Random Messages on a Friday or Any Day of the Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that tends to be pretty cool thing.

see you out there
bryan

Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Books and Memories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Case closed. 

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

I Blinked, But I Didn't Miss It!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

see you out there
bryan


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

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

Oooch, Numnum, and Sknxxx - a Week in Istanbul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

see you out there.

Sights and Sounds of the Start of Spring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

see you out there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least not until my ear becomes unblocked.

see you out there
bryan

Hunting Heads in a Mild Winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay warm.

The Benefits of Improving Vocabulary During Resturlaub

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

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

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

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

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

The key, of course, is planning. 

Gulp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bottom Line

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.  Those were the days, eh?

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

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

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

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

Thanks for the reminder, Bubba, I almost forgot.

Always a Delight to Get Mail...Part 2

"Thump!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a thump. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you out there.

Always a Delight to Get Mail

I actually was about to get very weepy last night as I was trying to get to sleep...

A week ago today, I realized that I was coming down with something, very likely a cold.  As one unwise (sometimes) does, I went to pub with the idea that a pint might help stave things off, or at least help me convince myself that I was NOT about to come down with a cold.  Ironically, the first guy I saw there greeted me with a, "Hi, Bryan, it seems you are coming down with a cold, huh?"

"I certainly hope not, but I do not know, yet," I responded.

I left the pub after that beer, met up with a couple of other guys further down the street for another beer, then was home and in bed close to 10pm.

Tuesday, I felt it best to avoid coffee (gasp), and spent my working day sipping green tea.  Again, early to bed, where I read for an hour before nodding off.

Wednesday, I realized that congestion was setting in.  I managed to get through the working day, as well as deplete my stock pile of green tea.  Thus, I headed off to the supermarket around 7pm to stock up on juice, tea, other fluids, other foodstuffs, and ice cream.  En route, I bumped into a friend, explained that I was fighting off a cold, so would not see him later on that evening (as part of the weekly meet up for a couple of beers Wednesday nights).  He wished me a "Gute Besserung," and I collected my purchases at the store and made for the safety of home.

Thursday morning, I actually thought I was going to be OK.  I was beginning my third day of no coffee (gasp), my third day of no beer (double gasp), and, while I did feel a bit tired and run down, I figured that I should continue to just take it easy.  I was staying semi-productive work wise, and was continuing to head to bed around 8. 

Early early Friday morning, around 3am, I sort of woke up rather alertly, and thought to myself, "uh-oh, I am unwell." 

I was rather frustrated, because, for a cold, I did not feel so congested, and had not yet gone through the runny nose misery that usually accompanies my bouts of Erkältung.  However, I was really starting to feel lousy, and still a few hours before daylight. 

I lay in bed for another 90 minutes trying to think myself well, then eventually fell back asleep.  Somewhere around 9.30am or so, I sort of roused myself from bed, shuffled into the kitchen, started the PC, logged on, and immediately cancelled my 10am conference call. 

Erm, I have the flu. 

No trying to have green tea or anything on this day.  I barely had cancelled the concall before I made my way to the living room recliner, where I tried to do a bit of comfort reading.  This was rather unsuccessful due to the headache and weak, wobbly feeling I was enduring. 

Fortunately, my suppliers understood my plight, and most of my UK colleagues were on holiday.  Thus, it stood to be sort of a quiet day. Thank goodness. 

I felt progressively worse over the course of the day, and it was all I could do to join a conference call with some North American colleagues at 4pm.  I sort of grunted and forced myself through the call, then collapsed in exhaustion 45 minutes later as it concluded.  From there, straight to be bed.

As I tumbled into bed, I felt bad for not calling my father to wish him a happy birthday.  I had spoken with my sister the previous day ("happy birthday, and don't tell mom and dad that i am sick"), but had actually thought I would be feeling good enough to chat with pops on this special Friday.  Alas, it was not going to happen.

From Friday afternoon until Saturday late late morning, I remained in bed, and for what it's worth, did get some reasonable sleep.  There were a couple of potty breaks, and a couple of trips to the kitchen for a sip of juice or water, but then immediately back to bed.  The headache was bothersome, the coughing fits annoying, and somehow my radiator wasn't working as well as it should have been.  However, I was still warm enough under the duvet and blanket (wearing a tshirt and sweater and shorts for additional warmth). 

By late Saturday morning, as I sort of lay their with my eyes open, I realized that I was feeling slightly better, but somewhat grateful that there was another day and a half before Monday.  I might be able to get well by the first of the week.  Ah, but first things first. 

I decided to read a bit while still in bed, which actually turned into a read for 30 minutes, sleep for an hour, read for 30 minutes, sleep for an hour pattern which brought me to noon.  I realized that the pharmacy would close early Saturday afternoon, and I very much needed to get some ibuprofen. 

Managing to get myself into the kitchen for a bit of juice, I also noted that I needed to go back to the supermarket for more fluids, also.

After a long(ish) shower, I felt able to step down the street to the pharmacy, where I politely (interpret that as:  spoke too softly and the lady could not understand me) asked for some ibuprofen.  Eventually, the woman figured out which quantity I wanted.  I asked for some of the vaporub from Vick's (the old stand by), and then headed to the market, where I quickly made my purchases, then headed once more for the safety of home.

It is never fun when you are feeling unwell, and there is something unpleasant about the burden of having to lug groceries home and up the steps.  Actually, when I am ill, I do not want to be around anyone at all.  I believe that goes for just about everyone, but it makes for sort of an awkward time. 

So, relieved to be at home again Saturday afternoon, I decided to phone my parents quickly on skype, so as to get the belated birthday greeting out of the way, as well to inform them that i was under the weather. 

We ended up talking for about an hour, and I was actually feeling about the best I have in the past 4 days, but things soon went downhill as I watched the streaming online version of the Arsenal match.  I had decided to cook up a frozen pizza that looked pretty good in the box, but was not so fantastic out of the oven. 

I then watched a bit of video, then headed for bed and a bit more reading.  As luck would have it, a few coughing spells turned into a bit of an incident, and as I found myself bringing my dinner back up I thought to myself that I have had better weeks. 

Back into bed, where I did drift off to sleep, and managed to sleep deeply until a reasonable hour Sunday morning.  The deep sleep brought quite a few vivid dreams, fueled by the detective novels that I have been rereading, never mind the Inspector Morse video from the past days, as well as the wackiness of being ill.  Sometime during the night, my bottom sheet actually ripped, having finally been washed perhaps one too many times. (that's what I am telling myself....but when I started awake upon hearing a "rrriiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppp" I was also thinking of a few other things)

Whew. 

So, Sunday afternoon, I realized that I was not going to be 100% fit again by Monday, but at least I could demonstrate I was making progress.  I watched the final episodes of "As Time Goes By," which happens to be a favorite little series of mine, then actually felt like a bit of piano playing for the first time of the week.  Though short lived, it was nice to tickle the ivory briefly, before flopping back down to discover some episodes of "All Creatures Great and Small," which I watched until bedtime. 

Once in bed, I realized I wasn't far from the end of the "final" book from my favorite detective series, so pressed on and finished the book (for the 2nd, maybe 3rd time) around 11.30.  While I felt good to not feel so exhausted (as I had the whole week), I knew I was not quite well, and it is in this middle ground where I always find myself a bit stuck. 

I always get a bit uptight when I reach the end of something, whether it be a good book, good series, good experience, etc.  Now, one could argue that reaching the end of one's illness is not necessarily a good time, but it is a good thing.  I do not dispute that.  However, flooded with all the emotional bits of the "ATGB" episodes, combined with the completion of DI Rebus's retirement, and suddenly the rediscovery of James Herriot tv episodes (always very influential), all on a quiet Sunday night was just a bit much for me. 

So, I tossed and turned a bit, thinking about life, thinking about beginnings, endings, pets, advent calendars, and the fact that Christmas is coming.

Sleep came, but the alarm sounded all too early this morning.  Truth be told, I believe I have a few days left before I am really fit again, but the worst is behind me. 

Of course, I needed to skip out to the market for more juice and fluids, which I did at lunchtime, and upon return found a Christmas card in my letterbox, with a nice line, "thanks again for kicking my Christmas off right with the Vince G track."

I smiled at the memory of a couple of weeks ago when I plinked out a little song right after Thanksgiving, and am glad to have had such positive feedback, through skype, email, text, and as of today, through the post.

I guess that it's one of the reasons I will sign off this post with a quote, "the magic of the holidays never ends, and its greatest gifts are family and friends."

Thanks kids.

bryan

Playing Favorites

"What are your 10 most favorite songs?"

When I was asked this question last night I was caught off guard; I simply had not expected that question.  This is one of those questions that I can usually answer immediately, so not surprisingly, I asked for a pen, intending simply to jot the list down.

As time was short, I ended up taking the challenge home with me, and before going to bed, sat down at my kitchen table and wrote.  I quickly realized two things:  the longer I thought about it, the more difficult the task would be, and second, there would be no way I could rank the songs. 

What makes these my favorites?  The common thing is that they ALL grabbed me right from the first listen, wherever or whenever that first listen took place.  I am certainly not surprised that half of the songs come from the 80s, and sort of understand why none of the songs come from after I turned 30; my appreciation for music started early and the influences are obvious. 

With the exception of Bruce, I have seen all of the artists at some point in my lifetime, though not necessarily the complete band line ups that did the original songs.  What I do find to be very cool is that all of the artists (those that are still living, at least) still continue to make music. 

A few of you who know me (and my CD collection) might question a few of my selections, but can also appreciate that this is a list of 10 and not 100 songs.  You can also understand why it is so difficult to actually rank them.  Fortunately, they all make for a good soundtrack regardless of the order in which they are listened to.

So, what are the songs?  Here you go -

1) Joy Divison - Love Will Tear Us Apart

2) Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out

3) The Clash - London Calling

4) The Mission UK - Wasteland

5) The Bouncing Souls - Gone

6) The Alarm - Strength

7) Love Spit Love - Fall on Tears

8) The Wonderstuff - Sing the Absurd

9) The Who - Baba O'Riley

10) Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run

Further commentary is unnecessary.  As indicated, any time you may have spent in my dorm room or apartment through the years, as well countless hours driving around with me lets you know why these are the songs.  Tim, particularly, would likely be able to guess at least half of these songs as being on my list.  Of course, that is what happens who you commandeer a stereo for so long, eh?

At any rate, there you have it.  8 songs from Britain, 2 from Jersey.  Favorite songs of a guy from Texas who lives in Germany.  Makes sense.

keep the faith
bryan

Ein Unbefristet Bryan

Three years ago, I went off to the Ordnungsamt to get my visa extended.  That little escapade went relatively ok, despite some nervousness on my part.  In the end, I was granted an extension through the 1st of August, 2012.

A couple of months ago, around the last day of May, I received a letter in the mail from my friendly civil servant inviting me to an appointment for today at the Ordnungsamt.  Now, I did not bother to open this letter until a few weeks after receipt.  I knew my visa was valid up til the beginning of August, so after confirming the appointment date, I did not review the letter again until the first of July. 

As usual, there were a few forms to fill out, and as well a few documents to be completed by my employer.  I tend to procrastinate at the best of times (you should see when I do my taxes each year), but this time it sort of worked out in my favor.  Sure, when I received the initial letter, I was not aware that my employment situation was going to change so quickly, but once I had been informed of my transfer, I got cracking on compiling all the appropriate docs.

I first identified all of the things that required external support.  Namely, a document that required a signature from my landlord and a letter of confirmation from my employer (complete with company stamp) regarding my employment.  My landlord and I agreed to meet up in mid-July, and my new company stepped up and delivered stamped letters in a matter of days.

Feeling a bit encouraged by my progress (hey! this is pretty easy!), I checked the list for the outstanding things I would need to get.  Pay stubs was also pretty easy, and a new biometrisch photo was just a phone call (for an appointment at the local photo studio) away.  On a Friday afternoon, my last working day with the previous company, I phoned the studio and arranged for an appointment the following morning at 12.30.  I then went out for a nice dinner, ate way too much, drank a fair amount, and managed to become violently ill upon returning home late that night. 

Alas, the days of being able to puke (kotzen is the German term, in case you are asked at the next cook out or cocktail party) and look fresh and recovered the following day are faint faint memories for me.  After I turned 30, unfortunate nights out at the pub that resulted in a sicky usually meant that the following day, my eyes would be puffed up little slits, my face would be red, and I generally appeared more frightening than usual.   At the time (though these moments were somewhat infrequent), it was not uncommon for someone (ie..my boss, etc) to ask the question, "What the fuck has happened to you?"

Well, turning 40 has made this experience even worse.  Fortunately, those times are ever more infrequent (usually just the night before I begin Christmas holidays).  However, the particular Friday evening was (at least up until the moment I was wrecking my bathroom) quite a pleasant evening.  That said, I was full of food and bevvie, and through it all enduring the stress of having suddenly changed jobs. 

As I cleaned up late that Friday night, I refused to look at myself in the mirror, and desperately hoped for a miracle for the following morning.  I stayed in bed as long as possible, and even put a bag of frozen peas (purchased just in case this ever happens) on my eyes to take away some of the swelling. 

I woke up around 10.30 that Saturday morning, showered and shaved, and decided that it was as good as it could get.  I grabbed my backpack, and headed to the photo studio. 

The photographer told me to mop off my face (to remove the perspiration), then snapped a few pictures, then told me to wait a couple of minutes; he would have the photos ready quickly.

Indeed, 10 minutes later he brought me the finished product, and commented that he had "removed the red from my face" during the development.  Thus, I looked only scary, as opposed to sunburned and scary.  I paid my 10 Euro and put my photos in my little pile of stuff for my Ordnungsamt visit.

Later in the afternoon, I stumbled upon a birthday party, and ended up spending the next 8 hours in the pub, which resulted in me repeating Friday night's performance, only less the pleasant food and company.  Damn. 

Not surprisingly, I took it easy on Sunday, then headed off to Bochum early Monday morning for my first day with the new company.  I met a few colleagues, many of which commented on my suntan. 
Damn.

As indicated in the previous post, I have experienced a rather hectic past two weeks getting things sorted out as a new employee.  Meanwhile, I met up with my landlord, who signed my needed document, and I found myself getting closer and closer to appointment day. 

I reviewed the outstanding items, and found two left that concerned me.  One, was a document that would show that I had paid into the social security system for the past 60 months.  The second was a document or something to prove that I had completed an Integrationskurs.  From my last visit three years ago, I understood that I only had to demonstrate my ability in the language.  This started to give me some worrying moments. 

Upon my arrival in Germany, I went out of my way to take private classes and learn the language as quickly and competently as possible.  True, I stopped my private classes almost two years ago, but my level has reached (in my opinion, as well as many others) an acceptable level.  I would not say that I am fluent, and I still constantly get comments about my accent, but I can certainly hold my own.  Furthermore, I know loads of expats living in Germany who can't speak a bloody word of German, and they have lived here much longer than I have. 

That said, I was not really interested in having to discuss this with the civil servant who would be making the decision on my visa extension.  I actually panicked just a wee bit as I thought about having to possibly explain that two weeks before I was to extend my visa I had changed jobs.  Though I feel more than able to discuss these topics individually in German, the added bonus of having to explain it while under pressure of sitting in a government office.

I may have expressed this sentiment once or twice before, but any dealings with the civil service for me are very stressful encounters.  I compare it to sitting in the Principal's office taking a bollocking for something that I may or may not have done.  For me, because I am pessimistic, I usually immediately feel guilty for no reason whatsoever, which comes across in my actions and words.  Thus, the situation (at least in my head) explodes out of proportion to a point where the person I am dealing starts wondering just what the hell is wrong with me.  "Nice suntan, were you recently on holiday?"

Nope.  Just in the pub.

With all of these thoughts on the brain, I strolled over to the pub one afternoon and ran into an Australian friend of mine.  I remembered that he had recently extended his visa, so asked him about the two documents and what had been his experience. 

He went on to tell me that no one had bothered with him about the Integrationskurs, and he also pointed out that he spoke very little German.  Though comforting, I was not 100% convinced.  Fortunately, he did confirm that there was a little office off of Zeil where one could go and get a statement indicating that they had paid 5 years into social security. 

I spent a few more days making sure that I had all of my documentation together, then planned this past Monday morning to slip off to the local office to get the SS statement.  It turned out to be one of the most pleasant experiences I have had with a civil service office.  The lady smiled the whole time, took my SS number, clicked a button, then handed me two sheets of paper from the printer.  No charge. 

Another quick trip to the local photocopy shop across the street from my house, and I had a full copy of the original forms and docs; this was a request from the Ordnungsamt to bring a set of copies to the appointment. 

In the end, I elected to just "wing" it when it came to discussing any integration course.  I felt confident enough to converse with anyone about any topic, in German, to demonstrate my command of the language, and why I wanted to extend my visa. 

With my documentation complete Tuesday evening, I did a final check that I had everything prepared, then set out clothes for this morning's appointment.  Then, I went to the pub. 

Sure, I had not slept well the past few nights, my mind somewhat antsy about this (important) appointment.  A few beers (ONLY a few beers) can help in these matters, but I really just needed a bit of quiet time.  Fortunately, I found just that, and had a very relaxing, charming evening, and went to bed with a bit of weary heart, but not too much anxiety about Wednesday morning.

I popped up this morning, had a couple of coffees, showered, then headed off for my appointment which began at 9.30.

In the Ordnungsamt, I walked through the maze of corridors to the office where I was to meet with Frau H.  I knocked on the door promptly at 9.30, peeked my head in, and found three people sitting at their desks.  Furthermore, I realized that it was the same office I had been to three years ago, and the lady who had helped me at the time was not the friendliest of folks (back then).  I announced my presence, and then she responded by asking if I really had an appointment.  Gulp. 

"Ja,"  I responded. 

OK, please wait in the hall for a couple of minutes and I will call you when I am ready. 

So, I skulked in the hallway for about 10 minutes, somewhat concerned as to why I had a sheet of paper confirming an appointment with her, yet she did not seem to be aware of it.

She opened the door, called me, and I sat down and pulled out my stuff. 

Sweat is not an option for me, it comes pouring out of me whether I want it to or not. 

Frau H. pulled up my file in the computer and she quickly checked that all my documents were present.  She left the room to make copies of a few things (never mind I had copies right there), then returned and asked me about my German study. 

Panic. 

I briefly explained that I had had private classes for almost three years, and went on to mention that I spoke German daily in the work place, as well as good portion of my personal life.  I considered pulling out a Learn KrimiDeutsch book that happened to be in my backpack (they have these little novellas that are really short crime novels.  In each chapter, you have to do some basic grammar stuff (like underline all the verbs, etc) and it is quite a cool way to continue self study of the language) but decided that might not be so appropriate, so just shut my mouth. 

Apparently my explanation was satisfactory, so we proceeded to the next step, which is when she said, "OK, we normally expect a German resident to take some sort of language course," (shit! Panic!)  "but as of 2011, the requirement has slightly changed.  Now the applicant must provide proof of completing your education.  Do you have a college degree?"

I knew the answer to this question, and quickly confirmed. 

"Good, in order to issue your visa, I just need to have a copy of your Diploma."

"No problem, I can email you that within an hour."

Suddenly, Frau H's mood softened, and she actually almost smiled when she wrote her email address down for me. 

Then, she proceeded to process the rest of the things in the computer.  Once, she paused and asked me how tall I was, and I momentarily blanked, actually started stuttering (6 feet is not the correct answer in a country that uses the metric system), and feebly pointed to the application, where I had actually written down the correct answer when I looked it up last weekend on the Internet.

"Cool," she said, as she moved on the next field she had to fill in.

As a few things started coming off the printer, she asked me if I wanted the guidebook for the new electronic Aufenthaltstitel in German or in English.  I indicated that I preferred it in German, and she gave a bit of a satisfactory look as she slid a pamphlet across the desk. 

She took my bank card and processed the fee, then explained that my resident card would be available in about 4-5 weeks; I would be alerted by mail. 

And that was it.  Bryan action - email my college diploma to the German Ordnungsamt (ironic that my Alma mater, the one I raved about last month,  helps me earn my right to stay in the country, eh?)
Germany action - issue a permanent resident card to me.  Open ended or unlimited or indefinite is the meaning of Unbefristet. 

Thus, I am now fully able to live, work, and do whatever (within reason) in this country.  For as long as I like.  It's what 5 years living in a country will get you.  It is not so much about staying, but more about the ability to not have to leave.  Maybe not so easy for everyone to understand, but it makes a bit of sense to me. 

I bid the woman thanks, and headed out on the street where I paused for a moment and just enjoyed the sunshine, as a resident, before heading off to work. 

Today was a pretty good day. 

Later, I am sure that a couple of people will ask me about my experience from this morning, as they had seen how anxious I was in the past days. 

"Nothing to it."

see you out there
bryan