into the gym regularly, which helps to keep me healthy (physically, at least), Additionally, the days of staying out really late at the bar (Friday night being an exception) are few and far between.  I much prefer to have a clearer head when morning comes, however early. But, when so much is going on, my mind always tends to race, both when I am resting or awake. 

Working in an industry driven by rapidly advancing technology makes for a rather challenging, yet rewarding experience.  I often think about the start of my career, and how far I have come.  Likewise, I often speak with people who are just starting their careers, and have yet to experience as much as I have.  While this is certainly acceptable, I frequently note the differences in cultures as well as groups.  The new starts today have all the same questions and curiousities that I had when I was starting out, but today, these folks have different expectations, probably because we live in a different time. 

20 years we were excited to have a handful of Macs in the computer lab, and had easily 50 telephone numbers of our friends memorized.  Today, laptops are soon to be a thing of the past, and god help you if you lose your Smartphone, as you will certainly lose every single one of your contacts. 

I certainly appreciate the changing times, and deal with it accordingly. 

That said, I still greatly enjoy reminiscing, not least of all to help combat the unpleasant or discouraging thoughts that come from stress. (ie..."how am i going to get everything done? will we be able to meet the deadlines?, etc)

Last week, I was in Munich for a few days, and returned late Thursday night to find a small package waiting for me in my postbox.  I went upstairs, quickly unpacked, then opened the little package to find a belated birthday card and a little tile with a photograph of one of my favorite rock clubs from my hometown. 

The card explained that the gift "was made just for you," and went on to thank me for all the great memories there. 

Indeed, the club Trees was where I tended to spend a good deal of my 20s and early 30s.  It opened in 1990, and I can't even begin to imagine how many times I was there, and how many shows I saw. For the first two years that the club was open, I was still in college, and the summers of 1990, 1991, and 1992 were particularly memorable. 

Then, after graduation, I was there even more often, and for sure saw some of the best shows of my life in the venue.  Those were great times, and even as times (and ourselves, for that matter) changed, we always looked forward to the next show. 

I probably saw my last show there in early 2005, and though it was conincidental (probably), the club closed soon after, and I moved abroad.  As with all good things, they come to an end, and new good things begin. 

I spent the last week thinking about so many of those fantastic nights, the great shows, plenty of beers, and good friends hanging out enjoying the scene.

While I did not realize at the time, Trees was a significant part of my life, and combined all the great things that I still have and thrive on today: music, friends, and dreams.  And beer, of course.

I completely agree, Moe.  Thanks so much for the little gift (that means so much).  It was made for me. 

Here's to the rest of the year bringing terrific surprises and fun. 

See you out there.

Always a Delight to Get Mail

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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