Talkin' Trash and Coming Clean

June 20, 2018

Tuesday

FMM:  10,492 steps

Talkin’ Trash and Coming Clean

Guten morgen, faulenzer,

How does one recycle a piece of paper with a dead fly in it? Does it go in the compost bin or the paper one?  Do I have to extricate the fly from the paper?

How does one recycle trash into six categories when one only has four wastebaskets?

What should one do when faced with a sign such as this at the locked metal bar garbage facility?

Hier nur zugebunde Gelbe Sacke ablegen!

Alles andere, mit Ausnahme von Sperrmull,

muss uber den Restmuil oder Kompostmull entsorgt warden!

Zuwiderhandlungen warden kostenpflichtig geahndet (100 Euro)!

Now you might say that I could go to Google and attempt to translate this.  But, after all, I am a faulenzer just like you.  I must say that the three exclamation points and the capital letters make me shudder.   So, I try to put out the garbage only when no one is around.  I do know that it is supposed to be in specific bags for separate containers.  The problem comes when there’s no garbage already in the dumpster. Then what?  Is the bag biofab or restmull (very frowned upon) or whatever goes in the orange bins?  I have also been known – before I knew the rules – to put the garbage out in a couple of Target bags I brought from home.  I have lain awake nights (more on that later) worrying about whether they can trace those bags back to me and fine me 100 euros or worse.  So far, I have escaped capture, and I only have about two weeks to go.  Wish me luck.

Not only are the Germans very fastidious about their garbage, they are also very stingy with their lighting, especially in hallways and basements.  That means that when you enter a building or room, you often have to push a button to have light.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen King had a hand in designing my path to the laundry room. Those of you who live in high rise apartments know that when an elevator door opens, you never know who is going to be on it or who will step onto the elevator with you.  In my case, a rather creepy guy who reeks of tobacco and always has on a cardigan sweater and is a few years older than I (ok, I can’t say for that sure) has joined me.

 On my first elevator trip with him, I must have said, “Hello” instead of the German “Hallo.”  This caused him to smile widely and burst into a song in English about love and kissing girls while he raised his arms for dramatic effect as he leaned into me.  I would’ve backed up, but remember I was on an elevator.    He did the same thing – song and all  - when Bob was in the elevator with me.  However, Bob deemed him just a friendly guy.  Whatever. 

In order to brave a trip to the laundry room, I must take my phone – just in case I need to dial the emergency number, which I thought was 411 until I was reminded that it’s actually 112. Whatever.   With my laundry, detergent, keys, and tokens, I must then go down to floor -1 .  When I step out of the elevator, it is pitch black.  I quickly push the light button and look around for interlopers.  Then I go down one hall, turn left into another hall after which I must remember which is the correct key to unlock the laundry area (trust me; this itself is quite scary for me).   I then must pass a long dark hallway filled with locked storage closets on my left, a bolted door on my right where anyone could jump out (Jack Nicholson maybe, yelling, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!”), before I turn into the laundry room which is pitch black.  Can you imagine all the places someone could hide on that journey?  I can.  Once I get into the laundry room, the nightmare is not over.  I must have the correct tokens, put them into the correct slots, and pray that I have set the machine on approximately the right settings.  If I accidentally set the dryer to 30 seconds instead of 30 minutes, it will keep my token and leave me 3 euros poorer with a wad of wet clothes.  Then I begin my dark journey back to the elevator where I very tentatively push the button and wait for the door to open……..

Last time I promised to tell you about my life of possible crime over here.  Well, the Target bags could still catch up with me, but they haven’t yet.  However, something else may cause my downfall. 

Shortly after we arrived, our landlord provided a new bed and mattress.  When she came a few days later and asked how I had been sleeping, I said that I had had my first full night’s sleep since arriving.  I told her that I had had to take a sleeping pill on a few previous nights.  Wide-eyed, she looked at me and made the sign of cutting her throat.  Then she said,  “That’s against the law here. “ I said, “Oh, I have a prescription.”  She said, “It doesn’t matter.  Don’t tell anyone.” Well, I decided to check this out with another source.  We went to dinner with a group of teachers and the director of the school where Bob is teaching.  At the dinner, I asked him about it.  He said that no German would ever admit to taking a sleeping pill.   So, now I guess I’ve broken the law and ruined my reputation here in Deutschland.  Dang.  I wasn’t even trying.  Don’t tell anyone, ok?

Well, I am sitting at McDonald’s, and, no, they don’t put ice in Cokes here.  Mine is empty, and they don’t provide free refills either.  And it costs a half-euro to go to the bathroom. So, I think my time is up.  

Pondering and laundering,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma Tizzie/Grizzie/Frau O’Connell

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A Whisper Campaign

A Whisper Campaign

June 5, 2018

Heidelberg, Germany

Guten tag from Heideleberg.

Before we begin, if you are long time readers, you are probably asking yourself these questions:

Has she gotten lost yet?  Yes, of course.

Has she locked herself out of her apartment? Yes, of course.

Has her water been turned off unexpectedly? Yes.

Has she done anything illegal?  Maybe.

Has she had any experiences worth reading about?  It depends on what your standards are.

My husband is teaching a class here, so I’m back once again to pester the Germans, or at least make a few of them guffaw or at least snicker into their beer steins. 

Currently, I’m in the University of Heidelberg Library being buzzed by a very large black fly.   I’ve already gotten into trouble once since entering the library, so I’m trying not to bring more bad attention to myself.  I think that my sweat is attracting the fly as I’ve just trekked 6,702 steps and countless stairs to get here. Of course, my Google Maps konked out when I was in the vicinity and I only walked an extra half mile or so before giving up and asking for directions.  I was told to keep walking until I saw a bunch of people outside smoking.  And here I am.

Why am I here?  I was tipped off by U of Heidelberg law student that the library offers quiet, air-conditioned rooms for study.  Since our apartment is not air conditioned, that sounded most appealing.  Well, I would say that the A/C here is probably set a few degrees cooler than I leave my house when I’m going on vacation, but who’s complaining?  However, it is certainly quiet here.  When I came in to ask if I might study (that’s a very loose interpretation of what I’m actually doing; I hope no one comes to check on me…) , the woman at the information desk replied, “Yes, but first you’ll need to lower your voice.” All right, already. Furthermore, even the tour guides in the hallway whisper to the students they are showing through the library.  Absolutely not talking aloud is allowed. Now this rule is to be enforced on a girl who once spent an hour with her nose in a circle on a chalkboard for talking during study hall?  Never mind.  I know I can do it.

 Since no bags are allowed, I had to take my purse deep into a back basement room to put it in a locker. The stress of finding the locker room and the key and remembering to retrieve my euro are almost paralyzing me…

The law student also told me that I could only access WiFi here at the library if I used his login and password.  He insisted on providing both to me.  My, he is a trusting fellow.  Doesn’t he know what I can do with such information?  Why I could be stealing his identity right at this minute or even becoming a German spy.  But since I have tried every possible configuration of the info he gave me to get on the internet and I haven’t succeeded in so much as checking my Facebook – which is probably illegal in the room I’m in anyway – I think he knows exactly what I can do with his info.  Who needs the internet anyway?  I will get back to what I do best:  wasting my time and others’,too.  Thanks for joining me.

So, what are we up to?  Just like last summer, all the TV shows are in German.  Can you believe it?  But that doesn’t stop Bob.  He watched an entire episode of Chicago PD in German.  As long as someone is being beaten up, chased, or shot, he ‘s happy.   

We are in a studio apartment.  That means no couch, no chairs, only a bed on which to sit.  We are living very simply.  Since I’ve been on Weight Watchers the past six weeks, Bob says I’ve even cured him of hunger.  That’s great as now we don’t even have to eat.  That saves a lot of time.

We wandered around on the weekend.  At the riverfront, we saw a boat cruise ready to take off.  We ran and got on, even though we didn’t know where the boat was going.  As long as it came back in three hours, we didn’t care.  By the way, it was going to Neckarsteinach.  Do you care?  Neither did we.

We also went to a British movie that was in English.  It was called  Tanz  In Leben or “Finding Your Feet.”  It’s about love and life in ,dare I say, very late middle age.  As we find with most British productions ,  Bob and I could have had starring roles in the film, Weight Watchers or no Weight Watchers.  And we have better teeth, too.  Nonetheless, it was a very entertaining movie that will no doubt make its way to the U.S. eventually.

Well, it’ time for me to locate my stuff and trek back home.  Wish me luck.  Just because I found my way here in no way ensures that I will find my way home.  Wish me luck!

Next time we’ll talk garbage, recycling, and laundry.  Don’t miss  it.

Silent but dead-on,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma Tizzie/Grizzie/Frau O'Connell

The Hits Just Keep On Comin'

            Lately, the messages sent my way have me scratching my head. When I add them up, they lead me to some startling discoveries about myself.

            Like many of you, when I look in the mirror – if I don’t look too closely, that is – I look and mostly feel just like I always did.  I certainly act the same; just ask my husband who no doubt desperately wishes that weren’t so.  Anyway, I’m wondering if the world is trying to tell me something.

            In the past few months, I’ve had some encounters that have given me pause.    I went to my doctor for a check up.  For the first time ever, my cholesterol was elevated.  I can’t say I was too surprised as I also learned (ok, I already knew it)  that I am just slightly off the chart in another area – ok, you guessed it – the suggested weight for my age and height.  Do you think those two things could go together? Never mind. 

            I was then sent for a bone scan where I learned that my bones are thinning out.  Furthermore, I’m a fourth of an inch shorter than I was last time I was measured.   How is this fair when my full-grown  height was only 5’ 2 ½”?

            So, I’m fat and getting shorter.   What’s so bad about that?  Well, keep reading; I’m not done yet.  I went to my eye doctor and learned that I have cataracts. They aren’t causing any problems, but they are now on my chart for future reference.

            However, my most startling revelation occurred not in a doctor’s office, but when buying a pair of shoes.  The over-eager shoe salesman would not leave me alone.  He consistently directed me to the “old lady” boots with low heels.  I kept looking at the high-heeled ones (they are great for short fat people, you know), trying to throw him off and to regain a bit of self-respect.   Nonetheless, I did finally buy a pair of black boots (Ok I admit they are low-heeled Naturalizers).  He asked me if I had exciting plans for the afternoon.  I said no, that my errands were completed, and I was going home.  He looked at me, leered,  and said, “Are you going home to take a little nap?” 

            So, somehow I’m not only short and fat with bad eyes, but I look like I need to go home and take a nap? 

Add to this list the fact that I recently got brand new glasses with very (or so I was led to believe) up-to-date frames.  Guess what?  I had them for over a week, and not a single soul –friend, neighbor, husband,  grocery clerk – noticed. 

            I think that my mother’s oft-repeated adage has now come true, “Nobody’s looking at me” – except for predatory shoe salesmen, that is.

Shrinking and thinking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/ Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie

Winter Wonderland

1/1/18

Temp:   -11

Hi, fam, friends, and frenemies,

Holiday fervor subsided?  Looking at a half-dead poinsettia and wondering whether to revive it?  A broken Christmas plate and wondering whether to glue it back together?  A Christmas sweater that hasn’t buttoned in a few years and wondering if you should go on a diet? If you are the wondering and not doing stage, then you’ve come to the right place.  Grab you leftover bubbly and have a seat.

Here's what I've been wondering:

In attempting to remove a frozen turkey neck from a turkey, I managed to twist my hand which produced a cracking sound in three of my fingers , and now I am rendered even less likely than ever be able to open a pickle jar.  I’m wondering why they put the neck and giblets  in a frozen turkey anyway. Assuming anyone wants to eat those “extras”, who has time to cook them on Christmas Day?

In buying my husband a belt, I took his current belt with me to the store.  While trying to measure the new belts for size, the buckle of the old belt somehow became commingled with the buckle of the new belt such that I could not untangle it. Neither could the young man at the check out.  Several shoppers were kept waiting in line while valiant attempts were made.  Finally, the belts broke free.    I’m wondering why JC Penney doesn’t provide better training for its Christmas help, aren't you?

Our granddog Frannie, a French bulldog, took my husband Bob for a walk the morning of our family Christmas dinner.  Frannie chased after some birds and ran out her leash.  This caused Bob to fall on his knee, elbow himself in the ribs, and bend his pinkie into a new position. While at UrgentCare awaiting treatment, my daughters and son-in-law were frantically texting me with requests of how to mash potatoes, cook cranberries, prepare brussel sprouts, etc. and, of course, do this all simultaneously.  Always willing to help, I spewed forth my culinary orders.  When we arrived home, all was completed beautifully, and we sat down on time.   I’m wondering what I can stage next year to get out of the last two hours of Christmas dinner preparation.  All suggestions welcome.  (Note :  I learned later that my son-in-law was wise to this possibility , and exhorted the girls and himself not to do too good of a job lest they get their cooking jobs permanently. My son and daughter-in-law and kids were gone during this event, so maybe I can trick them next year…)

Here in Middle America, the temperatures have been frigid, so I have been mostly inside for several days.  One task I have tackled is  purging the hallway closet.    That sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?  Take the shoeshine box, for example. The shoeshine items (rags, polish, leather balm, brushes, shoe laces which still have price tags stickered on them, more rags, water-proofing spray) are rarely invoked; however, they have resided in the the hall closet for over twenty years.   What will be the result of moving them to a less accessible spot? Like the new tax plan, it’s hard to predict.  The change probably won’t be noticed for a while. However, at some point, a sleeping giant will awake and want to polish his shoes and he will demand to know – immediately – what has become of the shoeshine supplies.  Then he will decry the fact that he was not consulted on the moving of them and will proceed to put them back where they have resided for the previous twenty years.  I’m wondering if it’s safe to move the shoeshine box.  Is it worth the risk? Let me know what you think.

What to do with my “techo-deco”picture  frame circa 2000 that provides a slide show of photos when you push a button?  It seemed like such a clever idea at the time.   I’m not quite sure when it took up residence in the hall closet.  Remarkably, the remote was with it.  However, when I pushed the button, it said that no photos are on the frame.  You and I both know that’s not true.  Those photos are somewhere.   I don’t know what they are or where they are, but I must preserve them at all costs, right?    This item will be sent to the electronics mausoleum in the basement until further notice.   I’m sure it will enjoy meeting the 8mm camcorder, some old cell phones,  and many, many chargers, wires, cords, and gadgets that may or may not go with anything we currently own.   I’m wondering if  I there’s really anyone qualified to tell me what all those items are for and how much longer I need to save them.

Well, slackers, I hate to tell you this, but the fun is up.  It’s time for you to stop drinking and thinking and start moving.   That’s right. Surely, you have a closet you need to clean out or a plot you need to devise to trick  your own family.  Or at least some leftovers you need to polish off. It’s a new year, remember? So, get busy.  I wouldn't want you to follow my example.  I just went downstairs to retrieve my Christmas ornament boxes, and  ended up reading 20+ years of my own Christmas letters. I wonder why.....

Blundering and wondering,

I remain

Tizzie/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie

A Tramping Broad

Guten tag, freunden and flascher freunden (friends and false friends),

FMM**:  4, 548 steps, but the day is young

Have you missed me?  Been wondering where I am?  I wonder that a lot, too.

This time we and the students are in a famous Missourian's favorite German city: Heidelberg.  He liked it so much that he stayed for months instead of days and he wrote about it extensively in his book called A Tramp Abroad.    However, a current famous travel writer feels  differently.  He claims that our location is not worth visiting even if you have three weeks to spend in Germany.  He insists that it attracts "hordes of Americans" and that "its surviving charm is stained almost beyond recognition by commercialism." Well, who are you going to believe -- Mark Twain or Rick Steves or me?  

What's Germany like so far?  Well,  our introduction to our rooms here included a Power Point on cleanliness. We were told to keep the dishes washed and our rooms tidy.  A photo of a sink filled with dirty dishes -- from wayward former tenants (!) -- was displayed to show us what not to do.  Random room checks will occur.  If your room is messy and your sink is filled with dirty dishes, you and your roommates will have five euros deducted from your security deposits.  While Bob and I aren't sure if this applies to us, we have been keeping up appearances just in case.

We are told that jaywalking is verboten.  Not only will you be fined, but Germans will "look down" on you if you do this.  So far I've only missed one tram trying to abide by this rule. Aside:  Did you know that the term jaywalking is of American origin?  It dates from 1915-1920 when a "jay" was a slang word for a "stupid or dull person."  Hmmm... seems like I know another word that begins with "jay".... Maybe my Mizzou friends can help me out.

Bicycles are king.  They are everywhere.  And no one wears a helmet. They also have the right of way.  If one runs you over, it's your fault.  This one can be tricky, especially if you are someone who gets to talking and forgets that you are standing in a bike lane.  I'm learning, I'm learning. I may invest in a helmet myself.

Promptness is expected.  Even one esteemed professor whose name I won't reveal who is accustomed to having people wait for him has taken to showing up on time for meetings.  I kind of like this one.

Our daughter Nancy is coming to visit tomorrow.  She has been given strict instructions on what to bring:

*a very specific automatic pencil for her dad (the exact kind he has used since 1976). Photos and specifications were provided to her.  Hopefully, she won't let him down.
*a stack of paper plates (Shhhh ! I don't think they are allowed here; she will probably be detained.)
*microwave popcorn (It may be against the law,  too, but I'm willing to risk her future.)

For those of you who are long time readers of Tiztalk (begun in 2009), I must report that mice have again reared their ugly heads and teeth.  More on this next time when I hope I can report a resolution and maybe even a titillating  photo or two.  In the meantime, set your mousetraps.

With Nancy's arrival, there's hope that photos will reappear on Tiztalk.

**For new readers, "FMM = forced mile march".  I must say that having a Fitbit certainly keeps me honest.  liked it better when I could "estimate' how far I had to tramp in a day.

Talking but not jaywalking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma