Monthly Archives: July 2012

Don’t stop believing


Yes, this title was brought to you by a Journey song, I hope they will sue me and take away my credit card. Before that I was allowed to listen to Kansas and even though I really wanted to write I HAD TO dance around and sing a little. On a few washers and dryers waiting to be picked up. Using a mop as a mic. I totally blame the heat.


NEWSFLASH: Four flights, umpteen hours flying with a headstrong 5-year old? Are not fun. But we did spend some extra money for decent meals so on our 12h flight from Frankfurt to Calgary we weren’t only served first but I got awesome vegetarian stuff (couscous salad with chickpeas? FRESH FRUIT and real cutlery. Not plastic.) and my kid had all kinds of things arranged to look like smiley faces and all. That is the only positive thing I could say about the flight with the German airline.

Then we arrived in Canada and once again it was like being shoved into an alternate universe. PEOPLE WERE FRIENDLY. A dude (playing a dude disguised…. sorry, wrong story) helped me carry our two carry on bags stuffed with important things (cameras, external hard drives, CDs, random memorabilia, a flannel blanket and tons of toys and that was just MY bag), the young police officer that unfortunately didn’t want to marry me on the spot ( I was just grateful for finally getting somewhere, seriously) and didn’t even want to see the letter from my husband allowing me to travel with our son alone and said so many nice things about my hair. “It’s really pink, eh.” MARRY ME NOW YOU SMART, SMART MAN.

Ahem. Then: Immigration. I dreaded that place. Last time? I waited for 3 hours. This time? 3 minutes I spent trying to console a young lady from the States who thought they thought she was an illegal immigrant. The officer seemed slightly unfriendly but she probably had German ancestors. I had all my paperwork in one place, which pleased her greatly and anyway, my husband had already been in the country and gotten his work permit so she just gave me my open permit and waved us on to the next place where I was allowed to pay 150 bucks for my permit.

THEN the fun part began. Picking up our three humongous bags, dragging them and the kid through customs just to find that the Air Canada check in was right in front of the doors. Let me declare my undying love and gratitude for Warren who not only welcomed me back after hearing my ghastly story but also was just his friendly self and helped me with the bags and all. The two hours we had to wait for our flight to leave were spent in yet another security check and hanging out with firefighters that sadly didn’t look like the guys from the calendars. It was way too hot for flannel, too, which made me sort of sad but there was camo all around. Paired with flip-flops.

When it was time to board our flight we could go first because little child (by then he was almost sleeping anyway) and THEY DROVE US TO THE PLANE! You know those awesome little cars they have at airports? I always wanted to be on one, can cross that off my bucket list now. Our seats were in the very first row and our flight attendant was every nerdy girl’s wet dream. And so, so good with kids. And witty. And… yes, I was tired and just happy about every friendly and helpful face, but the guy was really nice and funny. And we were also allowed to remain on the plane while we stopped in Edmonton.

When we finally arrived in Grande Prairie it was almost midnight and I really almost walked past the husband because he had shaved and lost a few pounds. He blames the absence of my good cooking, that sneaky bastard.

Anywho. He managed to obtain a little fourwheeler for our son and they spent all of last week working on it after hours, yesterday we took it to our friend’s farm and the boy rode around on it for hours on end, only stopping to feed the gigantic wolf mutts or to get a quick snack and a drink.

I have been busy harvesting rhubarb previous tenants have planted and making all kinds of fun things with it. If I wasn’t cleaning like a maniac or sanding down our old furniture. A few years ago I was convinced that all our furniture had to be black and glossy. I probably knew how bored I’d be a few years down the road, without internet or cable. So, my fingers hurt, they are stained a reddish pink and I accidentally sanded down a few fingers when I was tired.

But I also got my SIN card today and will receive my ID and license shortly. I have worked my first day at the SPCA, walked a few dogs and socialized the cats and all of it without taking any animals home. I might however stat breaking in some of our friend’s horses. Maybe I’ll even keep one if things go well. Now it is 9PM here and I am really tired. There is bread to be baked and whole pigs to be bought because a few things haven’t changed: Canadians still don’t know how to bake, make sausage or beer. That’s next on my list!


Are we hoarders?


What is it in Canada that brings out the pack-rat in my husband?

He’s been there for barely a month, let me list what he has managed to accumulate so far, starting with the things that are in fact necessary:

-a Ford Pickup

-a house (magic tricks and voodoo were involved to get a rental on such short notice)

-our old furniture (that our friend had in storage for almost four years, hoping we’d be back. Aw!)

-Two 70s Winnebagos (yes. Two. one, of course, is for parts)

-A choice of old, busted cars he gets to pick from

-Offerings of at least five dogs and seven cats.


I don’t know how this is even possible. I get that he is alone. My sleep pattern is completely gone now, I have watched more episodes of my favorite TV shows than one could possibly consider sane, I smoke too much and feel very moody because there’s nobody around to pester me with little remarks or that I could hug. my cats hate me just about now. But I can’t even blame him for all of this, at least most of it. We need a place to live and we need a vehicle. The rest? People just offer it.

Last time I seemed to be a magnet for stray animals, even our friend’s half wild pack of dogs seemed to like us. And now people just think “Them Germans like animals, let’s ask them if they want out unwanted [insert random species here].” Oh, I was offered a filly last time, too. One with a disfigured leg (that could have been treated early on if someone would have bothered to care). But apparently they thought that in Germany people know how to work a miracle.

And we did buy a ratty old Bel Air, which is now owned by a guy here in Germany. Damn near broke my heart to sell it. We worked on it every weekend for months and people thought we were crazy. Except those guys that thought my hub was a lucky bastard because I cooked and worked on cars with him. Anyway. Now they seem to think since we enjoy working on old cars and most of them have a ton of them rotting away on their property anyway, maybe we want some. Hence the Winnebago thing, which is kind of neat since we get to do little trips with the kid and everything. Once we finished working on the interior. Expect loads of pictures once I followed. Fifteen more days.

And if anyone knows where I can get my hands on a halfway decent Impala (’67, won’t settle for anything else) in B.C. or Alberta… Well. I’d like one. As a project for next summer. Looks like I might be getting into the hot shot business. Seriously, my husband keeps digging up job offers and every time he mentions the pay I could cry. At least twice as much as I would get here. Today took the cake. Quadruple the pay I’d get here for a similar job. Seriously, Canada.