Give and take and give back: German children's book edition

In an ideal world, I would be more graceful. The tactful kind of graceful. I would always say the right things, say them softly, etc. I live in the real world though, and in that real world I can be sort of sarcastic. I always mean that sarcasm in the best possible way, and only use with those I'm close to - those who I think know that love and respect underlie the caustic humor.

Oliver is my main target. Forgive me Lord; I mock him mercilessly. I can't help it - he just gives me so much fodder! I admire the fact that he speaks every day in a language that is not his own. I respect him so much for that... think it takes such brain power... but man he says the funniest things. Some of my favorites:

*Occasional references to former presidential candidate "Mike Huckleberry"
*Concern that a small wound would leave a "scarf"
*Heartfelt insistence that, were he an artist, I would be his "moose"
*Confusion between beloved '80s sitcom and "White Christmas" crooner = "The Crosby Show"

What goes around comes around though, and he's having the time of his life with the sad little German sentences that dribble out of my mouth. He points and laughs at the children's books I bring home and struggle to read. It's all good. I best be taking it, after all the dishing out I've done. And honestly, it is funny.

So yes, I am reading books with two sentences per page. And it's hard! The books are really cute though, so I don't mind the struggle. And I'm no expert in German children's books, but I've noticed a few things in them that are, um, a little different. Coincidence? Culture? Let me know what you think.

Here, for example, is an image from a really sweet story about a boy, his grandpa, and the grandpa's guardian angel. In this picture the boy is visiting his grandpa at the hospital :

Do you see anything different in this picture? Something you don't remember seeing in your own childhood books?

 

...Like a pisspot? And it apparently wasn't enough just to draw the pisspot. No, the pisspot had to be full of urine. Because... um, because... um, you know, I actually have no idea why. I'm so confused.

 

Then there's this image. This is from an adorable story about a cowboy who is afraid to ride horses. Here you see the cowboy falling out of the hole in his wall (long story) onto the back of a horse. This is sort of a central, crucial page in the book. Again, notice anything that sort of surprises you?

...Like a naked woman? With carpet that doesn't match the drapes, if you know what I mean? I'm no prude. If I were reading this book to my child I like to think that I wouldn't even cover the picture up. Nudity. Nothing wrong with that. It's just... really? Is that level of realism really necessary here? "Yes sweetie, cowboys like to look at pictures of naked ladies. Just because, that's why."

In the end, I've got a healthy amount of respect for a culture that adds these sorts of details to its children's books. When I showed the pictures to Oliver (snickering like a child), his response was along the lines of "well, of course. My grandparents had one of those pots under their bed. Why wouldn't you put one in the book?" Children are going to live in the real world someday; why gloss over these sorts of things now?

So Germany, I love you and respect you. That's why I hope you don't mind if I tease you mercilessly about things like this.

A Factual, Totally Unbiased Report on Germany

All right, so of course I didn't do the sort of writing I imagined I would while in Germany. It's nice to have goals though, right? Even if you don't reach them, you still... um... set them for yourself?

Germany was wonderful. Wonderful! Two weeks spent in appreciation of beauty on both a small and grand scale. Tearing my eyes away, occasionally, from Alpine vistas and historic cobblestone streets, I couldn't help but think, over and over again as different examples presented themselves to me, that I had found a new... home? Is that the word to use here? Too strong?

**All right, stop please! Stop right here for just a second. Before I continue, I want you to understand that I am NOT the girl who spends her vacation in Europe then comes home to say "I'm so much more European than American. Absolutely. I belong in Europe. Or as we like to say it in Deutschland -yes Deutschland, not Germany- Europa." I swear to you that I am not that girl. I am an American through and through, and love my homeland for all its beauty, possibilities, contradictions, flaws, etc. That being said...**

Oh, it was lovely! And so many of its details fit exactly with my own personal way of doing things; it was uncanny. There were silly little things like Apfelschorle, a drink made of half juice, half sparkling water (I do that all the time! I never drink juice straight - I always dilute it!), and Ballisto, which is like a Twix bar, but all cookie and no caramel (the cookie is my favorite part of the Twix bar!).

Beyond snacks, there was something about Germany that appealed to me on a much deeper level. The climate fit me perfectly, for one thing. Summers aren't so (painfully, horridly) hot, and a cool breeze made me reach for a sweater every night. I slept with a window open and reveled in the cold, clean air that slowly filled the room. For breakfast, Oliver and I went to an open air market for bread, meat and strawberries. Good food too - the strawberries were red all the way through, delicious, and a far cry from the sad little moldberries I sometimes bring home from Pathmark. You can go to an open air market in New York too, but it's so different. Farmers' markets have this edge to them: "we're environmental. This food is locally grown. you're supporting a small business. This is all great of course, but there was something about doing the same thing without the ideology and fanfare... it was nice. Apparently these markets are all over Germany. People bring their baskets, fill them up with reasonably-priced food, go home and eat/cook. End of story.

Additionally, there seemed to be very little ideology and fanfare in the biking and walking people did to get to the market. Or to work, or to the bar to meet with friends. I think this was my favorite part of Germany. Cars don't absolutely rule the road, and bikes are everywhere. I would saw off a limb (someone else's, not one of mine) to live in a city full of bike paths! Oliver and I tried biking in the heart of Manhattan once... let's just say it wasn't a success. In Germany, the bikers and walkers (and hikers in Bavaria) were everywhere. Exercise, something I've always had to struggle to fit into the day, came about so easily and naturally. I couldn't help but think, over and over as I saw fit Germans all around me, this is how it's supposed to be.

One final "this is how it should be": we visited Koenigsee, an unbelievably beautiful lake in Bavaria. It's a huge tourist draw, with towering mountains above and crystal clear water plunging up to 600 feet below. The tourist boats that skim the surface at all hours of the day: electric. They've been electric since 1909. Koenigsee's water is a sparkling emerald color or a deep blue, depending on your view. It's also drinking quality. I've got a little soft spot in my heart for the German people, I have to say. They looked at their lake, a lake that apparently symbolizes their nation, and they decided to keep it clean. And that's that.

A bit more to come...

Robble Robble Deprivation

So Oliver and I tend to roll along from day to day, doing our normal everyday things. Enough of these regular days pass and I start to believe that we're remarkably similar people. I start to take things for granted, start to assume that he knows all the things that I know. Then one night I sit down to dinner with him and talk about the Hammurderer.

A: Yeah, a few years back The Onion did a piece on McDonalds' new McDonaldland characters. One was named the Hammurderer, and his catchphrase was "stabble stabble stabble".

Waits for laughter

A: You know, like the Hamburglar? Robble robble cheesburger?

O: blank stare

A: And they did a spoof on Grimace? They called it the Grapist? 'Cause Grimace is purple?... trails off

O: blank stare

A: Who are you?

Wow. Talk about a shock. I mean, who doesn't know the McDonaldland characters? (answer: Oliver) I guess I always assumed that when McDonalds took over the world, the Fry Guys came along for the ride. I guess they never made it to Germany. It's a shame, really. What sort of childhood do you have if you never get the chance to toss aside your happy meal wrappers and run around inside a giant metal Mayor McCheese?


Other things Oliver has no prior knowledge of:

He did however, know all about this guy:

Zing!

The Early Days of our Canadian Experience

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of the day Oliver and I first came to Canada. I don't think I've ever really told anyone the story beyond a quick sentence or two... but it's actually really interesting. And I feel like writing today, so I'm going to share it.

Before we left China, and after we had decided that we were going to stay together, Oliver and I had to figure out where we were going to live next. It had to be an English-speaking country, since I wanted to go somewhere I could get a "real" job (no bartending at a beachside dive in Mexico, for example). America was out, since green cards are hard to come by, and London was out too, since it would be difficult for me to get an EU work permit. We eventually decided that Canada was our best bet, since work permits were "easy" to get, and I was staying close enough to my parents to keep them from the grisly fate of death-by-worrying.

We flew from Milwaukee to Toronto on November 29, 2005 (picture of us waiting at the Milwaukee airport above left). When we got to customs at the airport in Toronto, we knew enough to keep quiet about our plans to look for jobs, since border officials really frown on the sort of guerilla immigration that we were attempting. Unfortunately, we hadn't put together a plausible story, and the border guards were incredibly suspicious. Rightfully so, really. We said we wanted to travel around Canada for the six coldest, darkest months of the year, and we couldn't name a single place we wanted to go other than Toronto. Riiiiight.

The experience/interrogation at the border really shook me up, and added to the already powerful fear that was building up within me. We didn't know a soul in Canada. We didn't have any leads for anything beyond a good hostel to stay at for our first night. There was no guarantee that I could get a work permit (as a German, Oliver qualified for a special program), which meant that I couldn't work anywhere, not even McDonald's, unless someone agreed to sponsor me. And sponsorship, as I later learned, is not easy to come by. That's a story for a different day, though.

Waking up my first morning in Toronto, I was overwhelmed. As much as I kind of hate to admit this, I spent most of that day sniffling as I walked with Oliver around town, looking for internet cafes and other logistical spots. I felt like everyone I passed on the street was glaring at me: "get out of here, dirty foreigner. Quit taking our jobs." Having just come off seven months in China where I either earned subsistence wages or didn't work at all, I had a limited amount in the bank to work with and wanted to find a job as quickly as possible. Being a foreigner in Canada though, I had a red-tape barrier that I didn't know how to get around.

We spent our first two days looking for housing. Toronto is teeming with new immigrants, and there's an extensive network of "guest houses". Guest houses are a step above a hostel, because even though you share a bathroom, kitchen and living room with a small group of strangers, you have your own bedroom. You can pay by the day, week, or month. Unfortunately, almost all these guest houses are located out in the suburbs. We spent a lot of time on the subway and buses that connected from the subway and seemed to go out further and further... We sucked it up though, and eventually found a good, affordable place and quickly moved our suitcases and backpacks in.

I can't adequately describe how good it felt to have a home base. We were still cold, jobless, friendless and unsure of what to do next, but we had a room of our own to feel the uncertainty in private. On day three I sent out a resume while the snow fell outside our window... and I went so far as to feel cozy. Three days after this, our landlordess bumped us up to her other property, and this time we even had a tv in our room. We lived on the 8th floor of a giant, boxy building and overlooked the parking lot for the commuter train into the city. This was my first experience with joblessness, and every day I watched the commuters run to catch the train to work.

After we got settled, we fell into a pattern for the next couple months: send out resumes, read, go to interviews, hoard money. That last one was mostly me. I had $x to my name, and I was going to keep track of every cent because there was no way I was going broke. We bought macaroni and cheese, large bags of potatoes, and the materials to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We stood and argued in the housewares aisle of Wal-Mart for 10 minutes because Oliver wanted to buy a $4 teapot and I thought he was being too extravagant. I obsessively tracked my expenses and patted myself on the back each time I managed to make it through the day without spending any money. I still have that Excel sheet. A couple examples:

January 20th:
$.95- mailed Grandma's card
$.67 - chocolate
$3.47 - milk

January 24th:
$3.00 - breakfast
$4.25 - Mississauga bus fare
$.76 - snack
$23.50 - groceries

Things eventually worked themselves out, of course. I won't pretend that this was a real hardship, or that I can understand what poverty or real uncertainty feels like. I will say though, that it was something that changed me a bit, and that I'm glad to have in my "stable" of experiences. I feel proud of myself for doing something that really frightened me, and awed by Oliver because it didn't phase him a bit. And even though I know it's a really cheesy thing to say I can't help myself so here it comes: Gol, isn't life amazing?

Approximately One Year - Another Anniversary

Below is a snippet of a conversation I've had about a hundred times in the last year:

Person: So you're not Canadian?

Me: Nope. I'm an American.

P: What brought you to Canada, then?

M: I married a non-American.

P: So you married a Canadian.

M: Actually no, he's German.

P: Why aren't you living in the States then, eh?

M: My husband doesn't have a green card, so he can't work there.

P: But he married you. Isn't he guaranteed a green card?

M: Actually, it's not that simple...

A lot of people seem to think that when you marry an American, the Department of Homeland Security comes to your wedding reception and slips a green card into the gift box. Ha! It has taken a year for Oliver and I to get through the interviews and paperwork. Lucky for us we were able to live and work in a different country together... otherwise 2007 would have been a looooong year. Anyhow, the hassles are behind us now because last week Oliver got his green card in the mail. Woo hoo!

We're free and clear now! Well, sort of free. For the rest of his U.S. resident life, Oliver has to notify the Department of Homeland Security every time he moves. Isn't that a little creepy?

Husband's First Jack-o-Lantern

Sometimes I think I should be keeping some sort of scrapbook for Oliver. You know, almost like a "baby book" for a person new to North America. We've passed some pretty big milestones in the last couple years: first s'more, first gargantuan shopping mall, first 64-oz. soda at a fast food restaurant, and now he's carved his first jack-o-lantern.

I like to think that I was the perfect combination of proud and overbearing mother during this process. My comments ranged from "oh, you picked the perfect pumpkin!" to "don't draw the mouth too low, or it'll look funny when it's standing up" to "what, are you insane? You can't carve a pumpkin using a box cutter and a screwdriver! You know nothing about carving pumpkins! This is going to be an absolute disaster." And yes, these quotes are all verbatim.

Like any good child though, he proved me wrong. Meet Klaus. Attractive devil, isn't he?

Happy Halloween!