What Next?

My morning routine is pretty basic.   Once I am out of bed, I tend to turn on the computer and start making the first coffee of the day.   As soon as the coffee is ready, I sit down and scan the morning headlines in both English and German.  The last few weeks have made for particularly distressing reading, and I was already becoming increasingly dismayed with the state of affairs in the world, particularly in relation to violence involving police officers in the US.

Last Friday morning, I had the upsetting experience of seeing my hometown all over the headlines, due to the attack on the Dallas police officers.  Emotionally distraught, I burst into tears as I read through the articles detailing the events.

Despite feeling really  down through the remainder of the day, I met up with some friends for dinner at a local restaurant, and afterwards stopped briefly by a party at a little shop next to my flat that was celebrating 10 years.  There, I saw a handful of some of my German friends, but unfortunately, someone unintentionally made a remark about the recent events in Dallas and it caught me at the wrong time.  In fairness, these friends are all open and respectful, but the events hit a little too close to home.

I quietly moved on to the pub across the street, intending to have a beer and then maybe return to the party, but I ended up chatting with a couple of other friends.  We spoke about the victims over the past weeks, the sadness we felt for the circumstances, the victims, and for the survivors.  We spoke of our concerns over the lack of solutions that were needed in order to help us avoid a continued tailspin.   Pretty depressing conversation topics, true, but it felt ok to open up to a couple of folks about it. 

The weekend itself was pretty somber, at least for me.  I stayed at home in a funk on Saturday, but late in the afternoon ventured out for a little sunshine, saw an old friend, chatted with a new friend, and laughed as I watched the very young daughter of some friends of mine do her little bits of cuteness. 

Frankfurt temperatures were pretty warm on Sunday, so I spent the late afternoon again enjoying the sunshine on the terrace of the local pub.  Though the victims from Dallas were still in my thoughts and prayers, I enjoyed watching all the young families go about their Sunday afternoons.  There was some sort of school party earlier in the day, and as a result, there were more children outside as compared to other weekends.  I thought of them as they played in the school yard across the street, and wondered if they were aware of the horrible events and problems that are facing the states right now.   Hopefully not.  However, I did hope that their parents were teaching them love, respect, and not to have fear, but instead be cautious.

I was standing around a little table top barrel with a few guys, including an Italian neighbor who just acquired a 3 month old kitten.  I am not really a cat guy, but this little cat was very subdued, a little curious, and happens to be very exotically striped.  Just about EVERYONE who strolled by stopped to take a look at the cat.  A family came by with two small children, who clearly wanted to pet the cat.  The mom gently encouraged them to ask my buddy.  My buddy, however, speaks no German, so sort of looked at them blankly instead of responding, "Sure, you can pet the cat." 

I did a quick translation, and in seconds the children were gently stroking the cat, who really seemed to enjoy the attention.  A few minutes later, the family moved on, and my buddy's cat, who was on a leash, decided to investigate the surroundings, including the inside of the pub.  So, my buddy and his cat left the table for a few minutes, then came back outside, where another family happened to pass by.

Re-read the last paragraph, and that pretty much happened two more times over the next 15 minutes.  Finally, my buddy said that it was time to take the kitten home to his flat, which is almost as close to the pub as mine.

During his brief absence, a little girl returned from playing in the playground across the street and asked her mother where the cat was.  She was looking under the tables, and seemed a bit sad that the cat was not around.  Just then, the Italian guy arrived back, and I mentioned what was going on.   Five seconds later, the mother of the child came up and asked about the cat.  Not surprisingly, she asked the question in German, but, as I was standing right there, I responded in English (I had already heard her speaking in English to her daughter) that the guy didn't understand German.

However, once the woman asked the question again in English, he offered to take them to see the cat at his flat around the corner.  So, they all headed off for a few minutes.

I was struck by the simplicity and the politeness of the events. It was nice to see pleasant people treating others with respect, regardless of nationality or age.  There have been far too many random acts of violence in recent weeks, and I needed to see these random acts of kindness, however small.  I still truly believe that most of humanity does prefer acts of love and kindness as opposed to acts of hate and fear.   

Last evening, I had a chance to skype with my grandmother, who told me how devastated the citizens of Dallas were feeling.  She went on to say something that was certainly not new to me, but I needed to hear it again. 

"I have never hated someone, but I have hated what someone has done." 

I was taught never to hate anyone, and that is the way I have always lived my life.  The distress, the dismay that I felt last Friday morning was not just about my home town, but because I was asking the question again, "how can someone feel so much hatred that they want to go out and do something like that, simply with the intent to harm others?" 

As my grandmother went on to say last evening, "I wish I was smart to have the answers to that question."

Me, too.

keep the faith
bryan

Domestic Urban Security - the Joys of House Keys and Doorbells

Last Friday night when my house key broke off in the lock of the door, I thought to myself, "Can this really be the second time that this happened to me?"

I am not sure what the average failure rate on keys should be, and likely it is very low, but the number of those incidents which has been inconvenient?  I imagine that number to be quite high.  My two experiences certainly didn't come at opportune times. 

Some 20 odd years ago, I got home to my parents house one night after being out with some friends, and when I put my key in the backdoor and turned, I felt the key sort of snap off, and I pulled out the useless part, leaving the business end inside of the lock.  Door still closed.  Neat.

Of course, my parents were out of town (I think was house-sitting or home for summer break or something), but I had not remembered which neighbors (if any) held a second set of keys to the house.  Because of the rather late hour, I was not about to wake up ALL of the neighbors to try and find the replacement keys.  Unfortunately, the only other option was to call my grandmother, hope that she answered the phone, and then drive to her house and pick up her set of keys to the house. 

That meant I had to drive to the nearest payphone (note - that sentence you will NEVER hear in Europe, unless it is someone telling a story) so I could call my grandmother.   Again, the lateness of the hour was not very convenient, but I was glad that my grandmother is a light sleeper.   She answered the phone cautiously, and I quickly explained my predicament, then drove across town to her house, picked up the key, returned home, and went to sleep.

It really wasn't that big of a deal, but for what it's worth, I kept that little part of the broken key that attaches to the key chain. 

The second this happened, it was still late on a Friday night, but through a stroke of luck, the key broke off AFTER the house door had opened, and furthermore, the key was no longer in the lock.  This enabled me to safely enter my house and go upstairs to enter my flat.  The flat itself has a different key, which is all well and good, but without the front door key to the house, you have no immediate way to enter the building.  More on that in a second.

Last Friday, my immediate need was to go sleep, and when I woke up Saturday morning with a rather fuzzy head, I didn't remember what had happened until I entered the kitchen and looked down at the broken key on my counter.  I took a photo of the broken key and sent it to my friend who has the second set of keys to my flat.  "Help!"

Well, it turns out that she was out of town, but since I look after her second set of keys, I had a way to go over and retrieve my spare set.   However, I was pretty sluggish on Saturday, so it took me most of the day to get myself in gear and ready to go over and pick up the key. 

The key point here, is that without this front door key, I was not able to get back into my building.  Even though I am acquainted with my neighbors, I cannot just ring the doorbell and expect for someone to buzz me in, especially late at night. 

I consider my neighborhood to be quite safe, but that being said, everyone typically has their own security
plan.  By security plan, I mean how one handles their personal safety.  For example, as children most of us were taught not to talk to strangers.  This was easy enough to do in suburban USA, but what about in the crowded weekly market in downtown Frankfurt?  Urban living is noticeably different.

Locking doors is a given.  I always lock my flat when departing home, and I usually make sure that the front door to the house as fully closed (it locks automatically) before I walk down the street.  However, as I mentioned, to gain access to the house, one either uses a key or the doorbell.

When the guys come to pick up the trash, they sort of hit all the doorbells at once, and a few seconds later, they are buzzed in as half the people in the house have just "buzzed" them in.   Usually the guys shout "trash guys," or something to that effect.   They tend to come at the same time, and when I have ever buzzed them in, I usually step out on my balcony to make sure that they are actually taking the trash out.

Likewise, the DHL and UPS drivers, when delivering their packages, ring the bell of the particular resident, but as we often realize, these drivers deliver during the day, which is precisely when no one is at home.  The drivers then start ringing ANY bell, in hopes that someone will answer.  That way, they can complete the delivery. Yours truly works home office, so am regularly signing for packages that come to my neighbors.  That is all part of the experience, and again, if I buzz someone into the apartment building, I tend to find out who they are, or what they want to do. I am not nosy, but I am cautious. 

That being said, because my little intercom doesn't work so well (it sounds like the teachers do from the Charlie Brown specials), I tend to buzz someone in, then open my door and check who they are.   The other day, it was a guy delivering flowers to my next door neighbor.  Last week, it was something from Amazon.
Only twice in the past decade have I opened the door to someone that I probably shouldn't have.
Once, thinking it was the trash guy, I buzzed someone in, only to have to get into a conversation with a Jehovah's Witnesses.   No disrespect intended, but that is really not my thing.

The other time this happened, it wasn't actually me who answered the door, nor was it really a big problem.
During my second year in Germany, I took private language lessons on Saturday evening in my flat.  One night, the doorbell rang at about 9pm, and I was prepared to ignore it, but my teacher wanted to see who it was.  As it were, I was learning vocabulary about kitchen items, including pots and pans and cutlery.  As I opened the door to see who was coming into the flat, I found a couple walking up the stairs carrying a bottle of wine and some flowers, presumably on their way to a dinner party.

What I didn't realize was that my teacher was standing behind holding one of the carving knives from my kitchen block.  The guy coming up the stairs sort of startled, then I realized what had his attention, and after a few brief awkward moments, we clarified that the new arrivals were at the right house number, but on the wrong street, which basically meant that they were not in the right house. My teacher explained how they could reach the correct street, but her credibility was blown because of the knife she was holding; the couple never took their eyes off of it.

As they departed and we resumed our German lesson, I asked my teacher if that was how she always answered the door, knife in hand.  She responded, "Well, you can't be too careful." 

Fair enough, but for me, I personally prefer a less threatening way of greeting someone. 

At any rate, I need to sign off and go get a replacement key made today, and also find a place for my second little broken key...a souvenir of another little experience.

see you out there, but leave the cutlery at home.

bryan

Schnitzel Happens - Rain and Sun in the Summertime

Last evening, Germany played their final group stage game of the Euros, but instead of heading out to watch the game at a pub with a large crowd of people, I elected to watch it quietly at home.  This decision was driven primarily because I have been out every night since the beginning of the tournament, almost two weeks ago.  During June and July, it is always fun to spend as much time as possible outdoors.  It stays light much later, and as long as the weather is good, most people are outside enjoying the summer evenings.  Add the European Championships, and there is even more activity.  But, the body can only take so much before it needs a little break.

As much as I like (if not prefer) autumn and winter, I do enjoy this time of year, as long as it does not get too hot.  That has not been any problem so far this summer.  In fact, we have had rather a lot of rain over the past weeks.   However, as much as I like the rain, I looked forward to perhaps a few days with a bit more sunshine, particularly last weekend when some old friends came into town. 

Shortly before their arrival, the weather reports were pretty direct:  rain, rain, and more rain.
Sure enough, over their visit, we had rain, rain, and more rain.  What was a bit interesting is that we also had extended moments of sunshine, and several times we actually had rain and sunshine simultaneously. 
None of this deterred us from hanging out, seeing a few bits around town, and making sure that they got their fill of German cuisine.  


For me, it was one of the special situations where time seemed to race by and stand still at the same time.  It seemed like we had been hanging out for weeks, after the second day...
Then, suddenly it was Sunday evening and time to let things go back to normal routine. I would return to work after a couple of days off, and they would fly home to the US.

Yesterday in the gym, I checked myself on the scale, and was not surprised to see that I had put on a few kilos in the past days.  I, too, got my recent fill of local cuisine and apparently have a few souvenirs from the experience.   Well worth it, as far as I am concerned.

At any rate, that all helped me decide to have a quiet night at home last evening.  Germany won their match, and afterwards, I stood on my balcony for a few minutes and watched it start to rain.  Again.

As I stood there, I thought about my friends back in the states and wondered if they were going to do Taco Tuesday.  Ironically, I realized that that is what I had eaten for dinner, too. 

 "Yep," I said to myself as I turned to go back inside,"that was a great weekend."

cheers to Goliad. thanks for the visit.

bryan

Suck Potential and Other Domestic Bits

When I was a freshmen in college, a guy who lived down the hall on my floor in the dormitory stood out for a couple of reasons.  One, he was muscle-bound, albeit not overly tall.  Sure, there were a lot of pretty big guys who were hitting the gym and playing on the football team, but this guy didn't play any sports.  He was clearly only into bodybuilding, but clearly knew what he was doing in the weight room. 

Number two, he acted and spoke as if he came straight from the set of Valley Girl, which was a bit odd, as that film was already 5 years old, and perhaps more significant, this guy did not come from California.

Let be me clear, the guy was a nice enough and while we never were really friends, we certainly acknowledged one another around campus, in the gym, or wherever.  My school was small, and I was well aware that he had some intelligence, as our school was heavily focused on academics.  That being said, and although I didn't hold this against him, I couldn't help but think to myself regularly, "Gosh, this guy talks like a dipshit."

One of his key phrases was always, "Man, that has suck potential," which started to get annoying after about the 3rd time I heard him say it.  In the grand scheme of things, it was rather insignificant and I had forgotten all about it until this past weekend when I was doing the house cleaning. 

For the most part, I keep a pretty tidy flat.  I pick up after myself, and try and do a thorough cleaning at least every two weeks, if not once per week.  This includes hoovering.   Normally, I try to adhere to the rule of "shoes off," which really cuts down on the dirt and crud that one tracks through the house.  However, in the past month or so, I have had some back problems that made it somewhat painful to put on and remove my shoes every time I had to go somewhere.  This was only a short term solution, and as my back improved, I looked forward to getting out the vacuum cleaner. 

My little hoover works pretty well, but I decided to have a peep at the dust bag before I started cleaning last weekend, and sheepishly realized that perhaps it was time to install a new bag.  It might have even been better had I actually changed out the bag 4 years ago when it really needed it, but anyway, I changed the little bag out, flipped the switch, and then the extension tube that I was holding in my hand suddenly pulled a poster off the wall.  Part of me was amazed at the improvement in suction, but I was equally disturbed by the fact that the past couple of years at least my vacuuming had clearly not been so adequate. 

As I continued my cleaning, I found myself thinking about my first year of college and thought to myself, "Never underestimate the power to suck."

see you out there
bryan

Marching On - The Spirit of 2016

30 years ago today,  I went to my very first rock concert.  I had just turned 16, and had only had my driver's license about a month.  Of course, my parents wouldn't allow me to drive to the concert, which was held at the Bronco Bowl in Dallas.  That really didn't matter too much to me; I was simply keen on going to the show. There would be plenty of other times for driving.

Earlier that school year (in the autumn of '85), my first year in high school, I had met a guy who introduced me to the music of the Alarm.   From the first listen, I was totally hooked, and over the months had spent countless hours listening to all of the albums, including the latest release, Strength, which was quite their tour de force.  

My buddy had already seen the Alarm during their fall tour, and he told me that he was sure that they'd be back in the spring.  Sure enough, concert dates were announced and we organized our tickets.  I had already heard from my friend how great a live show the band tended to put on, and I had big expectations. 

Well, that concert was a bit of a watershed for me.  To this day, it still remains my favorite concert, but more importantly, it really hammered the musical influence into me.   I have been to loads of concerts over the past three decades, and while many (if not most) were all special in their own right, it is simply the experience of seeing the Alarm that makes for one of those great moments in my life.  The band enjoyed playing the gig, and played their hearts out.  Not only that, they go out of their way to share the experience, the music with the fans.  It makes for a really moving experience. 

Over the years, I have quoted more than once from Alarm lyrics in various posts, and I will do it here again at the end of this piece.   The words always seem to fit, and I can certainly take joy in the motivation that the music still brings me.

About a month before the Alarm played my show in Dallas, they put on a free concert on a college campus that MTV broadcast live.  Though I was aware of this live concert, I think I didn't actually see the video until years after.  At any rate, last month I watched it one Saturday morning, and it helped bring back a few wonderful memories.  (If you have 70 minutes or so, I would encourage you to check out the concert.)  Not surprisingly, the set list was pretty much the same as what I saw  at the Bronco Bowl a few weeks later,


For me, that particular Saturday morning was pretty tough, so as the energy and inspiration that came from the video was more than welcome.
I almost got my guitar out and held it over my head (once you see the opening song, you know what I am referring to), but in the end just sang the words:

Take this song of freedom
Put it on and arm yourself for the fight
Our hearts must have the courage
to keep on marching on and on

I have sung those lines together with thousands of fans, or simply alone, like the other day. 
Either way, no matter how often I sing those words, I still get the same great feeling.

Strength.


see you out there
bryan

Ack! Too Many Public Holidays This Month!

May is a month of public holidays in Germany, and this year, all of them have landed on weekdays, which basically means that we have at least three fewer working days.  I am certainly not complaining, but I am using it to explain my lack of posts the past couple of weeks.   Who am I to stand in the way of public holidays?  The number of days off came as a surprise to me years ago when I first moved here.  We had just started our repair operation, and two months after launch (when things were far from stable) we suddenly had a holiday each week.  That is thing:   When the calendar works right and the holidays fall on weekdays, it kind of throws you for a loop, albeit a good loop.

When the weather has cooperated, I have tried to take advantage of the extra days off by spending time outside.  Of course, everyone else is doing this too, so the cafes and pubs are pretty active.  Frankfurt have had sort of a bad footballing year, and within a matter of days, one of the teams has been relegated to the 3rd division (from the 2nd), and the team in the Bundesliga has to play a relegation playoff, and their form for most of the season has been poor and indifferent.  Thus, I am not expecting them to stay up.

Meanwhile, the English league finished with a bit of last minute drama.  I will refrain from making too many comments, because the pundits have really irritated me in recent months.  While I respect that Arsenal did not have a particularly good season, they still managed to come in a distant second place in the league.  Thanks again to the Geordies who did a number on Spurs on the final day of the season.  That made my month. 

In fact, as the match results were coming through, and despite my lower back pain (yep, i threw my back out about a week and half ago), I rushed over to the pub to celebrate with....erm, no one, really.  It was just another Sunday afternoon before a public holiday (Monday) where everyone was out and about enjoying the weather, eating ice cream, having a drink, and in my case, looking forward to a break from football, albeit we have only a  few short weeks until the Euros. 

This morning, my back is feeling quite a bit better, the weekend is almost here, and next week?  You guessed it.  We have another public holiday.

See you out there
bryan

An Overwhelming Thanks on a Saturday Morning

This month has been rather emotional.  For business reasons, our company has terminated some contracts with a couple of customers, which ultimately means that I will no longer be working with some of the repair partners that I have been in close contact with over the past several years.  Two weeks ago, I visited one of my repair sites in Germany to complete a few final tasks, and had the opportunity to have dinner and a few beers with the guys.  We have all been in the industry for a while, so we know how things tend to be.  Nothing lasts forever, and as some projects come to an end, others will start up.  One always hopes to find another opportunity in the future to resume the working relationship, but I was particularly touched that the guys expressed the same sentiment.  So, it was a literal "auf Wiedersehen."

Not surprisingly, I was feeling a bit pensive at the weekend.  Friday evening, I met up with a few friends for dinner at the pub, which was followed by a few more pints.  It was a pretty nice time, marred only by the presence of a guy that I had met briefly once before.  The pub was a bit crowded, so when I saw him across the room, I headed outside to chat with a friend, and hoped like hell that he wouldn't see me and come outside.

For a few minutes, my luck held out, and I was able to converse with my German friend; we caught up on a few bits, but, as both of us are rather quiet, a lot of times we can simply enjoy the time without babbling the whole time.  Then, the guy came outside for a cigarette, came over to our barrel, and greeted us in English.  He couldn't remember my name, but I answered when he asked, then continued to sort of stand there quietly.  Like I said, Mono and I were not really saying a whole lot, but neither of us intended for the silence to serve as an invitation for someone to come up and start a conversation.  OK, we were in a pub, so this is a normal thing for people to chat randomly, but I just was not really in the mood.

"Wow, you guys seem really down tonight," the guy said with his strong Irish accent.

"Just having a quiet night at the pub," I responded, with no desire to relate details of my recent work weeks.

The guy continued to blather on about this and that, and I hoped that he wouldn't stick around for a second cigarette.  My buddy introduced me to a German word a couple of years ago that I am quite fond of:  Depp. Der Depp is basically a jerk, a moron, a fool, a dork, or, to get rather vulgar, a complete prick.

The fact that the guy had a big Paul Bunyan type beard was only a small part of the annoyance.  I have a beard myself, but I am not an Abercrombie and Fitch type of guy.  Everyone is entitled to their own style, but his irritated me a lot.  Mono felt the same way, and he quickly finished his beer and took off.  Fortunately, another friend came outside, so I still had some moral support for my last beer of the evening.

Unfortunately, the Depp continued talking, and once he started talking about offshore accounts and ways to avoid taxes (he is a finance guy), I realized that I would be better off going home.  I emptied my glass, paid up, and bid my friend a good evening, then chucked off home.

20 minutes later I received a text message from my friend; the Depp wanted to head off to the red light district in the city.  Again, to each his own, but that is certainly not my thing.

Saturday proved to be a rather quiet day for me, but I wokked myself a little chicken broccoli stir-fry during the afternoon, then I got to thinking about a movie that I had seen several years ago called "This is England."
It is not as if I have been living completely under a rock, but I was unaware that there several mini-series that served as continuation of the story, and I found myself watching several episodes through the course of the evening, and late into the night.

The story itself is great, and the cast and production is equally impressive.  However, what struck me most was the piano soundtrack by Ludovico Einaudi.   His work absolutely floored me, and it has been quite some time that I have been so struck by musical expression.   I learned piano from an early age, but it was Joe Jackson in particular who has had such an influence in what I play.  His work makes me want to continue playing.   Listening to the Alarm and Miles Hunt (the Wonderstuff) made me want to learn guitar, and because of them, I am a strummer.  I never developed the technical ability of a Pete Townshend or Eric Clapton, nor did I ever really have that desire, especially with guitar.  Although those guys are phenomenal in their own right (as was Prince, I might add; I recently listened to a solo he played during "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" which was absolutely incredible), I have preferred the more basic styles, rather more minimalist in approach.

With this composer Einaudi, I find a new influence, which is thrilling.  While watching the films last weekend, I had to stop and take a breath; the music was that expressive.

Knowing that I was due in Madrid for a few days during the coming week, I debated whether or not to order some of the music, since it would likely be delivered while I was out of town.  I finally decided to go on and order a couple of books of his sheet music with the expectation that they would be waiting for me upon my return home from the business trip.

The few days in Madrid were again spent completing some open tasks and saying auf Wiedersehen to some repair partners that I will likely not have to visit any more.  Like with the partner in Germany the previous week, and the visit to my partner on Porto in March, I was a bit sad to be ending my working relationship with the Spanish partners.  I have worked hard to build these relationships, so they are difficult for me let go of, despite my understanding that these changes are always going to happen in business.

I had a little extra time in Barajas to sit and contemplate.  I like the contrast of sitting in a busy airport collecting my thoughts while other travelers are rushing about catching their own flights.  I caught up on the affairs of the world by reading the Economist, and tried not to get too depressed by the state of things in the world (upcoming elections of a bunch of Depps, etc.) but was really looking forward to getting home.  I had already seen that a package was out for delivery, so my music would likely be waiting for me later that evening.

Sure enough, I opened my mailbox to find a nice thick envelope containing my recent purchase.  That arrival was more than enough to keep me from getting to irritated with the other letter that I received from Deutsche Bahn, the one congratulating me on my "recent" renewal of my Bahncard 100.  This is the same Bahncard I cancelled three weeks ago.  Ah well, another "to-do" that I will have to take care of early next week.

So, Thursday evening, Friday afternoon and evening, and again for a couple of hours this morning, I have been sight-reading several new pieces.  One of the great things about playing piano is having the ability to express, and knowing that sometimes the simplicity is all the more moving.  I certainly like composers such as Debussy and Czerny, but in Einaudi, I now have a composer that I can study and learn from.  I am attracted to his expressive style and use of dynamics, and find a real connection in the playing style.  My own feeble efforts will undoubtedly improve, and I look forward to the journey.

One of my favorite compositions is called "Berlin Song."  I have taken to referring to it with an added "...the Frankfurt Mix," for no other reason other than to express that I think it is wonderful that I am an American who is learning pieces composed by an Italian that were on a soundtrack of an English film about skinheads in the Midlands during the 80s, and it makes for a nice connection here in my little corner of Germany.

It works for me, and I can only say "thanks."

See you out there
bryan

Stir-Frying the Tax Return

Procrastination.  Frustration.  Mild confusion.  Relief.

Yep, these are a few words that come to my mind when thinking about the process of filing the annual tax return. 

Each year, when tax time comes around, I always try and set a target date for completing my tax return.  Since my parents usually visit around this time of year, I tend to complete the return and let them mail it in to the government upon their return to the states.  Normally I did this out of convenience; my parents would arrive in Germany, and in addition to any small gifts that they happen to bring, they would have my 1099s in two.  Thus, I could complete my return and send them home with the documents. 

Because I live abroad, I get an  "extension" which gives me a little more flexibility with the due date.  That being said, the return is more of a formality, since I only have to declare my earnings from another country, then further down the page (on the tax return) I am able to back out the figure. Thus, I usually do not have to pay any additional taxes.  This is totally fine by me, because I am taxed pretty heavily in the country where I live. 

I have refined my process over the past few years, and now tend to have my father email me my 1099s (which are still delivered to my US address).  This allows me to complete my return before their arrival, and I have in recent years actually put everything in an addressed envelope so that they only have to put it in the mail. 

Of course, you might be asking why I do not file electronically, which is a fair question, as I tended to file electronically when living in the states.   Maybe I will do this again sometime in the future, but for now, I have my little process, which is not too complicated. 

Because the process is not complicated, I tend to put off doing the thing for days, even weeks, then finally, with a bit of exasperation, I quit mucking about and sit down and complete the return. 

Almost to the letter, my sister goes through this same experience in the country where she lives.  Not surprisingly, we tend to keep tabs on one another to find out who has completed their return already.  It is almost a contest to see who can procrastinate the longest.  Additionally, we do compare notes to make sure that we are filing everything correctly.  Both of us have investments in the states, both of us have salaries that are well under the foreign income allowance, so things tend to be very similar.  Until this year. 

This year, my sister returned to the states for the school year, and is employed in a school.  Thus, she now has a W2 that she has to deal with.  Furthermore, because she is physically in the states, she does not get the "extension" that she has had in previous years while in Spain.   On top of that, our financial investment guy (from the states) switched firms mid year, so instead of getting one 1099 form, we got two.  This created a bit of anxiety for my sister, who always tended to procrastinate the longest (thus always winning the "contest.")

In effort to help support, I decided to try and meet the normal deadline (April 18) this year as a way of motivating my sister to complete her return punctually.   A month ago, we talked about our returns, and I had my father send me the 1099s per PDF.   Then, my sister started thinking too much about her previous returns and started tripping herself up.  This got me a little confused as well, and we had a few hectic conversations trying to make sure we had the same interpretation of how to file, the particular rules, etc.   True, there are some differences in the way we have to file our returns (from abroad), but they are not that tricky, as long as you don't think about them too much. 

Two weeks ago, we had one more conversation on the topic, agreed that we both had common understanding of how to file our respective returns, and then I simply buckled down and completed mine.  This year, I went the extra step (primarily because my parents have not yet visited this year) and posted my return back to the states on the 14th of April, several days ahead of the deadline.  I was quite proud of this achievement, and said as such to my father last Friday morning. 

Friday evening, as I was having dinner with some friends, I started receiving numerous questions via text messages from my sister, who was still confused and struggling with her return.  We made arrangements to speak the following day, and bright and early Saturday morning (bright and early afternoon for me) my sister phoned me and together we went through everything again.  "Record your W2 on line 7, and on your schedule B and D, just note that you had 2 1099s.  Everything else is the same like before."  I showed her how I had filed, and finally she got herself sorted and was able to complete her return.

Late that afternoon, I received a text message confirming that she, too, had sent her return off to the IRS. Another tax year completed.

To celebrate my punctual filing, I bought myself a wok (on the way home from the post office) and spent Saturday afternoon experimenting with a bit of chicken and vegetables.  I am still lacking experience in the kitchen, but am slowly getting there.  I tend to follow the instructions, make sure I have prepared my ingredients ahead of time, try not to overthink things, and most importantly, pay attention.  Using that approach, it really isn't that difficult.  In fact, it is far simpler than filing a tax return.

And it certainly tastes better and is more enjoyable, too.

see you out there
bryan

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