And this is the view from the other side of the room. (It's a church.) 

Sorry so dim, but this is the view from my 9 am class. (In case you can't tell, it's a castle, only partially ruined, and on the other side from here.) Darn early-morning sun. 

The Mailbox

Dear Lady with the pre-distressed jeans,

I’d ask for your money back if I were you, because they missed a spot. Or rather, two long, dark-blue stripes running down the inside of your legs. I don’t think wetting yourself is the look you should be going for.

Sincerely,
Nee

Dear Guy pushing the bike,

Yes, you look like Wolverine at 80, but that’s no excuse for running around town half-nekkid. Put your shirt back on.

Best,
Nee

Dear Nee,

How many times do we have to go over this? You are not allowed to touch sharp objects. Ever. Also, trying to thin out your mustache with a razor is a *bad idea* (see above re: sharp things). Just buy yourself some safety scissors, lay in a supply of Neet or hair bleach, and buy all your groceries pre-chopped and pre-shredded.

Love,
The gaping wound on your thumb and the shaved-off copiously bleeding pimple by your lip

I've heard of polyploidy strawberries, but this one makes me not want to drink the water in Bruchsal, if I should ever travel there. The rest of the strawberries in that batch were delicious. Is that a growth on my arm? 

Pimpin' Like It's 1999

No new content, but just wanted to point out that I have new stuff up at Flickr and my writing blog and Hannah's ad blog.

World Travelers

We had a 3-day weekend (Pentecost Monday), so we took Sunday off and went to Tübingen for the day. John took tons of photos of old buildings, but it takes a special sort of person to appreciate 120 building photos, so I sorted out about 30 with us in them for your enjoyment. And for those of you who are special...

Into the Mush-Pot

Rather than try to cram all the recent goings-on into some kind of cohesive narrative structure, I'm just going to throw them out there in no particular order.

After 9 years of fruitless paranoia, John and I were finally walked in on. Fortunately, Hannah's head was full of the incipient celebration of herself (i.e., her birthday party), so I don't think she caught on. But nothing kills a mood like feeling something thump down onto your pillow, only to find out it is your child and not your cat.

Speaking of Hannah’s bday, John and I went to Toys R Us the Friday before and bought everything for it in one go—gifts, party bags, candy, balloons. And toilet paper. John could not resist the lure of the winter-scented Charmin that for some reason was piled high in the center of TRU, and on sale, to boot. *One-tenth* of our birthday-shopping bill was toilet paper. He’s obsessed, I tell you.

I think that German weather is blighting my soul. It has certainly taken a toll on the plants on our balcony. An arctic front came through recently, so the temps for the last week have been firmly in the 50s. Today we broke 65F for the first time in ages. And last night we saw on the news that there was an overnight frost warning for Southern Germany. On June 1. Some foolish sorts have already put out geraniums. Hope springs eternal, eh? We're not bothering this year; we've pretty much given up on summer here.

What is with the connection between rodents and weather forecasting? In the States we have Groundhog Day: if the groundhog sees his shadowed, 6 more weeks of winter. In Germany, they have Dormouse Day: if it is raining on that day (June 27), bad weather for the rest of the summer.

I look in the shop windows, and they are full of sandals and sun dresses, and I wonder where the coats are. These shops are probably taking a beating right now (I got out my winter coat a couple of days ago), although you will still see teen-aged lemmings flocking to them. I don't know when they'll have the chance to wear skimpy tees, etc.; maybe when they go on vacation to Spain or Italy.

The thing I like about the shop windows is the mannequins. Most of them are your typical zombie super-model types. Some have wigs; others are bald; yet others come with their heads molded to look like hair. Some shops use dress-maker style mannequins (no heads or arms). One disturbing place has mannequins with their heads cut off *at the nose*. Why? Most of them are anatomically correct: the female ones have cleavage and nipples, and I saw a male one with nipples today. Equality among the mannequin-sexes! But my favorite is the trashy clothes shop with female mannequins sporting quite a busty, nipply style, but their hands are *flippers*. Whoever made them couldn't be bothered with making individual fingers after perfectly sculpting their chests.

Speaking of trashy, I saw a chic wearing these high-heeled sneakers the other day. Once again, Why? Sneakers should not go click clack as you walk.

We saw a segment on our favorite Mr. Rogers-for-adults show where they compared hot-pants and mini-skirts. Scientifically, of course. John says we need to hear more about such important scientific research.

Speaking of clothing, I saw a guy in an excellent t-shirt on the bus. The guy himself totally had “mis-placed Austinite” written all over him: shaved head, long bushy goatee, cool black t-shirt. On the front: „Punk Rock Catering.“ On the back: a skull of the Hannah-esque variety wearing a chef hat over a crossed knife and ladle. And the caption: “ACAB—All Cooks Are Bastards.” Hee! Reminded me of a certain chili-cook I used to know in Austin, as a matter of fact.

At a bus stop, I was almost driven mad by the virtuoso whistler. He was whistling classical music for 15 minutes straight while we waited for the bus. In a sheltered area to get out of the rain. There was no escape!

The psychology of the bus is endlessly fascinating to me. There are two tall-ish seats at the very front of the bus, and they are highly coveted by the older types, especially the women. It is funny to watch them out-decrepit one another to show that they are more deserving of those spaces, but you can spot them hobbling a little faster and more nimbly when they are getting on the bus and notice those spots open. Fascinating!

Mental Note: End Academic Career with M.A.

Yes, I enjoy learning, but I hate feeling like that is *all* I do. And when I'm not, I feel like I should be.

I have actually managed to finish the inch-high stack of articles for my paper, but tomorrow I will be hitting the library for a fresh stack. I feel pretty encouraged by the fact that I have finally managed to understand all of them, including the ones in German and the one that was a grueling exercise in logic.

Actually, before burying myself in new material, though, I should probably nail down exactly what it is I intend to write about and figure out what gaps I need to fill. Damn.

Hannah the Inventor

Hannah and her friends are very creative when it comes to inventing items that no household should do without. They have moved way beyond the de rigeur lemonade stand of childhood. The first item (with friend Sinya) was paper towels. But not any old paper towels! These were soaked in a mixture of dish soap and food color, making them both attractive and messy. They were pretty sure they could get 2 bucks a pop for them, but I talked them out of trying to sell them door-to-door.

Now Hannah and Katharina have jumped on the wagon with their party hats. These are hats in a variety of shapes and sizes that Hannah excavated from her dress-up box, tied some twine to, and added a balloon to the end of the twine. You can kick the balloon, hit it with a ping-pong paddle, whatever. And they talked me into starting a blog that is basically advertising space for their hat. I finally got around to trying out YouTube, so they even have video ads! I put in a link on the right under "Friends". Enjoy.

A Little Old School Bitchin’ and Moanin’

My dear friend, WesTexGirl, was just bemoaning the fact that she didn’t accomplish enough (in her opinion) during her semester break. I think that if you have to deal with giving and grading final exams, and then turn around and start teaching again in 14 days, you are entitled to a little down time. There’s nothing worse than going back to work after a vacation and feeling like you never stopped working.

I can see the mountain of work ahead of me for this semester and often feel overwhelmed by it. The worst offender is my term paper, because I know that it will take a lot of time and effort—both of which I will also need for my regular classwork, my exams (not including finals), and the translation job that is hanging around our (mine and John’s) necks like a millstone. So I am trying to get the paper out of the way as soon as possible, which means I have spent every extra minute during the last week reading the pile of articles I copied last semester. There’s a certain momentum I’ve gained, and I feel like I’ll be right back at square 1 if I don’t grab onto it now and keep forging ahead. Besides, my advisor is *still* waiting for something from me.

Part of the delay is that I haven’t quite sorted out what it is I’m going to write about. A paper is supposed to be an answer to a question, and I think my question is “How does suppletion arise?” Different authors have given different reasons, some of them overlapping, but one mentioned a particular reason, but then said she couldn’t go into it further in her article. I had thought I was done with the research phase, but now it seems like I have to hit the library again.

Yesterday it was my turn to do the grocery shopping, but we also needed some stuff from the electronics store, so I hauled myself across town to the big all-in-one shopping center. I hate going there, because I always spend a painful-to-me amount of money. Somehow I feel like I’ve gotten ripped off, and by the time I’ve run my small errands but haven’t even set foot in the grocery store, I feel barfy. Seriously. Low-level nausea the whole trip. I swear, I could go in for bread and milk, and still spend 100 bucks.

So I’ve spent most of the weekend nauseated at the thought of the grocery shopping, and the term paper. Not so much the presentation I’m giving tomorrow, but I will definitely have to organize my info a little more this evening.

Hannah is out of school for 2 weeks, but John and I aren’t, so the next 2 weeks are going to be stressful, just because we have to tote her back and forth to the university with us, which is also no fun for her; at least she can entertain herself pretty well with a book or drawing. I hope it dries up a bit, then she can spend some of her down time on the playground, but otherwise we will try to squeeze in trips to the library and maybe the museum. And a lunch or 2 out. Fortunately, June 5 is a holiday, and John doesn’t teach on Fridays, so that’s a bit more free time for at home. *sigh*

The weather hasn’t been helping my frantic mood. It has been raining off and on for over a week (it was “on” for about 3 days straight), and today is the first time we’ve seen the sun in ages. It still isn’t warm (our ranges have been in the 50s and 60s), but I’ll take “not raining” for now, particularly since the ceiling was leaking again in the dining room under the construction site.

I keep swinging back and forth between not wanting to eat anything and only wanting to eat chocolate and Pringles; seeing how I can’t afford to be sick, I have to pay attention and make sure I wash down the Pringles with real food (a peach at the moment). Luckily, the only sweets left in the house are a few mini-packs of mini-gummi bears, but the fruit dish is full.

Ok, next time less bitching and moaning. Maybe.

Eurovision a la Nee

Last Saturday night, we engaged in the lovely little ritual of squatting around the tv to watch musical groups from 24 European (and the term seems pretty loosely used in this case) countries compete against each other to win the Eurovision Song Contest. The German commentator alone was worth staying up until midnight for. He totally killed us with his snark-itude. Hannah managed to stay up until 11, but she reached that stage like when the batteries are dying down in a toy, and it starts to play loudly and at a high pitch and NON-STOP until it just conks out, which is quite unusual for her.

Anyhow, it was a learning experience for us, seeing how the Europeans conduct their musical popularity contest. A good friend in Austin lived in Britain for a while, and she is still fascinated by the whole thing, so this entry is dedicated to her.

Here are my notes on each country’s representative, including the type of music and any interesting tidbits we noticed during the show. And the occasional links to photos of some groups.

1. Switzerland—anthem?
A group of 6—3 men and 3 women—none of whom are Swiss. Huh? Their song was picked up to be the anthem by some non-profit group, if that gives you some idea of the „We Are the World“-ness of it.

2. Molova—pop/dance
The female singer kept going through costume changes behind the sail and kept coming out wearing fewer and fewer clothes. The male singer never did this. hmmm...

3. Israel—R & B
A black R & B singer from Israel—I don’t think anyone could have foreseen that. He even sang bits in Hebrew. Unfortunately, France was the only country that gave him any points, so he ended up in 23rd place.

4. Latvia—a capella
A group of 6 men. Nothing special, except for the PUPPETRY. Aack! My brain!

5. Norway—Enya-esque
In Norwegian. John liked it, but only lukewarm-ly.

6. Spain—pop
Las Ketchup (hee! Best. Band. Name. Ev-ah! It’s right up there with BananaFishBones.)
I particularly enjoyed some spectacular gender-bending among the dancers. Spain was an early favorite of mine.

7. Malta—dance
Hannah: That guy looks like he wants to eat our brains. I think he’s a vampire. (I couldn’t find any good brain-craving photos.)

8. Germany—country
No shit. Germany has a country band (fronted by an Australian, actually) that is already pro here, and I really like their music. They were John’s favorites throughout. They were not so popular with the rest of Europe, though.

9. Denmark—remake of beach music
Commentator: We’ve heard this thousands of times before.

10. Russia— “pop ballad”
A male singer who looked disturbingly similar to a member of the awful kid-targeted German pop band Banaroo. In addition to a couple of back-up singers, he had ballerinas. Plus an all-white ballerina who popped out of a hole in a grand piano covered with red petals. I didn’t get it.

11. Macedonia—dance music
Hannah commented that the main attraction was big boobs. She’s becoming a critical viewer—I can die a happy mother.

12. Romania—dance music
We found it to be pretty good up until the moment he threw in a little falsetto. *falsetto*

13. Bosnia & Herzegovina—ballad
Very pretty, Balkan-esque.

14. Lithuania
I don’t know what to call this song, because it was kind of unusual. Reminded me of The Pogues somehow. There was a row of male singers, and each was gesturing as he sang, except this stoic, Drew Carey look-alike, who finally broke down and performed a hyper-kinetic dance. And their song? “We are the winners of Eurovision.” Cheeky!

15. UK—rap
And a pretty bland rap. About school.

16. Greece—pop ballad (think Celine Dion)
Commentator: She’s 49—a few times.
A popular Greek singer, but getting up there with Cher and Madonna. Not that you could tell.

17. Finland—“heavy” metal
The infamous monster band, Lordi. No crap. They looked like rejects from Tales from the Crypt, or like they’d been digging through the trash in New Zealand after Lord of the Rings was done shooting. So basically they looked like Gwar, but they sounded like Spinal Tap. Hee! Needless to say, they spanked the other bands like red-headed stepchildren. They were so far ahead that it wasn’t strictly necessary to tally in the points from the last 5 countries.

The commentator warned viewers in advance that they might not want to let their children watch this part. Hannah said she had been more scared of slugs than those guys.

18. Ukraine—pop/dance
Commentator: That was Shakira, I mean...
I think she was wearing too many clothes for that designation.

19. France—chanson
This was a real French chanson (song), in French (duh!), and accompanied by a cello. It was my absolute favorite, so of course it only got 1 more point than Israel.
At this point, John said: The French think everyone will like them, just for being French, but the Germans just gave up and became Texans.
There’s a reason I keep him around.

20. Croatia—dance
John mentioned that it was a reflection of the “colorful local culture.” Just because the singer formerly acted in “adult” films.

21. Ireland—ballad
Sadly, bland. “Every Song is a Cry for Love”? Try “This Song is a Cry for Help”.

22. Sweden—dance/disco
Very Abba-esque (if it worked once, right?), but if they had been infiltrated by Dusty Springfield.

23. Turkey—disco
This lady was pretty cool. She was a single mom (and a hairdresser?), and she’s more tatooed than you normally see your Turkish women. And she wrote her song herself.

24. Armenia—pop/dance, with a Middle Eastern flavor
I almost forgot—MORE PUPPETRY! (But with people acting like marionettes, which still doesn’t excuse it.) What were these bands thinking?!

These are just the countries that made it through the various semi-final rounds. Every country gets to vote on the winners, which is done by call-in vote. The votes are divided up by percentages, and each country gives out 1-7 points, and then 8, 10, and 12 points. No country can vote for its own representative, so lots of countries end up voting for their neighbors. It’s interesting to see who votes for whom.

Drive-By

I probably should just number these drive-by posts, because I have the feeling they may have that flavor for a while.

Still crazy busy, and not likely to dig myself out very soon. But Thursday is a holiday (Christ Ascension), so I plan to use a little of the time to update here.

Hannah just turned 9, so I put some new photos up at Flickr. I had been hoarding my space over there until after her party, but I might put up a few other things on Thursday.

'Til then!

Our House, Is a Very Very Very Odd House

John the smooth-talker, watching me eat breakfast:
"Oh, Nee! You're so cute and little and petite and mostly hair-free and self-sufficient, getting your own breakfast and all!"
It must be true love.

Hannah's not much better. On the walk to school, she had to comment several times on my smallness (and the dryness of my hands for some reason). She even asked how old I was when I stopped growing. 13. "You don't look as big as a 13-year-old." Your pygmie mother thanks you, child.

Hannah can't wait to get taller than me, and my mother is probably dancing with glee over this turn of events, seeing as its the source of the Mother's Curse in my family. I have told Hannah a million times that if she wants to get bigger than me, she'll have to eat better, because with her eating habits, I don't see 'basketball player' in her future--I see rickets.

I usually tickle Hannah awake, and being the floppy child that she is, she usually manages to whack me with one or more of her limbs. But she also tries to get away with kicking me through the rails on her playbed when in one of her grumpy moods. I got onto her about it the other morning, pointing out that kicking is never nice, including when she does it to the boys at school. "Are you trying to melt my brain?" Yes, my diabolical plan has worked. *bwa ha ha*

[Do you sense a theme here? Mornings are not our forte at Chez Nee.]

I hope we have finished cycling through our various illnesses, because I have a very busy semester ahead of me and can't afford to lose more time. To recap: John was afflicted with back troubles; Hannah participated in the Spring Barf-a-thon; and I just had a bladder infection earlier this week. I managed to take care of it at home with gallons of water and juice (including chugging a liter of tomato juice--acidic!); those bacteria didn't stand a chance in there. (BTW, I highly recommend any of the editions of Take Care of Yourself; one of John's stepsisters gave us a copy when I was preggers, and it has been so useful.)

Hannah turns *9* on Monday. We just arranged to throw a party for her on Sunday; we're taking her and 5 friends to see Ice Age 2, and then to Pizza Hut. Better than a dozen kids running around our apartment, which we have tried in the past. We haven't bought her a single gift yet. Aren't we the worst parents ever? If you were one of the "lucky" few she sent her Barbie wish-list to, I apologize. "Moderation" is not a word in her vocabulary. And she doesn't need a Barbie drum set.

I have been very productive recently, if you define that as running around getting minor tasks and chores done. I still have the book translation, a term paper, a class presentation in 2 Mondays, and extra exams at the end of the semester looming over my head. And not just clouding my brain, but like gargoyles staring and staring and STARING down at me with their accusing stares, accusing me of not accomplishing anything purposeful. So. I'm going to try to whittle these items down. When I need a break, I'll be back.

I don't know why John took this photo, since he is morally opposed to cat pictures, but it is obvious that we have the least dignified cat in the world. 

TV, My Love

John’s grandmother-ish person digs this German tv series, Kommissar Rex (Police Commissioner Rex), so John has been taping episodes for her. This is the perfect show for Mystery-Science-Theater-fication. Oh my god—sometimes the comments John and I come up with are entertaining enough to justify having to watch “Lassie Meets NYPD Blues” every Saturday night until the tape is full.

Basically, this German shepherd is the brains behind the entire police force. The most basic procedural work falls under their radar (like searching a suspect’s apartment, especially his computer, and NOT OPENING THE SCANNER), and Rex has to pick up the slack. I think he may also double as the force accountant.

He’s also the master of diversionary tactics. While the other cop is trying to make her getaway, he pushes the bad guy down the stairs. Then he rolls a chair down after him.

He’s so well trained that he keeps attacking the perp, even when the guy’s waving a chainsaw at him. Of course, the other cops are so incompetent that when the bad guy with the chainsaw falls off the roof, they don’t bother to check if he’s dead or slowly crawling away out of sight of the screen. They just sigh and smile and shake their heads when Rex peeks over the roof, completely unharmed.

And Rex turns his head away discreetly when his owner is kissing someone. An officer *and* a gentleman.

After hours, he likes to fetch birthday cakes (episode “Happy Birthday”). Who puts the dog in charge of bringing the cake?!

In other tv-watching news, we are still trying to come to terms with a couple of German shows that we just can’t seem to wrap our brains around. One is called “Wetten, dass...?” (“Bet that...?”). Here’s how someone on the Internet Movie Database described it:

“Each show has several celebrities invited who have to bet on different contestant(s) achieving his/her/their goal of performing a stunt. If the celebrities fail to anticipate whether their stunt will succeed or not, they have to meet their stake. Usually one stunt takes place outside the studio. At the end of the show, the best stunt is being voted for by the audience. There is also an audience bet, a stunt which the audience does choose from a preselection, which is not prepared and must be organized by the host city within the time the show is running. If the stunt succeeds, the show's host has to meet his stake.”

This show has been on for *25* years people, and the celebrities? Tom Cruise. I shit you not. Just a couple of weeks before Katie Holmes popped. His stunt (heh) to bet on was whether two 8th or 9th-grade girls could guess the identities of their classmates (male and female) by their *lipstick prints*. Depeche Mode was the musical guest once. And the host, Thomas Gottschalk, is a German icon. He also pimps the Haribo gummi treats. mmm... gummi bears.

But the concept of celebrity in Germany seems a little broad. Ok, ok, I know we have Paris Hilton et al., so maybe my impression is a bit pot/kettle-ish, but they still have nobility that are famous for doing nothing but having the right parents (and now we’re back to Paris Hilton). And some entertainers don’t ever seem to have regular jobs, they just bounce from one celebrity special to the next (and they seem to be on every week). The one I just saw advertised is for a putt-putt golf special. With celebrity guests. Mind-blowing. We’ve also seen this format on the “ABCs of the Smurfs” and “The Best Dance Songs” (whose “Time Warp” made me gnash my teeth in horror). But on the other hand, the dance show had a crazy-ass-looking band called Rednex from Sweden that played their version of the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”, which I promise you will never, ever hear in any Austin country-western bar. But I liked it.

And the front of the fashion masterpiece. This was originally an "I *heart* NY" t-shirt her dad brought her when he was there for the MLA conference a few years back, but she gussied it up with markers, swatches of fabric, and buttons (and later an iron-on patch of a frog). No item of clothing is safe anymore. 

Note the hand-lettering: "I *heart* Mom and Dad + Family. Other People Not." You can tell she's a real people person. 

Behold our table-top sweatshop! Hannah's Gwamma gave her a teeny-weeny sewing machine (hand-cranked, for accident reduction) and a stash of notions and fabric, and she and her friend Sinya have been cranking out embellished clothing by the yard since last night. They are actually taking turns with the machine and doing lots of hand-sewing as well. Gwamma will be proud. 

Happy Mother's Day to Me! 

Catchin' Up Is Hard to Do (But I'll Try)

To simplify things, I just put a link to our Yahoo photo albums over on the right. New are an album of Hannah opening a b-day package from Gwamma (titled "Gwamma's Gifts") and one titled "1 Late Spring/Early Summer." Hannah's after-school teacher tried to claim it was high summer today just because it was warmish. We had almost a week of warmness, all day long, then a cold front came through, so now we're back to cool/cold mornings and warm afternoons. Which means "Spring" in my book.

Anyhow, the daffodils are gone, the tulips are on their way out, and the tree pollen is finally subsiding, but other flowers and blooming trees are coming into their own, so we're not yet without Beautiful Nature all around.

I've been stupid busy with my classes (because I'm *gasp* actually trying to keep on top of them for once) and with my term paper, therefore the dearth of posting.

Highlights of the week:
Hannah dreams in German.

A boy in Hannah's class was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of an elephant on it and the logo "Don't forget--when I grow up, I'm going to the London School of Economics!" Wha?

I made gazpacho (mmmmmm).

Hannah stopped barfing at about 2 on Monday, just in time for John to relieve me so I could go to class. So I got to enjoy all that barf by myself.

Life in the Sick Lane

Hannah is sick. She barfed after dinner last night, but went through her bedtime routine as usual. Then at 4 am the marathon barfing began, and she still can’t keep anything down now at noon. She was in our bed until around 6, but every time she rolled over—snap! I was wide awake. Cleared her throat—snap! Sighed, yawned—snap! snap!

Finally at 6ish she decided she was awake and went downstairs. John and I tried to catch a few more zzzz, but soon enough we heard more barfing from her room. Trust me, cleaning barf off a play bed is tedious and gross. So I bundled her off to the living room and turned the tv on real low. We cat-napped on the couch between bouts of barfing, and finally at 9 I was forced to get up by the arrival of the chimney sweep. I started cleaning all the areas we were only able to give a quick pass to in our sleep-deprived state. Then the handy-man showed up to clean our water heater before it has to be inspected in a week or so. If Hannah hadn’t been sick, I wouldn’t have been home to let all this traffic in. Now I just need the building crew to come traipsing through, and my collection of service people will be complete.

The weather is still wonderfully warm and sunny and clear, but now yellow pollen is coating every surface inside and outside our house. It’s not even worth wiping off because it will just be back in an hour (I’ve tried). The puffs haven’t managed to start colonizing our home yet, so that’s a plus, but right after I vacuumed and mopped, a whole fleet of winged seeds floated in the open windows and crash-landed on my spotless floors. *sigh* I just can’t win in the fight against filth.

Hannah got her Barbie tent all set up the way she wants it, and is now on her way to realizing her week-long dream of being a therapist. But she's closed on Monday and Wednesday. 

Music Soothes the Savage Breast?

Or not. I’ve had a series of earworms the last few days that have not been annoying so much as inexplicable. Usually, I walk around humming the theme from the Beverly Hillbillies or Mahler’s 1st Symphony. Since yesterday, I’ve had stuck in my head, at various times:

* the background music to Eminem’s “Stan” (which on checking is Dido’s “Thank You”)

* Spongebob’s “Campfire Song” (C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E, sing it!)

* “Do You Really Want It?” by that irascible duo, Soul Control

B-O-M-B-Y has been useless in the face of this musical onslaught. I wonder if this is my brain’s way of telling me, “All circuits are busy. Enjoy some music while you’re on hold.”

Speaking of music, I have a bone to pick with John. Back when Hannah was little (*sob*), we looked at the music on our computer and decided some of it was inappropriate if she should come across it. Yet, I see that King Missile is still on here. If John gets to keep his “Detachable Penis,” I want my “Chocolate Salty Balls” back!

After years and years of denial, I have finally accepted that I cannot wear shoes with any kind of heel. There’s some kind of tendon (? I’m not a medical professional) that runs across my ankle and the top of my foot that gets sore/irritated even when wearing square-ish shoes with relatively low, wide heels. John doesn’t like these shoes anyway, but my rule of thumb when shopping goes like this:
1. comfort
2. fits *my* sense of aesthetics
3. fits other people’s sense of aesthetics

If someone tries to force #3 into the #2 or even the #1 spot, I feel compelled to invoke the “Bite Me” rule. (See sock post.)

As much as I like to pretend that I hate the expression “stupid cow,” I must say that it is perfect in certain situations. Say, when 2 girls are sitting on the stairs chatting and people are trying to get past in a space big enough for just 1 person.

I walked most of the way home from town this afternoon so I could TAKE MORE PHOTOS! Bwa ha ha! If you can’t stand the photos, stay out of the album! Or something. I had 120 photos when I walked in the door, but I pared them down and sorted them out, so there are now just under half up at yahoo. (I wasn’t going to inflict more Spring on you all, but a little bird told me that at least one of you likes them.)

Today was the first hot day this year. 30C! (86F) My grandmother mentioned they finally had a day *below* 90 a week or so ago in West Texas. But for us it was wonderfully hot and sunny. Walking around, I noticed all the smells of Spring/Early Summer that you don’t notice are missing: the river, cut grass, cow manure (near a small dairy), a faint scent of flowers. Lovely!

Attack of the Yahoo Photo Albums!

We had a lovely time on our Labor Day outing today, culminating in a billion photos for your perusal. About 20 minutes into our hike, Hannah admitted that she was "gradually starting to have fun." Well, I wouldn't want it to be a waste of our time.

On the way home, we shot more Spring photos. Really, I should just call these albums "Other People's Yards", because that's basically what they are. We live in an apartment, so I plant the seeds out of my fruit into pots for fun (they're sprouting!), try to keep the few houseplants I've bought alive, and enjoy the bounty of other people's gardening efforts and expense.

Where Did I Go Wrong as a Mother?

Last night, Hannah told me, "Mom! Smell my finger!" and stuck her hand in my face.

Whoa, kid. That is something you never, ever, ever do to someone. It ranks right up there with putting your toothbrush in the toilet.

"Or telling someone to pull your finger," she helpfully added.

Now you're getting the idea.

I think John has male pms, because he is not being his usual cheerful self, and I may have to kill him. (See sock photo below.) His back is much better, though. He hasn't had to use his hot wattle bottle in several days and even managed to ride his bike into work a couple of days.

Tomorrow is Labor Day in lots of Europe, so we're going to celebrate the German way by going on a Wanderung (hiking). Hannah is protesting vociferously since we went 2 years ago with friends. Oh, no! Doing the same thing as 2 years ago! It's a rut!

It's the start of asparagus season, but fortunately, we are blessed with the gift of not being able to perceive the stinky pee, so we'll be enjoying lots of it. German asparagus is white, which means it grows covered with dirt so it doesn't develop chlorophyll properly (and may not be as nutritious as the green, but we're not sure). Asparagus is a big deal in a neighboring town, where they grow it and even crown an "asparagus queen".

Only one week into the new semester, and I am already studiously avoiding work. Pitiful. I guess I'll go make my famous homemade pot pie instead.

My collection of fancy socks has dwindled down to a few xmas-themed pairs, but I still like to wear them. John was in some kind of mood yesterday, and was haranguing me for wearing these in public. WTF?! But I'll show him--I'll get a pair for every day of the week! 

More bullet-dodging

Spring photos by yours truly, take 2.

Now with 50% less smart-ass

Here's Hannah's recent phone conversation with a school-mate (translated into English):

Hello. This is Hannah.
pause
Hannah!
pause
Han! Nah!
longer pause
I'm calling to tell you I can come to your birthday party on Saturday.
pause
I can come to your party on Saturday!
pause
On Saturday! Your party! I can come!
pause
Okay. See you Saturday.
pause
Saturday! Bye!

It seems there was a lot of background noise on the other end.

I like reading other people's blogs, but it feels kind of weird talking about them on my own blog. I mean, slightly voyeuristic or something. Usually I just plop them onto my blog roll and let people find them as they will. But today I am making a special case for Julia. She has been blogging (in addition to other things) her infertility problems, and although my heart breaks for her, you have to admire how honest and straightforward she is about her experience. So a little background on her for anyone who wants to click the link: She just had her 10th miscarriage after finding out through CVS that her baby had genetic abnormalities. She has a little boy who I think is 3 or 4, but she had miscarriages before and after she had him, I believe.

You guys dodged a bullet this time

Rather than subject you all to more of my photo-worshipping of Spring, I high-jacked John's yahoo photo album. So browse if you like.

Back in the Saddle Again

I was talking to John over breakfast about buying M-Day cards for our "mom-people" (my words; aren't I an elegant wielder of the English language?), and Hannah chimed in "people-heads." Apparently, "mom-people" is not generic enough for her.

On the bus, I sat across from a woman wearing the ugliest argyle sweater EVER. I couldn't even find anything through the power of Google to compare it to, so just imagine: argyle. hot pink. baby pink. acid green lines. I am afraid looking at it might have melted my brain just a little.

Now that the semester has started back up, I can entertain you all with my endless people-watching.

I was walking between 2 classes, and I saw a guy wearing one of those nylon caps? hats? that I guess are supposed to look gangsta. (Pardon me—it's a du-rag; how did I not know?) All I could think was, "Boy, you've got a panty on your head!" Then I stepped off the curb weird because I was looking at his head instead of the sidewalk and almost broke my ankle. Stupid panty-wearing stupid-head.

Le Marriage Royale had a really rockin' dress in their window for a while. Hannah and I both totally dug it. It was off-white with gold lace, and the over-skirt was artfully pulled up and tucked here and there, leaving bits of net sticking out. I can just picture Cyndi Lauper getting married in it.

But now they have a couple of dull dresses with ruffles. *yawn*

At some point in my work and school career, I became *that* audience member. While most of my classmates are staring and drooling (even on the first day!), I'm smiling and nodding in encouragement. I hope I don't come across as deranged. Oh, well; it wouldn't be the first time.

The girl who sat directly across from me in my American novel class has the exact same zombie smile as the infamous H. R. from high school. (Big hint if you need it: she was our valedictorian.) Scary!

I "taught" my first class (meaning I was along for the ride), and attended 5 of my first 6, and my head hasn't even exploded yet. Go me!

I *heart* Spring! 

Spring! Glorious Spring! 

Wallowing

So how did I manage to fuck away the last week? Huh? Really. I can't think of anything in particular that required a whole lot of my time, and yet I have very little to show for it. (Don't worry—I always get this foul-mouthed and foul-tempered right before school starts, and I never think I accomplished enough during the break. Which I didn't, but too late to cry over spilled milk now.)

John's back is doing much better, thanks. I knew he was feeling better when he started asking me to do things for him while giving me that woe-is-me look. When he was actually in pain, he didn't have enough extra energy to actually ask for help, so I had to practice John-omancy. I guess that's where part of my time went, since he's been out of commission for chores and such. But I've got a rain check to cash in for during my exams. Woo hoo!

Hannah has said some funny things lately. First, she was explaining something (I don't remember what, now) to us while we were walking around Eberbach, and when one of us expressed some doubt about how true it was, she shut us down by saying she had learned it at school, therefore it must be true. She's obviously well-indoctrinated.

Then tonight at dinner she was explaining the difference between speech bubbles and thought bubbles, because I said it wrong.

There was something else, but I can't seem to dig it out of my brain. That means it's time for more photo-blogging!

Happy Easter! Grrr!

Happy Easter! Grrr!
Originally uploaded by NeeS.

We've hardly seen Hannah this week. During the day, she's been at the play program I mentioned before, magic stuff and scary stuff and whatnot; in the afternoons and on into the evening, including one sleepover, she's been at the house of the friend she's been going with to the play program. Pretty soon they'll be Siamese best friends. I was able to snap this photo in the 2 minutes she ran home to get a change of clothes yesterday. (I like the sense of ennui you get from it: ah, the endless sameness of being a monster.) So far, all we've been able to get out of her about the day camp is that her group is called the Magic Wands, and that they took turns wrapping each other up like mummies one day. This would explain why Halloween hasn't been imported wholesale into Germany; they already have it at Easter.

Retraction

John has asked me to rescind my claim from yesterday that he farted. He categorically denies farting, yesterday or ever, and would further like to take this chance to quash any rumors of his having any bodily functions at all.

Thank you.

(Plus, he claims I am a dooce wannabe with all the fart-talk. What-ever.)

John's Doctor is a Quack

I took John to the orthopedic doctor this morning, and he gave him a small shot, and told him that it was all probably psychosomatic (John corrected me: stress-induced). He didn't even take an x-ray or try any wrenching, like John was hoping for. Quackery!

We would have gone back to the original doctor, bu his office was closed this week. John will probably try to see him next week about physical therapy. And if he doesn't...

John is finally starting to feel a little better tonight. He's managed to stand up a couple of times without his left leg wobbling dangerously, and I swear I heard him fart for the first time in two days, so you know it had to have been bad before if it hurt too much to pass gas.

Bumming Around

It's really hard to work for some reason, so I am trying to find things to do that seem at least as important to me, like blogging and washing laundry. yippee

John's back has gone out on him again. He has an appointment with the orthopedist tomorrow, so today I talked him into staying on the couch with a hot wattle bottle and some Aleve and the Dan Brown novel he's been reading. The last time this happened was just days before we flew to the States at Xmas 2004, but at least this time we have some idea what to do for it until he can get in to see the doctor. And he doesn't have to start teaching until Monday, so that gives us a couple of days to get him back on his feet. Poor baby. He couldn't even tie his shoes this morning when I took him to the GP for the referral. And if he has to stand up, he has to hold onto something for support until his spine can handle being vertical. I've already told him, repeatedly, that there is no way he is skipping out on physical therapy this time. There are at least 3 physical therapists in our village, so there's no excuse for not going.

Hannah is at the play program; she was a bit concerned this morning that it would be like school, but I reassured her that no learning is required there. Whew! John was quite disturbed by our conversation, I think.

I finished novel number 2, Toni Morrison's Paradise. It was an excellent read. The only other work of hers I have read was Beloved, and it is also wonderful. I must make an effort to get my mitts on more of her work, but I still have Philip Roth's American Pastoral to get through, plus a butt-load of school stuff. So no pleasure reading until summer.

We have reserved a cabin in Sweden for a week-long vacation in August, and we have decided that it will strictly be off-the-clock time for all of us. I already told John that my suitcase will be half full of the Terry Pratchett collection I still haven't read from Xmas. We're planning on taking plenty of rowboat rides, bike rides, and maybe a little walking around, but otherwise plenty of not-doing-anything-in-particular time. I can't wait!

This yellow is what I think of when I think "Spring in Germany." It makes up a little for the *very frequent* rain. 

Pimpin' Our Photo Albums Online

This is mostly a redirect to our online albums. We made a quick outing yesterday to the town of Eberbach; we walked around town and climbed up to the castle ruins.

I put a few pictures with comments up on my Flickr account.

I loaded the whole shebang (without comments) on John's yahoo account.

Enjoy the photos for now. More comment later.

Out of Sight, Out of My Mind

There hasn't been any room construction to report on this week. It's been too cold and wet for them to be outside on the roof. Plus today is Good Friday, so everything is closed anyway, even if it were dry enough to do anything. Then we have Easter Monday (these Germans are almost as good as the Swedes at milking their religious holidays for days off), so I have to make sure to lay in enough groceries on Saturday to get through all the store closings.

I must extend my apologies to Mr. DeLillo. I am afraid we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to publicly retract that "literary wanking" crack. I guess the bus stop is not the right milieu for starting a new novel. Plus I get really obstinate about not liking a book when the cover and first two pages are covered with accolades from the likes of Salman Rushdie and Michael Ondaatje. But after 650 pages, I must say I'm mostly enjoying his story. It's a sort of six degrees of separation in American history, roughly following ownership of a baseball. Okay, that's so crudely outlined as to be useless, but I have found over the years that I am good on the understanding things, but not so good on the explaining things. So 2 thumbs up so far, Mr. DeLillo.

How Do I Love School? Let Me Count the Ways

I'm starting to equate school with childbirth, and it totally makes sense. Before the semester starts, I'm all eager and thinking how great it's going to be. Yes, there is the potential for disaster, but I won't think about it right now; it doesn't apply to me. During the semester, my level of discomfort increases steadily, but I can still handle it. When it comes time to labor over exams and papers, I think, "God! How did I ever think I could do this? I'll never make it! I am never doing this again!" Then I get my (mostly good) grades back, and I have totally forgotten about all the aggravation and hard work until the next time.

The summer semester starts in a week-and-a-half, and I have to read 3 novels before then. A professor kindly let me into his already-full class, and now I have to be sure to be thoroughly prepared to repay him. I started Don DeLillo's Underworld right after buying it this morning, and all I have to say is that I hope the other 810 pages are not a lot of literary wanking about baseball.

That is all.

Look at the big brain on Hannah!

Hannah has always had this knack of asking weird questions out of the blue. I have tried to answer them straightforward and without commenting on or questioning why she asked, so she'll continue to feel she can ask me stuff. Sometimes the questions are about making babies and other personal topics, but a couple of nights ago, she wanted me to explain 4-D.

Whuuh?

She followed along pretty well while I was describing 3-D (she'll have a head start in geometry, at least), but when I added the dimension of time, I lost her. Oh, well. I don't think a lot of adults get it either (or think about it at all), so she's in good company. Maybe it will make sense when she reaches junior high.

This is what 0C looks like at 8 am on an otherwise fine Spring morning. (See the chimney smoke at bottom right?) 

Someone's in the Kitchen with Hannah

Hannah has been very domestic lately. First she was on an apple sauce-making kick. She made raw apple sauce mostly by herself (I helped a little with peeling and coring the apples, but she did all the chopping) *twice* last weekend, and it made a tasty dessert. But not very much, because she pooped out after chopping 2 apples.

Then she got the idea from a crafts-and-science type magazine (based on a tv show for kids) to make her own soap. John bought her a bar of non-creamy soap (which is surprisingly hard to find, since Germans seem to use only liquid soaps) and a lemon, and she set to work with a grater and some cookie cutters. (I got to take over with the grating when she started to flag, which added an element of danger to the whole process.) Now I know how the Pilgrims and Pioneers felt, cooking and using homemade soap. She also insisted on keeping some of the soapy water from where I was soaking the pot she melted the soap shavings in, so we poured it in a recycled squeeze ketchup bottle. Her bathroom is now littered in bits of homemade soap, either from the bits that made it into the soap water, or from the bits that have broken off the bars.

I just wish she would be half so energetic and helpful when it came time for her to put away her laundry, clear away her toys, or empty the dishwasher.

Brain, Brain, Go Away...

I am having one of those manic days where I am basically on the verge of running around in circles gibbering. I’m pretty sure John thinks I’ve already crossed that boundary, but trust me, there’s still a ways to go before I am in full-fledged freak-out mode. I just. can. not. sit. still. Or quietly.

Gah!

In other news, our landlord says it may take 4 weeks or more to complete the winter garden (it’s not quite a sunroom...), because it will take around three weeks just for the windows to be made to order. Look at us with the special-order windows. La-di-da!

More Construction-Related Stuff

I wanted to sneak a picture of the guys doing the construction work, but Germany (and basically all of Europe under the EU) has pretty strict privacy laws, so I wouldn’t want to get myself in trouble by putting their pictures up on the Internet. So instead I found a photo or two to direct you all to.

There is a long tradition here of the apprentice system, and carpenters (“hand workers” in general, I guess) have their own traditional clothing even. So here’s a photo of their pants, which I find very interesting with all the handy pockets and loops and zippers and things. Not all carpenters wear the full get-up to every job, but they all wear the super-handy pants.

(By the way, click on the earlier photo to biggify it.)

Some Old-School Bitchin' and Moanin'

I am going to be co-teaching a couple of translation/interpreting classes this coming up semester, and so far I have no contract and have not heard from my teaching partner, who is actually in charge of the classes. So I contacted the person who asked me to do the job, and she told me who I needed to see in the department about the contract.

You have to understand the German office system—and this applies to private businesses, public offices, and even doctors—there is no 8-5 availability. The people may be there, but they hold office hours (like university profs in the US), and that is the only time they are open to people who do not work in their direct office environment. (Actually, for my doctor’s office at least, this means that they have “walk-in” office hours in the morning, but to see the doctor in the afternoon you have to have an appointment.) For university employees this can be as little as *1 hour per week*. I shit you not. This person is officially only available on Wednesdays 10:30-11:30. So yesterday when I got the reply from my contact person, I thought, “Hey, good timing, Nee,” and trotted on over this morning.

And the chick is out sick. The secretary in that office is... not very friendly. The secretary’s office is actually open to the public every morning, so I popped my head in to ask a question about the missing person, and you’d think I had interrupted her in the middle of open-heart surgery the way she looked at me. I’m sorry to interrupt your web-surfing, beeyotch, but I’ve got a problem that *falls within the scope of your job duties*. Aaarrgh!

So there was an hour-and-a-half down the toilet when I could have been proofreading (or blogging *g*). But I feel better now for bitching about it, so maybe I can settle down to work.

The Construction Begins!

It's really happening--we're having a "winter garden" put in. Yesterday they started putting up scaffolding in the front of our house so they can go over the roof to access our terrace (instead of barging into the apartment--and hopefully disturbing our turdy little teenaged neighbor "Matthew", heh). But Spring graced them with heavy rain and a little hail, so they had to stop and finish that this morning. Then Spring rained on them a little more today, but they bravely came back in the afternoon and started tearing down the terrace. Woot! Pictures of the construction to follow.

Even though the garbage men are still officially on strike in our state, they took pity on us and came around one day last week to clear out some of the mountains of plastic bags that were threatening to topple over and kill passersby in an avalanche of garbage. I am telling you, that was a stroke of PR genius. To me, it made it seem like the garbage men were totally willing to work, if only the *state* would be reasonable.

The recycling is still there, but tin cans and plastic packaging won't raise the stink that food scraps would.

John and I have been busily translating, just digging ourselves out to accompany Hannah to and from school and to take care of the bare necessities (food and the occasional school supplies for Hannah). But we will have to work to the sounds of construction directly over our heads starting next week, because our landlord is finally getting around to building on a "winter garden" where our terrace currently resides, which he has been talking about since we moved in 2-1/2 years ago. The carpenters came Thursday bright and early to take measurements, and they are supposed to be back early next week to start work. I will photo-blog the work, just for my own amusement. You have been forewarned.

John = Jesus

Run, do not walk, to Sluggo's Flickr site to see John as Jesus. (Sluggo = Sharon's John, for those in the know.) John has finally reached his life's goal!

Snippets

I hope my sucking fixed the computer shutting itself off, because I am sick of hearing Hannah in the computer room, "Shee-ot!"

More signs of spring:
* dry skin that makes my hands look like chicken feet
* allergy nosebleeds for me and John (John hardly ever even gets a cold, so this is a big deal)
* narcissus
* alternating bouts of exhaustion, energy, and insanity
* rain and high winds
* lows above freezing and highs nearing 60

John tricked Hannah into watching the Swedish movie, and then I got pulled into it, too. It's really cute.

Hannah told me this morning, while I was trying to get her out of bed, "You sound awful. And you look like the Devil." I had a picture in my head of a tiny Professor Higgings.

John's final Flickr update

John finally went through the last 2 stages of shaving; check the Foto link on the right.

Hannah didn't finish her homework until almost 9, so I'm too tired to think of anything else to add. Sorry.

Time Change!

Psyche! Europe changes to daylight savings time a week earlier than in the US this year, so we will be *8* hours ahead of our Central Time Zone homies for a week.

If you are planning to take your child to see "Eight Below", be forewarned

*spoiler*

that there is one scary scene where a seal jumps out of (or maybe from behind?) a whale carcass. Hannah went to go see this movie (titled "Antarctica" here in Germany) with a friend and her family, then spent the night with them, and the next morning she was still horribly worked up about how that scene had almost given her a heart attack. So it's your typical, good, clean Disney fun.

I don't think we woke up in a particularly bad mood this morning, but by the time John and Hannah left at about 1 to go swimming with friends, we were on the verge of a three-way, Homer-esque choke-athon. We have been watching DVDs on our laptop since we didn't want to buy a DVD player when we weren't planning on living here permanently. But recently the DVD drive has been crapping out on us, sometimes working, but often not. I had checked out a Swedish Astrid Lindgren video (Ronja Rövardotter) at the library bus, and John wanted to watch it this morning. But this was one of the crappy mornings, and he was in a *foul* mood after screwing around with the computer, trying to make it work. So after they left, I got to work with my superhuman problem-solving skills.

Oh, yeah. We've also been having the problem that sometimes the computer will shut itself off with no warning. This usually happens when Hannah is playing a game online. Arthur's ice cream game has had this effect several times.

Yesterday I had already run the system check and defragmented the hard drive, so that wasn't it. This afternoon I ran the full virus-check, but it shut down halfway through. Now, I had already seen the suggestion in an online forum that this shut-down problem is often due to overheating, so I opened the window to let in some brisk, cool springtime air. Started the computer back up, the virus check ran all the way through with no problems. So then I shut everything back down and got out the vacuum cleaner. That was the solution offered on the online source. There was a *lot* more dust and gunk than you *ever* want to see come out of your computer, trust me. I couldn't get the section over the fans open because I didn't have a special screwdriver (a 6-pointed star instead of a Philips-head like the others, pff), but I was able to get the fuzz out by sticking my teeny, tiniest crochet hook through the holes over the fans and pulling the dust bunnies (which were pretty nasty and menacing) out. Sewing nerds will win out over techno nerds every time!

So then I pulled out the DVD drive, vacuumed a little more, and started 'er up. And it decided to play along, letting me put in movie and actually playing it. While it was still working, I wanted to start backing things up, because it had been a while. But the damn CD burning function didn't seem to be working. So I put in a DVD that seemed to be for troubleshooting DVD/CD problems, but in reality it reinstalled some DVD movie-playing software. Urgh.

FINALLY, I figured out that the CD I was putting in wasn't ready for burning (I don't know computer terminology), but I found a simple check-box to enable CD writing, and ka-zaam! We are backed up!

John says I am the best computer sucker he knows. ha ha, I forgot how to laugh. But we have both noticed a *huge* drop in the amount of time the fans are spinning, to the point that I have feared the computer turning itself off several times when it is just the fans switching off. Hell, right now, I have *5* Explorer windows open, including the dreaded Arthur game, and the fan just switched off as I am typing. Before that, it was running on the lowest setting. So go me!

Happy 300 to me!

According to Blogger, this is my 300th post since starting in October 2004. I know for a fact that John thought I'd never make it this long. *nya nya nya*

But this really is an actual post, with actual content, not just patting myself on the back, so keep reading.

The last couple of weeks have been really odd. The kind of odd that gets you invited to the "Very Jerry Springer Easter Special", if you know what I mean. First, my paternal grandfather proposed to my mother. Marriage. (My folks are divorced.) My dad had moved Grandpa a few months back so he was living closer to him because Grandpa was getting forgetful--stuff like meals and taking his meds; not good. But Grandpa wanted to move back to his own house 4 hours away, and he was lonely, so he popped the question to my mom when she took him some dinner one night. (He didn't always remember that she was his ex-daughter-in-law.)

Grandpa finally talked Dad into moving him back, but before he could talk my mom into joining him, he died. Two days after moving. Of a heart attack.

Some of my family made the comment that at least he was back where he wanted to be, in his own home, but maybe all the stress and excitement of moving was a contributing factor. Who can say?

Then there was the question of what to do with all his stuff. The man was a merchant marine and had 30 years of traveling in which to fill up his house with oddities from all over the world. John couldn't talk me into asking for the African figures and masks carved out of teak?ebony? or the "adult" bar-ware, and I couldn't talk him into the velvet matador painting or the Japanese collage made out of iridescent butterly wings, so I guess we are at an impasse. And under no condition whatsoever do we want the *giant, scary monkey* from the attic. (Picture one of those wind-up monkeys--with or without cymbals--and enlarge it to 3-feet tall. *shudder*) That damn thing gave every child in the family nightmares. Trust me, you do *not* want to wake up in the middle of the night and see it sitting next to the bed.

Bon voyage, Gramps, and happy sailing.

Spring, etc.

We’ve had the computer pretty well tied up with work, so even though I had jotted down a bit here and there to post, I haven’t had much chance to do it. And when I finally did, it wasn’t relevant anymore. *sigh* The life of a blogger.

Spring limped in over the weekend, giving us enough sunshine to warm up the house a bit—just enough to take off my sweater and open a few windows, anyhow. But my suspicions that Winter had just gone off for a quick nap might actually prove to be correct. The temps dropped down again Monday (John thought it was close to freezing when he walked Hannah to school at 7:30), and it started raining yesterday, but not too heavily. A friend said he heard we might get another snow. Heaven forefend! I’ll take the cold rain, thankyouverymuch.

But there are other signs of Spring that give me hope, like the lengthening days; it’s easier to get out of bed at 6:45 when it’s already getting light out. And the *craziness*. Have you ever seen someone chug 4 espressos? That’s me, minus the espresso. It’s kind of hard to stay on task when you’re channeling Cornholio.

Last night we watched Super Size Me. I am never going to McD again. Ever. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had actually been there yesterday morning. Fried apple pies are my secret shame—that’s right! They still *fry* them babies here in Europe. Ka-ching!—well, they would be if I went there more than 3 or 4 times a year. John had confessed a side-trip to the Indian take-away when he was in town last week, and I had just missed the bus, so I decided to kill 20 minutes (and unfortunately, all of the skin in my mouth) by partaking of the fried deliciousness. I’m surprised my body didn’t go into shock, seeing how I’ve been in one of my “food is gross” phases lately, and therefore trying to avoid it as much as possible. John bought a metric ton of fruit last weekend, though, so I’ve been having to eat that just to keep it from the fruit flies. But a diet of fruit and fried apple pie just doesn’t work. Anyhow, the point of this paragraph was to say, “Watch Super Size Me.” (The DVD extras were way cool.) It’s like The Jungle for the 21st century.

John's New Look

Facial hair style #2 going up on Flickr. Note the picture of Hannah passed out on the floor after seeing her dad with a handle-bar moustache for the first time.

Sad spring flowers. Pitiful. 

I was going to do this whole photo blogging extravaganza on the fight to the death between Winter and Spring, but frankly, Spring really is just not trying. A few bulb flowers (crocuses) have braved the cold since the snow-drops emerged from under the results of the early-March snowfall (hence the name-get it?), but they are pitifully few and far between. I�ll post my sad, sad picture of them after this.

Then when I got home with Hannah after school, IT DARED TO SNOW! Only a few flakes, but still! The nerve! That is on top of the recalcitrant piles of snow in every shady spot, including in front of our house. (But it is even worse as you go up the hill north of us to the next village; there is still a 2-foot high pile of snow where the snow plows deposited it earlier.) So you get a photo of a neighbor's glaciated driveway. And to the dog who took a crap on it: my sentiment exactly.
 

From the Mind of Nee

John said I should start collecting all my „unique utterances“, meaning things that no one in the world has ever said before, in all likelihood. That’s a polite way of saying “all the crazy crap that comes out of my mouth” (although there’s not enough paper in the world for that). So here are the few we could remember (going back 10 years), but that have become the stuff of legend around Chez Nee:

To John: “Baby David Crosby can kiss my butt!”

To Hannah: “Quit kissing Lenin and eat your dinner!”

To John: “Quit rolling my shit up!” [shit=car window, in this case]

Running on Half a Brain

My Palm PDA is not just a personal organizer, it is like a portable second brain. In the time I've had it, it has become the second half of my soul.

So I was crushed to discover that it had completely crapped out on me and all my data was wiped out. Fortunately, I had backed it up recently, so it wasn't a complete loss (except my copious scribblings in NotePad, *sob*); I could reload most everything from the desktop software, but I still feel betrayed. It was like waking up to find a stranger in bed with you (unless that stranger is Johnny Depp, rrowrrr!).

On the other hand, finding my PDA blank was also somewhat liberating. No lists of things to do and vocabulary to learn hanging around my neck anymore! (Until I reloaded, of course.) I'm *so* tempted to go back and dump them on purpose. And also a bunch of the email I've been hoarding that I mean to "do something" with, "someday."

A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free. (Nikos Kazantzakis)

See, Nikos Kazantzakis gets it!

John's new hobby: shaving

Since we are currently between semesters, and John has put a note on his door that students who need to reach him should just email him, he felt it was time for one of his hair purges. So this morning, he shaved off just a bit of his beard. Click on the link under "Fotos" on the right to see the initial results. You vote: David Crosby or Lemmy Kilmister?

He plans on altering the beard every couple of days, so check early, check often.

THAT IS IT! I am sick of your crap, Mother Nature! We are through! I mean it! This is war!

The dark patch among the snow in the neighbor's yard is where the water table has risen so high that the springs in the area are backing up, so to speak. It's not visible in the picture, but water is gushing out of the ground in several spots in the green area.

And in other news, dinner with friends was a success. John made chicken enchiladas. Yum!
 

Introspection is catching

Each fall, I start mentally preparing myself for two things: the new date on January 1, and my new age in February. Somehow, I managed to give them both a miss this year. So 33 kind of snuck up on me. I don’t feel any different, and birthdays don’t generally bother me, but this year, it occurred to me that I’ve entered the second third of my life.

You see, I have decided that I will live to be as old as my great-grandmother on my father’s side. I think there is some kind of pact with the devil on that side, because until she died last xmas, there were 5 generations of us alive. 5! So anyway I have until 96 (I think she was a month shy of either 96 or 97 when she died) to make my mark on the world.

And up until 32, I was still in the first third of my life. I guess when you reach a milestone like that, it affects you, even if you are normally too indifferent or too lazy to care, like me.

A couple of weeks before my birthday, I took stock of my life. It was actually too boring to put here, but let’s just say that I’ve made my peace with it.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, or the president. Not because I was *so* enamored of science, or was *really* interested in politics, but because I thought those things proved you were “the best.” Needless to say, I didn’t have a very precise idea then of what it means to be the best at something.

Nowadays, I know what I am good at—I am good at editing, but not necessarily fiction; I can help other people’s writing look good.

I know what I care about enough to make the effort to improve it—my own writing.

And I know what is important to me—time for my husband and daughter, my family and friends.

At the end of the day, anything I do has to further one of these ideals, or it’s not worth my time or energy.

I keep going back and forth on whether school fits into this list of priorities anymore. Part of it is because I am scared shitless of my exams (in German) next semester. John has pointed out *multiple times* that I wanted to go back to school, and I’m already 5 semesters in. Ok, he’s got a point, but I *wanted* a 2-year Master’s Degree, and now I’m stuck for 4; I can’t do just English, I also have to do German, and it is taking the most work. Yes, we live in Germany, but I doubt my German skills will ever be good enough to teach or edit it, so what’s the point? I guess that’s what’s got me so torqued up about the whole school thing.

I sound at peace, eh? I would just like to take this chance to blame WesTexGirl for this entry. *grin*

I have found my new hobby!

Oh. My. God. The perfect hobby for people like me who think they might have been engineers in another life (not the one where I was a drag queen, I don't think).

Thank you, Mother Nature, for this snippet of clear sky and sunshine before smothering us with rainclouds and whipping us with high winds. I'm reconsidering that kneecap thing. Except I'm not, because it hailed a couple of hours after I took this. Bitch. 

Here is Hannah's petition to God to get rid of the wet weather. She made John and I sign it, and she signed for the cats. Then this morning she attached a string and pen to it ("like at the bank!" she said) to take to school for more signatures. She asked God for a letter of receipt, too. I'll keep you posted on that.

Speaking of wet weather, no sooner had I lambasted Mother Nature yesterday than the snow falling turned gradually into rain. It rained all night, and there is a noticeable decrease in the amount of snow lying around this morning. According to the news last night, this should be our big spring thaw. Which means flooding. We just can't win against Mother Nature, you know?

Tomorrow I will probably bitch about how it is impossible to keep the house warm at this time of year, etc.
 

Bitchin' and Moanin'

You know, for the last few days, I've been all, "Ha ha--look, it's snowing, and I'm going crazy." Funny stuff, eh?

But now, as the Germans say, "Schluss mit Lustig!"--"That's IT!" If I ever see Mother Nature in person, I'm breaking her knee-caps with a lead pipe.

This is just fucking ridiculous. My anniversary is this weekend, and I was just remembering that we had an outdoor reception. Outdoors! In March! That's what I love about Texas. *sigh*

When it started snowing here a week-and-a-half ago (!), I told John that at least it wasn't our turn to shovel snow in front of our house. Apparently, I spoke too soon, because our turn starts Saturday, and there's no end to the snow in sight. And I heard on the news this afternoon that Germany can expect a heavy snow overnight. Goddammit.

We have taken winter's intractableness as a sign to use up the last of the wood in our cellar, so at least we've been able to enjoy our wood-burning oven twice this winter.

Neither is this. 

This is not funny any more 

Warning: Complaining about Hannah

I will be the most ardent follower of whichever wish-granting being that brings back my daughter and takes away the monster-in-training that has somehow taken her place. I am so sick of the whining, crying, complaining, obnoxious behavior, and outright rudeness that I told John we probably should have eaten her whil she was still small and tender.

Yes, I know she has not been 100% well for several weeks.

Yes, I know she turned down several offers for playdates over the school holiday, dooming herself to boredom.

Yes, I know she had to forego several perqs--tv, a movie, candy--until her room was clean. You could view her behavior somewhat more forgivingly by taking these things into consideration, but I choose not to.

By her reaction, we were certain that she had fatally wounded herself multiple times over the last week, but these injuries turned out to be nothing more than

a stubbed toe

a cut on her ankle inflicted by *her own toenail*

a fingernail she pulled off to the quick

a canker-sore on her mouth (okay, ouch! on that one)

her teeth.

She has handled a burn on her leg (from spilled raviolis) and having most of the skin grated off her elbow (tripping at the playground) with much more grace and aplomb and much less whining than the above-mentioned "wounds."

In the back of my mind, I know that she will be 9 in a couple of months, and then puberty will be right around the corner. Hell, her best friend is only 11 months older, and she already has acne and a training bra. So some of these problems may be hormonal in origin. I guess it doesn't help that I am somewhat hormonal myslef at the moment, and so may not have such a large supply of patience to buffer my response with. But at least she has gone back to school today, so maybe being in a routine again will help. If nothing else, she can pester someone else for 6 or 7 hours a day. Woot!

I am boring

John read one of my recent posts and was all, "Oh my God. You blogged about *vacuuming*." I think he was implying that I am boring, but he seems to have missed the point, about how one simple task (cleaning up a coffee spill) can snowball into full-blown housecleaning, and suddenly 30 minutes or an hour or a day have been sucked into the black hole of chores. Right?!

Blaaaaargh!

We had a lovely, sunny, clear day. The snow started to melt. The sun started to go down. It started snowing heavily. I will now start drinking heavily. -Later.

Life is a Comedy of Errors

Hannah is not as floppy as when she was a toddler, but she still has the uncanny knack of knocking over my coffee cup, no matter where I've placed it. Yesterday was on the dining room table, which, normally, would have been the perfect place for a spill, except we were putting together the Simpsons puzzle from Jooge and family. The tablecloth that we had placed over the puzzle overnight managed to soak up most of the coffee, and we whisked that off before more than one or two pieces got a little wet. It could have been worse, we said.

So I go in the kitchen for another tablecloth, since the table is my workspace and I need to recover the puzzle. I thought, hey, the plastic red-gingham picnic tablecloth would be perfect in case of more spills. Except it must have been damp the last time it was put away, because the felt backing was *molded*. blech! That meant dragging it into the bathroom to try to kill the mold with bleach.

Then John suggested that maybe the table wasn't the best place to work right now; what about the coffee table? O-kay... I make Hannah finish clearing her stuff off the coffee table and run the vacuum cleaner because our carpet was waaaay too hairy to even think about sitting on . Then I noticed more crumbs and blobs of hair on the tile in the dining room. Then the hallway. Then the kitchen.

And finally it occurred to me that we still had one more tablecloth, and viola, I didn't have to move my 20-pound pile of books and papers and dictionaries and music (to drown out the tv) into the living room. After all that faffing about, I was finally about to get to work. Which wasn't all that inviting of a prospect, let me tell you.

Then in the afternoon we all played hooky to go to the movies and then do our weekly grocery shopping. But now it's back to the mines!

Last of the snow-blogging for today. Consider it a service to my friends and family in the South who may only have a passing acquaintance with water in this particular frozen form. 

Our terrace patio sometime today. Yes, the snow is getting close to a foot deep on the table. It has been snowing for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. I am handling it pretty well, only feeling a little frayed around the edges. Coffee helps. 

The neighbor's yard this afternoon. (It's on a slope--it's not really 10-feet deep in snow, as might appear.) 

See the view out Hannah's bathroom window? No? That's because it is SNOWED OVER.