Wednesday 29 August 2012

Over a barrel


 chillaxing, not having an axe to grind


Last year they redid the main road that runs along the top of my street and left no room for a bicycle lane, in fact the bicycle lane literally just ends at some point, and the cyclist is told to dismount.  This got me really angry, I mean why should I stop, when it would take me about 2 minutes to get home by bike.  Instead, I would have to walk my bike along the road and then breathe in the fumes of two-lane traffic. Totally unnecessary.

This week I called up to complain about a bill I had received, nearly 70 Euros and for what? The plumber showed me that I had to press the button on the gas heater for 5 seconds and not 1 in order for it to start. Seventy Euros for 5 minutes work, which had been billed for 1 hour and 15 minutes of repair and skilled work. Talk about daylight robbery.

In the Kindergarten where my son is, he will be probably be chucked out after one year. Not for bad behaviour, but because my husband’s work contract runs out at the end of November and the Kindergarten is run by his place of work.

Recently, I’ve realised that I spend a lot of energy getting worked up about things that I can’t really do anything about. After all, living as a trailing spouse with a soon to be jobless husband applying here there and everywhere, it is not like I haven’t got any other concerns at the moment, including my own fledgling career reboot plans.

So today, as an experiment I got off my bike where the bike lane cuts off because the sign told me too, feeling absolutely ridiculous at my obedience to walk the 100 metres along the road to the crossing. Other cyclists sped happily by me.  I accepted the rules absurdity and somehow it made me feel better. That’s a hard one for me, not to fight/break stupid rules.

And the plumber. God, I always have to deal with these issues, with the landlords, with the handymen, and with the authorities. And from my experience even having lived here for years with a fairly good grasp of German, it is a real handicap if German is not your mother tongue.  Sometimes you can use this fact to your advantage as I did with the plumber last week. He wasn’t letting me speak, and I said, please could he give me time to speak as he must know that German is my second language, the subtext being “you are not treating me with such little respect because I am a foreigner, are you?” Usually works a treat. But in any language, it is hard to contest a bill.

And the Kindergarten? I knew this was the case when I applied to the Kindergarten.  But somehow I had a glimmer of hope that somehow our situation might change, or the Kindergarten may show mercy. Sometimes they designate the child a place if they have no applications in that age group. But somehow the idea of removing a child from a kindergarten where efforts have been made to integrate the child and make him seem comfortable seems so ludicrous and just about rules and regulations, where there is in actual fact a child at the centre of things. In my fantasy, I imagine myself fighting such bureaucracy through the courts, but in reality it is just something else to get worked up about.

So plan A (acceptance), I am going to follow the rules, with a smirk. The good citizens of Bielefeld will bless me, and I might even get my bike lights fixed, I mean really go for it.

I will pay the daylight robbers – “Hut ab!” a German phrase roughly translated “I take my hat off to you”, or in the language of youth – Respect!  Dear Mr Plumber, I am over a barrel, you win, “bin über den Tisch gezogenliterally - you’ve pulled me over the table, thank you for your trouble,   Frau (sucker) Marshall. Actually not as bad as I thought, losing that battle.

And the Kindergarten place – well it’s a bit of a journey to get there, children are more adaptable to change than we are as adults. Or what about that old chestnut – it’s not the end of the world - I think the saying goes. Might help with this one.

This year may just be a lot easier to deal with if I just accept that I have no control over the Kindergarten situation or the imminent wobbly job/place/future situation otherwise known as the rug being pulled from under me scenario.

Less of a plan, and more of an experiment.  Lets see how it goes.

Sunday 5 August 2012

Torch Song



Compartmentsee enjoyed a burst of glory recently as it was propelled into the top 100 tennis blogs with my last post "The Hollow Crown" on Technorati, a blog search engine. So this time I thought, with the olympics and all,  I would go for gold and develop my new niche of sport expertise. 

The trouble is, I am just not a sporty person, not in any respect. At school, one of my greatest sporting achievements was to run into the park and hide behind the trees to avoid the school bus which would take us every week to the playing fields. 

In a comprehensive school in South East London circa 1985, sport promised old victorian swimming baths reeking of chlorine, being relegated to Wing defence in the netball B team, and cold showers.  How different it could have been to have had music from Massive Attack (or Frankie goes to Hollywood at that time) pumped through the sound system, like in this year's London Olympics, as I spluttered around the track on the last leg of the 1500 meter track and field race as a hapless fourteen year old. 

When my computer was requisitioned  by my family this week to watch the olympics  I remained resolutely unmoved by the sporting events. What does sport actually mean to me, I asked myself as I glanced at the lean legged and taut bodies seeking out perfection?  Unfortunately at that moment, I caught a glimpse of my post baby belly where, unlike Ennis' checkered abs, my muscles had dissolved into some kind of sponge pudding. 

Sport is about having endurance, I thought. Hey, I have got that in spades. What about the personal best of four and a half hours spent at the playground. That has got to count for something, even though most of the time was spent on the bench, the park bench that is. 

Sport is about using tactical skills to help you to reach your goal. What about the strategic planning involved in getting a toddler through a supermarket without finishing up with a trolley load of Kinder Eggs. Now, I might even qualify for a silver medal in that. 

Sport is meditation in motion. What about that time I caught, with an almost zen like intuition, the plate being tossed off the table by my toddler, and caught a piece of lego flying across the room before I even "saw" it. One of those could have earned a gold, easily.

Here are a few of the events I would like to see in the next olympics, for those of us not yet touched by the spirit of the games.

Toddler sprint.  The toddler runs off and you have to catch him, fast. A test of speed and agility.

Tantrum endurance. How long can you endure your toddler's tantrum in a public place before you give in to him? It's sheer psychological willpower in this one. Every second counts.

Sibling Relay Race Both children are demanding your attention at the same time, which involves a relay "race" between the two. I envisage two separate stages with different craft activities 
 to be completed at a distance of 100 metres between them. Multi-displinary skills and negotiation count here.

The Children's Run Triathlon It's time to pick the kids up! Tram, bike and foot. How long does it take to get across town to pick up one child and get back to pick up the other one? Penalties for any items of clothing forgotten, lost school notes and number of ice creams consumed before reaching home. Only will-power and the thought of a nice cup of tea at the end of it all can help you get through this one.

At this moment I have got motivational music booming through my loud speakers. I am limbering up for my next stint at the playground. I am using the power of positive visualisation that I have heard is such a powerful tool for the modern athlete. I picture a leaner version of myself  sitting on the bench after downing my third coffee, having just completed a second round of pushing on the swings, and, and yes,  - I have broken the five hour barrier, the crowd goes wild!