June Travels

Although this is much delayed, we still wanted to summarize our June travels for our loyal blog readers. This is completely in note format, but includes our basic highlights. Our time in Germany and Europe was filled with so many irreplaceable experiences and we find ourselves feeling so blessed for the many amazing opportunities we had to make those 8 months possible. Many of you helped make our adventures possible, whether through monetary gifts, friendship and emotional support, parenting, example, educational enrichment, or offering whatever part of you it was that helped build our confidence to even think of pursuing something like living abroad. Thank you for being in our lives and for following our adventures by checking out our blog. Stay tuned for a special peek at our Alpine experience in a couple days and a wrap up post or two yet to come. Plus, who knows - we might start two new blog pages. We came to enjoy the medium.

Love,

Bryce and Dan

Oslo – first couch surfing experience, church party at bar and church rock concert at an old theater, ferried to island to hike around, walked on roof of the opera house, walked around to park (lots of naked statues), bus to ski jump but no bus down!, cooked Mexican meal for hosts, talked politics and healthcare and church, Norwegian WWII resistance museum, bus and train to Stockholm

Stockholm – enjoyed the series of islands each w/ a different feel, large parks/gardens, modern museum (Picasso, Dali, Miro, Matisse, Warhol, Lichtenstein, Magritte), fried and pickled herring, couch surfing, improv song contest in front of royal palace on the river w/ picnic dinner, old town Glama Stan, cooked dinner w/ hosts

Cambridge – David Priddy and friends, punting, garden party, England vs. USA World Cup match, saw many blazer and short combos, brunch (incl. fried toast), tea time with scones in an orchard, Queen’s College

Sevilla – flamenco dancing (feet so fast they blurred), tiled buildings, narrow streets, tapas, sangria, cerveza, late nights, balconies, terrace breakfast, olives, oranges, avocados, plants on terraces, interesting colorful architecture, filming of car stunts, Christopher Colombus’ grave, largest gothic cathedral in world, first class train to Barcelona w/ great view of the Spanish countryside

Barcelona – travelled 301 km (roughly 186 mi) per hour, Las Ramblas walk, busy busy market, beaches that would make Mark uncomfortable (optionally), wading in the Mediterranean, Gothic Quarter, Spain vs. Switzerland World Cup match, Picasso Museum, olives, Gaudi’s architecture (casa mila, block of discord), awesome Park Guell and in-process Sagrada Familia Cathedral, horchata, Argentina World Cup match, sangria, used Rick Steves’ guide map and info thanks to Amy and Camilla

Schinznachdorf – night train to Zurich (not the best night’s sleep but fun experience), stayed with Dorothee and Matthias (distant relatives of Dan), all produce eaten from garden, Hapsburg Castle, Roman ruins, very old stain glass in cathedral, ALPS!, wonderful hike, met more relatives for birthday celebration, saw the Rhein a lot, were asked what religion is like in America, walking tour of Schinznach, Stein am Rhein and castle, met three more relatives in Beringen (where Grandpa Becker’s mother was born), learned about Dorothee’s work (graphomotor skills), learned very much about everything from Matthias (solar panels, cars, computers, watering systems, electrical systems, combination of these, etc.), rode in ’74 Citroen

Freiburg – back in Germany!, water canal things in many streets, couch surfed (in dorm, not as cushy as previous places, but a lovely time with some fun people), hiked in Black Forest, hiked to Schlossberg, climbed tower for 360 views (saw Black forest, city, probably France, maybe Alps), ate lunch in park, farmers market at Cathedral, walked around city/university with host, walked to Herdern region, watched exciting US match (U..S..A, U..S..A), watched first half of Germany game amongst enormous crowd, walked back to dorm at half to join hosts, stopped for ice cream, too slow, missed goal (heard it on the way), another “camping” night with hosts

Dresden – reunited with former Potsdam roommate Conny, walked through historical rebuilt Dresden, delicious BBQ with Conny’s family, walk through neighborhood to castle, other castle and animal park, overnight at Conny’s parents’

Berlin – Saw Barbara and Martin again, Superhero and comic book exhibition at Jewish Museum*, Watched USA vs Ghana match with Martin and Barbara at public viewing in outdoor bar along the river, watched Germany match at a Turkish establishment, flea market, watched Argentina game at Argentinean restaurant, Döner!, Potsdam to see program coordinator from 2007 study abroad (who complimented Bryce’s German multiple times), concentration camp, bicycle ride to Schöneberg Rathaus (JFK speech site), reading at Treptow Park, swimming in barge on the River Spree, Chocolate shop, more Döner, goodbye to Germany and Europe

Travel to the US - Lovely 3 am (8pm CST) wake up after getting ready until 1:30 am, quicker than expected Taxi ride, waited at airport for an hour before desk opened to check bags, bags are passed through even though a little heavy (phew), slept pretty well on plane, got through customs in a breeze (tried to claim items, but were sent to the nothing to declare side), began our 5 hour wait at our final gate, announcement was made of overbooked flight and after some back and forth decided to take it, received night in hotel, free dinner (wondered why the waitress kept asking us if we needed anything then remembered that, as opposed to Euro wait staff, she worked for her tips), and two free flights up to $500, caught flight early next morning, had no trouble waking up at 5 am, offered another $425 for overbooking but had waited long enough, home, and reunions, and Jamba Juice, and Chipotle

*after having both finished Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, which we highly recommend

Photos

Check out our new photos from our June Travels.

Will Work For Food

As U.S. Americans we had the luxury of arriving in Germany, and remaining for up to 90 days, before a visa was required. After settling into our home and beginning our work positions, we began the process of applying for a work permit. This included registering with the city of Bad Oeynhausen for the Auftenthaltserlaubnis or residence permit. After receiving documentation for living there, we obtained our Meldebescheinigung or registration certificate (each person must register and unregister whenever he or she moves, including Germans and even if moving next door). At this point we were able to apply for our work permit. We went into town and, after returning home again to retrieve our marriage license, handed in everything we had. This included the two previous items we applied for, our marriage license, a certificate from the Tacoma Police saying that we played well with others, our work contracts, our bank account information, our passports, as well as the application forms. The person taking our information did not seem to know what we needed, but rather accepted everything we gave her, making the bureaucratic process all the more confusing. We were informed that the process could take 5 to 8 weeks, and so we began our wait. After a week or two, we received a letter from another man, Herr Baltruweit, saying our information was not complete. We then mailed in our marriage license again, our resume, our pay stubs from Wittekindshof (what were actually needed instead of the bank info) and a statement saying how long we would be in the country.

After almost 50 days we received a letter, which stated that our application had been rejected. We took the letter to the man who helped us with everything we could ask for while in Germany. There he helped clarify for us that the letter stated we were rejected because we were hired through a subcontracting firm that Wittekindshof uses to hire its workers. It is not allowed for people outside of the European Union to be hired as contract labor. Our contracts were quickly changed, with an obligatory raise involved, and we gathered our information to travel to Minden. On a rainy Tuesday morning in March, we bussed into the larger town near our village to see Herr Baltruweit. We prepared ourselves to meet the evil man face-to-face. There the man I visualized as an enemy turned out to be a decent guy, and not even the one making the decision on our working fate. We told him that we would not be able to give our passports again, as we had travel plans, and he helped us obtain an (up to) 30-day extension for our reapplication. We would be able to continue working, and getting paid, while the application was reviewed a second time.

We enjoyed our month of allotted work, including the travels involved, while hoping that the process would take as many as the 30 days and not go over, in order to earn as much as possible. As the deadline approached, we sent an email asking about the status of our application, and were told to come back to Minden. Baltruweit surprised us again with the news that we had been rejected a second time. The reasoning this time was different: our position description was not specific enough, and did not display why we should be in these positions instead of a German or another EU resident. He said it was a low-skilled job requiring no specific talent or skill, (when researching our move we did read that those with skills that were unique are given permits), similar to McDonald’s, informing us that “a Turk should have that job.”

We asked some clarifying questions about our rejection and what we should do to reapply. Here Baltruweit was helpful, telling us that Bryce could teach English, and I should take German lessons if we wanted to stay, without “giving advice”. It was the end of April at this point, and our contracts had stated from the beginning that our work would be finished after May. Baltruweit was a bit confused, then with our asking about reapplying, as we only had a short time remaining. To us, however, it was a big deal, it was a long time and around 2000 dollars that could be spent on travelling if we were allowed to earn it. I was reminded of the professor from Carnegie Mellon University, who gave his final lecture before retiring to be with his family for his last days, as he was dying from cancer. In the lecture, he spoke of walls that are put in people’s way, and those that are willing to go around, or climb over, or take down the walls succeed. With this in mind, we were willing to reapply again even if only for a month.

We once again brought the information gathered to our contact at Wittekindshof, and he once again willingly and graciously helped us quickly change our contract. We told him that a more specific description would be helpful, that one that included the necessary use of our English would be ideal, and we were even willing to incorporate that we were working there partially do to an ancestor of mine being involved in founding and leading the community from the very beginning. We also sent a letter, in Bryce’s exquisite German, explaining why we are attempting to work in Germany, how we know of Wittekindshof, and that we are indeed only hoping to work through May, as we are registered in Graduate programs each, beginning in the Fall, with our tickets home already purchased.

In truth, our reapplication was a goal of time. Our hope was not that we would be accepted. If we were, great - we would feel more validated in our work. If we were rejected again, it would be fine, especially if it took most or all of the remaining time on our work contract. In fact, an acceptance would most likely have meant a fee, that we would have been happy to pay, but could find use for if we were not obliged to do so.

And that is how it played out. We never did hear a response from Herr Baltruweit regarding our final effort. We worked through our entire contract and earned as much as we had planned on.

In the midst of these stresses and experiences some interesting feelings surfaced. First was anxiety and worry - had we overstayed our welcome? Quite a bit more than the 90 days had passed when we were first rejected. Would we be ordered to travel out of the country? How would we get by if we did not earn any money? How would we travel? We immediately signed up for couchsurfing, which Bryce illuminated on in a previous blog article. We stopped buying as expensive of food, and had our eye out for free food opportunities. We discussed with each other that our goal in coming to Germany was to learn the language, experience the culture, and immerse ourselves in the community in which we lived. We decided that we would continue working, unpaid, if we could not be hired. I also began thinking of other ways to make some money. In these thoughts I did not care what I needed to do, or even if I was paid much at all, as long as I earned some sort of money. It was an interesting window to look through, specifically considering the fate of so many undocumented workers and citizens in the US, not to mention Arizona.

After the fact, everything developed as we had hoped. There was added stress that made us long for home, but it was a valuable experience to go through. One that helped us realize our un-entitlement that even when trying to avoid, can seep into the American mindset. Although this was uncomfortable, it was something we were searching for. So it all worked out, except that Herr Baltruweit proved a bit too nice, not so inimical. For, I had thought I found the perfect nemesis in my upcoming great American novel.

BALTRUWEIT!!!!!!

Home

...more to come.

Finding the Californian in Me

I’ve never much fancied the idea of surfing. Okay, fancied maybe, but not realistically. I am not what one would describe as a thrill seeker. I like my life to feel secure. There are enough thrills in the everyday anyways – Will I miss the bus? Will I get dehydrated if I forget my water bottle? You know, the usual worries. I like to imagine my life as a relaxed person who enjoys adventure. Surfing fits into these scenarios easily, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s not part of my reality.

My relationship with surfing is not only hindered by my inability to try something I perceive as dangerous, but further hindered by its integral role in the stereotyping of my home state, California. And I’m not just from California, but southern California. Better yet, Orange County. Nothing gets me worked up quicker than a packaged description of California. Well, I say that about a lot of things, but it’s definitely up there on the list of do-not-do-around-Bryce things. The number of these assumptions I was subjected to severely increased with the integration of Dan into my life, and with it all of the Midwesterners who became my loved ones. I tried to be patient; there are only so many comments about perfect weather, tans and beaches that I can take. The last 5 years were probably good training for our time in Europe, though, where people are quite convinced of their American notions, number one amongst them being the So Cal life. I generally think of myself as rather unpatriotic. I see many faults with our country and long for many deeply complicated yet fundamental changes. But nothing makes me question this more than the feistiness I feel at the spouting of comments on perfect weather and beaches. I have a deep pride in the mountains that span my home state, and its offering of every climate, including that white stuff that comes around in the winter, yes, snow. I pride myself on defying the stereotype of a California girl, too. No, I don’t have blond hair, a plastic body, a closet full of designer clothes and a year-round tan, and above all, I do not surf.

Or do I? I fear I may have given in to the image a bit. A few months ago, we joined the online network at couchsurfing.org. We’d heard of it on and off throughout the last few years and only heard positive reviews. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, couchsurfing is a network that connects people internationally as an alternative way to find lodging in and experience a city. Members make a profile with basic info, like interests and jobs, post photos, and list their expectations from participating in the program, down to the basic how many people can fit on their couch per night. When traveling, members search for their destination city and start looking through profiles to find a host. You send a friendly message, requesting to stay on your specified dates and wait for a yeah or neigh.

Now this is a type of surfing I can really get behind. One might think it’s not in keeping with my personality. It is a bit of a thrill-seeking activity, after all, to stay on a stranger’s couch, and admittedly I’d be more selective in my requests if I were a single female traveling alone. But what thrill could be better for mankind today? People hunger for a black and white reality, something that is explainable and thus more secure, and with that, arise many stereotypes and prejudices, as well as individualism. Through individualism, we begin a cycle of bigger-better-faster-stronger, one against the other, and eventually whole cultures are divided from one another. Animosity forms. People attack in desperation, but incidentally stereotypes are strengthened and separatism ensues. The cycle gains speed, and instead of holding others in love and grace, we allow fear to dominate. Couch surfing is a simple and unique way to deconstruct these barriers person by person. One woman we contacted through the website stated that her current mission was to do her “little part to increase the global trust.” To start with, it is an exchange of faith to open your home to a stranger and to spend the night at a stranger’s home (with things like your passport sitting in the living room). It perhaps places more faith in an individual to acknowledge that she has something to share with you, to enrich your days.

Staying with locals allows you to get a picture of the everyday life of people in that city. You share in their daily patterns, from eating to sleeping, and have the opportunity to sit around the table together, discussing politics, religion and other complex issues largely affected by culture. In doing so, you not only learn more about the culture of the place you are visiting, but also have the opportunity to share your own experiences and opinions. There’s a certain assurance in jumping into these topics with couch surfers, too – everyone has a common interest in traveling and exploring, which makes the chances of finding someone open and eager to engage in this mutual sharing more likely.

Dan and I have tested the waters twice now on our month of European travels, and both experiences were more than positive. We’re hoping to find at least one other couch to surf on this trip and to open our apartment to travelers once we settle in Boston. Much of the joy of traveling is realizing how much there is to see and appreciating the diversity of the world and her people. While couch surfing helps highlight this diversity, it also brings out the opposite beauty in traveling – acknowledging and honoring a very common and shared humanity with people thousands of miles away despite the urges in today’s society to separate. This acknowledgment is a thrilling relief to me.

So I guess I’ve tested my adventure-seeking abilities and it looks like I’m not as adverse to it as I may have thought. I must say I am enjoying surfing so far - and hey, maybe it makes me a better Californian.

The Begending

Remember in the first Matrix movie where Keanu says, “this isn’t the end, but the beginning”? Well my learning of German is not like that; at least I hope it produces better outcomes than sappy Christian metaphors and raindrops hitting eyeballs in super-duper slow-mo. When we moved to Germany and I began studying the language, I had visions of carrying on jovial conversations in Deutsch, cracking people up with my witty German banter. Alas, this did not end up being the case, but I am not especially disappointed in myself. I feel that I have learned a satisfactory amount. Having not spent more than two semesters in Spanish class, I had not realized how extensive learning a language is. I had expected that learning as much as I learned in these 7 months I would be able to be more fluent.

So here is where I am. Most of the time, when someone is speaking to me in German I can figure out the meaning of the conversation. I can piece together enough of the words that I can make a guess to what someone is saying. However, this can lead to being completely wrong if someone says “not something” and I hear “something.” When I need to be sure, as in getting our deposit back from our landlord, I am less able to figure out what is being said, and less willing to guess. When another English speaker is around, I more readily give in and look to him or her for help. When a conversation lasts more than a few sentences without a break I begin to lose where I am and sometimes ask someone to speak slower. If it is in a group, I usually begin to daydream. This is especially the case in church. Going to church, or in a work meeting, spoken in German brought me back to what I felt like as a child. Everything takes sooo long, and is mostly boring. My imagination, however, got a good workout in each of these settings (only on a couple occasions did I need to refrain myself from laughing after daydreaming about something that I had found humorous previously). I was also reminded of childhood while reading newspapers. I remember never understanding why people enjoyed newspapers, and here, again, I would read the captions and look at the pictures, make my way through the headlines, and spend extra time on people I recognized, specifically the US celebrities that would show up regularly in the Bad Oeynhausen paper. (So if you have kids that get bored easily, remember it is difficult to pay attention when you don’t understand everything that is going on.)

Speaking was quite different than listening and understanding. If I was able to follow along in a conversation I would often reply in English, as I was not quick enough to develop a sentence in German. I could mostly develop sentences that would make sense with what I wanted to get across, although not all of them were understandable, and it would take time to begin the next statement or sentence. When someone would ask if there were parts of the language that I had learned or if they requested me to say something, I would often reply with the sentences I had practiced the most. This included: “I don’t know,” “I don’t understand,” or “what would you like on your bread.”

In truth, I had the best conversations and learned the most from the residents at my two positions. I am grateful for the patience and grace that each would give me as they attempted to make clear to me what was on their mind. They would not become annoyed or feel uncomfortable if I needed to ask them to say something again, or to speak more slowly. They were also willing to wait as I tried a couple times to get across what I wanted to say. Not everyone is as practiced at these skills as the individuals that helped me learn very many things.

Switching jobs when we did also helped me turn a corner with my language learning. In my first job, I was not expected to know any German and was treated accordingly. In the second placement, the manager told the staff to not speak English to us because we wanted to learn German. This was good, although added some stress and separation into the work environment. Possibly the best part about switching positions was the opportunity to go back to the first placement. When visiting I would show off my newer German skills and cause statements such as: “I didn’t recognize him because the man that was here before didn’t speak German.”

Overall, I felt that some people think that I learned very much German in the seven months we lived in Bergkirchen and others thought I learned next to nothing. It depended on how much English I could speak with them initially (what habit we formed from the beginning) as well as how much German I spoke with them, or how long our conversations were.

So I want Keanu to be right, my hope is that this is not the end of my language learning, but the beginning. I hope to develop my skills further and gain new vocabularies and understand more rules. I do not know if I will use this practically in the future, but what I may have learned most (and had assumed before) is that learning a language is valuable regardless of whether I use it or not.

-Dan

All for now...

Well, Monday was our last day of work at Wittekindshof. We say goodbye to our town of Bergkirchen at 8 am tomorrow to begin our month of travels. This means two things. First, that it is really time to write a hearty blog with lots of reflection. Second, that we have been way too busy to sit down to write a hearty blog with lots of reflection. So for now, here's what we've been up to: packing, cleaning, repacking, saying goodbyes, going to doctors appointments for school health forms, closing our bank account, eating really good meals at work festivities or friends' homes, and wishing we'd done a little more hiking and biking aimlessly through the countryside.

We promise something a little more stimulating once we get a chance to sit down, but know that missing you is making it easier to leave the home we made here.

A New Understanding of "Cleaning Streak"

The following words appear in the form of a notice on our bathroom wall. They've been a source of entertainment for me this year, though I'm not sure what to make of them. My initial thought was that our landlords' son lived here before us and perhaps they had a little struggle with cleanliness expectations. Then I noticed that both employee bathrooms at work had more succinct, less sarcastic admonitions about cleaning things up so the next person wasn't repulsed. I began to think that the Germans have a fixation on their toilets. Though the German culture isn't nearly as stick-to-the-rules as the American stereotype suggests, there are definitely instances that suggest a stronger orientation towards order in their culture than our own. I think it all boils down to their phrase for "Is everything okay?" ("Alles in Ordnung?") meaning literally "Is everything in order?"

In any case, I enjoy glancing between these instructions and bikini-clad Heidi Klum wishing me a good summer as I sit on the pot. Here's the translation:

The Toilet Brush…

…a simple guide

(With the toilet brush one distinguishes between ‘top’ and ‘bottom.’ It is conventional to designate the bristled portion as ‘bottom’ and the handle part as ‘top.’ These definitions will be used in the following.)

Taking Care of Business

After a completed large sitting (defecation), the toilet brush is calm and collected, and with a quick glance the extent of the pollution in the toilet bowl is established.

Execution

Now the bottom part of the toilet brush is introduced in the toilet bowl and with scrubbing movements the pollution is brushed away.

Attention:

A back-and-forth movement that is too strong is to be avoided. This commonly leads to sprays outside the toilet bowl – an unpleasant feeling, when one gets it on the skin.

The toilet bowl should be free of toilet paper scraps. The soggy toilet paper has the unpleasant tendency to establish itself in the bristles. The sight of such a spoiled toilet brush will with high probability deter subsequent toilet users from using the toilet brush.

Post-processing

The toilet brush is now often quite wet. In order to not drop the liquid on the floor, one should gently tap the toilet brush on the edge of the toilet bowl a few times (Warning: alluded spray danger!) and then quickly replace it in its stand. Experts can also disengage the water with neat, skilled “lightning turns” of the brush between the fingers of one hand (similar to the turning of a spinning top) through sheer centrifugal force! In this process, one must take care that the whole bristle section is situated underneath the top edge of the bowl. (Spray danger!) This method might require a little practice, but is silent and no damage to the bristle portion or the bowl or toilet seat can occur.

Distribution

The whole process has lasted not even a minute and the toilet looks vastly more appetizing. Please also work towards the dissemination of this knowledge about the use of the toilet brush and ensure the cleanliness of our home toilet. For a better toilet world for all!

No Pictures, Please.

We have returned from a two-week adventure with our final visitors. Vy and Camille, from the Bay Area, joined us on a 13-day, 5-city jaunt, in which we were greeted enthusiastically and mostly warmly where ever we went. We began in Berlin and, we assume, in anticipation of Bryce’s birthday were met by enormous crowds on May 1^st. They held signs against fascism and capitalism, telling all the neo-nazis to leave Bryce alone on her special day. The crowd developed a life of its own, however, and the riot police were necessary. The method to defuse situations was for the police to run in two lines towards the commotion. Once it was broken up, they would regroup elsewhere. Many of these two-line units were seen all around several neighborhoods. We stayed and watched until some of the bottles being thrown began heading in the direction of the police we were standing behind. Later in our stay, we were delighted to have Felipe Calderon, the President of Mexico, join us in Berlin, although, after snapping a few paparazzi shots, we made sure he had other plans as we had a busy schedule ourselves.

We then made our way by train to Cologne. Here we were able to get away from the crowds. We did find one person unexpectedly calling Bryce’s name while walking along the old cobbled streets. Realizing it was Bryce’s childhood friend, Kathryn, who lives nearby but was believed to be out of town, we enjoyed a couple hours with a tour guide before she needed to be on her way. A side note on Cologne: pretty sure it is the mullet capital of Europe.

After two days in Cologne we rented a car to have a bit more autonomy and spent two days along the Rhine and Mosel rivers on our way to Frankfurt. We stayed in Sankt Goar in a vacation apartment owned by people who made their own wine (which we sipped the first evening). Enjoying old German towns, tasting wines, and pointing out the many castles set above the steep, vertical vineyards, through the enormous sunroof of our Peugeot, we had a peaceful getaway along the picturesque rivers and valleys.

In Frankfurt, it was back to the crowds and adoring public, celebrating us with a May and Wine festival. We even had an additional 4 people join us in our room at the Hostel, although all at different parts of the night. We woke up early the next morning and hugged Camille goodbye, as the remaining three travelers set off for Portugal.

We were surprised to find that our flight had been cancelled upon arriving at the airport. This was not the treatment we were used to. After the ash that was in our way moved on, we caught the next flight and made it to Lisbon only a few hours late. We were able to have seats on the now-over-booked flight in part, I believe, because some other travelers insisted we be on ahead of them. I did not understand what was being said, but there was much yelling between this group and the flight staff. I think they were making it clear that we should travel before them and they were willing to give up there seats if necessary.

In Lisbon, we snuck in before the crowds realized we had arrived, but from our bus could see that they were all eagerly watching the TV in bars and restaurants. I am not too familiar with Portuguese customs, but from what I saw, wearing red shirts and scarves with Benfica printed on them must be a greeting and celebration tradition. And celebrate they did, waiting for us to finish dinner they drove around (possibly in loops around where we were) hanging out the car windows honking horns, waving their banners. Kids were kicking soccer balls in the streets; people were marching back and forth, chanting, singing, and blowing plastic horns. It was a joyful, if not rowdy celebration. We were fortunate to be staying in a fabulous hotel with double windows because the sounds went on through Sunday evening until after 2 am Monday Morning.

We transferred to the more “familiar” hostel for the following two nights. Spending the days wandering around the beautiful tiled city. We climbed hills, saw terrific views, tasted port wine, and got lost several times. On Monday we were able to catch the choir and soloist practicing for the massive celebration they had planned for us the next day. When Tuesday came, so did the crowds for one more commemoration of our visit. We could hear singing from everywhere, and even saw communion being given. Leading this honor was Papa Bento himself. Sure enough, the Pope travelled to Lisbon to make sure he could join us in our adventures. He even decided to have the Pope-mobile drive right under our Hostel window so he could get a good view of us.

We again arose early on Wednesday to avoid the masses, flew back to Frankfurt, said goodbye to our fellow journeyman, Vy, and took the train back home. So now we need to adjust back to reality. You know, a 4-day weekend before a long work week of Monday, Wednesday, Thursday. Luckily we have a 5-day weekend after that, then work Wednesday, Thursday and the following Monday before our contract is over. Then we begin our 4-week travels around Europe. Hopefully we will be able to avoid the publicity this time.

Did You Know?

We saw Mark and Judy Becker off to the train station yesterday morning to catch one of the last flights out of Germany before the ash clouds from Iceland closed down airports. Though they had a short one-week visit, we were impressed with how many activities we fit in. They arrived last Wednesday evening, and we spent Thursday reconnecting them with Wittekindshof and our small town, which they visited 5 years ago. Then Friday we had a brisk morning walk up to the bus stop, and caught the bus just on time to get to our train to Wittenberg. We spent Friday in Wittenberg, seeing the Luther sites and sprucing up our Luther trivia. Saturday we trained to Berlin and stayed there 4 days, with a side trip to Potsdam. Our touring included stops at the following: Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin Wall Documentation Center, East Side Gallery, Hackescher Markt and Hackescher Hoefe, memorial for the Nazi book burnings, Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, Alexanderplatz/TV Tower, Potsdamer Platz, The Caller, Brandenburg Gate, Holocaust Memorial, Unter den Linden, DDR Museum, Reichstag, Park Sanssouci, Neues Palais (and Uni Potsdam where I studied abroad in 2007), Schloss Sanssouci, Cecilienhof (site of the Potsdam Conference), the Dutch Quarters and Brandenburger Strasse. The trip was very educational, largely because of the historical significance of Berlin during the 20^th century. Judy enriched our trip further by reading Rick Steves and filling us in along the way. We found ourselves saying many times, “I didn’t know that…” We thought we’d share a random compilation of the facts that at least one of the four of us didn’t know, and maybe you’ll learn something, too!

Katharina von Bora, Luther’s wife, was an entrepreneur. She made wine and beer, invested in real estate, farmed and owned the most livestock of anyone in town.

Luther preferred wine to beer.

Indulgences were written in Latin with blank lines to fill in names; the townspeople who bought them couldn’t even read what this ticket to heaven said.

The ICE train will get up to at least 249 km/h.

The major immigrant group in Germany and especially Berlin is Turkish.

Many apartments in Berlin (including the one we stayed in) were constructed in the 30s by the Nazis for their workers. They stipulated that the buildings had to have a courtyard at least 50 meters wide to prevent firestorms (like what happened in Dresden) in the event of a bombing. They were obviously planning ahead. Today, however, this allows for a peaceful green space in the middle of the complex.

With 4 people, it is a bargain to purchase the small group day card for 16 euros for unlimited transportation on all public transit.

The Hackescher Hoefe off of Hackescher Markt are a set of connecting inner courtyards in the middle of the big city. These are the only courtyards open to the public and reveal the hidden life of the big city.

The Brandenburg Gate is the last of 14 gates around the city from the Prussian empire.

The lady atop the gate was originally called the Lady of Peace. Napoleon stole her, but the Prussians got her back after defeating him in 1813. She was then renamed Lady of Victory.

Hotel Adlon, near the gate, is where Michael Jackson dangled his baby out the window.

Before the wall was erected in 1961, 100,000 East Germans were fleeing to the West per year.

Some buildings were incorporated into the Berlin Wall, including apartment buildings. Some tried, with and without success, to flee to the West from their windows. One successful woman was 77 years old and jumped 3 stories into a fireman’s net.

Building the wall even included digging up old graves and relocating them because they were in the way. In the 80s they demolished a church to fortify the wall, as well. There’s got to be some symbolism in there…

The location of Hitler’s bunker has remained undisclosed in order to prevent it from becoming a mecca for Neo-Nazis.

The Holocaust Memorial is made of anti-graffiti material and sits atop Goebbel’s bunker, which was discovered during its construction.

1 in 6 Germans in the former East have a Dacha (garden home) today; only 1 in 16 Germans in the former West do.

Something about nude beaches…Mark’s still not sure because he was embarrassed to stand in front of the naked picture display.

East German farmers earned almost as much money as engineers.

In the DDR, kindergartners had to take group potty breaks, and no one could leave until the last kid was finished. (Talk about peer pressure! I would have been so pee shy!)

There was an Easter German car called the Wartburg, which had a 2-stroke engine.

The TV Tower at Alexanderplatz was originally built to be the tallest building and also to represent the secular culture of the city because most other structures in the skyline were church bell towers/steeples. Ironically, when the sun hit at the right angle, it cast a cross-shaped shadow.

The Reichstag will hold your utility knife for you while you venture to the top of the dome, They aren’t, however, eager to give it back until you are certain you are walking through the exit doors.

The best way to get Mark high places? Don’t be very clear about what exactly you are doing. Get him to the top of the glass dome overlooking the city before he realizes it’s more than a mere trip inside the government building.

The German parliament elects the Chancellor; the people elect the parliament.

Hitler never stepped foot into the Reichstag.

Perhaps because of recent rebuilding after war damages, the city has been able to incorporate a lot of energy-saving construction. For example, the glass dome atop the government building is open air, which allows cool air to circulate and allows hot air to escape the chambers below. It also has a series of mirrors with a shade that rotates throughout the day to reflect the sun for natural lighting below.

Hiroshima happened after WWII was over in Europe.

The Berlin Wall stretched all the way into Potsdam and crossed in front of Cecilienhof.

Of the original Big Three, only Stalin attended all of the conferences deciding the fate of post-war Germany; Churchill was defeated in the election and Roosevelt died.

Stalin was considered the host of the Potsdam Conference because Potsdam was in the East. He had red geraniums planted in a star shape in the front, which is still carried out today.

And finally, there is good reason that we get completely mixed up about which Friedrich or Wilhelm or Friedrich Wilhelm did what and lived where. Here’s a little timeline of the Prussian rulers:

o 1640 – 1688 Friedrich Wilhelm

o 1688 – 1713 Friedrich III, renamed King Friedrich I

o 1713 – 1740 Friedrich Wilhelm I

o 1740 – 1786 Friedrich II

o 1786 – 1797 Friedrich Wilhelm II

o 1797 – 1840 Friedrich Wilhelm III

o 1840 – 1861 Friedrich Wilhelm IV

o 1861 – 1888 Wilhelm I

o 1888 Friedrich III

o 1888 – 1918 Wilhelm II

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Ah. There we go. So my mom arrived two weeks ago and as soon as she was rested up, we headed for Ireland. We started off in Dublin, where we enjoyed a couple Guinnesses, listened to much live music, and watched traditional Irish dancing. We visited many of the highlights, including the Guinness Storehouse. The self-guided tour was crazy informative and a great mix of visual, audio and olfactory stimulation. We learned the secrets of a perfect pour, which we’re guessing is why it tastes different in the US, then enjoyed a complimentary pint at the top of their tower while overlooking the city. The other major highlight was the writers’ museum, which sent us off yearning to read so many classics. None of us realized how many major authors hailed from Dublin and Ireland: Yeats, Shaw, Beckett, Wilde, Swift, Joyce, the list goes on.

After two days in the capital, we picked up our rental car and the true adventure began. As someone who gets motion sick ridiculously often, there’s nothing like being the passenger on the left side of the car while driving on the opposite side of a narrow windy road lined with rock walls to really throw off your perception and inner ear…but my stomach made it through. I did find that in times of mounting motion sickness, I was all the more likely to become my mother and grab for the glove box or my door or seat or whatever was in reach. You know, the logical response to perceived danger.

We headed towards Galway, and stayed in the small town of Spiddal, chosen for the glorious bed-and-breakfast we’d booked there. We stayed in a thatched cottage (Cloch na Scith, if anyone happens to go to Ireland) run by an Irish family. The husband was born at the cottage, as well and his father and grandfather. The woman was a joyful do-it-yourselfer who gave us a soda bread baking demonstration and was proud to have Gaelic as her mother tongue. (The Galway area is definitely a good place for linguists.) We spent both days driving around the area, taking in the scenery, which consisted of many rock walls that stretched far into the distance, many sheep walking in the middle of the road, and many thatched cottages. Each night we enjoyed bread, cheese and wine next to the turf fire. Our first full day there, we stopped at a local craft fair, then drove up to Connemara and explored the area. The next day we left for the Cliffs of Moher, passing through The Burren along the way. The Cliffs were impressive, especially in the massive rainstorm we were caught in. When we bundled into the car again, we stripped down our layers and laid them across the hatch to dry as we started the journey back to Dublin. We stopped only to grab a late lunch at a hole-in-the-wall café with quirky mismatched lampshades that were really pieces of art.

It was a great trip, better than we had expected, and we wished it could have been longer. The people were incredibly nice (…plus their awesome accents helped), the sights were gorgeous, and our ears and tastebuds were pleased, too. Every bit of it was stimulating. Plus, we’re thinking it was good prep for the city of the Celtics, Boston. Next year Dan will be at Boston College’s Graduate School of Social Work for his Masters of Social Work, and I will be at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Education for my Masters through the Language and Literacy Program. We’re both excited, but I think Dan’s mostly looking forward to being closer to Kevin Garnett.

On This Day...

Will we remember Sunday March 21, 2010 as the historic day that it was? After years of debate and contemplation, our leaders finally stepped up. They did what was right and what needed to happen. They gave us a chance, leveled the playing field so not only the wealthy are the winners. It’s a case of the have-nots being treated like the haves. And we deserve it.

No longer will we have to wonder from year to year, month to month, whether we will be supported or left without a backstop.

Both sides of the aisle could have been unhappy or too stubborn, and each side needed to make concessions. But with the goal in mind, they did what was necessary.

Those in charge stepped up and would not quit until the deal was done. They made clear that we are indeed heading in a specific and intentional direction. I will be anxious to see what the next step is, and what challenges will be tackled. It leaves me with a joyful feeling, and looking forward to seeing possibly eight fruitful years.

There is much work yet to be done, but yesterday’s deal lays the groundwork. Granted it was not cheap. There is a lot of money invested in this. And it is not without its risks. But it was the right time and the right people to make this historic event happen.

Tonight we can rest easy. The little guy won a battle against giants. Joe Mauer is a Twin for the next 9 seasons. Now, for the team’s sake, let’s hope that he stays healthy; I hear he’s covered at any rate.

"Did that say what I think it said?"

When our plans to live in Germany were coming to fruition, one aspect of our stay was in the back of our minds and tantalizing our taste buds. This, of course, was the opportunity to eat Haribo Gummi Bears regularly. Haribo comes in six flavors in Deutschland: strawberry, apple, lemon, orange, pineapple, and raspberry. All of these are delicious. I enjoy the rainbow method of jamming multiple flavors into my mouth all at once. Although Haribo can be purchased in the States, the US version is made in Hungary. The original German version of this fruity treat is bouncier, gummier and simply better. It is my thought that the difference may be between the use of corn syrup in the US versus sugar in Germany, but I am not certain.

Recently, when looking to replenish my supply of these favorite snacks, I was horrified to find that although they were 10 euro-cents cheaper, the container held only 200 grams. This was 100 grams less than the 300 that had been offered previously. I refused to purchase this on principle, hoping to find the larger package in another location. I suppose it is another reminder of the capitalism that is spread across the world, not necessarily only in America.

Not everything, however, matches up perfectly when spreading ideas back and forth across the Atlantic. This is especially the case when English words or phrases are used. For instance one marquee we observed advertised eating at the restaurant to experience “The Spirit of Currywurst.” It is unclear what this entails, but it must be some magical sausage. Another is this photo of a tattoo parlor on the way to downtown Bad Oeynhausen.



Now, I have heard stereotypes that this may apply to Europeans in general, but have not found it to be accurate. I have not gone into the tattoo parlor, however.

Other types of phrases or pictures would not be seen in the US due to insensitivity. Is America too sensitive? I don’t know, I am used to the US’s standards and see the benefits of this sensitivity. I doubt, for instance, that there would be an establishment with this name.



I also doubt that this billboard, found in several train stations, would last long without complaints from several people. (This is an ad for a parenting edition of a magazine, with the girl saying "What now, dear parents!")



In the end, I will continue my search for Gummis in the original size. I did consider writing the company to complain and let them know that I was on to them, but I doubt that the company would offer me respite from my search. Instead I figure their response would look something like this.

Loving the Least

Though our new placements at the workshops have started, and they fit us well so far, I find myself still processing my experiences with the residence group. One of my favorite characters in Gruppe 4 was simultaneously obvious and shocking. Heinrich is an 87-year-old man. He has a tall but frail frame. His skin, once taught around muscle, sags in countless wrinkles all over his body. Some days he sports a sharp argyle sweater and classic hat, others one worn-out black glove. He slowly makes his way up and down the hallway choosing specific points to stop. He squats down to the ground and pulls his knees into his chest, then bows his head down to rest. A favorite place is just in front of the heater in one of the bathrooms. He is a quiet man, who speaks in muffled strings of incomprehensible words. He spends his days inside the complex depths of his mind, the mind of a schizophrenic. His schizophrenia is a special diagnosis, a result of war*. Heinrich was a Nazi - a sniper, to be exact.

I figured when we moved here that we’d make friends whose grandparents were Nazis or who knew a former Nazi at the least. The Nazis had a way of convincing ordinary people to come over to their side, after all. I did not consider that I might work with one directly. I was taken aback when my coworkers told me. I figured I would want to keep my interactions with him brief, that he would not be a spirit I’d like to be around and that I’d just stick to my job with him, but that plan didn’t work.

As I grew more comfortable around him, I found myself thinking about the beauty of our situation and the fortune time had allowed us. If we’d met not 60 years ago, Heinrich and I could not have graced the same room with assurance. My dad’s family was Jewish; I would have been in hiding. Only two generations later, I was blessed with the opportunity to choose compassion and to coexist with a person I would otherwise demonize.

I suppose his resulting disability made the choice of compassion a little easier. If he were fully cognizant, if we could debate politics and viewpoints, I can’t begin to pretend I would have been courageous. I also didn’t speak the word “Jewish” to him; I didn’t really feel it was necessary to throw that in the mix for him and felt that it would somehow cheapen my own process of finding love. His story attested to the power of reconciliatory love. Before his time as a sniper, Heinrich was a top student who spoke multiple languages and wrote many short stories. His disabilities arose purely from his time as a Nazi, and he moved to Wittekindshof in 1947 at the age of 24. His life in the community is, of course, ironic. Nazis sought to rid the population not only of Jews, but also of many other minority groups, including people with disabilities, as they were considered unable to contribute to society. Yet, their horrid exploitations and acts created the very people they loathed. Today, an ex-Nazi lives in a community once in danger of extermination, and he is cared for unconditionally. That is a healing and powerful love.

It’s a love I knew I had to be a part of to fully embrace my time in the group. One coworker, an older Russian German, gifted me with a book from the 50s. She said it was one of the first that she read when moving here and that she found the language level sufficiently challenging while not overwhelming. She also thought the subject matter would help – it’s about Lewis and Clark and Sacajawea, so she figured I would know the basic story. Well, I decided to start bringing the book to work with me and began asking Heinrich if he would like to hear a story. It was rumored that he enjoyed stories, but I hadn’t seen anyone actually sit down with him to read.

Each day, he seemed more excited to hear the story, until it almost seemed a given part of his day. After finishing in the kitchen or distributing laundry, I’d retrieve my book and find Heinrich squatting against the wall. He’d look up, touch the book, nod solemnly and stand to walk down to our regular seats on the couch. (This walk sometimes lasted as long as the reading itself, as he reached out with his shaking hand to touch every surface, high and low, along the way.) Reading to him became a favorite part of my day, my chance to share and connect with a man instead of alienating him and myself. The reading itself was a simple way to pass the time together, but he gifted me with patience as I occasionally corrected my pronunciation or hopped up to help another resident.

Of course, the subject matter may not have been his favorite – a co-worker once teased Heinrich by telling him I was an American. A fierce scowl spread over his face. Then he burst out laughing and patted my head. In times of clarity, he graced me with a sharp sense of humor. At his cloudiest moments, his gentle touch persisted. He seemed to remain in the world around him through his sense of touch, reaching out to feel all surfaces, all people. I could not approach Heinrich without his hand immediately reaching out to my arm, then face or ear or hair, touching first with his padded fingertips, then flipping his hand over to feel with the backside. His urge to feel things** controlled him, consumed his day, but his touch was one of ironic gentleness.

It was a strange reality to watch this man, once part of a terrifying and powerful regime, live one day to the next in such a fragile state. There’s the prospect of a “serves-him-right” attitude to find in all of this, but I think it’s not so much a stoic karma that I met in Heinrich (though I do believe in karma, in general). I think it was more a lesson in unconditional love. A Nazi taught me about love. Now that’s a crazy sentence.

*It is considered a condition unique from PTSD. In German, it is termed as a type of schizophrenia. I could not find the equivalent diagnosis in English.

**feel things literally, though there’s irony in this, too, that this literal urge arose after being so strongly forced not to feel emotionally.

A Day at the Museum

Along with the photos we took (see our new slideshow to the left, which links to our Picasa albums) we also took a few videos on our trip. Here are a couple videos we recorded while enjoying the Einbeck City Museum. Visiting the museum at 11 on a Tuesday morning meant that we pretty much had the whole place to ourselves, although we did come across an elderly couple…

Half and Half

With March beginning, we are just about at the midpoint of our stay in Germany. Many things are changing at this time. First, we have completed our graduate school applications and are eagerly awaiting responses to see where we will be for the next two years or so, and where we will be moving our scattered belongings, currently located from the Northwest to Southwest corners and out to the middle of the country, with no less than 400 miles between the closest storage point and school option.

We have also wrapped up our first of two three-month job contracts. Having spent November through February in residences, we are beginning our new experiences at structured workshops. This has several differences, many of which are benefits. During the winter we had exactly 2 shifts that we shared. We occasionally worked on the same day, but opposite shifts. Often, we worked on days that the other had off, which included Bryce working on weekends. This made plans with new friends difficult, and also placed us on separate circadian feelings (as in one being wide awake and energetic when the other was tired and calm). It did, however, allow time to complete a total of 12 graduate school applications, complete our taxes, read, practice harmonica, begin learning/polishing our German language, etc. Having half-time jobs in a small town during the cold and dark days of “the worst winter we have had here in 30 years,” provided ample time.

As the season begins to change, our shifting job means that we will have a shift with only day hours (8:30-3:30), we will have consistent work days (Mon, Wed, Thur) and, most importantly, we will have matching schedules. This will allow us to walk or bike to work together as well as share three-day weekends. These weekends will allow for short travels, as well as plans for longer ones when we take time off.

We are looking forward to using this accrued time, (15 days for half time/half year positions! America could learn a thing or two.) This will include three different periods of visitors. Any others interested? We are planning our jaunt around Europe for June.

In summary, the first three months included getting settled, grad school planning, starting/remastering German, meeting people and enjoying “getting/living away.” I would proclaim our trip a complete success if the next three include getting a hold of the language/polishing it to satisfaction, solidifying our new friendships, and traveling.

Separating these two phases, we began our travel by taking a week off between our two work contracts. We trained to three cities in Germany, Einbeck, Kassel and Duesseldorf. Because a blog about an entire week runs the risk of getting quite wordy, Bryce decided to recap our adventures with a list of some of the happenings. I do want to say, however, that being in Duesseldorf reminded me of the joys of living in a city where there are many places to go – and walkably so – and all in the midst of large crowds, and many languages and cultures. We saw large buildings, shady areas, and beautiful architecture and parks. I also observed friends who have been around each other for two years or so. They are comfortable and enjoy hanging out without a plan. They expect to do something for the weekend and be with each other. Basically it made me miss all of you…except Bjorn - not there yet.

And now for Bryce’s recap of our previous week:

Einbeck:
Toured the Einbecker Brauerei.
Drank good beer - Bock beer originates from here!
Admired the many timber-framed houses and imagined my life there as a flower shop owner on a cobbled street.
Appreciated the bike tube dispenser on the side of a building (like the cigarette dispensers often found here).
Went to a sweet town museum, which included a big permanent bike exhibit.
Walked along the old town fortifications.
Concluded that Einbeck is a perfect small German town well worth the visit.

Kassel:
Yanked on the doors of the Brothers Grimm museum, hoping the renovation signs were a lie.
Made fun of ourselves for choosing a city based on one museum and not checking to see if it would be open when we were in town.
Visited the exhibit from the Brothers Grimm museum at the train station, but it didn’t include any of their linguistic work.
Ate hummus (not available in German grocery stores) both nights at a super cheap and delicious Lebanese falafel restaurant.
Took a really really long walk to Wilhelmshoehe, the royal gardens of Elector Wilhelm. It was worth it.
Walked around a castle in the gardens.
Imagined how pretty the gardens are in the summer, as we looked at massive stretches of ice and frozen waterfalls.
Concluded that aside from Wilhelmshoehe, it’s pretty ugly for a European city. There are many cities with awesome parks plus more to offer.

Duesseldorf:
Stayed with Kathryn, a childhood friend who lives there. Awesome to see her.
Caught up with her after 7 years apart/met her.
Met her French boyfriend, and two of their good friends from Spain.
Talked about how very international our group was, all of us foreigners hanging out in Germany.
Ate Raclette.
Drank ginger hot chocolate and chili hot chocolate.
Walked a lot and saw the first shoots of spring popping from the ground as we passed through Volksgarten and Hofgarten.
Drank Altbier in the Altstadt.
Went to the top of the radio tour to get a good view.
Walked in various areas, like the Koenigsallee, which is famous for its fashion.
Saw a woman in a fur coat complete with paws dangling down her back and heads on her shoulders.
Stared at woman in fur coat.
Watched others stare at woman in fur coat.
Saw the Rhine River rise ridiculously high and wondered why it was rushing so violently.
Took the train home, and did arrive home after being rerouted and standing still for long chunks of time on the tracks.
Got home and turned on the TV to see that we were experiencing the eye of the hurricane.
Understood the Rhine.
Concluded that good times with good people make a great city all the greater.

The Joy of My Failures

As Bryce has been finding comfort in the commonality and humanity of our “incomplete” condition, I have been searching for joy in my failures. I hate to fail. I see it as a reflection of my character and myself. I respect the wisdom of Lincoln in that it is better to remain quiet and thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. It is part of my quiet nature, maybe not a primary piece but affects the opportunities in which I choose to exert myself. With time and maturity, this has waned some, but it remains part of me. Now, I better be careful or this could turn into one of my Dad’s sermons on grace, and if that is your frame of thinking it would certainly be relevant, but as I learn a new language and struggle in an entry level position searching for this joy is an integral part of my day and time here.

As I’ve learned more and more German, I haven’t been amazed about the struggles that have followed as much as amazed that I was ever able to learn English. As the old adage says, the more I know, the more I realize what I do not know. At work I have gotten into a somewhat comfortable communicative rhythm with my coworkers. The base of our communication is in English, with some it is the only language used. This is easy, and hard to avoid, but I am left questioning my choices. If I coast through and learn little German, I would be disappointed. The days that I come back from work feeling good are the shifts that I work with people who speak less English. I am forced to put the little knowledge that I have to use. What escapes is severely broken and incomplete, but enjoyable. I am grateful for the patience and understanding of my coworkers, and trust that they see me as competent, even if I am not in their language.

Competence in my tasks at work is another struggle and failure I have to work at consistently to stay positive. The list of tasks I cannot due is long. I cannot answer the phone, I cannot do things on my own very often, I cannot help a resident if they need to communicate something I do not understand (most often I seek a coworkers aid to reveal something like “he was just showing you what he will use for his teeth later tonight”), I cannot chart any notes, I cannot do inventory of food when delivered, I cannot distribute medication, and I cannot hold extended and meaningful conversations with residents and coworkers. These are some of the simple duties that I am unable to perform, out of which I hope grow no resentments from coworkers. The procedures that I have been taught and learned have taken considerable time. Not only are there new cultural styles to adapt to, but also being taught in a simpler or incomplete English style. Added to this an apparent scolding by the boss to the staff to pick up their slacking duties and the lack of understanding can become overwhelming. Necessary are daily reminders of big pictures, what would I do for myself in my morning routine, or to clean up for the day and apply these to the residents (feel free to insert your “well Dan your cleanliness is substandard” jokes here).

There is a list, equally long and some would say more important, that I am able to accomplish. And great joy comes from these and the, accumulating, successful interactions with residents. But each day brings constant reminders of the gap that was not visible when I lived in an area where my communicative ability was standard.

Finding the joy in these experiences can be easier in some instances than others. I was asked to bring one commonly opinionated resident to the local grocery store recently. She would normally walk on her own, but due to the snow I was asked to bring her in a wheelchair. I was instructed that she knew what she wanted and had the money necessary. Our previous interactions were congenial although it usually ended with the only thing I understood being her saying “You don’t understand do you?” While going through the market we picked up some apples, she asked me to weigh them in order to print the label necessary to pay. She grew a little frustrated as I tried to ask what code to use for the apples, as I did not see one. A store employee eventually bailed us out. Following the produce I spent considerable time pushing her through the isles in the chair with her repeating various patterns of “Nein, hier, da, and zuruck (back).” The looks on the store workers faces implied that they were enjoying themselves. And in honesty so was I. Eventually, she gave up on me and got out of the wheelchair to retrieve her own items, but was grateful to me for bringing her and helping her as best I could.

As much as I know the importance of this process, it is something I continue to need to push myself to do. Some days, it is nice to speak English. The number of conversations I have started is minimal. Speaking in groups of 3, 4, or 5 gets increasingly intimidating. But it is something that I will regret if I do not do.

Jamming

Yo.

Our Saturday

Although not the most exciting of videos and pictures, we figured out how to upload things to our blog. Here is a look into our day, spent going for a walk, reading ravenously and enjoying nutella...also ravenously.

We also fixed our settings so that all can post comments without needing to sign up or sign in. So feel free to comment away, even on older posts.

The Comfort of my Weakness

Working in care professions puts the world in oxymoron. I work to improve the lives of others, and in this see not so much their weaknesses but my own. Each day is a lesson in humility, a reminder of my inabilities, but in this I find comfort.

I was reminded of this powerful lesson on Thursday as I waited with one resident to go to an appointment. As my coworker retrieved the car, I sat with Sabine on the couch. She removed her beanie and began yanking out clumps of hair, quietly repeating phrases. Sabine is typically very quiet, a woman who has the ability to calm you just by sitting in her presence. As groupmates yell and raise ruckus, she sits still, looks at you with her dome eyes and whispers something more to herself than anyone. She looks like she has deep thoughts revolving in her head, like she holds a valuable life lesson within. So to see her pulling her hair out was more jarring than if it’d been another resident.

I know people, dear loved ones, who have struggled with the same symptom. It is not something I judge or look at with perplexed eyes, but something I empathize with. It was different, though, to witness her self-abuse. People with developmental disabilities often carry the gift of honesty. Many never formed the social inhibitions that cause us to hide our flaws or emotions at all costs. It is a quality I have grown to admire in my work with people with disabilities because I think most of us could use a lesson in the value of true honesty, not about lying but about letting ourselves and our emotions truly be known. Sabine did not hide her anxiety from me, but let it exist as a fact of her current state.

Though I knew it came from somewhere deep, I tried to talk to her, to ask her to stop and tell me what she was thinking about. It wasn’t that I expected it to work, but that I didn’t feel that I could just sit there quietly letting it happen. I had no power in the situation, no control, no logical way to help. I could only be with her, and that is what I did. I reached out my hands and laid them gently on her scalp, then listened and whispered words of comfort.

Perhaps I did not help her through her day or her anxiety, but she helped me, with her raw emotional honesty, through mine. I had no power in the situation; I was as meek as she. But my power came in acknowledging this and simply being present. She reminded me what we are called to do, that we are called to be with one another and walk together. It doesn’t mean that we can always help the way we want to, but that being aware of our common humanity, we can live in communion. In this, I find comfort.

Love, Bryce

No Good Deed...

Upon fixing our washer/dryer, our landlord invited us over for coffee with him and his wife. After a few unsuccessful date proposals, we made our way over for a pleasant Saturday evening of wine, cookies and pretzel sticks. It was an enjoyable conversation, at least the 60% that I understood (all of the 50% in English and about 10% of the German). We discussed the adventures of their two children living abroad and future and current work; our plans for graduate school after Germany; translating what he went to school for and deciding that Heilpedagogie was like a combined study of social services specifically for people with disabilities and disabilities rights; the enjoyment they get from their terrier, even bringing her on the marathon trainings that Norbert runs; the use of the farmland near us; and other typical congenial conversational topics. We were especially pleased to find out that it was Norbert listening to the Maroon 5 that we overheard two days before Christmas and not their twenty-year-old daughter. Before we left into the continuously falling and piling snow, they even offered to bring the newspaper over after they were finished with it each day.

The following day we helped our “host” family, (who included us in their Christmas celebrations), by shoveling their driveway. They were in Berlin for the week and a lot of snow had collected in their absence. After Bryce’s shift ended in the afternoon, I met her there to heave the 8 inches off of their long, crooked driveway and parking space. She borrowed a neighbor’s shovel, while I presumed it was okay to bring our landlord’s; he had finished shoveling his drive and our walk, and had left the shovel out. On our way back from shoveling, we noticed that a piece of metal that straddled the end of the shovel had bent back. There was also snow and ice jammed between the blade and the metal strip on the reverse side. We weren’t sure if this had been the case before we borrowed the tool, or if we inflicted the damage. In order to try to repair the shovel, we needed the snow wedged in it to melt first. We brought it inside the entryway to thaw, and planned to do our best to repair it before warning the landlord of the damage.

Shortly after dinner, the doorbell rang. We had forgotten about the newspaper. I greeted a smiling Norbert at the door and thanked him for the paper. As I was closing the door he glanced down, and noticing the shovel lying on our floor, said “Ist das mein Scheiber?” I apologized and stumbled through some awkward explanation about having used it (although it was abundantly clear that the only shoveling around our area was completed by him) and that there had been snow stuck in it (which had since melted completely), throwing in other comments that he probably wasn’t paying attention to. He said he would take the shovel and that it was okay. He then went on his way, after I handed him the couple of broken pieces lying on our floor that had once fastened the metal to the blade. (Maybe I should have offered him my umbrella.) The newspaper has since been delivered each day as promised, and the only shovel to appear has been a newer one resting on the opposite side of the garage.