The White Blouse

If I had known it would have caused such a ruckus I would have left it with my umbrella at the coat check. But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let me begin by saying that I understand and respect rules. I particularly understand rules wherever people gather and in places like museums where there are rare and socially and historically relevant artifacts on public display. But to save my life I could not explain why the owner/manager/curator whoever came up with the rule that one cannot stroll through a museum with a white blouse. I will try to explain.

One of the most prized artifacts in the Neues Museum in Berlin is the Gold Hat. It is made of thin gold leaf, circa 1,000 – 800 B.C. It is one of only four such hats remaining and is the only one fully preserved. It is covered with symbols representing a lunisolar calendar. What is particularly interesting about this hat is the fact that the information on it wasn’t thought to be figured out (or discovered) until much later. The existence of this hat proves . . . something.

It was at this point I was interrupted for the first time by one of the many guards at the Neues Museum, one of the many guards whose job is a dearth of activity. He spoke to me in German, a language I was still struggling to learn. I didn’t understand him, but I could tell he was talking about the small (I’m a size 4) blouse slung on my arm. I got that he wasn’t complimenting me on my fabric choice, but otherwise couldn’t figure out what he was saying. Through the little German I spoke and some pantomime I guessed I wasn’t allowed to have the blouse slung on my arm. That was so ridiculous I was certain I was dreaming so I just walked away from him. He pulled out his walkie-talkie like a saber and called for backup. Really? Pushing through my bewilderment at that, I asked why I couldn’t have my blouse. I understood that it was against the rules. I gave him my best ‘duh’ face. I asked again, hoping for an answer this time, why? He then looked around, stepped back into a corner and writhed around in a twist-like manner then held up his hands and made the ‘duh’ face right back at me. Obviously the man was touched and I feared for my safety lest my reaction to his dance frighten him. I slowly stepped back, said something non-committal like “Ahh” then slowly pretended to do something with my blouse and left his room.

What the . . .?

Did I mention that we were allowed to take pictures in this museum? There were only two rooms where photography was prohibited and this was clearly marked for the illiterate as well as the literate. I was learning about Nefertiti whose name means “the beauty has come.” She carried many titles including “Main King’s Wife.” I’m not sure whether that meant that she was the wife of the main king or she was the main wife of the king, but it is understood that they married for love as she was a commoner. Supposedly she reigned for a time as the king was . . .

Then I was again interrupted. This time a female guard approached me. Again the white blouse was distressing. She and I had an exchange similar to the one I had with the male guard earlier, though she was no mime. She meant business; her words carried enough weight. So did she. I tried walking away again, but she drew her saber – almost dropped it she was so adamant at reporting my behavior. So I stopped. As we stood there people were fondling Nefertiti’s bust, taking turns running their hands all over it. Apparently that was acceptable, but my blouse was not. I again asked why I couldn’t carry a blouse on my arm. I was told it is against the rules. For a people of whom so many the word ‘why’ means nothing, how did so many scientists come out of Germany? I appealed to her feminine side, though there wasn’t one in evidence. I told her I was in menopause and frequently got hot, then chilled. No good. I was then tempted to take a picture of her and show it to her saying “This is not a happy person.” But that would have been wrong and petty. I did manage to get what I thought was an extremely helpful clue as to why the blouse was causing so much distress amongst the guards: it was not “fest”. Fest means, among other things, stable. Neither, in my opinion were the guards in this museum, but that was beside the point, to her anyway. So I tied the sleeves of my blouse around my purse. That satisfied her and I was off to another room and another encounter.

Nefertiti was actually the Pharaoh’s wife. Pharaoh, I learned means “great house.” The Egyptians prided themselves on caring for their whole being. The males would gather regularly for symposiums to strengthen themselves physically (where nude wrestling was common), mentally, spiritually and morally. I then learned that a “symposium” was really a huge drunken whore fest. We women should be alert when our husbands take part in any symposiums. This was getting juicy until I was again interrupted.

The man who had earlier busted me for my umbrella (against which I put up no fight) told me I couldn’t carry my blouse like that. He spoke good English. I told him that the woman in the other room said I could carry it like this. He shook his head and told me that was incorrect. I tied it around my waist thinking (logically) what’s the difference between a skirt and a shirt tied around my waist? That, too was unacceptable. I asked him why . . . well you know that part of that story already. I asked him what the reason for the rule was. He shook his head and confessed that the rule was passed down from the owner/manager/curator – whatever, and he was hired to enforce it. At last someone who knew what was going on! I said, “So there is no reason.” He just shook his head and walked away.

I walked through several rooms unassaulted and thought that perhaps my friend had notified the other guards that we were calling a truce.

Nope.

I was in the erotic room. I had seen a statue of a Satyr and hermaphrodite (which was unclear until you viewed it from a certain angle). I finally realized what Cupid’s arrows represented. (I’m slow.) I was examining a very rough, wooden carving (for lack of a better word) of a figure with a hole between its legs for, to quote the audio guide, “obvious purposes.” I’m slow, remember, and I was trying to figure out what obvious purposes those were when I was again accosted by a guard.

This guard had a new approach. It had occurred to me that the same people who didn’t want a blouse slung on my arm (or tied to my purse or around my waist) were okay with my carrying around a (museum issued) metal walkman swinging around on the end on a long string. So I asked her what made my blouse more dangerous than the metal hanging and swinging off me. She took the fabric of my blouse and brushed it against the corner of a display case, then held up her hands and gave me the ‘duh’ face. Well, that explains that.

I was a lifeguard and I hated it when people would argue with me as to why they couldn’t dive into six feet of water nor run around on the wet deck. I know from that experience that there are two things many, many people don’t want to be told: the truth and to not do something. I don’t want to make people’s jobs harder just as I didn’t like it when people made my job harder. If these rules showed the vaguest sense I wouldn’t have given these guards such a hard time.

I had one final encounter. Possibly my favorite, that’s hard to call. This man spoke a little English. “Lady, lady” he interrupted me. He whipped out a rule book – a rule book! “Look. In English.” He showed me the written rule. It stated that there would be no carrying of coats around the museum. Coats?! Now I just love it when people use some piece of information that they think will win them their argument when really it works against them.I told him, "Das ist nicht ein Mantel." This is not a coat. “Was ist das?“ “Das ist eine Bluse!“ This is a blouse.

He threw up his arms and walked away from me. Should I have reported him for not doing his job?

A Dog's-Eye View of Munich

Munich is a great place to be a dog; I can see that. But, since I’m a human I don’t feel that it’s appropriate for me to write about it so I’m turning this blog post over to Kaiser, a dog acquaintance of mine. Here's Kaiser.

First of all, before I get all my US canine family too excited about life in Munich, I feel I should straight with you: You must be a good dog to enjoy life in Munich. If you are a good dog, life doesn’t get any better.

To begin with there’s this park they call the English Garden. It’s huge! And the trees! Oh, I could cry, but bulldogs don’t cry. There are trees that you can get lost behind. Trees that will take you several seconds to run around. Oh, I can read your little minds. You’re worried about the leash with these enormous trees. Well, are you sitting? Sit! Good dog. There are no leashes! That’s right. Your master read that correctly to you: you do not have to wear a leash in the English Garden. You do not have to wear a leash in Munich – as long as you are a good dog. Leash free life is the best. There are fields in the English Garden that will take you minutes to run across. That’s how big it is. And the smells! There are Biergartens everywhere so there’s always something spilled as well as the, um, evidence of other doggy visitors. There are broken limbs everywhere so there’s always a good stick to carry and chase.

The other dogs are so fun-loving and friendly, nary a bully among them – if you’ll pardon the expression. They’re all up for a good romp, a roll in the grass, a good game of chase or a walk or swim in the river. Stay out of the lake; those geese are mighty territorial. Funny story. I’m being chased by this beagle. She’s gaining on me. (They all gain on me, except the pugs.) I hear this strange whistle when I think I have her licked until I realized she wasn’t there anymore. The whistle was her mistress. My heart broke a little that day, but you get over it. There’s always another cute beagle.

Another great perk about living in Munich is you get to go into restaurants and stores. No more being tied to the lamppost and waiting for who knows how long. You get to be right in the action. You think the restaurants smell good from the outside? Try sitting under one of the chairs inside! Oh, boy! Yeah, yeah it’s a bit torturous, but they have to drop something some time and who’s there to run clean up? That’s right! Yours truly.

I tell you, you really feel like a mature dog with no leash. I get to cross the street all by myself. Every once in a while I see a tourist on a leash and I think, “Poor sot.” Yeah, you can always spot the tourists, can’t you? Often they’re wearing some stupid sweater their lame masters have forced on them. What the hell do they think our fur is for, for cryin’ in the beer? They’re also the ones whose masters are always shouting, “No! Bad dog! Stop that. Come here. Here! Here!” I saw one dog trying to eat something he’d found. His master’s hand was practically down his throat trying to retrieve whatever it was while a second dog sat and whined. I didn’t laugh until I was out of earshot. You gotta be polite. I just try to set the good example. You know, let them see what freedoms they can have if they’ll only control themselves a little.

Whistle!

Oh! That’s for me. Gotta go.

I watch Kaiser waddle off. I’m watching his pudgy little haunches bounce up and down and I can’t help but think, “I hope I don’t look like that when I’m walking away.” Sigh.

My Left Thumb

This morning I had surgery on my left thumb. A couple of posts ago I wrote that I had been diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands. After immobilizing my wrists and resting my hands the carpal tunnel syndrome has subsided. I can tell something is wrong with my right hand, but I can freely use it. My left hand, however, has been a different story. I was sent to a hand specialist (read: surgeon) and was told I had tenovaginitis stenosans of the thumb. Okay. This was last Thursday. Today is Wednesday and I've already had the surgery.

This is my thumb and our hydrangea - isn't it pretty? (The hydrangea, not my thumb.)

It was a wild few days between that last appointment and the surgery. I was sent home with four pages to read and sign that I understood and agreed to the terms of surgery, potential complications, options, etc. All in German. Sigh. I pulled out the old woerterbuch (that's 'dictionary' auf Deutsch) and got busy. 

In the meantime, Douglas and I went on a road trip along the Romantic Road to Wuerzburg. There was a Mozart festival going on so we heard some music in the street. Not accordion players, rather chamber orchestras. We enjoyed the city then took a meandering route home while visiting museums and ancient Roman ruins. We were walking near some dense looking woods and heard cuckoos. Cuckoos! I haven't been so excited since I heard a wolf howl in Duluth.

Today I was Douglas's excuse to take most of the day off. He drove me to the appointment and has sat with me to be sure I didn't start bleeding uncontrollably. I have not.

The surgery was brief. It lasted about 20 minutes. After three excruciatingly painful injections (each lasting roughly 30 seconds) into my thumb (to kill the pain of surgery, ironically enough) I settled back and listened to my tendons being pulled and snipped. Visions of vultures feeding on roadkill came to mind. Nice. I also recalled having my head stitched after being mugged years ago. I had a gash behind my right ear and I could hear them stitch it! I'll tell you, you just haven't lived yet.

Many of you probably already know this, but doctor's code word for pain is "pressure". During one of the three injections (I'm not sure why he chose this particular injection to interject this comment as it would have fit in anywhere) he said "You'll feel some pressure now." And the pain rose from a level seven to eight and a half (on a scale from one to ten - one being a mild pinch and ten being your arm caught in a wood chipper). Pressure, he says. Huh, I say. No, I think what I actually said was "Aaaaaahhhh!"

Well, as you see, so far I am fine. I am back to writing and working on my novel which I still have high hopes of completing before leaving Munich. 

Springtime In Munich

I have been diagnosed (by a orthopedist, a neurologist and a rheumatologist) with carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands. Poor me. Poor Douglas, really as I must wear these consarned braces and am not allowed to use my hands. NOT ALLOWED TO USE MY HANDS! Yes, as I type this I am indeed using my hands. But I'll be brief and make this a photo blog.

I have written before (at Christmastime) about how wonderful the window shopping is here in Munich. Here are a few more examples.

Some of the snails we see here have lovely shells like fine wood.

Flowers (intended and unintended) pop up all over our neighborhood.

All sorts of families head to the English Garden to picnic.

I guess to save money on lawn mowing, they brought in the sheep to the English Gardens.

Every spring is Frühlingsfest (Springfest). It's like a mini Oktoberfest. Mom and dad were in town last year and we danced.

Douglas's sister Kim visited us and participated in (and even got to lead) Tai Chi in the English Gardens. This man brought his very young daughter to the circle. I thought, "Oh, dear." But this pictures tells a lot. She watched and watched. He then guided her hands to some of the moves.

Here you can see Douglas and Kim.

Everybody appreciates spring in Munich.

We had two or three days of extreme winds. Many trees were lost in the English Gardens.

Thank God this tree, with the swing, survived.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

For those of you who want to be forewarned, this post may be from the Department of  Too Much Information. Feel free to skip; I'll never know.

I'm havin' a heat wave, a tropical heat wave.

Usually they're referred to as hot flashes, but let me tell you that there is nothing flashy about them. They come on more gradually and last longer than hot flash implies. It's like my skin is one of those old, flat hoses with thousands of teensy holes like a slip and slide (my pores) and someone eases on the water, shuts it off, eases it on, shuts it off until I'm sitting, sweating and peeling off winter clothes to dry. These often follow a bout of chills. It's like I have the flu, except I feel fine.

This is a particularly awkward experience when I'm in the gym exercising. The first time I felt it there I was walking on the treadmill (the milder of my routines) and I was sweating like I was on the bike. When I later got on the bike (days later, not that day for heaven's sake) you could have mopped the gym with what dripped off me. Thank God the marines weren't there that time. Or maybe they should have been so they could see how hard I work. Usually when they are there I'm skipping on the treadmill. I always feel a little guilty skipping while they are heaving their bodies up on the pull up bar and jumping from a squat with their packs on. Skipping is hard work! Try it if you don't believe me.

I stopped taking birth control just before Christmas. Don't tell Douglas. (Just kidding!) I'm sick and tired of taking a pill every night and I was hoping I would have already gone through menopause and just not noticed. Stop laughing. I'm told it happens. The heat waves came first. I was expecting that and they really don't bother me at all. I love the heat, born in Phoenix in June and all that. What I did not expect was the pain. I don't know what's going on with that. First I noticed that when I eat my morning hummus wrap my hands get tingly from holding it. I have to put it down to get the circulation going again. At night my hands fall asleep or just hurt whenever I lie on my side, which is how I've always slept. Two older friends of mine told me that it could be a lack of potassium, magnesium and Vitamin D. So now I'm popping pills of a different sort. This time in the morning. Ah, me. The hand pain is particularly distressing as I can't write. I can play piano thank the living God and, as I sit here, I see I can type.

I mentioned being distressed. I guess I could put on some rose colored glasses and see it as my ticket out of housework. Apartment work as it is here in Munich. Hmm.

There is a bright side to all this. Unlike most women my mood has improved. My New Year's resolution was to live deliberately. This includes getting myself to stop swearing. I've hardly sworn in 2015. I've even been through some triggers and merely shrugged off whatever usually sends me into a rant. Nice. And I've lost weight. Yes. Lost weight. Not much, but I don't want/need to lose much. If my hands keep giving me trouble while I'm eating I guess that will get more dramatic. I'll have to wait to be fed or eat piggy style.

Last Lent was a disaster for me. I was good for a couple of weeks (no sweets, no alcohol) then fell apart. I fell apart for months. This Lent my only promise is to live like all this menopausal stuff is not going on. This is contingent on the doctor saying it's okay to use my hands even when it's painful. I don't want to start telling myself this is too hard or that hurts too much (unless it truly does) because that will send me to a place I don't think I should yet go. I can still exercise, it's just not as comfortable. Written as though it were ever comfortable. The free weights are very painful for my hands to hold, I'm going to try another apparatus in the gym that is set so that I don't have to grasp the weights. I can just push with my palms.

I can hear some older women saying, "Just you wait, dear. You're going down whether you like it or not." Maybe true. I believe that one of the main reasons people realize one day that they are 50 pounds overweight is that they ignored the first five. "It's only five pounds." Likewise, the reason many can't touch their toes or balance is because they stopped doing it daily. Even though it's a challenge I still stand on one leg to put each sock on and even though it hurts my hips I still stand straight legged to tie my shoes. I'll likely be able to do this for many more years because of that.

I'm not faulting those in poor health. Things happen. Bones are broken and, in the healing, strength is lost. Arthritis sets in (like it or not) and makes some movement too uncomfortable or impossible. Inner ears act up throwing off balance beyond our control. I know this and I know that it may happen to me. I remember an old ad for some skin cream. "I don't want to grow old gracefully; I want to fight it every step of the way." While I do want to have the grace of my mother, I do want to stave off as much as I am able.

I wish us all the ability to age gracefully whether it's learning to walk, going through our adolescent body changes, childbirth and recovery, losing sexual abilities or urges or simply growing old and stiff and weak. We all handle it in our own way. I'm hoping my way is a good blend of pushing through it while not ignoring or denying it. Those of you who can, write me and tell me how you've handled it.

Snowshoeing into 2015

I ended 2014 snowshoeing through the English Gardens. We had three or so days in a row of snow which laid down a good bed for walking through - marching is more like it when you're wearing snowshoes. The gardens are surrounded at most points by woods as in the picture below.

With all these woods I find it strange that I've never seen any wild animals except squirrels and birds. I almost saw a mole once. There are mole hills all over the open fields of the garden and one of them was moving as I walked by last summer. I see these woods and expect to see rabbits at least, but also a fox or deer.

As soon as I got past the initial woods across the street from our apartment I saw this:

This is a Sylvester Igloo. (Sylvester is what the Germans call the New Year celebration.) When I first walked by this, it was just a wall built with blocks of snow. The next day the igloo had been completed. Our New Year's Eve was pretty quiet. I got some writing done on my novel then tried to stay awake until midnight. We could see fireworks from our apartment windows. They are pretty intense going constantly for about 20-25 minutes. It was cloudy so the sky lit up and the fireworks themselves reflected in the neighboring buildings' windows. The poor crows that live in our trees didn't know what to do. They were so scared I felt sorry for them. The explosions echoed in our courtyard sending them flying every which way, landing, then taking off again.

Back to snowshoeing. When I turned around from the igloo this is what I saw:

Although you can barely see it in this small picture, in almost the exact center, the second highest structure is the Monopteros. I decided to walk (march) over to it to check out the view. I went the long way by the pond, river and waterfall. Near the waterfall are a few benches. On one of the benches was a surprise:

I don't know if this is evidence of a hot time in the old garden tonight or what, but it makes a nice artsy picture. I hope it's not the aftermath of a tryst, not for any moral reasons, but because, well, brrrrrr . . .

On to the Monopteros. I had to climb a small hill to get the view, It was not as difficult as I expected and it was worth it.

From up here, Doug says, the view probably hasn't changed much in the last hundred or more years. Old church spires can be seen peeking above the trees surrounding (and in) the garden (as seen in the next picture). New Year's revelers sat up here to watch the fireworks and probably had a great view.

I spent from an hour to an hour and a half snowshoeing three days in a row taking advantage of the perfect snow. At its deepest it was up to my upper shins. The first day I walked on the trails for a half hour or so then put on my snowshoes and went through the open fields. The second day it had snowed so much I put them on before I crossed the street to the garden. I stayed on the south side of the park this week. After the next snowfall that's worth trekking through I'll walk to the north end (about a 20 minute walk) then put them on and enjoy the open space over there. Fewer people walk on that end so I'll feel more remote.

Happy New Year from Laura.

Christmas markets and Window Shopping

When Douglas and I found out we were coming to Germany one of the first things I looked forward to was Christmas in Germany. I did not get my hopes too high.


There are several Christmas markets within walking distance of where we live and many within an easy subway ride. What is striking about the Christmas markets is the variety of goods. Hats, scarves, sweaters, socks and gloves are very popular and beautiful. Douglas and I like to look at the Alpaca booth to tempt ourselves. There is a medieval market that has more dated looking and unique decorations and clothing. This year I bought some tea candle holders, two that look like cordial glasses that sit on a table and three that clip to the boughs of a tree so we can actually have candles on our Christmas tree. I bought them from the man who made them. I was on an excursion with my German teacher. He heard me struggling with German and switched to English. I told him that my German teacher was right here, and to please use German so I don't get in trouble. He laughed and continued in German. I have no idea what he said. At this market there are costumed characters, including St. Nicholas, who wander around interacting with the patrons. It reminds me a bit of the renaissance festival and makes me wish I had my costume with me. The food there is the best. I've eaten (twice) their potato-based noodle dish with ox meat. Oh, my . . .


Most of the markets feature handmade works. I'm eyeing a honeypot I may buy for Douglas this year made by a local ceramicist. Don't tell Douglas.


My favorite things are the ornaments of which I've bought several. Specifically I like the blown glass and the painted pewter ornaments. There are many handmade nativity scene booths with more pieces than I've ever seen in anyone's Christmas nativity. I've not bought any of these, but I always stop to look which is more than half the fun.




Speaking of looking being more than half the fun, I've never been a window shopper. Sure I'll notice an attractive display, but that's about it. In Munich I find myself often pausing outside windows throughout the year, but at Christmas time it seems like it's a friendly competition for our attention.




















The above two pictures are of a shop near Marienplatz (a famous area where the Rathaus - old town hall - and Glockenspiel are located). There is always a large crown outside this window. I was lucky to get these shots.


















The above picture and the following picture were taken on my way home from a rehearsal one night. I joined up with the Munich English Language choir (which conducts its rehearsals in German, go figure) to sing an Advent service. One evening Douglas and I had been out to dinner with a friend before my rehearsal and I was so full even after rehearsal that I decided to walk home rather than ride the subway. I was so taken with the windows that I pulled out my phone to take some pictures. They turned out particularly well, I think, because it was dark out and the windows were lit. Enjoy.