The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

a 30+ year old kitchen, made from cheap formica – hardly worth 1000 Euros

Let’s skip to good and the bad today and go straight to the ugly so I get it out of my system.

When we moved into this apartment we took over some furniture from the previous owner, the 94-year old lady that had lived here for 30 plus years. We “inherited” the kitchen and parts of the bedroom. The stuff was in good shape but 30+ years old and the agreement was that they “leave what they don’t need” which would otherwise end up in the landfill.

We saved ourselves buying some of that stuff on eBay Classifieds – the closest thing to Craigslist that there is here in Germany – which we could have done for a few hundred Euros – or, worst case scenario – buy the cheap IKEA stuff.  Again, probably not more than a few hundred bucks all told – plus a bit of construction.

They saved themselves the demolishing and taking it to the landfill, which would have cost money in labor and fees for the landfill. So it seemed like a good deal for everybody and everybody seemed to agree on that.

Until earlier this week when I got an email from the son of the 94-year-old demanding a “appreciation fee” for leaving the furniture of at least 2000 Euros. I hit the roof. Slimy bastard did not ask for money upfront, which – if it was such an outrageous sum – I would have refused and told him to get rid of the furniture instead. So the greedy ass waits until we are moved in to demand an absolutely ridiculous sum of money for furniture which does not have any commercial value at all. The whole thing was wrapped up in some sob story about the high cost of his mother’s nursing home. I have sympathy – but it is not my problem.

Of course, he has no legal claim so he is trying to shame us into paying, and though I am easily shamed this is just do darn outrageous for even me to fall for. I sent him an email to that effect which prompted an email full of insults from him and one by his sister saying that she could have sold the bedroom furniture for 500 Euros but didn’t because she promised it to me.  At this point I am not sure whether I should be offended – how stupid to you think I am to fall for such a ruse – amused, because that is by far the healthiest however also the most inappropriate reaction or sad by such blatant, unmitigated greed.

Thankfully we have common sense, everybody who was ever involved in these negotiations as well as the landlady on our side so I am doing nothing, specifically not sending any money. But it leaves the bitter taste of disgust.

It’s All in the Head

I remember my delight finding s particular German brand of chocolate in a small local grocery store in Sunnyvale.  A couple of flavors of that chocolate were also available widely at TJ’s – but only two or three and not my favorites.

So when I found this little store which sells cheap veggies and the most eclectic mixture of Russian sausages, Breads from Israel, Greek feta and German chocolate (in a German-language wrapper) and is run by Mexicans I was ecstatic – oh the selection!  I bought nougat and various seasonal flavors,  yoghurt, mint – yum.  The chocolate consumption – never really low in our house – increased even more and I needed to dream up all sorts of new hiding places to keep geek-boy out of the stash.

Of course, even there we only had a limited selection and I found myself at times standing in front of the chocolate shelf thinking: “if only they had this-or-that flavor that I so used to like at home! Oh, the good old days!!”

Fast forward to now and imagine my standing in fron of the chocolate shelf in a German supermarket starring at the selection. Of course there are the usual suspect flavors, the milk and dark, and the classics like yoghurt and nougat and a few exotic flavors I have never hear of.  I take in the selection and my eye gets get stuck on the milk-cookie version: milk chocolate layered around a large butter cookie. A perfectly yummy chocolate but never my favorite, for one it is hard to break into small pieces to meter out to geek-boy.  However, this one is available everywhere in California (well Silicon Valley).

So I stand there, starring at that flavor lovingly thinking “Oh, cookie-milk, just like at home.”

I catch the absurdity of this right away, grab a bunch of bars (not milk-cookie) and make a silent vow to myself to a) not let my head play such games on me in the future and b) find a new hiding place to keep the stack from geek-boy.

 

 

 

 

Dreams and Reality

My visions of an easier, simpler life back in old Europe are clashing with reality – majorly.  Part of it is due to the fact that we are still setting up and until the last curtain is hung and there are finally some pictures on the wall this place won’t feel like home, part of it that life in old Europe is just not that easy and simple anymore and part that my expectations where probably – I hate to say it – a bit naive at times.

To start with the last point.  I had visions, grand visions to be honest, of my how I would – from scratch and for cheap, with an overabundance of creative ideas and cunning bargain shopping – furnish this place so it would look lovely, modern, eclectic, comfortable and awe-inspiring while simultaneously spending minimal amounts of expensive Euros on lovely, one of a kind flea market finds.

That’s the vision.  Now, in reality there are hardly any flea markets in August and September and the one I found (and visited) featured way too many small porcelain rabbits, crocheted thingamajigs and toys for 3-year olds to be of any use (well, okay, I bought a 1 Euro pair of shoes for geek-boy and a few baskets but that aint exactly shopping success).  Also, surprise surprised, lovely handwork is hard to do, time consuming and needs tools – these happen to be in my garage in California (band saw, how I miss you!)

I had visions of me using mom’s sewing machine to best effect when – really – I should have known so much better.  I just don’t have the patience for sewing projects any more complex than a straight hemline.

admittedly it is a hack job – but functional and done in a flash.
(c) Tina Baumgartner

The latest casualty was my fancy reupholstering project.  Those 60s chair, when sanded, painted and reupholstered in some cute colorful but not overbearing fabric would look marvelous.  Yes they would.  But they don’t.  I have no time for sanding, no place for sanding and nobody I can outsource sanding to, the lovely fabric I brought from California is not sturdy enough and the staples in the staple gun are too big (imagining sitting down on the chair staples sticking in my thighs – yikes).  But I need a chair and I need it by tomorrow morning because I am in violation of personal prime directive #1 which should never be violated: thou shalt not use the dinning table as your makeshift office.  Ever. followed by #2: thou shall prohibit your husband and child the use of the dinning table as their makeshift offices/desks. Always. Under all circumstances. And logical insight #1: thou need to set a good example else husband and son will not comply.

So tonight I brought out the Duct tape (brought from California for adorable DIY, cheap wall improvement project) and glued the stupid boring fabric that I brought from California to reupholster the couch (that project is deader than dead) down.  I mean if the Myth Busters can suspend a car with Duct Tape I can affix some fabric .

The result is a bit embarrassing, actually quite embarrassing, but workable for now – that is unless somebody crawls under the chairs and sees the hack job I did.  What’s saving me, likely, is that guest who end up under the chair are normally no longer in a position to fairly judge the merits of a DIY project.

 

 

Everything is so close

Of course I knew this, sort of, but the reality of it is just really sinking in as we start to actually live here: everything is so close. I noticed it very obviously the other day when I told my son that we are going to go somewhere, I forgot where (presumably the hardware store) by car.  That remark prompted my son to automatically go into his room and pick up three comic book (he suffers from abibliophilia – the fear of running out of reading material – just as much as I do) to get ready for the trip. In California that is entirely rational behavior, most trips take long enough to get through at least one book wand some significantly longer (he is a fast reader – of comics at least).  I stared at him in disbelief.

“why are you taking books?”

“You said we’ll go by car, I always read in the car”

“yes, but we’ll only be driving like 7 minutes.”

“Really????”

old is cute – and often very small
(c) Tina Baumgartner

 

Of course he was right, in his life so far a car trip is likely to be long unless it is to the local Mexican lunch place or Safeway, which is close but who wants to haul 36 cans of Coke home by foot?

The other side of this is also amusing – in a way.

Me: “mom, I a thinking of renting an office across the river.”

My mom: “would you want to go that far every day?  I would look for something closer.”

Me, thinking to myself as saying this out loud would be utterly useless: “Far??? What are you talking about, this is like 10 minutes by bike!  This isn’t even a distance for which we have an expression in California. This isn’t even close there, maybe XXClose or something.”

 

Closeness is the flip side of smallness.  I like the closeness – not so sure about the smallness yet.

 

 

 

Progress

Now that we are moved in (I refrain from saying “all moved in” because we are far from “all”) I am happy about the little things, like light in the bathroom.

Yesterday we moved geek-boy’s bed from my parents house and with that we were committed to the move.  It was not really a very auspicious day for such an undertaking.  We had shampooed the carpets the day before (sunny clear day) and rinsed with plenty of water – the carpets are much nicer now – but they were rather wet.  In California this would have been a matter of a few hours, warm dry air will do a number on wet stuff.  Here, it rained and so we moved into an apartment with wet floors and when we open the windows damp air rushed in.  I hate the feeling of being wet, wet socks being the worst and here I was in wet socks on a wet carpet in an entirely grey and wet day.  It all eerily reminded me of the first few day of the southern Indian monsoon I once experienced or that time in Vietnam where my silk blouse got moldy from not drying for days. Alas, here I was in southern Germany.

Geek-Boy’s room starting to look somewhat comfy.

I woke up this morning under my huge down comforter to somewhat improved conditions: carpets were markedly getting drier and the rain had stopped.  The other significant improvements achieved during the day include: a light in the bedroom, living room and geek-boy’s room (okay, bare bulbs for now, bought for cheap at the hardware store under the label “renovation kit” – here is to a good idea!), a little cabinet under the sink in the bathroom so my stuff is no longer lying on the bathroom floor, champagne glasses and other kitchen stuff provided by mom put away (I sometimes wonder what the woman thinks of me if she considers champagne glasses a must have for me within 24 hours of moving into a new apartment), a semblance of order created in geek-boys closet, curtains hung and the yellow shower curtain with clowns exchanged for something blissfully – you knew it – white.  Oh – I also worked, conference calls and all. Just saying.

The projects still unfinished or unstarted would fill many pages so I spare you the details – for now.  Just happy to sit here and actually being able to see the keys on my keyboard and to glance across the room to my haphazardly decorated second hand living room “entertainment thingy (it is really not a “center”) sporting my Thai Buddha and Mexican crocodile plus the cubes with pics of Highway 101 I made back in California and hauled over here.

It’s the little things …..

 

 

 

The New Designer Couch!

I scored it! I was 10 minutes early this morning (which means right on time for the German sense of punctuality and absurdly early by American standards) and was greeted by a bunch of guys who know me by now.

The famous new couch with the new old steamer trunk couch table. Carpet ideas welcome!

My couch was there waiting for me and proved to be immaculate.  It is indeed a beautiful, light grey, modern designer couch which I was told was 1800 Euro new (the boss lady said she saw the original purchase receipt) and I got for 130 Euros.   Even if she fibbed a bit and that thing was only 900 Euro it is still a steal.  I even got some help from my new best friends (I seem to be making lots of them these days, sometimes it really helps to be an extrovert from humble beginnings – I am perfectly happy to speak with anybody about almost anything including where to buy the best used cars, the fact that the German bus system is not what it used to be and that German TV personalities make too much money and am generally able to not make snarky comments about things dear to the average German, such as soccer).

They packed the couch in my parents’ car (bless that 80s style Opel with the huge loading area) and then two of them jumped on their bikes, rode over to the apartment and helped me get the couch up to the third floor, removing and reattaching feet and all.  I gave them both a generous tip (not standard in Germany and hence appreciated even more) and have already signed them up to help me do some old couch removal work on Friday.

Love that place!  In my next life I want to be a second hand stuff dealer.

Next I scored what I believe to be an old steamer trunk from my mom’s basement and after a bit of cleaning I think it will make a perfect couch table.  I am imagining a glossy tray in a yet to be determined color on top.

The pink faux lawn turns out to be the problem.  I did find some online but not in the hot pink I imagined and at 36 Euros per sqm it seems a bit excessive. Since I need at least 4 sqm this would end up costing more than the couch.  I don’t think so.  Next plan … still need to dream that one up.  I’d appreciate your ideas!

 

Renovation Tales

These days I sport what could almost pass for a French manicure – if it wasn’t for the telltale white paint streaks all over my hands, arms and the occasional snow white strand of hair. These signs betray the fact that I did play with paint, rather than nail polish, and lots of it.  In fact, 4 big old 11 liter paint buckets. All white.  All used up but for a small remnant.

Now everything is white, every last wall in the apartment, all the ceilings plus the curtains and the linen (not from paint of course), I covered the wooden headboard with a vintage linen as well. It looks nice and clean especially compared to the old wallpaper, in faded shades of peach, yellow and beige. I hate peach, pastelly yellow and beige with a vengeance especially mixed and faded.

Today I was on the quest for a night stand and found – a grey couch.  High up on a pile of other stuff in the warehouse of the Goodwill equivalent.  I couldn’t believe my luck.  I haven’t had the chance to inspect it in its entirety.  It was close to closing hours and not even the prospect of what must be a larger sale in the context of the local Goodwill equivalent was enough to convince the employees to stay a little longer.  It’s Germany after all and when the store closes, the store closes – and that is that.

Now the guys at the warehouse at the local Goodwill equivalent are fast becoming my best friends (in addition to Helmut,  the paint guy at the local hardware store) and I have gained regular access to the warehouse despite the fact that it is strictly speaking “verboten” to be in the warehouse.  So my new best friend today promised to hold the couch for me until tomorrow morning.

Assuming that there won’t be a huge red wine stain on the part I haven’t seen yet I have just scored one of the big remaining items I need.  Keep your fingers crossed that my new best friend will indeed be loyal and not sell the thing the minute before I get there.

That leaves me to sort out the carpet situation.  Tricky one. There are red, classically patterned carpets to be had everywhere, plus the usual “modern” ones that delight – not – with their absurd choice of colors (purple, orange and beige with black stripes anybody?) and  patterns.  Bleaching and dying a carpet seems to be a rather intimidating process with little chance of success – or so I read online.  And since I am not much into knitting and crocheting carpets that whole carpet situation is still somewhat up in the air.  The closest I have come to a cheap solution is a piece of artificial lawn.  I hear they come in different colors – but not in hot pink – and somehow the idea of a hot pink piece of artificial lawn as a carpet with all the white and grey sounds enticing.

I am sure you agree, right?

Just over a week to go

It is Friday, we’ll leave next Saturday so I have one full day of each day of the week left.  And I am right now focusing on not freaking out.

There is all the stuff that still needs to get done but that list is getting shorter.  It paid – once again – to be an anal German and start going through drawers weeks, if not months ago.  What gets longer virtually by the minute is the things I’d like to do: drive up to San Francisco one more time, see the Pacific one more time, meet tons of people for one last coffee/lunch/dinner, have sushi one more time, get a pedicure one last time – these are the more or less realistic hopes and wishes.  But then there are the unrealistic ones: If I could only see Yosemite one more time, go gold panning in the Sierra, hike Point Reyes, see giant Sequoias … followed by the entirely irrational notion that “if we leave tonight we can hike the 6 mile loop at Point Reyes which runs along the Pacific for a bit tomorrow morning and then hop in the car, drive to the Sierra for one last ….”

Oh to be in the Sierra one more time!
(c) Tina B

I am too much of a realist to engage in such thought for long.  It is, of course, ridiculous and we will be spending the weekend cleaning out corners that haven’t been wiped in ages and washing down shelves that have been liberated from books.  I will even contain myself and not go to a garage sale and I will finally make a run to Goodwill.

I am not going to some scary, unknown place. One can arguable claim that I am going home or at least I am going to what used to be home.  I don’t have the reason or right – so to speak – to freak out over this.  Now, if we were moving to Mongolia or the Chad or some other such place that no person I know has ever set foot in – then, yes, then I could freak out.  But Germany?  Home?

But maybe I am going to a strange, weird place.  I am going somewhere that I think I know – and to a some degree do know – but Germany isn’t the Germany I left 17 years ago.  It has changed, too, and though I have seen some of this during summer vacations there is a difference between summer vacations and the real thing.

How will my expectations and past experiences clash with reality?

Well, I guess I am about to find out!

 

Packing

Packing is a b… under the best of circumstances but packing for a 1-year absence is a different ballgame altogether.  Between the three of us we have 4 suitcases (thanks to my Gold status I get to take a second, which – I was told from the beginning – I was not to consider my second suitcase but the family suitcase) 50 lbs each plus the usual carry-on.  So 200 lbs of luggage minus weight of suitcases to haul a year’s worth of stuff – that focuses the mind – or at least one should think.

Packing focuses the mind: the magic number is 50 lbs right now.
(c) Tina Baumgartner

My first instinct was to pack some favorite memorabilia, lots of clothing so we don’t have to buy anything there plus  all the important business cards I need for my job, jewelry, documents, paper work – until I noticed (and, really, I should have known this before and somehow did but repressed the knowledge) that a) paper is heavy, b) shoes are heavy and c) winter clothing is – you guessed it – heavy.  Since any additional suitcase costs $200 to ship the tasks has changed now from: let’s take as much as we can so we don’t have to get it here to “is it cheaper to buy a pair of jeans for my son here and take it or cheaper to buy it here?”  Now everything I put on the “take with” pile is second guessed, weighed in my hands, critically compared to other stuff of similar weight: wool sweater vs. 2 pairs of sandals?  The poster I wanted to take for decorating the apartment vs. Mexican and Japanese spices I am not sure I can get there? Business cards vs. documents?

Once you start paring the list down you start wondering whether it is worth taking anything.  If only very special things get to go, what makes something special?  Some things are easy, I know my son will not leave without his bear, he is 10 but he loves that raggedy old thing that he had since his first day.  My husband will not travel without at least two computers and a spare monitor but will probably think three t-shirts are plenty.  And I, I don’t know what is important anymore.  I know I need a computer, and a few business suits, my camera and iPhone but in addition to that everything else is in a grey zone – important? yes, but that important? Important enough to claim one of the “by invitation only, limited edition” spaces in my suitcase?

I am sure I’ll figure it out – and if not, I can always get a pair of shoes or a sweater – but it is weird to have to make these decisions and oscillating between “I have to bring this else life isn’t worth living” to “nah, it does not make the final 50lbs after all” and the ultimate: “am I willing to spend $200 for a fifth suitcase to take this?”

One thing is for certain, packing suitcases and packing up part of the house is certainly an exercise that should be undertaken more frequently.  There is so much stuff  that just accumulates and never gets dealt with and now we are forced to do it.  Besides the superficial clutter of piles of sweaters and socks lying around getting ready to be packed up the house hasn’t looked so clean and airy in a long time!

 

 

A Series of Lasts

With just about three weeks to go we have started a series of “lasts”-last time to do something, last time to go to a certain restaurant or favorite spot.  This weekend was the last time going to our favorite flea market.  Sigh!

We found this flea market quite by accident a few years back and have been going regularly. It’s fun, its cheap entertainment, they make good churros there and sell cheap produce in addition to all the eclectic, weird and plain old used stuff. I love this flea market – it is so refreshingly different from the sterile shopping malls with their cooled down standard stores, their food courts and all their shiny new and often utterly useless, overpriced and/or ridiculous things that will look even more useless or ridiculous next year.

Our flea market is messy, loud, colorful, unconventional, often hot – always interesting, never sterile.  It sports countless sellers with their wares on cheap tables or directly on the floor, anything from clothing to toys, bikes, sometimes even vintage items, tools, electronics, crafts, housewares, stuff I don’t know what it is, Mexican music, a barber, produce stalls and a smelly fish monger  – everything. Over the last few years I have become rather good at finding things I need (well, okay, and many I don’t need but like) and can’t remember more than a handful of things I have not been able to find there (e.g. a pair of skiing pants for my son but then, hey, this is coastal California in mid-summer I probably won’t get one in the store either).  The trick is not trying to go for to many things, in all this chaos the mind can’t focus on too many different shapes and forms one needs to look out for when, for example, simultaneously looking for a tennis racket, a ornate frame that would look good when sprayed in hot pink and Pokemon cards.

To tell you the truth, going to a flea market when one really really can’t buy anything because whatever it is one buys one just needs to just pack it up and store it for a year is no fun, it is actually depressing.  But I wanted to go and found an excuse  and so we took one last stroll around the place bought a few mangoes, marveled at things we could have bought under normal circumstances and then left.

Ironically, for the first time in months I needed to go to the mall afterwards to buy some cosmetics for my upcoming business trip – and even this die-hard flea market aficionado does not get cosmetics there.  It was cool – which was a define plus on a day with mid-90s temperatures but that is all the positive I can say for it.  All the same stores, all the same stuff, all the same food, all so boring and so many people thinking that this is a great way to spend a brilliant summer weekend day.

It was definitely my last time at the mall – I wont miss it one bit.  The flea market, however, is a very different story …