My first snowman...

...at the ripe old age of 29!

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.

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!

My favorite time of year

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.

Waiting for Nessie...

Lassies' Night

It's an understatement to say I was excited for my first girls' night in Scotland! Through Davy, I'd met some fantastic girls, and it surprised me to discover how much we had in common (especially Emma, an art teacher with a LOST obsession that rivals my own). We'd visited several times before, but always with our boyfriends, so to get away and have some girl talk was so refreshing...

Being in Germany has been wonderful, but it's also been a bit lonely for both Davy and me. He has some British guys to talk to at work, but no one is there now that he would want to make plans to hang out. I cannot even hold a conversation with people here who already have a grasp of English, so there's really no way any of them would get little jokes or be able to connect with most of my references. That's not to say I'm not enjoying myself here--it just reminds me how much I miss my family and friends back home.

We met up at Leoni's for a glass of wine before hopping in a "people mover" to head into Glasgow to get some supper and out to Boho. We discussed Louise's wedding planning, Emma's teaching, and generally caught up with Amy, Lynette, Leoni and me. It gave me a shot in the arm of estrogen. It also made me appreciate Davy for the fact that he has to be my girlfriend while we're in Deutchland...and, of course, it goes without saying it made me long to catch up with my girls back home! Here's to feeling like one of the girls.

British Day in Hamburg

Celebrating all things British...

Airbus Family Day 2009

This past Saturday was Family Day at Airbus (where my sweetheart is an electrical engineer). When Davy first told me about it, I was a little apprehensive...my only experiences with company picnics bring back hazy memories of the ones my dad took us to when I was a kid. Bless his heart, he only asked us to attend a handful of them before realizing what torture it was for us. Let’s just say that the one year that really sticks out in my mind, the festivities were hosted inside the eye of a tornado, we were greeted by really intoxicated rednecks, and the crawfish had run out as we arrived. Good times.

No, Family Day is a big deal--it only happens approximately every 4 years when Airbus opens its hangars to let curious onlookers gaze at the planes and inner workings of the newest aviation projects they have going. I was informed that tickets were selling for hundreds of pounds on the web and that most workers’ family members were traveling from countries all over. It brought more of a feeling of “Willy Wonka is opening the doors of his chocolate factory!” While they didn’t have fizzy lifting drinks (how appropriate would that have been?!), they did have plenty of beer. (And some free drinks for us when we accidentally found ourselves in the VIP lounge. Score!)

I was looking forward to seeing the place he retreats for many hours a day, although I didn’t get a tour of the nooks and crannies where he spends time studying for his exams OR the tea break area...

We spent the day wandering around the buildings surrounded by thousands of people, all squished in to get a sneak peek of things like new A380--a plane so enormous it features first-class suites with their own bathrooms and showers! This part of the tour was still under a photography ban, making me feel like I should take notes to relay back to Slugworth...if only I had a Slugworth!

Because I know very little about what was on display around me (and the explanations were all in German), I just enjoyed a day holding Davy’s hand, ooh-ing and aah-ing at all the machinery and keeping an eye out for pretzel stands...

Delayed Hysteria

My bike, my bike, I want my bike!

It’s been two weeks since I rode my sweet, one-month-old bicycle to the S-bahn station and hurriedly locked her up to the iron railing at the top of the stairs, rushing along so I could purchase my ticket and not miss my train. It’s also been two weeks since I returned to my stop in Rissen and trudged up the stairs to be greeted by only my bike lock coiled around the iron railing. My reaction:

It had been probably 20 years since I’d even had a bicycle of my own to use on a regular basis. The only other one I’ve ever had was lavendar, had teddy bears and heart decals on the frame, and was later outfitted with so many plastic “spokey dokeys” you could barely see anything else on my wheels. Plus since they made a lot of noise when the wheels spun, I could kiss my stealth mode goodbye. The same sense of freedom afforded to me as a child on the loose in the summertime was granted to me for the one month I had my beloved. *sniff*

I have to admit that riding that bike did make me feel more like I belonged in Hamburg. My “Hallo”s and “danke”s don’t always (but in most cases) call attention to the fact that I don’t fit in, but at least riding on my bike I could mingle about undetected as a foreigner. Plus, it made doing errands a cinch. So it is with a heavy heart that I mourn not only the loss of my bike, but the loss of that carefree feeling.

At least until I get a replacement.

My Suffs!

You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to seeing this fuzzy little face again!

Struck by Sigmar

I'm not nearly art scholar I was during my college days. While studying for my Visual Art degree, I spent countless hours pouring over my art text books (the only text books I didn't completely resent having to shell over my hard-earned cash each semester), committing their contents to my (apparently short-term) memory. The sad warning "If you don't use it, you lose it" comes back to haunt me every time I try to recall the same details of art and artists I once could recount at the drop of a hat. I've spent a lot of time lamenting the fact that I don't have the need or drive to do anything artistic the way I once did, which is why being struck by this desire again is so refreshing. I didn't even realize how much I miss drawing, creating, generally keeping my head, heart and hands busy, until Davy and I went to tour the Hamburger Kunsthalle (City Art Gallery).

Seeing the thumbnail pics I once knew so well in actual canvas form takes my breath away every time. Emotion in the brushstrokes are visible; the paint lumps make shadows that photographs don't always pick up. The masterpieces that hang mere inches away from my eyes are the products of so much talent and labor...it makes everything I studied finally become real to me.

However, as much as I enjoyed getting reacquainted with Monet, Manet, Picasso and the rest, my excitement came when we toured the back building where the contemporary pieces are housed, most notably the exhibition celebrating German artist Sigmar Polke. It's most likely because I have been raised surrounded by marketing messages, but I've always found graphic art to be the most visually engaging. His pieces filled me with a completely different energy than traditional ones. Instead of carefully dipping my toes into the Pissarros Van Goughs, quietly appreciating the technique that went into the work before me, I was finding myself swan-diving into Sigmar Polke's canvases, devouring all their symbols and bathing in their irreverence... (figuratively, of course...otherwise, I would've had a hard time explaining that to the gallery's curators.)

Davy was sweet enough to tag along with the "old masters" portion and would chime in every now in then that something looked "nice". We were both confused by some of the videos being projected for one installation ("why is that guy pretending to kayak on dry land?" is as valid a question as "and why are we watching it?"), but he soon became in awe of Polke, finding little ways to make the pieces personal ("That's what your nephew Evan says!" upon seeing the words here). We both were drawn to the nostalgic feel and pop culture references, probably in the vein hope that the lives we lead would be important enough to be captured for posterity and displayed in a gallery... plus, it's easier for us to connect with the humor of modern art. (Refined, we ain't.)

I remember learning that the meaning of a piece is directly related to the experience the viewer brings to it. That's why the reserved admiration I felt for the classic works was overshadowed by the overwhelming joy I felt viewing Polke's collection...regular patterns, symbols and modern images had been rearranged by Polke in a way that made me question what I knew about them or how I felt toward them--they really spoke to me. This is exactly why I will recommend Sigmar Polke to anyone who will listen from now on... It's also why I'm off to get started on my own version of pop art with symbols for Davy and me that speak a language all our own.

My 29th year

Let's see...what all has happened in this past year?

I skipped along the streets of London.

I kissed my Sweetheart from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

I was harassed by gondoliers in Venice.

I ate Japanese food in Milan (ha!) and I saw tartan plaid being made in Edinburgh.

I sold my house in Shreveport and said "Auf Wiedersehn" to my thankless job.

I took a road trip with my middle sister to spend quality time with our oldest sister in Georgia.

I realized how much I was going to miss having girlfriends nearby (or at least being able to pick up the phone anytime).

I packed my 2 airline-alotted suitcases and moved to Hamburg, leaving my precious Sophie in my mom's care (as collateral).

I realized Davy and I dated long-distance enough to ensure I will never take for granted the fact that I am finally able to wake up every morning next to the one who makes my heart melt.

I spent a ton of time wandering around IKEA to homeify our "flat" and am learning to communicate with German sales clerks without breaking into a flop sweat.

I stepped in the Atlantic Ocean, camped out in the south of France and got to appreciate how bright the stars were at our campsite there.

I have gone to Scotland a few more times since moving here and have loved getting to know Davy's family more.

I've found that Hamburg loves throwing a festival and that I don't have to wait too long before I have another excuse to buy some cotton candy.

I finally feel the urge to do something creative with this free time.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm learning something new.

I have never been more excited or in love.

For all these reasons (and not because of the wrinkles I may get or stigma of growing older), I wish to remain 29 forever...

The Road near Callander, Scotland...

Maybe home someday, who knows?

Always room for jell-o

You know those moments you wish you could hold onto forever? The ones that make you want to just pour the world around you into a jello mold , locking the smiles, sounds, scents--the entire feeling--into place? That way nothing would be able to sway that little moment (jiggle it, possibly); it was to be forever floating...

I can hardly keep track of all the times I genuinely wished things would never change. Why I ever thought middle school dances or high school relationships were going to be the apex of my existence is astounding to me now, but at the time, I wanted nothing more. However, as fun as college years were, they don’t compare to moments that came afterward...And those wouldn’t live up to what would happen later...

It seems like such a childish notion, wanting not only to live in one moment, but also the completely absurd desire for nothing at all to change. Yet, my heart does it for me before my brain can correct it.

I have a feeling this past year will be a time I’ll look back on in my golden years and wish I could bottle, but it wasn’t because nothing changed, it was because everything changed.

So much has happened in the past year that I can’t imagine doing without any of it (good or bad) for the sake of the feelings I had then. I wouldn’t go trading any of it for puppy love or carefree times when I was a kid...and yet, I found myself grabbing for the gelatin just the other day, maybe not to completely freeze time, but definitely longing to slow it down, create some wiggle room...and maybe add in some fruit bits to serve as confetti.

But once I realize I am grateful for what is surrounding me, my wish is no longer for nothing to change because I know that more happiness is on the way...but I guess there’s always room for jell-o.

2009: let the games begin!

I'm already behind on my New Year's Resolutions.

Unlike last year (when I resolved not to improve myself), this year I decided to upgrade myself into Carrie 2.0. (And because my technological knowledge is as outdated as acid washed Jordache jeans, I'm not sure that reference is even still relevant...perhaps I need to add "become computer geek" to the list...). By upgrade, I mean that I've made the following promises to the year 2009 (and I decided to go ahead and phrase them as I would commandments so I may feel guilted into keeping them--the "thou shalt not" is exactly why I haven't resorted to murdering whoever took my coke out of the fridge at work):

1. Thou shalt become more organized (especially with finances).

In all honesty, I made this resolution last year. I had decided it was time to finally balance my checkbook since it hadn't been done since the teller wrote the first deposit into my ledger FOR ME. When I got bored with that attempt (and a lousy one it was), *that* is when I edited that resolution to: "love yourself the way you are, Carrie". And while I must admit that going through life relatively unworried about one's finances seems like a blissful way to be, it is not very blissful to feel like you're playing Russian Roulette with NSF charges anytime you feel like heading down to Target to treat yourself. I would love to blame the flailing economy on my financial woes, but I was a mess long before any bailouts were being discussed. Under my new law: when I'm out of money, I tell myself that if I want a treat, I have to go to Wal-Mart to get it. I then tell myself that NOT going to Wal-Mart IS the treat, and I save money! Maybe avoiding W-M (aka "Hell") and saving my cash and dignity will be on next year's list...

I digress...in my effort to become more organized, I've purchased a new planner to which I have already developed a deep attachment. Shopping for/finding this accessory that would accompany me throughout my year is why I'm late on actually fulfilling my resolution. It had to be juuuust right, and it is! But now I worry about what I should put in it...and I've come up with cute little codes (which I have a hard time deciphering) just in case some stranger picks it up (I don't need Random Stranger #1 knowing when my next period is going to be, thank you very much; although to be fair, I'm sure there's nothing in there I wouldn't freely share after one or two margaritas...) So now that I'm armed with my new planner and a solid resolve to use it properly, I cannot be stopped!

2. Thou shalt try to be less stressed.

I even put the word "try" in there because my first resolution is stressing the hell out of me already and it's only Jan. 6...

3. Thou shalt let thine loved ones know how much they mean to you (thou?).

Having spent Christmas Eve of 2008 in the hospital waiting on my mom's cancer surgery, I now have a need to let everyone around me know that they are special to me. Even if this means picking on them more than usual (which is how we show love in my family) or even the actual release of tears (God forbid), I've made it my mission in 2009 to make sure that if you're on the "loved ones" list, you know it. That way there's no question that I may ask you for money in the immediate future and you really should at least consider it...

And lastly, we have:

4. Thou shalt let go of fear to make big changes.

I pretty much *have* to make this one happen because 1) it's basically redundant of my "be less stressed" resolution, and 2) this year holds promise of very big changes already. I plan on selling my house, car and most of my belongings to head to Europe to make a go of it! Before you get worried (since I haven't mastered my other resolutions yet), yes, I'll be living with a native--my wonderful boyfriend, Davy. I've always said that I'd love to travel, and since I'm not married and have no kids (which makes me practically invisible-at family functions at least), I can skulk about Europe pretending to be fabulous while hoping I filled out my paperwork properly.

With all the change ahead this year--with a new President (hallelujah!), my mom's cancer (hopefully) at bay, and having truly fallen in love for what feels like the first time in my life--I think above all the other resolutions, this last one is especially dear to my heart. After stepping out of fear, I'll be able to actually get out there and, oh I don't know...experience! live! maybe even skip! (Ok, I'll try not to get that carried away.)

So, 2009: I'm ready!

Wait...where's my pen...?