To whom it may concern:

I will be in the country again July 14th. On July 15th (at about 10 at night) I will be in Maine. Just in case anyone was interested...

Patsy and her friends (German with English subtitles)

Thanks Mom

I would just like to dedicate this post to my wonderful, amazing, smart, beautiful, and always-right mother. And no, not because today is mother's day. Not because last Tuesday was her Geburtstag. But because she knows me better than I sometimes wish she did.

Last Thursday a friend invited me to go to SkateNight, a ninght when in Karlsruhe they close off some streets and people go rollerblading, with her. Totally excited even though I hadn't done any skating at all in about 3 years, I showed up at the right time and wobbled my way around, practicing before beginning. I hadn't gone home in between school and then so I still had my (heavy) backpack with me. As the skating started, I quickly lost my more-experienced friend in the mash of fast-moving people, and about an embarrassing 400 meters into the ride tried to catch up, skating up a hill, and the combination of my lack of skills and heavy bag caused me to fall flat on my face. As I fell, I heard a crack that was fortunately not bone, but something possibly worse--meine Brille. My glasses. The frames were cracked and bent funny, so that it made it impossible to wear them without a hand holding them up.

This might've been a dire situation for me, an exchange student with two more months here and no eye insurance. But, thanks to my mother (and the nice man driving the van behind all the skaters for stragglers and injured) I did not have to worry. True, it was an adventure getting home half-blind, but I had another pair of glasses waiting for me in my room, a pair that my mother INSISTED I get before leaving, over my own protests.

So thanks, Mom. I love you. I hope your day is great and I'll talk to you tonight. It's thanks to you that I'm not trying to find my way around Germany half blind ;-)

wieso nicht??

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I had forgotten that going to church meant waking up early.
As the alarm clock ('Wecker' auf Deutsch) peeped cheerfully at me from beside my bed, I could not help but groan and swing my hand a bit aimlessly, trying for the snooze. How, I wondered, had I ever woken up at 6:30 (35 if the snooze button counts) every day, no more than a week ago? It was inhumane.
At the second chorus of beeping, I could not ignore it. 7:35...we were supposed to be leaving at quarter past eight. I had to get moving now if I wanted to find something suitable to wear and make sure that my hair was not a complete disaster (as it had been the entirety of vacation). I drag myself out of bed just in time to hear the knock on the door.
"Ja?" I say, trying to sound more awake than I really was. Theresa (pronounced Tair-ay-sah, not how we English-speakers say it), my 12 year old hostsis, pushes the door open carefully and asks me if I do know that we are going.
"Jetzt?!" I burst out, panicked. Now?
No, she tells me, but soon. I start to breath again and she goes off to finish getting ready. I turn to my wardrobe (not a closet, but a piece of furniture), opting to turn on the light than do battle with my blinds. Okay, I think. What do you wear to Ostergottesdienst in Germany? For that matter, what do you wear to an Easter service anyway? I stretch my mind, trying to remember last Easter, to what I was wearing then, but it's such a world away that I cannot even picture it. A skirt, I think, immediatly correcting myself with the German Rock. A skirt works. And Strumpfhose, I need those. What for Schuhe? Worry about that later, Patsy. First the skirt. I mean, Rock.
The first one I try one is too small. An Old Navy size 0, it had once been slightly too big. Now it doesn't fit over my thighs. I throw it aside, deciding not to think about it. A colored bit of fabric is visible from behind the heaps of (unfolded) clothes. The HBG skirt. The skirt that myself and three of my closest friends had shared for two summer, semi-successfully in rotating it from girl to girl. I pull it on and immediatly feel much better. Not only does it fit, it's too big. It always was, but the fact that it has stayed that way makes me happy. I pull on a white t-shirt, the one with the V-neck and loose bottom that my dad always hated but is now such a must for me, as it does not cling and show off my too-big stomach. A jacket that does not exactly match and and I'm done with the clothing. Thank God. I take my Haargummi to the bathroom, deciding to use product in my hair to keep it from flying everywhere, and even applying a little eyeliner, though declining Theresa's offered mascara, as I am so bad with it that if I don't take more time with it than I have I'll end up with two black eyes for Easter. I take my pile of pink-wrapped packages--Easter gifts--and hide them around downstairs while Annette (my hostmom) is getting her shoes and Theresa is picking out a bag. Then we go.
The service is ok. The choir is pretty, and I get communion, something I have been missing. It also only goes about an hour and a half, though the church is empty. I think of last Easter, my vague recollections of Daddy's church bursting at the seams with people, and feel a little sad. Then we go home, and things are happy again.
First, breakfast: Brötchen, butter, jam, honey, Wurst, Käse, scrambled eggs and bacon (I am so surprised to see them that I comment to Jose, my 14 year old hostsis, about actually having an American breakfast for once), croissaints both plain and chocolate, and hard boiled eggs--so many!--colored in greens and purples and reds and yellows. I eat until I feel sick, thinking of Easter dinner yet to come. And then we hunt for gifts.
The Osterhase comes to Germany too. Everyone has a gift for everyone, all hidden around the house, and we search gleefully, in cupboards and behind books and all over until each of us has a large pile of really pretty, yummy, cool stuff. I'm giddy, giggling, joking about my inability to find even the easiest gifts. We sample the Lindt eggs and Milka chocolates later upstairs, after having traded for favorites and started playing computer games together.

You Know You've Studied Abroad in Germany When....

Taken from Facebook

here are just certain things that those of us who have studied in Germany just know:

You've studied abroad in Germany if:

1. You have sorted your garbage into at least 3 garbage cans and you know the difference (or should know the difference) between "Gelbe Sacke" and "Restmull"

2. You have ever drank: a Maß, Meter or Stiefel of beer.

3. You have ever had or not had "lust" to do something.

4. You get excited that CNN is in English.

5. You know what a Döner is, and you've eaten more than one in the same week from a different "Imbiss" each time.

6. You've been to Oktoberfest

7. You've worried before about catching "the last Strassenbahn" home.

8. You've ever been stressed out at the grocery store while checking out, and have noted that you will never take "baggers" for granted ever again.

9. You've enjoyed the ablility to walk down the street/ride the strassenbahn/hang out in public drinking a beer or other alcoholic beverage.

10. You've watched the Simpsons in German and hated it.

11. You've ordered more than one Kugel of Eis a day...everyday...

12. You've laughed at someone trying to say "squirrel"

13. You know what a "Klo" is and you've gone "auf" one.

14. You know what the "German Stare" is.

15. You know what DB stands for.

16. You've ever explained to someone what a "pinata" is.

17. You've ever visited the local gas station on a Sunday because it's the only thing open.

18.You know the difference between Milka and Ritter Sport.

19. You know what a WG is, and have lived in one.

20. You've ever been totally confused on how to open any and all windows/doors/locks.