Lulu’s Feast

23rd December……… Last minute shopping.  Shoulder to shoulder in the trenches.  Squabbling over the last tub of Goose Fat.  I won… never underestimate an Aussie girls’ ability to feed her family.  She will go to wall.

The ENOURMOUS turkey arrived.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t home.  So the efficient DHL man left it with my neighbour. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the friendly neighbour, but rather the one that has been peering at me through her net curtains since the day I moved in.

I rang the bell.

“Guten Morgan, Frau Whipplebottssternhagen.  I believe you have a parcel for me?”  Picture me with my most winning smile, desperately hoping that she doesn’t stuff a chloroform rag in my mouth and drag me into the cellar.

“Ya… but the box says ‘Fresh Produce’… does that mean that it is alive?” She is peering at me with little beady, blue eyes, and I begin to wonder if she is sizing me up as to whether I will fit through her mince grinder.

“Well actually, it is our turkey for Christmas dinner.”  And here, I made a BIG, BIG (I typed that in upper case, just to ensure that you get it… BIG! mistake.

“I hope that you took it out of the box and let it have a walk around your garden, I am sure he is feeling a little cramped cramped in there…”

The blood rushed out of her face.  Her mouth made a perfect ‘O’. Her eyes started darting backwards and forwards between me and the box.

“But I didn’t know!!” she said, very serious.  “You should have told me… it is not nice to stuff a large bird into a box for so long.”

Never in my wildest dreams did I think she would believe me.

“Ha, ha,(that is the laugh that comes out of me when I know that I have screwed up and need time to formulate an excuse that will sound vaguely plausible) don’t worry, I was just kidding you…”  as I am edging toward my bird, in the vain hope that she is going to let me escape with him or her.

“Oh, I see.”  But she didn’t, she didn’t see one little bit.  With pursed lips, she handed me the offending box, sniffed once, and closed the door, barely missing the tip of my nose.

The curtains twitched with more than their usual vigour until I managed to find refuge back inside my house.

Moral to this story:  Making jokes about mailing live animals in a box is not going to get you elected president of the Straße.

Not Missing, Just Busy…

Still here..
Still Christmas (can’t quite believe that it hasn’t be been and gone yet. 

All ‘the guests’ were collected and installed, the big ones, the little ones and the middle sized ones too.

Mr Dear Husband needed to jet back to Madagascar for a few days, and this little brown duck drove him to the airport.  It was snowing… A LOT, more than a little, did you hear me, A LOT.  Not getting out of 3rd gear on the AutoBahn is a weird experience.  I took one of the guests with me, not sure why, he doesn't  speak a word of German, but he is one of those ‘handy’ types, and I figured that having a man with me to dig me out of the snow was a smart move. 

All went well until after drop off, there I was leaning into the windshield, like that would make it easier to see through the blanket of white that was being smashed in my face, dodging other Lulu’s that were all doing the same… and it happened.  Whoops!  I took the wrong Autobahn and got caught up in a mass migration of Lulu’s… all leaning into the windscreen, all hoping that would help… but in TOTALLY the wrong direction. 

“Whatever you do, don’t panic!” I started repeating, like a mantra, only it wasn’t putting me into a nice dreamy meditation, more in the direction of manic anxiety…

At about the time that I thought I might need to tell ‘the male guest’ that we were going to need our passports, I found a place to turn around and head in the other direction.  I mumbled something like “Did you enjoy the scenic tour? I have been planning that for months!”  No way did he buy it, but was quite gracious in his silence.  When we finally made it home, I needed a pair of pliers to pull his fingernails out of the dashboard… but I don’t think he ever really noticed his close shave with certain death.

Merry Christmas to one and all…  Let’s hope it’s a happy one, without any tears….whoops!  I feel a poem coming on… here is something for you all to pop under your tree…from me!:

Christmas

I've been getting ready for Christmas
I'm revving up for the great day
my credit card's cracked and my freezer is packed
'cause I started my shopping in May

The mistletoe's hanging in bunches
'cause the odd Christmas kiss isn't wrong
and the Vicar I've found - quite likes calling round
and exploring my crowns with his tongue

The bin men have gotten quite friendly
they're after a present I fear
they won't feel so chuffed when I tell them - get stuffed
'cause they don't speak the rest of the year

The family is coming for dinner
last year it was quite a good laugh
we ate fairly late - dished the veg on the plate
found the turkey was still in the bath

The kids are all pink with excitement
'cause Santa will come so they say
their lists are extensive - extremely expensive
and they'll break it all by Boxing day

But it's worth all that fuss Christmas morning
when their little eyes are all aglow
when we're all feeling merry full of goodwill and sherry
and suffering from wind Ho Ho Ho

But please don't forget why we do it
why each year we must go to this fuss
for that guy up above who brought peace and brought love
and who probably owns Toys R Us..........    Liz Garrad

 

I’m just saying…

“I used to be Snow White -- but I drifted.” Mae West

This time tomorrow ‘the guests’ will be here.  For about 10 seconds this morning I felt bad.  Bad that they were already sitting in a sardine tin hurtling through the atmosphere, while I was snuggled up, toasty warm, in my Super Duper Extra Comfy Cosy Bed.  But then I got over it, because there is much to do!

Started the pastry for my mince pies last night.  The recipe said to chill the flour and butter for 20 minutes in the freezer.  Are you kidding me!  Have you seen the size of a German fridge? No way could you ever hide a dead body here… hmmm not sure where that came from.  After spending 10 minutes trying to fit the bowl of my Kitchen Aid into a small drawer, I found another solution (also makes an excellent beer cooler):

And ‘the guests’ now have a bed.  I wasn’t sure that was going to happen.  I can show you, because, like I said, ‘the guests’ are currently cruising at 20,000 feet, eating with plastic cutlery and being kicked in the back of the seat by a little fat kid who likes to press the button to summon the ‘cabin attendant"’, often.

Now here it gets interesting.  Not one to toot my own horn or anything (yeah right), but the one thing ‘the guests’ requested, seeing as they come from a little town in the middle of nowhere, and the temperature has been a constant 42 degrees… was snow.  “Could we please have some snow?” they said… Oh sure, no problem… I can do that. And I did.

Ok, ok… yes it does look like I just dropped a bag of flour out there.  And those of you that live in Minnesota and have been shovelling 5m high snow drifts all week… well just stop sniggering, I can hear you from here!!  We are expecting more on Saturday, but at least it will be a nice welcome gift.

Should nuclear war start tomorrow, or those Aliens that chased Tom Cruise all over in War of the Worlds (still can’t believe that didn’t manage to eat that little shrimp) arrive… we are prepared.  The cellar is fully loaded.

  Now all I need to do is get my cute butt to Frankfurt to collect everybody.  They all very conveniently booked to arrive at 6:00am (god bless their little cotton socks), and as it is at least a two hour drive (if we are lucky), and it is snowing… Mr Dear Husband has booked us in to sleep in a hotel near the Airport tonight.  I hear it has an excellent Japanese restaurant… I will think about ‘the guests’ as I am sipping my Sake and supping on Sushi, while they enjoy their 17th meal of ‘chicken or fish?”

And then what?

“My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?”  Charles M. Shulz

I know, I know, it might seem a bit premature to start indulging thoughts of New Year’s Eve, especially for those of you that have yet to give ANY thought at all to the madness/deliciousness that is Christmas.  But here I go…

This morning, I had a long Skype call with a lovely friend.  It has been a while, both of us busy with lives that revolve around work, kids, husbands, family and the million other details that equal = ‘collapse into bed each night'”.  My relationship with her goes way back.  She has seen all aspects of me, and I know, loves me anyway (not easy, but she makes it look like fun).  And, she has a magical power, a power so amazing that it should be launched on the New York Stock Exchange.

The power to make me step up.

There, I said it.  Her gentle words and prods, remind me of where I am in life, and where I need to go.  A chat with her can make my self-esteem go off the Richter Scale.  All thoughts of self doubt, misery and failure just fly away.

So, I say to myself, Where Am I Going"?  What is the next step on the path of life?

I like a challenge.  I like a reason to jump out of bed in the morning.  I like a project.  A purpose.

I need a job.  Or I need to create a job.

How about I write a book?  Maybe a column, something witty and worthy of comment.  End up on the New York Times Bestseller List?  That would be good…

 

“Highly recommended!” Time Magazine.  “Couldn’t stop laughing.” Vogue, London.  “A delight! Should be made a national treasure!” The Observer.  “Where has she been hiding? Wonderful stuff.”  The New Yorker.

 

 

Shame Oprah is closing up shop, because an invite to her Book Club would do the trick.

I’d like a mailbag full of fan post.  Even better, I could write an ‘Agony Aunt’ column.  Most of my life I have been called a Know-it-All, what better way to put that all to good use.  How about coming up with an idea like Frank at PostSecret.  He gets 200-300 postcards a day, has published four books and is on the speaking circuit.  Now, I could rock that.

Or I suppose I could teach English.  Sure to find takers here.  But as I have just had a bit of a run in with Miss 8’s English teacher.. perhaps I should step carefully. Scout out the territory first… don’t want to tread on any toes.

What else?  Don’t you just admire people who find their passion early in life, people that sleep, eat and breath their craft.  People who tap out tunes in their sleep, or doodle on every cocktail napkin.  Amazing women, who have managed to turn their family recipes into multi-million dollar earnings. Hmm, that sounds good.

Making money.  Then I could be a philanthropist.  Giving it all away.  That appeals.  Yes, when I grow up, I want to be Lulu the Philanthropist. 

Yep.. that will do.

And if that doesn’t work out?  Well, I will just be famous, or a fire fighter, or a train driver…. or a Lion tamer.

Guests

“A great marriage is not when the 'perfect couple' comes together. It is when an imperfect couple learns to enjoy their differences.”  Dave Meurer

In four days, I will have guests.  Tired guests, guests that have crossed half the world to come see me.  I suspect they will not only be tired, but a bit stinky too.  Might want to give them a bath.  They will certainly want a bed.  Hmmm… guests.

Sometimes I have visions of what it would be like to be the lady of a grand country manor house, complete with huge roaring fireplaces and secret panels.  To stand at the massive oak front door and greet my weekend guests, directing each to their room:

“Oh Demi and Ashton, so lovely you could make it.  Please, make yourselves at home.  I have prepared the Blue Room in the East wing for you.  I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”

Yeah… something like that.

Reality is a WHOLE other picture.  At the risk of ending a 20 year veteran marriage, I collected Dear Mr Husband from the airport last Friday night, hugged and kissed, asked if he was hungry, then whisked him off to IKEA.  He didn’t even see it coming. 

“But you did say you were hungry!”  I am pulling my most winning, big-eyed, puppy dog, innocent  look.

“Sure, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind!”  I start moving him faster toward the big yellow and blue sign because I can see that he is starting to put two and two together, and coming up with Swedish meatballs.

It was cruel, I know.  He didn’t deserve it.  But I was desperate.  Guests need beds… and I don’t have enough.  Normally I would just smack down the credit card on the keyboard and have it delivered.  But not even my cajoling emails could convince anyone to deliver before the guests arrive. “You have left it too late, madam.”  Nuts!

I know, I know… I can hear you saying, “But you are such a power frau, Lulu, why didn’t you just do it yourself?”

Something odd happens the moment I walk into IKEA.  My brain turns off, well not OFF, per say, more like I seem to mimic a small child with ADD who has just drunk a gallon of red slushie. 

“Oh look.. nice chair… hmmm if I had that shelf, I could put up that picture…huh, oh that one is even better, and if I lived in 35 square metres, I could have the bed in the kitchen like they do here.. oh and I need more plastic cups… oh and look at all the candles.. oh, quick look over here… and at this … and hooks… and that nifty little doodat….”  It is sad.. really sad to watch.  Distracted by the shiny lights, I have, on almost every occasion, come home, dazed, confused and empty handed.

He walked, with purpose to the sofa bed department (if you can call it a department, rather a stop on IKEA version of the Yellow Brick Road), he selected, he pushed the cart through the checkout (after a 45 minute wait in line), he arranged delivery … then he stalked to the car and didn’t talk to me for at least 3 minutes. 

He is a good man.

The guests have a bed.

I was made to sign, in blood (ok in red slushie), a promise never to hijack Mr Dear Husband to IKEA, ever, ever, again.

…til next time, that is…

I think I love Bing Crosby

There are days when all it takes to make me happy is an email. 

Dear Lulu,

Just to let you know that I have finished running the world (for the time being) from Madagascar, and will be returning home to you and ours, tomorrow.

Best Regards, Mr Dear Husband

The stress levels dropped back to normal… that is my normal stress level, which would be the equivalent of being held hostage during a bank hold-up for anyone else.

With the load lightened, I found my second wind.  The night was young, the kidlet tucked up in bed, and Bing Crosby was warbling away on the iPod.  Time to do a few chores.  It started with another batch of Christmas cookies, I had prepared the dough earlier, so this was very satisfying:

Last weekend, I was given some gorgeous new decorations made from Felt. who knew you could do so much with Felt.  This doesn’t look complicated, but it fell off about a dozen times while I was putting it up and was christened with flood of choice words!  Remember those felt picture games we had as kids?  I loved those:

What do you do with a glass vase and an abundance of Christmas tree ornaments?  Well you shove them all together, add some lights and Hey Presto!  Magic!  Ok, maybe not magic… man, you are a tough crowd.

 

Once I started, I couldn’t stop.  More things needed to be sorted, and I was wide awake.  Tackled the cupboard with the Christmas stash next.  I think we might have enough now?

Found this little Gingerbread house, just waiting to be put together, but my eyes were starting to get heavy and I was beginning to change lyrics to Bing’s tunes… and some of them weren’t very Christmasy at all.  Bing would have blushed!

Left the Pepparkakshus house for another day… oops!  it is already ‘another day’, and in just four hours I would be listening to the wake up call of the German weather report on the radio alarm.  An odd collection, redistributed to accommodate Christmas decorations, greeted me on the way to bed.  I always like to say “it takes all kinds”… and in this house, we have them all.  Good night. Sleep tight…

Oooooooooh the weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightfuuuuuuul
And since we've no place to goooooooooo
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Kneading Help

“Love doesn't sit there like a stone, it has to be made, like bread: remade all the time, made new.” Og Mandino

Just in case it looks like this blog is going to become all whinging or whining. Or perhaps something like the local newspaper for the North Pole, I thought it might be time to toss in a few other thoughts.

I lived in Germany over 20 years ago, just for 18 months, with a small baby girl on my hip, in a tiny town outside Munich. It was tough. My German was limited, and I was pretty much alone. In this small town, everybody was about 15th generation, and outsiders were looked at with suspicion.

My first trip to the bakery ended in tears as I tried desperately to explain that I wanted 6 Brötchen. A shrug of the shoulders from across the counter. I could feel my face starting to colour up and my heart thumping in my chest.

“Ich möchte sechs Brötchen bitte”, I tried again, using my most winning smile. Nothing, nada, nix. So I tried pointing. Doing that weird thing that we do when trying to convey a message, all exaggerated and campy. It never occurred to me EVER to use English, that just felt like it would aggravate the situation even further. Finally, she took pity on me, gave a little snort, stuffed the bread rolls into a bag and handed them to me. I threw some coins in her direction and fled.

By the time I got home, I was rapidly heading into hysteria (as I am wont to do under stress). The words tumbled out of my mouth as fast as those bread rolls were chucked on the table. Mr Dear Husband was staring at me with that expression we normally reserve for the insane.

“Oh, I should have told you that down here in the South of Germany, they don’t call them Brötchen, they call them Semmel.”

He is lucky to be alive today.

In the end, as soon as we got the marching papers to move to Istanbul, I had our bags packed and waiting in the car before he had time to change his mind.

Today, it is different. I am different. The language is no longer a struggle (although it continues to have its moments). And I have lived in enough countries to recognise just how great it is here. I spend a lot of time noticing the little things that make life easier.

Like, window sills. Yep, love’em. Big wide window sills that make excellent spaces to put pots of flowers. Or pots of fresh herbs, or a few pretty things to look at…