An Unusual PlayMobil Experience and More Ohrwurm Attacks

Last weekend, Maria gave me a little PlayMobil character that Chris's daughter had accidentally taken from their flat during their July visit.  She had given the toy, which was a little girl on a skateboard, to Maria, who returned it to me so that I could return it to the actual little girl (sans skateboard) whose toy it actually was. 

The couple that rented their flat out to Chris had a very impressive collection of PlayMobil stuff for their young daughter.  Part of me thought that one little character probably would not be missed, but I still felt it best to try and return it to its rightful owner.  The problem was, I do know this family, even though the woman works in the restaurant across the street from my house. 

Monday evening as I walked towards the Kiosk to meet up with Mono and everyone, I debated whether to stick my head in the restaurant and ask if the woman was working, but could not figure out how to approach the task;  how exactly does one walk into a really crowded restaurant, hold up a PlayMobil character, and ask, "Hi, is Angela working?  I wanted to give her this toy back."

I was probably overthinking the whole thing, but no matter.  When passing another pub on my walk down the street, I glanced over and noticed a couple having dinner with their young daughter.  Although I had never actually met the couple who rented their flat to Chris, I had a vague idea of what the woman looked like, and the woman sitting in the pub seemed to be her.  Besides, the daughter had a scooter parked at the table, along with various other toys to keep her occupied, and that fit with the type of girl who had the entire PlayMobil collection (from 1970-2017) at her disposal.

After a quick greeting to Mono (and a pull on my beer), I explained the situation, which seemed the right thing to do as he was with me when Maria had brought the toy back at the weekend.  I went back to the pub and had a quick word with the waiter, who confirmed that they were the people I was looking for.  I dashed home and upstairs to get the toy, then returned to where the family was sitting. (This took all of 4 minutes.  One has to understand where I live in relation to these pubs and the Kiosk....mere steps away)

I approached their table with a smile on my face, then proceeded to make a complete fucking idiot of myself as I tried to greet them, ask if they were who I thought they were, and introduce myself, all in a non-threatening way, while trying not to disturb their dinner.  Unfortunately, everything I wanted to say all came out at once, and could not have been more incoherent. 

The husband and wife gave me blank stares, and I was just glad that I had not been holding the PlayMobil character in my hand; it was tucked in my pocket.   I tried again, taking breaths this time, and I was relieved when the father started nodding his head with the understanding that I was the local "friend" of  their recent AirBnB guests.  We made quick introductions, and then I ceremoniously placed the toy on the table in front of the daughter, who hardly looked up from the game she was playing on her tablet. 

The mother then asked me a rather obvious question, "How did you know we were here?"

Rather than risk further embarrassment, I kept my words as brief as possible, saying something about the size of the neighborhood.  Then, I wished them a pleasant evening, and humbly walked back to the safety of the Kiosk and my bottle of beer. 

Although it wasn't really any big deal, it did make for kind of an interesting start to the week. 

The rest of the week has been fairly uneventful.  One evening I inadvertently made a video Whatsapp call to my father, which allowed us to briefly catch up.  I skipped the story about the return of the PlayMobil character, which was probably for the best. 

Finally, a few words about music, especially those tunes that get stuck in my head.  I continue to spend  several hours a week at the piano, so most of the time I am thinking about various melodies composed by the artist I am studying.  A lot of his stuff is a bit complicated, so I am constantly thinking my way through arpeggio progressions and trying to figure out how I get my fingers can play what my brain is telling me. 

Having a bunch of melodies composed by Ludovico Einaudi in my head is quite a pleasant experience, and is pretty easy to explain.  However, I am still searching for a plausible explanation as to why, when I am really concentrating on an excel spreadsheet or analyzing data, I always seem to whistle the theme to the Smurfs under my breath.   Equally mysterious to me is why I start humming "Good King Wenceslas" every time I go to the grocery store, regardless of the season.  

Ah well, somebody has to be the enigma known as Bryan, and it might as well be me. 

Meanwhile, over the last couple of weeks, I have started thinking about a song from the 70s that I used to hear regularly on the radio when I was playing in my room.  The particular song was in no way a favorite of mine, but I just remember hearing it with regularity when I was eight or nine years old.  Obviously, it was popular, but there is really no explanation as to why the song popped back into my head forty years later. 

I am not a user of any of the song recognition apps that are out there, like Shazam or Soundhound, and furthermore, I really only had the saxophone solo melody as a reference; the rest of the song was pretty generic, at least in my head.  In fact, many songs I heard on mainstream radio at that age all sort of ran together.  It would be another year or two before I consciously was following music and music groups.  Until then, I could only vaguely recall certain group names.

But, this song has stuck with me and was starting to drive me nuts. When I woke up yesterday morning, I knew I had to find out the name of the song and the artist.  Pronto. 

I made myself a coffee and sat down to do a quick internet search.  I found a couple of compilations of 70s Hits, but none of the artists or titles seemed familiar . Of course, I knew neither the title nor the artist, so to what extent this "familiarity" would prove relevant was wide open.   I managed to find a compilation that someone had put up on youtube, which yielded a result:  the song I was looking for was the third track in the compilation. 

Unfortunately, the guy who posted the compilation apparently put together the mix himself and did not bother to list the tracks or artists. 

Bugger.

Still, I persisted, and 10 minutes later found the same song and thankfully, the track listing.

Mystery solved.

Later on yesterday afternoon, I was still thinking about the song as I walking down the street.  I had never heard of the artist, and certainly did not know the song title.  Not back then, anyway. I had always known the song as "that song where the saxophone goes wa-wah-wah-wa-wa-waaaahhhh."

Amazingly enough, I was passing a couple of folks who were doing something with their mobile phone.  Perhaps I did not realize that I had been humming the saxophone solo out loud, but a few steps further along, I heard one remark to the other, "Hey, do you know who Gerry Rafferty is? And why the hell is this song "Baker Street" coming up on my phone?"

Hmm.  Probably best to get started on the weekend.

see you out there
bryan

Parental Sightings and Celebrating the Kerb

"Please, call me Gordon."

"OK, Mr. Lipsett," I responded, realizing that I would never be able to make the cross-over to the use of first names with people in my parents generation, and certainly not with the husband of my piano teacher.

That conversation took place about 30 years ago, when I was back in town from college for the weekend and was greeting the couple at church.

Sure, I have related this story several times over the years, and I always found it fascinating and somewhat humbling that I have still never been able to make this switch.  I simply address people that I met during my childhood and adolescence as Mr. and Mrs.; it makes no difference how old we happen to be now.  The gender gap still remains, even if I met these people 30 or 40 years ago.

My parents have made a few comments about this over the years.  During my 20s and early 30s when we would be out and about together, I would frequently hear my father introduce himself to a friend of mine (in my age group) as Sam, which came as no real surprise.  In fact, any time that I would meet a parent of a friend of mine that I did not ever know during my school years, I would also start in with them on a first name basis.

I remember one time that my folks and I were debating this topic at the Old Monk, and I turned to my buddy Pablo and said, "Hey Pablo, my dad has a question for you."

"Sure, Mr. Barlow, what would you like to know?" my friend asked.

10 minutes when Chris arrived to the pub, he greeted my parents with a big "Hello Mr and Mrs Barlow," which helped me prove my point.

"See, mom, it is not just me that does this," I explained, feeling really grateful that I was not the only guy who still seemingly acts like a little kid around adults.  The actual age one is has less to do with it; for me, it's really more about the situation and the feeling.

True, I do recognize that it may sound rather formal when addressing someone as Mr or Mrs.  I was recently in a meeting with a woman who is a few years older than me, and she pointed out that she expected to use the formal German communication, which puts us in the Herr Barlow or Frau So and So mode.   Of course, this is pretty standard in Germany.  It is normal that colleagues at work, regardless of their age, address one another formally.

I suspect it is partially for that reason that I still address a German friend's parents as Herr and Frau Losse.  That being said, the feeling that I have always had with them is that they are both very nurturing and caring parents, which basically indicates to me that, had I met them 30 some odd years ago with the Herr and Frau bit, I would never be able to change to a first name basis with them, even if they asked me to.  In fact, I think one time Nadja's mom did ask me to call by her first name, and I, of course, responded with, "OK, Frau Losse."

Maybe it is a bit of nostalgia, or perhaps it is just a bit of willful innocence on my part.  But, despite not being a parent, I greatly respect the art of parenting and am particularly touched when I see how parents interact with not only their offspring but also the friends of their offspring.  There is quite a bit of comfort I get from observing these relationships, especially when I can immediately see how much love exists.

We all have probably had our "roll the eyes" moments when our parents have done something to embarrass us, and maybe sometimes our opinions are not the same as our parents, but it is still family.  Besides, I certainly am aware that I have embarrassed my parents on frequent occasions, though I hope that those times are becoming less frequent.  Regardless, the love and the nurturing remains. This is really key for me and I have a lot of experiences recently which continue to keep me feeling warm and fuzzy.

As I have written in the past few weeks, the summer has been pretty good, almost exceptional.  One of the events that helps bring the summer to a close is our local festival:  Bernemer Kerb.  This year marks the 410th (yep, you read that correctly) year of the celebration.  I may have only participated in the past 10-11 years, but I got here as quickly as I could.

OK, the celebration involves rather large amounts of alcohol, but it is really a festive atmosphere, especially when the weather is nice and everyone comes out to enjoy the scene.  Last Saturday, immediately after finishing my last post, I went to the gym, got in a little workout, then found myself wandering over to the pub to catch the second half of a football match.  As much as I enjoyed having a few beers on an early Saturday afternoon, I realized that the early start would make things a little complicated later on the evening; the parade itself wasn't going to start for another few hours.

Na ja, it is afternoons like these when one simply throws caution to the wind (and the rain, as it were).  By parade time, I was still holding up, but knew I would not be the last guy standing.  Fortunately at that moment, I was still able to stand, and spent a few minutes catching up with some friends as we watched the floats pass by.  Maybe float is not quite the right word, but at least we watched the wagons roll by, filled with revelers (many of which clearly started their beer consumption before I had) throwing various gifts to the crowd: candy, little trinkets, etc.

I was standing with 3 couples who all had young children, ranging in age from 6 months to 6 years.
Not only do I know these kids, but I also know their parents, as they have been around since my arrival in Frankfurt 11 years ago.  Back then, we spent a lot of time closing the bars and staying out too late.  As fun as that was at the time, I quite like the way things are now, where these new parents are more interested in nurturing their little ones.  This may be seem like a very normal thing, but over the years I have sadly realized that it is not something to be taken for granted, and the facts are:  too often what I always assumed to be a normal relationship with parents and their kids, a relationship of love, is not necessarily the case.

At any rate, watching the kids laugh and clap their hands (OK the 6 month old was taking a nap) as they tried to catch the candy being tossed to them was quite endearing.   They were in their own little worlds, but a world where they knew their parents were right there with them, loving them.

I happen to have met the parents of all three couples, and although I don't know all of them that well, I always had the feeling that those parents are similar to my own; loving, caring parents.  To see their children (my friends) behave in similar fashion does not really surprise me, but it still impresses me.

Feeling comfortably numb (part beer, part nice family experience), I continued celebrating the Saturday evening, chatting with everyone who came out to the festival.  It is always a nice chance to see old friends while making new friends at the same time.  Sobriety is optional, and what is always funny is that everyone seems to double their normal intake without getting completely waxed.

That being said, my shutters came down around 10pm, which, looking back, wasn't THAT bad of a run, since I had started about 2pm.

Of course, Sunday morning I woke up feeling like I would need to stay in bed for most of the day.  Unfortunately, I had made some plans to meet up with a colleague during the early afternoon, and I also had tentative plans for dinner.   It took a lot of effort on my part, but I found myself back in the pub Sunday lunch time to watch a match with a friend and his wife.  I opted for water instead of beer, which created a lot of confusion for the staff of the pub; this was highly out of character.

However, I noticed that most of the staff were also looking a little tired, so they appreciated my condition.  There was a certain amount of hangover that was contributing to how I felt, but I was also very keen to avoid a repeat of the previous day, where by 17h30 I was already 6 beers in.  At this point, I was still expecting a text message from Chris's parents telling me when they would get to town.

During half time of the match, I stood outside talking to one of the girls who works at the pub.  She had come up with her own kids to enjoy a little Sunday afternoon sunshine.  This girl is rather striking and tends to receive a lot of attention from the male patrons of the pub.  As pretty as she is, what I particularly like about her is how she handles being a mother.  Her kids are one and seven, and the daughter was running around helping to serve drinks to other customers, reminding  me of last month when SC was doing the same thing.  The one year old was just being cute and cuddly, keeping his mother occupied as he played with anything within his reach.

While I haven't met Anna's parents, I get the feeling that she, too, grew up in a loving family environment.  It is not just that she is a nice person, but it is how she is a nice mother.

One of my other friends who also works at the pub, another of my favorites, equally strikes me as coming from a very loving family background.  She was overjoyed to meet my parents during their recent visit, and went out of her way to introduce me to her father when he visited Frankfurt.  Her father doesn't speak any English, but as we conversed in Spanish I realized why Maria is how she is:  a really really nice person who clearly grew up in a loving environment.  And, the way she dotes on kids tells me that she will continue in the same fashion should she become a mother.

The positive vibes I was getting on Sunday (combined with multiple glasses of water) helped me feel much better than I had earlier in the day, but I was still rather relieved when Mr. McKee phoned to tell me that they would NOT be able to come across town Sunday evening after all.  Instead, we made plans to meet up on Monday afternoon.

I was looking forward to seeing Chris's parents.  It may sound a little strange, but it is a nice feeling  to show people that you have known for a long time a different side of yourself.  In my case, I have known Chris's mom and dad since 1988, not long after I first met Chris.  I can remember sacking Mrs. McKee's groceries (we both worked at a grocery store.  Albertston's - it's your store), just like Chris remembers checking the groceries for my mother.  Over the years, we saw each other regularly, especially since I was living onsite at Goliad, usually there every time the McKees came to visit.

Probably the last time I saw them was about 4 or 5 five years ago during my stateside Christmas visit.  It was a rather brief few minutes at Goliad, during which we did the quick "how are things going in Germany?" exchange, where one usually gives just a simple "things are great" response.  Thus, to have the opportunity to actually show them my neighborhood personally would have a bit more relevance.

When I first received the email from Mr McKee,  I did not recognize the name, pretty much because I do not recall ever having heard the first names of either of Chris's parents.  It wouldn't have mattered much anyway, since I have always addressed them as Mr. and Mrs, for the reasons I gave at the beginning of this piece.  When I responded to the email, I gave my mobile number along with my invitation that they head to my side of town from their hotel on Monday afternoon.

Mr. McKee phoned me around 16h Monday afternoon with the news that they were about 10 minutes away from me, so I quickly dried myself off (I had been in the shower), dressed and walked down to Bornheim Mitte to find them at the taxi stand.  They had taken my instructions literally and were just standing on the street.

Another couple was with the McKees and after quick hugs with Mr. and Mrs McKee, I was introduced to them.  They gave me their first names, which I expected, but unfortunately I almost immediately forgot both names.  I hoped that during the course of the evening, Mr. and Mrs McKee would use their friends names so that I could quietly refresh my memory.  This created a little bit of confusion for me, since I wasn't all together sure that I knew Mrs. McKee's first name, either.

In the end, it worked out just fine.

We spent a few minutes walking around the market plaza in Bornheim. I showed everyone where the younger McKees had resided during July, and pointed out a few landmarks.  Fortunately, the weather was nice, but that particular evening there were not SO many people out and about for the Kerb fesitval.  Said festival runs from Friday to Wednesday, with Friday and Saturday being particularly crowded days, followed closely by Sunday.  Monday and Tuesday are more quiet, and then Wednesday erupts into a complete blow out. Being Monday, we had a better opportunity to visit and relax.

Both couples had been on a tour over the past couple of weeks and would be returning to the states the following morning.  Understandably, they were a bit travel weary.  Thus, I elected to have us meander down Berger Strasse, giving them a feel for the neighborhood.   We got to my corner, where I showed them my apartment building, then we took a seat outside the pub and ordered a few drinks.
I had to chuckle to myself a little bit because everyone perused the menu to try and decide what to have.  Mr. McKee jumped right into a Hefeweizen, his wife opted for prosecco.  Mr. McKee's friend took my suggestion of a Kilkenny, and finally, his wife, who had asked me about a light beer, took a Helles.  Again, I was momentarily confused, since American light beer (like Bud Light, Miller Lite, etc) is not available here.  I did not want to insult someone I had just met by berating them on their beverage choice, but I quickly realized that she simply wanted a lighter German beer.

We had a nice visit chatting about their recent cruise through Austria, and I was able to give a little background on what I was doing in Germany.  The two couples had known each a long time and I was reminded of friends who would travel with my parents from time to time.  I am aware that not everyone travels the same way.  Some people prefer a more structured (safe) environment, while others tend to go for the balls out adventure.  These folks were perhaps a bit more conservative than my parents, but it is all relative at the end of the day.  I am always impressed when someone at least shows the willingness.  Clearly they had all had a good time over the past two weeks.

From conversations with Chris, I already knew which topics with his parents were best avoided, and when said topics came up anyway, I gently gave my perspective and quickly moved us along to safer territory.  I fully respect that everyone has their opinions and despite the respect we have for one another, we will never always agree on everything, from our views of the world to something has simple as our favorite foods.

Mr. McKee and I had a second beer at the pub, which was really no surprise.  Then, Mr. McKee correctly assumed that I probably was needing a cigarette break, so I slipped around the corner for a bit of a puff, leaving them to chat a bit with Anna, who was working that evening.

Upon my return to the table, someone said, "Bryan, she is cute."

"Indeed she is," I responded, "and she is also a really loving mother."

We paid up and walked a few steps to one of my favorite little German pubs, where we found a table outside.   I explained the menu to everyone, we got the orders placed, and we continued enjoying  our little evening in Bornheim.

I was not allowed to pay anything, which touched me.  My parents do the same thing and enjoy treating my friends for the odd meal when they visit.  But, the McKees and their friends were so thankful that I had taken time to show them a few things around the neighborhood.  I struggled to express that I was equally thankful and glad to have seen the McKee seniors and to have met their friends.

For a last little moment, I trooped everyone over to a group of my friends who had already gathered for Kiosk Abend.  Those guys had already seen the younger McKees the previous month, and I cracked up as the introductions (by first name and last name) were made.

"Hello Mr and Mrs McKee, hello Mr. and Mrs xxxx"  said Teddy, Mono and Danny.  Seems it's not just Chris, Pablo, and myself that do this....

A taxi was driving by, so I hailed it, and informed the driver to take my guests back to their hotel at the airport.   We hugged goodbye, and I wished everyone safe travels, then tucked in to continue my Kiosk Abend.  A very nice evening all around.

When Bernemer Mittwoch came around, I started cautiously.  The evening tends to be long, and I wanted to try and pace myself.  The problem has always been that the party happens right outside my front door.  Thus, even if I wasn't out on the street, a few thousand people WERE.  So, sleeping is not really an option.

I finished my work day around 6h15, and headed out to meet and greet.  I ran into an old friend of mine who no longer lives in the neighborhood.  We still see each other with regularity, but certainly not like we did when he lived around the corner.  As it were, his mother was visiting from London, and it was nice to catch up with her.  I first met Carol about 7 or 8 years ago when Damon first moved to Frankfurt.  We had an interesting evening one night in the pub, where she expressed her appreciation that she was able to meet friends of her son in Germany.  I was reminded of my own mother, since both of them live further away from one of their kids, but that never stops them from caring and wanting the best for their children.  Once again, another sign of parenting at its best.  Yeah, Carol is wacky and much more outgoing than my own mom, but her love for her son and his friends is felt just as strongly as the love my mother has for my sister and me.

On this specific evening, I mentioned that I had just had dinner with the folks of a friend of mine, and reminded her of our conversation from years ago.  I appreciate it when parents want to be parents, and care about their kids and who their kids know.

A couple of hours later, there were many more people on the street and things were getting really crowded.  I met up with Bettina and her daughter Elena.  Elena was one of the mothers whose 2 kids were watching the parade the previous Saturday.  Elena's partner is an old friend of mine that I met early on in my Frankfurt experience and we have remained friends through the years.  He was one of the guys that I used to close bars with back in the early days.  Now, he and Elena have two really nice little kids, and I see them quite regularly, fortunately because Elena's mother lives down the street from me.  I am quite fortunate to know these people, as they are very genuine and pleasant.  One of the most striking things is that Bettina, who is maybe 8 years older than me, is clearly a wonderful caring mother, and in turn, a particularly loving grandmother.   The kids are both quite charming (though the 2 year old is obviously more communicative) and it is so apparent that they are being raised in such a nurturing, loving environment.

 A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with Elena and her mother about parenting and about how cool I thought they were, particularly in their style with their kids.  Seeing this in multiple generations just makes it all the more special.  Sure, my sister is a very loving mother, just like her own mother, but it is still refreshing for me to experience this outside of my own family.  Indeed, knowing people like this helps me remember that there is still a lot of good in the world, regardless of the age or the nationality of the people.

We have endured far too many really shitty things in the world in recent days, weeks, and months.  The madness that took place in Virginia last week, or the awful attacks in Spain in the past 24 hours, none of it makes any sense.


I purposely try to think of the loving examples I get to experience, particularly to remind myself that I am so fortunate to be around people who are trying to help make the world a better place, despite the dark times.

I will keep these thoughts with me as we start the weekend.  What else can I do?

see you out there
bryan

Just Another Quiet Start to the Weekend

I have had to keep looking at the calendar the past couple of days, just to remind myself what month we are in.  The picture hanging on the wall in my hallway of the baby goat wearing a sweater  states clearly that we are in the month of August (calendar courtesy of my mother, who appreciates giving calendars at Christmas, whether they be ones with scenes of waterfalls, distant mountains, or rather small farm animals), but the past 48 hours have been nothing but cold and rainy.

As much as I look forward to autumn, I am actually caught a little by surprise.  The summer has not been unbearably hot, and I have sort of enjoyed hanging around outside wearing shorts and enjoying the long evenings, despite my preference for cooler temperatures.  The local festival in my neighborhood is just starting up, people are starting to get excited about the start of the football season (both Bundesliga and Premiership), and hell, a lot of kids are still on their summer holidays, so why is it suddenly feeling like the middle of November?  I am not quite ready for it; I want a few more weeks of shirt sleeve weather.

Last weekend, when it was still kind of balmy, I spent an afternoon outside in the sunshine visiting with various friends, many of which kept referring to the recent visit of the folks from the big house on Goliad.  "Wow, your friend's daughter was exceptionally good with Aria," remarked Aria's mother and grandmother as we stood at the Tonne outside the pub.  "Indeed she was," I responded, watching Aria splash in the little fountain a few steps away from our position.  "And, she also liked playing in that water, too."

The past week started like any other; I was already looking forward to the upcoming weekend before I had really even logged into Monday morning's emails.  Things are a little quiet at work right now, due to the vacation period, so I have been taking advantage of the slowdown and spending a few more minutes each day at the piano.   My grandmother's birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and while I do not think I can surpass the gift I gave her last year to celebrate her 100th birthday, it did occur to me that perhaps sending her a few mp3s of some pieces I have learned might be fitting.

So, I have been doing a bit of practicing, and even managed to get a few bits recorded.  To celebrate my progress, I elected to arrange a gastronomic treat and make some beef nachos for myself.  Over the past months I have really cut down on meats, preferring to load up on salad as much as possible.  With the exception of the time I spent with the "I want Schnitzel" gang during July, I have held pretty true to my diet, with relatively decent results.  So, a one time splurge with some ground beef and queso?  Why not?

As I whisked through the supermarket Thursday, I picked up the needed ingredients.  I had actually been awakened Wednesday night when the idea came up in my dreams, and I actually got out of bed and made a special grocery list.   Everything was going fine in the grocery store aisle, until I realized that they were out of the queso that I normally use.  (Yes, I have made myself nachos here before, but it has been a while.)  Well, I am going to write this off as very bad spontaneous judgement, but I decided that I could make do with a sort of artificial cheese sauce that I found on the "American" shelf in the grocery store.  This shelf is where they stock things like: one flavor of Pop-Tarts, microwave popcorn, "hotter than hell" barbecue sauce, and various other overly processed foods that people correctly associate with the American diet.

I examined the little plastic bottle of cheese sauce in hopes I could understand what the contents actually were, then threw the bottle in my basket and headed for the checkout.   Once I got home, I did a quick online search to try and compare the product that I purchased with what I had wanted to purchase.  You see, I had my heart set on these nachos, and was pretty sure that I was still going to be able to make it work.  My logic was based on the assumption that things like Velveeta (which doesn't even exist in Europe), my normal queso sauce (currently out of stock at the store), and the item I had just purchased were all pretty similar:  all of them look gross, feel gross (to the point of disgusting), and it goes without saying that they easily are designed to survive any nuclear testing.  My glimmer of hope had mostly to do with my experience with two of three products.  One does not grow up in Texas without eating (and loving) queso made from Velveeta, and my experience with my normal queso sauce has always been adequate.  In short, the stuff looks like shit and is really bad for you, but you eat it anyway. And like it.

Unfortunately, door number three turned out to be a real disaster.

Perhaps I should have already sensed there would be problems when I read on the label that it was OK to put the plastic bottle in the microwave to heat up the cheese sauce.  I sort of thought, "wouldn't that make it more toxic?" even though I proceeded to try anyway, but only for about 20 seconds. Of course, 20 seconds did sod all, so I tried squeezing a portion onto a safe dish, which, after about 90 seconds at 600W resulted in something that looked just like what I did for my 4th grade science project at school.

Even then, I tasted a bit just to see.

Bad idea.

The beef was already browned and simmering on the stove top, and I stood there trying to figure out what to do, thinking perhaps rereading the label on the bottle would help.  When I realized that the "Haltbar bis" date had expired right before my birthday a few months previously, I immediate chucked the whole thing into the bin.

So, that is how I came to have tostada chips covered in ground beef topped with jalapeños for dinner Thursday evening.

Yesterday, I woke up feeling very glad that I would not be spending the next three weeks on the Klo, and made the decision that a nice green salad would be perfect for my Friday evening dinner.

Friday brought not only the start of the Kerb, the local festival in my neighborhood, but also the opening of the English football league, with Arsenal playing at home to start the season.

Well, it rained pretty much the whole day, and while I was a bit excited about the start of the festival and the football, I found myself getting really cozy on the couch.  Instead of heading out for a handful of beers in the wet weather before the 20h45 televised kickoff, I found myself under a blanket, reading a book on the sofa.  I got my stream hooked up for match-time and felt very responsible (and sober) as the game started.  2 minutes into the game when Arsenal scored their first, I was pretty thrilled, as was Chris, who sent a text from the states.

2 Minutes later we were texting again, as Leicester got an easy equalizer.  We continued to text during the rest of the first half as the game (exciting as it was) continued.  Both teams went into the break at 2-2, and I tried to rally myself for a more positive second half.  It was either that or an early night reading my book.  In the end, Arsenal got a positive result, and I was glad that I stayed up long enough to help see them through.

So, I sit here Saturday morning, enjoying the coolness and gentle rain outside.  It's only just past 9am, but I have been up a couple of hours already; this happens when I get a decent sleep and part of me thinks that maybe a few more evenings skipping pints would be a good idea from time to time.

Quatsch.  It's the Kerb!  It is Saturday! I have got things to do, people to see, and maybe, just maybe, another attempt to satisfy my craving for nachos.

See you out there.
bryan

Looking to the Left

"I want chicken nuggets," said the youngest daughter of my friend Chris as we walked down the street from their flat.

The scene was this:  just a few hours earlier, Chris and his family had arrived on an international flight to Frankfurt, coming to live in my neighborhood for the month of July. Sure, it was lunchtime, and they were pretty tired after a long flight, during which no one really slept. So, we ventured out on to the plaza to find a little something to eat.

The problem was, I have never looked for chicken nuggets in Bornheim.  It's not that I don't like chicken nuggets, it's just that I don't really think of those when I go out to eat.  I quickly realized that I would need to get up to speed on what a typical 7 year old likes to eat, and likely what an 11 year old enjoys, also.  My experience with kids of this age is primarily through my nephew, who has always tended to be a bit picky. 

Fortunately, Chris was there and helped put things in perspective, which is basically just saying that anything and everything would be OK.  We found a little snack bar around the corner from their flat which did offer nuggets and sat outside in the sunshine for a little bit before I walked back home to continue my work day. 

The plan was simple:  the family of 5 would live in Germany for one month, experiencing things in a way that no 3 to 4 day visit ever really can offer.  It was more about hanging out in another type of environment as opposed to simply playing tourist.  Sure, a few day trips would be a part of the month, with maybe a couple of overnight visits to some places near Frankfurt.  Because kids were involved, the statement "all plans subject to change" was used rather often. But really, it was all about staying relaxed and not pushing things to the limit.  After all, this was no whirlwind sightseeing European vacation. 

My friends here in Bornheim were eagerly anticipating the arrival of my Dallas friends, particularly the kids who had not ever visited before.  A few folks were a bit surprised that my friends would be staying one month, since that is a little bit unusual.  Furthermore, some folks couldn't quite understand the attraction of Frankfurt, despite the fact that it happens to be home. Chris responded to these questions pretty directly.  He explained that during their brief visit last summer, they enjoyed meeting all of my friends and thoroughly enjoyed the neighborhood and its character.  Why wouldn't someone want to come and stay in Frankfurt for a month?

As usual, the gathering point was frequently my local pub, and over the course of the next several days as everyone got settled (and over their jet lag), we would meet up for a beer (or a sprite, depending on the age of the drinker) and find some place to grab a bite to eat.  The pub fare tended to go down well with the kids and we could always take advantage of the nice weather to sit outside, be a little active (loud) and enjoying chatting with my friends from the neighborhood. 

In summer, everyone wants to be outside because the weather is rather pleasant (at least, in comparison to the summer heat of Dallas).  Even though I prefer the autumn and winter seasons, I still enjoy being able to stay out a little later (since it stays light longer) in the evenings, despite the fact that this tends to increase the beer intake to some degree.  The fact that I have been able to enjoy the past month with close friends from my hometown just made things all that much better.  We had time to get properly caught up on things.  During my brief visits back to the states, we usually are able to hang out once or twice but it is always frantic and the time is too short.

We did not have that problem during this visit.  We wisely took the four weeks and just lived.
I was able to help offer guidance with the things like visits to the dry cleaners, which trains were best for visiting places like Köln or Heidelberg, the preferred laundry detergent to buy and where to buy it. As a small unplanned surprise, I arranged for my dentist to help with a broken tooth. (with kids, all plans are subject to change).

A friend of mine who has lived in Frankfurt the last 8 years decided he needed to leave Germany, so we had one or two evenings saying our farewells to him.  (a Ninja throwing star?  C'mon, really?)  Meanwhile, other friends came and went as they returned from their vacations and pretty much Chris and co. were able to experience a typical summer in my neighborhood. For me, it was a little atypical, for all the right reasons.

For example, I would join everyone for dinner several times a week.  Sometimes I had to help translate the menu and coordinate the ordering, which wasn't too stressful once I figured out that usually 3 people would be talking about 3 different things at once.  Spending time with younger people is not really something I get to do all that much, and at the beginning I was a little unsure of myself.  Sure, I have known this family for a really long time, but I was particularly fascinated by the various characters of each of the kiddos, all the more impressive since I know the parents so well.
I was very glad to play games of Solo (like Uno) and Charades with everyone while we waited on our food to arrive. Likewise, I was able to get regular reports from three different ages of what they had seen during the day or what they liked visiting. 

By the end of the second week, it was pretty much routine to know that just about every day I would be seeing the family from Goliad.  Monday nights are Kiosk Abend, and each Monday was represented by at least one McKee, if not everyone for just a brief moment. One Monday, we had to change our venue since the lady from our local Kiosk told me that she had to close early.  Our back up venue happens to be a few steps away from Chris's apartment, which turned out to be rather convenient.  The family had already gone upstairs, and Chris and I continued to have a little chat out on the street, several stories below.   We didn't immediately recognize that everyone upstairs was able to hear us, but later (quite late in the evening, actually), we needed to take advantage of this fact by calling up to an open window in hopes that someone would hear and respond.  You see, all the keys were upstairs, and at that point in the evening, the most logical solution was to have Regan drop the keys down to us below, which she did, which enabled Chris to enter the apartment building once we had finished our last, last, last beer of the evening.

 As the month continued, everyone found their stride and it seemed normal to have them in my neighborhood.  The youngest (chicken nugget fan) suddenly declared that she was quite fond of schnitzels, which I found quite charming.  Furthermore, she tended to tuck in and finish off most of an adult portion.  The middle daughter continued to have plenty of intelligent things to say, showing a maturity level much higher than her age, only to remind me of what being a kid is all about by stepping into a fountain, managing to soak her sock and shoe.  Bennett, meanwhile continued to be the B-man; he and I go way back.  I was honored to be with him when he drank his first Radler. 

Chris had told me that everyone was having a great time, and he hoped that the people he was meeting were recognizing how much that he was appreciating the opportunity and time in Bornheim. In the true sense of the statement, they were truly happy to be here.

The entire staff of the pub fell in love with the kids, which is why several patrons to the pub might have been a bit surprised when a "dance party" started up spontaneously a few times.  Not everyone is used to listening to songs like "I like sandwiches," or the "Num Num Num Num Num" song, but then again, they quickly realized that the 7 year old who was serving them their drinks was probably somewhat involved in the playlist.  Said 7 year old continued to work a few more times, earning some impressive tips along the way.

Last week, I had to go down to Munich for a company event. I suggested that Chris take everyone to Munich for a couple of days, and we decided to visit another little town together on the return.
From previous posts, readers will be aware that my job satisfaction is not particularly high at present.  I had actually considered skipping the company event until I chatted with a colleague who convinced me that I should attend, namely to finally meet some of the colleagues in person. 

For that reason alone, I did enjoy the quick trip to Munich last Thursday. I met some guys I have been working with for several years and it was nice to finally put faces to the voices I regularly hear through conference calls.  Alas, I was a little upset when our company president made a little speech those of us at the gathering.  His words were probably not intended to be so biting and they certainly weren't directed specifically to me.  Still, it left a bad taste with me, and I woke up feeling pretty down on Friday morning.  Fortunately, I was to meet up with Chris and family and take the train on to Würzburg.

Upon our arrival Friday afternoon in Würzburg, we walked to our hotel, then climbed a steep hill to the fortress that overlooks the city.  The kids were troopers, despite the 20 minute uphill hike and the small attack of wasps that hovered around our drinks as we sat outside a little snackbar.  When we walked back down, Lori and I elected to go find a suitable restaurant for our dinner that evening, while Chris and the kids stopped off at a playground for a few minutes.   This enable Lori and I to have a little one on one time in a pub that we passed as we "looked" for a restaurant. 

A bit later, we did actually find a pizzeria with a huge outdoor terrace, where we queued for a table. The service wasn't the best, but the pizzas were good and the company was brilliant.  Later, sans kids (who were semi tucked into bed), we returned to the pub for a couple of beers to wrap up the evening.

We returned to Frankfurt on Saturday afternoon and spent a good part of the rest of the weekend hanging around in the pub, primarily because the 7 year old "had" to work with her new best friend Maria, one of the staff. 

The week started with a hint of sadness; the month was just about over.  I could already see my 5 friends were going to experience a bit of emotion as they wound things down, but I could also see that about half of my neighborhood was going through the same thing.  And as for me, I knew I would be struggling.

Our final Kiosk Abend with guests was a success, and the next evening, we arranged to have a final dinner at the local Apfelwein retaurant across the street from my house (and pub). 

"I want a schnitzel," said the youngest, which came as no surprise.

During dinner, Chris asked everyone to say their favorite thing about the past four weeks.  I was glad to be a part of the experience, and I enjoyed hearing each perspective.  When you like everything, it is difficult to find that top one thing. 

After dinner, we stepped back across the road to the pub for a final few rounds of beers, enabling everyone to get an opportunity to say auf wiedersehen.  Eventually, the kids had to head off, so I got my hugs in before they headed down the street for their final sleep of the trip.  Chris and I stayed on having another beer or two.  Lori came back for one or two more herself, and then as the night came to a close, I walked both of them back to their flat for our goodbyes.

It is amazing how quickly time seems to just fly by.  So much happened during the four weeks, but it didn't seem like it was that fast paced.  Action packed, but leisurely.  And brilliant.

I woke up yesterday morning about the time they would all be in their taxi to the airport.  I figured it would be a bit of a struggle for me during the course of the day, and I was not wrong. At 17h, I realized that I needed to go have a quiet beer on my own in my usual spot at the pub.  Outside, at the barrel (Tonne).   This spot is my favorite because I can lean on a little railing, with my back to the street.  I can see my apartment just a few steps away.  And, I have complete view of the outside patio of the pub.  I can see the staff and guests as they come in and out. To my right, the street continues up into the older part of the neighborhood.  When I look left, I can see everyone coming up the street, either on their way home from work or from shopping, or on their way somewhere.  It is one of my favorite places to people watch. 

For the past month, I could stand at the Tonne and regularly look left and see one of the McKees (if not all of them) headed my way.  You get used to things like that very quickly. 

Sure, yesterday evening was just a little bit quieter, as my friends were still flying back home, but that didn't stop me from looking to my left. 

thanks for a great month.

bryan

A Lapse of Memory in a Time Lapse

Well, it has been kind of a peculiar week, but I guess nothing should really surprise me these days.
About this time last Friday, as I was gearing up for the weekend, I placed a spontaneous order for the sheet music for an album by one of my favorite composers.  I have been playing (or learning to play) stuff by Ludovico Einaudi for a little over a year, and the guys music is just incredible.   I have made a few nods in his direction in this space, but last Friday, while hearing a certain a piece, I immediately logged on and placed an order for the piano music and was pleased that it would be delivered via normal shipping the following Wednesday.  I had no problems with the wait, as I have plenty of other music to play already.

I then proceeded to meet up with some friends for dinner.  Earlier, one of them had phoned me with the request to borrow a little cutlery, plates, and a mug, on account that they moved away a few months ago, and their Frankfurt apartment is empty; save for an inflatable bed.   I packed the items into a small backpack, brought it along to the restaurant, and we all enjoyed catching up.  Afterwards, we made a beeline for the pub and spent the next couple of hours getting very drunk.  It was a nice evening, and when I reached my limit, I paid up, said farewell, and headed home. 

Saturday morning took a while to get going.  I finally got out of bed around 10, which is very unusual for me, but after a few coffees felt pretty good.  Then, I happened to check my phone and found a message saying, "hey Bryan, we forgot the bag last night.  hopefully someone turned it in at the pub."

Crap.

At noon, I walked over to the pub and asked Maria if by chance the little backpack was there. She checked, found nothing, and I got a little antsy.  Two minutes later, my friends walked in, hoping to find the back back as well, and they apologized for forgetting.  As I said, everyone had had several drinks the previous evening.  I was a little irritated, simply because my flat is furnished (including said items) and one day, probably many years from now, I would have to make sure the flat had those items.   Sure, I could go buy some new plates and whatever, but it would be a little bit of a hassle.

Rather than worry about it, I just had a beer, then headed back home to do a few things around the house, including making my shopping list.  I had no real plans for the day, save for the trip to the supermarket, and I really did not want to let the afternoon get away from me.  So, I got my act together, took the 15 minute shopping trip (I am speedy) and returned home to check the mailbox, where I found that the local logistics guy had come by with a package for me.  Fortunately, the card indicated that he had left the package with my neighbor, so I rang her doorbell and was delighted to find that she had my new sheet music, ordered just hours before.  I will give credit to the powers that be and am really glad that I did not spend an extra 25 euro on faster shipping. 

Suddenly, I had a new plan for Saturday afternoon, and that was to sightread the new music.  The album is called "In a Time Lapse," and is just incredibly melodic.   Listening to this composer makes me feel like playing piano, and it is hardly as if I need a lot of encouragement to play already. 

So, each day this week, I have found time to sit down and work on playing my new music.  Einaudi, in my opinion, is quite a magician.  The music he writes sounds so simple (in fact the genre is frequently referred to as minimalist), but playing it is more complicated than it initially sounds.  True, I only trained for a certain amount of years with piano, and perhaps my skill level would have been higher had I played in university.  However, I do have ability, and quite like the challenge of learning something new, even if it only gets played in the privacy of my own flat. 

I continue my physical therapy on my back, but this past week finally got into the gym for a little light training, also, and that has been a nice relief.  I went almost 2 months without going in the gym and that was not easy for me. 

Meanwhile, it has been hotter than shit in Frankfurt, to the point of almost being unpleasant.  I have to pick my words carefully, because I know where I come from, and it can sound a little whiny to complain about the heat.  I have a couple of friends who share my distaste for super hot weather (one guy actually has to go stay in a hotel when it gets like it got this past week), and we have stayed in regular communication, hoping that something would break and the temperatures would drop.

That actually happened last evening around 18h45.  Finally, a huge, albeit brief, storm came through and basically cooled everything off.  I had just gone in the pub when my phone chirped and I saw a message from the (hotel heat) guy saying "yippee the weather is better."  I was about to respond via text when I noticed him getting out of his car directly across the street. He grabbed a beer and then we stood outside and did a little rain appreciation dance.

Then, minutes later, the storm passed, and we continued dancing and drinking at the barrel outside the pub. 

Like every Friday morning, I woke up looking forward to the weekend, not so much because I have anything really planned, but rather, simply because I won't have to work.  Sure, I need to work on that mentality just a bit, and as you might have read in some of the previous posts, I am trying to put some effort into something new.

As I drank my first coffee, I decided to check my expenses for the month and also opened the mail that I brought upstairs last evening when I emptied my postbox.   I was a bit surprised to find a reminder notice from Deutsche Bahn; They had not yet received my payment for my annual travel card.  I had been sitting here the whole month checking my bank account each day to see when THEY were going to take out the funds.  For whatever reason, this time around I received a bill. 

No problem.  I logged into my account and started making the online payment transaction.  With my bank, I receive a text message giving me a little code every time I do a transaction.  This keeps things very secure and works really well.  That is, as long as your receiving phone is working.

Very few people know my "private" mobile telephone number, because I have not really used it in almost 8 years.  However, I do use that number for my banking transactions.  The number that most people use to contact me is actually my "work" number, but that's another topic.

I heard the text message alert on my private mobile, but then the device would not respond.  It is a really old BlackBerry and it has been several weeks since I have had to make a bank transaction.  Apparently the software kind of locked up which is normally not a huge issue; one simply just need to reset or restart the mobile.  So, I did this.

Once the phone restarted, I was prompted to enter my pin number, and because I do not really use this phone, I never remember the pin.  My problem today was that I could not remember where I had stored the pin information.  It has probably been over a year since I last had to reboot the phone, so I spent a few minutes trying to figure out what to do.

I checked the last place I remembered seeing what I thought was my pin, and was happy to find the little scrap of paper showing the pin number.  I was not pleased when my phone said "pin fehler" and indicated I now had 2 more tries before the phone would lock me out.

This whole time, my online transaction was sitting there unable to be completed, and I figured in a few minutes that would also time out and log me out of the transaction. So, I went to my "scary drawer" which is the top drawer in a bureau that sits in my living room.  Everything from old birthday cards to extra charging cables to random happy meal prizes goes in the drawer and I had remembered that I had hastily shoved a bunch of stuff in there right before my parents arrived to visit two months ago.

Bingo, I found a little proper scrap of rub-off paper that showed my pin.  I entered that in my phone, all the while thinking, "I thought that the paper had a little red color on it."

Pin Fehler.   Only one more try.

Indeed, I had found one of the pin card things that Telekom had sent me, but it was not the most recent one. 

I was starting to get a little antsy because I really really wanted to avoid locking my phone.  I have recently decided that I probably don't need the phone any longer but the urgent problem is that, in order to make any kind of change to how I receive my transaction code information my bank I have to give a transaction code.  Therefore, if I wanted to change the mobile telephone number with my bank so that they send all future codes to another number, I would have to first obtain a code (via my old number) in order to validate the transaction. So, I was one try away from being in a real pickle.

All while this was happening, I had "In a Time Lapse" playing in the background, and as is pretty regular with me, I had to make my morning trip to the bathroom, which added a few minutes to this whole ordeal.  Neat.

I almost broke my rule of only one cigarette per hour (kind of a new rule) but I was at a loss (one might even say lapse) as to how in the hell I suddenly could not find my correct pin number for my private mobile. 

I pulled myself together, took another trip through the scary drawer, this time taking things out of the drawer instead of trying to rummage around through the same shit five times.  I found two stocking caps,  a sharpie that I had been looking for for months, an old watch,  two more old BlackBerrys, and then I caught a glimpse of a little piece of paper with some red on it.  My PIN! 

With a whoosh, I entered the number, saw that it was accepted, then took a quick bathroom break, and finally returned to my laptop, where I logged back into my bank, set up the Bahncard transaction, then received my transaction code on my private mobile, then completed the bank transaction.  Task completed.

Only one final thing to do, which was to not put the private pin back in the scary drawer. 

And now, it is time for the weekend.  See you out there.

Playing Mind Games With Myself

The Tuesday before Easter, my parents arrived in Germany for a visit.  They were unable to come last year, so they were really looking forward to returning to Frankfurt after two years.  Likewise,  I was pretty enthused about the time we would have; we had not really planned much other than to simply hang out and be relaxed.

As I was getting out of the shower that morning, feeling like I had sufficient time to dress and get to the airport to meet them, I felt a familiar pop in my back, and realized immediately that once again, I had "done my back in." 

I immediately became more anxious, and ultimately did not feel able to go to the airport.  So, when my mom called, somewhat concerned, I told her that they would need to take a taxi to their hotel, and I would see them a bit later.

For the next week and half, including the Easter break, I struggled through my back pain and managed to have a pretty good time with my folks despite my ailment.  Just when I was starting to feel better one morning, I reached into the chest of drawers to get a shirt and felt my back go out again. Unbelievable. 

This second time round, I had the feeling that things were worse than two weeks before, and that set me down the wrong path.  My parents were in town for another week, and we continued to try and make the best of things.  I actually thought I was on the way to recovery just as my folks were ending their visit.  Chris arrived on the last evening my parents were here, and despite the constant pain and discomfort, I felt I was rallying and able to cope.  I was particularly glad that Chris was in town for a few days, as we would have a chance to catch up and do our own bit of hanging out.  Additionally, his visit would make the absence of my parents a little easier; I always go through a let down period after time with family.

Well, I had one nice evening in a local German pub with Chris, but two days later right as the long weekend was starting, I experienced some extreme anxiety and ended up going to the ER, where I spent a night in the hospital.  By the following morning, I felt better, and certainly wanted to go home, but spent most of the day waiting for a doctor to come by and give me an unofficial release.  Due to the holiday weekend, resources were limited, and I was a lower priority (in comparison to other people in the hospital).

I arrived back home around 17h on Saturday evening, about 24 hours after I was checked in.  Chris had dinner plans and was to catch an early flight back to the states the following morning, so I just stayed quietly at home.   The following day, I did venture out and spent a remarkable afternoon sitting outside the pub.  The weather was nice, a lot of friends were around, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, even though I was irritated about missing some time with my friend, and all the while still very conscious that my back was not back to 100%.

The next two days were very difficult, and I was feeling all sorts of pains and aches, most likely because of my back, but I let my thoughts get the best of me, and I continued to get more and more concerned.  Right after the May Day holiday, I went to the doctor, who promptly gave me an injection.  We repeated that the next couple of days, and as the pain subsided, I hoped that I would continue my recovery. Unlike previous experiences where I have done something to my back, including last year, I had never had cortisone shots, and was not really keen to continue them.  But, I was still very anxious, because as the days passed, I did not feel that things were improving.  This was significant to me, as usually things would improve almost on a daily basis.  At least, that was my experience from before.

After enduring another really difficult weekend, I felt physically and mentally exhausted, but contacted a local physical therapy praxis, as my doctor has prescribed some PT for me.  Fortunately, I got to speak with a guy who arranged for my first session the following morning. Since that time, I have had about 10 sessions, usually two times per week.  Between treatments, I usually have felt better, but within a day or two, I would experience various bits of discomfort, numbness, and realized that this time around, I had clearly aggravated something in my back far worse than ever before.

The ups and downs that I have had over the past 5 weeks have been mind blowing.  I am one of those guys that likes to actively participate in any therapy recovery, as I realize that simply going to PT is not enough.  This is similar to learning piano.  Taking a piano lesson once per week is good, but you do not really advance unless you put in your practice hours on a regular (daily) basis.  I know several therapists in Frankfurt and we have often discussed this.  One does not get better simply by 2 sessions per week, but it what gets done outside of those sessions that is important. 

My PT recognized my interest in participating in my improvement, and I am very fortunate to be working with him.  I have learned a whole lot in the past month, and even though a lot of the information seems to be logical, sometimes I think that I already knew some of things, but the significance for me now is that I am finally starting to recognize the impact of how my subconscious is involved in all of this. 

About a week ago, I woke up really really early on a Saturday morning, way before a reasonable hour for a weekend.  OK, I like early mornings, but 4h30 was ridiculous.   However, after attempting to go back to sleep a couple of times, I finally just said, "I am fucking up."

A bit later that morning, after a few coffees, I reflected on my statement to myself, and then I repeated it several times, but this time intending a different meaning.  No longer was I talking about being awake (since the espresso helped that out a lot), but I was referring to the fact that I was making mistakes.  Making mistakes in the way I was dealing with my back problems, making mistakes with the way I was dealing with the stress and angst that, while already prevalent in my life because of work, was now being compounded by the constant thoughts I was having about my back.

I thought back to the past few weeks and remembered the times when my back felt better.  Usually I was more relaxed and at peace.  Hence, the overnight stay in the hospital helped me, since I was supposedly in the safety and comfort of a place where I could easily receive any needed medical treatment.  But, the following day after my brilliant Sunday afternoon, anxiety came flooding back and I immediately was feeling awful, both physically and mentally. 

Getting the perspective of a very knowledgeable PT has been excellent.  The guy knows his stuff, and even though I have many friends who have all said similar things, perhaps it is just hearing the message presented in a slightly different way (or in a different environment) that helps me comprehend. 

Never being one to simply take one opinion as the "word," I continued to discuss some of my issues with friends, and likewise compared experiences with colleagues or Kumpels who have also had back problems.  One friend mentioned a book that he heard about, which I went out and purchased.  I finished it this morning, and it has given me further food for thought.  The book is about healing back pain and relates the pain to stress and how we cope, how we repress our emotions. 

Many things from the book make a whole lot of sense, and my PT has regularly mentioned several of the main topics over the past few weeks.  In short, I am taking in a whole lot of information and relating it to my personal situation.   I am realizing (in some cases for the umpteenth time) just how important the mind is when it comes to the physical being, and I recognize that I have some work to do. 

I have always considered myself to be a pretty strong person, both physically and mentally, but of course that goes out the window when you have excruciating back pain, and then once your mind starts freaking out about everything, things just compound themselves.  So, I am having to refocus on me, my emotions, and how I deal with all of it.  A key point involves how I seem to have repressed a lot of my emotions.  This creates a lot of tension, and most people that know me know me as a pretty intense individual.  While that is (in my opinion) a pretty admirable character trait, it does have some associated consequences:  I struggle to relax, and when working in a pretty stressful job (as I have done for 20 years), I have never really been good at simply being able to switch myself off.

My physical therapist said during our initial meeting that I was really really strong.  Years of spending time in the gym and being active have been a huge benefit.  That being said, in the same sentence, he told me that the experience I was having with my back was the way my body was telling me to fuck off.  You see, I have always spent too much time trying to stay strong and not enough time trying to create a better balance (through rest, peace, relaxation, etc).  

It is difficult to comprehend sometimes when you think you are doing all the right things, only to find out that you cause yourself some harm or damage.  Fortunately, understanding and accepting how this all works is comforting, because one can then focus on how to improve.  

For years, I have always made lists, whether it be a simply grocery list or a list of my top 10 albums or books or films, or a list of the pros and cons with my life, my profession, etc.   Last year, I went through this exercise several times, with good results, but this is all the more reason that the past two months have been so discouraging and upsetting. 

Last week, I spoke with an old colleague, a friend of mine.  I related some of my recent troubles and he mentioned that what helps him is to write a list of the top 5 most important things for life, and the top 5 things for a job/profession.   I spent a few days contemplating, then scribbled down a few points.  So far I have identified 4 things for life, and only 1 thing for profession. This afternoon I will continue to work on those lists.  Additionally, I plan on jotting down a top 5 list of things that really piss me off.  This is important to me because I realize that repressing anger is just creating more stress, and deferring the stress instead of dealing with it has been where I have been lacking.

My style has always been to push through, stay strong, and I am now realizing that this was not totally the correct thing for me.  Like always, the adventure continues, and I look forward to enjoying the journey.  This does not mean it always be smooth sailing, and I certainly need to do a lot of reflection on my career path, but I feel up for the challenge.   I always had a little post note stuck on the wall of my office cubicle during my 20s which said, "psych it up."  At the time, it was my mantra (one of several), but over the years I started feeling it was a little dated.  

However, the other week I listened to just about every Clash album.  I hadn't done that in a long long time, and clearly had been missing it.  Talk about a bit of motivation.  It was brilliant.  It really psyched me up in a very positive way.

So, weiter geht's.   A little music here and there, a lot of reflection, and continue making, taking time for myself. 

See you out there.

bryan

Neighborhood Trash and Chills in the Springtime

The other week I spent a couple of hours in Munich to meet with my new manager, who will based in his home country of England.  During our initial greetings he mentioned his irritation with the German railway system because the trains tended to be PUNCTUAL.  His point was that if one was running a few minutes late in the UK, they were almost always guaranteed to catch their train, which was also almost always running a few minutes late. I was momentarily surprised at his comment, but then realized he was making a joke, at least partially. 

Over the next days as I went about my normal activities, I took time to actually appreciate various aspects of life and culture that rather appeal to me.  It is not that I have taken these things for granted, but still, it was worth remembering why those things make my experience here pretty pleasant.   Of course, not all of the aspects are strictly German, per se, but being that this is the country that I live in, I recognize that plenty of Germans appreciate the same things.

For example, seasonal foods.   As we begin spring, out come the stalks of asparagus (Spargel) in the markets, and I am sure in a few weeks all the restaurants will have some sort of special on the menu.
Likewise, with the first relatively warm afternoon filled with sunshine, the ice cream cafes are serving up scoops to anyone and everyone out enjoying the weather.

Texas never has offered much in the way of four seasons.  Summer lasts about 10 months, winter about 6 weeks, and either side of winter is a brief period of time where one might say the weather is fall or springlike.   True, when I lived in another part of the US, I did get a better feel for all four seasons, but it was not until I got to Germany that I could truly live it.

While my favorite seasons are autumn, winter, spring, and summer (in that order), I absolutely love the actual change from one season to the next, particularly that first crisp afternoon that marks the coming of fall, and days like we have had here recently, where it stays lighter longer, and the temperatures are just starting to get a bit warmer.

Last month, I turned off my heating, and a couple of weeks ago opened up all the windows in my apartment to allow for a little fresh air to breeze through.  It has been lovely, up until a couple of nights ago when the temperature did drop a little more than usual.  Suddenly, I was sitting on the couch freezing my ass off.   Fortunately, I have a blanket for such occasions, and was able to finish watching the Inspector Morse episode in cozy comfort.

Yesterday evening, I reached that point where I could no longer concentrate on work, so stepped over to the pub and stood outside enjoying a beer while watching people pass by on their way home from work.  After a few minutes, I did find myself feeling a bit chilled, despite being dressed warmly (or so I thought) enough.  I had to go back inside the pub for a few moments so as to warm up, but then quickly went back outside to enjoy the cool and the people watching.  Some folks are still going around in scarves and coats, while others are already in shirt sleeves and flip-flops mode.  As I said, the change of seasons, and here marks the coming of spring.

As everyone starts to come out of hibernation, you obviously see a lot more people on the street, out and about doing their thing.  This includes my neighbors who live in my building.  There are eight flats in total, and I think all but one or two are occupied.  Working from home, I actually hear the neighbors more than I actually see them.  I certainly hear people traipsing up and down the stairs, presumably on their way to and from work.  But, since I don't actually have to go far to my office, I am never on the landing at the times that they are. 

I have recently noticed that we seem to be accumulating more trash than in previous months (or even years).  One of the things that I really like about being in Germany is that I have become much more environmentally inclined.  This is due to the influence of friends of mine who have taught me to be a bit more conscious of my actions, particularly when it comes to conserving energy and sorting trash.  Indeed, Nadja was particularly helpful in showing me how to optimize my ways, and of course the color coding of the bins is also pretty clear.

One thing that I have always found curious, recently even more so, is that we seem to have three big bins for plastic recycling, and another three big bins for paper recycling.  However, our bin for biodegradable trash is only medium-sized, and there is only one.  Not only that, the one remaining bin, which is intended for, let's call it "trash" trash, is downright dinky.  It is about half the size of the big bins.  It never has really been an issue in all the years that I have lived in my flat; we all seemed to have a decent balance of plastics vs paper vs crud.   That is, until a new family moved in a few months ago. 

With any new tenant coming into the residence, there is always a spike in cardboard recycling, due to the various boxes that were used in the move.  That is normal, and is usually how I can tell when someone has moved in.  (small tangent - for as much time as I spend at home, I almost never am around when a new tenant moves in (or out) of one of the apartments)  At any rate, during the winter months, I was aware that one of the new residents was rather small.  Apart from the dead giveaway of the baby stroller parked in the downstairs hallway, I can hear the baby from time to time.  Not just his cries, mind you, but just the general sounds of a little one.

And he is a super pooper. 

In the past weeks, our trash bin gets filled up more frequently than in the past.  The trash collectors come by regularly, but within a day or two of pickup, the bin is almost overflowing.  Just last week, there were extra bags placed next to the bin, simply because they wouldn't fit.  I noticed that several of the bags were baby-related (diapers and such).  This, too, is normal, and I have absolutely no problem with it.  My issue is that I am questioning why we have so many bins for plastics and cardboard, and only a small receptacle for our normal trash.

I accumulate my share of trash, and while I could be a bit better at sorting the Bioabfall from the Restmüll, I do a reasonable job and think it is an okay balance.  The bins themselves have little pictures on them to explain what goes where.  This is particularly helpful for those who don't necessarily know that Verpackung means plastic recyclables, or that Bioabfall is for the stuff that many Americans would put down their garbage disposal or in the compost heap in their backyard.
The picture on the Bioabfall includes things like half-eaten apples, etc.  The bin for plastics shows pictures of things like milk cartons, and the Restmüll bin shows pictures of broken light bulbs and broken cassette cartridges. 

Going on this logic alone, I can certainly understand why the sizes of the bins are how they are.  For sure, I drink about 4 liters of milk a week, so I am using the Verpackung bin a lot.  On the other hand, the last time I had a broken audio cassette was in 1989, and I replace light bulbs about once every two years.  Putting more descriptive pictures on the Restmüll bin will not help whatsoever; not unless they make the bin bigger, or provide us another couple of bins.

Part of me likes the fact that the bins are not overly big.  Somehow, this keeps me conscious of how much stuff I am accumulating.  However, we need to be realistic.  I go through a lot of coffee, so I am all for having an extra Bio bin, and when it comes to regular trash, I try and keep that to a minimum, also.  As for my little buddy upstairs, he will be a regular contributor for the next year or so, until he completes his toilet training.  So, we probably need another one of those for him. Maybe the trash guys will realize that and increase their pick up runs during the week.

Actually, they are just arriving, so I will finish this up and go let them into the building.

enjoy the start of spring

bryan

Time to Change the Changing Times

This coming weekend, Europe will adjust the clocks forward by one hour as part of daylight saving.
As much as I like the change of seasons, I recognize how much I am affected, typically when it comes to my sleep patterns. Like almost every year, during the last couple of weeks before we set the clocks forward, I find myself frequently waking up before my alarm clock.  Two weeks ago, I was opening my eyes each morning about 30 minutes before 6am.  Last week, I was waking up an hour before 6, and these past few days, almost 1 1/2 to 2 hours before the alarm.

Most of the time, I try to roll over and go back to sleep.  Frequently, this works without any incident.  Other times, I toss and turn for 15 minutes or so before ultimately deciding to just get up and get on with things: starting the coffee, switching on the laptop, or whatever.

This is a normal process, and my body gradually acclimates, much the way it does when going through jet lag. However, things get more complicated when additional factors come into play, namely mental stress, but I find that the overall mentality of how I adapt to change is also very significant.  I am very good at beating myself up when things don't go the way I would like them go, even if such things are far beyond my control.  That actually adds to the stress levels, and in no time at all you can find yourself well and truly out of whack.

Regular readers (thanks, ihr beide!) might recall that last year about this time, I went through a particular rough patch of my life as I was overwhelmed by extreme stress levels that were work related.  Despite spending a lot of time though the rest of the year searching for ways to get back on balance, I might make the argument that I was only partially successful. 

Last year, I was finally more interested in making a job change, but now almost one year later, I am still continuing on as before.  Sure, I made some personal changes that enable me to find a better balance for myself, but I still find myself irritated with my complacency, both in professional and personal daily life.

Again, back to the "beating myself up" bit: it is easy to go round in circles, but somehow I have to keep asking myself the right questions, to keep challenging myself.  What do I want?  Where do I want to go?  How am I going to get there?

As rewarding as this exercise of self reflection is, it can be both physically and mentally exhausting.  I am not a naturally selfish person, but sometimes I have to remind myself who needs to be number one.  Sometimes I remind myself at the inappropriate time, which can have a negative impact on those people close to me, ones that I particularly care about, and those consequences also have to be dealt with.  Other times (erm, most of the time, as some friends would say) I prioritize work, which tends to skew the life balance, and has a particularly tough toll on physical and mental strength.

I mention this because these past few weeks, I have not slept all that well, partially because of the season change, but also because of the overwhelming amounts of things I have going on with work.  The project that we started last October has been a complete rodeo, and here six months later, it has not really gotten any more stable.   At the beginning of the project, my boss told us to try and hold on (Halte durch!) and spent a lot of time and effort trying to explain to upper management that their decisions were going to wipe out the ops guys (us) on the grounds that we were stretched to the point of breaking.  Anyone who is familiar with my career over the last 20 years already knows that one in my profession has to have a certain strength in which to work in this kind of environment.  Most everything gets pushed to us to deal with, to handle, and this is just unfortunately how it is.  However, there are only so many times that one can run (knowingly) into a brick wall at full speed head first before something, usually bad, will happen.

I have never underestimated my mental strength and have always managed to persevere, albeit at great expense to me, who is supposed to be the hero of this story.  One of the things that has helped me over the past few years is knowing that my boss was fully aware of the situation and went to great lengths to support me, if not to try and protect me from getting completely annihilated as a result of company decisions.  I wasn't alone in this: my boss does this for everyone on the team.

At the end of February, I was dismayed to find out that as a result of his efforts to defend our team and by trying to bring some common sense to the upper management on how the business should be handled, he was forced out of the business.   Talk about a kick in the teeth.

I must say, I was most unsettled.  Suddenly, the guy that was giving me a glimmer of hope and helping to motivate me to keep getting up each day and give my best effort to the difficult job at hand was ousted.  In an instant, the wind got taken out of my sails.  One isn't always fortunate enough to work for someone who is always so supportive, but in my career, I have had the experience twice. The first time was many years ago, when a guy mentored me into the repair operations business and helped set me on the right path to a successful career (pause while I remind myself that I have accomplished a great deal in these first 25 years of my working life, in multiple countries, languages and cultures).

If my first great boss helped me get my start, then this second guy helped provide the reassurance that my career decisions have been the right ones.  The industry I am in is not the easiest to work in, but it sure helps when your manager understands that already, and finds ways to get the most out of the team despite the challenges.  I am lucky that I have had that support, and am very grateful.  Vielen Dank, der Herr.

Alas, life without changes is impossible, and refusing to adapt to change is foolish and naive.  My new boss contacted us in early March to schedule some quick introductions via telephone.  When my time slot came up, we spoke for about 20 minutes about all the things you would expect to discuss in a brief initial conversation. We made plans to meet face to face during his upcoming trip to Munich, where our main offices are located.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was recently at the portrait studio to get an updated picture to use for my resume.  This was long overdue, and perhaps it was the change in bosses that prompted me to finally go and make the appointment.  The photo came out as good as you can expect when you have a face for radio, and last week I uploaded the digital version to my professional network profile.

During Kiosk Abend these past few Mondays, I have related the recent developments to the guys.  We regularly talk about various topics, including my trials and tribulations from work.  At the very least, it allows us to avoid talking about how shitty Arsenal and Eintracht seem to be playing in recent months.  This past Monday was no exception, despite the fact that two of the guys were away on holiday, leaving only Mono and me to contemplate the affairs of the world.  We chatted about complacency, change, goofy politics; in other words, just a normal Monday evening.  Suddenly, a rather attractive girl walked up to the kiosk and pulled a copy of Brigitte off the magazine rack hanging on the wall.   She held the magazine up to her face as her friend snapped a photo.  Turns out that the girl was on the cover of the recent issue.  (Brigitte is basically the German version of Cosmopolitan).  That was rather an interesting experience, and just goes to confirm that you never know what to expect in my little corner of Bornheim.  Very cool.

Of course, the girl hardly gave us a glance, but that was really no surprise.  Not all of us can be famous, even for a few minutes.

Mono and I finished up our beers around 10pm, like always, and as we headed off in our different directions, he wished me luck for my meeting on Wednesday morning with my new boss.

Tuesday evening, I tried to go to bed early, as I would have to get up at around 3h30 in order to take an early train down to Munich.   It was a good plan, but I had so much going on in my head that I could not sleep.  By the time I finally fell asleep, I was already worrying about oversleeping, or that maybe my alarm wouldn't go off and somehow I would miss my train.   From the beginning of this piece, you might remember that I have already been waking up about 4 or 4h30 these past mornings, but Wednesday I needed to be up even earlier.  Not only that, I had a head full of all the things I figured I would be discussing with my new boss, and that was on top of the all the other open "to-dos" I have sitting on my desk.

So, I did not sleep all that well Tuesday night, but I was up on time Wednesday morning.  The train ride is a little over 3 hours to Munich, and since I rather enjoy train travel, I was able to relax on the way down.  I scribbled some notes about what I wanted to talk about during my meeting, and enjoyed several coffees while I watched the countryside pass by.

I walked into the offices just before 9am, and was mildly surprised to find very few people already at work.  It has been almost two years since my last visit to our headquarters, and while part of me was looking forward to seeing some old colleagues, I was also a bit cautious and curious; there is a lot of new management (including my new boss) and I was not sure how they would react to me.

Fortunately, I knew my way around the place, and after getting a coffee, wandered around to see who was about the place.  Gradually, a few more employees arrived to work, and one or two did comment that they almost didn't recognize me.  Indeed, it had been awhile.

My appointment was at 10am, and when I found my boss (I had looked up his profile already, so I knew what he looked like) he remarked that he did not recognize me, saying that my own profile picture was different.   "Well, it was until about 3 days ago," I responded as I shook his hand.

Well, our discussion went ok, and I will remain as open and positive as possible in how things will play out next.   I did also get a chance to meet some of the upper management, including my boss's boss.  With nothing to lose, I certainly gave him the honest feedback when answering his question, "So, how are things going?"

One of the positives from the visit was simply being in contact with other colleagues.  This is something that I have missed over the years of home office.  That being said, I was still glad when I was packing up my laptop at 14h to head to the train station to return to Frankfurt.  Like always, I cut things a little bit fine, and had to sort of run to the U-Bahn stop around the corner from the office.

As I reached the platform, a local Bahn was approaching, and that was my train.  I did not have time to buy a ticket, so jumped on the train, hoping that I could buy a fare on board.  With Deutsche Bahn, there is a little feature for Bahncard holders which enables you to ride from your original destination to the final destination (effectively door to door, as far as public transportation is concerned).  However, there are some exceptions, including this particular train.

Riding "Schwarz" is an offense that has a pretty hefty fine in Germany.  The public transport system generally follows the honor system, and maybe only once a month do I ever get asked to show my ticket to the ticket checking guy.  (note - on the distance trains, they always check.  I am speaking here only about the local city transportation).  However, I never have ridden without purchasing a fare.  A friend of mine tended to be the exact opposite, he never bought a fare, and took his chances.  His best story was the time that he got caught without a fare, which meant he had to pay a fine of 40 Euros.  As he exited the train at the next stop, he was approached by an interviewer who paid him 40 Euros to relate his experience.  In his view, he broke even.

At any rate, I wanted to avoid any bad situation, so when I jumped on the little train, I saw the conductor, and went to him to ask about buying a fare.  He commented that it was not possible to purchase a ticket on the train itself, and I pointed out that I had a Bahncard and was entitled to ride as part of my overall route.  Of course, this looked a little silly because I was not yet at the Bahnhof,so had not yet purchased my train ticket for the return journey to Frankfurt.

With a little luck, the conductor let me off the hook and told me he would allow me to ride to the Bahnhof without a ticket, but next time, there would be no exception: the penalty is now 60 Euro.

Feeling a bit sheepish but fortunate, I rode to the train station, then bought my ticket for home.  I found a seat in the Bordbistro, and spent the next three hours reflecting on the day's events.  I arrived back to Frankfurt around 18h, and made a quick beeline to the pub.  Sure, I was tired, but needed a little end of day refreshment.  I figured I would have a couple, then head home for an early night. Indeed, it had been a long day, and I was tired.

OK, I stayed for more than two beers, but still was home early and went to sleep almost immediately after a little dinner.

Sure enough, I woke at 4am yesterday morning, managed to go back to sleep for awhile, then eventually got up just past 6. Logged on to work by 6h15 (about normal) and made it through the day. Late in the afternoon, I felt the impact from the long day and lack of sleep on Wednesday.  Thus, I had a kind of quiet evening at home, but looked forward to this morning, as it a personal vacation day; my last remaining vacation day from 2016 (we have to use up all the days before end of March of the following year).

So, how did I start my morning today?  You guessed it.  Woke up at 4am.  Back to sleep for a bit, and then out of bed around 6.

Now, I am finishing my 6th espresso and finishing up this post.  Despite the day off, I will (already have, actually) be doing some work, if only to catch up on all the things that I have not been able to get done this week.  One of the nice things about putting the out of office notice on your email is that people tend to leave you alone.  That way, I can actually get a few things done that require a bit of quiet concentration without interruption. 

Yeah, I may be an idiot for spending my free time catching up on job stuff, but I still get off on accomplishing things, and if I can help clear my plate, at least I have a few seconds to try and catch my breath before the next pile comes my way.

Besides, we are about to lose an hour, or perhaps better said, spring forward.  I will psych it up, get motivated, and move along with the change.  Forward.

see you out there
bryan

It Was Only a Coat and Tie

I was speaking to a friend last month, and we got to talking about our CV's and business networking.  She suggested that I update my photo on my profile of one of the sites that I use.  I made a mental note to schedule a session at the photo studio, and finally got around to doing that early last week: an appointment for Friday afternoon at 17h30.

So, as the workday was starting to wind down on Friday afternoon, I started checking the clock to allow myself enough time to shower, dress, and make sure that I could still knot my tie.   One of the advantages of working home office is that business casual takes on a whole new level.  One tends to put on the comfy stuff, and that may or may not include threadbare Clash t-shirts from circa 1986.  That is all well and good, and does a fine job in keeping the more professional business or formal attire in really good nick. This is pretty much my case, since most of my "good" clothing is either brand new, or still fresh from the dry cleaners.

I identified the shirt and tie I wanted to wear, and was getting ready to jump in the shower when my mom skyped me.  I quickly mentioned that I was a little short on time, to which my mother responded with an "OK," then launched into a little summary of all the happenings since we last talked together.  We spoke (or rather, she spoke, I listened) for a further 10 minutes, and then I had to interrupt her, "Mom, I have an appointment in half an hour.  We will continue another day, OK?"

I never like having to do that with anyone, and certainly not with my mother, but I was eagerto avoid showing up looking a little anxious and rushed when I got to the studio.   Fortunately, I took a speedy shower, dressed, and got the tie right on the first try.  My luck continued when I got to the U-Bahn, where the train arrived just as I was walking onto the platform.  Two quick stops later, I walked upstairs to Merianplatz and then the 100 meters to the studio. Right on time.

A friend of mine had suggested I use this studio for photos, and she actually accompanied me on my first visit some 7 years ago when I last had my CV photos done.  She brought along some helpers to make sure that I smiled during the photo session, and this is exactly what I was thinking about when sat down on the little stool.  A couple of years ago, I was at this same studio to get my passport photos done, but for those pictures, one has to look a bit more serious.   For CVs, one typically smiles, or at least looks more open and friendly.  I had to concentrate a little on not smiling too much, since the memory kept making me chuckle.

The photographer positioned  me and snapped a few dozen pictures, and then we sat down at the computer to finalize the photo.  We chatted a little bit about which photos looked the best, and then finally decided on a keeper.   She told me that she would have everything ready by Monday, I paid up, and that was that.  20 minutes total.

I had dinner plans with some folks, so headed back up the street, stopping off at the kiosk for a packet of ciggy.  The nice woman there gave me a smile and a bit of a compliment on my attire; I certainly don't normally dress like that when standing around at her kiosk on Monday evenings drinking beers with some friends.

As I approached the pub, I met some folks that I know sitting outside.  They, too, reacted a bit to my attire.  I quickly explained where I had just come from, then went on into the pub, where one of the staff immediately dropped a glass as she saw me.  She and I normally speak together in Spanish, and once again, I gave her the explanation I had given outside just a minute before, albeit in Spanish.

The working weeks so far in 2017 have not been particularly fantastic, but unlike in years past, I haven't been rushing into the pub as an escape from the unpleasantness of work, choosing rather to find other alternatives to simply pinting up to forget said troubles.   Thus, I am in the pub slightly less (if only just a smidge) than before. 

La chica got over her surprise at seeing me in different clothes and got me a beer, which I greatly enjoyed as an official start to my weekend.   A few minutes, my dinner companions arrived, and once they got over their shock at seeing me in a coat and tie, we walked down the street to the restaurant.

We sat down in the busy restaurant, and the waitress was particularly friendly to me, as pointed out by one of my friends at the table.  I tried to argue that it was only because I was being polite, and it had nothing to do with my attire, but the excuse sounded a bit feeble.

Dinner was quite tasty, but the restaurant had a second booking for our table, so at 20h, we paid for the meal, and headed back up to the pub for a usual couple of post-dinner drinks; our usual way of starting the weekend. 

The pub was much much fuller upon our return, due in part to the rugby match being shown on tv, but mainly simply because it was a Friday evening.   We had run into a few folks walking down the street as we made our way back to the pub, and I had assumed that the reason that the child who accidentally rode their scooter into a potted plant on the sidewalk did so not because of their surprise to see me dressed up, but rather because they were still somewhat new to scooter riding.  True, the child's parents paid me a compliment on how I was dressed, but beyond the father's raised eyebrows and the mother's "gosh, you look nice," I did not think it was that big of a deal.

However, the reception I got in the pub from not only the bar staff but everyone else I happened to know came as a surprise.  True, I was rather flattered, but felt a bit sheepish; perhaps I should have removed the tie and changed shirts prior to going to dinner.   On the other hand, it felt sort of good to be smartly dressed, and I was rather pleased that I had not gotten any duck sauce on my white shirt or my tie. 

Through the remainder of the evening, the compliments continued to come, but I was glad to be brought back down to earth when a late coming friend said, "what happened to you?" as he got his Äppler from the barmaid.  It wasn't an unfriendly thing to say, it was simply his way of noting that I was dressed out of character.   We laughed a little as we remembered the last time either one of us had actually dressed up; we had both been at a wedding a couple of summers ago.

Na ja.  As usual, the time came to pay up and go home and tumble into bed.  I carefully removed my coat and tie (as carefully as one can when things are bit fuzzy after several pints) and fell asleep with a little smile on my face. 

I will likely remember the evening every time I log on to my business networking account, but that isn't a bad thing at all.

See you out there, in whatever you happen to be wearing.

bryan