What Do I Want To Do When I Grow Up...Again?

There is something quite nice about waking up early on a Saturday morning, feeling rested, albeit with mild irritation that you weren't able to sleep longer.   But, what can you do?  I tend to make myself a coffee and enjoy the opportunity to just let my mind wander.  Sometimes the peace and quiet helps me to concentrate the thoughts and apply a bit of perspective.

Over the past couple of years, I have become more and more frustrated with my situation at work.  I am not referring the normal ups and downs that come with the job, nor am I talking about the high level of stress that accompanies my position, although this past February was a bit of an eye opener.  My frustrations come from the fact that I really like what I do for a living, and I do my job very well, but I am disillusioned with the industry, the company, and at times, some of my colleagues.  I have to choose my words carefully when I describe this frustration; although I do have an ego, I remain very humble.  It is far more important to me that our company be successful rather than my individual performance.  Of course, I want my performance to be strong so as to help the company achieve the success. 

Perhaps I am naive in thinking that my colleagues feel the same way, and focus on improving their contributions to our collective effort.  Last month, the board hired a new president of our company, which makes the third president inside of two years.  Whenever there is a management change, I notice that people go out of their way to try and highlight how "valuable" they are.  This is disconcerting not only because it conflicts with my own style, but because to a certain extent (at least short term), some of these "valuable" people get promotions that perhaps they don't really deserve. 

I do not have real aspirations to become a c-level executive, but respect that this is a goal for many people.  I prefer to work for an organization where management earns the respect of its employees not because of their title, but because of their actions and efforts.   The other day, I got into a little pickle because the hotel booking that I made for my upcoming trip to Madrid was 15 euros higher than our travel company allows as a booking rate.  I had to explain that I chose a hotel that was slightly more expensive because of it's proximity to the repair supplier I would be visiting.  Staying at a cheaper hotel further away would mean that I would have to travel further with a taxi, which would result in higher expenses.   The fact that I had to justify this to management (who approve all travel) was a little annoying, considering they always fly with business class.  I found myself wondering if these are the type of people I want to work for. 

In fairness, that is a rather trivial example, but sometimes it's the little things that become significant.  Last summer, we started using some new metric reporting software.  The software is pretty cool, and management loves it.   The summary page provides a map of all the countries in our region, and color codes the country in accordance with the metrics.  If the metrics are on (or above) target, the country shows as green.  In the event that the metrics are not on target, then the country shows red.  Green good, Red bad. 

For an executive level, the color coding is helpful, but it doesn't always tell the real story.  The other week, when one of my countries showed up as red on the performance charts, management flipped out and wanted to organize a task force to go off and investigate the problem.  That wasn't necessary, I explained, as there was no problem.  The country showed up red on the metric because of the way the metrics are calculated.  We deal in repair volume, and for those countries where the volume is very low, the impact is more significant.  For example, to measure quality, we have a metric that calculates the number of repeat repairs.  If a repair partner does 1000 repairs, and 100 of them come back for repeat service, you have a 10% bounce rate.  But what happens if you only did 2 repairs, and one of them came back?  You'd have a 50% bounce rate and your country shows up as red on the metric chart.   Unfortunately, not every manager wants to accept this kind of logic, especially those who only want to have graphs that look perfect (green). Again, are these the kind of people I want to work with, to work for?

So, here on Saturday morning I am thinking about me.  Do I need to switch industries, or change companies?  Would that even make a difference?   Or, is it time for a different career altogether?  If so, which one should I consider?  


The answers won't all come today, but soon.  Meanwhile, I will reread a little Dr. Seuss.

"Oh, the places you'll go!"

see you out there
bryan

Wiggly Bunnies and Other Easter Bits

I always look forward to the Easter holiday, and this year was no exception.  In order to comply with German labor laws, I had to use up a few remaining vacation days from 2015, and I chose to use those in the days leading up to Easter weekend.   I had no plans other than to relax and just hang out.

Things got off to an interesting start one morning as I entered my kitchen to make a coffee.  As I rounded the corner from the hallway, my left slipper went flying off my foot and hit the far wall.  "What the hell?" I thought to myself, as a I retrieved my slipper and noticed that the sole had become detached from the top.  Ah well, it might be time to buy a new pair. 

Indoor footwear issues aside, I stayed true to my plan of just doing whatever the hell I felt like during the break, which was very little.  One day, I decided to brush up on a few finger exercises on the piano, which led to a bit of a marathon session where I played a lot of Joe Jackson songs.  During said session, I discovered that I had been using the wrong chord combination on one of my favorites, so spent a fair amount re-learning the correct chord sequence. 

I made sure to get all the necessary grocery shopping completed early, so as to avoid the masses; people tend to shop the day immediately before a public holiday like they are preparing for Armageddon.  Therefore, Maundy Thursday proves to be an absolute rodeo at the store, as people are running around stocking up on loads of things.   For my small household, it was a simple task, made that much simpler without having to put up with a bunch of frantic shoppers.

On Good Friday, I caught up with my sister for a couple of hours on Skype.  I shared a little video that a friend had shown me earlier in the week about two little pandas and their 100 days of life.   I quite like videos like this (it is the "awwwwww" factor) and was certain that my sister would enjoy it, too. 

The weather was mostly rainy in the days leading up to the weekend, but Saturday brought some sunny weather.  The owner of a little shop across the street from my flat always has a little gathering.  A guy dresses up as an Easter Bunny and stands outside offering chocolates to passing children, and shots of  Eierlikör, which is basically a souped-up shot of an egg based schnapps.  It certainly is an acquired taste, and is not my thing at all.  However, there were plenty of beers available, so we all stood outside and enjoyed the afternoon sunshine.   The beer kept flowing for several hours, so a little later after the sun had set, it got a bit chillier, but all in all it made for a very nice day.  Thumbs up once again to the joys of standing around outside on a street corner enjoying a bottle of beer.  Talk about a block party...

Because of the beer intake on Saturday evening, I had a bit of an early night (after attacking a bag of tostitos) and woke up Easter Sunday to the time change feeling pretty OK.   Once again, we had a bit of morning rain, and I spent the time enjoying a few coffees and listening to music.  

My sister sent me a little skype message emoticon of an Easter Bunny (complete with wiggly tail), and during the afternoon, I was pleased to see the sun come out.   I elected to go sit on a patio and listen to the "quiet" of the neighborhood.  Hardly anyone was out all, save for a few people taking some walks around the city, or at least my little corner of the city.   I appreciate these few occasions when the city is so still and quiet.  Absolutely no hustle and bustle whatsoever.

A friend joined me outside for a beer, and again, I was able to appreciate the spirit of the moment, simply having a quiet, relaxing weekend. 

Monday was our final holiday of the Easter break, and I didn't too much more than visit the gym for an hour, then hang about one last day before returning to work.

Boring?  No, not at all. 
Quiet?  Absolutely.  Like a library. 

Of course, I was back to work on Tuesday, but with the knowledge that it would be a short work week, and sure enough, here it is Friday noon, and I am prepping for another weekend.   I will likely be a bit more lively this weekend, perhaps like a wiggly bunny, albeit without the costume.

see you out there
bryan

Another Good Day on the 17th of March

I arrived home from a business trip to Porto last Friday feeling a bit emotional, as I had say farewell to one of my suppliers.  The trip was good, and I was very touched when the managing director gave me a 30 year old bottle of port wine as a parting gift.   Hopefully, I will get back to Portugal at some point, both professionally and for a bit of vacation.

It is always good to return home from a productive business trip, and I looked forward to a quiet weekend catching up with friends and watching a little footy, particularly Arsenal in the FA Cup. The weekend was pretty much OK, except for the disappointment of crashing out of the tournament in pretty poor fashion; I never got the feeling that we had our hearts in it.

Many months have passed since I have discussed Arsenal on this blog.  That is primarily because there is not much to talk about.   I read enough articles from various pundits, and over the past years the majority of those pundits have very little positive to say.  In fairness, I can understand the negativity, because the team is certainly capable of playing very well, but somehow seem to fall short.  Repeatedly.

At the beginning of this past week, I had a few beers with some guys, including a Frankfurt Eintracht fan, who expressed his own disappointment at the way his team has played this season (dismal, to put it best).  I commented about my own frustrations with my club, and went on to say that I was really hoping that we would not get completely destroyed in Camp Nou on Wednesday during the return leg of the Champion's League match.

Well, Wednesday evening came, and I decided to watch the match in the privacy of my home, preferring not to go out and have a handful of beers and wake up on St. Patrick's Day not only with a sore head, but also more disappointment.   It was a good decision, as we went on to lose the game, albeit in respectable fashion.  I must say that Barcelona are simply unstoppable, especially when their little trio of super forwards come anywhere close the ball.

Like the past several years, I usually become a little indifferent with the results of Arsenal.  The season is starting to come to an end, and despite the closeness of the teams in the top 4 o5 positions of the table, Arsenal seem likely to repeat their habit of securing 4th spot.  Neat.

At any rate, I woke up Thursday morning with a clear head and looked forward to a few beers that evening at the pub to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

The many years of celebrating on Lower Greenville hold fantastic memories.  Hands down, the block party to celebrate St. Patrick's is one of the great experiences that I miss about living in Dallas.

That being said, I am fortunate to live in a city, a neighborhood, that tends to have "block parties" on a regular basis, especially during the warmer months.  Within 5 minutes walk from my flat, we have Wine Fest, Oktoberfest, the Kerb, and probably a couple of other events.  Usually the whole neighborhood turns out for these things and it is simply cool.   But, the season starts with St. Patrick's Day, and the minor difference is that everyone heads to the local Irish Pub, which, as we know, is situated directly next door to my apartment.

The weather was mildly cool, and maybe this year was not quite as full as some of the past years, that had more to do with Thursday being a "school night," and most people, including myself, would have to work on Friday.

I am still amazed that so many Germans get so enthused about an Irish holiday.  My local pub has a good mix of Germans and ex-pats, and this particular evening was no different.   As much as like this particular holiday, I really just enjoy the open festivities, as it gives a chance to see a lot of different people at once: old friends that are not as regular in the pub, the usual Stammgäste, and along with that, all the people who just like to make their annual trip to the Irish Pub to drink Guinness and wear a silly hat.

This year, there were plenty of people wearing said silly hats (the big top hats that look like glasses of Guinness), and while I prefer to put the beverage in my body instead of wearing it, everyone certainly enjoyed themselves.  I met up with a few friends, and was glad to run into a lot of old friends that I hadn't seen in several months.   The live musician played his traditional Irish set list inside the pub, and I hung out outside, preferring the open air to the overcrowded pub.  The landlord had set up a little beer wagon outside, which made it very easy to keep the beer flowing.

Not dissimilar to the marathon of the Greenville block party, people tend to come in sessions.  Some couples brought their younger kids to try and grab an early bite to eat, and subsequently left earlier in the evening so as to get the kiddos in bed at reasonable hour.  Others showed up a bit later, somewhat surprised that at 9pm the place was almost at it's full peak.  Still others showed up closer to 11pm, preferring the late-night atmosphere.   Much the way I did years ago on Greenville, I came early, and stayed a bit later (albeit respectably).  After all, I did have to work on Friday, and was keen to avoid a completely wrecked head.

I think we all tend to figure out the pattern that works best for us as we advance in years, and long gone are those days where I really tie one on and go on a 10-12 hour session.  Staying til close no longer is as interesting to me as it once was, mainly because the recovery seems to take longer and longer.

Still, I had a pleasant 5 hours or so standing around chatting with everyone.  As people were starting to make their departures for home, I realized I was about ready to call it an evening, myself.  Alas, I ran into a fellow Arsenal fan (who happens to be more of a night owl) and we discussed the previous evening's match as we finished up our beers.  Once finished, we started to say our goodbyes when a couple of guys next to us offered us their extra pints of Guinness, as some of their buddies had already scooted off.

"Don't mind if we do,"  both of us replied as we started in on the final pint of the evening.

And that was about it.  We finished our drinks a few minutes later, and bugged off for our respective homes, leaving the late nighters to continue their celebrations.  I felt a little bit like the 3rd bear; the evening was not too hot, not too cold, but just right.  Likewise, the crowd was not too overwhelming, not too quiet, but just right.  And, I didn't drink too many beers, but just the right amount.

In short, a very nice evening.

I will be thinking about everyone who head out to the party on Greenville today, and hope everyone enjoys their celebrations like I did.


bryan

Another Missed Concert, Haystack Mishaps, and Other Bits From My Last Two Weeks

From time to time, I check up on various bands and artists, usually via a simple internet search.  I never really have taken to putting myself on a mailing list that alerts me to any new activities, so I tend to always be in reactive mode.  This is not a real big deal, since I no longer feel the need to buy the new release of some group on the first day that the album comes out.  The drawback to this slightly complacent approach to being a fan is that I tend to find out about local concerts way too late, or all together after the fact.

This is what happened during the last week of February, when I suddenly felt compelled to check up on Joe Jackson, my favorite pianist.  I was delighted to discover that he had released a new album last fall, and the two songs I listened to were fantastic.  My delight surged when I realized that he would be performing in Frankfurt on the 1st of March, just over a week away.  "Gosh, this is the perfect time for me to see him in concert again," I thought to myself, thinking of the rather difficult month I had experienced.

The delight faded quickly as I realized that the show was already sold out, and no tickets were available.  I considered trying to hit the black market, but none of the scalping sites I found had anything for offer, so I accepted the fact that I would not be able to see the show.  Sure, I was disappointed, but there wasn't anything I could do about it, and since it was my fault for not staying on top of tour schedules, what could I say?

When I first moved to Frankfurt, I was much more active in searching for concerts to go to.  Unfortunately, most of the bands I listen to (that are still touring) don't always include Frankfurt on their stops, so over time, I have assumed this would almost always be the case.  The result?  Exactly what occurred with the Joe Jackson show:  I missed it.   Of course, his concert was announced last November, and it is difficult for me to plan so many months ahead.   Three times in the past I had actually "planned ahead," going so far as to purchase my tickets well in advance.  And, three times in the past I actually had to miss the shows, usually because of business travel that ended up taking precedence.  One of those times, however, was due to unfortunate timing of a volcano erupting, which prevented me from getting back home in time to make the show.  Alas, lessons learned, and perhaps one day I will be a bit more alert and plan for things a bit better.

To compensate for the missed Joe Jackson show, I spent last weekend listening to a lot of JJ stuff, and found some old concert footage that was quite entertaining.  Throughout the weekend, I sat down at the piano and played my share of cover.  All of this brought some solace, and like I said, it was my fault that I failed to buy a ticket in advance, so boop on me.

Several years ago, I returned from my Christmas holidays in Spain with a small batch of various cookies that we had baked during the holiday season.  Baking cookies has always been a family tradition, whether in Texas, Spain, or wherever.  I shared the cookies with a few friends, and one of the cookies in particular was a pretty big hit:  the haystack candy.

Haystack candies are a very simple thing to make, but the ingredients are not so widely available in Europe.  For years, I would always bring over the specific ingredients (namely butterscotch morsels) to my sister's house.  This proved more complicated than it sounds, as three years in a row, my luggage was "temporarily misplaced" by the airline.  It became something of a joke as I would arrive in the airport.  "Never mind your clothes, etc.   Did the baking stuff make it safely?" would be how my sister greeted me.

As I said, these things are very easy to make.  Take a package of butterscotch morsels, one packet of potato sticks (which are basically potato chips that are cut like very small dry french fries) and a cup of peanut butter.  Melt the morsels and the peanut butter, then add the potato sticks, mix them up, then spoon a little dab onto a sheet of waxed paper and let it cool.  Ta da!  You have a little sweet candy that looks like....(wait for it)...a small haystack.  Very tasty.

The problem is that butterscotch morsels are not available in Spain.  Thus, my sister would always need a little pack mule assistance once a year.  Sometimes my parents would bring them over, and my sister tended to buy a few bags at a local US supermarket when she visited the states, but since I was the only one traveling at Christmas, I usually was the main transporter.  One year, I forgot, and the entire Spanish family (on my brother-in-law's side) was very dismayed that there no haystacks that Christmas. 

This has made for some humorous stories through the years, and a friend of mine here in Frankfurt took it upon herself to try and help locate butterscotch morsels for me, as she was frequently in the UK, where she believed that this product was more available.  (I had already scouted around in Germany without success)
She actually had never had sampled on of the Haystacks, so she was curious.   Unfortunately, despite her attempts, she never found quite what I needed in order to make a batch.

Finally, during one of my own visits back to the states one summer, I remembered to pick up a couple of bags of morsels, and brought them back to Germany, only to discover that I could not find any potato sticks in any of the local super markets.  The closest alternative was a type of potato snack that was heavily flavored with paprika; not really suitable for the purposes of  Haystack making.

So, during my Christmas visit to Spain, I picked up potato sticks (plain flavored), and finally had all the necessary ingredients to make a batch of Haystacks for my German friends.  Thus, in January 2015, I had a very small gathering where we spent a winter afternoon drinking mulled wine and making a successful batch of Haystacks.

Word got around, and a few other friends expressed interest in sampling Haystack candy, and I made a tentative plan to have another little party at the beginning of 2016.   A friend of mine (who had followed this whole butterscotch morsel searching saga) brought back several bags of morsels as a surprise, and I stocked them in my fridge for safekeeping.  Then, during my own stateside visit this past December, I made a note to try and pick up some potato sticks.

Our Christmas cookie baking experience in December had a few ups and downs, which was a bit curious.  Our family tradition involves making several types of cookies, and some of the batches just didn't turn out quite right.  We all agreed that it wasn't the best Christmas cookie year, but hey, sometimes that just happens.

When I was packing my bag to return to Germany just after New Year, my sister brought me two packages of potato sticks, but I found that I did not have enough room for them in my one suitcase.  In fairness, I was bringing home more things than I had taken with me, but in the end, I had to organize a second suitcase, and actually paid an additional 100 Euro for the extra baggage allowance. An expensive way to transport potato sticks, for sure.

So, a few friends looked forward to a repeat of the Haystack candy making afternoon, and I started looking at the calendar to try and find the right weekend afternoon to have a few people over.   As you might have seen above, planning is not my forte.  So, suddenly we were fast approaching the end of February and I hadn't arranged any little gathering.  A friend pointed this out to me, and mentioned that March would be a busy month (including Easter) and we were quickly losing our window of opportunity.  It is not as if Haystacks are only allowed at Christmas, but I associate them as a kind of seasonal treat.  Thus, it would not be the same to make Haystacks in July. 

I caved to the "pressure" of my friend, and had a very, very spontaneous gathering last Sunday to make a batch of Haystacks.  Although it may sound like a big production, it actually has taken longer to write this piece than it takes to make a batch.   Melting a packet of butterscotch morsels takes really no time at all.

Somehow, though, the whole thing turned into a rather big cock-up. 

The morsels did not melt so well, and when I added the potato sticks, things didn't get any better.  I thought that perhaps I used too many potato sticks, or not enough butterscotch morsels, but it turns out that I used the right quantities.   But, the result was crap.

My friends (fortunately just two of them) sort of looked on, and finally suggested that maybe I just put the whole mess into a baking pan, which I finally did.  The idea was to let the mixture cool, then try and cut it into little squares, kind of like you would do with Rice Krispie Treats, without marshmallow. 

Well, the mixture did eventually cool, but when I tried to cut little squares everything just crumbled.   Not the kind of thing that you start sharing with your friends and neighbors. 

I still don't know what happened, but this past week, I have been eating a few crumbles.  Sure, the butterscotch flavor is there, along with the crunch (of potato), but it really isn't a Haystack.  Quite the mystery.  Oh well, I still have another packet of morsels and potato sticks, so I can give it another go.

However, I don't think I will plan to do that today.

Instead, I plan to go to the pub and watch Arsenal.   Perhaps Arsenal will have better luck on the football pitch today than in recent weeks.   Three straight losses.  Talk about a cock-up. 

Here's hoping that today's result doesn't end up resembling the leftover stuff in the pan still sitting in my refrigerator. 

keep the faith
bryan

"No, Really. Where Do You Come From?"

During my little experiences over the past couple of weeks, I have been reminded of the challenges of introducing yourself to someone who not only does not speak English as their first language, but also is not too familiar with a surname or given name that does not have German origins.

Ten years ago, I had similar problems as I tried to integrate myself into the bureaucratic system in Spain.  Part of this was due to my inability to speak Spanish so clearly, but most of it had to do with the fact that the various civil servants that I was meeting with to organize my paperwork simply had never heard a name like mine before.   I was quite frustrated initially, until a Spanish friend pointed out a key point.  "They HAVE heard the names before, but they just aren't accustomed to it.  Try giving an example when you introduce yourself, so that they better understand."

It was really good advice.  When I was at an administrative office and they asked for my first name, I gave it to them, along with the added explanation of, "...como él de Canadá que canta "Cut's Like a Knife," un disco de los 80s." 

Suddenly, faces were lighting up with recognition and they were no longer confused by the scary "Y" in the middle of my name.

When it came to the last name, I again stayed with pop music.   "...como Gary, el cantante de Take That."

Again, these folks were all smiles as they responded, "ah, vale."

A year later, upon arriving in Germany, I found that this explanation worked just as well.  Of course, I had to reverse the order, since formal introductions in German involve giving the last name first.  However, I got through it without too much difficulty.

Throughout the past decade, there have a been a few moments where people have had to ask for me to spell my name, but I usually just give them a business card and let them sort it out themselves.  (Seeing something written down helps a whole lot, as we all know)

Well, with all the various doctors appointments that I have had this month, I have repeatedly found myself standing in front of a receptionist who is really struggling to understand me when I say my name.  Unfortunately, my old trick no longer works.  Most of the nurses and assistants that I have seen in recent days are all under the age of 25, which means that they have NO IDEA who I am referring to.  Talk about a generation gap.

Thankfully, my doctor uses the birth date as a reference in the database, so we are able to sort things out and find my name in the computer.

I accept that one pronounces vowels differently in English, in German, and in Spanish.  I also recognize that I tend to get these pronunciations confused from time to time, which certainly explains why I still have a noticeable accent when speaking German.  Though I am sensitive to this,  it is rare for me to take it personally when someone can't understand me.  And in all fairness, with the exception of names, it is equally rare when someone is unable to understand me because of the language that I am speaking.  A friend once pointed out that because my voice is rather low and likewise soft, people sometimes don't understand me PERIOD.  Language has nothing to do it with, but rather it is my inflection that creates the confusion.

Last week, I watched a film which had a scene where a French woman went up to a doctor and said, "Please help me find a penis."

"Ah, you want to find HAPPINESS," responded the man.

"Yes, a penis!" confirmed the woman.

Sure, I am always striving to improve my ability in German (Spanish, also, for that matter), and while I would prefer to have less of an accent when I speak, I also try and find the positives in those moments where my accent does stand out (which is pretty much everywhere).

During my appointment last Friday morning, the doctor mentioned in passing that he assumed I was British, based on how sophisticated he found my manner of speaking to be.  As I corrected him on my nationality, I thought his comment was rather interesting; how on earth does one make that deduction while having a conversation in German?

Most people, when asking about my nationality, are not so surprised by the nation, but they are surprised by the state.  

"Really?  But you don't have an accent.  You don't sound like a cowboy."

 I concede that I do not have what one considers to be a Texan accent, but what is fascinating to me is that for most Germans, this is simply a stereotype of what they believe is actually an accent from Texas.  Again, it is difficult to understand how this comes about, because not every German can differentiate between a British and American English accent, and most cannot differentiate between the regional dialects.

For those people that I meet (or know) from the US or the UK, especially those that have traveled a little bit, there will be some mild surprise as to where I come from, but again, it is stereotypical.  Last week, I met an English friend of mine at the pub, and a second guy joined our conversation.  After a few minutes, he said, "Hmm, I can't place your accent."

Sure enough, he was a bit surprised, but accepted it in stride and we continued our conversation.

Ultimately, what I have noticed in these past years (and particularly in these past weeks), is that people, despite the initial bewilderment, quickly accept my answer and get on with things, just like the guy from the pub last week.

I think this is exactly how it should be.

Ironically, quite a few Germans, especially those over the age of 30, have commented that I sound exactly like a famous pop star from the 70s and 80s, one who was born in South Africa but relocated to Germany when he was in his 20s.  

Fair enough, but that won't make my name any clearer to the nurses when I see them next visit.

see you out there
bryan

An Interesting Way to See Parts of the City I Haven't Seen Before

Well, this past week for me was far from pleasant.  I managed to scare myself pretty darn good, and have found that I have multiple questions for which I am still searching answers.

A couple of Saturday's ago, I was in the grocery store in the check-out area when I suddenly started feeling faint.  I hadn't experienced this kind of thing for quite some time, so was a little bewildered.   Somehow, I got myself together, paid the clerk, and got myself back home.  I immediately ate a few oranges, thinking that perhaps I felt faint due to the fact that I had not yet eaten anything that day (hence the trip to supermarket).

I decided to skip a visit to the gym, which I was likely going to skip anyway, as my back was not feeling up to throwing weights around.   Instead, I watched a football match on television at the pub, then had a quiet evening at home.

The next few days were fairly normal for me:  regular stress filled working days.   The following Thursday evening, I met up with a few friends at the pub.   Although Thursday's are Quiz Night, I rarely play along, choosing instead simply to socialize with other non-playing friends and look forward to the coming weekend.  At one point, I was outside having a ciggy, and started chatting with a Spanish girl in her native language.  She has been in Germany for about two years, so we were comparing stories about our integration into German culture, learning a difficult language, etc.  As our conversation continued, her boyfriend and her other friends came outside to look for her, wondering how a short cigarette break had turned into a 15 minute absence.  They were all Spanish, too, and I enjoyed the opportunity to speak to several natives in a social environment.  It was a good confidence boost, and it was nice to use the language with topics other than work.  That is not to say that I don't enjoy working with my Spanish repair partners, but obviously our subject matter tends to be limited to the task at hand.

So, I went to bed Thursday night feeling rather good about things.   All that changed Friday morning, however, when shortly before a conference call started at 9am, I had a bit of an anxiety attack.  It hit me all at once, and was not too different than the experience I had had the previous Saturday in the check-out aisle.  My heart was racing, I had tunnel vision and become all shaky, my limbs were feeling all tingly, and I really thought I was going to pass out.

Fortunately, I managed to pull myself together, and jumped on the conference call, where I felt very, very strange.   These kinds of attacks have happened to me in previous years.  I can remember perhaps a handful of incidents, and in almost every case, it happened while I was at work.   Like I did those times, I told myself that this latest attack was due to work-related stress.  I told myself to calm the hell down, and figured I could push on through.  The weekend was only a few hours away.

Unfortunately, I had three more "attacks" during the course of the day.  All of them came suddenly and brought considerable concern.  Why was this happening so many times during the same day?  True, my Fridays tend to be pretty busy, but not too much busier than any other day, and as I have mentioned, the stress is pretty much non-stop.

Friday was a bad day, all in all, and as the end of the workday approached, I considered calling my boss and telling him that I was having some troubles, but ultimately decided to wait.  I then met up with some friends for dinner, and despite feeling rather surreal and antsy, I got through the evening without further incident.

On Saturday (one week ago), I woke up with the simple weekend goal of relaxing.   Almost as soon as I thought that word, I started feeling a bit panicky and nervous. Part of me was reluctant to return to the grocery store, lest I have another attack right in the middle of the produce department.

I really had no interest in leaving the flat, and elected to watch the first series "Spaced," as I am big Simon Pegg fan.  I had seen the odd episode many years ago, but I never watched the whole series.  For what it is worth, it is a great series, and I watched the complete series one during the afternoon.  Afterwards, I felt good enough to venture to the grocery store, where I quickly did the shopping and returned to the safety of home.  That night, I went to bed feeling more or less okay with things.

On Sunday, I watched the second series of "Spaced,", which I greatly enjoyed.  That afternoon, I decided to slip over to the pub and see if  I could manage a couple of pints and be a little sociable.  I was still feeling really strange, and somewhat nervous about things, and it didn't help that Monday morning (and start of the work week) was looming.  From time to time over the years, I have experienced anxiety right at the end of the weekend as I think about what will happen on Mondays.  I was always very anxious the night before the first day of school, and always sort of laughed when the day turned out to be brilliant, and I basically got myself worked up over nothing.  I hoped that this would be the case for last Monday.

Monday morning came, and I started the work day, but things went downhill pretty quickly.  Again, I got hit with a panic attack, probably more than once, and finally came to the realization that perhaps I needed to go see a doctor.  Ironically, I had already been contemplating arranging an appointment for a check-up, primarily because I had experienced some lingering lower back pain over the past weeks that did not seem the same as the other times in my life when I have "thrown" my back out.  

I contacted a Hausarzt whose Praxis I had read about in an on-line community forum for expats.  When it comes to medical topics, my German vocabulary is somewhat limited, not least of all because I have never been to a doctor during my time here.  Thus, it was somewhat important for me to have a doctor who could explain things in English, should I fail to understand the German explanation.  We set an appointment for the following day at 16h, and I felt somewhat comforted that I had taken the first step in understanding just what was happening to me.

Rather than meeting up with friends on Monday evening like I normally do, I stayed at home, feeling extremely tired, anxious, and a little bit scared.  

Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling hopeful about my afternoon appointment; soon I would know what was going on.   By mid-morning, things were not going so well.  A couple more panic attacks had come and gone, and I was becoming more and more worked up.   I phoned my boss, and explained the situation, including the attacks I had experienced the previous Friday.  My boss was immediately concerned, because he is aware of the colossal levels of stress that go with our job, particularly in the recent months.  He was most supportive, and I told him that I would give him an update as soon as I had been to the doctor.

For some reason, I like going to the dentist.  The exact opposite applies to visits to the doctor.  Thus, I entered the Praxis that afternoon with a certain amount of apprehension.  After signing a release form, I took my seat in the waiting area, and a few minutes later the doctor called me in to his office.

Things got off to a very rocky start.   I had filled out a little medical questionnaire, including my listed ailments of lower back issues and recent anxiety attacks, which were the primary reasons for my visit.  However, I had also answered the questions about alcohol and cigarette consumption, and this is what the doctor immediately focused on.  I had hardly said a word in the initial consultation, and he was off talking about how unhealthy I seemed to be.   He did immediately write me a note releasing me from work for the next two weeks, then arranged for me to meet with one of his colleagues in the Praxis.

With the second doctor, things went much better.  He asked what had brought me to Germany, and asked more questions about why I had come to their office.  He, too, initially was of the impression that I was there to get help for smoking/drinking, and I, with a bit of frustration in my voice, explained the recent events of my life.  This doctor actually listened to me, and proved this by repeating everything back to me, in a somewhat abridged version.

I felt much more at ease with him, and was glad when he suddenly made a little plan of action: have a physical checkup, have an MRT (for the back issues), meet with a neurologist (about the tingly feelings I was having in my legs, arms, fingers and toes...all over, really...during these attacks) and then possibly meet with a psychologist about the anxiety itself.  First, however, it was important to find out if anything was wrong physically.

We quickly made appointments for a physical checkup and MRT for the Thursday, in two days time.  Friday morning, I would meet with the neurologist, and then we would consolidate and review the results.

I left the doctor's office that evening feeling comforted with the course of action.  I was not completely at ease with the whole "absence from work" thing, since I don't like the feeling of letting anyone down, particularly my employer, my partners, and my customers.  However, I reminded myself the importance of not letting myself down; perhaps it was the right time to face the situation for what it was.

Wednesday morning, I read a few work emails, and within a matter of minutes, was feeling overwhelmed with panic.  My mind was racing as I thought about all the upcoming things that I was supposed to be doing for work, all the open issue on my current workload.   The more I tried to calm myself, the worse things became.  Suddenly, I was a completely debilitated. 

Several years ago, a friend of mine had a stroke, more or less right in front of me.  That was most unfortunate, but in order to find out more about strokes, I did a bit of research, reading medical articles, etc. particularly about the symptoms and the onset of a stroke. 

Suddenly, all of this was hitting me at once, and I felt in need of urgent medical assistance.  I felt like I was unable to walk, unable to move around, on the verge of passing out.  It was as if ALL the panic attacks I had experienced since the previous Friday were all happening simultaneously.  Not good at all, and it nearly sent me over the edge.  Talk about scaring the fuck out of yourself...

A friend of mine has an office across the street from my flat, and I phoned him quickly, and asked that he come over and help get me to the emergency room.  Many thanks to him, as he soon had us in a taxi on the way to the closest ER.   I was particularly interested in having someone there who, in the event it was needed, could explain some of the situation in German, should my ability suddenly fail.  The irony, of course, is that I explained all my recent issues to him in German already.  Thus, I really didn't need any translation assistance.  Of course, when one feels like they are about to pass out, they are not always thinking so clearly.

At any rate, we got to the ER, where I had to fill out a little bit of paperwork and explain that I was privately insured.  During this time, I almost lost consciousness, but somehow I persevered.   We were told to take a seat in the waiting area, and then we waited.

For the next two hours, we continued to wait.  I almost passed out one more time, but then, after sitting for a while, started feeling a little more coherent.  My friend acknowledged this, also. 

Finally, I was called in to see the nurse, who took my blood pressure, asked a few questions, and then asked me to wait, as "the Doctor will be with you shortly."  

OK, that is relative.

We waited another hour, during which time my friend told me that I had effectively (albeit inadvertently) made it seem that he was my "partner" simply in the way I had explained the circumstances.  Unlike in Spanish or English, the German word for friend is Freund, and the German word for boyfriend is Freund.  Normally in the context of things, these things sort themselves out, but in this case, the nurse understood that we were a couple, and my efforts to clarify this probably did more harm than good.  I almost felt compelled to seek her assurance that she truly understood that we are both heterosexual males, but it really didn't matter one way or the other.

Finally, my buddy left (as he had other things he needed to do), and a few minutes later, the doctor came in to see me.  I explained the recent events, and he took a blood sample, did a few other tests, and had the nurse do an EKG.   Another hour or so passed, and he returned with the somewhat comforting news that there was nothing he found that was physically wrong with me.  I certainly was not having a stroke, heart attack, or anything else.  He indicated that I should proceed with the upcoming appointments that I had already arranged.

As he was finishing up with me, a female friend of mine came by, and she and I both exited the ER, bidding farewell to the nurse at the desk.  I was glad to have company on the walk home, and was more than relieved to have an initial doctor's report indicating that I am physically okay.

We picked up some take-away Thai, then went home to watch a movie.  In times of uncertainty and particularly mentally exhausting moments, Disney films seem to help tremendously.  Thus, I was able to go sleep on Wednesday evening again with a bit of comfort and relief, albeit with a lingering question of "Okay, if things physically are all right with me, then what the fuck is going on?"

So, Thursday morning, I woke up trying hard to stay as relaxed as possible, which was no easy feat considering I was up for a physical check-up at the doctor's office.  I arrived punctually at 10am, and greeted the receptionist.  On my visit to the office, two days before, I had initially stated that I preferred to speak English, but that was based on my lack of confidence when it came to discussing various medical topics.  Like many places, the staff in this office CAN speak English, but that does not mean that they do it without difficulty.  I had found that it was actually better to speak in German until I got tripped up, rather than have them get tripped up from the get go. 

Allow me to give an example to partially illustrate this point.   When my mother visits Germany, she speaks English, which is normal, as she does not know any German.  Usually this is not a real problem, because most Germans have some grasp of English, and in many cases, their English is quite good.  However, just because you understand English does not always mean that you understand what is being said.  In restaurants, my mother, upon finishing her meal, has a habit of saying to the waitress, "I will let you take that away," while nodding to her empty plate. 

More than once, this has created some confusion for waitstaff, because they are not accustomed to hearing such a sentence, even though they literally understand each of the spoken words.  The waitress thinks, "Why is that woman telling me that I am allowed to do something which is actually my job?"
It is a context thing, really.

Anyway, there I stood at the reception desk at the doctor's office, and she asked me something in German.  I gave her a blank look, and was particularly humbled because I had just said that it was okay for us to speak in German, but I failed to realize that I have never heard the German sentence, "Would you be able to give us a urine sample, please?" in my life.  Thus, I was completely confused, and it took me a moment to compute the request.  Basically, she need me to go to the adjacent lavatory, print my name on a cup, do my business, then return the sample to the nurse's station. 

The positive here, is that I have certainly learned a few new vocabulary words during these recent experiences. 

For the next two hours, I underwent various tests, including another blood sample, an EKG, a little test for the lungs, and finally a sonogram on all my internal organs.  The nurse was very friendly and helpful, and I was only a bit irritated when the doctor came in to do the sonogram.  Again, he was the first physician that I met with (the one who was a bit brisk and quick to jump on the smoking and drinking problems that I supposedly have).  He actually was fairly pleasant as he described what we were looking at in my various organs, and I was very pleased to hear that he was finding everything was checking out just fine, without any issues.  He did comment that he saw too much citrus in my liver, which I found rather odd.  I do eat my share of oranges, particularly at this time of the year.  However, I have never heard about this being really an issue.  On the other hand, I felt also a bit proud that he found nothing that he could say about my alcohol consumption and its effect on my liver.  I certainly didn't expect him to find anything, and since then I have come to find out that I actually erred when I answered the alcohol consumption question; somehow I wrote down a quantity that was about twice as high as what I normally consume. 

Upon completion of the morning's check-up, I picked up a vitamin prescription at the pharmacy, then walked around the area of the city a little bit before returning home.  The doctor's office is in another district of the city, south of the river.  It is a nice little area, but I am rarely down there, so I took the opportunity to admire the surroundings.

That afternoon, I arrived to my next appointment at a radiology institute in another part of Frankfurt, this time fairly close to the European Central Bank.  Again, as I arrived to the office, I enjoyed seeing another part of Frankfurt that I have never spent much time in.  It hasn't escaped me that these little unpleasant visits have at least brought some sightseeing opportunities, so I am continuing to seek out the positives.

However, having an MRT is not a very fun thing to have.  Despite the positive news about my health that I had received in the past 24 hours, I was still feeling most anxious.  Lying in a very close tunnel listening to really loud noises is never enticing, and after having damn near lost my sanity in the past days panic attacks, I was very wary of how I would handle this next little experience.

I waited patiently in the Wartesaal until the woman came and took me to a little changing room where she asked that I remove my pants (leaving me in a shirt, socks, and boxers) and wait a couple of minutes. Then, another door opened, and I was invited in to the MRT area.  Both the nurses were nice, but I briefly lost my ability to speak coherent German, and one of them switched briefly to English.  I almost told her, "I will let you take that away," and nodded at the huge machine, but instead took my place on the little slab, and was grateful to hear the woman say that the process would take about 10 minutes.  I closed my eyes, was rolled into the scanner, and I concentrated on not flipping out.

As the noises started, I forced myself to NOT think about the day I had had on Wednesday.  I decided to count to myself, and after reaching 100, I switched to German, and practiced my numbers in my head.  The bleeps and electronic sounds were pretty overwhelming, but I told myself I was at a warm up show for Kraftwerk, and then continued counting in Spanish.  The 10 minutes were long, but I got through them.   As the woman rolled me out of the thing, I smiled and said, "gosh, that wasn't so much fun."

I put my jeans back on, and returned to the waiting area, where I looked out the window at the passing traffic on the street below.  Personally, I was very pleased that I had not "flipped out" in the middle of the machine, and despite my anxious thoughts, I appreciated the view of everyone going about their business in this little area of the city. 

The doctor called me in to her office to show me the results, and she pointed out that she found no issues with my back.  I took the opportunity to try and be chatty with the doctor, and while I appreciate that doctors are busy people, just like all of us, I didn't get a totally fuzzy feeling from the woman.  In fairness, she was very professional and polite, but not overly friendly.  Had the results not been so positive, I might have scored her bedside manner rating somewhat lower.  In the end, she responded to my enthusiastic explanation of how I had thrown my back out in the past during weight-lifting activities with a rather pragmatic, "Well, I suggest that you don't do that exercise any more when training."

With that, we concluded the visit, and I left the office and walked to the U-Bahn stop, feeling considerably better about things.  Sure, Wednesday had been perhaps one of the worst feeling days I have ever had in my life, but here on a Thursday afternoon, I had had two different appointments with doctors, and both had basically indicated that I was physically okay. 

This is not to say that I wasn't feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically.  Fuck loads of things have happened in a very short period of time, and I just wanted to go home and rest.  Part of me felt like going to the pub for some social time, but in the end, I spent the evening watching a few episodes of the Black Adder, which, similar to Disney films, helps tremendously in rough times. 

Early yesterday morning, I woke up feeling somewhat rested, and glad that I had not looked at any work emails the previous day.  I took a risk and logged on to my work email, and very quickly started feeling a bit antsy, again.  Similar to when I am on vacation, or even during evening hours or the weekend, I find it hard to switch myself off and ignore work.  (start the alarm bells....perhaps we are coming to realization as to what the nature of this problem happens to be?)

Around 9am, I checked in with my boss to give him a quick update on how things had been since we last spoke.  Obviously, some things were very good, like not having any physical issues that were causing my problems.  On the other hand, I was still jittery about the fact that I am officially on medical leave, and as a result, am leaving my boss and some colleague in the lurch, as they have to try and cover for me.  On top of this, I have had no contact with my repair partners or customers during this time.  I have just taken myself out of circulation (Kreislauf), but as I have said, this is not easy for me to do.

My boss was relieved to hear about things so far, and likewise reminded me to simply stay switched off.  His words were very helpful, just as the words and showings of support from other friends have been during these past few days. 

My final appointment for the week was in yet another part of the city, and, because I felt that time was short, I ended up taking a taxi to the appointment.  My taxi driver was a nice guy, and we had a pleasant conversation as we drove the 25 minutes across town.  On the way, I started feeling very anxious again, mainly because I was concerned that I would be late for the appointment, and I was momentarily worried about another panic attack hitting me.  Again, how interesting (erm, unpleasant) would that be had I entered the doctor's office, only to suddenly flop around on the floor because all my limbs stopped working?

We did make it on time to the neurologist's office, and when the doctor called me in to his office for our initial discussion, I found myself completely at ease.  He was very affable, and I described once again how my last week had gone.  He scored high marks for his "bedside manner," and I felt very like he cared about my situation.   He did a couple of quick checks, then I met with two different nurses, who performed various tests.  Both women were also very pleasant, and they patiently explained the process as they went through their preparations of attaching electrodes to my head and running the tests.

While I cannot say that it was uncomfortable, or even unpleasant, the process is not something I am keen to do again.  At the start of this past week, I had no idea that I would undergo so many different things in such a short period of time.  True, my last physical was back in 2005, before I left Texas for Spain.  Having that physical was a requirement of the Spanish government before I could relocate to the country, and as many readers might recall, that was a rather stressful time, especially when the doctor initially believed that I had a heart problem, only for us to find out that that was absolutely not the case.

In fact, it was that experience that led me to avoid doctors over the past decade.   One might argue that my rationale might have been a bit immature, but, as I have lived the past 10 years in Germany without any incident, I have felt my reasoning was just. 

Until now.

After the women finished the tests, I met again with the neurologist, who explained that the results all looked good, and in his words, all the "hardware" checks out good.  Again, I was pleased that he was candid and appreciated my sense of humor with the experience.  Not least of all, it is very reassuring to hear that everything physically is okay.  We agreed that I would meet next week with my primary doctor, review all the results of the past days, and determine our next steps. 

Finally having physical check-ups (extensive ones, at that) goes a long way to help my feelings of well-being, and that certainly is also reassuring to family and some close friends, particularly those who have encouraged me to get regular medical check-ups.  I am glad that I finally have done it as well. 


After my appointment yesterday morning, I took a long walk back to a tram line that would get me back to my side of town.  Despite the anxiety, I was still able to appreciate the cold, sunny day, and that I will find a way through all of this.

I had a couple of beers and a few tapas at a little Spanish restaurant with a friend last evening, and it was a decent ending to a pretty tough week. 

Of course, there is still quite a bit of uncertainty, as it is not clear what has brought these attacks of anxiety.  Extreme stress has always been a part of my job, and somehow, I have always managed to get through.  Many of these posts have related just how tough the job has been and how it has impacted my life, both for the good and the bad.  While I always use humor to help get through the rougher moments, it is not always as easy as it may seem. 

Sure, I am still concerned about how things will go forward.  Have I exceeded my limits and pushed myself too hard?  Have I finally worked myself to burn-out?  Or, am I simply just a little wound up about a few things?

I believe next week I will get a bit closer to these answers, and I look forward to it.

see you out there
bryan

Random Messages on a Friday or Any Day of the Week

"I am convinced that one of the greatest displays of drumming is by Topper Headon on London Calling. Happy Friday."

I smiled as I read the incoming text from B.  What a random remark, but a perfect way to finish a Friday afternoon, and start the weekend.  Of course, B wrote the message during his morning commute to the office while listening to the aforementioned album, and felt compelled to send a quick note. 

For my own Friday morning, 7 hours earlier, I had elected to listen to a couple other Clash albums, particularly needing to hear the song "Straight to Hell."  The work week had been rather lousy, and listening to the Clash is a helpful way for me to put things in perspective, or at least find a bit of comfort.  The bonus of having a good friend listen to the same band on the same day somehow made it even better.

Random events like this are nothing new, especially with the friends that I have.  Over the years, we have traded the odd quick message with one another; a message that probably makes very little sense to anyone else, but for us it triggers an instant memory of a time and a place.  For example, "Have a pumpkin on me,"  or "Here's to saxophone solos on the beach," might seem like extremely strange remarks to anyone on the planet, save for Spence and me, and that is perfectly fine.

True, many of these moments are from friends I made in school or at college, but I am certain that as we have all grown up and moved to our different corners of the world, we continue in the same manner, not only with our old friends but also more recent friends.  With old friends, I like the mere fact that these messages give us an opportunity to share a brief moment and if not a laugh, certainly at least a smile. 

However, I also greatly appreciate that with friends I have made in the more recent years, these random moments continue.  In many cases, they involve references to music (which certainly is no surprise, given the influence that it has on me), but it could also be a simple reference to a line from a movie, a cartoon character, or an animal playing in the snow. 

They have all the same significance:  Heute habe ich an Dich gedacht.

And that tends to be pretty cool thing.

see you out there
bryan

Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Books and Memories

One morning a few weeks before I headed to Dallas for Christmas holidays, I woke up to find that I had a few WhatsApps and emails asking me about my participation in a high school spirit group known as the Wranglers.  Apparently my family and a couple of old friends were decorating the Christmas tree one evening, chatting about old times, and this question came up.  My sister, you see, was also a member of this group a few years before me.  However, neither she nor my old friends could recall me ever having been part of the Wranglers, while my parents were certain that yes, I had been in the Wranglers. To settle the debate, everyone turned to me, 7 hours ahead of their time zone, fast asleep in bed.

So, I responded to the query by sending a little email that helped remind everyone of the facts, and mentioned that upon my arrival stateside, would pull out my old year book and show the photos for additional evidence.

This actually unintentionally set off another small issue, as my sister was reminded that she could no longer find her own yearbooks from junior high and high school, along with some other books from that era.

I arrived back to the states a week or so before Christmas, and as always, I spent the first few days trying to adjust to jet lag, culture shock, and the memories that flood me each time I return to my hometown. This year is a bit interesting, as my nephew is doing a little study abroad, and actually attending the very same junior high school that I went to 30 years ago.  Both he and my sister are staying with my parents, so I arrived to a full house.  (Perhaps one day I will write a post about the irony of how the sleeping arrangements were set up:  my nephew sleeps in my sister's old room, my sister sleeps in the room over the garage, and I slept in my old bedroom, which had been converted to a study and then, with the help of an inflatable mattress, a guest room. Thus, I was a guest in my own bedroom.)

The first couple of mornings, I rode along when we took my nephew to school; he was finishing up finals week, and I hadn't seen my junior high in at least 20 years.  Though I didn't go inside the school, I could visualize the various class rooms and hallways, which probably haven't changed all that much over the years.

One night before dinner, I stayed true to my word and located the box of my old books (labelled rather clearly "Bryan's books and annuals") in the garage, and brought them inside.  Sure enough, there were a handful of photos of me in the Wrangler group from my senior year at high school.  Everyone browsed through the 3 yearbooks from junior and the 3 from high school; my sister took more time with my high school yearbook, partly because she recognized so many names.  Like her, many of her classmates all had younger siblings who were my classmates.  I suspect that she was also wondering to herself, "where the hell are my yearbooks?"

What I didn't anticipate was how my nephew reacted to the annuals.  He went through all, found interesting pictures of people and enthusiastically commented on them.   Then, somewhat to my horror, he began reading out loud all of the entries that my friends and classmates had written.

I quickly tried to remember how many of those entries might be inappropriate for the dinner table, and figured about 70% would be safe and innocent enough.  I was a pretty good student, pretty well behaved, and more or less stayed out of trouble during school, but that didn't mean that everything was aboveboard.   Fortunately, no one ever wrote anything in my yearbook to the effect of "Liquor, I never even knew her!" or "I'd like to bend them over and eat them like an ice cream cone," but still, I was eager to avoid any awkward moments having to explain the significance of some random comment like, "oh...that teacher Mr xxx was such a fucking jerk," or something like that.

Thankfully, most entries were "hey, have a good summer.  bye," and "have a nice life. don't do anything i wouldn't do" and "party hard."  In other words, typical things that everyone writes in yearbooks, especially at a time in their life when things are usually bigger than life.  For example, "party hard" takes on a whole new meaning once you enter university, or maybe when you move to a German city which has a really popular pub next door to your flat.

Anyway, the yearbook review was a nice reminder of the past, and I repackaged the books and put them back in the garage for safe keeping, while my sister kept wondering where her own yearbooks were.

During the Christmas break, I found it interesting to spend my time with my 13 year old nephew.  He is just like any other teenager that I know (not that I know all that many), and reminds me a whole lot of how I was at his age, particularly as he is literally doing many of the exact same things that I did. He is going to the same school (albeit for probably just one year) as I did at 13, and he sings in the youth choir at church.

This year, the youth choir group is celebrating it's 50 anniversary.  The current group is preparing for their big fund raiser, but many former members are actively involved with the celebration preparations.  While at church my first Sunday back, an old friend told me about the photos he had collected of our old times when we were in the choir, including several photos of me.  Wow.  Talk about some memories.

Sure, I am sentimental, but I don't really harp on about my past.  In truth, I didn't enjoy my teenage years so much, but I have found that just about everyone says the same thing.  Perhaps it was easier to recall the times that were not so great, but over the holidays I realized that I actually have a lot more positive, happy memories from those years than bad memories.  Of course, it is always relative, but I needed the refresher.

I am not really a fan of social media, and am extremely glad that I am no longer a teenager (dependent on a smartphone for 90% of social communication), but looking through the yearbooks and seeing the old choir pictures posted on facebook, I am glad that we have the opportunity to share these kinds of things and stay connected.

Last week, I reconnected somewhat randomly with an old friend from junior high and high school, and was delighted that he shared a few old bits and pieces from when we were in 9th grade.  More evidence of great memories and times.  I seem to recall that we hosed all the dancers with our super powerful water guns during Frankie's "Relax," only for Mr Madsen to come storming in the DJ booth minutes later angrily wanting to know who had water guns.  "It wasn't us..."
Great stuff, Steve, many thanks.


As I wrap up this piece, I will mention that on the day before I returned to Germany at the end of Christmas break, I helped my father take down some decorations and store them in the garage. As we were trying to make some space, I found two heavy boxes, and upon opening them, was delighted to find my old collection of Hardy Boys novels.  The second box contained my sister's collection of Nancy Drew mysteries, and ALL of her junior high and high school yearbooks. 

Case closed. 

keeping up the happy thoughts on a cold January Saturday morning
bryan

I Blinked, But I Didn't Miss It!

I sat down with a cup of coffee on the second morning of this month to tidy up my expenses from my stateside visit.  The trip was quickly coming to an end, and the following day I would return to Germany.  I had managed to stay within budget, and that pleased me, although it was not a huge surprise.  The exercise went quickly, so I took advantage of the fact that no one else was awake (only pausing briefly to wonder why the hell I was up so early on my last day of vacation) and decided to scratch out a list of a few goals that I would like to achieve during 2016.  I prefer not to call these things Vorsätze, or resolutions, though I suppose one could make the argument that that's pretty much what they are. 

Interestingly enough, at the top of my list was "post more entries in your blog."

Now, it is not as if I sat down two years ago and made it a point NOT to make any postings, it just sort of happened that way.  Certainly a few people did inquire, and while I always appreciated the thoughts (most inquiries were positive, as in "I miss reading your posts," as opposed to, "Hi, when will you post more dumb crap?") I knew that I would have to reach that point when I really felt like writing again.  Truthfully, I have missed it myself, but it wasn't until I had a late night conversation outside the pub with a buddy of mine that I realized that time was right to write another post.

It is certainly easy to get caught up in things, or to get out of routine.  Sometimes distractions are pleasant, and other times they downright suck.  Sometimes excuses are valid, and other times, they are so worthless that you deserve all the flak that you get.

Since I am not making excuses, there will thankfully be no flak. 

That night outside the pub, my friend and I talked about a variety of things, including our time in Germany over the past years.  He made a point about me that I needed to be reminded of; he reminded me of who I am, and that my story is worth sharing.

I was caught off guard with his remark, but I took the compliment as he intended it to be. 

A few weeks later, I headed back to Texas to celebrate Christmas holidays with the family.  With regret, I did not see all the friends I wanted to see, but on the positive side, I did get some much needed quality time with family and a few friends.  As good a trip as it was for me, it went by so quickly, and again I am amazed at how fast time seems to pass.  Just when I was getting over my jet lag, it seemed like we were taking down the tree and the lights from the front of the house, and I was packing my bags to return home.

Fortunately, I kept my eyes open (save for the first few evenings when I fell asleep on the couch right after dinner) and cherished the time, as brief as it was. Happy thoughts helped send me back to Europe for the next part of my adventure (otherwise known as my life) with a bit more perspective, not least of all that it is an adventure worth sharing.   Sure, time goes quickly, but all the more reason to enjoy it for what it is.

see you out there
bryan


In no certain order, the following establishments deserve my particular thanks.

Londoner Pub - (nice one Arsenal)
Venturity (thanks for keeping me accountable)
Sprouts grocery store (where they don't get upset if you accidentally grind 2lbs of decaffeinated coffee before you realize you messed up)
Northpark Center (plenty of parking, as long as it is not Christmastime)
Old Monk
Idle Rich Pub
Joe T Garcia's
Fuzzy's Tacos
and
Goliad

Oooch, Numnum, and Sknxxx - a Week in Istanbul

Just over a year ago, I made my first visit to Istanbul to visit a repair site that we were on-boarding.  The first 24 hours were rather overwhelming, mainly because going through passport control was incredibly chaotic, and no sooner had I collected my luggage and met up with a colleague, we jumped in a taxi and hurtled across the city to the Asian side.  The tax ride took about 2 and a half hours in heavy traffic; the driver (like everyone else, for that matter) tended to drive at full speed, then slam on their brakes right before plowing into the cars that had been jammed ahead of them.  This made for a rather nerve wracking experience, so when we finally arrived at the hotel, we were greatly relieved, and exhausted. 

However, the very next morning, after a brief chaotic taxi ride to the repair site, we paid our fare, then stood for a few minutes greeting our Turkish colleagues.  Suddenly, a cat chased a rat up the pants leg of my German colleague.  The whole experience was so surreal, and I remember thinking, "what the hell am I doing here?"

I remembered these incidents this past Monday as I headed to the airport to catch my flight to Istanbul; we had scheduled an audit of the very same repair facility.  Indeed, things started out much the way they did last year.  The flight was rather pleasant, but upon arrival in the airport, the passport control process was once again a rodeo.  But, I got through without too much hassle, and after collecting my bag, met up with my colleague out in the arrivals lounge, and we went outside to the taxi stand. 

This year, the 2 hour ride across the city in the taxi was not nearly as stressful as last year, although the traffic must have been just as busy.  I think the trick this time round was that I did not pay attention to where or how the driver was actually driving.  Thus, I was not so alarmed by the constant stop start tactics, and ultimately, I think that I simply knew what to expect.  Thus, I just chatted with my colleague from the UK about the latest work gossip.

After checking in to the hotel, we ventured out to look for a restaurant.  As the weather was quite pleasant, we decided to walk.  We were not really sure where we were going, and as there were no visible street signs, we were not completely clear on where exactly we were.  There is a particular street known for it's shops, cafes, and restaurants, and that became our intended destination, though we still were not sure how to get there.  The whole area was primarily residential, as the Asian side of Istanbul is not particularly touristy. 

Realizing we needed to ask for directions, I attempted to speak with a man at a little kiosk, and showed him the name of the shopping street that we wanted to go to.  Though he spoke no English, he not only enthusiastically explained which direction we needed to walk, he came out of the kiosk and sort of watched us cross the street and continue on our way, just so he could be sure we understood the correct direction to take.

We walked for another 15 minutes, which included one rather harried moment as a car drove up onto the sidewalk that we were on, narrowly avoiding some other pedestrians, who were none too pleased with the situation.   Indeed, one has to stay alert at all times, because cars come from all directions with very little compliance with the traffic laws (if there actually are any).

Finally, we found the street that we wanted to be on, and both of us elected to grab a beer and a burger at a pub.   The waiter was polite, but spoke no English.  Fortunately, we were able to order by pointing at the item on the menu, and everything worked out fine.  From there, we walked all the way back to our hotel, but as the weather was still nice, it was an enjoyable 45 minute stroll. 

During dinner, my colleague told me how his young son is absolutely fascinated by washing machines, and spends time watching washing machine commercials and reviews on television or streaming media.  Additionally, his most favorite activity right now seems to be visiting a laundromat or appliance store, where he can play with all of the machines there.  The story was very charming and sweet; I am forever touched by the imagination and innocence of little ones. 

The next morning, we took a taxi to the repair site, and greeted our Turkish hosts.  I had never met my counterpart at the repair facility before, so was very glad of the chance.  We had two main points on our agenda: an audit of the facility and a physical inventory.  Both of these were equally important, and both are typically very involved tasks.  The audit demonstrates the compliance of the facility to all processes, and is always pretty stressful for the site being audited.  That was the task of my colleague from Scotland.  The challenge, of course, is that very few employees at the facility understand English, and the Scottish accent can be particularly difficult for those who do not speak English as their mother tongue.  Truth be told, sometimes it is difficult to understand, even for me. 

However, I have been on multiple audits with my colleague in various facilities around Europe, and always like to be there  particularly to assist if there are any moments of confusion or misunderstanding.  My colleague knows his job very well, but ultimately, I am responsible for the site.  Thus, if they do not understand something, I need to make sure that we overcome any communication obstacles.  Fortunately, the guys in Istanbul were pretty well prepared, and the first day of the audit went remarkably well.  I sat in the background doing some other work, but keeping one ear open, to follow the course of the audit topics.

We sat in the conference room for most of the day, and periodically a woman would come in to take our drink orders.  I tend to drink a lot of coffee throughout the day, and was a bit uncomfortable with the fact that someone was waiting on me.  Normally, I am fine to simply arrange for my beverages on my own, but this is simply not how things work in this particular environment. That said, I was very humbled and embarrassed that I was not able to communicate in Turkish, initially, not even to express my thanks when the coffees arrived. 

Later on in the afternoon during a break, we asked for a few brief language lessons, to at least learn how to say "thank you."  One of the guys wrote the words on the white board, and from them on, I tried to say thanks at every opportunity:  when the girl brought our coffees, when the security lady scanned me through the turnstile (when I had to go outside for a ciggy), etc. 

That evening, the general manager of the facility, who happens to be Irish, took all of us out to dinner at a very nice restaurant that served various types of meats.  This style of restaurant is quite popular in Istanbul, and we enjoyed various cuts of meat a la tapas style;  the waiter would bring out a plate of steak, enough for the five of us to share, then bring out another meat after we had finished the first plate, and so on.  It was most enjoyable, and afterwards we headed to a pub to watch a little football and continue the conversations with a few more beers. 

I enjoy the post-work activities with partners and suppliers, as it gives everyone a chance to relax and develop the working relationship, but I never expect or demand it.  After all, everyone has personal lives outside of work, with families and spouses and other activities.  I never want to give someone the impression that they feel obligated to wine and dine me.  But, when it does happen, I tend to enjoy the experience greatly.  I have learned a lot about different cultures and people, and it makes this whole international business experience all the more rewarding. 

The next morning, we were back on-site to finish up the audit and also perform the inventory.  I was a little anxious about the inventory, because they usually are time consuming and tedious.  Throw in the distraction of a major audit and the language barrier, and things could be very challenging.  Once again, I was rather impressed with the preparations and controls that my supplier had in place.  We had several thousand devices that needed to be counted, and my primary counterpart at the site had to bring in another colleague to help facilitate the inventory. 

Leaving my colleague to continue with the audit, I went downstairs to the main warehouse to count the stock.  We actually made quick work of the task at hand, and I found myself amazed at how well things were going.  The stock room attendant was on the stick, but was unable to communicate in English. Thus, another guy was there to help translate.  The two of them chattered back and forth during the counts.  The previous evening, I had consulted my Turkish-German dictionary to get at least a feel for how one counts in Turkish.  As I listened to the two guys, I realized that I did not have the slightest clue, as my new found level of Turkish was still limited only to a couple of words. 

Once, as we were counting a particular part that had a very small quantity, I heard the stock room guy exclaim, "Oooch!" and then wrote the number 3 on the side of the box.  I continue to be fascinated by language, and usually find a few words in each language (that I have a bit of experience with) that become my favorites, mainly because I like the way that they sound.  Often, these words appeal to me for very childlike reasons.  For example, in German, the word for "boo-boo" (yet another favorite word of mine) is "Aua."  However, in English, we would say, "Ouch!" while Germans would say, "Aua!"  Germans use that word as an exclamation as well as a noun, while in English, we do not, though I think it would be great to hear people exclaim "boo-boo!" when they stub their toe or whatever. 

Tres, drei, three, and now üç (pronounced "ooch").  Pretty cool to be able to say the number three in four different languages. 

Well, the inventory counts were bang on as we finished up in the main warehouse.  I was extremely relieved, and figured that we could count the rest of the stock in the 2nd storage location after lunch.
That count also went very well, despite a few confusing moments when we discovered a storage bin that was mislabeled.  By mid-afternoon, my inventory was complete and reconciled, and I needed only to compile all the files and submit them to my supply chain team.

Meanwhile, my colleague continued his audit, and around 7pm we reached a stopping point.  As there are so many points to cover in the audit, the days tend to be quite long.  Still, by 7.30, we had wrapped things up, and a few of us went to a restaurant called Numnum.  Again, I kind of like the sound of the word, and after consulting an urban dictionary, I guess I should have realized earlier that the word basically means "snacks."  This restaurant is a chain in Istanbul, and serves a variety of bar food that most Americans would recognize in any Chili's, Snuffer's, or any other sports bar type establishment. 

Okay, I have spent a fair amount of my life frequenting places like this, and certainly in my hometown there are some places that are forever cherished, not only for the good times that I had there, but also for the tasty (albeit perhaps not so healthy) food.  For those reading this that are familiar to Greenville Avenue, Numnum is quite a bit like the San Francisco Rose, and that is not a bad thing.  Onion rings, chicken wings, good burgers and some impressive pizzas were on the menu, and as I sat on the patio with my colleagues, I felt a bit of nostalgia for some of those great times back when we were rarely concerned about healthy eating; I think once or twice Tim and I might have eaten at the Rose 7 nights on the trot. 

Though I don't often crave bar food, I do enjoy the indulgence from time to time.  Everything was tasty, and we all chatted away about Turkish history, the upcoming elections, and various other topics.  It was a very nice evening, and as my colleague and I got back to the hotel, we both agreed that our hosts were really nice, genuine people.  I think most people from Turkey are quite friendly and nice, but these guys gave me a really good impression. 

Thursday morning came, and we checked out of the hotel and took a taxi back to the repair center for our wrap-up meetings.  Our flights home were scheduled for later that afternoon, which meant we would need to leave by mid-day in order to allow for the 2 and half hour taxi ride to the airport.
My colleague had already done his on-line check in, so I decided to do the same thing, but soon found that my flight had already been cancelled. 

After checking around on-line for a few minutes without finding any helpful information, I decided to go to the Frankfurt airport website, where the home page had a message stating that many workers, including the security and baggage people, were all on a one day strike, which was causing major disruptions.  This strike had been announced on Tuesday, the day after I arrived in Istanbul, so I knew nothing about it.  I contacted my travel agency in hopes of getting on a later flight, one that had not been cancelled, but alas, I was informed that it was fully booked.  I would need to remain in Istanbul another night.

Initially, I was a bit irritated, because I was looking forward to returning home, despite the good week I had had so far.  However, I accepted the facts, and my travel agent contacted me via telephone with some options for flights to Frankfurt on Friday.  Our Turkish hosts had already told us about the second airport in Istanbul, which was on the Asian side, is more convenient to get to from their facility.  I had never seen this option before in my previous trip, but the more I heard about the airport, it sounded like a really good idea.  The airport was only 30 minutes away from the facility, smaller, and not nearly as congested as the main airport.  So, I got myself booked on a noon flight for Friday, which would get me home by 3pm in the afternoon.

My UK colleague left to catch his flight on Thursday, and I remained at the facility to get some additional topics covered with the repair partner.  I was actually glad for the extra time and it was quite productive.

Since our hosts had spent the past two evenings with us, they begged off on Thursday evening, as they needed to spend time with their families and wives.  I was totally fine with this, and returned to the same hotel that I had checked out of earlier that morning.  I was a bit surprised at the lack of recognition when I checked back in at the reception desk.  The same person had checked me in on Monday evening, and the same bell-boy had taken my luggage up to my room.  I was booked back into the exact same room as I had stayed in the past  three nights, and I had the feeling that neither of the two employees recognized me whatsoever.  It was if I had never been in the hotel.  There were very few guests staying at the hotel, so I was a bit curious.

I contemplated a return to Numnum for more snacks, but in the end decided to eat in the hotel restaurant.  I was the only patron, and was able to read quietly and enjoy a few beers.  We had asked our hosts for another brief language lesson earlier that day, so I now was able to add a few more Turkish words to my vocabulary, which I tried out on the restaurant staff, with mixed results.

Business travel is pretty tiring, and it has been awhile since I have had to be on the road for a complete week.  Thus, I was pretty exhausted when I went to bed, and glad to be heading home the next morning.

The next morning, I checked out of the hotel a second time.  This time, the guy at reception did recognize me, and was a bit surprised to see me, and I explained what had happened.  He got me a taxi, and I enjoyed a nice, traffic free ride along the coast to the airport, just enjoying the scenery.  At the airport, you have to put all your bags through the x-ray machine before you actually get inside to the check-in area.  Still, this process went much more smoothly than at the big airport.  Once through the first security check, I got my boarding card and checked my luggage through, then went and stood in line at the passport control.  This, too, was a bit hectic, but still manageable.  Right after that, I went through security, and then headed straight for the duty-free shop. 

I found time for a coffee, and waited for my flight, which turned out to be full.  I was stuck between two rather large passengers, one very tall, and one rather overweight.  Thus, it was a wee bit cramped, but tolerable. 

We departed about 20 minutes late, but soon almost everyone was dozing, including myself.   Once, I woke with a start, and realized that I had heard someone snoring.  At first, I thought it was me, but as I sat there, I continued to hear the "Sknxxx," and it was coming from someone across the aisle.  By this time, the cabin crew had started serving the meals, and they, too, were startled by the man's snoring; about every 30 seconds or so came another "Sknxxx!"

No one was too bothered by it, and I was particularly glad that it was not me. 

By 3pm, we were touching down in Frankfurt, and I got through passport control and baggage pick up with no problems.  25 minutes later, I arrived back to my flat, and I immediately decided that I would simply begin the weekend.  The weather was brilliant (and has remained so), and after a busy week, I was ready to unwind.

So, I have taken advantage of the nice weather and the time change (spring forward) and will get out and enjoy the rest of my Sunday in the sun.

see you out there.

Sights and Sounds of the Start of Spring

The cold that I suffered from a few weeks ago took it's time in fading completely away.  One of the main elements that lingered was my stopped up ear, which made for a kind of a strange sensation, as I clearly was not able to hear as well as normal on my left side.  I found myself positioning myself differently to converse with people, just so I could better understand what they were saying.

My patience grew thin as I waited for that "pop" that would finally restore the normal hearing.  Like with other ailments I have had from time to time, I briefly wondered, "what happens if this turns out to be permanent?"  For example, a hangover might last about a day for me, and I normally have needed about a week to recover when I throw my back out, though the first two days are so excruciatingly painful that it seems more like a month.  With a cold, I tend to need almost two weeks to fully recover.

Thus, for every day that my ear stayed a bit clogged, I reminded myself that the end of the second week was near, and soon this would be another thing of the past.  Physically, I was feeling more than well enough to continue my regular, frequent gym visits.  This year I have made more of an effort to improve my routine so that I visit the gym 3 or 4 times a week, rather than recent years where I seemed always to have to cram everything into Saturday and Sunday.  Not surprisingly, the efforts have been paying off, and my fitness level is running reasonably high.

I confirmed this about a week ago, immediately after a workout. It was a rather busy afternoon, and the escalator going down to the U-Bahn platform was pretty full. Looking back, I am glad that I gave myself an extra step of space behind the woman directly in front of me.  She seemed to be on the stick as well, because suddenly the older woman directly in front of her reached the bottom of the escalator and promptly fell down, blocking all of us that were still descending.  Both the woman ahead of me and I immediately started doing "the stairmaster"  in reverse, as we rapidly struggled to keep backing up the steps so as not to plow right over the unfortunate woman lying on the ground with her shopping bags strewn everywhere.

As bystanders rushed to aid the fallen woman, my little workout partner and I continued to back pedal for the next 15 seconds or so, which turned out to be a bit problematic, as the folks behind us could not immediately see what was suddenly creating a log jam on the escalator.  We quickly found ourselves being pressured by the masses behind us, and somehow the woman kind of slid through a small space, and I sort of hopped over the railing and out of the way, which worked out well:  the woman on the ground was helped quickly to safer place on the platform, which ultimately allowed the escalator riders to unclog without any further pile ups.

The incident was not all that serious, but likely could have been had we not reacted so quickly.  The poor woman who fell merely stumbled, and as there were so many helpful people trying to assist her, I moved on down the platform and continued home on the next U-Bahn.  I thought back to one of the times when I went snow skiing as a teenager;  I was still learning to "stop" as I finished a run and approached the group of people all waiting for the ski-lift to take us back up the mountain.  I was going at a pretty good clip and was fortunate that the man who I first plowed into had the good sense and strength to grab hold of me and prevent me from wiping out 15 more people.  In both cases, no one was really injured, and we were all able to quickly find the humor in the experience.

An additional positive is that during the frantic moments on the escalator, my ear popped, finally restoring my hearing.

As the days start to get longer and spring approaches, I find that I am not sleeping all that restfully.  True, I am dreaming about some pretty interesting stuff, like riding escalators and ski lifts, and the other night I actually woke up with a start after having dreamed that the streets and sidewalks in my neighborhood had all been replaced with mounds of sand, which made it a bit burdensome to walk around.

However, despite the vivid dreams, recent mornings I find myself lying in bed with no desire to immediately get up.  Instead, I lie quietly listening to the sounds of early morning.  The birds in particular are nice to listen to; they sing happily as they go about the start of their day.  I allow myself a few minutes just enjoying the quiet, before rousting myself from under the covers to get started with my own day. 

Yesterday was the first day that one could actually stand outside in shirt sleeves (at least in the sun), and truly spring is almost here.  Everyone has to go through their little adjustments as the temperatures change, so in the next few days I am sure I will see some people wearing t-shirts walking down the street next to someone wearing a coat and scarf.  But as far as I am concerned, I  think that is perfectly ok.

Whether they enjoy their early mornings with a bit of singing and hold on to the railings while riding the escalator is a decision I will leave to them, but that certainly is my plan, and I am sticking to it.

see you out there.