Isernhagen-Sud becomes our new home

September 25, 2010

Pictured: a traditional German housewarming gift from my friend: bread and salt

Elisabeth and a few friends ready for cake!
walking in our neighborhood

Elisabeth turned seven yesterday. I ended the day in bed with a few tears. While we are gaining much in this move, I am feeling the losses as well. I miss extended time at home with Elisabeth and look forward already to homeschooling upon our return to the U.S. I fear that she will resist, just as she resists being friendly to me or Henry when she returns from school each day, having spent her energy traveling to and from school, cavorting with her friends, and learning, so I presume. But after thirty minutes or so--usually time alone, sometimes with a scolding, sometimes without, she is ready to enjoy her family again. I eagerly await her fall break which is two weeks in October which corresponds nicely to my mom’s visit.

Today John took Elisabeth into Hannover to explore. Henry and I have spent a lot of time there, it seems, so in honor of Elisabeth’s birthday, it was time for a daddy-daughter date. Meanwhile, Henry and I took the tram two stops to the grocery store and ended up at the Herbstfest--Fall Festival. Here you can have a fall festival in September and it feels like fall! It is a rainy day, so Henry was sporting his fireman rain jacket and boots. He looked fabulous (but John had the camera) and everyone was looking at him with smiles and saying with surprise, “Ah, there is the feuerwehrman!” I guess it was a bit unusual. Many kids have the same jacket from the same store. The girls’ jackets are red and pink and the boys’ are blue and light blue, some with a pattern of small skulls. Anyway, the festival was just getting set up so we had some time to wander while Henry waited for the carousel to be set up. I bought some rolls from a bakery and encountered my first sticky-fingered shopkeeper. I think he was unintentionally sticky fingered, but when he gave me my change--I had handed him a 50 Euro bill, which he didn’t appreciate--one of the five euro bills stuck to his fingers and landed back in the drawer. I saw it go, but then couldn’t count my change fast enough. It wasn’t until I was back home in the kitchen that I realized that I had lost five euro. I have to just chalk it up to the cost of transition. I shall add it to the cost of paying Ikea to assemble our purchases, the cost of buying salami that cost 9 euros (over $10, though it was really good), the cost of leaving newly purchased party invitations and supplies on the train. It is best not to keep a list, really.

I spent one euro for Henry to have two rides on the carousel then he played with some fabulous marble towers. They looked hand carved or constructed out of wood and were the most intricate I have seen. Other booths were set up by schools, churches and banks. All of them featured homemade cakes and goodies. I think in the states that would be a no-no these days, so it was fun to see the variety and the effort the local people put into this.

A word about our new location: our address is Hannover, so we do live in Hannover, but if someone here asks where we live, we say Isernhagen Sud. But we don’t feel like we live in Hannover. In a way it is more like The Woodlands, but not quite so far away. There are lots of trees here, it is on the north side of town, the street signs are really cute . . .we have big stores you can drive to, but my chauffeur husband hasn’t taken me there yet. But it is of course different from The Woodlands--smaller, quieter, access via public transportation, good bakeries, no Starbucks, no mall. We do have a wine store just down the street and John has already made friends with the owner. We have construction across the street, and older neighbors who walk their dog. On days when I am worn out from shopping, or navigating Hannover or whatever, I am always so glad to come home. It is a peaceful place. There are still big messes and lots of work to do (we have to turn the lights off in our bedroom when we change clothes at night--no curtains--kids have no overhead lights yet) but there is room for Henry’s train track and Elisabeth’s new playmobile set, and we even had room for a birthday party with eight girls plus Elisabeth and Henry. And the tiny oven was big enough to bake a cake, a good old traditional yellow cake with buttercream icing decorated like a butterfly.

We were just about to get on the tram with our groceries. I had been pulling them around all the while in my little black suitcase that sort of resembles the shopping bags here with wheels and handles that women use. I had bought chicken and sausage, but the day was cool so I thought a few extra hours outside wouldn’t be too harmful. But once again we had just missed a tram (the number 9 comes every 10 minutes) and I saw some fire engines. We wandered over to look at them and found out it was a parade that was just about to start. We decided this was worth the wait and soon enough it began. I was excited to hear what the band would play and imagine my surprise when I heard, “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Louis Armstrong had a big influence here I think. They played other songs after that, tossed candy, and even fresh rolls in bakery bags. Groups of men dressed in traditional suits marched along, and the parade ended with a small group of dogs leading their owners.

While we waited for our tram, Henry had one last time to play--a bouncy house set up by the grocery store. The look of delight on his face was enough to let me watch one or two trams go by before we headed home.


Wednesday September 29, 2010
By 9 AM the sun was shining brightly and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a day to love life. We planned to meet friends at the Oktoberfest (not the Bavarian party you are thinking of--just a bunch of rides set out near the school, so every day the kids ask, “When can we go to the Oktoberfest? When?”) Meanwhile the sky has completely clouded over and I hope it will be just clouds, not the rain like we had on Monday. Henry is now well-outfitted with his rain pants, rain boots and jacket, but still he complained, “Mommy, the rain drops are falling in my eyes!” We soaked one stroller in the morning because of our errands, so I was happy to have a spare to use in the afternoon.

This morning Henry and I stopped at the store on our way home from taking Elisabeth to school. We get off the tram two stops before our regular stop. I have yet to take a car to the grocery store, and usually just make small trips every day or two. But yesterday I skipped going at all, and Monday I only got 1 Liter of milk, 1.5 Liters of apple juice and 4 peppers. So today my list was long. I walked passed the eggs and thought, “I need those” but I had already filled the little cart that Henry was pushing, and the basket under the stroller, so I thought I better wait. Then I paid for the groceries and began reloading things into the stroller, putting a 2 kilo bag of apples in my backpack. It was lumpy, but manageable. We eat a lot of apples. However, waiting to get on the tram, the bread from the bakery opened and spilled onto the ground. I just put it back in the bag. After all, the butcher lady had weighed and wrapped my meat using her bare hands, then gave Henry a piece of wurst--like baloney. Germs are different here I think. Then the tram came and I hoisted two bags of groceries inside the tram (luckily not busy towards the end of the line) while Henry climbed up eating a piece of bread. Then I tried to get the now heavy stroller in. I must explain about trams: These start above ground running on tracks--street cars. Then as they get close to the inner city they go underground. Above ground when the doors open, steps unfold, so you have to climb up two or three big steps to get in. Below ground there is a platform, so you enter and exit the tram on the same level. The steps aren’t needed. It is easier to enter and exit when there is a platform, but Henry much prefers riding above ground--so much to see. He has learned his numbers quite well by reading the numbers of the trams, and now knows how to read how many minutes until the next tram arrives.

Usually I can lift my black stroller up easily and put the top wheels into the tram, then push it further in while I climb up. If it has a few groceries it is more difficult, but doable. But the black stroller was still quite damp from Monday’s excursion, so we were using the hand-me down blue Graco which is older than my 7+ year old Graco. And heavier. And the basket is smaller and already overloaded. All that to say, I was having trouble getting it into the tram. The sign says if you keep your foot on the bottom step the doors will stay open, but maybe my foot was on the ground because the doors began to close, then opened again partly. I figured the driver could see me, so I wasn’t too alarmed, but it was beginning to be inconvenient. Just then a fellow passenger rushed over to me and helped me pull the stroller in. I was embarrassed for such a large shopping expedition. It is one thing to be helped with your stroller when there is a baby in it, something else to be helped when there is a sleeping three year old in it, but a walking, bread-eating three year old, and a stroller loaded with groceries in the basket is in a different class. I began to rethink my resistance to shopping every day. I also added mentally to my list for Saturday when John will drive me in the car to the Real. It is pronounced Reh-Al and is perhaps like Walmart. People seem to have a love-hate relationship with it. My great desire and wish and dream is to push a large cart, by myself, through the store one aisle at a time and put in everything I think I need, then happily load it back into the cart in a few bags (self-bagging here, and bring your own or prepare to pay for them) and then put it in the car. The problem may arise when I get home and find there is no place for all the toilet paper except under the study desk, and no room for the frozen foods at all. The milk, however, need not all be refrigerated at once, so perhaps I can stock up there.

These thoughts and many other serve to show me how American I am, or rather, how privileged an American I am. Where I’m from we take it not just for granted, but as a right that you have a car to take to the grocery store every day, to pick up your kids from school, and to drive as much as you possibly want. This is another post entirely, but I keep procrastinating on posting this, so I think I will stop now. There is more to write about of course:

John's day with Elisabeth
how our house showed us that we have too much stuff
how Rosetta Stone is slowly helping me communicate
how Henry’s first hours of kindergarten went (German kindergarten--ages 3-6)
how the rides went at the Oktoberfest
church
how our house is becoming a home, a peaceful place to which we look forward to returning
how I have to limit Elisabeth’s playdates so I see her from time to time


Good night!