Wood

I decided to go shopping today (Wednesday), so I got up fairly early, dressed, and stepped out. I couldn’t find my umbrella (I’m only partially unpacked, as the wardrobe here is pretty small), so counted myself lucky that there was no rain, or so little as to not matter. There is a grocery store--somewhat akin to a Safeway--called the Rewe, which has all manner of food, including international food. I remembered to take my shopping bags with me, as it’s expected that you bring your own bags as well as bag your own groceries. I felt rather proud of the fact that I had remembered to buy some shopping bags as well as take some canvas tote bags with me in my suitcase so that I could shop in the proper European way.

On the way, I saw this interesting, but rather frightening-looking statue. What it is or what it means, I have no idea, but here it is:

It was not at all difficult to shop for what I wanted (breakfast things--milk, cereal, margarine), and I had been warned not to expect to find milk in the dairy cooler, but in liter cartons on the shelf. I was surprised to find eggs also in the shelf and not in the cooler. Well, eggs keep pretty well, and I expect the stock clerks probably bring them out from a large refrigerator in the stockroom as they’re needed. Most items have pictures on them, as they do in the States, and German isn’t that far away from English that I couldn’t decipher meanings of certain words. Fleisch/flesh/meat; Schweine/swine/pork; Frische/fresh; Hahn/hen/chicken; Milch/milk; and some words are exactly the same, such as Butter/butter and Yoghurt/yogurt. So I picked up some margarine (spelled the same), yoghurt, milch, apples (apfel), brie cheese, BonBel cheese, and cereal (forgot what that’s called, but it was clear from the box that it’s the whole grain granola kind, which is what we usually get). I don’t know why I was surprised that there was American Kellogg’s and other U.S. cereals there, but I suppose if there is a McDonald’s within stone’s throw of the hotel window, there will be American products in the grocery store).

I refrained from getting bread at the grocery store, because I really wanted to go into a real German bakery, two of which were in close proximity to the hotel. The bakery I went to had bread of all different kinds, including luscious-looking pasteries. But I was very good, and only got some buns as well as a loaf of bread. The buns were basic dinner rolls--what I’d call French rolls with a crisp crust and soft white porous crumb inside. The loaf of bread was called (if I remember correctly) a landskraft. It tastes like a whole wheat bread--not as sweet--with a firm and crisp crust, and a beige, medium crumb inside. I had the bakery attendant slice it for me, and it’s sliced fairly thin. I had to take a picture of the bakery, as it was the very first German bakery I had ever entered. The clerk said it was fine, but when I pointed the camera at the cases (with her behind it), she shook her head and clearly said in German, “not with me in it!” :-D I wish I could have taken a picture of her as well, but them’s the breaks.

I brought these home and decided to try a roll for breakfast...only to find that the margarine tasted like Crisco shortening! I was certain that it was margarine, because that’s what it said on the package. Hmph! Maybe I should just get butter instead. You can’t mistake butter, and I don’t mind it if it’s unsalted butter, either. But dang! I’m not putting Crisco on really nice bread.

After that, I decided to knit some washcloths; Anna (not AnnaMK) gave me some Lily Sugar and Cream cotton yarn for the purpose, as there are no small face cloths/washcloths here in the hotel. There are large bath towels, there are hand towels, but there’s no towel to wash my face with. Apparently, this is not a customary thing to have in a bathroom. It also proved handy when I wanted to boil some water and didn’t have a pot holder or hot mitt. The simple garter stitch construction made the wash cloth thick enough to work perfectly as a pot holder.

Lesson: the resourceful traveler will take a knitting or crochet needle as well as yarn. You never know when you will need to quickly knit or crochet a washcloth or pot holder, or indeed any other useful item. Had I forgotten a hat or scarf in this chilly, rainy weather, I could have knit or crochet that, too.

As I was warned, everyday things are the same on the surface, but different underneath: bath towel, hand towel, but no wash cloth. For example, it seems Germans rarely do business--well, in this area, anyway--with credit cards or checks. Cash or debit cards only. Which, when you think about it, is pretty sensible. It means you save up for what you want or pay as you go. You don’t live beyond your means. If you can’t afford it right now, you don’t buy it.

We got word today that there was another house that just came up for rent, and that we would have to see it this afternoon. Toni the real estate agent said it’s a bit far out, but it was what he called a “Boeing house.” AnnaMK said that it means it’s a very nice house, something that we U.S. Northwesterners would feel comfortable in. John wanted to look at the first house we had seen once more, and then we would go to the other house, which is out in a very small village called Schöndorf. I’ve been told that the name means “beautiful hamlet.”

The first house was the one that was very white--white walls, white tile, and so on. The smell of oil was stronger this time in the basement than the first time we visited. I was willing to take this house, but Toni said we really needed to see this other house. So we went.

As we traveled with Toni northward from Geilenkirchen to the Waldenfeucht area, we talked a little. He’s a very expert driver, taking corners and getting past other cars and obstacles in these narrow village streets with ease. John told him he was a smooth driver, a phrase Toni was not familiar with. We tried to explain it, but he still looked puzzled, saying he drove as the speed limit dictated. I thought it over for a bit, and said it was the same as a graceful or elegant driver, which he understood and looked very pleased to hear. We found that Toni had not always been in the real estate business; he had once been a master carpenter, work that he loved. He loved the feel of wood, and what he could make of it; it had given him a great satisfaction to see the result of his own hand work, he said. John was very impressed; he told me that to be a German master carpenter meant that you were trained in all the modern and traditional ways of German wood working, from the making of houses to fine cabinetry and furniture. But, it turned out that Toni had a bad back, and after multiple treatments and surgeries, his doctor finally told him he had to give up carpentry. And that was why he turned to the selling and leasing of houses.

This made me feel sad, that a master artisan--a master artist, because that’s what a German master carpenter is--had to give up something that he loved so much. It made sense, though, what I had noticed earlier, the way Toni had looked at houses. He had assessed them in the same way an artist would assess a work of art.

After driving through more villages than I could remember, we finally came to the house Toni said we must see. And oh, what a house! A feeling almost of intimidation came over me then: me, little old me, in this house?

As we went in we were met by the owner and her sister, who had been working on cleaning it up. After shaking hands with the owner and sister, they showed us the house. I walked past the rich dark wood of the double foyer doors into the open dining room and living room area, and almost wept, and at that time I didn’t know quite why. But as I turned around and looked at the rooms, and then to the sitting room with the traditional German fireplace, and then up the wrought-iron and wood spiral staircase to the bedrooms upstairs, a deep feeling of home came over me, and homesickness so strong that I had to press my lips together tightly to keep it back. The walls were a warm pale yellow textured with rust glaze, the ceiling was white plaster with beams of dark wood, and the floor was a patterned rich red tile, the color of the Sangre de Cristos mountains in Santa Fe, New Mexico at the moment of sundown, the color of seasoned redwoods. Upstairs, the owner had put in hardwood floors, and even the ceiling was paneled in wood. The upstairs felt airy and light and yet solid. The downstairs felt so warm and welcoming, rich with wood and wood colors.

The back yard was large, and park-like, with tall trees surrounding the property and a pond at the very end of it, and beyond it was farmland as far as I could see. But I came back to the house again, and had to look at the ceiling beams, and the wood fixtures. This is the house, I thought. I want this house, even if it’s bigger than any I’ve ever lived in or ever will live in.

It was unreasonable of me--it was further away than we had wanted from John’s place of work, it was much larger than either of us needed. What if there was a family, with children, who needed this house more?

I asked Toni, were there any other houses than this? He looked askance at me, and asked if I didn’t like this house. I said, no, no, I loved this house, but it was large and away from John’s work and....I trailed off.

I felt greedily glad when he shook his head. It was a bad time for renting houses, he said. All but the two that he had shown us--this, and the other we saw earlier this day--were claimed by other renters. These were the only ones left.

I looked at John, and I said we should think about it. I knew John wanted to bicycle to work, and this was a bit farther than he had wanted to bicycle. We were in this adventure together, and I didn’t want to deprive him of one of his aims, although I could see he was strongly attracted to the house as well.

We came home after that, and such was John’s enthusiasm that he called AnnaMK right away and said we’d take it. But then came the afterthoughts: it was big, bigger than we needed; it would take a lot of heating; there was the yard to upkeep, when we both wanted to do quite a bit of traveling around Europe when we could; and on and on. John called again, and asked for a day to think about it.

I had my doubts as well, but attendant on it was an underlying uneasiness that I couldn’t quite identify, a sense of discomfort that was not in concert with my feeling of home and familiarity when I entered the house. It was something I had felt earlier, as I had visited the NATO base. I felt I had to think about it for a bit, and so I let the idea of the house rest for a while. I wanted whatever place I chose to be right, and be right for good reason.