Here's to a happy and memorable 2010!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Holiday Cheerleader
I have to admit that I was having mixed emotions about embracing this holiday season. I’ll not be enjoying the festivities with my family, as we’ll all be scattered--Betsy in Georgia with her family, Jaime and Dieter (and Saide) hosting my parents in Honduras. I’ve never gone through the motions of decorating the house, shopping/opening gifts, or digging into oyster crackers, fudge or monkey bread without sharing the joy with my immediate family. It’s the lynchpin of all my holiday hubbub. I had toyed with the idea of allowing this season to pass without decorating our flat in Germany; the Brazzells had already decided to forgo the expense of presents...basically, the plan was to just accept the holidays as a non-event this year.
But...
Walking in Hamburg this past Friday, I see the beginnings of the Christmas Markets being put together. I’ve never been a part of this before, but it appears that vendor stalls are being erected along all the major walkways--tents with evergreen and red ribbon, lots of lights and tables just itching to be set up with traditional, homemade wares! Shop keepers have been fanning pine branches, Kinder chocolate Santas have been beckoning Davy and me from their displays at the market...and I made the mistake of “just browsing” through my itunes Christmas listings. That’s what finally made me see the error of my ways; this Grinch got the reality check she needed!
I made a decision to enjoy this season to fullest--to make the most of this Christmas even though it won’t be what I’m expecting. It dawned on me that this was a great opportunity to make new traditions with the family that Davy and I are now! I have no reason to mope--I’m spending the holidays in a Thomas Kincaid painting with the person who makes me happiest. Plus, this may be my chance to finally have a white Christmas...
So: bring on the holly, mistletoe, Muppet Christmas Carol, various sweets, tinsel, overpriced trinkets--the works! I’m ready to curse the lights as I basically use them to strangle my tree...I’m ready to stir up hot chocolate and count the amount of marshmallows I put in both of our glasses. I’m ready to enjoy time with my future in-laws and find out what traditions they may introduce. And I have a feeling I’ll break down and send some care packages to the loved ones I miss so much. In short: Let’s do this.
*I draw the line at Christmas sweaters.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Best Morning EVER!!!
I was sitting Indian-style in front of our huge living room mirror, my hair clipped out of my face and makeup brushes fanned out within reach, when I heard a knock at the door. I am usually extremely nervous to open the door: 1) I don’t speak German and the bulk of people who’ve knocked on the door speak ONLY that, and 2) I was still without my face paint and wearing my cloud patterned flannel pajamas. One peek through the wavy glass panels revealed Davy’s green sweatshirt--this meant his hands were full of breakfast ingredients and he needed assistance... (I ditched the hideous clips that hold back my bangs because even though he's seen me when I'm not at my best, I still want him to find me marginally attractive at the very least.)
Upon opening the door, I see he’s holding a cappuccino for me (the best in the world that they happen to serve at a bakery down the street) and canvas bag of goodies which he quickly handed over. “Wait a second...I just need to get something else”, he said. He went out of sight and quickly returned with something I clearly wasn’t expecting him to bring that morning: a gorgeous bouquet of roses and stargazer lilies in one hand and an open engagement ring box in the other!
He then got down on one knee on the steps of our apartment. “Cyaddie, ye noe how much I loove ye--will ye maddie me?” I was already on the verge of tears and was enthusiastically saying “Yes!” before he even finished the question!
The fact that he managed to surprise me still makes me smile--as does the ring: the round cut diamond in platinum looks like a traditional ring from the top, but a side view reveals a setting which looks Celtic, a nod to his Scottish roots.
The fact that he could take one look at me with no makeup in flannel pajamas and still want to make me his bride makes me know why what we have is made to last!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Turbulence
It started off on a good note. I plopped my rolling duffel onto the weight scale at the Continental counter and watched as it read “50.0” pounds exactly. I applauded my packing skills but knew my large rolling bag was doomed...“65.3” pounds worth of doomed, in fact. The guy at the counter said I could pay a fifty dollar fee and check the overstuffed bag or remove fifteen pounds of my belongings, the things that had made all the previous packing cuts into the final suitcase round. Because I’m cheap, I chose the latter; because the Continental employee was impatient, he told me to just leave it as is. (Yay--crisis averted!) That was victory #1 that I took to be a good omen for my long journey back to Germany.
The first leg of the itinerary from Alex to Houston was pleasant enough; I was seated next to a very nice older man who had some interesting stories, and I had adequate time during my layover to find my gate and have some pizza before heading off again. Things were running as smoothly as possible.
I boarded the gigantic plane that would take me from Houston to London in a timely fashion, removed my magazines, book and neck pillow from my bag and buckled myself into my assigned window seat. I read while the other passengers reached their spots, growing ever excited that no one had even paused at my row so far. As the attendants were walking around closing all the overhead compartments, I allowed myself to finally get excited! A row--three seats--ALL to myself for the entire 9 hour trip! This was the ultimate sign that lady luck was smiling on my travels...I felt that I could relax and just revel in all this good fortune. Until the moment I heard the captain announce that the doors were closed, there was a little part of my brain that was telling me things were going a bit...too well. My stomach was about to prove me right.
After eating my salt & vinegar pringles and a few twizzlers, I watched Grey Gardens again (even though I watched it on the flight out to Louisiana and watched the original documentary at my parents’ the night before). I started to feel a little queasy, but chalked it up to the chicken and rice meal I nibbled on because was too rude to just turn down completely, as well as the fact that this was the choppiest flight I’d encountered in a plane of this size. I didn’t become panicky until all the sudden my spit glands started churning into overdrive and my stomach began doing somersaults. I hastily made my way a few rows back to turn the corner to the lavatory just in time to yank its door shut and empty the entire contents of my stomach into the toilet. I wretched, popped a few blood vessels in my eyes and emerged shaking and dizzy. Lovely. I grabbed a cup of ice water the Flight Attendant had left on a nearby tray and groped my way back to 42A.
Once buckled up, I started to think that karma had dealt me my retribution for giving me enough cabin space to lie down. The ying to my overweight luggage yang. Things could get back to normal now that justice had been served. I decided that reading anything was out of the question. The pressure behind my eyes was mounting and my head started to feel as though it would split. Then, in the middle of a Nia Vardalos movie ominously titled My Life in Ruins, my saliva glands kicked in again--a sure sign that something bad was about to happen. When I couldn’t locate an airsick bag in front of me, I put my boots on and scurried to the toilet bay where I would find a seedy looking character informing me that the bathroom was occupied. I nervously asked for a sick bag, but by the time the slow-moving attendant was even close to finding one, my stomach recoiled, shooting its contents toward my mouth even though it was covered forcefully by my clasped hands. When it got to be too much, I had no choice but to double over. My hands involuntarily lost their grip...and I, my lunch. The entire bay area was decorated with my vomit (which, thankfully, was only the water from after the last incident), but still! I helplessly looked around to see the shocked faces of the attendants in the back and began to cry. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a timid hand with a paper baggie (ironically resembling a lunch bag) move toward me in offering. No sooner did the lavatory occupant exit did I push my way into that closet to finish what I’d started. The water I splashed on my face did nothing to quell the headache or complete mortification that I was feeling. I wished I could just flush myself out of the plane entirely, but then I realized that these things happen. Surely I wasn’t the first to vomit publicly in an enclosed area while choppily hurdling through time and space, and I dare say I would not be the last.
It only happened one more time--once the plane had landed and no one was allowed to get out of his/her seat, but I did have the good sense to locate another baggie ahead of time. I tried getting the attention of an attendant (even though people were shuffling at that point to get their bags and get far away from me), but by then I was so embarrassed and exhausted, I just folded down the lip and tucked it away in the seat behind me. I felt that karma should let that one slide because of the quality of the in-flight “meal”.
My short flight from London to Hamburg was spent with me coming in and out of consciousness with my head practically fused to the window and my hands clutching a sick bag (just in case). Next time--no matter what--I’ll just pay the overweight baggage fee, and should I find myself in a row to myself, I will be getting off that plane.
The first leg of the itinerary from Alex to Houston was pleasant enough; I was seated next to a very nice older man who had some interesting stories, and I had adequate time during my layover to find my gate and have some pizza before heading off again. Things were running as smoothly as possible.
I boarded the gigantic plane that would take me from Houston to London in a timely fashion, removed my magazines, book and neck pillow from my bag and buckled myself into my assigned window seat. I read while the other passengers reached their spots, growing ever excited that no one had even paused at my row so far. As the attendants were walking around closing all the overhead compartments, I allowed myself to finally get excited! A row--three seats--ALL to myself for the entire 9 hour trip! This was the ultimate sign that lady luck was smiling on my travels...I felt that I could relax and just revel in all this good fortune. Until the moment I heard the captain announce that the doors were closed, there was a little part of my brain that was telling me things were going a bit...too well. My stomach was about to prove me right.
After eating my salt & vinegar pringles and a few twizzlers, I watched Grey Gardens again (even though I watched it on the flight out to Louisiana and watched the original documentary at my parents’ the night before). I started to feel a little queasy, but chalked it up to the chicken and rice meal I nibbled on because was too rude to just turn down completely, as well as the fact that this was the choppiest flight I’d encountered in a plane of this size. I didn’t become panicky until all the sudden my spit glands started churning into overdrive and my stomach began doing somersaults. I hastily made my way a few rows back to turn the corner to the lavatory just in time to yank its door shut and empty the entire contents of my stomach into the toilet. I wretched, popped a few blood vessels in my eyes and emerged shaking and dizzy. Lovely. I grabbed a cup of ice water the Flight Attendant had left on a nearby tray and groped my way back to 42A.
Once buckled up, I started to think that karma had dealt me my retribution for giving me enough cabin space to lie down. The ying to my overweight luggage yang. Things could get back to normal now that justice had been served. I decided that reading anything was out of the question. The pressure behind my eyes was mounting and my head started to feel as though it would split. Then, in the middle of a Nia Vardalos movie ominously titled My Life in Ruins, my saliva glands kicked in again--a sure sign that something bad was about to happen. When I couldn’t locate an airsick bag in front of me, I put my boots on and scurried to the toilet bay where I would find a seedy looking character informing me that the bathroom was occupied. I nervously asked for a sick bag, but by the time the slow-moving attendant was even close to finding one, my stomach recoiled, shooting its contents toward my mouth even though it was covered forcefully by my clasped hands. When it got to be too much, I had no choice but to double over. My hands involuntarily lost their grip...and I, my lunch. The entire bay area was decorated with my vomit (which, thankfully, was only the water from after the last incident), but still! I helplessly looked around to see the shocked faces of the attendants in the back and began to cry. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a timid hand with a paper baggie (ironically resembling a lunch bag) move toward me in offering. No sooner did the lavatory occupant exit did I push my way into that closet to finish what I’d started. The water I splashed on my face did nothing to quell the headache or complete mortification that I was feeling. I wished I could just flush myself out of the plane entirely, but then I realized that these things happen. Surely I wasn’t the first to vomit publicly in an enclosed area while choppily hurdling through time and space, and I dare say I would not be the last.
It only happened one more time--once the plane had landed and no one was allowed to get out of his/her seat, but I did have the good sense to locate another baggie ahead of time. I tried getting the attention of an attendant (even though people were shuffling at that point to get their bags and get far away from me), but by then I was so embarrassed and exhausted, I just folded down the lip and tucked it away in the seat behind me. I felt that karma should let that one slide because of the quality of the in-flight “meal”.
My short flight from London to Hamburg was spent with me coming in and out of consciousness with my head practically fused to the window and my hands clutching a sick bag (just in case). Next time--no matter what--I’ll just pay the overweight baggage fee, and should I find myself in a row to myself, I will be getting off that plane.
Friday, September 18, 2009
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