Sunday, September 12, 2010
There were many questions from you all this week as to our sleep. Yes, thank you, we are sleeping better! After moving to his own room, each night Henry continued to complain that he wouldn’t sleep, and he still got up multiple times at night, but it gradually got less and less until one morning last week we realized he had slept from 7:30 PM to 6 AM. Yes! He gets a nap about every other day, depending on our schedule, and he usually could sleep for three hours. On the no nap days his weariness really starts to show around 4:00, but somehow we survive.
The highlight of last week was a visit from my cousin Peter, who turned 21 on his last day here. He was on his way home from building water wells in Kosovo. We were delighted to have him as our first visitor, especially since he was willing to visit us in our crowded place and had his own sleeping bag. He was here from Tuesday afternoon to Thursday evening and I think we showed him our daily life mixed with a little sightseeing. On Wednesday we walked into the center of Celle and climbed the church bell tower. We had not done this before, but I thought it would be fun to do with Peter. After the first set of stairs, however, I realized I hadn’t thought through doing it with Henry! He did well though. The spiral stairs went around and around and Henry kept going up and up. We climbed right past the bells and I tried to make out what the signs read. “Vorsicht!” I knew that one. You hear it from the loudspeaker at the train station before the trains come roaring by, and from elderly women when they think Henry is leaning too close to the tracks. The other words I determined to say that the bells would ring every quarter hour. I glanced at my watch, wondering if we were in danger. We had a few minutes til 11:00. Better keep walking and be prepared to cover Henry’s ears. Fortunately we had several stops in the climbing where we could get off the stairs and walk around and look out some windows. We had just arrived at one of these when the bells began chiming, not nearly as loud as I thought they would be. Peter ran back down to look at the bells and saw that one small hammer was hitting one small bell. The climbing continued and after another five minutes we were at the top and could go outside to walk around the outside of the tower. I was glad that there was wire fencing from floor to ceiling! The wind was powerful and we zipped up our jackets. I have climbed many towers in my travels in Europe, but this was the first with mein Sohn. He was ready to go back down as soon as we got to the top.
Thursday we went into Hannover and followed part of “the red thread” which took us by a few churches and monuments. Henry scrambled all over the Holocaust Memorial, a large boxy, inelegant memorial that was nonetheless moving to me. Names of victims of the Holocaust, where they were deported and the year of deportation were inscribed on every façade of this structure. From there we followed the thread to a church that had been bombed out in WW2 and not rebuilt. It was a sobering place, yet there is a certain beauty in a church like that. The structure that remains tells a story and maintains a dignity in spite of the violence that was performed against it.
Our next stop was even more of a shocker. I had been told to visit the Rathaus (the City Hall) and see the models of Hannover through the centuries. The first was from the 1600s, so the city was much smaller, surrounded by farms. The next model was from 1938—a large city with a train station, many churches, etc. But then we saw a model from 1943. Devastation. The haunting part for me was not that the buildings were gone, but that they were partly gone—burnt, empty, gray. People lived there, and many died there, but many continued to live and had to remake their lives after the destruction. I recalled Peter’s descriptions of Kosovo and how bereft the country still is after the war there. Many places still lack clean water. Away from my protected niche in the U.S., I am finally getting a better picture of how war affects communities for years and years afterwards. Perhaps if I had seen a British city after the bombing it would have been different than seeing an “enemy” city. I found myself feeling awkward that I was feeling compassion for the Nazis. But then I caught myself, because it wasn’t the Nazis I felt compassion for, but the residents of the city who were caught in the fray. No matter the side you are on, the destruction is still painful and dreadful and horrible.
**
Yesterday Elisabeth asked if we were going “to the church in Hannover or the church in Celle?” John explained that we were going to visit a church in Hannover, but it would be a different one. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “We will have gone to three different churches!”
I was eager to visit this church, an Evangelical Reformed Church, like the one we visited in Celle, with whom we share theological and historical roots. We confirmed that there was children’s church and were happy to know that the children would be with us for a bit before they went off with the other children. Happily there was also a baptism, so there were lots of other little noises of children. The church was well equipped with story books for Henry to read and a tablet on which to color. Then the pastor began and I once again was reminded that although we share much in our heritage we still speak a different language. However, I loved the organ and the first hymn was from Psalm 121. The best moment was watching Elisabeth trying for the first time to sing the hymns with us. She always participated with enthusiasm at church in The Woodlands, but the last few weeks she’s been hesitant. I was so grateful to see her trying. But once again Henry didn’t want me to leave him in children’s church (a small group of about 8 kids) so I stayed with him and Elisabeth. Elisabeth had no idea what the teacher was asking her, even if it was about colors. I was glad that we had enrolled her in the International School because if this was hard today, I cannot imagine how hard it would be all day for five days a week. I found myself descending into a bitter place, wanting to just go home and stay home and not have to speak German. It seemed impossible that I would ever make any progress. As soon as church was over and the kids had eaten a whole plate of cookies, I let John know that it was time to go. He was a bit surprised, being in the middle of a conversation with the pastor, but I had reached a limit. I was ashamed to speak in English or in German. After lunch and a nap we were able to have a better discussion about our plans for being here. I explained to John that over the last week or so I think I have been telling myself that our idealistic views before we came that we don’t “want to merely live in the ‘expat bubble’” were just that—idealistic and unrealistic. The expat bubble is looking quite nice to me, and I don’t see a reason to go outside of it. John, however, still has higher expectations and a desire to learn German and integrate into the community. Because I was in a better mood this wasn’t quite so overwhelming to me. Once we get settled I really need to find a place to take a German class. John has class two times a week at work and he’s already talking about grammar and this and that. I am able to express myself better than when we first came, but there is still an impossible amount to learn! Ach. The kids in children’s church started saying some English words they know when they found that we were American. “Pencil case. Books. Notebook.” That seems about as useful as my German vocabulary! The pastor kept saying “GrosseSchwarz” or something like that, which directly translated means “big black.” I cannot imagine how this fit with the baptism, unless he was referring to big black sin or something. Again, too embarrassed to ask, and afraid he would think, “Why are you here if you don’t speak German? Why even visit this church and sit through this really long sermon you don’t understand?” John’s response is that we go because we are Christians and we will learn . . .but for next week he has assented to attending the other international church which is English speaking.
Monday September 13, 2010
We have the keys to our new place! There is a lot of work ahead (you know how it is to move for the very first time . . .when you have no washer and dryer, no microwave, no vacuum cleaner, no mixer and you have to buy those things, but you can’t drive your husband’s car because it is a stick shift – still) but we caught a glimpse of how things will be, and we like it. I didn’t mention the closets, did I? We knew this coming here that there are no closets like we have in the U.S. You have to buy wardrobes. But today as I was mentally laying out the rooms I kept forgetting about that. I had things settled in my mind, then I thought, “Where’s the closet?” Where will those wardrobes fit? We shall see. We may have one room devoted entirely to wardrobes. And no, I can already tell you they won’t be as deep and fur-coated as a certain wardrobe we all love.
In the morning we walked through the house with our relocation agent and the real estate agent. This was no brief walk. I can only compare it to an inspection in which we were the inspectors. This we did not enjoy. Both agents had to write down the condition of the apartment and this would be a legal document showing what we are responsible for. I am grateful for their attention to detail, but it was kind of a downer to find out all the problems with the place after we’ve already paid the deposit. From time to time they argued in German about what exactly to write down. It was kind of humorous, except that it took from 9:30 to 1:00. After that John dashed off with our relocation agent to set up utilities. That was a breeze—gas, water and electricity—one building, one piece of paper. Internet and phone took longer, but hopefully by the 22nd we’ll be able to Skype and even call the U.S. for very little.
Our new neighbors and school friends, Betinna and her kids, brought Elisabeth home from school, which was great. The kids got a quick tour of the house then were running around outside. Elisabeth was happy that the rose contact paper was still covering one of her windows.
After that it was back to Celle with tired and a bit confused kids. But I have hope for being settled soon. Wednesday at 8 AM the movers come to unload and unpack our container. Henry will go to Betinna’s house for the day, for which I am very grateful.
I could write more, but I must get to bed and let John post this Tuesday morning. Thanks for staying in touch!
Laurel
Our next stop was even more of a shocker. I had been told to visit the Rathaus (the City Hall) and see the models of Hannover through the centuries. The first was from the 1600s, so the city was much smaller, surrounded by farms. The next model was from 1938—a large city with a train station, many churches, etc. But then we saw a model from 1943. Devastation. The haunting part for me was not that the buildings were gone, but that they were partly gone—burnt, empty, gray. People lived there, and many died there, but many continued to live and had to remake their lives after the destruction. I recalled Peter’s descriptions of Kosovo and how bereft the country still is after the war there. Many places still lack clean water. Away from my protected niche in the U.S., I am finally getting a better picture of how war affects communities for years and years afterwards. Perhaps if I had seen a British city after the bombing it would have been different than seeing an “enemy” city. I found myself feeling awkward that I was feeling compassion for the Nazis. But then I caught myself, because it wasn’t the Nazis I felt compassion for, but the residents of the city who were caught in the fray. No matter the side you are on, the destruction is still painful and dreadful and horrible.**
Yesterday Elisabeth asked if we were going “to the church in Hannover or the church in Celle?” John explained that we were going to visit a church in Hannover, but it would be a different one. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “We will have gone to three different churches!”
I was eager to visit this church, an Evangelical Reformed Church, like the one we visited in Celle, with whom we share theological and historical roots. We confirmed that there was children’s church and were happy to know that the children would be with us for a bit before they went off with the other children. Happily there was also a baptism, so there were lots of other little noises of children. The church was well equipped with story books for Henry to read and a tablet on which to color. Then the pastor began and I once again was reminded that although we share much in our heritage we still speak a different language. However, I loved the organ and the first hymn was from Psalm 121. The best moment was watching Elisabeth trying for the first time to sing the hymns with us. She always participated with enthusiasm at church in The Woodlands, but the last few weeks she’s been hesitant. I was so grateful to see her trying. But once again Henry didn’t want me to leave him in children’s church (a small group of about 8 kids) so I stayed with him and Elisabeth. Elisabeth had no idea what the teacher was asking her, even if it was about colors. I was glad that we had enrolled her in the International School because if this was hard today, I cannot imagine how hard it would be all day for five days a week. I found myself descending into a bitter place, wanting to just go home and stay home and not have to speak German. It seemed impossible that I would ever make any progress. As soon as church was over and the kids had eaten a whole plate of cookies, I let John know that it was time to go. He was a bit surprised, being in the middle of a conversation with the pastor, but I had reached a limit. I was ashamed to speak in English or in German. After lunch and a nap we were able to have a better discussion about our plans for being here. I explained to John that over the last week or so I think I have been telling myself that our idealistic views before we came that we don’t “want to merely live in the ‘expat bubble’” were just that—idealistic and unrealistic. The expat bubble is looking quite nice to me, and I don’t see a reason to go outside of it. John, however, still has higher expectations and a desire to learn German and integrate into the community. Because I was in a better mood this wasn’t quite so overwhelming to me. Once we get settled I really need to find a place to take a German class. John has class two times a week at work and he’s already talking about grammar and this and that. I am able to express myself better than when we first came, but there is still an impossible amount to learn! Ach. The kids in children’s church started saying some English words they know when they found that we were American. “Pencil case. Books. Notebook.” That seems about as useful as my German vocabulary! The pastor kept saying “GrosseSchwarz” or something like that, which directly translated means “big black.” I cannot imagine how this fit with the baptism, unless he was referring to big black sin or something. Again, too embarrassed to ask, and afraid he would think, “Why are you here if you don’t speak German? Why even visit this church and sit through this really long sermon you don’t understand?” John’s response is that we go because we are Christians and we will learn . . .but for next week he has assented to attending the other international church which is English speaking.
Monday September 13, 2010
We have the keys to our new place! There is a lot of work ahead (you know how it is to move for the very first time . . .when you have no washer and dryer, no microwave, no vacuum cleaner, no mixer and you have to buy those things, but you can’t drive your husband’s car because it is a stick shift – still) but we caught a glimpse of how things will be, and we like it. I didn’t mention the closets, did I? We knew this coming here that there are no closets like we have in the U.S. You have to buy wardrobes. But today as I was mentally laying out the rooms I kept forgetting about that. I had things settled in my mind, then I thought, “Where’s the closet?” Where will those wardrobes fit? We shall see. We may have one room devoted entirely to wardrobes. And no, I can already tell you they won’t be as deep and fur-coated as a certain wardrobe we all love.
In the morning we walked through the house with our relocation agent and the real estate agent. This was no brief walk. I can only compare it to an inspection in which we were the inspectors. This we did not enjoy. Both agents had to write down the condition of the apartment and this would be a legal document showing what we are responsible for. I am grateful for their attention to detail, but it was kind of a downer to find out all the problems with the place after we’ve already paid the deposit. From time to time they argued in German about what exactly to write down. It was kind of humorous, except that it took from 9:30 to 1:00. After that John dashed off with our relocation agent to set up utilities. That was a breeze—gas, water and electricity—one building, one piece of paper. Internet and phone took longer, but hopefully by the 22nd we’ll be able to Skype and even call the U.S. for very little.
Our new neighbors and school friends, Betinna and her kids, brought Elisabeth home from school, which was great. The kids got a quick tour of the house then were running around outside. Elisabeth was happy that the rose contact paper was still covering one of her windows.
After that it was back to Celle with tired and a bit confused kids. But I have hope for being settled soon. Wednesday at 8 AM the movers come to unload and unpack our container. Henry will go to Betinna’s house for the day, for which I am very grateful.
I could write more, but I must get to bed and let John post this Tuesday morning. Thanks for staying in touch!
Laurel
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