On the second day of vacation,

... my true love gave to me:

1 ferry ride,
1 German island,
3 Danish islands,
a ride on The Hulk,
2 crappy German clowns,
some bat-shit crazy performance artists in a park,
an ovary in a vice,
and a 10-mile bridge between Denmark and Sweden.

We have an acquaintance in Malmö, Sweden, who generously invited us to lunch on our way through. There was also some kind of big festival in town (where we were going to be staying overnight), so we wandered around for a few hours. Unfortunately, I was hit with *killer cramps from hell* part-way through, so I’m afraid I might not have been the most friendly companion for the half-hour or so until they passed.

During the non-cramping period, we observed some performance artists whose shtick was wild animal noises plus body paint and some kind of “dance.” Their groupie generously gave out CDs of their “performance” to passers-by, which we promptly lost. Later we found ourselves trapped in a tent for a performance by a German clown duo. They were of the non-creepy clown variety, but their show was still pitiful. After each act, one clown would have to indicate that the audience should clap at that point. Even so, there was one man sitting in front of us who laughed like it was his first experience with humor. And at the end, a couple behind us clapped so long, I suspected they might be groupies.

There were also several bands of varying flavors. We wandered through the heavy metal ghetto of the festival, and Hannah pointed out that all the attendees looked like the students at our local high school (which is for students who are not trade-school or college bound).

John and Hannah also availed themselves of the opportunity to ride The Hulk. Considering we had just finished dinner 5 minutes before, there was a surprising lack of barfing. My pictures didn’t come out, which is a shame, because this ride was nothing like the Universal Studios ride. Basically, it was the Spider with this plastic Hulk statue in the center. Hulk smash! And spin!

Day 2 photos on the right.

On the first day of vacation,

... my true love gave to me:

750 kilometers,
10 hours en route,
50 liters of gas,
2 extra detours,
196 windmills,
2 hot-air balloons,
and a room on the sixth floor of a hostel in Lübeck

John has a great interest in genealogy and has dug up quite a bit of info about his ancestors on his mother’s side. Since we were going to be in the area on the first leg of our trip, we made a detour to Hameln (ever hear of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?—that’s the one) and a village (called Weibeck) just past that where he’s traced at least one ancestor to. Which is when it began to rain. John can be insanely persistent, and he walked around taking pictures in the rain and knocking on doors to ask questions. He actually managed to find someone with the key to the village church so he could look around and take a bunch of photos. I won’t even mention his unfamiliarity with the word “trespassing.”

Hannah occupied herself in the back seat by counting windmills. We saw a few old wooden ones, but she refused to add them to the count. She only wanted the gigantic modern kind. When we stopped for the night at Lübeck, we were within 1 hour of the Baltic. The next day, there were so many windmills that Hannah gave up before she’d really gotten started counting again. But my 2 hot-air balloons counted as 2 windmills each (in Hannah’s estimation), so we “officially” made 200.

Links to our vacation photos on the right.

I know I bid you all adieu earlier, but I must impose on you for a little sympathy before I leave on vacation. Ignoring for the moment the ugliness of my feet and the weird tan lines (thanks to my wearing mary janes all summer), check out my pinky toe. That's what happens when you don't see a wasp on your kitchen floor while rinsing some dishes and happen to step on it. It sucks! Fortunately, I still had some Adolph's meat tenderizer, so I was able to make a paste out of it, but it didn't seem to help. Oh well, it'll be better in the morning, I hope. 

Housekeeping

1. I did not mean to imply in my last post that MiddleSis is flying to Germany for her anniversary. I only meant that her *approaching* anniversary was a reminder to me to get the lead out with respect to the QUILT (I left out the L in the last post, too *facepalm*), because I want to finish before xmas.

2. It has been pretty quiet around here recently, hence the lack of posting. Sitting in the easy chair quilting and quilting and quilting is not really the stuff of epic literature, so I decided to give you a break on that. Also, the cold and wet have not been conducive to fun and games. But we did manage to get out during a break in the weather on a couple of days, and I have put shiny new links up on the right under Yahoo albums for your viewing enjoyment. I have also added a few new Hannah photos to my Flickr account.

3. I’m afraid the online photos are going to have to hold you until we get back from vacation on Sept. 4 or 5. We are driving up through northern Germany, over Denmark, and into Sweden, departing tomorrow morning.

Keep cool, and I’ll see you back here in a week-and-a-half.

Nee

Blah and Blech and Ptooey!

My sister is coming up on her 10th anniversary this week. I finally dug out the quit I started as a *cough* wedding present and finished the top. I had to use the tiny Singer sewing machine my LMIL sent Hannah for her birthday to put the border on, and it worked like a charm. Putting the back on has been somewhat of a challenge, though. First I tried spreading everything out on the floor, but I just couldn’t get it to lie smooth. It was a little easier to layer the parts on our rectangular table with the sides hanging over the edges. I followed the directions in the Reader’s Digest Complete Guide to Needlework (my grandmother swears it is too hard to learn from other people and gave me this extensive book) and started basting the layers together. (Note to LMIL: did you really just pin your quilts together while you were quilting on them? John says yes.) Somehow I neglected to notice that the batting didn’t reach to the edge of one side until I had already put in about 50 rows of basting. Breaking my own personal rule, I did *not* rip out all that basting and fix it properly. I cut an extra piece of batting and added it to the edge. Which is when I also noticed that I had got the back on at an angle. Fuck! I know my (middle) sister doesn’t read this blog (LilSis--shhhh!), so maybe she’ll be so stunned by the lateness of this gift that she won’t notice the incompetence in making it. *sigh*

WesTexGirl was recently talking about her (perceived) lack of skills in the area of comforting people who have gone through a loss. I can’t recall that this is an experience that we have gone through together, so I can’t comment on her performance, but I really can’t imagine her being as deficient as she seems to think. On the other hand, I seem to be extraordinarily skilled at saying exactly the wrong thing in all situations. Lots of families are aware of inherited traits that they have to remain vigilant about, like diabetes or addiction. In my family it is assholery. I don’t think I have inherited the selfish-type of assholery, but I am afraid that I haven’t completely dodged the curse, either. Yesterday I was on the phone with someone who I had managed to upset via email (gah! the bane of my existence), and as I was trying to soothe that person, who burst into tears midway through the call (which was due to a bunch of personal factors and not just due to me (I hope)), Hannah started crying because she was having troubles with her tiny sewing machine (see above). It was definitely a Calgon-take-me-away type moment. I’m afraid I didn’t cover myself in glory, but I didn’t chew off anyone’s head either, so it was a start.

Today I had to return some library books, and they have a nifty new machine that scans the books as you return them and prints you a receipt. High-tech, eh? Except it didn’t print one of the books I returned. Someone at the front desk went into the room to look for the book and couldn’t find it, so I said maybe I left it in my backpack (in the lockers downstairs). Nope, not there either. So I am probably going to have to go back next week and find it on the shelf and get them to turn it in properly so I don’t get fined eventually (the librarian renewed it for me, just in case).

And to top it all off, I think my deodorant has quit working.

This complaining has been brought to you by the letter B and the number 12.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Happy Birthday to John! He’s very reluctantly turning 33. (Kicking and screaming is more like it.)

. . .

Recently, John said something was crap. Hannah’s response?

“Don’t say it; just do it.”

. . .

I got Hannah another puberty book about the differences between boys and girls, and she is *using it against me.* She brought it to me while I was working on the computer and forced me to read the paragraph on privacy and unwanted touching. She interpreted that to mean I must ask before hugging or kissing her. That means no more bedtime forehead smooches. And no more cheek nibbling. And no more squeezy hugs. Actually, I kind of see her point.

. . .

Hannah’s friend spent the night on Friday, so they pulled out the hide-a-bed to sleep on. True to form, Hannah has insisted on leaving the couch in bed-form. Last night she built a “cave” out of pillows and a thick comforter to sleep inside of. She was trying to figure out how she could get in since she had all the sides pretty well sealed. She liked my suggestion but couldn’t find a rope or a flashlight.

Me: “Did you set your anti-bear traps? This is bear country, you know.”

H: “Can you please be more grown-up?”

. . .

This morning Hannah was crawling into the cave while screeching and growling.

Me: “I hope you’re being eaten by a bear in that cave.”

H: “No, the bear is I!”

. . .

I wish I was wearing a hidden mic these days, because Hannah is always saying something bizarre, and I don’t always manage to write it down. Mostly she is being sarcastic and back-talking, which will probably delight my mother to no end, but we have been very careful to call her on it and tell her that she has one warning, and then there will be a specific punishment. She has gotten a little better about self-policing. And she is still a bad-language reminder.

Me: “You’ve just sliced off my ass with that sword!”

Hannah: “Don’t say the A-S-S word!”

The B-U-S

July was a scorcher around here, but as soon as I turned the calendar to August, Mother Nature did a 180. It’s been raining off and on since then, and it has been much cooler than your normal August. Today the high was in the 60s, and the overnight low is supposed to be about 50. One day last week, it even felt suspiciously fall-like, with a crisp breeze thrown in for good measure. One of John’s co-workers mentioned it, then I repeated the sentiment later that afternoon. His response? “La-la-la-la-la!” with his hands over his ears. He’s really hoping it will heat up again before we get to Sweden, but as my relatives say, you can shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which one fills up faster. John hates that saying.

Now that school is out, I haven’t been on the bus all that much, but I’ve finally managed to round up all the bits of paper I jotted my horror onto, so now I can share them with you.

[Ok, this was totally crappy, so I put it out of my misery.]

I have a cold, so cobbling these bits together into one post is about the most I can manage for now. Sorry.

Where are my bon-bons and stories?

Being on summer vacation is kind of weird. I have nothing in particular to do, and all the time in the world to do it. So I have been going through my back-list of things I wanted to do during the semester (or that at least sounded like fun at the time), but didn’t have time for.

I started with my zombie-snails project. Hannah and I made salt dough, which I then transformed into zombie snails, thanks to my collection of escargot shells. We painted a background in grays (Hannah made a bright-colored splatter painting, but I told her I didn’t think it had quite the gruesome effect we were going for, so now it is up on the kitchen cabinet), which I put into a shoebox to house our diorama of doom. Then we whipped up some cornstarch slime, added a bit of fluorescent green food color, and Hannah took on the job of sliming up the zombies. It turned out quite well, eh?



Then Hannah decided to make a video, which you can check out on her ad blog here.

To stave off impending boredom, Hannah got into the Halloween make-up again.



Doesn’t she look a bit like this character from a German children’s book?

I’ve gotten a lot of cleaning done, but it is not as fun as it sounds, because as soon as I finish, I have to start over again.

I also pulled out a sewing project that has been hanging over my head for *cough* more than 10 years. But I have a strong incentive to finish it before xmas, so I will keep you posted on that.

John bought me a tin whistle from the local Irish shop for my birthday (on my request), and I pulled it out after John and Hannah tried to learn how to play her recorder. I figured that a tin whistle would be much simpler to play than my clarinet, but I found the directions too frustrating. Practicing my clarinet would require more of my time, since I would have to build up my embouchure again, but I might try it anyway. My niece is going to start playing the clarinet this school year, so I’ve been thinking about playing more than usual.

I’ve been in a bit of a writing slump, as evidenced in my writing blog, but I hope to find a way around that soon.

We even went to the museum yesterday. They have an exhibit until the end of the month on an early culture around the Alps that built their houses on stilts right on the edge of lakes and rivers. John got there first, and we caught up with him at the exhibit, after we had been through the rest of the museum. Hannah is still not the most patient museum-guest, but there wasn’t too much I wanted to look at in detail, so I went along with the whirlwind tour. John read *every single display* in the exhibit, so he was there much longer than we were. But since we had traveled there separately, it wasn’t a big deal. We came home and made a knock-off recipe of Cinnabon rolls, so if you don’t hear from us over the next few days, we have probably suffered death by cinnamon roll.

John is counting down the days until our Swedish vacation. We’re leaving 2 weeks from tomorrow, so I don’t have to start freaking out or list-making for at least another week. *g*

Out and About with Nee

We went to the garden center yesterday and only *nearly* came to blows over nothing (the joy of Nee and John shopping together), but then we both took a chill pill and managed to enjoy the rest of our shopping and even find a few cute (and cheap) flowers to put in our window box.






I managed to restrain myself from buying a 2-foot-tall garden gnome, even though my paycheck from my recent teaching gig was burning a hole in my pocket. They were much cuter than the smaller ones. John, being the connoisseur he is, added to our cart a couple of bottles of the garden center’s *very own brand* of mead and blueberry wine. Classy. (Which we already knew from the days of the High Class Clock.)


Since we were going to be on the same street to go to the garden center, we stopped in at the Burger King for lunch. I think I am developing an allergy to American-style fast food. I started coughing after I was done eating, and I just couldn’t stop. I think it was all the grease coating my throat. And I only ate 4 of Hannah’s fries and 2/3 of a Whopper. You would think the coke would have cut right through it. Then in the garden center, pushing around 50 pounds of dirt and plants, my stomach informed me that the whole trip might have been a bad idea. I didn’t end up being sick, but I hate having a stomach-ache. Hence the cranky-pants attitude mentioned above.

Hannah disappeared yesterday afternoon as soon as we got home from the garden center to spend the night with her friend and has only been by long enough to pick up her car seat on their way to the JumpInn. I am telling you, that place is on one of the lower levels of hell, right next door to the Chuck E Cheese. The place itself is not *that* bad, but it is almost impossible to get there from our house. I know that sounds stupid, but it is on the opposite side of town, across the train tracks, and all the streets in the area have been under construction for years. We have been there a couple of times now, and we have never been more lost, even when trying to find our way on the autobahn. I’m just glad it is the friend’s parents and not us taking them there, because that is another source of cranky-pants in Nee’s family.

Hannah Fannah Po Pannah

Some days it seems like Hannah is growing up in one of those nature films with the action speeded up. We let her ride the bus into town with her friend recently (after a test run of riding alone to meet me at the bus stop), and they only went a little out of bounds (of course, that means next time we say ‘no’). She has her own set of house keys, and we can trust her not to lose them and to use the crosswalk alone to go to her friends’ houses on our street. And she cleaned her room all by herself last weekend with only a little prodding/threatening from John.

But then other days I can still see the little kid in her. Now that she’s on summer vacation, we can catch the morning programming on Nick; she still talks back to Blue’s Clues and Dora the Explorer. She sometimes takes her doll to the store, but only in the stroller, not in the grocery cart. And she rereads her beginner reader books at bedtime.

And there are some things that are just pure Hannah. Like the game she invented with her dad: I didn’t catch all the rules, as I was weeding out my email, but it involved dice, little toys as place-markers, our tile floor, play money, and claiming and naming floor tiles/countries. It was the map game.






After watching Dungeons and Dragons with us last night (I will never get those brain cells back), she started a “What I Did on Summer Vacation” essay: “I watched a film, and at the beginning it was pretty bad, but the ending was good.” Despite declaring that she does not want to attend Swedish school next year, she said that maybe they could use it in their mini-newspaper they put out twice a year.

She has also declared that she doesn’t want to attend ballet, yet when we leave her lessons, she dances all the way to the car, doing fancy jumps and twirls. Next year she will get to wear a black leotard instead of the pink with the ruffle on the butt, but even that has not been much of an enticement. Her class has two boys in it, and they recently started lifts (well, the girls are jumping and spinning, and the boys give them a little boost as they go by), which Hannah really seemed to enjoy, so maybe I can remind her of that when the *agony* of going back to lessons seems too much for her in September.

When we first made our plans to go to Sweden for a week of vacation, Hannah was adamantly against it. On principle, I think. But we dangled the sweet, sweet carrot of a trip to Astrid Lindgren’s World and to Legoland (the original in Denmark!), and she has come around. To the point that she has already started packing, even though we aren’t leaving for 3 weeks. At least she’ll be well-prepared to entertain herself in the car, if she can even carry her suitcase by then.

HAPPY DANCIN'!

I made straight Bs on my qualifying exams, so I get to start upper-division coursework next semester! I know in my heart that my paper was not B-worthy, but at least it is over. I have a sense of limp-bodied relief now that my grades are in. Whew!

Ketch-Up

I'm finding it surprisingly difficult to get back into blogging. When I was doing school stuff at the end of the semester, I totally blocked my normal impulse, which is to mentally tell stories to you about stuff I come across. I've managed to turn that back on, but the next step of putting it in blog format is not coming so easily to me as before. Oh, well, I am sure that a couple of crappily useless posts like this one will see me back to my old, mile-a-minute blogging.

While I was gone from here, Germany hosted the World Cup. John and I are not exactly what you would call sports fans, but we actually watched a good bit of it. I think that in the early rounds, John probably watched one match a day. Germany played really well, so the whole country was at fever pitch for most of the month. We knew not to count on getting to sleep at a decent hour on the nights Germany was playing, because our neighbors would be yelling and celebrating, and then a couple of hours later the drunk ones would stagger home, stopping for a loud, drunken chat right under our balcony. This was even a problem (not so much the drunks) during one of my late-afternoon classes; there are pubs (televising the games) within walking distance of the building, and it was boiling hot, so the windows had to stay open--needless to say, it was hard to concentrate on Toni Morrison with all the shouting and cheering.

During the World Cup, everyone put flags out. This is Germany, not America: *no one* keeps a flag outside their home. I guess Germans are very touchy about coming across as nationalist, so those kinds of displays are limited to sporting events. But during the World Cup, people hung the German flag from their windows, painted it on their arms and faces, wore it as a cape, attached it to their car windows, wrapped their babies in it, you name it. It was quite touching, really.

George Bush came to Germany, and I saw on the news that he had mastered the European kiss greeting. John and I have had trouble with that one, because we are just not kissy people, but I declared that I would be damned if George Bush could do it and I couldn't, so I have redoubled my efforts at not looking like a social retard to our close friends. Then Shrub affronted the German chancellor with unwanted physical contact. *sigh* What kind of role model is that?

[At about this point last night, Blogger ate the rest of my post. I tried everything I could think of this morning to reconstruct or find it--the one time I typed directly into my Web browser--and I ended up with a bit of lame at the end (well, lame-er than before). But then I remembered that I activated the setting to have my own posts emailed to me, so the original was in my email. Ka-Ching!]

Our cat had a couple of bladder infections, so John took her to the vet for a shot. We were supposed to give her two more at home, but I managed to squirt one of the them onto her fur instead of under her fur thanks to her squirming, plus I poked myself in one finger and scratched another finger with the damned tiny hypodermeric needle, and that hurt like a bitch for about a week. Stupid cat. The other cat has continued with her whiny ways, and one night I threatened to cram her down the throat of a neighborhood dog who was barking all night. She's fluffy--she'd definitely dampen all the sound.

As much as I would like to think of this as vacation time, I just can't seem to get into that mind-set. Saturday I spring-cleaned the upstairs bathroom, and you have *never* seen grout that clean (the whole room is tile). Sunday I did the downstairs bathroom, which includes moving out the washing machine and cleaning under it. I also repotted some plants, did a little laundry, shopped for groceries, vacuumed under our bed (and the furry cat had shed the equivalent of a mink coat under there--ick!), and sorted through the piles and piles of papers and books that were drifting through our living space like academic tumbleweeds. Today I took a few photos on my way to pick up Hannah from school, but I haven't done anything with them yet. So look around at my photo links in a day or two for something new.

Hannah's superpower of kicking over coffee cups has expanded to breaking thermometers (4 at last count) and losing her school supplies.

We were having such hot weather that people were talking about another "summer of the century" (the last one was in 2003), but a cold front has come in, so we're saved! Yesterday the highs were in the 80s, but with about 1000% humidity, so it didn't make much difference. This morning we woke up to temps in the low 70s and light rain, and John is in heaven (except he has to ride his bike into town later this morning). And Hannah is going on an outing today, so she'll be hiking around in the woods up above the castle in the muck. I told her not to get eaten by a wild boar, or a swarm of slugs.

Grades and Food

Yesterday I took Part 3 of my qualifying exams in German linguistics. I won’t find out my scores on the other 2 parts until next week at the earliest, but the examiners were kind enough to tell me at the end of my oral exam that I had made a B+. I was so happy I felt like barfing.

Yesterday evening was spent in a giddy state while we put together homemade individual pizzas and I prepared for tutoring this morning. After tutoring, I tackled the mountain of papers that had accumulated over the semester and managed to get them all sorted and put into a binder—but not until the wind blew all but 5 of the 500 or so sheets of paper off the table while I struggled to get the jammed window closed. Good times.

I poked around in the fridge and came up with ingredients to make stuffed mushrooms. We once had a neighbor who was a prep cook for a very chichi restaurant in Austin, and she told us their recipe. Which I can’t remember in its entirety, but here’s what I’ve reconstructed:

white mushrooms (the kind with a cap)
Town House crackers
cocktail shrimp
chives (I used shoots from some garlic cloves I planted—yum!)
melted butter
salt/pepper/dried parsley

Clean the mushrooms. Pull out the stems, chop up about half of them, and throw away the other half. Crush the crackers and chop up the shrimp and chives. Use about equal parts shrimp, mushrooms, and crackers, then add enough melted butter to make it all stick together. Season. Spoon mix into mushrooms and bake at 400F for about 20 minutes or until stuffing starts to brown and mushrooms have shrunk somewhat.

Hannah got her final report card today. She got an A in English, a C in PE, and Bs in everything else. So she didn’t get the keyboard we’ve been using as the carrot for good grades this year, but she’ll have a chance at it again in the fall. (No, we don’t demand that she bring home straight As, but we could see that she wasn’t putting in the effort we knew she was capable of, and that was reflected in her grades. It’s hard to break the habit of laziness, so we wanted to try to nip it in the bud now.)

I am pretty sure that one of my mystery plants is cucumber. It has put on little yellow flowers that match the ones in a garden across the street. Those plants are already putting out cukes, but I don’t know if my flowers will get fertilized. The bees are much more interested in John’s flamboyant plumbagos in the next pot over. Oh, well. I’m just happy to have some green on the balcony.

Here's some fish porn for those of you who might be into that. LilSis caught it in the lake behind her house a couple of weeks before her surgery. She's quite the sportswoman.

She also told me a handy trick for getting rid of fish-smell (or garlic or onion) on your hands: wash your hands with toothpaste. I found out the hard way that gel toothpaste (at least not Colgate kid toothpaste) does not work; your hands just smell like bubble gum and stink. It has to be the white *paste* kind.
 

Tests, Tents, Etc.

I’m supposed to be studying for a test in my class on changes in English over the last century, and I am bored out of my skull. Some of the topics I have found pretty interesting (like the formation of new words or changes in meaning for established words), but sound change is likely to put me in a coma. zzzzzzzzz... Fortunately, I don’t think it will come up on the test, because we didn’t go into great detail on it in class, and we’re also mainly dealing with written language. At least I have my fingers crossed.

John is feeling a little Hannah-withdrawal this evening, but not as bad as last night. Right after school yesterday, she went to hang out with a friend, and has basically only been home since then to get her stuff and to play on the computer/with her sewing machine with said friend. The friend’s parents put up a 3-room tent in their back yard, so the whole family slept there last night, and the kids are planning to have another go at it tonight. We got a refreshing little shower earlier, but I don’t think it will rain overnight again.

TMI alert!
.
.
.
I suspect I may have expelled my IUD. You’d think this is something I would have noticed, and not to go into too many details, I suspect it happened during Aunt Flo’s last visit. It was exactly like her visits to me a year-and-a-half ago before I got the IUD, and this month I am definitely feeling blue while she’s here. Which is really a drag. I have found myself occasionally acting like my father* (minus the cheating and putting down), and I want to shoot myself. But at least I am aware of it and can consciously force myself to STOP IT.

* John knows he has crossed the line into insufferable asshole-ism when I call him my father’s name, and I am cringingly waiting for him to return the favor.

A Pinch of This, A Dash of That

The construction guys came by and finished dismantling the scaffolding around our Winter Garden (BTW, this is basically a sunroom, but ours happens to be not completely glassed-in, if that makes sense). So the inside (minus one light fixture) and the outside are done! We can now officially move back in. Woot! We actually wanted to use it last weekend, since one of John’s grad-school colleagues was going to be in town and we had invited her and her husband to coffee, so John called up the landlord to see if we could clear out the last of the workman’s stuff. (At this point, everything was done but the light fixtures.) No problem, he said. Then an hour later, after John had huffed and puffed up and down the stairs 5 or 6 times (did I mention we live on the fourth floor?) to take out all the tools and put the garden furniture back in, the electrician came to put in the lights. So we had to scootch everything around to make room for the ladder, then we had to dust bits of drywall off the tablecloth before we could set the table for the coffee. That’s typical around here. Anyhoo, I added the last photo to the yahoo album (link on the right), if you are so bored as to want to look at it.

In other local news, Europe is experiencing a heat wave right about now, but I have only found it oppressively hot when I have to get on a bus, or if I have to walk along the sidewalk next to the street here in our village (no shade most of the way). If you can get in the shade, it is really not too bad, as opposed to my experience in West Texas (you all know the 100F-in-the-shade-type summer weather there). Luckily, we don’t have to worry about water restrictions, so a tepid shower often does the trick when it gets too hot. Looking out the window now, it is starting to cloud up, which automatically knocks the temps down. We got up in the mid-90s yesterday, but I don’t know if we will today, despite the forecast for even higher temperatures. The other part of the forecast said something about bad thunderstorms, so we might actually be catching the edge of that.

I am down to one written final exam, one 20-minute oral exam (part of my qualifying exams), and one 15-page paper which is not due until September 30. I know I need to buckle down a little more on studying, but at this point I feel like I have a good head start on it. The wish for a sudden, speedy death that gripped me during the height of the paper-writing ordeal has gone, leaving me feeling giddily upbeat (except when I think about the grade on my paper, but let’s not worry about that until the grade actually comes in), but I can’t become blasé about my workload now.

On the occasion of an anniversary that marked the beginning of a period of her life that was, let’s say, interesting in a life-lesson kind of way, WesTexGirl recently posted about how that wild and crazy period actually helped to shape her into the person she is today. And it occurred to me that I am boring, and that I have probably always been boring. My wild and crazy? Can be counted on one hand in single events. Hers? In months. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have traded places with her for anything, but I’m thinking that maybe I have been in a middle-aged mind-set since I was, oh, 16. John would probably think so, but I hope only in the quiet, honest recesses of his soul. Oh, well.

Hannah has been an interesting study lately. One day she is formulating a theory that Betty Crocker was a space alien, and the next she is weeping over the fighting in the Middle East. She has already been begging to shave her legs (and arms) because some boys tease her, but at least one of her girlfriends sticks up for her and points out that she herself also has hairy legs (kid hair—that’s nothing!). I checked out Babette Cole’s book on puberty, Hair in Funny Places, for Hannah, and she has pulled it out of the book basket a couple of times. John finds Babette Cole’s books mildly repulsive, but I like them (as the aunts and uncles in my family can attest, because I think at least one kid in each family has gotten a copy of Dr. Dog.) Like I said, John is a little iffy on it, but I think it is a very straightforward and funny approach to explaining “your changing body.” Hannah’s friend is a little older and is already going through it, and Hannah’s turn is probably right around the corner (she hasn’t even lost all her baby teeth yet!), so I wanted to start introducing the topic gradually, and it seems to be working. She’s asked a couple of questions, and open communication is exactly what I’m aiming for. There’s no room for squeamishness.

As I sat in the English Department library while writing my paper, surrounded by the works of Nick Hornby and Herman Melville and Aphra Behn, I felt very sad that I couldn’t just pick up one of them and dig in. Plus someone on a email list not in any way affiliated with Harry Potter made a comment about The Half Blood Prince that has had me in a flutter of discontent that I don’t have time (at least until the end of July) to find what she was talking about and see if it says what she claims it does. So I am counting down the days until I can read for pleasure again (the stack of Terry Pratchett is calling to me...).

Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of fun had at the carnival to share, so here is basically the highlight of the outing--the port-o-head. The picture on the side pretty well says what it's for, don't you think? 

This box contains every article, every handwritten page, every printed page of the paper I just completed. The paper itself ended up being only 15 pages + 2 pages of bibliography. 

Rumors of my death were premature...

I survived the term paper and the written exam (parts 1 and 2 for admission to upper-division coursework)--passing is possibly a different matter, but I won't know for a while. Now I just have a translation exam (English into German), a seminar exam (ongoing change in English), and a 20-minute oral exam in linguistics (part 3) before the end of the semester in two weeks. After the first two things, though, I somehow feel more confident about the other ones. I spent several late nights last week working on the paper, which was due at noon on Friday, then had to cram for the exam on Saturday morning (I had actually already been preparing, but it had been a couple of weeks since I had worked really steadily on it), so by Saturday afternoon I was beat and barely even coherent. But I got a good night's sleep last night and have already pulled out my materials for the next round of tests.

Since my life has been terribly boring recently, I don't really have much of interest to post right now. I'll dig through my Palm later, though, and see if I can't cull out any notes I've been hoarding for the post-exam period. But to give myself a running start, I weeded all the gardening and construction photos out of this blog and put them in photo albums, so there are new photo links on the right.

After a bite of lunch, we're taking the afternoon off to go to our village's annual carnival, so look for more another photo album chock full of fun tomorrow or so.

Harry and the Potters

God bless Mimi Smartypants for turning me on to these guys. For the 5 minutes I was reading their Wikipedia entry I did not feel the death of a thousand cuts by Term Paper. (Which is my own stupid fault. Really.) Off to cut #1001.

Nee is a sack of pissed

Today has basically been a shitter of a day. I slept badly last night, going to bed late but waking up frequently between dreams of my sister’s Baroque underwater-resort wedding and Kermit the Frog overcharging me at the buffet and Antonio Banderas outwitting some spies on a sunken boat.

After my meeting with my Term Paper advisor this morning, I wanted a cup of coffee but only had 70 cents, so I chanced the coffee automat in the department. Fucking machine. Last time it only gave me half a cup of coffee, this time it gave me a cup with a hole in the bottom. I was so pissed I poured it down the sink (after dripping a large portion on the floor while I figured out where the leak was coming from). Can you imagine? Too mad to drink cheap, bad, leaky coffee? I’m officially through with that coffee machine.

I bumped something while making copies, and many more than I actually wanted started shooting out of the machine. I got that under control, turned in the book I was copying from, and only realized later that I had copied one page wrong. I can’t recheck the book until tomorrow. Then I couldn’t find some other info I was looking for in the library.

And to top it off, on the ride home, we were stuck for about 20 minutes because I think our bus driver witnessed an accident (I was in the back of a double-length bus) and had to stick around until the cops, the ambulance, and the emergency doctor on call showed up. By the time I got home, I was a sad sack. I turned off my brain and did the last of the dishes I started last night.

At least I managed to get through my meeting with my T.P. advisor without 1. embarrassing myself or 2. him berating me. He’s a really nice person—basically the Mr. Rogers of Linguistics (including the cute little sweater in the winter). Very encouraging and supportive and non-threatening. I also managed to turn in another translation homework without bursting into flames, but it was a close thing.

At least the workmen came out to do *something* on the roof again. We had a pretty big storm blow in last night, and water was pouring out of 2 spots in the ceiling. We haven’t seen the guy who was supposed to be finishing out the inside of the Winter Garden, but we would like to be able to use the room, if only to open the windows to catch some more breeze up here in no-air-conditioning land.

Sorry that I've shown up only to bitch and moan, but what else is this thing for? :-)

Here's to LilSis

LilSis had surgery yesterday, so I started my period in honor of her no longer having them (as of yesterday). Please brush off your mind-meld techniques and send her good wishes for a speedy recovery and a return to good health.

Bring out the Beach Boys--Summertime is here

My brain is still full of one of those spousal anger dreams (where your spouse does something horrifying and out of character, and you wake up breathing heavy and totally pissed), so I have nothing coherent to say, but here are some photos of summer for you to enjoy.

Barbies on Parade

Hannah has put up a Barbie fashion show over on her blog. Eighty percent of the text is verbatim per her dictation. I even managed to leave out all the snarky comments in my head.

Enjoy.

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!