Paging Dr. Brilliant

"Worrying doesn't take away tomorrow's problem, but rather today's peace."

That's Brilliant, just Brilliant, and Bodly Branded in my Brain where I am Borderline Bonkers and Burdened.

Today is brought to you by the letter "B".

My first guest star erradicated smallpox, is the CEO of two companies, major player at Google, now felt he did his time there and moved on to an environmental philanthropy organization.

Because he can.
Oh, did I mention his name is Larry Brilliant?

Because it is.

What a horrendous and beautiful name. Imagine the expectations that arose around that name as he was a student at U of M. Paging Dr. Brilliant. Is there a Brilliant in the house? 
He held a Q and A at the university a couple weeks ago and while I was not able to get there, my lovely mentor at school, after speaking with me about where I am at in my life, directed me to him. Because getting back to the United States, you know, my home, I feel felt like a massive lump of out-of-place and just screamed the question "What are you doing with your life?" over and over at myself.  Because I can?

It's a suckerpunch of a question, but I've been told it's not an unusual one.

Well, this man is someone to take seriously and when asked by a young doctorate student in the crowd of his Q and A
"How can I be as successful as you? I mean, how do I get where you are?"
 He answered.
Just walk about 30 yards.

Brilliant.

But really, he said be a jack of all trades. If you love cooking, do it. If you love travelling, well do that too. It's beneficial to be unique and a lot more fun, too. The best and brightest of the world aren't just focused on one thing, so why should you?

It's refreshing to have someone slap reality back at you once in a while.

Let's play twenty questions.

 Odd how your brain can work, but it seems like the first week of freshman year is so severe that even during the sophmore year it is emblazed in your memory. How could you ever forget that Wednesdays are free bagel days at the Alumni center so, of course, you're going to pack onto the bus with your bookbag overflowing  much to the visible annoyance of every upperclassman that actually has to get to a class. It might bug other people, but at that point how would you know any better? You're a freshman.

And as a sophomore you still kind of understand. Maybe shake your head and think, "Silly freshman.

...Those bagels DO look delicious. Is that vanilla cinnamon??"

Don't quote me on this, but I think in oder to become a junior one has to go through freshman and sophomore year. Correct? Then why is it that at year three all memory of going through the metaphorical bagel initiation gets tucked down lost in your underwear drawer and suddenly those freshman are just so unbearable?

Time flies.
When my high school recieved two German exchange students, I may be guilty of asking a few dumb questions* and since getting back I've compiled a list of questions to myself and others who just make me shake my head.   Silly freshman.

Do they have cars in Germany? And if so, how long did it take you to drive there? Fun fact: Germans--read Karl Benz, like Mercedes-Benz-- invented the car and have you even taken a geography class?


Do they celebrate birthdays? Twice a year.

*Do they celebrate (insert holiday, including Oktoberfest) in Germany? I asked about 4th of July and then commenced to eat the foot I had just shoved in my mouth for how silly that sounded. I really meant "Do you have a holiday similar to the fourth?"


Do they have weekends in Germany? No. Having a weekend would slow down their German efficiency.

Are there any trees in Germany? Is that an honest question?

Did you drink beer for breakfast? Ohhh, dear.

Are there major problems regarding immigration on the German-Chinese border? I blame our education system for this one.

Have you ever met Hitler? And this one.

How are the beaches of Normandy this time of year? That's just a cheap shot. You know who you are Steven.

And just to wrap it up before it's even asked:
No. Beer is not warm when you drink it. I don't even know where that comes from and YES the girls (and even some of the guys) shave their legs and armpits. They're a very hygenic people.

I take cash and all major cookie flavors.

Sleep is beautiful. You really realize that when you don't get enough of it.

In Germany, I was always out like a light switch and I couldn't get enough of that wonderful little thing called a nap. The riddles begin as to why I got home, in my rightful fresh washed bed, and cannot get a winkful of sleep.
Maybe it's because our washmaschine begins running at five thirty in the morning so I have to unload it at six. Maybe it's because I'm wondering about money--When did college get so expensive?!-- Maybe I've secretly become nocturnal. Opossume-becca activate! That seems to be the best of all the options. Sure thing is that I saved all of my tired for my vacation time. Isn't life just tricky like that.

 Then people tell you that you look tired. Which basically translates into, "You look like crap. Go take a nap, ugly." And I can only smile and say, "But look what I've accomplished." It's no wonder little kids hate naps. They're smart enough to realize all the time they waste. Look what I did today.

That's right. Christmas towel. Because at my house, we're always festive.

Easy like apple pie, they say. Well they lie. Because apple pie is hard to make. It downright sucks. Easy like blueberry pie, maybe. I don't really know. But who honestly can make a pie crust? Mission Impossible 4 (For Pete's sake, they're making a fourth one?) will just be two hours of Tom Cruise making an apple pie.

Muffins, on the other hand, are awesome. Love them, they love me. The problem is that I'm never able to snitch one for myself. You see, baking in my household is an odd occurance. We associate it with tragedy.

Cookies could be coma.

Funnel cake could be a funeral.

Cinnamon roles are the plague. Hey, who's keeping track?

It's this weird guilt/pleasure thing. Like, Mom's making homemade bread. Whooot! ...Oh,... who died? 
 And then she gives it all away. This rolls over to my cooking too. No trademarking or copywriting on my work. No sir-ee.
For example, I made muffins two days ago. Suddenly they're gone. (Hence the new batch in the picture.) She gave two to one worker, then thought it unfair and gave two more away, and poof! no more.

Because they're just that good.

For my housekeeping skills, of which are legendary--think barbeque spare ribs for lunch and then turn around to eat pork roast at dinner--, she offered to pay me. But I'm not into that. I love my family and more importantly we were raised with the, "Under my roof, you work for your food, clothing, and shelter or you can just get out!" motto, so I appreciate it when she tosses a box of Mint Oreo cookies my way. Trust me, the irony of earning cookies for baking has not been lost on me.

BeccaTour2011

The annual journey, voyage, or venture, a pilgrimage if you will, a massive movement of peoples has begun. It's the unrelenting ritual marked by fleets of cars filled with vagabonds, old lamps and couches, and maybe even a toaster oven migrating to their Mecca.

College season is among us, dear computer. So slap on your affiliated university bumper sticker and step in the flow of highway traffic or get pulled under, never to return.

It has begun.

I just hate the three hour drive.

While I haven't officially moved down to the campus, I had preporatory measures to be made pre-arrival. Literally measurements. My apartment is not big. Honestly seen cat carriers bigger than my bathroom. The looming question still stands: Will that bed fit? The world may never know.

Jobs were applied for, banking was done, and lots of free food was devoured. Everyone remember Sean the Noodle Kid? Or as my mom calls him, "That red haired boy?" --like we don't have those in the Thumb--well, he turned twenty-one and lives in Ann Arbor. Crazy coincidence that I may have scheduled most of my pre-move-in shananigins in order to make his birthday into awesome. Us ex-exchange students have to stick together, you see.

I wish I could have photo documented the whole trip. Windmills are really starting to dot the landscape around my town--which I am more than giddy with excitement for--and it was a beautiful day of driving. Missed jamming out to my music so I crammed all of that in on the drive down, much to the displeasure of my driving buddy/college sidekick. Got to Ann Arbor and attack hugged Sean and Brettbrett, my very first college friends, and we shimmied around town getting free stuff. Aparently, in Annarborise, a merrily tossed "It's my birthday!" translates to "Please sir, give me everything for free." Cupcakes, coffee, ice cream, crepes, six bagels and a gelato!?! It's no wonder we didn't eat supper. Did I also mention the ice cream cake?

Some squirrel whispering (That's the delicate art of finding one of the hundreds of thousands of chubby squirrels on campus and calling them over to feed them peanuts.) rounded out the afternoon and the evening settled into kicking it old school and listening to records late into the night.

The tradition continues and another year goes by as thousands of students flock to school. I think I'm starting to see what all of the fuss is about.

Friends, Bloggers, Countrymen, Lend me Your Ears!

I was told once that if you do something every day for ninety days, it will become a habit. I've been blogging now for seven months. Habit, much? I still check up on my blog daily and each time I think, "Hey Toto, it looks like we're not in Germany anymore. Why isn't my home life more interesting?"

Is anyone even listening anymore? Hellooooo, cyberspace!

The reception back home has been slightly...less than reception-like. I caught up with most of my friends and many them had not even realized I was in Germany for the majority of this year. Where I just wanted to chat or catch up, it would end up feeling like a competition. Anything you can say, I can say better. Even at home, when I want to tell a story I find interesting, the television is ranked over my voice. You lose, Becca.

I like to think that someone, somewhere is still paying attention here.  Hello, cyberspace.

In Germany, I also had a hard time being a part of conversations, but not because each conversation was a competition to have your voice heard. Y'know the old saying Think before you speak.? Forget about it, because it turns into a cricket fest on your part.

By the time you've thought of your idea, formed the sentence, corrected your grammar, rechecked your grammar, and decided it was witty enough, the topic has passed. People wonder why I was so quiet in Germany. Two of my German friends came back to the states around the same time I did and dropped in Michigan on their way to California. Last night we played beach volleyball together and I didn't know what to say to them. We had gotten beyond the pleasant formalities and they become oddly quiet. What's up, guys?

Idiot me didn't realize that I had come full circle in the communication department until I was driving home. Of course they didn't speak much, who can jump into the incecent ramblings of Americans who have known each other as far back as grade school? They never wanted to one-up someone during their chats, they just wanted to chat, catch up, be heard a little bit. We all just want to be heard a little bit.
 
So when I got home that night, in the shower I heard a basketball hitting the pavement outside. My little brother leaves the house at seven thirty every morning and gets back at nine at night. In between drivers training, band camp, and football practice, I don't know why he would want to go outside in the dark to shoot baskets. After my shower I walked out to the shed and sort of watch him jump and sing. He didn't realize I was there, because I'm sneaky like a cat. (Or he had his mp3 player in.)

"Where do you get all the energy?" I asked. And he jumped and pulled his ear buds out. Apparently practice had gotten out early and he was bored. For the next half hour he told me about his day and even as I walked inside and began folding clothes he sat down and helped me, but did not stop talking.

Now, I'm a big sister. He's a little brother. For years, he was just a pain in my neck getting away with everything and here he sat, helping me put shirts on hangers. Non-stop talking. I felt like a magician or that dog whisperer guy.

Rebecca The Great! Watch as She Work Wonders on a Lazy Little Brother! Oooohh!

I don't think he would have cared what we were doing though, so long as I sat and listened to him as I did it. Every day I feel like I'm learning a little bit about life. Because nice matters and the best is yet to come.

"Mom, does she have to fly back to Germany tonight?"

Culture Shock
The term, culture shock, was introduced for the first time in 1958 to describe the anxiety produced when a person moves to a completely new environment. This term expresses the lack of direction, the feeling of not knowing what to do or how to do things in a new environment, and not knowing what is appropriate or inappropriate.

To put it eloquently, that is how I feel. I'll be fine, though. That's not a choice in the matter, I have school in a couple weeks, jobs to work, meals to cook, there's no time to be lacking a direction. 

It's not that I hate being home. I do well in both situations, I just feel very Jekyll and Hyde. Living two lives and not wanting to favor one over the other.
Don't pick favorites, but people keep asking me when am I going back.
How long are you here for? Just a stay at home before going back? Look guys, I'm not going to pick between here and Germany, but if you want to choose for me... I went to visit a friend and as I left, one of her girls asked her, "Momma, does she have to fly back to Germany tonight?"

Do I have to fly back tonight? Can I go back tonight? I was so worried about leaving last year, offending someone, or placing a burden on my family and now it seems like people are just waiting for me to peace out.

Rebecca has left the building.

Not yet. I still have a lot of life to live here.

IF I could--notice the if--I would mix up my lives. Like a giant wedding cake where I can pick the layers from what I want best. Could I get a slice of the great public transportation with seeing my family as the frosting?

Well now I just want cake.

To Whom May Be Concerned

Bllluugh. Flipping through a thesaurus brings me only to that unsatisfying conclusion. I feel blluugh. Ten hours on a plane, another six in an airport, and then two more plane time, ultimately ending in a two hour drive that left me spinning at my doorstep and wondering if I should eat or sleep or, as I chose, unpacking and then rearranging my room at three in the morning. Or was it? Because my biological rooster was already crowing and even though it had been hours, days?, decades?!, since I'd last slept I was pretty sure it was time to wake up. Bllluugh.

Welcome home! I was graciously invited to come up north to spend the weekend with my family enjoying ourselfs on the lake and I accepted--as if I had another choice after seven months--and it wasn't even too bad. Even if it did leave battered and bruised.

Exhibit A:

Before.

After.

Exhibit B:

Before.

After.

Exhibit C:

Before.

After.

 Exhibit D:

Before.

During.

 Oh yeah, I didn't need an after picture because that's just me doing a 360 on my first try on a knee-board. Huh, where did I get these monsterous bruises on my legs then? Freak bear encounter. Gotta watch yourself up there.

---

It might be painfully obvious that I enjoyed seeing my family again, but if we're going to be honest here, I miss Germany. I can't say I wasn't warned. Culture shock would be inevitable, because if it wouldn't be then you didn't do a very good job enjoying another culture. But man, it's really rather awkward. More on that later though, because this is what's important.

If there was a giant neon arrow sign app for Blogger, it would be pointing at the lady in the shades.

Look at this picture. Check out the hottie for a grandma! This lady is my hero and if/when I go through all the scheisse that she had to, Du meine Gute, let me bounce back like that. I was silently watching her as she coddled the new grandbaby, tubbed, and drove a new boat for god sake and I was proud. Was it just earlier last year that I was feeling guilty about leaving for Germany? I kept thinking, "Shouldn't this be the other way around? Why is my heart swelling?" Well, because this lady is worth all the stupid culture shock. At least until she asks me to resume all of my motherly duties again. She could hold off on that...