All Dressed up ...

It's probably classifiable as some sort of disorder, but I'm willing to admit that I'm 26 years old and I love dressing up in costumes.

I was one of those morons in high school who lived for spirit week. (Dear Germans: In America public high schools have sports teams and mascots and cultivate a strong sense of loyalty and enthusiasm we call "school spirit". Many schools designate one week each year as "spirit week" in which students are invited to exhibit their spirit by dressing up like idiots with themes like "Hippie Day", "Crazy Hair Day", and "Backwards Day". Cool kids generally avoid participation. I participated to a humiliating degree.) And I was literally the only person in the newsroom of my last American employer who would dress up for work on Halloween. I didn't realize this would be the case the first year. After that I knew it would be the case, but I did it anyway.

I take my costuming seriously. Which does not mean that my costumes have always been good. Case in point: The Sheet Angel fiasco of Halloween 2004.

It does, however, mean that I try to put genuine effort in my costumes, and I generally get a good laugh out of the final product. And sometimes it does work, see Exhibit A: Jake and I partying as Mr. and Mrs. Macphisto, Halloween 2003:

(For the uninitiated, Macphisto was an alter-ego of Bono's during the early '90s ...)

That herculean effort of spray painting an entire suit gold unfortunately drained Jake, and all my costuming efforts since have been on my own with Jake rolling his eyes behind me with love.

ANYWAY, the thing is, Germany doesn't really do Halloween. It's coming gradually. But it's not a real nationally embraced thing yet. (Interesting tidbit: I heard that Germany's first real introduction to Halloween was via the film "E.T. the Extraterrestrial", and it's been slowly gaining steam ever since.) Germany's costume holiday is Fasching, a.k.a. Carnivale, a.k.a. Mardi Gras, a.k.a. Fat Tuesday. I didn't realize this our first year here, and when I went to our church's kids' Fasching party to help out, I found to my horror that I was the only person without a costume. I was mortified. Last Fasching I was unable to participate again because of Jethro reasons. And so this year I had some serious catch-up to do. And for the first time in seven years, I had a partner in crime — whether he liked it or not. So at the church party on Saturday (actual Fasching is Feb. 16), this was me and Jethro:


Spock to Enterprise: My mother is a sick, sick woman.


Yeah, yeah, I know Spock is supposed to have two gold bands on his sleeves but I ran out of trim, OK?

I understand now why chicks in '60s only washed their hair once a week.

On another Fasching-related note, I'd just like to observe that as far as I can tell, the top three Fasching costumes here, with adults and kids alike seem to be cowboy, American Indian, and clown. As an American, I think the first two are so random. Not that cowboy and Indian aren't fine costumes, I'm just not sure why Germans have adopted them. The clown just further deepens my conviction that not enough Germans have become acquainted with "It". The clown motif is a really common one here with kids toys and decorations. These people genuinely seem to like clowns. No clown toys in my house, though. *shudder*

Happy Fasching, all. Back to my mothership.



JEM

Ringing It in and Dorking It up

For New Year's we were delighted to entertain Jake's mission pal Megan and her hubby Rijen and their little cutie Fiona (another American family living in Germany). Jethro thoroughly enjoyed canoodling with his latest gal-pal, seen here wearing his pajamas, but there's a totally good explanation for that.


They regarded Jake's expertly executed fireworks display in front of the apartment building with great solemnity.


And then when to bed. At which point the grown-ups busted out the sushi mat ...


... and the glow sticks.





We thought we were pretty awesome with our glowing chokers and monocles until Rijen accidentally took this picture with the flash.

And it was abruptly revealed that the emperor was wearing no clothes. And that we were wearing no self-respect. I, at least, should have realized this earlier in the evening, when in an attempt to create a glowstick handlebar mustache, I broke a glowstick and got a mouthful of toxic glow fluid. But even this photo couldn't quell the dorkapalooza festivities, which proceeded unfeigned and included an attempt on my part to neck-hula-hoop glowsticks.

Thanks for coming, guys. We look forward to relinquishing ourselves of all pride with you again someday soon.



JEM

The Seven-Year Itch

Right before Christmas Jake and I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. And I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes, we were just out of junior high school when we tied the knot. Kidding! But actually only just barely. I was 19, and he was 22. Which sounds terrifying now, but back then — OK, it was pretty terrifying back then, too. But when something's right, it's right. Waiting around won't change that. And this was right.


I wouldn't say getting married so young was a breeze for either of us, but tying yourself to someone else before you're really done growing up has its advantages. Jake and I have grown up together, side by side, and we've developed what I think is a pretty fantastic symbiotic relationship that wouldn't have been possible had we waited until we were "fully formed". We molded to each other. Our interests and habits melded and meshed and organically materialized until it was hard to distinguish where and with whom they started. I can't imagine myself or my life without Jake. Nor would I ever want to. Life with him is fun and exciting and enriching and fascinating and cozy — everything I've ever wanted my life to be. I count myself very lucky to love and be loved by someone so incredible.

And if I can make sure Marilyn Monroe doesn't move in upstairs in the next year, I think we just might make it.

To memorialize the occasion, we went out. Alone. At night. On a date. No Jethro. No stroller. No diaper bag. (Thanks for babysitting, Antje.) And it was great.

We had dinner at the kind of goofy but really fun and historic Sophienkeller in the Old City and ate excellent German cuisine.

And strolled down moonlit cobblestone streets between palaces and cathedrals.

And we marveled at how normal this has become.



JEM

P.S. Anyone still reading this blog may also be interested in this one: selinainmemphis.blogspot.com. It's the other way around, a German girl living in America. Welcome to Bizarro World.

Frohes Weihnachtsfest!

Christmas in Germany is pure magic.

I love so many things about it — the food, the decorations, the Christmas markets.

Even though I don't drink alcohol, I think this tradition is awesome:

Every Christmas season Jake's professor prepares a piping hot bowl of traditional German Glühwein ("glow wine") for his group of grad students and post docs and their loved ones. I don't know the recipe, but it's got something to do with wine and spices and lighting a rum-soaked cone of sugar on fire. It smells fantastic, and I'll be honest and say as a non-drinker that of all the alcoholic beverages, this one probably tempts me the most.

But there's one German Christmas tradition that I simply cannot abide. I've tried to be tolerant these last three Christmases here, but I can take it no more. So I'm just gonna say it:

Dear Germany,


You are not supposed to open your presents on the evening of Christmas Eve. This doesn't make any sense. I've thought about this a lot, and here are my arguments:



1. Christmas Eve is great for remembering the true meaning of the holiday, reading Luke 2 with the family, and watching "It's a Wonderful Life". And also for building the suspense for Christmas to a maddening crescendo. But Christmas is the big day. It's what the whole shooting match builds up to, so why burst its bubble prematurely?



2. If I were a kid and I had to wait all day long, go to church, eat dinner, blah, blah, blah, before opening my new toys from Santa (or the Christmas Man, as you so pragmatically call him), I don't think gags and straight jackets and threats of violence would be able to keep me civil all day. Also, I think giving a kid new toys and then promptly sending them to bed is just sick.



3. And let's not forget, all of Germany is in one time zone, and nearly every household is getting a knock on the door from the Christmas Man at almost the exact same time? How does that work? Clearly this has to be an overnight affair. I mean, yeah, the Christmas Man is crazy-fast and magical, but let's apply a little rational thought here.



Other than that, you guys are doing a great job.



Love,


JEM


Needless to say, for our first Christmas all on our own, we did things the American way.

Oh, the rapture.

Here's to hoping Christmas was as delightful for you and yours, with love from me and mine.

JEM