Currently, I'm experiencing the kind of headache that makes you dizzy whenever you turn your head suddenly. I canceled a meeting in the Altstadt with Maryle in order to get some rest, only to discover fifteen minutes later that one of the kids has a guest...which equals typical child loudness. The day just keeps getting better.
But, a few observations are in store for this post, concerning the appealing North German accent and German Christmas traditions.
Oder: The North German "Eh?"
No, I'm not kidding, nor do I believe that I originated this. In my conversations with my coworkers and the students, there is one word that usually ends their sentences: oder? The literal translation for "oder" auf Englisch is "or." So, "Heute ist das Wetter schlecht, oder?" becomes "The weather is bad today, or?" But, really, "oder"'s place in the North German (or perhaps just Niedersachsen? It being my first time living in Germany, my naive little self doesn't really know) lexicon is parallel to the Canadian/some-exotic-northern-state-in-the-U.S.-like-Wisconsin "eh." "Das ist eine gute Idee, oder," "Vielleicht koennen wir den Kadaver in dem Garten vergraben, oder," etc. are good representations of this.
What is amusing is that I've been gradually (and unintentionally) incorporating oder into my German, and I know that once I speak better German and travel to different regions (which will hopefully begin during New Years), I will be ribbed for definitely being a foreigner imitating a German Canuck.*
*On a semi-related note, a native Celler mistook me as Russian.
Weihnachten und der Weihnactsmann, AMG! (Ach, mein Gott!)
Christmas, or Weihnachten, is celebrated a bit differently in Germany than in America. Yes, the Christmas tree has German origins and whatnot, but there are different traditions here in Germany that I find quite charming.
Right before Advent, Weihnachtsmaerkte, or Christmas markets, open all across Germany, and almost every (if not every) German town hosts one. These markets are very much like flea markets (Floehmaerkte), only local vendors sell holiday wares/junk instead of plain old regular junk. Such wares include ornaments, toys, spices, tea, candy, Schmalzkuchen, and, one of my personal favorites (along with most other ex-pats), Gluehwein. Gluehwein is warmed sangria that has been combined with spices to provide a tasty drink to warm the body while browsing the booths and rides. One can also keep the mug that the wine comes in or receive about half the money back when the mug is returned.
Also of interest in these markets is the sale of German paper stars that one can light up. These are quite beautiful, but it's been difficult to find a good deal, especially when the cables and the bulbs are sold separately. Regardless, they're quite charming.
Advent is also kind of a Big Deal here in Germany, as many, many Advent calendars (Adventkalendar) are purchased for the kids (and, ahem, adults) to mark the days until Christmas. These calendars also come with little pieces of chocolate for each day, which are accessible only when the children punch through the numbers. Also beginning with Advent is the lighting of four candles, with one candle lit every Sunday until Christmas. We have this right outside of the teacher's lounge at work.
This Sunday is when the Christmas celebrating become Serious Business (like my capitalization? I do, too). Nikolaustag, or St. Nikolaus Day, is this Sunday, the holiday when children place a shoe outside his/her door the night before and receives small gifts, like the stocking stuffers of the English tradition, in the morning. Also, a nice breakfast is in order, as I've been invited to the host family's breakfast celebration this Sunday...
The surprising thing that I've just recently discovered (and I'm kind of ashamed to admit that, as I've studied German culture for four years and counting) is that Christmas in Germany is celebrated mainly on the 24th. This is why the buses won't run on this day. That night, after feasting on very tasty food (being hungry, I will not describe the feast) and obtaining Dickbauch, families traditionally decorate the Weihnachtsbaum, or Christmas tree, and open presents. The 25th is also dedicated to good food and merry-making, but the true holiday lies on our Christmas Eve.
So, Christmas is pretty much a month-long ordeal here, and not particularly in the commercial sense. More like the "Hey, it's cold and dreary; let's stick it to the man and have merry-making for an entire month" sense.
Other, Miscellaneous Matters
Other things of note:
I don't sing to anyone. I refuse to do so. And yet, I've sung, solo, "Up on the Housetop" in front of two sections of third graders this week. As I've stated before, my musician's ears wept with sorrow.
Speaking of musician's ears, I've taken up the clarinet again. I can't believe how bad my breathing and articulation have become, but I remember the notes and the posture. I fear, though, that with the poor quality of the clarinet itself I'm restricted as to how much I can recover my old aptitude at the instrument. Also, Rico reeds suck.
Today is Karolin's birthday. Unlike in the States, it is considered good manners for the person having the birthday to provide a cake for his/her coworkers or even buy his/her friends a round of drinks or dinner if one goes out (rest assured, I will make a point not to even mention my birthday, especially since it's on a Saturday early next year...partly because I just don't want to acknowledge it and partly because I don't want to spend the money). Anyway, an interesting tidbit for you Amer'can folk.
It's the weekend. Schaf sei Dank.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Friday, December 4, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
A Thanksgiving Story
A sunny, temperate day. I have cake. Life is good.
No, seriously. Cake = good life.
Let's add to this formula: (sunny day + cake / The Decemberists' The Hazards of Love) x visitors in November and December = quite a damn good life.
In other news, I will be teaching 4b on my own on Thanksgiving day. The story that has been bestowed unto me to teach the kiddies is worthy of note because it is loosely based on the concept that some people wanted to come to America so badly that they sailed on a ship and moved to rich farmland where there's absolutely no trouble at all but the Indians helped them anyway because they're so nice and not being threatened at all and everyone is one big happy family, the end.
Sometimes, grammatically incorrect sentences get the point across the best.
So, here's the school's narration:
The Story of Thanksgiving
Long, long, long ago there were some English people called Pilgrims. They wanted to live in America. So the Pilgrims took a little sailing ship. They called it Mayflower. The Pilgrims sailed and sailed and sailed over the sea. Finally they saw a harbour. It looked like a bowl. There was good farmland. They built houses and called the place Plymouth. The Pilgrims met some Indians. The Indians helped the Pilgrims. They showed the Pilgrims berries, herbs and roots. And they showed the Pilgrims a new fruit. It was called corn. In autumn the Pilgrims had pumpkins, peas, beans and cranberries. And they had cornmeal. They baked bread and pancakes. The Pilgrims celebrated a feast. They invited the Indians. Every year in November the Americans remember those Pilgrims and Indians. They eat turkey, corn, cranberries, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. The feast is called Thanksgiving.
(Courtesy of Bausteine - Englisch)
Here's my rendition (which is also not entirely true, as I believe there actually was a plentiful harvest):
In 1620, a group of English Separatists, who, like most other religious sects in the history of ever, sought to establish their own special, exclusive community where they could avoid "relentless" persecution from other special, exclusive communities. They wanted to go to America because it was so cool, and they were really excited by the stellar successes of Roanoke and Jamestown. Therefore, after seeking their safe haven in the Netherlands, 102 passengers sailed across the Atlantic in the Mayflower, where absolutely no one died at all, to the Plymouth area of what would be called the ever-original New England. Of course, no one starved in this fruitful area, and there were no harsh winters where such starvation could occur. At all. These English Separatists knew very well the horticulture of this new land and didn't require the voluntary assistance of a certain fellow named Squanto, a guy who kind of knew what he was doing. So, with the bountiful harvest that came within a year, the Pilgrims, for that is how those lovable Separatists came to be known, invited the Native Americans, who totally weren't suffering depleted numbers from disease and forced relocation, to their first Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie may or may not have been served, as there are no recorded instances.
And everyone lived happily ever after. The end.
It's funnier if it's said aloud, particularly in my dry, flat tone.
Nothing much else of note, actually. I'm quietly planning for a couple of visits, which is pleasant and stressful all at once, since I'm planning out my expenses as well. This will work out, however. Awesomeness awaits.
It's that time of the year for Halloween and harvest festivals back in Alabama. It makes me a bit whimsical, a bit nostalgic, and a tiny bit homesick. But...that's how it goes, isn't it? I imagine that all of the major holidays will be like this, even perhaps a bit stronger. Things are going well here. I feel a lot better about myself here. I like feeling like there's not too much wrong with me. It makes me realize that, hey, I can be kind of awesome.
Can a location really make one feel that? Can an experience that doesn't really have anything to do with the person involved, but rather with the title of Fulbright Grantee, with the job that the person is assigned, make one feel that? Is the person interesting, or is all the glory designated to the "prestige" that goes along with the type of job this is? Somehow, I believe both are intertwined. The person who is awarded something like this grant either is interesting enough to attain it or becomes interesting through the process of self-realization and the knowledge of what exactly one can endure. This is not something that is just handed to someone. I worked for this grant. But, is my "interestingness" only so because I worked for this? Or because I'm naturally an interesting person?
I love these contemplations. They give meaning to my life. And, it's not just about me, either. It's about anyone who goes through this sort of process, anyone who pushes oneself to do something that terrifies him or her. It's one of the most awesome things that one can muse about. Can one truly find an answer? Probably not. But, that's okay. Maybe it's not meant to be solved.
No, seriously. Cake = good life.
Let's add to this formula: (sunny day + cake / The Decemberists' The Hazards of Love) x visitors in November and December = quite a damn good life.
In other news, I will be teaching 4b on my own on Thanksgiving day. The story that has been bestowed unto me to teach the kiddies is worthy of note because it is loosely based on the concept that some people wanted to come to America so badly that they sailed on a ship and moved to rich farmland where there's absolutely no trouble at all but the Indians helped them anyway because they're so nice and not being threatened at all and everyone is one big happy family, the end.
Sometimes, grammatically incorrect sentences get the point across the best.
So, here's the school's narration:
The Story of Thanksgiving
Long, long, long ago there were some English people called Pilgrims. They wanted to live in America. So the Pilgrims took a little sailing ship. They called it Mayflower. The Pilgrims sailed and sailed and sailed over the sea. Finally they saw a harbour. It looked like a bowl. There was good farmland. They built houses and called the place Plymouth. The Pilgrims met some Indians. The Indians helped the Pilgrims. They showed the Pilgrims berries, herbs and roots. And they showed the Pilgrims a new fruit. It was called corn. In autumn the Pilgrims had pumpkins, peas, beans and cranberries. And they had cornmeal. They baked bread and pancakes. The Pilgrims celebrated a feast. They invited the Indians. Every year in November the Americans remember those Pilgrims and Indians. They eat turkey, corn, cranberries, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. The feast is called Thanksgiving.
(Courtesy of Bausteine - Englisch)
Here's my rendition (which is also not entirely true, as I believe there actually was a plentiful harvest):
In 1620, a group of English Separatists, who, like most other religious sects in the history of ever, sought to establish their own special, exclusive community where they could avoid "relentless" persecution from other special, exclusive communities. They wanted to go to America because it was so cool, and they were really excited by the stellar successes of Roanoke and Jamestown. Therefore, after seeking their safe haven in the Netherlands, 102 passengers sailed across the Atlantic in the Mayflower, where absolutely no one died at all, to the Plymouth area of what would be called the ever-original New England. Of course, no one starved in this fruitful area, and there were no harsh winters where such starvation could occur. At all. These English Separatists knew very well the horticulture of this new land and didn't require the voluntary assistance of a certain fellow named Squanto, a guy who kind of knew what he was doing. So, with the bountiful harvest that came within a year, the Pilgrims, for that is how those lovable Separatists came to be known, invited the Native Americans, who totally weren't suffering depleted numbers from disease and forced relocation, to their first Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie may or may not have been served, as there are no recorded instances.
And everyone lived happily ever after. The end.
It's funnier if it's said aloud, particularly in my dry, flat tone.
Nothing much else of note, actually. I'm quietly planning for a couple of visits, which is pleasant and stressful all at once, since I'm planning out my expenses as well. This will work out, however. Awesomeness awaits.
It's that time of the year for Halloween and harvest festivals back in Alabama. It makes me a bit whimsical, a bit nostalgic, and a tiny bit homesick. But...that's how it goes, isn't it? I imagine that all of the major holidays will be like this, even perhaps a bit stronger. Things are going well here. I feel a lot better about myself here. I like feeling like there's not too much wrong with me. It makes me realize that, hey, I can be kind of awesome.
Can a location really make one feel that? Can an experience that doesn't really have anything to do with the person involved, but rather with the title of Fulbright Grantee, with the job that the person is assigned, make one feel that? Is the person interesting, or is all the glory designated to the "prestige" that goes along with the type of job this is? Somehow, I believe both are intertwined. The person who is awarded something like this grant either is interesting enough to attain it or becomes interesting through the process of self-realization and the knowledge of what exactly one can endure. This is not something that is just handed to someone. I worked for this grant. But, is my "interestingness" only so because I worked for this? Or because I'm naturally an interesting person?
I love these contemplations. They give meaning to my life. And, it's not just about me, either. It's about anyone who goes through this sort of process, anyone who pushes oneself to do something that terrifies him or her. It's one of the most awesome things that one can muse about. Can one truly find an answer? Probably not. But, that's okay. Maybe it's not meant to be solved.
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