the grocery store saga continues

"Oh, no," you think. "Not again!"

But yea verily, Gentle Reader, I have yet another grocery store incident with which to while away your time. HOWEVER.......drumroll, please..........this one is neither an angry incident nor a cultural frustration! Can I get a hallelujah on that one? Yes, yes, I believe I can. ;o)

So, here's what happened: I grabbed a can of catfood off the shelf at Wal-Mart (yes, Wal-Mart--I'm doing some comparison shopping this month). The can was busted, it leaked on my hand and my shirt, and since it apparently got busted long enough back for decomposition to set in, I drove home yesterday afternoon smelling like fish bait. ("Shark bait! Ooh-ha-ha!")

Joy o joy o joy.

And yet, in spite of the not-so-happiness of this episode, I didn't allow it to dampen my mood...mainly because of the cashier who chatted with me as she checked my groceries.

She was an odd lady. I hardly even remember what she chattered on about, but she did chatter on pretty much non-stop as she worked. I chattered back to her, and it was nice. And then, quite randomly, she said,

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but...do you have Native American heritage?"

I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. If you've met me once--or if you've taken a glance at my picture over there on the left somewhere--you've seen for yourself that I'm about as non-Native-American-looking as a white girl can get. That being the case, no stranger has ever before asked me if I have Native American heritage. For obvious reasons, it simply would never occur to anyone.

Nevertheless, as I told the cashier, I do have Cherokee blood from my paternal grandmother's side of the family. We can't prove it, and I don't even know how far back it goes. I'm not sure Grandma even knows. (Aunts and/or cousins, correct me if I'm wrong.) I think it would be neat to find out for sure--maybe through the new DNA test that people have started using over the last few years. I doubt anyone would let me take the test for free, though, and at this point I have no desire to pay for it. ;o)

Anyway, I felt amused that the cashier would ask me that question--and pleased that I could answer in the affirmative. I have no clue why she asked, but it was nifty that she did.

Tune in next time for the continuation of "Grocery Store Adventures: Taking Back the Coffee I Bought Because It's Whole Beans And We Don't Have A Grinder." ;oD

transitional meltdown revisited

Things finally came to a head today. I'd been feeling the malaise (or ennui, if you will) coming on, and I'd been doing various creative, spiritual, and mental/emotional health exercises to stave it (that is, the malaise/ennui) off. But I knew that at some point, something was gonna give. I asked the house church to pray for me yesterday, so I knew that God would get something done, one way or the other.

God seems to answer my prayers in the grocery store a lot. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Sort of.

So this afternoon, I got ready to go to the grocery store. Crest, to be specific. I finally remembered to bring along my cloth bags and Klappkiste (? a foldable plastic box, great for carrying stuff, staple in every German household). I debated taking the cloth bags into Crest with me and asking the bagger simply to bag my purchases in my personal bags. I decided against that, though, figuring it might throw the bagger for too much of a loop.

Because, as you know, friends and neighbors, baggers don't like to be thrown for loops. I didn't know that before this afternoon, but I sure as turkey-at-Thanksgiving know it now. My leaving the cloth bags in the car must have been prophetic. But again, I'm getting ahead of things.

Went to Crest. Shopped for groceries. Couldn't find chicken broth. Found lots of new food for Pippin. Gave up on chicken broth. Chicken broth and catfood not related.

When I arrived at the cash register, I told the bagger that I'd like for him to place all my groceries directly in a cart without bagging them. The bagger in question made an affirmative noise--"Mmhm" or "Okay" or somesuch. I turned my attention to the cashier and the growing total on his screen as he scanned my groceries.

A few moments later, I looked to my right and saw the bagger putting my squash and northern beans into a paper bag.

"Oh, I'd like for the groceries to go into the cart," I said again, thinking maybe he didn't hear me the first time. "I don't want any bags."

He bagged a can of catfood. "Well, I'm really not supposed to let you do that."

Wha....?

My brain tried to process for a second. Didn't succeed. See, this is the part where the cultural transition issues come into play: I couldn't grasp all the implications of what he was saying. It was literally impossible for me to shift gears in my mind. I grabbed onto the first thing that popped into my head, probably chipping off a few mental teeth in the process.

I would love to say that I replied to him with gentle, polite, but firm insistence.

Instead, all that came out was, "What happened to 'the customer is always right'?" And it was rather snippish, too. I was mortified at my own rudeness, but plowed ahead anyway. "I really don't want any bags."

"Well," said he, "we've been having problems with people stealing food."

I felt my mouth drop open. Rationality was making a hasty exit. I looked from him to the open exit door...seven or eight feet away. How would I steal food, going from this register out that door? Do you want to watch me?

Aloud, I said, "I'll be going from here--" pointing at my feet "--to there--" pointing at the doorway close at hand.

He glared at me. At least, it seemed like a glare. It could have been an expression of abject disappointment in the way his day was going. I don't know. He kind of mumbled something. I gestured in the general direction of the shopping cart. "Please just put the groceries in the cart. I really. Don't. Want. Any. Bags."

He began taking catfood, beans, and other items out of the bags and putting them into the cart. As I turned away with a world-weary sigh, he muttered, "All right, but it won't be my fault if you get stopped."

I forbore replying to that. This whole time, the cashier had continued merrily scanning items and sending them in the general direction of the recalcitrant (!) bagger. The total had risen, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to get out of there.

I finally got out of there. I told the bagger, "Thank you for your cooperation," and said it with a smile. I pushed my cart the seven or eight feet from the register to the open doorway. I neither stole food, nor did anyone accuse me of any crimes. I drove home and put away the groceries.

Ed walked in the door, and I cried because I hadn't cooked anything and had bought the wrong kind of light bulbs.

"All I wanted," I wailed, "was to do something good for the environment! I wanted to save some trees! I just wanted to shop the German way!"

A big part of why I'm okay now is that I have a husband who listens, who doesn't care that there's no food, who's perfectly happy to make his own supper, and who lets me cry when I need to. He's amazing. God is amazing, for blessing me with Ed.

So there's the most recent story of my cultural transition. We're approaching the one-year mark, and I think I'm doing pretty well. I'm aware of moments like this afternoon, I recognize them for what they are, and I process them. I don't fret about why this is happening to me or about whether or not this is ever going to go away. I know that eventually, because I have God, I'll be fine. No matter what happens. He has brought me through worse than this.

It's funny, though, how my major meltdown moments are connected with stores. This one at Crest, a previous one at Buy-for-Less. A few years ago on furlough, I had one at Wal-Mart, and in Chemnitz, I had one at IKEA (a sofa and a credit card were involved). That just goes to show what an integral part necessities-shopping is in culture.

And that's all I have to say about that. :o)

a few items of randomness

The title says it. No further introduction.

--Tonight, Ed and I dropped by Buy-For-Less (not Best Buy! I'm getting it right this time!) after our dinner date. We strayed into the international foods aisle and pored over some of the items. This time, I didn't cry! And we bought Spätzle (Swabian egg noodles)!

--This week, I spent two days babysitting the Antwines' great-grandson, Ethan, since Clyde had surgery on Tuesday and Queenie couldn't take care of husband and toddler at the same time. (Imagine that!) Let me preface my following remarks with this: Ethan is adorable; an incurable flirt; and the best-behaved one-year-old I have ever met. The second day, he didn't feel well, and even then, he was still easier to take care of than nine out of ten other kids. He and I had great fun together, and when he came to me and wanted to be cuddled....well, to say my insides melted would be an understatement.

However, I also must say that I'm thankful that babies come in much smaller, less mobile packages at first. Going from no-kid straight to take-care-of-toddler absolutely wore me out. I can't remember when I was last as tired as I was at the end of those two days. And the fact that he needed my near-constant attention...well, I'll put it this way: I wouldn't be able to be a writer and take care of a baby at the same time. It just wouldn't happen.

So, for now, I am perfectly content to be the writer. Nothing against anybody or anybody's babies. It's not you, it's not them, it's me. So many of my friends and family have had babies over the last few weeks, this subject has been on my mind quite bit. My conclusion is that I am wholly selfish in this: I'm not willing to give up my time and energy for a child right now. That being the case, I have no business having one, and I currently have no problem with being selfish in this way. Yes, I would like to have a baby at some point...but not now.

Just in case anybody was wondering. ;o) Maybe this will forestall any comments such as, "Courtney, you need to have a baby." I haven't heard a lot of those since the miscarriage (thankfully, people do have a sense of tact!), but the number of such comments has been increasing of late. It hasn't gotten to the point of severe irritation yet...but I have found myself replying mentally with fairly snarky remarks that I'm not going to repeat here.

I didn't want this to turn into a baby-thoughts post, so that's all I'm gonna say about that for now.

--By the way, I whacked my head on the corner of the bathroom cabinet almost two weeks ago. The huge knot has disappeared, but it still hurts a little. I don't think I've ever hit my head that hard before. I actually saw spots, went to my knees, and thought I might pass out on the edge of the tub and probably hit my head a second time. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and I didn't even throw up (in which case I would definitely have passed out), but still.... God knew what he was doing when he designed that skull, lemme tell ya.

--Our email didn't work properly for a month, and I am still catching up on the piled-up inbox. There were over 250 emails to sort! I narrowed the must-answer ones down to about 70, and I'm slowly working my way through them. I'm down to 23. Of course, that's not counting the ones that have come in since I started sorting.

Verily, verily, I say unto thee, I am seriously tempted to boycott email and tell everyone that if they want me to write them, they'd better send something through snail mail, 'cause I ain't doin' this no more. I am tempted, mind you. I'm still resisting.

(Resistance is futile; I will be assimilated? Hmmm....)

Okay, enough with the random. Ich gehe jetzt ins Bett, und damit basta!

(English-only speakers, make of that last what you will, but I truly didn't say anything indelicate!) ;oD

tonight i cried at buy for less

Tonight, I had my first intense moment of homesickness since we arrived here three weeks ago.

Ed and I went grocery shopping at Buy For Less after eating dinner at Zorba's. Zorba's is Greek fast food, and the homesicknessfeeling started while we were there, because I started thinking of Palas Athen, our favorite Greek place in Chemnitz, where we've spent so many wonderful hours and had so many great laughs (not to mention spectacular food!!!) with great friends and with the jovial owner. Zorba's, with its hectic atmosphere and high-decibel noise level, didn't exactly measure up to what we're used to. (The food was good, but their idea of gyros isn't what we've gotten to know at Palas Athen, either. However, we're remaining open enough to give Zorba's another chance. We'll just have to put our minds in a different gear beforehand. Or would that be 'beforefood'? ;o)

Anyway, by the time we got to Buy For Less, I was already feeling somewhat melancholy from missing Palas Athen and the fun times we've had there--and especially the people we had those times with (you know who you are). Then, at Buy For Less, Ed ducked into the bathroom for a few minutes, and I found myself in the foreign/specialty foods aisle.

And suddenly, I saw it: German food.

Buy For Less has Klöße. And Rotkraut. And Sauerkraut. And Rittersport and Lindt! And Spätzle! And Semmelknödel! And Bratkartoffeln! And Gurken pickled in Thüringen! And Buy For Less even has pickled herring, which I absolutely despise, but it's a staple of Saxon kitchens, and it all reminded me so much of home that I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of Buy For Less, crying and thinking that I probably looked absolutely ridiculous but not caring whether or not I looked ridiculous, and then Ed came back and just hugged me, and I took him to see the German food, and slowly I started to feel okay again.

Oh, and Ed and I also spent the evening speaking German with each other, and that probably added to the sudden burst of homesickfeelingyness as well.

I think what helps is that I knew this was coming. It had to happen at some point, and I'm kind of relieved that it happened. It needs to happen--and it will happen again and again for awhile--so that I can acknowledge my feelings, accept them, and move on.

Coolly enough, Buy For Less also has Twinings (Erin!) and PG Tips (Ed!) and Branston Pickle (Boynses!). And Turkish Delight, which I don't eat, but I still think it's keen that they have it!

*sigh* I probably don't sound like it, but I do feel better now. :o)

Reverse Reverse Reverse Culture Shock

Okay, so, as most of you know, Ed and I are in Oklahoma right now. And, as expected, I have been experiencing some weird culture shock moments:

The other day I was in Wal-Mart, and all I wanted to buy was a bottle of nail hardener for my fingernails. Doesn't sound all too complicated, right? Wrong-o, buddy! So, I'm standing there, looking at the nail polish section, and they have about three billion different kinds of nail hardener. Okay, so it wasn't three billion. Maybe more like twelve. Not twelve billion. Just twelve. And I'm thinking, "Who needs twelve different kinds of nail hardener? Why are there so many? Why can't there be just one? How long will I be standing here, staring at bottles of nail polish, while eternity approaches?" (Not "Eternity" the perfume, although I wouldn't have complained. I love that stuff!)

Yeah, so, back to nail hardener. They've got one kind with sea water minerals, one with acrylic, one with nylon, and one that says "Hard as Diamonds," and I don't know if that means it's got pulverized diamonds in it or what. So I stand there for a few minutes with my mouth hanging open, sweating buckets in my long, black coat designed for Chemnitz winter weather (and yeah, it's 20 degrees Celcius today, in JANUARY!!!), wondering how in the world I'm supposed to make a choice. I finally grabbed two bottles--the sea minerals and the acrylic, I believe--and harangued the girl stocking shelves into helping me pick one. She'd never used either one of them, but she recommended the acrylic. So I bought both. Go figure.

Okay, so I didn't harangue the shelf stock girl. I asked politely. I just wanted an excuse to use the word 'harangue.'

The most recent moment of shock came yesterday, when Ed's thirteen-year-old nephew Wes walked into the house. And yes, he was carrying a dead rabbit by its back feet. He'd just shot it himself, with a 12-gauge shotgun. Its little rabbit head was just wobbling back and forth on its little dead rabbit neck. Then Wes skinned it and cleaned it and stuck it in the refrigerator. I explained to Wes that I am a city girl, and that was probably the closest I've ever come to a freshly killed rabbit before. He grinned.

That raft in the middle of the Atlantic is looking pretty good right now. ;o)