It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

After the excitement of the conference and the whirlwind activity of Thanksgiving we’re enjoying a quiet weekend of hanging at home and simple errands. Tomorrow is Sunday before December, which in Germany is the first Advent day. I’m not so well-versed on the religious history (something Catholic, I think) but you light one candle on the first Sunday, two on the second, and so on. Family and friends come by and there are coffee and cookies. It’s nice.

Soon we will have to get a tree and try to find a spot for it in our living room, which now has all our California furniture. Ralf will pretend we’re not getting a tree this year and I will half believe him and bug him about it and one day he’ll just come home with one. We will decorate it together with the same decorations we’ve used since before K was born. We will play Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby and drink tea and eat cookies. The kids will fight over the fragile ornaments and at least one will get broken. I will sneak off to my computer to check my email every few minutes. Ah, Christmas!

We have other Christmas traditions. For example, we invite all our friends over for Christmas coffee sometime in December. This year was hard to organize because we’re going to Ireland for a company Christmas party but now the date is set. I will make egg salad sandwiches with extra dill because Gesine likes them and Irish stew and everyone will bring their mom’s Christmas cookies (German Christmas cookies are pretty elaborate and no one in our generation knows how to make them). We will crack hilarious jokes about the relatively lame excuses Ollie's girlfriend uses not to show on such occassions. Chances are Kaye will come by to play and I’ll invite her mom over as well, who after spontaneous invitations on L’s birthday and Thanksgiving probably thinks we do nothing but cook for twenty people every night.

We will also visit the Weihnachtsmarkt, which is the Munich Christmas market. Actually there are several in Munich and they offer live music, handmade decorations, various delicious foods and hot drinks and other things of that kind. Each has it's own specialty, like the Flammbrot (flat bread with cream cheese, ham and chives) at Sendlingertor. It’s one of the nicest things about living in Munich.

On Christmas Eve we’ll go to Ralf’s parents for coffee then dinner (meat fondue with 12 sauces) and after dinner Ralf and his mom will play Christmas songs on the piano - badly, but that’s part of the tradition. Then I will play my one Christmas song, 'Greensleeves', which for some reason I can play perfectly with two hands and everything. Greensleeves is the last lonely remnant of my expensive musical education. Then there will be champagne and presents, mostly for the girls, who will be overwhelmed after the first three. Later a couple of Ralf’s best friends whose families don’t do a big Christmas Eve celebration will come by and they will drink and talk about old times. I won’t be able to contribute much – they’ve all known each other for more than twenty years and I wasn’t there the night Ralf stole the car or got drunk and fell down the hill into the poison ivy. But that’s OK because I usually crash and burn by 11 anyway.

On Christmas morning we’ll go for a brisk winter frog march after breakfast, which I will pretend to enjoy but not really fool anyone. There’s a German word for people like me: ‘Warmduscher’, which means ‘someone who takes warm showers.’ In a land where 19 degrees Celsius is considered acceptable swimming temperature this is a fairly insulting thing to call someone and in some situations may be considered fighting words. I prefer the term ‘LA girl’ but it hasn’t really caught on.

After traipsing up and down the winter landscape and getting plenty of fresh winter air into our lungs we’ll head home to relax, which means that Ralf and I will collapse on the sofa and the girls will climb all over us and giggle. It will be annoying and divine.

Another Christmas. We are blessed.

John Doerr on Green technology

Check this out - it's important.

The Commenter's Meme

My husband informs me that all this talk about the Commenter's Meme with no action is annoying, especially for people who have no idea what I’m talking about. I guess he has a point.

According to Wikipedia a meme describes any idea or behavior that can pass from one person to another by learning or imitation. Memes propagate themselves and can move through the cultural sociosphere in a manner similar to the contagious behavior of a virus.

If that didn't scare you off, here are the official rules according to Charlotte:

• List the last 10 commneters on your blog.
• If you’re in this list you’re tagged. That means you should do the Meme on your blog.

I also added the following rules of my own:

• I only included commenters who are bloggers.
• I only mention each commenter once in the first order of appearance.

And here’s the list of those special bloggers who take the time to keep up with other people’s blogs in addition to writing their own:
1. Natalian of Twaddle & Twak
2. Naturelady of Borealkraut
3. G in Berlin of From the Big Apple to the Big Bear

4. Meg, who I believe mainly blogs for family and friends so I'm not going to include a link unless she OKs it.

5. Patty of Blog 200
6. Emily of Telecommuter Talk
7. Jeanne of Cook Sister (link to my favorite recipe)
8. Charlotte of ???: No blog link (I use free blog software, which doesn't include fancy extras), so I’m going to assume this is from THE Charlotte of Charlotte’s Web
9. me - Yes, I commented on my own blog
10. PeterAtLarge of The Buddha Diaries

Now for the questions:

1. What’s your favourite post from number 3’s blog? Hard to say. G is a diverse blogger who includes a wealth of current events, social and political commentary, book reviews and YouTube links in her blogs. She also refers to her husband as The German, which I love. I guess if I have to choose a favorite post I’ll go with this one .

2. Has number 10 taken any pictures that moved you? As it happens, Peter has taken a number of pictures of Helsinki and Russia and the pictures of the Hermitage were a pleasure to view since I was there as a college student and will never forget it.

3. Does number 6 reply to comments on his blog? Definitely – Emily is a very reciprocal blogger.

4. Which part of blogland is number 2 from? I think Naturelady has carved out her own space due to her unique profile – she’s a German mom married to an American living in Alaska. For me the name of her blog Borealkraut says it all.

5. If you could give one piece of advice to number 7, what would it be? Jeanne is an amazing cook with all kinds of blog awards so I really can't think of any useful advice. Check out her mustard chicken pasta recipe, that's my favorite.

6. Have you ever tried something from number 9’s blog? Since #9 is me I would have to say, pretty much everything.

7. Has number 1 blogged something that inspired you? It’s a toss up because Natalian has written some great historical and family stuff like ‘Full Circle’ but I really loved the picture she posted of her baby’s feet, which inspired me to take some pictures of my own kids’ feet. I just love baby feet. In the words of Vicky Iovine, they look like little pork chops with toes. And it’s so true that the time flies by and suddenly they’re not babies any more!

8. How often do you comment on number 4’s blog? Never I’m afraid although I enjoy following her kids’ adventures.

9. Do you wait for number 8 to post excitedly? Charlotte? Of course, don’t we all?

10. How did number 5’s blog change your life? Patty is a professional ghost writer who by day is the voice of CEOs. Her writing is fantastic and reading her blog gives me new ideas about how to relate situations, family life, work and just about everything. To give you an idea of her versatility and humor check this post out. I love the list she leaves for her husband when she travels.

Midnight reflections

I can’t sleep. I still have jet lag. My head is full of thoughts. I sneak downstairs because if I lie in bed awake my kids will sense my mental activity and wake up. Especially L. We are this closely attuned.

I like to joke that I grew up on a barrio, which I suppose is a bit insensitive to people who actually grew up on a barrio, because when I was very young my street ended in a Hispanic American slum complete with about a dozen dilapidated old cars in the front yard . Mind you, if you walked in the other direction away from the slum you soon entered Taluca Lake, which is where stars like Bob Hope and Henry Winkler live. So it’s not like I didn’t know about money, we just didn’t have much of it in those early days. Spanish was spoken at my school in first grade, there were occasional gunshots during the night and my first loves had Hispanic last names. I lived in Sacramento for several years after this before moving back to LA so my subsequent first loves had last names like ‘Wong’ but that’s another story. Suffice it to say that my love life - such as it was back then - didn’t feature all that many blond guys, although I was engaged to one before I ran off with a German. But that’s another story, too.

Anyway, growing up a poorish neighborhood in LA I learned to run away when strangers talked to me before I learned to swim or tie my shoelaces. So for me living in a German small town has a certain appeal now that I have kids of my own. Imagine my dismay when I recently heard about a bank in another small German town that was robbed at gun point by a gang of Austrians! The bank was situated in the local town center, right near the local grocery store and pediatrician’s office. Shots were fired and a policeman was injured. The gang was captured, no one else was hurt and I assume the money was recovered.

My first thought upon hearing about this is that the Austrians should rob their own banks and not come here to rob ours. Although actually, with the exorbitant price you pay to drive through Austria to get to Italy, they don’t technically need to come here to rob the Germans. But I digress. The question is, what’s up with a small town in Germany being held up at gunpoint? Is it a sign of the times? Are the - insert your favorite scary people here - coming?

As it happens it is none of these things. Apparently this particular gang has been robbing German banks for 20 years and they finally got caught. Someone noticed a bunch of people with masks and guns going into a bank and called the police. The miracle is that they were never caught before, since the Germans of all people know how to report suspicious activity.

So there you have it. The people in that small town have now seen more action than I saw in all my years in LA. Thank goodness.

Good night and happy Thanksgiving.

Thought for the Day: German Men Don't Do Scented Candles

I know I implied that my next posting would be the Commenter's Meme but I just had to share this great commercial from Deutsche Bahn:

Female voice: 'Honey, the weather's so awful I thought we could do a romantic night at home instead of going out. I bought scented candles, Rotbusch tea and the collector's edition of Dirty Dancing.'

Announcer's voice: 'Need to get away? EUR 29 anywhere in Germany.'

Ralf thought this was hilarious. Bit unfair, really, since I've never attacked him with scented candles OR Rotbusch tea. . .

Commenter's Meme

This is just a quick note to thank everyone for your comments and say that the Commenter's Meme is coming soon! Thanks to you all I now have enough comments to do the Meme but I have a couple of work deadlines I have to meet this week. So, stay tuned. . . the folks who have been commenting here have some great blogs and I'm looking forward to introducing them to anyone who hasn't seen them yet.

Thought for the Day: Barefoot Contessa

My friend and I were eating scones the other day and we were talking about how delicious they are and what a great chef the Barefoot Contessa (hereafter to be referred to as the 'BC') is. How does she do it? I'll tell you how: The BC's scones taste fantastic because she uses TWO full sticks of butter and about a barrel of powder sugar icing. My cooking tastes great too if I use a ton of butter and sugar and if I looked like Giada I would probably be in a different profession. But I do love the BC because she's not afraid of real ingredients - when you eat one of her scones you've been properly sconed and you typically don't go looking for other food after that.

So here's the takeaway: eat real food, be full, stop eating.

The Commenter's Meme

As a new blogger I was deeply proud to be mentioned on Charlotte's Web as part of the Commenter's Meme: here

Charlotte is an established mommy life blogger with a wide and loyal following. She is also a true community builder with a kind word for everyone in the virtual blogger world. Anyway, I've gotten quite a bit of traffic on my own little blog since she referenced me and now I am 'tagged.' This means that I'm also supposed to do the 'Commenter's Meme' and answer questions about the last 10 commenters on my blog.

Unfortunately, although I've had over 1000 hits since I started blogging in September, I don't yet have enough comments to do the Meme.

Bloggers, help me out: I still need 5 more comments! If you are one of the next 5 commenters on my blog I will comment on your blog in one of my next few postings.

Thanks!

Going back to Cali

This week the company I work for is having a user’s conference and as the product manager for our compensation solutions I am presenting. Ralf is also presenting at the same conference, which means we can travel together sans kids. In some ways, it’s almost like a vacation and it’s nicer to sit by your husband on an international flight than some stranger. We set out Saturday at 4PM and 24 hours later were still en route. . . Since one can normally get from Munich to SFO in less than 24 hours, you’ve probably guessed that there’s a bit of a story there.

After a pleasant family morning that involved Sportscheck, a new shower head, some gardening and lots of snuggling with L, who is a very snuggly baby, Ralf’s parents picked up the kids and we made our final preparations before heading out to the airport. What to wear, what to wear. . . actually since we’re not totally finished unpacking this wasn’t such a big question, I pretty much packed everything business casual I could lay hands on and hoped it would somehow: a) fit; and b) match when we got there.

On the way to the airport, reveling in the sensation of traveling with no one under 6 years of age, I inquired about our flight. An experienced business traveler from my pre-mommy days, I was dismayed to hear we would have a stopover in London. ‘But. . . that means Heathrow!’ I exclaimed. ‘You need at least two hours for every connection and we only have an hour and forty-five minutes. They always post the wrong gate or change it at the last minute without announcing it. And,” I concluded triumphantly, on a roll about the evils of Heathrow and flaunting my superior travel acumen, ‘they’ll probably lose our luggage.’ My pleasurable tirade was momentarily interrupted by vivid pictures of me presenting in torn jeans and a faded Lewis & Clark sweatshirt and I remembered this was real, not just something to blog about. Ralf, ever the optimist, pointed out that thousands of business travelers pass through Heathrow every day without incident. But I was an international consultant before leaving the glamour of global project management to be a sleep-at-home mommy and I know better. Still, for the moment there wasn’t anything to be done so I shrugged it off, took a page out of Ralf’s book and prepared for the best rather than the worst. I did have to have the last word, however: ‘You’ll see.’

As it turns out, it was in fact a bad idea to stop in London but not because of Heathrow, which was on its best behavior (i.e., rotten but nothing worth relating here) but because of something else.

At Munich airport we had a bit of confusion about what line to stand in and ended up waiting in an unattended line where no one seemed to be working because it said “Lufthansa economy United States’. Needless to say, none of the Lufthansa employees at any of the open ticket counters said anything to us because this is Germany, where spontaneous friendly inquiries like, ‘That desk is closed right now – where are you flying?’ never happen. Once we got the check in location sorted, however, the check in process went smoothly. Until our luggage rolled away and Ralf suddenly noticed that our connecting flight was for 9:30 AM the next morning rather than 9:30 PM the same night.

I’ll fast forward through the next tense five minutes (‘You suck! You SUCK! You really, really suck!!’ – later I would move on to, ‘I told you so,’ and other rants of that type but the shock was still fresh) and just say that thanks to iPhone and duty free shopping we were able to salvage the situation. We booked a room in London, bought some toiletries and then I marched into Esprit to buy the most expensive pair of underwear I now own (EUR 20!) although I have to admit they’re quite nice and I probably deserve some nice underwear. I can only imagine what the shop girl thought about me buying a single pair of underwear while muttering, ‘I told you so!’

A high-quality comedy of errors should involve disaster from start to finish to be truly entertaining so I am sorry to report that everything else was fine and hope you don’t feel cheated. The only bad thing about the flight was the book club book I’d brought, Dirt Music, which was typical of its kind: well-written, sad and uncommonly boring. This particular author’s claim to glory is that he’s Australian and never uses quotation marks to show when people talk, which is annoying as hell but preferable to writing everything in the present tense.

Once in London we arrived at our hotel without a hitch and like many reasonable British business hotels, the room was clean, the bathroom gleamed with understated luxury and the bed was soft and comfortable. There was even a curry house across the street, where we went promptly and ordered something with chicken and something with chick peas. At first glance the restaurant seemed to be full of dangerous, tatooed thugs but they all turned out to be quite pleasant and uninterested in killing us for our few worldly possessions (which, thanks to Ralf, were 2 laptops, one toothbrush and a fabulously expensive pair of underwear). When we got back to the hotel and climbed into bed there were even two back-to-back episodes of Red Dwarf on TV so the day ended quite satisfactorily. And the next morning we caught our flight without a hitch.

They didn’t even lose our luggage.

Thought for the Day: Our Cat

This is K's thought: "Mommy, I love Guthrie soooooooo much!!! When he dies can we get a dog?"

Chicken, Sun-Dried Tomato and Mustard Pasta

I found this recipe on a cooking blog by Cook Sister - I admit I haven't tried it but it has all of my very favorite ingredients so I'm going to go ahead and reference it on faith. Nancy I know you'd love this one: click here

Girlfriends

Two nights ago during a storm the doorbell rang wildly. When I answered it, there stood Kit with her mum, wrapped head to toe in some sort of wooly fleece blanket coat and clutching a tiny blue envelope. This was then proffered to me with a deep, chesty cough. I accepted it gingerly between two fingers and raised my eyebrows in inquiry at her mom, who explained that Kitwas sick but wanted to deliver her birthday party invitation to K. Good nights and 'gute Besserungs' were then said all around and they departed.

Fast forward to last night, no storm but more wild ringing, and there stood Kit again. But not for long. As soon as the door opened she sidled past me and announce that her mom had said she could stay until 6:30 and promptly began removing her boots and coat. I actually didn't mind since I was trying to unpack boxes in the attic and was glad to have the distraction for K and L. I did wonder about that cough, however, and eyed her narrowly with each sniffle. As far as I could tell, though, her germiness seemed limited to a few juicy nasal sounds.

Up she went to spread the plague to my kids while I continued unpacking and I had a very interesting hour listening to their conversation. Kit is 6 going on 7 and my K is only 5, although she is almost as tall as Kit. K is bilingual but her German is still in catch up mode, given that she learned everything she knows from me while we were in California. Her inability to express herself perfectly puts her at a slight disadvantage with Kit, who is now comfortable enough in our home to drop the obsequious act.

I won't bore you with the minutae of each toy they fought over but what it came down to was this: both girls are used to getting their own way, but Kit will go off and do her own thing if she can't get to yes whereas my K needs to be right. So basically Kit either ignored or barked orders at K while K followed her around and whined at her. I refrained from getting involved because at some point kids have to fight their own social battles. And so, although I personally felt that Kit was being a bit of a tit, and K's whine was starting to hurt my head, I bit my lip and held my tongue.

Unexpectedly, after some highly tedious and high-pitched minutes of this, K suddenly morphed from a helpless, frustrated little girl into this righteous headbobbing girlfriend who practically snapped her fingers at Kit to make her point. She really blew me away, standing so tall and proud and sticking up for herself. In that moment she struck a blow for all of us who have ever been bullied by an older, cooler girl. It so happened that Kit had right on her side in this particular instance but details aside, K was magnificent and Kit was a lot nicer to her for about 5 whole minutes.

I refrained from saying, 'You go, girl!' but did I think it? Yes, I did.