So the lasagna was delicious. Couldn't get ricotta so used a shredded emmenthaler as a substitute, which was nice and salty and the top layer browned well while it baked. I asked Herr Lehm if I could use some of their aluminum foil to cover the lasagna while it was baking but he said nay, nay, and looked at me like I was a reckless child. Don't really understand why. Maybe he thinks an oven is like a microwave and metal will make it explode. Or maybe he's just a control freak.
I felt politeness required bring the Lehms two small pieces once it cooled, but otherwise Bill and I ate most of it that first night (he likes it cold, while I microwaved mine a bit) and finished it the next night. And decided that next time we won't give them any because we want it all for ourselves. And we may well buy a bigger pan so we can make even more.
This week I'm beginning the online classes I've signed up for through American River Community College. I'm primarily taking them because if I'm enrolled in a certain number of units I can stay on my parents' medical insurance. But, thanks to the very high demand for online courses at ARC and the fact that I looked for them late, limited selection has forced me into three classes I probably would never have taken had I a choice in the matter. I will be taking the Library Science course Internet Research Skills, the Sociology course Human Sexuality, and the Gerontology course Sociology of Aging. What a fun mix, hmmm?
Unfortunately, books are a bit of a problem. I was able to buy a downloadable version of my sexuality textbook but my Aging texts, ordered used on Amazon, won't arrive until mid February or possible early March. Might hamper my class performance. And of course since I'm overseas there was no option for expedited shipping. If anyone reading would like to help me by finding the books in the library (Moody, Harry. Aging, Concepts and Controversies, 5th Edition, and Cox, Harold. Annual Editions: Aging) and making copies or scanning the first couple chapters, that would be really helpful. Also a lot of work, I realize, but in case my blog doesn't kill quite enough time in your week, I present this as an additional option.
Got my hair cut yesterday, which was nice because the bangs have been growing unchecked since October, and they've been a pain in the ass. Went to a girl we met through Nico. She's very nice, did a very thorough job, and finds it strange that American hairstylists have to go to school for such a short time. She went back to school for a masters in hairstyling (not sure what the US equivalent might be) in 2005, so I felt very comfortable in her hands. The bangs are now a little heavier, quite mod, and there are more short pieces around my face. I think I'm pleased but haven't styled it myself yet, as she did such a lovely job of straightening, but that will be the true test of whether I like it. I'll be meeting Bill back at her salon in an hour for his appointment with her. His wings were getting a little out of control.
Oh, and I mentioned Obama (PRESIDENT Obama) in the post's title. I watched hours of inaugural coverage yesterday and could not stop smiling throughout. His speech was brilliant, appropriately serious, and very motivating. And Michelle looked great, especially the unexpected greens of her gloves and shoes. Oh, and her ball gown was fantastic. And, note to Becca in particular, it looked like she had some nice lush false eyelashes on at the ball. I'm very much looking forward to seeing the steps the Obama administration takes in the next few months in terms of facing the financial crisis and fixing some of the more prominent Bush/Cheney disasters.
Miss you all very much.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Belated. Sorry.
[Wrote this Monday, but only now have internet strong enough to post it (I’m back at the hotel where we watched the football game.) Apologies for the delay.]
This past weekend was much less eventful than last. No Nazis, no German cover bands, no heavy snow. We did have a Zwonitz first, though: our friend Nico (I think I’ve mentioned him before—he plays tennis with Bill) came over to our apartment for dinner Friday night. He was our very first guest, in fact the first person besides Herr Lehm to even enter our little home. Needless to say, I spent the week unspeakably excited about it. Most of you know how much I love to cook for people. And if you don’t, please allow me, next time we’re together, to demonstrate by cooking you dinner.
As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been having computer troubles. Bill’s has a nasty virus which we’ve been trying, even with our technological ineptitude, to get rid of. We’ve read tech help message boards, most of which are a little too complicated for us but give an idea of where we should look for simpler instructions. And it gave me an excuse to use our cell phone to call the US and catch up with my technophilic friend Matt (it had been two whole months since we’d talked!!). But now, after following various instructions for deleting the virus, Bill’s comp is stuck in Safe Mode and occasionally decides to spend several minutes growling (it’s definitely not the fan. We’re very familiar with the fan’s irritated hum, and I’m sure that if we opened the computer up it would be chock full of lint and dust).
Anyway, Nico said he’s good with computers so we invited him over to take a look at Bill’s (and have a go at my internet-phobic laptop) and have dinner before heading to our Friday night spot, Afterwork. What did I cook? Tacos, of course. Not the best Californian tacos, because our resources are rather limited, but I think they turned out okay. I browned ground beef with the taco seasoning Mary sent me (it was perfect). We made guacamole, of course, with one of the 10 or so guac seasoning packets I brought from the US. Nico had never eaten guac, and while he said it was good, I noticed he wasn’t dipping all that many chips before dinner. But he did put it on all of his tacos, per our example. All we have for salsa is a “Taco Sauce” that’s pretty weak. I could easily make my own, I guess. Maybe, Mary, you could send me your recipe? And for cheese, because the Zwonitz stores offer no Cheddar, no Monterey Jack, nothing I would normally put on Mexican food, we used shredded Emmenthaler. And flour tortillas which we can only get at Kaufland, the Walmart-style grocery store that’s a solid 35-40 minute uphill walk from our house. But Nico seemed very pleased by these faux tacos and, charmingly, told several of his friends at Afterwork what a good cook I am (despite a lack of evidence, the only cooking involved in these tacos being the browning of the meat). Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fix either of our computers, but Bill’s going to bring his to school again to have a teacher look at it, who might end up just rebuilding the hard drive (whatever that means).
It’s very overcast outside (not unusual) and also very windy. It reminds me of a Woodland wind, one of those that whips around the house and makes the windows shake and just sort of drives you crazy. But we haven’t had anymore snow yet, and it’s not as cold as last week, so I won’t complain. Also, I’m starving and am tempted to make a grilled cheese, which would be very naughty. I made the mistake, a couple days ago, of composing a grilled cheese of thinly-sliced French bread (actually, it’s called Semmerbrot, and I suppose it isn’t French at all), a strip of Black Forest ham fried to bacon-like crispness before taking its place between two layers of Gouda sandwich slices. Terrible, I know, but also glorious.
What I’ve spent the whole morning thinking about, though, is how to ask Herr Lehm, in German, if I can borrow a baking dish and use his oven this afternoon in order to make lasagna. We got most of the ingredients at Kaufland on Saturday (including ground turkey instead of ground beef or Italian sausage, because Bill has this crazy idea that red meat isn’t good for us), and Bill is picking up more mozzarella and ricotta on his way home from school today. Cross your fingers that it will work out, because I’ve gotten myself really worked up in anticipation.
As some of you might be aware, the Philadelphia Eagles played in the NFC Championships last night. And as you might also know, Bill is from Philadelphia. So, being very conscious of his self-identification as an athlete and his responsibility as a bro to do everything in his power to watch his city’s American football team in an important game, he spent much of Sunday struggling with my computer’s unreliable wireless connection in an attempt to find a way to see the game. It seems that there aren’t any sportsbars in Chemnitz or Aue (the two cities nearest Zwonitz) that show American football games. And a bro can’t count on my computer’s internet to show him such an important game, so at 830pm we pack up my laptop and walked 20 minutes to the town’s biggest hotel, which has very good wireless in its bar/restaurant. And after some fiddling around with it, we found a fairly good link for streaming the game, and spent the next 3 hours watching it explaining the game to the bartender (we were the only customers). Because the Eagles weren’t playing very well, Bill wasn’t particularly relaxed, but I had brought some knitting with me so I had a very enjoyable evening.
This past weekend was much less eventful than last. No Nazis, no German cover bands, no heavy snow. We did have a Zwonitz first, though: our friend Nico (I think I’ve mentioned him before—he plays tennis with Bill) came over to our apartment for dinner Friday night. He was our very first guest, in fact the first person besides Herr Lehm to even enter our little home. Needless to say, I spent the week unspeakably excited about it. Most of you know how much I love to cook for people. And if you don’t, please allow me, next time we’re together, to demonstrate by cooking you dinner.
As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been having computer troubles. Bill’s has a nasty virus which we’ve been trying, even with our technological ineptitude, to get rid of. We’ve read tech help message boards, most of which are a little too complicated for us but give an idea of where we should look for simpler instructions. And it gave me an excuse to use our cell phone to call the US and catch up with my technophilic friend Matt (it had been two whole months since we’d talked!!). But now, after following various instructions for deleting the virus, Bill’s comp is stuck in Safe Mode and occasionally decides to spend several minutes growling (it’s definitely not the fan. We’re very familiar with the fan’s irritated hum, and I’m sure that if we opened the computer up it would be chock full of lint and dust).
Anyway, Nico said he’s good with computers so we invited him over to take a look at Bill’s (and have a go at my internet-phobic laptop) and have dinner before heading to our Friday night spot, Afterwork. What did I cook? Tacos, of course. Not the best Californian tacos, because our resources are rather limited, but I think they turned out okay. I browned ground beef with the taco seasoning Mary sent me (it was perfect). We made guacamole, of course, with one of the 10 or so guac seasoning packets I brought from the US. Nico had never eaten guac, and while he said it was good, I noticed he wasn’t dipping all that many chips before dinner. But he did put it on all of his tacos, per our example. All we have for salsa is a “Taco Sauce” that’s pretty weak. I could easily make my own, I guess. Maybe, Mary, you could send me your recipe? And for cheese, because the Zwonitz stores offer no Cheddar, no Monterey Jack, nothing I would normally put on Mexican food, we used shredded Emmenthaler. And flour tortillas which we can only get at Kaufland, the Walmart-style grocery store that’s a solid 35-40 minute uphill walk from our house. But Nico seemed very pleased by these faux tacos and, charmingly, told several of his friends at Afterwork what a good cook I am (despite a lack of evidence, the only cooking involved in these tacos being the browning of the meat). Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fix either of our computers, but Bill’s going to bring his to school again to have a teacher look at it, who might end up just rebuilding the hard drive (whatever that means).
It’s very overcast outside (not unusual) and also very windy. It reminds me of a Woodland wind, one of those that whips around the house and makes the windows shake and just sort of drives you crazy. But we haven’t had anymore snow yet, and it’s not as cold as last week, so I won’t complain. Also, I’m starving and am tempted to make a grilled cheese, which would be very naughty. I made the mistake, a couple days ago, of composing a grilled cheese of thinly-sliced French bread (actually, it’s called Semmerbrot, and I suppose it isn’t French at all), a strip of Black Forest ham fried to bacon-like crispness before taking its place between two layers of Gouda sandwich slices. Terrible, I know, but also glorious.
What I’ve spent the whole morning thinking about, though, is how to ask Herr Lehm, in German, if I can borrow a baking dish and use his oven this afternoon in order to make lasagna. We got most of the ingredients at Kaufland on Saturday (including ground turkey instead of ground beef or Italian sausage, because Bill has this crazy idea that red meat isn’t good for us), and Bill is picking up more mozzarella and ricotta on his way home from school today. Cross your fingers that it will work out, because I’ve gotten myself really worked up in anticipation.
As some of you might be aware, the Philadelphia Eagles played in the NFC Championships last night. And as you might also know, Bill is from Philadelphia. So, being very conscious of his self-identification as an athlete and his responsibility as a bro to do everything in his power to watch his city’s American football team in an important game, he spent much of Sunday struggling with my computer’s unreliable wireless connection in an attempt to find a way to see the game. It seems that there aren’t any sportsbars in Chemnitz or Aue (the two cities nearest Zwonitz) that show American football games. And a bro can’t count on my computer’s internet to show him such an important game, so at 830pm we pack up my laptop and walked 20 minutes to the town’s biggest hotel, which has very good wireless in its bar/restaurant. And after some fiddling around with it, we found a fairly good link for streaming the game, and spent the next 3 hours watching it explaining the game to the bartender (we were the only customers). Because the Eagles weren’t playing very well, Bill wasn’t particularly relaxed, but I had brought some knitting with me so I had a very enjoyable evening.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Bill's Nazi Observations
"Last weekend at the town pub 'After Work' we met a Nazi. A real one, from Germany. He spoke remarkably good English, though with his 'Fuck America' t-shirt and rabid anti-everythingism, what he had to say wasn't all that pleasant to hear. At one point he threatened to hit me, but I was confident that he would not do so in such a public place...but he was extremely large and intimidating. He hailed Hitler repeatedly, much to the chagrin of the other bargoers. He was impressed with my knowledge of Punk Rock, though I wisely left out that I stopped listening to such music at about the age of 13. After posing drunk questions to me he would cut off my answer by shouting 'Its not your fucking problem!' He then proceeded to light a cigarette in the bar (no longer legal here) and announce, 'This is my town, I do whatever the fuck I want.' I have to hand it to him, no one tried to stop him."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
From Berlin, back to Zwonitz
So I suppose I never finished the post on our time away, on New Year’s Eve (Silvester, in German, which I think is a much more elegant name for the holiday) in Berlin. It was also my first trip to Berlin, and I have to say, I loved the city. Silvester itself was a little lackluster, unfortunately. And, once Bill and I decided to do a little daytime shopping on the 31st, we found that all of the shops closed by 2pm, despite the throngs of people still flocking the main shopping areas. Even the huge department store he wanted to show me, which sounds like Berlin’s Harrods and is apparently, like Harrods, is a huge draw as a tourist attraction, was closed when we walked up to its doors at 2:30. Even all five of the H&Ms distributed within 2 city blocks were closed. It boggled my mind, though I suppose it goes along with the German retail ethic I’ve found in Zwonitz—absolutely nothing open on Sundays, everything except the biggest grocery store closed by noon or 1 on Saturdays, and every store closed for at least an hour, if not two, for lunch on weekdays. Doesn’t seem like they could sell enough to stay in business, but I suppose, German being a much more socialist-leaning state (in terms of national health care and staggering income taxes, though I actually know very little about it and this is all rather uneducated conjecture) than the US, they don’t actually have to do much business for the government to keep them in business. I suppose I should do some research on my temporarily-adopted country.
Speaking of my new country, I got my visa last Thursday, and can officially stay and legally work here until July 5th (why July 5th? I don’t know. I thought I was allowed a year but they seemed to just have assigned me a visa expiration date arbitrarily). I certainly won’t be staying longer than that, and in fact am thinking I’ll probably come back at least a month before then.
Oh, but the rest of our time in Berlin was great. Bill’s friend Colin has just moved there (like Bill, he did a semester abroad in Germany) and has friends in Berlin, so Bill and I got to spend time with more than just each other, which is a nice change (not that we’re sick of each other, just that we spend at least 20 hours a day alone together and it’s refreshing to interact with other humans).We hit some second-hand shops in a cool, slightly run-down neighborhood. And a couple friends of Colin’s took us to a deserted neighborhood where, underneath some elevated train tracks, we sought out the slightly hidden entrance of an underground club and danced the night away in unheated concrete rooms. Very fun.
Speaking of parties, back in Zwonitz we spend Friday and Saturday night with our new friends from Mettenschicht in the only cool bar in town. We met a very interesting character on Friday night, someone we’ve seen in the bar many times before and have carefully avoided (I have at least—I find him a little frightening). We still don’t know his name, despite spending more than an hour interacting with him that night, so we simply call him The Nazi. Because that’s what he calls himself, when he’s not claiming his name is Hitler. I don’t know if the accurate label is neo Nazi or skinhead, because I’m told there’s a difference, but he hailed Hitler a number of times, was wearing a Fuck America tee shirt, and is covered in tattoos. These include, but are certainly not limited to, Satan’s face on the back of his right hand (for ultimate effect when he makes a fist with index and pinky fingers upraised for a “rock on” and “I just might kill you for the fun of it” gesture), full sleeves and neck of various symbols, something above his eyebrow, and ink on the upper inside of each ear, notably a handgun on the left one. But I’ll wait for Bill to recount the details of our conversation with him, and post it here later.
On Saturday, walking home from a place called Wind, where we saw an overpopulated band play a lot of American pop covers (a lot of which are currently on the radio, which exasperated me), Bill repeatedly demonstrated for me his skill for speed walking. And I quote,
“It would be such a waste of my talent if I didn’t try out for the Olympic speed walking team,”
and,
“Wait, no, look. Watch my rate of acceleration—it’s incredible,”
and,
“No, hold on, you weren’t watching. Here, I’ll do it again. Look at how fast I can accelerate!”
I didn’t want to indulge him at the time, especially because it was funnier to see him drunkenly trying to prove, over and over again, his unrealized talent by suddenly taking off, hips swinging back and forth and arms pumping furiously like the old ladies who do it while wearing weight belts or ankle weights. When I told him, the next morning, that I was planning on putting the episode in my blog, he acknowledged its comical value but insisted that, once I had made my jokes, I should admit that he does possess exceptional speed walking skills. Which, I suppose, he does.
Now I’m off to English club at school. Our girls are going to tell us how the European soccer leagues work. They’re also going to teach us about handball, a very popular sport in Germany, and hopefully show us how to play.
Biss shpeta, mein freunds (I know that isn’t how to make “friend” plural, but I don’t feel like looking it up right now. And, as I’m writing this on Word to be posted later, I don’t have internet so can’t look it up, as Bill’s computer has a nasty virus and mine only seems to find the wireless in the evening, a mystifying limitation).
Speaking of my new country, I got my visa last Thursday, and can officially stay and legally work here until July 5th (why July 5th? I don’t know. I thought I was allowed a year but they seemed to just have assigned me a visa expiration date arbitrarily). I certainly won’t be staying longer than that, and in fact am thinking I’ll probably come back at least a month before then.
Oh, but the rest of our time in Berlin was great. Bill’s friend Colin has just moved there (like Bill, he did a semester abroad in Germany) and has friends in Berlin, so Bill and I got to spend time with more than just each other, which is a nice change (not that we’re sick of each other, just that we spend at least 20 hours a day alone together and it’s refreshing to interact with other humans).We hit some second-hand shops in a cool, slightly run-down neighborhood. And a couple friends of Colin’s took us to a deserted neighborhood where, underneath some elevated train tracks, we sought out the slightly hidden entrance of an underground club and danced the night away in unheated concrete rooms. Very fun.
Speaking of parties, back in Zwonitz we spend Friday and Saturday night with our new friends from Mettenschicht in the only cool bar in town. We met a very interesting character on Friday night, someone we’ve seen in the bar many times before and have carefully avoided (I have at least—I find him a little frightening). We still don’t know his name, despite spending more than an hour interacting with him that night, so we simply call him The Nazi. Because that’s what he calls himself, when he’s not claiming his name is Hitler. I don’t know if the accurate label is neo Nazi or skinhead, because I’m told there’s a difference, but he hailed Hitler a number of times, was wearing a Fuck America tee shirt, and is covered in tattoos. These include, but are certainly not limited to, Satan’s face on the back of his right hand (for ultimate effect when he makes a fist with index and pinky fingers upraised for a “rock on” and “I just might kill you for the fun of it” gesture), full sleeves and neck of various symbols, something above his eyebrow, and ink on the upper inside of each ear, notably a handgun on the left one. But I’ll wait for Bill to recount the details of our conversation with him, and post it here later.
On Saturday, walking home from a place called Wind, where we saw an overpopulated band play a lot of American pop covers (a lot of which are currently on the radio, which exasperated me), Bill repeatedly demonstrated for me his skill for speed walking. And I quote,
“It would be such a waste of my talent if I didn’t try out for the Olympic speed walking team,”
and,
“Wait, no, look. Watch my rate of acceleration—it’s incredible,”
and,
“No, hold on, you weren’t watching. Here, I’ll do it again. Look at how fast I can accelerate!”
I didn’t want to indulge him at the time, especially because it was funnier to see him drunkenly trying to prove, over and over again, his unrealized talent by suddenly taking off, hips swinging back and forth and arms pumping furiously like the old ladies who do it while wearing weight belts or ankle weights. When I told him, the next morning, that I was planning on putting the episode in my blog, he acknowledged its comical value but insisted that, once I had made my jokes, I should admit that he does possess exceptional speed walking skills. Which, I suppose, he does.
Now I’m off to English club at school. Our girls are going to tell us how the European soccer leagues work. They’re also going to teach us about handball, a very popular sport in Germany, and hopefully show us how to play.
Biss shpeta, mein freunds (I know that isn’t how to make “friend” plural, but I don’t feel like looking it up right now. And, as I’m writing this on Word to be posted later, I don’t have internet so can’t look it up, as Bill’s computer has a nasty virus and mine only seems to find the wireless in the evening, a mystifying limitation).
Monday, January 5, 2009
Holidays: Zwonitz>Chemnitz>Dresden>Berlin>Fairlight>Hastings>Brighton>Berlin>Zwonitz
Bill and I are home from the holidays, as opposed to being home for the holidays. And while we weren't able to travel all the way to our real homes, I think we found a couple new "homes" during our foreign holiday celebrations.
For our Christmas kickoff, see Bill's post on Mettenschicht. I won't post the address of his blog, as it's written primarily for his friends and might offend the more refined sensibilities of my readership. But if you'd like, send me an email or an fbook whatever and I'll let you know how to find it. I'd like to keep my readers to myself and not share with Bill, because I like you all so much and because he and I are vaguely competitive about our blogging. In spite of this, I appreciate his description of Mettenschicht so I'll include it here:
"Well, unfortunately, it was not really feasible for me to make the trip back to America for Christmas, but luckily this allowed me to celebrate a new and wonderful holiday. Mettenschicht is a tradition particular to this region of Germany- Die Erzgebirge, or Ore Mountains. When this was still a mining area, the last shift in the mines before Christmas was celebrated with a big party, something like an office Christmas party, only more hardcore. As you can imagine, those miners knew how to get down. So today the last Friday before Christmas is Mettenschicht and everyone rages...traditionally. Katy and I were invited to a party at someone's house, and were picked up with our friend Nico, who I know from the tennis team.
Upon arriving, I was impressed by the wide variety of people in attendance. There were middle aged alcoholics who looked, as Katy put it, like cartoon depictions of alcoholics. There were hardcore punx with leather jackets and crazy hair, and there were some normal people. There was some accordion playing and singing-along going on, but the younger party-goers seemed just as ready to mock this outdated tomfoolery as we were. In the garage, people stood around chain smoking and crushing beers, so we set up shop there. As usual, we were a huge source of interest for these small-town folk, and we were questioned vigorously about all sorts of topics from Rage Against the Machine to feminine hair waxing issues. The young people we hang out with at these events are very friendly and enormously entertaining. One young man boasted that his English was very good, which it was. Marcel, another fellow tennis player, conceded but added that "his penis is very small.""
Needless to say, we had a good time. And we made friends. And I made friends, or began to make friends, with a couple of girls (I miss talking to girls). One of them works in a hair salon and has offered to cut my hair, which is good because the bangs have been growing unchecked for two months, and they're a little out of control. The other told me how to find her on fbook, which I suppose I should do, if I'm going to pursue this friendship thing. And our friends Nico and Marcel want to take us snowboarding (ie, loan us boards and gear, drive us there, then teach us how to snowboard), and a couple of others want to take us to a soccer match in nearby Aue. So good news for a social life in Zwonitz.
Mettenschicht was Friday, we spent Saturday hungover, on Sunday opened Christmas presents from mi familia (which were awesome, and sorry we couldn't wait for the 25th--we travelled lightly), and on Monday did major cleaning in anticipation of a Lehm inspection during our absence (and scored major points when Herr Lehm poked his head in the door to tell us something and saw me mopping the kitchen floor; double points because I was wearing the new little nightgown Mum sent for Xmas [eww, I know, but it has comedic value]). Tuesday morning at 930 H. Lehm drove us to the Zwonitz station, then we took an hour-long ride to Chemnitz, and from there an hour-long ride to Dresden, and there waited for the lady who was driving us to the airport in Berlin (A mitfahrgelegenheit--literally, "withrideopportunity") in her white Twingo. What is a Twingo? We didn't know either, so after approaching a few white cars in the station parking lot, Bill asked a guy and was told, "Very small and round". And so it was. I slept through the two hour drive and we arrived two hours before check-in opened. So we got lunch at an "American" diner in the airport, scraped cabbage and carrots off of our "American" burgers, drank cola without ice and ate french fries, which naturally had been dusted in curry powder.
But we got on the plane and to England without further incident, where my cousin Maria and her partner Alan (who became her fiancee on Christmas Eve!) picked us up, took us to dinner at a pub, and drove us out to Aunty Eva's house in Fairlight, a little village east of Hastings on the English Channel. Aunty Eva is my nana's younger sister (Nana Rose/Kay escaped to New Zealand when she was in her twenties) and Maria is her daughter, my cousin of some sort. Eva's house, Tudor-looking and built in the 30s, sits on the cliff-edge above the Channel. She's lost about 10 feet of back-garden in her 25 years living there--her sister, my Aunty Peg (the oldest of the three sisters) usually can't be coerced to visit there, as she's convinced the house is going to topple into the sea while she's asleep. In fact, she told me that when she went this summer she slept with a change of clothes in her purse, and her purse in bed with her, in case she had to make a swift escape in the middle of the night. It's really an incredible place. We slept in the upstairs bedroom, where French doors open onto an unfinished roof deck facing the sea. It was quite cold the whole time, but sunny, and one morning we opened the doors and sat out on the roof with our coffee, watching the waves and absorbing some Vitamin D.
Christmas was at Maria's, in Hastings. Alan cooked a huge roast turkey dinner (which was nice, since Bill and I didn't get turkey at Thanksgiving), then Lauren, his 9 year old daughter, opened an enormous pile of presents while we all watched. Then we went back to the table for dessert. Then we took a break, played some Monopoly Jr (Lauren kicked ass, and didn't let anyone forget it), then went back to the table for cheese, crackers, and chocolate. Boxing Day (day after Christmas in England and New Zealand--and, I suppose, in Australia, though who really cares) was more of the same at Maria's. Another huge meal, then dessert, then more snacking.
Saturday we drove to Brighton to visit the other half of my England family, Aunty Peg's half. Peggy has three daughters, Lynda, Margaret, and Tricia. Lynda has Rosie, a year younger than me, Margaret has JoAnna and Katie (and Jo has Jeanie, 3 years old), and Tricia has Evie, who is a 4 year old wild thing. It's a family dominated by the feminine, needless to say. More food and reminiscing there, and Bill feeling right at home, he said, at a family holiday marked by boredom and a few old people.
Bill and I stayed in Brighton with Lynda Saturday and Sunday night. She's very artistic and lives in a very bohemian home chock full of interesting bits and pieces and with a bath but no shower. We went second-hand-shopping in Brighton on Sunday, and that night my cousin Rosie came home from London, where she studies at Kings College, with her boyfriend Will. And Rosie and Will and Bill and I had a grand time that night drinking wine at home and then at the bar and then coming home to make mulled wine and eat cheese and chocolate while sitting on the floor of the living room. It all felt delightfully bohemian. But Bill and I had meant to have Monday in London, leaving early in the morning. This, of course, did not happen, owing to my mulled hangover. Instead, we went into Brighton again, got Bill a Cornish pasty and me some pasta salad from Marks and Spencer, met Rosie and Will for another drink, and took the train back to Hastings to have another huge dinner at Maria's. Then our last night with Aunty Eva, and a lazy Tuesday with a walk along the cliff, and Maria and Alan took us to the airport that evening.
And details of Berlin tomorrow, or perhaps later, because the as the length of this post increases my patience with it correspondingly decreases.
Biss shpeta.
For our Christmas kickoff, see Bill's post on Mettenschicht. I won't post the address of his blog, as it's written primarily for his friends and might offend the more refined sensibilities of my readership. But if you'd like, send me an email or an fbook whatever and I'll let you know how to find it. I'd like to keep my readers to myself and not share with Bill, because I like you all so much and because he and I are vaguely competitive about our blogging. In spite of this, I appreciate his description of Mettenschicht so I'll include it here:
"Well, unfortunately, it was not really feasible for me to make the trip back to America for Christmas, but luckily this allowed me to celebrate a new and wonderful holiday. Mettenschicht is a tradition particular to this region of Germany- Die Erzgebirge, or Ore Mountains. When this was still a mining area, the last shift in the mines before Christmas was celebrated with a big party, something like an office Christmas party, only more hardcore. As you can imagine, those miners knew how to get down. So today the last Friday before Christmas is Mettenschicht and everyone rages...traditionally. Katy and I were invited to a party at someone's house, and were picked up with our friend Nico, who I know from the tennis team.
Upon arriving, I was impressed by the wide variety of people in attendance. There were middle aged alcoholics who looked, as Katy put it, like cartoon depictions of alcoholics. There were hardcore punx with leather jackets and crazy hair, and there were some normal people. There was some accordion playing and singing-along going on, but the younger party-goers seemed just as ready to mock this outdated tomfoolery as we were. In the garage, people stood around chain smoking and crushing beers, so we set up shop there. As usual, we were a huge source of interest for these small-town folk, and we were questioned vigorously about all sorts of topics from Rage Against the Machine to feminine hair waxing issues. The young people we hang out with at these events are very friendly and enormously entertaining. One young man boasted that his English was very good, which it was. Marcel, another fellow tennis player, conceded but added that "his penis is very small.""
Needless to say, we had a good time. And we made friends. And I made friends, or began to make friends, with a couple of girls (I miss talking to girls). One of them works in a hair salon and has offered to cut my hair, which is good because the bangs have been growing unchecked for two months, and they're a little out of control. The other told me how to find her on fbook, which I suppose I should do, if I'm going to pursue this friendship thing. And our friends Nico and Marcel want to take us snowboarding (ie, loan us boards and gear, drive us there, then teach us how to snowboard), and a couple of others want to take us to a soccer match in nearby Aue. So good news for a social life in Zwonitz.
Mettenschicht was Friday, we spent Saturday hungover, on Sunday opened Christmas presents from mi familia (which were awesome, and sorry we couldn't wait for the 25th--we travelled lightly), and on Monday did major cleaning in anticipation of a Lehm inspection during our absence (and scored major points when Herr Lehm poked his head in the door to tell us something and saw me mopping the kitchen floor; double points because I was wearing the new little nightgown Mum sent for Xmas [eww, I know, but it has comedic value]). Tuesday morning at 930 H. Lehm drove us to the Zwonitz station, then we took an hour-long ride to Chemnitz, and from there an hour-long ride to Dresden, and there waited for the lady who was driving us to the airport in Berlin (A mitfahrgelegenheit--literally, "withrideopportunity") in her white Twingo. What is a Twingo? We didn't know either, so after approaching a few white cars in the station parking lot, Bill asked a guy and was told, "Very small and round". And so it was. I slept through the two hour drive and we arrived two hours before check-in opened. So we got lunch at an "American" diner in the airport, scraped cabbage and carrots off of our "American" burgers, drank cola without ice and ate french fries, which naturally had been dusted in curry powder.
But we got on the plane and to England without further incident, where my cousin Maria and her partner Alan (who became her fiancee on Christmas Eve!) picked us up, took us to dinner at a pub, and drove us out to Aunty Eva's house in Fairlight, a little village east of Hastings on the English Channel. Aunty Eva is my nana's younger sister (Nana Rose/Kay escaped to New Zealand when she was in her twenties) and Maria is her daughter, my cousin of some sort. Eva's house, Tudor-looking and built in the 30s, sits on the cliff-edge above the Channel. She's lost about 10 feet of back-garden in her 25 years living there--her sister, my Aunty Peg (the oldest of the three sisters) usually can't be coerced to visit there, as she's convinced the house is going to topple into the sea while she's asleep. In fact, she told me that when she went this summer she slept with a change of clothes in her purse, and her purse in bed with her, in case she had to make a swift escape in the middle of the night. It's really an incredible place. We slept in the upstairs bedroom, where French doors open onto an unfinished roof deck facing the sea. It was quite cold the whole time, but sunny, and one morning we opened the doors and sat out on the roof with our coffee, watching the waves and absorbing some Vitamin D.
Christmas was at Maria's, in Hastings. Alan cooked a huge roast turkey dinner (which was nice, since Bill and I didn't get turkey at Thanksgiving), then Lauren, his 9 year old daughter, opened an enormous pile of presents while we all watched. Then we went back to the table for dessert. Then we took a break, played some Monopoly Jr (Lauren kicked ass, and didn't let anyone forget it), then went back to the table for cheese, crackers, and chocolate. Boxing Day (day after Christmas in England and New Zealand--and, I suppose, in Australia, though who really cares) was more of the same at Maria's. Another huge meal, then dessert, then more snacking.
Saturday we drove to Brighton to visit the other half of my England family, Aunty Peg's half. Peggy has three daughters, Lynda, Margaret, and Tricia. Lynda has Rosie, a year younger than me, Margaret has JoAnna and Katie (and Jo has Jeanie, 3 years old), and Tricia has Evie, who is a 4 year old wild thing. It's a family dominated by the feminine, needless to say. More food and reminiscing there, and Bill feeling right at home, he said, at a family holiday marked by boredom and a few old people.
Bill and I stayed in Brighton with Lynda Saturday and Sunday night. She's very artistic and lives in a very bohemian home chock full of interesting bits and pieces and with a bath but no shower. We went second-hand-shopping in Brighton on Sunday, and that night my cousin Rosie came home from London, where she studies at Kings College, with her boyfriend Will. And Rosie and Will and Bill and I had a grand time that night drinking wine at home and then at the bar and then coming home to make mulled wine and eat cheese and chocolate while sitting on the floor of the living room. It all felt delightfully bohemian. But Bill and I had meant to have Monday in London, leaving early in the morning. This, of course, did not happen, owing to my mulled hangover. Instead, we went into Brighton again, got Bill a Cornish pasty and me some pasta salad from Marks and Spencer, met Rosie and Will for another drink, and took the train back to Hastings to have another huge dinner at Maria's. Then our last night with Aunty Eva, and a lazy Tuesday with a walk along the cliff, and Maria and Alan took us to the airport that evening.
And details of Berlin tomorrow, or perhaps later, because the as the length of this post increases my patience with it correspondingly decreases.
Biss shpeta.
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