Germany is quite proud of their Olympic Gold Medal winners and on Tuesday they celebrated their victories on Marienplatz. I thought it would be a good "real life in Germany" moment so I headed into town for the festivities. According to the website I checked the day before, the party was to start at three. Basically, a car cavalcade wound it's way through town ending on Marienplatz where the Olympians would greet their fans from the Rathaus balcony.
Small problem. It was cold and rainy. I got there at 3:10 to find a huge screen replaying the best Olympic moments accompanied by uplifting (mostly American) pop songs and a smattering of soggy people wielding umbrellas. I waited. And waited. And then the party meister, crowd instigator type guy announced that they were running behind schedule and would be another half hour or so. Did I mention it was cold? And rainy? I ducked inside a cozy Chinese place for a plate of hot noodles and a cold beer. And from my seat by the window, I could see the blue lights of the cavalcade as it drove past a half hour later. I was warm. I was dry. I was full.
I walked back over to Marienplatz a short while later. The music was still blaring but I had missed the Evita balcony moment. Later, I heard on the news that over 5,000 people had been there to help celebrate. I'm not sure about that number. I saw about five hundred people. What I am sure about is that Olympic mindset of overcoming adversity and physical discomfort in the pursuit of a goal - yeah, I don't have that.
In the entire time Thomas and I have been together, he has cooked for me exactly once. Pasta Aglio E Olio. Combined total of four ingredients (if you count the parsley garnish). Total time of twenty minutes start to finish. Thomas has no interest in cooking. Nada. Zilch. Null. None. Before we started dating, his meal repertoire consisted of the following:
Wasa crisps with cream cheese
Cereal
Spaghetti with ketchup
Hot dogs - and I had to explain that he really should not eat them cold right from the package.
I knew I was in trouble the first time I opened the pantry in Thomas' apartment. He'd converted it into a closet for his PUMA collection. But here's the kicker. He ACTUALLY, REALLY, TRULY thought that the closet was supposed to be for shoes because the shelves were the perfect size. He could not even fathom that anyone would need that much space for food in their home. Wasn't that what the cabinets in the kitchen were for? The cabinets that housed his 12 boxes of cereal (hello Seinfeld) and his three pots?
Fast forward five years. For Valentine's Day this year I wanted only one thing. I wanted us to cook a meal together. Garlic, wine, good music, candles. I was psyched. Thomas was willing. But reluctant. Oh so very reluctant. But willing.
To celebrate passing my German test last week, I bought my first cookbook in German. The Real German Kitchen. Traditional meals from all the various regions in Germany.
The plan was that we would each select three appetizers, main courses and desserts that we wanted to try. Then we'd compare lists, see where we matched and that's what we'd cook. It went without saying that all choices would exclude anything with ingredients such as: pig's lung, calf liver, intestines, stomach, neck. That knocked about 50% of the book right off the list. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration but, as in many cultures, one man's delicacy is another man's gag reflex.
We settled on Kartoffelsuppe (potato soup) from the Saxen region where Thomas was born and Rahmgulasch with Kloße (potato dumplings) from the Bayern region. We cheated slightly on the dessert since we had left-over lemon meringue pie from the day before. Now I have a dozen eggs left in the fridge from the forsaken Eierschecke. Next week.
I'm pleased to say the whole thing went off without a hitch and we had a really nice afternoon together. The only time Thomas cried was when he was chopping the onions. Everything was sehr, sehr lecker. How could it not be with an ingredient list that included: butter, heavy cream, creme fraiche, bacon, potatoes, more potatoes and salt? I think we consumed a week's worth of calories in one sitting. And then, in keeping with the potato theme, we retired to the couch where we spent the rest of the evening watching the Olympics. Pretty much a perfect day in my book.
So, back when I was working for BMW I was responsible for, and I quote, sourcing private-label apparel, accessories, timepieces and gift items for distribution in BMW and MINI dealerships as well as providing creative direction to designers and suppliers ensuring that all products are premium and brand relevant, end quote.
As a subsidiary, we had to get everything we produced locally for the US market approved by HQ in Germany. Let's just say there were differences of opinion regarding what was "brand relevant." I spent way too much time creating PowerPoint presentations for local product approvals and way too much time discussing what was and was not "brand appropriate," or "brand damaging." We felt that Germany was too restrictive. They felt that we didn't protect the brand values. For example, we offered adorable baby onesies and bibs that were good sellers. We had to stop selling them because what if a baby actually spit up on the logo? That, my friends, would be "brand damaging." I'm really not making this stuff up. We'd make a pink polo shirt and Germany would tell us that pink was not a "brand appropriate" color. Six months later, they'd come out with a light pink polo and we'd say, "I thought pink was verboten??" and they'd say, "It's not pink. It's blush white." So, as long as you don't actually call it pink it's not pink, right? Well, this isn't a baby bib, it's a miniature floor mat. Now can we sell them again? And so on.
A couple of weeks ago, Thomas brought me one of his BMW shirts that was on it's last legs. The cuffs were starting to fray and it was destined for the Goodwill box. I had it lying around for a few days thinking I'd clean out some stuff from my closet too when I remembered a tutorial I'd seen a while ago on the Internet. It was for ways to re-purpose a man's shirt and one of them was an apron. I got right on it. And this, Damen und Herren, is my "kitchen appropriate" creation. Of course, I had to incorporate pink somehow because I am small, and bitter, and jaded and just evil like that. And what about the sacred logo you ask? What if I do something incredibly "brand damaging" like splatter some sauerbraten sauce on it? No worries CI police, I would NEVER want to damage the brand so I just covered that bad boy with some pink rickrack. Like I said, evil.
My new apron debuted just in time for a special meal. But more on that on Sunday...
Big doings in Bavaria. Today was Fat Tuesday/Shrove Tuesday/Faschingsdienstag the last day to let off steam before Lent begins. Quite a few people take the day or afternoon off from work to party auf dem Viktualienmarkt. Thomas had more than one meeting where the participant count was well below par. One meeting, at which eight people were expected, two people showed. The rest were presumably donning dayglo wigs and rummaging in their wife's lingerie drawer for costume inspiration.
Now, I've been to Carnival in Brazil and Fasching in Munich is nothing like it. Not even close. Here are some key differences:
The weather. Carnival in Brazil is hot. Do you hear the chorus of Hot, Hot, Hot drumming in your head? Fasching in Munich is NOT. It was 20 degrees yesterday. So no matter how much Germans love throwing a couple of nekkid breasts into every newspaper, magazine or TV show there was no headlight action yesterday. In contrast, Brazil is one giant homage to the Nancys. To summarize: Germany - Jack Wolfskin parkas; Brazil - pasties and thongs.
The floats. Floats are a matter of national pride in Brazil. Starting with the music/band to the fresh flowers to the glitter which accounts for 75% of the gross domestic product. It takes months to build and decorate a float. In Germany, it looked as though they pulled out the hot-glue gun at midnight after consuming a case of Edelstoff. By tomorrow the "floats" will once again be assigned to hauling cows to the high pastures.
The atmosphere. In Brazil, the mood is sexy even slightly dangerous. In Germany, the mood is silly. The closest thing you'll find to sexy are the transvestites working a pair of five inch stilettos. Fasching is more like Halloween except instead of kids with bags of candy it's adults with cases of beer.
The dancing. Brazil - samba, samba, samba. Elaborate headdresses and masks, glistening, nearly naked bodies gyrating nay THROBBING with sexual tension. And in Munich? The middle-aged Market Women, dressed in dirndls and wearing fruit and flower laden straw hats, dance around the Maypole. Who knows? Maybe they're wearing Agent Provocateur corsets under their dirndls.
The music. Brazil - live bands all day and night. Even in the small towns. Munich - your choice of Lady GaGa, Katy Perry and DJ Ötzi piped in from a local radio station or traditional Bavarian music fresh out of the 8-track player- think Perry Como in Lederhosen with a cow bell.
The food. We've been here before right? I should say that caipis were being served which I thought was a generous nod to fellow revelers in Brazil. But beyond that we're right back to the Bratwurst and Bier. Oh, and the Krapfen - basically a jelly donut. They are everywhere during the Fasching season and so very, very hard to resist.
I admit that I was not decked out in a costume so perhaps I didn't experience the full effect. But I have to say, the idea of standing in the freezing cold, drinking beer that in approximately 10 minutes I will have to evacuate but not before standing in an outside line for 30 minutes doing the hoppy dance is not something I put in the "good times" category. But I have the feeling that if I'd just had 4-5 beers, I would have had a GREAT time and might even have intuitively learned all the words to Ich bin ein Döner. And, and, AND if I'd worn a really unflattering costume - say a cow costume - I could wear lots and lots of warm layers underneath while at the same time avoiding the whole bathroom scenario with a double stack of Depends. I am so ready for next year.
I took my big German test today. Big sigh of relief. I'm sure I passed but I have to wait three weeks for the official results. This basically means I have achieved a B1 level in German. I think that equates to about fifth grade by our standards but considering that I started at a Kindergarten level, I've come pretty far in six months. Not far enough to actually have a full on conversation in German mind you. But getting there. Not good enough to understand 100% of what is being said around me but I think I'm at the 60% range depending on the topic.
I still panic whenever I have to speak to someone. I rehearse even the most simple request endlessly. Having to go to the bank to ask for a roll of Euros so I can do the wash is akin to asking a boss for a raise. It's that bad. And forget it when someone speaks to me out of the blue which, for some reason, happens to me a lot. I'll be standing waiting for the train, or in line at the supermarket and someone will just start talking to me. I immediately panic. Eyes widen in fear. Stomach drops. I smile. Give an awkward chuckle while searching for ONE word that I understand. Then I usually pretend to drop something and have to busy myself with that because I have NO CLUE what is happening.
The other day I was in the supermarket in the baking section and some guy came up to me and asked me something. An awkward pause ensued while I look around praying that he was talking to someone else; no such luck. I take a deep breath. Wie bitte? Wissen Sie, wo das Salz ist? Salt! Salt! I know that word. And not only do I know that word. I know where the salt is! So I said, auf Deutsch, the salt is next to the Butcher counter. However, judging from the way he looked at me, I think what I really said was "the salt is on top of the meat." Whatever, he got that it was in the area of the meat. Welcome to my world where I have to rely on one word and a mixture of trial and error to navigate through so many situations. The man reappeared a few minutes later waving the salt happily so it all worked out in the end. Does that count as an actual conversation? Maybe I exaggerate the fifth grade level thing. Maybe we're really talking first-grader peeking out from behind her Momma's skirt level. But I take comfort that I am not as bad as some. Take, for example, my partner for the spoken portion of the German exam.
The DZZ test consists of four parts: listening, reading, writing and speaking. Each section is about an hour in duration except for the spoken which is shorter. Typically, you can select your own speaking partner from someone in your current class. I was originally scheduled to take the test in November but had to fly to the states at the last minute because of my Mom. So, being that I was not actively enrolled in a class, I was assigned a partner. Now, someone could be partner-less because of a situation like mine or they could be partner-less because no one in their current class wants to partner with them. I got a piece of paper with a name. Female. Russian sounding.
First up - listening. You get to hear each recorded bit once and then have to answer a question on the content. No major problems except the idiot who kept asking the teacher to replay the piece because he couldn't "hear" it aka didn't understand it. On to reading comprehension. When the time was up for the reading portion of the test, the teacher went from desk to desk collecting the papers. A few people hadn't finished but reluctantly gave up their answer sheets. Except for one women. She pulled the paper back when the teacher tried to take it. He tried to take it again. She pulled it back saying "Nein, nein." He explained that it had to be fair for everyone. She shooed him off to the other people in her row. He collected their papers. He came back for hers. She wouldn't give it up. At that point, I knew, just knew, that she was my partner. And she was.
The speaking portion consists of three parts. First, you have to introduce yourself, where you are from, where you live, family, why you are in Germany and so on. Second, you have to describe a picture that they show you. Third, you and your partner have to have a conversation on a given topic.
Introductions aside. Fairly basic. Svetlana, my partner, now has to describe the picture the teacher is holding up in front of her. It is a picture of a little boy with a bowl of apples in front of him. Their condensed conversation goes something like this:
Teacher: What do you see?
Svetlana: A boy at a table. And an apple.
T: What else?
S: Two apples.
T: Can you say anything else about the picture?
Hemming, hawing. The teacher tries another tactic.
T: What kind of fruit do you like to eat?
S: Apples.
T: Anything else?
S: Vegetables.
T: Let's say you are going to the store tonight. What kind of fruit or vegetables will you buy?
Now at this point I am screaming inside my head Bananen, Orangen! Good God please anything but...
S: Apples
So the teacher asks her if she thinks nutrition is important which is obviously the theme and she says...
S: Yes, very important.
And it goes on like that. Now it is my turn and the teacher holds up my picture to describe. It is a picture of a little girl sitting at a table with a bowl of fruit in front of her: grapes and APPLES!
There was no way I could avoid saying it. Although we did manage to move past apples and have a conversation about nutrition in schools. For our last bit we had to come up with a plan to help a co-worker who was sick: doctor recommendation, medicine, how to help at home, how to help at the office. I can't say it was pretty. Svetlana was by now a nervous wreck which was making me a nervous wreck so I was just babbling away trying to fill the dead air space with no regard for grammar, adjective endings, case and other such painful (yet important) things. All I can say it is is done. And the best part is that they refund you the 20 Euro you paid to reserve your spot which means you can get a bottle of Tequila on the way home and forget the whole thing.
Here is my recipe for the best-tasting, pain-eliminating, memory-reducing margarita ever.
Saturday morning. A quick stop at the bakery for a Milchkaffee and a pastry before heading off to Augsburg just over an hour away. No particular reason. Just want to see what there is to see. We do this a lot and inevitably, when we are about half an hour away from home, I say, "Scheiße, I left all the guidebooks at home." I have at least four of them for Germany. Big, thick ones. Filled with lots of pertinent information that would come in handy when one is exploring unknown territory. Rick Steves. Lonely Planet. DK. Frommer's. I have them all. At home.
Fortunately, Augsburg is a big enough city to warrant an Information Center. With free walking maps. And lots of pamphlets on local points of interest that I am sure would also be noted in my guide books. At home.
One of the most notable attractions in Augsburg is the Fuggerei, the world's oldest social living complex. Founded in 1516 by the wealthy Fugger family, the Fuggerei is a small city within the city. High walls and gates at the four compass points surround a collection of single family row homes, a church, a bier garden, a museum, and a bomb shelter. Even though the Fuggerei was heavily bombed in World War II, it was restored outwardly to it's medieval appearance.
The concept was that the Fuggers, bankers by trade, and Jakob Fugger The Rich specifically, felt it was their obligation to help the less fortunate. They built, at their own expense, the Fuggerei to house some of Augsburg's neediest citizens. The Fuggerei is still in operation today and the rent is the same as it was almost 500 years ago - 1 Gulden (basically 1 Euro) a year plus three daily prayers for the founders and current financiers of the Fuggerei. To qualify you have to be Catholic and poor. With 67 houses and 147 apartments it's not going to solve the poverty problem but certainly it is a role model to aspire to. Truly, it's a pretty amazing concept. Just try to imagine any of our bank presidents, so predominant in the news for their outrageous bonuses, deciding to take some of the money from their own heavy pockets and use it to house and educate those in need. For the next five hundred years. Not. Going. To. Happen.
I thought it was so beautiful that every door bell in the Fuggerei is different. When the residents had to make their way home along the unlit streets, they could literally feel their way home until they got to their doorbell. I think TK outdid himself with this shot.
On our way back home, I started browsing through the pamphlet we picked up at the Information Center and it turns out that we missed two important things while visiting the Fuggerei. There is an apartment whose interior is a reproduction of what the living quarters would have looked like in the 1500's and another apartment that shows an apartment today. That's exactly the kind of thing I love - voyeurism passed off as the quest for knowledge. Yeah, we spent all our time in the bomb shelter. So guidebooks, pamphlets - makes no difference - they're all wasted on us. But now we have a reason to go back again in the spring when everything is in bloom.
Yeah, it's been awhile. A good long while. Too long. The last six plus months have certainly been filled with ups and downs.
I finally started to make some friends in Munich. We're a small, very international group who met in school. We get together for lunch, dinner, coffee or to go to movies (kids movies, of course, because that's all our language skills can accommodate). We represent America, Spain, Japan, Greece and China. Pretty cool. And what is really great is that German is our only common language so we are forced to speak it (or mutilate it). It's always funny to watch the faces of people around us when they clue in to our rudimentary language skills. I'm sure that it must be painful to listen to and that is saying a lot considering that German is not known for being particularly melodious. It helps tremendously to have someone to interact with and it helps all of us in becoming more confident speakers. I think we've found that the subjects of men, food and drink are truly international.
In August, Thomas and I got married in Maine surrounded by our immediate families. It was perfect in every way - and that includes all the imperfections. We rented out a bed and breakfast so we were all together. We hiked, went kayaking, went bowling, had a BBQ, went to our favorite lobster place in dirndls and lederhosen and just enjoyed a lifetime of memories with our families.
In November we lost my mother to breast/metastatic bone cancer. It was almost a year to the day of her diagnosis. She didn't suffer and we are so grateful that our whole family was able to be with her for her last days. Still, nothing can prepare you and some days it feels as though nothing can comfort you. You were a GD jewel, Joy.
We've been prepping for months. Thomas has not allowed any wine to be imbibed in the house. Only beer. All beer. All the time. In mugs. Granted relatively small mugs in comparison to the Maß (meaning "measure") liter-sized mugs we will be drinking at Oktoberfest but it's akin to starting with a 1 lb. weight and working your way up. First, a little history courtesy of Wikipedia - because there is an actual premise behind Ofest. It wasn't created just to justify guzzling massive quantities of beer.
Oktoberfest is a 16-day festival held each year in Munich, Germany, running from late September to early October. It is the world's largest fair with over six million people attending every year, and is an important part of Bavarian culture. Oktoberfest, traditionally, takes place during the sixteen days up to and including the first Sunday in October. The festival is held on an area named the Theresienwiese (field, or meadow, of Therese), often called d’ Wesn for short. Visitors eat huge amounts of traditional hearty fare such as Hendlchicken), Schweinsbraten (roastpork), Haxn (knuckle of pork), Steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick), Würstl (sausages) along with Brezn (Pretzel), Knödeln (potato or bread dumplings), Kaasspotznpotato pancakes), Sauerkraut or Rotkraut (red cabbage) along with such Bavarian delicacies as Obatzda (a fatty, spiced cheese-butter concoction) and Weisswurst (a white sausage). The original Oktoberfest was held in 1810 to commemorate the marriage of Crown Prince Ludwig I and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburfhausen (namesake of Theresienwiese).
Alas, the marriage was not to be a happy one. Turns out Luddy was a bit of a player. I know that's hard to believe what with that styling hairdo pictured to the left. But throw in a few country houses, some jewels and an unlimited clothing allowance and dude was smokin! Ludwig's most scandalous affair was with Lola Montez who was not only significantly younger, a mere dancer but also gasp! of Spanish/Irish decent. Apparently she was a first-class beatch to boot.Did you ever hear the saying, "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." Yeah, that's Lola on the right there.
Anyway, back to Ofest. We were psyched that our friends Trudy and Mark made the trip in to celebrate with us. Our friends, Julika, Aldo and their son Vladi were also in Munich visiting family so we had lots of great company. Since we didn't have tent reservations, we went during the day when it is a lot less crowded. Good call because we actually got a seat, instant service and halfway decent air quality.
Thomas enters the door after a long, hard day at work and I greet him. No, not with cocktail in hand and freshly applied lipstick. With homework in hand and crazy hair held together in a pencil bun.
Me: This makes absolutely no sense. (Waving papers frantically.) Can you please explain to me why you go "IN the work" but you go "TO the supermarket?" Why do you live "IN Holzstrasse" and not "ON Holzstrasse?" And why for the love of all that is sacred do the genders have to change more often than Cher at a comeback concert?
Thomas: Hi.
Me: Do you know I spent two whole hours trying to figure out what the difference is between "I gave Peter the book" and "He gave it (the book) to me"?
Thomas: Are you going to hit me?
Me: Hit you? How can I possibly hit you? I'd never be able to conjugate the verb "hit" correctly so what would be the point?
Feel my pain - which verb form of HIT (schlagen) would YOU pick????
Indikativ Präsens
Indikativ Präteritum
Indikativ Futur I
ich schlage
ich schlug
ich werde schlagen
du schlägst
du schlugst
du wirst schlagen
er schlägt
er schlug
er wird schlagen
sie schlägt
sie schlug
sie wird schlagen
es schlägt
es schlug
es wird schlagen
wir schlagen
wir schlugen
wir werden schlagen
ihr schlagt
ihr schlugt
ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen
sie schlugen
sie werden schlagen
Indikativ Perfekt
Indikativ Plusquamperfekt
Indikativ Futur II
ich habe geschlagen
ich hatte geschlagen
ich werde geschlagen haben
du hast geschlagen
du hattest geschlagen
du wirst geschlagen haben
er hat geschlagen
er hatte geschlagen
er wird geschlagen haben
sie hat geschlagen
sie hatte geschlagen
sie wird geschlagen haben
es hat geschlagen
es hatte geschlagen
es wird geschlagen haben
wir haben geschlagen
wir hatten geschlagen
wir werden geschlagen haben
ihr habt geschlagen
ihr hattet geschlagen
ihr werdet geschlagen haben
sie haben geschlagen
sie hatten geschlagen
sie werden geschlagen haben
Konjunktiv I Präsens
Konjunktiv I Perfekt
Konjunktiv I Futur I
ich schlage
ich habe geschlagen
ich werde schlagen
du schlagest
du habest geschlagen
du werdest schlagen
er schlage
er habe geschlagen
er werde schlagen
sie schlage
sie habe geschlagen
sie werde schlagen
es schlage
es habe geschlagen
es werde schlagen
wir schlagen
wir haben geschlagen
wir werden schlagen
ihr schlaget
ihr habet geschlagen
ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen
sie haben geschlagen
sie werden schlagen
Konjunktiv II Präteritum
Konjunktiv II Plusquamperfekt
Konjunktiv II Futur I
ich schlüge
ich hätte geschlagen
ich würde schlagen
du schlügest
du hättest geschlagen
du würdest schlagen
er schlüge
er hätte geschlagen
er würde schlagen
sie schlüge
sie hätte geschlagen
sie würde schlagen
es schlüge
es hätte geschlagen
es würde schlagen
wir schlügen
wir hätten geschlagen
wir würden schlagen
ihr schlüget
ihr hättet geschlagen
ihr würdet schlagen
sie schlügen
sie hätten geschlagen
sie würden schlagen
Konjunktiv I Futur II
Konjunktiv II Futur II
Partizip & Imperativ
ich werde geschlagen haben
ich würde geschlagen haben
schlagend
du werdest geschlagen haben
du würdest geschlagen haben
geschlagen
er werde geschlagen haben
er würde geschlagen haben
schlage, schlag
sie werde geschlagen haben
sie würde geschlagen haben
schlagen wir
es werde geschlagen haben
es würde geschlagen haben
schlagt
wir werden geschlagen haben
wir würden geschlagen haben
schlagen Sie
ihr werdet geschlagen haben
ihr würdet geschlagen haben
sie werden geschlagen haben
sie würden geschlagen haben
Get my point? I did however manage to learn the word for gun cuz' momma' has a feeling she's going to be needing one real soon. Just in case you are curious, it is die Waffe or die Pistole. Both feminine nouns. Interesting that.
So, waaaay back when I was trying to get a handle on moving to Germany, I was glued to the Internet trying to find out anything and everything about Feldmoching, the town in which I would be living. I found one thing. One. And this is that link. Feldmoching did not bode well for BMW's which I promptly pointed out to Thomas. And yet, here we are.
What is a marder? A marder is faster than a speeding S-Bahn train. A marder crawls into spaces molecules find to be a tight fit. A marder is stealthier than 007 squared. Marders are everywhere. Always. What do marders do? Eat. Sleep. Nest. Oh yeah, and eat through car wires and hoses. Lots. All at once. They are greedy little fuzzers. Marders are widely purported to have summer homes on Lake Fasanarie and have developed a taste for the finer things in life. Why snack on a Skoda when there's a BMW in the neighborhood?
Thomas' car got hit - or, more accurately, bit last week. Six hoses. We don't know if it was a local marder or if it happened when he parked his car somewhere else for a few hours. They are very territorial buggers. If a local marder had marked our car with his scent and then Thomas parked the car in another marder's territory, the encroached upon marder eats through all the hoses to destroy the "home" of the rival marder. The day Thomas brought his car in for service there were 16 other BMW's getting replacement hoses after marder attacks.
Whether or not another attack can be prevented is debatable but Thomas has built this nifty mesh wire contraption in our car park to thwart further attacks. Supposedly, if the marder runs across the mesh they think it is a trap and will abandon ship. Supposedly. We'll have to get back to you on that one. In the meantime, the device has given our neighbors something to talk about. Always happy to oblige.
We've been prepping for months. Thomas has not allowed any wine to be imbibed in the house. Only beer. All beer. All the time. In mugs. Granted relatively small mugs in comparison to the Maß (meaning "measure") liter-sized mugs we will be drinking at Oktoberfest but it's akin to starting with a 1 lb. weight and working your way up. First, a little history courtesy of Wikipedia - because there is an actual premise behind Ofest. It wasn't created just to justify guzzling massive quantities of beer.
