Wrapping Up

I woke up this morning (Saturday) before 6 AM suddenly remembering "Our internet is being cut off today!"  I nearly jumped out of bed and ran to the computer.  I needed to write.  (and post).  Our computer will be packed up on Monday, so losing these two things brings me right back to where I was in those early days in Celle, except not quite.  I still have my iPhone.  But that brings up the age gap--I just don't see myself blogging from my iPhone.  But who knows.  The need to post our progress might just drive me to it.  Usually, however, it is better if I put a little bit of distance between the actual events and the blog post--it's more fun for you to read.

This week has been quite an emotional roller coaster, not so much the nostalgic kind, but the kind of emotion that comes when everything seems to be going wrong.  Most of the problems have to do with leaving this house and getting to the next one.  But we have a lot of good help, and I know we'll get through.

It was a sobering thought, the day before yesterday, as I decided to write to our sponsored children in Tanzania and Africa.  I nearly wrote, "We're about to move back to the United States and so we have a lot of work to do, packing up . . ." Then I looked at the picture of little Habiba.  In the background was their simple hut.  She was dressed in a new dress bought with money we sent her for Christmas, and she was snuggling one of their two new goats.

It didn't feel right, anymore, getting so stressed (and often angry) about how things were going here.

I'd like to think that my better day yesterday had to do with this refocusing of the day before, but no, I am not that strong.  Really my better day yesterday had to do with things just going better, wonderful time with friends, and making progress on my work.  But I'll try to keep Habiba and Tigist in mind.

**
The reality of the move hit Henry in a new way on Thursday.  He was telling me all the names of children who are inviting him to their birthday parties.  He said, "I will have to make a lot of trips to go to their parties."  We were walking home from Kindergarten and I said, "Well, you can't go to their parties but you can send them birthday cards."  He still just kept listing their names.   When we got home I pulled out the class list and said, "Here, we can write down the names of your friends on their birthdates on the calendar.  Then you can send them cards."  We pointed out the first one: May 26.  "Look Henry--Charlotte's birthday is the same day as Uncle Nathaniel and Emily are getting married!"

"So I can't go?"
"No, but you'll be the ring bearer in Uncle Nathaniel's wedding and you'll see your cousins!"
He looked at the next birthday: June 1.
"And Leo's--we'll be going to New York then," I explained.
That's when the tears started coming.
"But what about Jannes' birthday?"
I finally had to spell it out very clearly, "Henry, we're moving to Texas and you can't come back for their birthdays."
"Why not?"  (tears dripping onto the calendar).
"It's too far and it's too expensive."

I'm still not sure he really understood.  But somehow it felt good to be able to cry together.

**
Thank you for keeping up with us via our blog over the last 22 months.  Thank you for reading and for your messages and notes.  It has meant so much to me, starting with those first few posts in Celle when I decompressed by writing long-winded posts about our adjustment.  It makes it easier for me to return, knowing that you know a little bit about how it has been over here.
 
I hope to keep writing and blogging--maybe I'll even get another post in from Germany--but I just wanted to say thanks.

And now, because I keep looking at the green light on our modem, wondering when it will turn to red, I will post.

deine,

Laurel

Adjustment Gaps

Lately I’ve written a lot about how much I will miss it here and how nostalgic I am, but there are several areas in which we really have not adjusted.  Once we knew when we were returning to the U.S., in a way we ended our arriving and learning phase and began our leaving phase.  True, I’m still learning here--such as if you buy a day ticket for the tram you only need to buy it for one zone, but if you buy a monthly card it must be for 2 zones.  Go figure.  Sorry to all the visitors I have overcharged!

Mail

Most of the mail we get is junk mail, with a few letters and cards from home.  But from time to time we important mail.  And that makes my stomach hurt.  The ones from the utility companies are the worst.  Just yesterday we got one from the energy company and my husband and I studied it for a a good 15 minutes.  We couldn’t tell if we owed money or if they owed us money.  And we couldn’t tell if they were going to take it out of our bank account (we have a monthly bank draft set up) or if they were going to put it in our bank account, or if we needed to directly pay them.  Usually I end up asking my friend Bettina what it says.  

So that’s something I look forward to: being able to read my own mail and know what to do with it. 

I also got a letter from a government office.  I wasn’t so surprised by this one, but still it requires action.  We have an appointment to renew our visas on 04.06.12 which is June 4th, in case you didn’t read the date correctly.  I tried to call to cancel the appointment, but the operator said they weren’t answering their phone, so I should go in to the office to cancel it.    

I look forward to being a resident and not needing to prove my status periodically.

Politics

Woefully I have not learned very much about politics while I’ve been here.  I apologize to my German neighbors and to my American friends.  Living overseas has been a wonderful time of seeing new perspectives and different starting points, and while I have picked up on some of that in the realm of politics, I still don’t understand very much of how the system works.  

School

A bit over a year ago some of the moms from Henry’s  kindergarten were talking about the schools their children would attend after kindergarten.  In my mind I decided that Henry would probably go to a German kindergarten--he had made friends, he spoke German well.  It was kind of exciting to think about.  But then we found out that we’d be moving back before Henry would start school (here it is age 6, as kindergarten is separate from school).  A month or so ago I got a letter from the school asking parents and children to come register.  They register over a year in advance so they can work out class needs and find out what children will need extra German help.  I had to call and cancel the appointment and then send an email that we were moving back to the U.S.  Then a few weeks later all the moms were talking about how the registration went, and the speech test that their children took.  I just smiled and wondered how Henry would’ve done.  I bet he wouldn’t have needed the extra German help.

Language

A tiny bit of German from my time living in Austria in 1996-98 (although folks here don’t count that as German) + Rosetta Stone on the computer + one 6-week German course = enough German to help me get by but not enough to help me really belong.  Lately I’ve found myself starting a sentence in German and hoping whoever I’m speaking with will catch my drift and complete my sentence for me.  Sometimes they complete it incorrectly but I don’t have the wherewithal to correct them.  Often I understand the gist of a conversation, but have no idea how to really express my side of the discussion.  One friend said my German has gotten really good lately, but I think it is just because I’m actually speaking, rather than hesitating to make sure it is grammatically correct.  I imagine what comes out sometimes is something like this:

My husband she work in the Baker Hughes. He make, no, he learned how to make things.  Things to get cooking oil.

My girl, she go in the International School. She speaked English and haved German classes four day every weeks.

We are happy to live here. We live here almost two years.  (and then my thoughts are overflowing and I have no idea how to express in German how I feel about coming, and now going, so I just sort of mumble and let them say the rest.)

As I walk down the street I still like to read off names of things--from stores, signs, vehicles.  I think I’m like a child who has just learned to read:

“Innenausbau” “Mit Sicherheit mehr Sicherheit” “Wir sind für Sie da . . .” “Wir machen Ihnen ein Angebot für Ihr Fahrzeug” “Mehr Service und Komfort für Kunden.”  Sometimes the kids ask me what I’m doing. “Just reading out loud.”

Medical System

We first found a doctor for the children in February of last year when Elisabeth had swine flu.  Sometimes the visits go just fine, but sometimes I feel quite dissatisfied and think I should find another doctor.  But on the other hand I decide to just put it off until we get home.  

Sports

Henry’s friends are taking swimming lessons, some are playing Handball.  Some are in a weekly sports group.  By the time I felt like I could get Henry involved in something like this, we knew we were coming home soon, so I stopped trying. 

There’s more to write, but the packers are coming in a few days and I’ve got to figure out what to put in our suitcases for 1 week of Hannover weather and 1 month of Houston weather.

Nostalgia

Germany: at least we've got the map puzzle

I had to pick up a couple of things at the grocery store yesterday, but rather than just getting the salami and fleishwurst for sandwiches, it seemed like everything was calling my name.  On one hand I’m trying to use up everything in my house so I’m not wasteful, but on the other hand I see this as the last time I can buy Bifis, Ritter chocolate, so many kinds of Milka bars, coffee from Panama Kaffee, Faber-Castell pencils that come in a multitude of sizes and colors, shoes for me . . . And I really must make sure I’ve tasted everything the bakery has to offer.    

We’re down to the three week mark.  I sort of wish I could just skip to May 25th or so, but on the other hand I’m not ready to leave.  I was walking in town a few days ago, going the street remembering my first impressions.  I thought fondly of early events that at the time seemed traumatic but now make me nostalgic.  “Oh, there’s the place I had to change Henry’s poopy diaper in a pinch.  Here’s the place I got lost that time.  Here’s where mom and I simply could not find any suitable fabric for curtains.”  Soon I was in the Hauptbahnhof, the central train station, and I walked by a tea shop--Tee Handelskontor Bremen.  I’ve always liked the look of it--a blue and white striped awning over crisp looking tea tins and tea accessories.  I walked passed it, then turned around and went back in.  The clerk greeted me cheerfully and I was embarrassed that the words for “I’m just looking” didn’t just roll off my tongue after so many months of living here.  But I was looking and smelling.  I remembered John buying me a teapot for Christmas because ours somehow didn’t make it here.  The woman who sold it to him said it was “what all the German ladies use.”  Along with it he bought me “Princess Gray Tea”--a lighter version of Earl Gray.  So I looked around until I found one like that.  Then I smelled the herbal teas because most of my friends here prefer herbal.  And smelling them made me cry.  I kept in the tears long enough to purchase two packages of tea, ignoring the likelihood that I wouldn’t be able to bring them home with me.  Soon I was back in the main hall of the train station and in the crowds where I could cry without being observed.  

I’ll miss it here.

Seems like these days my brain is sort of in a fog.  I feel like I'm disassembling my life.  Recall that there are no closets in our house (or in most houses), so we purchased three wardrobes from Ikea after we moved in.  We’ve already sold two of them, so our things are squeezed into one wardrobe, with a pile of clothes on top, and a couple of bags of clothes in each room.  

A new employee of John’s came by with his wife on Saturday to look at our third wardrobe.  Watching and listening to them I thought, “Wow, they are kind of grumpy.”  They just didn’t seem very happy to be here.  They complained about the small apartments, the Kindergartens, the hotel they are staying at.  But before I thought too highly of myself and too poorly of them, I remembered a Friday afternoon after we’d been here just over a month.  We had just moved into our house and I was picking Elisabeth up from a friend’s house where she’d been at a birthday party.  Henry was with me--in the stroller.  I had taken the tram from our house to the center of town.  I knew it was the right tram stop, but from there was lost.  I even had my new iPhone and was using Google Maps, but I could not find the apartment.  I was grumpy.  I just remember trying to follow the directions on Google Maps and then ending up farther away from my destination.  It took me a very long time to find it.  Meanwhile Henry kept asking me for ice cream, so I finally bought him some.  Eventually, somehow we found the apartment, but I think only because I recognized someone else from the school and I followed her.  I took the tiny elevator up to the top floor, the stroller taking up most of the space.  But the worst part of what I remember about that day is that I did not temper my mood even around these strangers or very new friends.  I was grumpy and I complained--we live so far from the school.  My house is a mess.  We’re on the tram for such a long time.  Henry is complaining so much.  I was embarrassed for being that way, but at the same time I was so stuck in my adjustment funk that I could not snap out of it.  Even riding home on the tram with Elisabeth and her friend I thought to myself, “I hate birthday parties.  These girls are so tired.  They should be home already.”  Oh I’m sure I was such a gem to be around.

Still, maps are fascinating

So now, keeping that in mind, I’ll try to forestall my judgements of people in transition, myself included.

Elisabeth near her school

I told John last night that I was a little worried about the kids’ teacher for next year.  She is so unmotivated.  She doesn’t seem to get anything done.  She’s so easily distracted.  He gave me a hug and told me to give myself a break.  Transition is hard.

Walnuts, Bath Soaks and Moody Weather

Just enjoying the sunshine and the rooftops

This is the time when the question becomes common: “So, when are you leaving?” or “Not long now?”  or “Are you still here?”

The last one is the worst.  After being in Houston for 2 weeks, back in Hannover for a few days, then on vacation for a week, John got that question more than once at work on Monday.

It’s also the time when I think, “Is this the last time I’ll buy laundry detergent here?”

 I look in our bathroom cabinet and wonder, “Can I get this exact same kind of Nivea night cream in the U.S. or should I buy it here while I can?”

Funny that two years ago I was stocking up on things American so I wouldn’t have to figure out what to buy here.  As if they didn’t have razors, toothpaste and deodorant here.  They do.

And really nice bath soaks.  That’s what I want to bring back--but they are liquid and they come in glass bottles.  We’ll see.  John always gets a kick out of the one on the left--it is good for when you have a cold, but it's the kid's version.  Not only does it read "Kinderbad" (meaning Kid's bath), but it has green fish on it, which always makes him think of chemical waste.  Nevertheless, it feels good when you're all stuffy--lots of eucalyptus.  The purple one I haven't used yet, but I should.  It's supposed to help you sleep well--"Schlaf gut Bad."

Today I cleaned out the oven, unclogged a drain and washed a couple of windows.  When we hand over the keys to our landlord the house needs to be clean (obviously) and completely painted white.  I’m working on getting those painting estimates.  

A pile is growing in the game room of “things to take on the airplane.”  At least packing for summer in Houston is easier to predict than packing for August/September in northern Germany.  Henry was excited the other day that “in Texas in the summer you don’t have to wear a jacket!”  I didn’t bother telling him that he wouldn’t need one in fall or spring either, and maybe not much in the winter.  He’s been checking temperatures on my iPhone in Los Angeles (his uncle’s wedding in May), Albany (John’s cousin’s wedding in June), Houston and Traverse City daily.  He reports the temperatures in Celsius and Fahrenheit.  

I walk around my house always asking myself, “Will this go on the sea shipment? do I need it at all?  Should I get rid of it?”

Yesterday I looked at a bowl of walnuts from our landlord’s tree.  Our landlady brought us a huge bag of walnuts last fall, ones she had picked up from the ground in her yard.  Many were rather black, so I threw them out.  I tried cracking the others, but they were impossible.  By the time I did get some opened, they were so mangled I had to pick the bits out one by one.  The shells were very thick and the nut meats small.  I guess it was an old tree.  Since they weren’t good for eating, I let Henry try his hand at painting them, so then we had an orange walnut and a green walnut.  The bowl sat around the kitchen for several months, getting used as counters, decorations for the Thanksgiving table and later in the Advent wreath.  I kept thinking I would throw them away, but then thinking I might use them for something else.  

But yesterday I was in the pitching mode, so I dumped them in the trash.  

Then I burst into tears.  Hidden in the bowl were a horse chestnut or two, a key feature of fall here.  You never see chestnuts in Houston and the only thing I ever used to know about them was “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . .”  But here, chestnuts are an instant play-thing that fall from the trees in September or October, in such great numbers that the kindergarteners pockets’ were loaded with them.  Elisabeth and her friends played games with them on the tram.  The kids made little animals by connecting the chestnuts with toothpicks.  Henry had made a hedgehog by poking lots of short toothpicks in the back of one.  

And they were in the trash.  

Now, the fall here does not have dramatic color like New England or Michigan.  But it sure has more drama and color than fall in Houston.  And I won’t be here for next fall.  No more chestnuts.  No big bowl of walnuts from the yard.  

I walked away from the trash can saying it was time, it was time, but a minute later I came back and fished out the hedgehog and eight or nine good looking walnuts.  I placed them on my big window sill in front of the kitchen sink, right next to two ceramic pitchers--dumpster-diving finds that someone discarded while cleaning out their house.

I realized this morning that the weather and I have a lot in common these days.  We’re just moody.  One minute all is sunny and fine.  The next minute, the sky is filled with clouds, and maybe even rain.

I’m glad to be in good company.

Two Months Left

Elisabeth has been excited about playing piano in the school talent show but I just found out that the auditions are the day we are flying back to the U.S.  I wonder if this news will bring her first tears regarding our move.

So far I think the kids are taking it easier than we are.  They don’t think all these big thoughts like, “We thought we’d be here longer” or “What will the transition be like?” or “Will Henry keep his German?  Will any of us keep our German?”  They don’t yet know or anticipate the ache that is left after saying good-bye to dear friends who have not only helped us through a difficult transition, but have brought a dimension to our stay that we never could’ve imagined.  The kids are thinking about the new house, returning to Elisabeth’s piano teacher, homeschooling, VBS at Grace, new gymnastics classes, friends, friends, friends.  I asked Elisabeth what she will be most sad about leaving here, and she said, “Friends!”  I said, “What are you most looking forward to in The Woodlands?”  “Friends!”  Ah, yes, that is good.  And yes, that is something we do have in common.  John and I too will be sad to leave our friends here but we are so glad to be returning to friends and family who love us and know us.  There’s no uncertainty there.  Thank you.   

We’ve passed the 2 month mark--we’re planning to fly back on May 23.  As soon as it was March 23rd I’ve felt like I’ve been split down the middle--trying to soak up every last bit of living here--arranging play dates for the kids, tea with friends, walks with friends, bread (!!), favorite restaurants. . .  while at the same time ordering clothes for Henry who will be a ring bearer in my brother’s wedding on May 26th, looking at flights to the two weddings we’re attending, looking at houses online and then going through the steps to put one under contract.  And yes, we are moving back to The Woodlands.  How could we not?  We can ride our bikes there.  And Google maps has biking directions now for The Woodlands, so I can already see that it will take us a bit more than 30 minutes to bike to church.  

So I’m split, but that is good.  It’s part of what is making this family who we are.  I’m glad we came--what else can I say?

Atop the Rathaus/City Hall (photo by Amy!)

Phone Frenzy

I’ve had two phone calls in the last two days that have utterly bewildered me.  The first was a man speaking German who sounded very friendly--as if we knew each other already.  I understood it was something about our move, but the introduction was so fast that I had no idea why he was calling.  If I could translate the conversation into English, it might have gone something like this (I’m imagining what he probably said, but only based on what I understood later).

Caller: Hello, Mrs. Stevens!  This is Schaefer from Spangenberg.  Greetings to your family.  I understand you’re moving.

Me: Ah, hello!  Yes?

Caller: I’m calling to schedule your household goods survey.

Me: Yes? Ah, who are you?

Caller: Mr. Schaefer from Spangenberg.  

Me: I’m sorry, could you say that again?

Caller: This is Mr. Shaefer from Spangenberg.  Your husband works for Baker Hughes and you are moving back, yes?  I’m calling to schedule the household goods survey.

Me: Ah! Okay, yes.  

**

Eventually we were able to arrange a time, but then five minutes later I called him back to reschedule.  I’d changed my mind (happens a lot these days).  Again he went on and on about things I couldn’t understand, but we ended with the idea that he would come on Wednesday at 8:30.  He came this morning and it all went fine.  I usually understand the important things, and I just smile if it seems to be a joke or a pleasantry.  

However, it seemed like just a few months ago that we were doing the same thing in the US--the “eyes” of the moving company, coming to see about our goods.  The gentlemen here, however, was wearing a suit, whereas in the U.S. the man probably had khakis or jeans and a short sleeved button down shirt.

**

My second bewildering call was yesterday.  The number came up on my cell phone but I didn’t recognize it.  I’ve become half German in how I answer the phone, but I haven’t gone all the way.  Germans usually answer with a short, “Stevens.”  Last name only.  I’ve changed from merely saying “Hello” to answering with, “This is Laurel.”  I just can’t bring myself to say, “Stevens” or, with a proper pronunciation, “Shtevens.”  It makes sense, but I can’t do it.

So here was the call yesterday.  It was in English, but English was not caller’s first language.

Me: This is Laurel.

Caller: blah blah blah blah Ariana blah blah blah. First of May?  But when are you going? 

Me: I’m sorry?

Caller: I’m calling blah blah blah Frau Keshavarzi blah blah. washer and dryer.

Me:  I’m sorry (and now, a convenient excuse, my son was starting to interrupt--I was completely lost.  Did she want to buy some of our wardrobes or washer and dryer?  Did she get my number from John?  Was it perhaps the realtor?  No idea).  I’m sorry, could you say that again.  My son was interrupting.

Caller: When are you actually moving?  Will you be leaving in March or May?

Me: I’m so sorry, my son was talking and I couldn’t hear you.  Um, who is this?

Caller: Ariana Farahmand, realtor.

Me: Ah!  Frau Farahmand!  I’m so sorry.  What can I do for you?

The conversation continued, better than it started, and at last we were able to get to the issue.  She was brining someone to look at the house.   We had to work around my schedule and I finally asked, 

Me: In the U.S. one is not typically present when someone comes to look at the house.  What is it like here?

Frau F: Ah yes, everything is different here.  If you aren’t there to let us in, we have no way to see the place.  

I wished that I could just give her the key.  We shall see how it goes.

Transition . . .Again.

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.  

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

And so, now it is with Frau Kranz the way it is beginning to be with everyone: “Do you have to pack everything up?  Oh, so much work.  You haven’t been here very long.  How will Henry keep his German?  Are you looking forward to going back?”  Some are easy to answer, some are hard.  But all remind me that this part of our journey is so very quickly coming to an end, and the faster it does, the more I want it to slow down.

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.