With your hands, your heart

Big events resound like a gunshot.  It isn't much of anything, honestly. Just a mili-split-second where you didn't really intend to close your eyes, but you got scared as you squeezed the trigger so you did anyway.
And then,
BLAM!

It's done. Gone. You sort of missed it in a sense but you know it happened because you might have scoped yourself from the intensity of the recoil. The dull throb in your shoulder is what lets you know that it happened.

So my sister got married and I'm not implying it was a shotgun wedding, but somehow I can't seem to shake that from the analogy I just created. My bad.

 Let me explain. It was a BIG event. I tell people back in Kalamazoo about it and mention that there were five hundred guests at the reception and they wig out. How wicked is that? Over half your town shows up???

They do. And they party.
It's just how farmers do.

As far as siblings go, I would say that Rita and I are the furthest from each other on the personality spectrum. Where she is loud and strong, I'm quiet and reserved. Where she asserts herself, I am more of a push-over. Where she demands those around her have a good time, I prefer to be alone. We argue about politics, agricultural practices, hygiene choices, the list goes on. You know, just regular sister stuff.

I wouldn't trade her for the world.

 In a way though, that's what marriages are, aren't they? Marriages are sort of like giving up someone you love into the hands of someone you know they love. In an exchange of sorts, I'm trading out a sister for a new brother.

A mother gets a new son (and vice verse whether he likes it or not)

And new families start

Where others just keep expanding

Though the best union we celebrated was a wife getting a new husband.

Going into the reception, there was a moment where I could only watch and experience the happiness that someone can feel on their wedding day. The bridal party was about to make their entrance into the reception and Rita needed to use the restroom. She grabbed my arm and announced, "You're doing your bridesmaid duties and helping me pee. Let's go!" (See what I mean about that assertive thing?)

And off we rushed into the unisex bathroom where I stood guard lest some wandering passerby catch a glimpse of her. Wedding dresses, I found, are much too large to allow a standard bathroom stall door to swing shut without suffocating the occupant in tulle and lace. As I unrolled some toilet paper for my semi-incapacitated sister, she just sort of looked at me and said, "This is the happiest day of my life."

Unprompted and in the most unusual moment, she was radiating so much joy I couldn't help but know she was speaking the Truth. Even balancing one hundred pounds of wedding dress and hairspray over a toilet bowl she was one of the happiest people in the world on that day.

So, to you Rita, I wish you many more happiest days of your life. My guess is it only gets better. And though the wedding day itself passed by in the blink of the eye, all the exceptional things from it will carry on for a long time.

Michigan has Two Seasons: Winter and Construction

A year ago, living in Ann Arbor as a student, I was directly across from a dormitory that was under construction. For 360 days, the life of my lease, I was woken up every morning by the veering of power tools and the crumblings of concrete outside my bedroom window.

I'm normally a morning person, but waking up two hours earlier than you anticipate to abrupt noises is ...irksome. I was irritated at the workers outside to say the least. The foreman that demanded that they run their tools so early. Hey! I'm sleeping here! It was inconsiderate of them. I was a student working two jobs and took my days off pretty seriously.

Almost a year later, I am that construction worker outside at six in the morning. For those of you who haven't been paying attention, this winter has been a liiiitle chilly. Ten hour days in negative temperatures without a lunch break can make you appreciate your days off more. Appreciate those few hours you have indoors. And warm showers. Oh, warm showers...

With the snow we've been getting, on my days off, instead of being woken by construction, the new noise here is snow plows and the scraping of metal on ice as the road crews go by. Instead of being annoyed by it now, I look out my window, say a little thank you to the crew workers and snuggle back down into my comforter.

Nothing can make you appreciate the people who are getting up at the crack of dawn like being one of those people who wake up at dawn.

So the next time you want to curse out the construction going on outside your window, just be glad it's not you.

Stay warm, everyone.

Belgian Waffels and Brussel Sprouts

To live within Europe is to vacation exotically.
 It is far too simple to jump a plane to Spain from Germany or a train to France and have a lovely little holiday. Being from Michigan, the best we've got is Indiana or Ohio on our borders. On my first trip to Ohio, people at a bus stop threw rocks at our passing car windows. Quaint little state, isn't it?

This might exist in the states, but I've never heard of it if it does; there's a way to buy a plane ticket in Germany very very cheaply. The catch is you don't know where you're going when you buy the ticket. Pick your days, pay something like forty dollars and you could be going to Vienna or London, or maybe Kiel or Helsinki.

I got Brussels.  Capital of the European Union, home of the waffle and praline, and monument to a statue of a little boy urinating in a fountain.

I would never lie to you, readers. 

It was an incredibly impromptu trip. Bought the tickets the night before with so little knowledge of Belgium, it's insane.
National languages? French and Flemish. ...Balls.
Currency? Euro. ..Good, good. But found out in disappointment that everything is incredibly expensive. Can't enjoy that Belgium beer when it costs the equivalent of ten dollars a glass.
Known for? Techno music. *face palm*

In Tuebingen there is currently a chocolate festival. Feels good to be back where I really belong.

The Round Thing Goes into The Square Thing

I've finally attended a football game! Sure, it wasn't America football, but tomato, tomato. (That phrase is much easier to get across verbally...Let's try again: To-may-to, to-mah-to.)

Weder Bremen, a northern Germany team, played Hoffenheim at home. This happens to be rather close to Tuebingen so we snagged some tickets and drove out there for the game. Took me a while to really understand what was going on, but the easiest metaphor was to think of it as basketball with your feet and then I started to get into the swing of things.

Right you are, Flula, right you are.

I was cheering for Bremen, the team wearing green and white (Because my allegiance to Michigan State runs deep.) but we were amongst the Hoffenheim fans.

In the end they tied, which was glorious because the opposing side was sort of harassing us and we made a quick comeback to even it out.

(For those of you wondering how a professional sports team can tie. I direct you to this blog post by the lovely Katie who attempts to contemplate Europe's lax views on competition).

So we were all pretty content. Bremen tied and they all seemed happy. ...Well not everyone seemed happy.

As we filed out, you could see the Hoffenheim team walking toward their fan-section to celebrate.

The Hoffenheim fans booed and hissed their own team for drawing. I saw some guy chuck a half-full beer at them. That was just sort of unfathomable. Why? They didn't even lose. Sure, they didn't win per se, but they surely didn't lose.

Then I learned that the Bremen fans still celebrate with the team afterward in this weird little victory dance. But what's more so, they, the fans, will bring the team gift baskets and bake them cookies after a great loss. The fans leave the goodies on the players' cars after practices.

Win or lose, soccer is taken to a hyperbole in either direction.

How do I feel about this? I'm not sure, still wrapping my head around it. Honestly, after Michigan's little show in the Ohio State game (yeah, we get internet here and Michigan football is staying classy as ever...) I think sports are taken a little too seriously here. And there. And everywhere.

You're Never Fully Dressed...

Day one of the impromptu Germany Christmas excursion is underway. But it's much more than underway. Day one is almost gone. And I'm still sitting on my bed.

A day of traveling, one plane FULL of babies whose first experiences of flying are uncontrollable anger at the changing air pressure, and a cancelled train connection. It is a small wonder I slept for 13 hours before being prodded out of bed to shower because the scent of my socks is obscenely wafting through the room. It's been a slow start.

We're heading out today to re-accquiant ourselves with Tuebingen, the college town that I studied abroad at. It's really only been a year since I last visited during my internship and nothing here has really changed at all. I have though, I can feel that. There was a great debate over the effects that being abroad had on us all before we left. Who matured, the insides of becoming independent, world-travelled, the nuances between cultured and snooty. (Which I may be well slipping toward...)

Before I flew out of Detroit I had this overwhelming anxiety attack about my appearance. I scurried to the nearest Old Navy and dropped $211.04 on a wardrobe. Having now written out by behavior of the last few weeks, it seems like I'm slipping into this weird quarter-life crisis.

Maybe a three-week stay in Germany during the holidays is exactly what I need. Maybe that's what every 45 year old male says about his new cherry-red Mustang convertible.


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