 |
| Bike riding to the store has its limitations |
By January of last year I felt like I was really quite adjusted to living in Hannover.
On a chilly January day two friends and I met to walk together and then get a few things at the grocery store. We planned to then take the tram back home. It was a lovely, brisk walk. Two Americans and a German who lived in the US for five years have much to talk about. Soon we were at the store doing our shopping. In between the produce and the dairy section, I saw my neighbor, Frau K . . K . .. what was her name? I simply couldn’t remember, although I had seen her a number of times and had chatted with her husband. She was in her late 70s, a tall woman with excellent posture and silvery white hair. I got up enough nerve to say, “Guten Tag.” On earlier occasions when I had talked with my neighbor and her husband, it was her husband who was always the friendly one, with English that he learned from movies and songs. He told me that his name was “Kranz” and I could remember it by “Garland. Judy Garland” because Kranz means wreath or garland. Consequently when I saw his wife at the grocery store I nearly called her Frau Garland, but that just didn’t seem right.
Frau Kranz took a few moments to register who I was and then she smiled kindly. “Did you come by bike?” No, I walked with friends. “Oh! Well. The next time you need to go shopping, you must ring and I will drive you. You really must.” Not wanting to impose, I really didn’t want to accept her offer, but she insisted so strongly, that I was afraid she would see me at the store one day and wonder why I hadn’t asked her.
So the next week I rang her doorbell at 9 AM. “Guten Morgen!” She smiled warmly. I managed a simple German sentence, “Gehen Sie nach Edeka?” “Ja! Ich gehe in zehn minuten.” So we arranged that I would come back in ten minutes and meet her at her car.
So began our weekly store trips together. Taking a bike to the grocery store is fine, but when it is icy, snowy and slushy, riding with Frau Kranz was marvelous. And then it just became habit--a very nice habit. Usually we spoke in English. She hadn’t spoken it in a long time, but she remembered so much. Sometimes a German word would slip in, but that just made me feel better for not speaking more German. Often I would start in German, but then quickly switch to English as soon as I encountered a phrase I had trouble with.
Frau Kranz would tell me what she was making for dinner, which traditionally here is the noon meal. Her husband, it seems, was very particular and always knew what he wanted. If it was a simple day, it would be spaghetti and sauce. Other days, an omelette. We talked about what I was fixing for dinner and what the children like to eat. Through her I met the soup man who comes every Wednesday at 11:00. Her Wednesday shopping trips were scheduled around him. So one Wednesday I went along with Frau Kranz to buy some soup. The soup man drove up in a white van that had his name printed in small letters on the side. I had seen the van before, and was rather suspicious of what might be being sold from it, but accompanied by Frau Kranz I felt braver. When the soup man opened the sliding side door of his van, set up an awning and put up a tall round table, he had a soup restaurant. Frau Kranz had brought her own containers, so for 2,50 euro he filled up one container with Tomaten Suppe, ladling it from a large pot on a stove inside the van. I decided to try Hochzeit suppe which Frau Kranz had been describing to me, as I was afraid to try a new tomato soup, since La Madeleine’s tomato basil soup is now the standard. The Hochzeit suppe, which means wedding soup, was full of noodles, tiny meat balls (pork or turkey, called Fleishbällschen) and vegetables. It proved to be the soup by which Henry learned to eat soup, and for weeks afterwards he asked me to get “that soup with the little meatballs” from the soup man. Eventually I did try the tomato soup and have thankfully had my soup awareness broadened. It doesn’t have to be tomato basil from La Madeleine to be good. This tasted fresher, more tomato-y and just plain good.
When we found out last summer that we’d be moving back to the states this May, I didn’t want to tell Frau Kranz. I told lots of people, but I just couldn’t bear to tell her. Then it was January and I thought I would need to tell her soon, but I thought I would wait til we’d given our landlord our termination notice. Then on another January day, a year after our first outing together, it started to slip out. She said her daughter had listed on eBay their beach chair, one of those big baskety things, typically found on a North Sea beach, called a Strand Korb. Someone was coming to look at it soon. Without thinking, I exclaimed, “Now that would be something cool to bring back to Texas!” The words were out and I realized that I hadn’t told her yet. Oh dear. She didn’t say anything right then as she was involved in parking her car between two rather crookedly parked cars.
It wasn’t until we were back in the car on our way home that she said, “Now, you go back to the U.S. next year?” I said, yes, next year and I thought, “Oh did I already tell her?” Then I remembered it was January and I said, “Oh no. It’s this year!” “This year? So soon!? Nein. When?” “In May.” “May! Oh Schade! Nein.” I began my typical string of “I know, it’s too soon. I wish it wasn’t so soon . . .” She said, “I will tell my husband and he will . . .” and she traced her finger down her cheek to show the tears that Herr Kranz would shed. She continued, “Of all the neighbors on our street, you are the first ones we had luck with.” I said something about no, we were the ones who had luck, because I couldn’t think fast enough to say what I really wanted to say which was something like, “No, God has really used you to take care of us.”
 |
| Strandkorb at the North Sea |
It wasn’t until we were back in the car on our way home that she said, “Now, you go back to the U.S. next year?” I said, yes, next year and I thought, “Oh did I already tell her?” Then I remembered it was January and I said, “Oh no. It’s this year!” “This year? So soon!? Nein. When?” “In May.” “May! Oh Schade! Nein.” I began my typical string of “I know, it’s too soon. I wish it wasn’t so soon . . .” She said, “I will tell my husband and he will . . .” and she traced her finger down her cheek to show the tears that Herr Kranz would shed. She continued, “Of all the neighbors on our street, you are the first ones we had luck with.” I said something about no, we were the ones who had luck, because I couldn’t think fast enough to say what I really wanted to say which was something like, “No, God has really used you to take care of us.”
 |
| Our resident German expert |
Today John and I met with Antje, who was our relocation agent when we moved here. Now she’s helping us to cancel all the arrangements she helped us set up: phones, power, lease contract for our house. Arriving by train in Celle on a rainy day brought back a flood of memories from our early days here. They weren’t pleasant memories and I was surprised. I’ve been to Celle several times since we moved to Hannover and I’ve always loved it. But today, perhaps it was the rain, and coming to Celle not to sightsee, but to take care of business, business that would lead us further into the stages of transition. As I walked to meet John I had to remind myself that I’m not the same person I was when I arrived. I’ve learned some German. I’ve made friends. Those friends pulled me through the toughest transition I’ve made yet. I’ve watched our family dynamics change and seen my children gain some independence. We've seen new ways of living and been presented with new ideas. We've been outsiders who have been allowed to be a part of things. It doesn't matter to me how much work it is to get home again: it's all worth it.
Comments