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.