MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

Lately I’ve been receiving the sporadic e-mail from concerned/curious friends and family members enquiring as to my whereabouts, so I decided to finish out this blog with an entry that should have been written at least a month ago. Long story short – I’m back in the good ‘ole U.S. of A. Germany was great and I have plans to go back and study there after I graduate.

This is my last year at the University of Texas and I’ll be graduating with a classics degree in May. Classes this semester are interesting and I’ve recently begun taking Turkish language classes with a tutor in my spare time. I also have a ‘job’ as a guinea pig in an experiment in the UT Psychology Department. Basically, I come to a lab for two hours everyday with six other girls and we sit in a soundproof room and listen to various beeps and clicks. It’s rather mind numbing, but it pays well and I took it upon myself to organize a snack ring, wherein each girl is assigned a day to bring food of her choice. Yesterday Tiffany brought in caramel apples, which proved to be very popular amongst the girls. The week before she brought in a homemade banana cake, so needless to say, she is winning the popularity contest when it comes to baked goods. The study will last throughout the end of the semester and though at first it was excruciatingly dull, I find myself now enjoying the time I have to sift out life’s little problems while staring at a wall, watching little flashing buttons and lights. Well, to be perfectly honest, I only think about real-life issues for the first 30 minutes or so. After that I become utterly convinced that someone out there (usually a Russian) is trying to send me coded messages disguised by these little beeps and whirrs. Today I had the feeling Englishmen were trying to contact me in order to explain the topography of England from an Englishman’s perspective (this part was very important and heavily emphasized), but I had second thoughts about my perceived messages during the break when I had time to really reflect on the matter.

I will post more pictures soon of Prague and my last weeks in Germany on my photo page (http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya). Thank you very much to all that sent e-mails and greetings while I was away and thanks also for reading my blog. I apologize to those people who stumbled across my blog searching for something entirely different. I know this happened quite a lot, as the number one search term for people landing on my blog was "thagee camera" (thanks to a comment on my first post), followed by full name in second place, and a distant third for "dog poops while walking" (I'm not making this up).

Thanks again to you all and feel free to get in touch with me anytime, especially if you make it down to Austin.

S.O.L.

Note to reader: This entry is about dog poop and as such, I’ve rated it PG-13. Upon second thought, however, it’s possible that such an entry would be enjoyed only by those under the age of 13. Read at your own discretion.

A preface:

My views towards dog waste is probably that of most Texans – it’s part of nature and as such will eventually find its own way back into the circle of life without human intervention. I feel confident that, in Texas at least, either a torrential downfall will wash it away or a drought will scorch and crack the earth, the dog poop falling through the crevices, most likely to the mantle layer. Or another dog will just eat it. The prospect of picking up fecal matter is strange, not to mention disgusting. I justify not picking it up with the following train of thought: ‘Poop is gross. This is especially true when it is warm and fresh from the animal. I’m not talking horses and cows here, who eat grass all day, but your modern-day spoiled dog who eats mashed potatoes, Skittles, and God knows what else. This is the kind of poop you stand over and gawk at thinking, ‘what the heck did he eat there?’. What would people rather – me leaving the poop there, or me picking up the poop and vomiting in its place, which I argue is a much messier clean-up process?’

Now I know that toting around little plastic bags filled with steaming handfuls of animal waste tied to your belt like ammunition is the norm. in such strange places as California, New York, and central Austin, but the furthest my family ever went to disposing of dog poop was piling it on a shovel and tossing it over the fence.

I hadn’t originally planned to devote a whole entry to this some-would-say-distateful matter, but as I am laying on the couch writing this, I see a woman outside with her dog. The dog’s a big Shepard, unleashed and having a good time running about. He stops briefly to relieve himself. The lady is a ways away from him, but takes note and comes scampering to the area armed with a little black baggie. But there’s a problem – the grass is long and she cannot find anything. She circles a good five foot by five foot section. Nothing. She calls across the way for backup and another woman runs to join in on the search for the missing fecal matter. I’m reminded of the ‘Where’s Waldo’ books that I enjoyed as a child, hunched over, scanning methodically for that skinny little man with the glasses and his red-and-white-striped shirt. The two women begin to argue and I imagine what they are saying:

“Are you sure it was here?”
“Of course I’m sure! I just saw him. He squatted RIGHT HERE.”
“Well maybe he just peed, did you ever think of that?”
“My Hugo doesn’t pee squatting like a little girl. He finds a tree and lifts his leg proud and tall. I know my Hugo and he just wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, my little Humphrey sometimes peed like that. I mean, not all the time, but sometimes he would.”
“Your little Humphrey was also the size of a chinchilla and the entire contents of his bladder could fit in your cupped hands. No wonder he lost an ear when Robert didn’t notice he put him in the washing machine with the rest of the laundry…”
“TINA! That’s just not fair!”

Their conversation goes on like this in my head for a while, but then I realize there’s a story to relate here about the Fischer family’s own two dogs, Ola and Schultze. As you can imagine by now, while walking the dogs around I usually pretend that their waste is a by-product of the dogs of some other irresponsible Auslaender. Normally this works – it’s as if Ola and Schultze know that when they’re walking with me there’s no time for messing around. The old squat and run. Nine out of ten times we have no problems with this method, but last week the dreaded one in ten reared its ugly head.

The day was like any other – it was cool, cloudy and relatively damp outside due to the rain from the night before. Frau Fischer had to work through the afternoon and wouldn’t have a chance to go out with the dogs, so I took it upon myself. Right next to the front door is a big bag full of little plastic bags whose sole purpose is to pick up and tote around the waste matter of the dogs. Usually I take one or two along to keep up appearances, but this time I didn’t bother – we were just going around the block to pee. Well, they were. I could wait a bit longer. Anyway, the dogs were doing an admirable job emptying the contents of their bladders when suddenly Schultze squats in that tell-all position. I scan the perimeters – there’s an old lady across the street. She’s bobbing along, probably going to the bakery to buy a nice loaf of bread. I don’t think twice that she’d be the type to stir up any trouble. But I should know better. After all, I’m in Germany and every single person over the age of thirty will take the chance whenever they can to tell you when you’re doing something wrong or even just not quite right. Suddenly she turns around – Schultze is in her direct line of view. We’re caught. ‘Maybe I can still save this,’ I think to myself. I stand in place with the dogs pretending to admire the view of the sidewalks and apartment complex, totally oblivious to the heaping pile of steaming dog waste gently indenting the wet grass. I calculate to myself how long I could reasonably stand here, admiring the non-existent landscapes. Mid-thought, the lady yells something. I pretend not to hear her. At this point I actually contemplate running. Though Schultze would relish the speed and adventure of the whole situation, Ola has a tendency to waddle a couple of meters and then totally collapse in an obstinate display of disapproval. Under normal circumstances I could outrun this woman doing a brisk walk, but I didn’t want to take my chances hurrying along with one grossly overweight Cairn Terrier dragging behind me. That’s admitting my guilt from the get-go. So I continue to stand my ground as she makes her way towards my end of the sidewalk. I brace myself for the inevitable confrontation.

The lecture begins: She tells me very sternly (in German remember) to pick up after my dog. I tell her I am very sorry, but I am a foreigner and simply have no idea what she’s saying in the best unconjugated, mispronounced German I could muster. She asks where I’m from and I tell her Mexico, given the off-chance that she could speak some English. And let’s face it, the American image needs all the help it can get here in Germany. The woman then proceeds to put on an elaborate Charades production, bending over, pawing at the air directly above the now cooled-off fecal matter, and putting the imaginary contents of her cupped hand in the canvas bag which she was carrying. I proceed to look at her, wide-eyed, much the way the dogs were now staring at me. I then shake my head up and down, relenting to her icy stare. I get it, lady, okay, I’m going to go now. But it just wasn’t that easy. She begins to follow me. Well my friend, two can play at this game. I wander around the inner-workings of the complex, sitting on a bench here, a tree stump there. But this lady’s on a mission, head-strong, she deflects all of my feeble attempts to lead her astray. That’s when I realize – she knows where I live. She hobbled straight to Frau Fischer’s door and rings. No answer. She rings again. Nothing. Frau Fischer’s still at work. The lady leaves, glaring again at me and the recently-relieved dogs. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘the gig’s up. You’re probably in trouble.’ I hadn’t felt this way since high school days when Mrs. Austin the Algebra teacher would call home weekly to inform my mother of my most recent mathematical failings. The dogs and I go inside and think about what we’ve done. More precisely, I think about what they’ve done and my own decision to take no action in order to clean it up.

Later that evening, I notice something on the leashes. I go up for a closer inspection and see little black plastic bags tied up and down the length of them, like bows on a little girl’s braids. Frau Fischer saw me looking at them and laughed to herself. Then she asked me if I wanted some cake and we sat down to watch television together.

For those that made it this far, I’m pleased to say I’ve posted pictures on my Google site (http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya). You’ll probably be happy to know that they have nothing to do with this entry.

Forever Baffled

Last Sunday, Maxie and I decided to attend a Catholic Mass in the Trinitatis Kathedral in downtown Dresden. Maxie had never before attended a Catholic service and I only had a vague notion of where the church was, so we asked a nice, elderly lady on the tram how to get there. Seemingly excited at the prospect of two youngins going to church (religion is all but obsolete among the younger generations), she encouraged us to let her show us the way (to church, that is). Maxie asked her whether she was going to a Catholic service and she responded with, “Na klar, na klar” (of course, of course). Perfect, now we had a little buddy with whom to go to church. We walked through the doors and she encouraged us to glance around for a bit, since the service wasn’t going to begin for another half an hour or so. I looked briefly for the holy water, but found none and didn’t give it much of a second thought. It turned out there was also an art gallery on the first floor. No, none of the Catholic churches I had ever been to had a modern art gallery, but hey, I’m in Germany and a lot of things these Germans do seem slightly off to me. Once we were done looking, we sat down in a pew and I reached down to lower the kneeler. There was none. Funny again, but what the heck. So I sat quietly and gawked at all the statues and figures that filled the altar – Mary, Joseph, some angels, little baby Jesus, and one more fellow, whom I didn’t recognize. ‘He doesn’t look like any biblical character I’ve ever seen in traditional depictions,’ I thought to myself. I studied his face a bit more and then moved on to the inscription beneath the statue…’german german german MARTIN LUTHER german german german.’ The old lady had tricked us into going to a Protestant church! We thought about asking her about it, but decided not to, knowing that she would respond with either one of two things: 1) genuine confusion or 2) feigned confusion. So 45 minutes worth of singing, a baptism, and an homily later (all-in-all around two hours), Maxie and I saw again the light of day and decided we should find the Catholic church so we know where it is for next Sunday. But honestly, it was an interesting and worthwhile experience, and ten Hail Marys later I’m sure all is now forgiven. Pictures of downtown Dresden, including the churches mentioned above, can be found here: http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya

A few days ago Frau Fischer, her son Thomas, his wife Froh-Fro (not her real name. Actually, I don’t know her real name. This is just a nickname taken from the German word for ‘frog’. For more about Froh-Fro’s love of frogs, see entry dated June 28th, 2007) and I headed off to the borders of Poland to do some shopping. We left promptly at 8:30 in the morning and by 9:15 we had pulled over at a rest stop in order to eat. Everyone still buckled in, I stared wide-eyed as Frau Fischer proceeded to pull out from a picnic basket wurst sandwiches, cheese, salami, orange juice, tomatoes and eggs to tide us over for the next 45 minutes or so until we got to Poland.

The market itself was an interesting experience – I like to think of it as a less-aggressive Middle Eastern marketplace, only everyone spoke Polish and whatever German they needed in order to sell their goods, which consisted predominantly of cigarettes, knock-off clothing and shoes, animal skins, cheese, pickles and a variety of translucent meats. Frau Fischer bought a couple things for Maxie’s apartment and Thomas and Froh-Fro got some clothes. On the way back to Dresden we stopped in Rothenburg to get something to eat. I had a gigantic serving of schnitzel paired with potatoes, soup, and a fist-full of vegetables. Not yet knowing the German etiquette for taking leftovers from a restaurant and taught by my parents at an early age to eat everything on my plate, I proceeded, head down and with great determination, to eat it all. Although I felt a little sick to my stomach, I inwardly congratulated myself on a job well done. It wasn’t until afterwards that I noticed that everyone else had more than half of their food leftover and all eyes were looking tentatively in my direction in an ‘I can’t believe you ate all that’ sort of way. Lesson learned: Germans, like Americans, also take leftovers to-go. Now I know.

Maxie has now moved out of the house into an apartment of her very own (right across the street), so I’ve been helping her move. German apartments and houses are completely empty upon move-in (no light fixtures, kitchen appliances, counters, etc.), so one has to buy, build, and move a lot more than what Americans are used to. We spent the last couple days painting and also “building the kitchen”, so if all goes smoothly, I’ll post before and after pictures in the next couple days.

No one here has much of an interest in talking about the weather with me (which I think makes up for a good half of my conversations in Austin), so I will now post my thoughts here. It’s been hot lately. How hot? Well, Frau Fischer came in the other day, drenched in sweat, throwing off her clothes, exclaiming it was 47˚C outside. I stared at her blankly while standing in the doorway, doing my best to do the conversion in my head, but I blame the dog dander or tap water or abundance of dairy products I’ve been eating for clouding my mental faculties, so I ran quickly to my computer to convert the temperature into Fahrenheit. 116˚F. No, no, definitely not. Maybe lower 90’s at the highest. I went back into the entryway to tell her that this was just not possible, but she wasn’t having any of it. 47˚C it was. But it has cooled down a good bit – this morning I needed a jacket when I went out.

So now I’m off to go help Maxie catch her little songbird, Melita, which is flying loose at the moment. I threatened to turn her into a chicken nugget if she continued her disobedience, but Maxie has just enlightened me that chicken nuggets are actually made out of old textbooks, namely trigonometry.

...hola?

As some of you may or may not know, I was in Rome for the past week or so. My third-semester Greek teacher and generous host Karl Galinsky provided me with a place to stay and food to eat while I wandered through the streets and gawked at the sites of the Eternal City. If you’re more into pictures than words, then I encourage you to visit http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya, sit back and enjoy. I too would pick a comic book over a novel. And if you still want additional info. about Rome, I recommend ‘The Lizzie McGuire Movie’, in which Lizzie goes to Rome on a class trip, gets mistaken for a pop star, fills in for this pop star, falls in love, and ultimately discovers things about herself she never knew. It’s on the Disney Channel quite regularly. Watch out for the surprise ending! For the rest of you, here are some highlights:

The flight from Berlin to Rome was thankfully uneventful. I was lucky, however. Apparently a couple hours after I landed, a mentally unstable man from Eritrea decided to scamper down the runways at Ciampino Airport, all the while being chased by security in golf carts. All air traffic was subsequently diverted and the passengers in the airport had to stay overnight and well into the morning for further security checks.

The first day in Rome was filled with typical touristy things – forums, Colosseum, Circus Maximus, so on and so forth. While sitting in front of the Arch of Constantine taking some notes and making some sketches, a woman came up to me and asked if I spoke any English. I replied the affirmative and she asked me if I could explain any of the pictures on the arch. Since I had read all about it the previous night, I was able to discourse to her in full about the carvings, inscriptions, building dates, architectural details and fun facts. She thanked me and then complimented me on my "excellent English". I thanked her and we went our separate ways.

The next day I visited the basilica of San Clemente, which is actually a basilica built on top of a fourth-century basilica, built on top of a first-century building, part of which is a pagan temple devoted to a mystery cult. The underground excavations were dank, dark, and cool and kind of how I imagine my dream house. Wandering through the rooms and corridors, I thought to myself what I could do with the place: ‘Yes, it’s dark, and I like it dark, but perhaps I could install some nice Arts and Crafts sconces every few meters on the walls…Oh! This room devoted to idol worship would make a lovely dining room. Already has the benches and could hold more than enough people…’ Then, still deep in thought, I heard a scream. A poor German girl a few steps ahead of me turned around and thought I was a ghost (she really told me that). She started speaking very quickly in her native tongue, and I stood there a bit confused, but then assured her that I was, in fact, from the land of the living and she could even touch my arm or something. She then went away, somewhat embarrassed, though I’m not sure entirely convinced.

A couple of days later I took a pilgrimage to Vatican City, specifically to St. Paul’s Cathedral. People were swarming everywhere and I found a random line in which to queue myself. It happened to be the line to get to the cupola at the very top, and I was game for some pretty intense staircases. Unfortunately I was sandwiched between a pushy, overly-zealous Japanese group in the back and a family of melting, overweight Germans in front. With every step I prepared myself for the possibility that they were going to keel over and come barreling backwards down the stairs. I always stayed back a few steps, with the plan that if they did fall backwards, I would push myself against the wall and let them strike down the Japanese like bowling pins. But it never came to that. Getting to the top was a relief – it was cool and breezy and the view was quite nice. Afterwards I went back down into the cathedral itself. I originally had plans to bring back some holy water for family and friends, but current airline restrictions prevented me from doing so. Part of me wanted to bring some anyway just to see if it would scald the hands of any security guard intent on its removal from my luggage, but common sense convinced me otherwise.

The rest of my time in Rome was very pleasant and despite the recent heat waves, the weather was rather nice – low- to mid- 80’s by day and 70’s by night.

All-in-all Rome was fun and a nice change of pace, but I’m glad to be back in Dresden, where the weather is gorgeous, the scenery beautiful, and old German men shake their fists at me for riding my bike on the incorrect side of the road. I even missed the food, which I’ve gotten used to and now enjoy quite a bit. So upon arrival back to Texas, I look forward to all of y’all who constantly harked on me for being too skinny to now gently suggest that perhaps it would be in my best interest to lose a few pounds.

Thanks to all of you who have sent me the news about Lady Bird. As many of you know, I came to admire her a good deal while working at the LBJ Library and am sad that I’m not in Austin or Stonewall right now to give her a proper sendoff. I have plans this afternoon to bike over to one of my favorite spots not far from the banks of the Elbe River and plant some bluebonnet and wildflower seeds which I brought along with me. I cross my fingers that the introduction of these non-native plant species will not completely destroy the delicate eco-system of greater Saxony.

Voyage Out

Churches and cemeteries are among my favorite places to visit while in a city -everyone has them and one can learn buckets about the history and culture of an area without a tour guide jabbering away or some fellow trying to sell you commemorative spoons. So a few days ago a friend and I made a little excursion down to Johannis Cemetery (http://www.johannisfriedhof-dresden.de/). Many of the graves belong to notable Dresdeners and some also to resistance fighters during the second World War. The pictures can be found here: http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya

Green With Envy

Hello friends and family. Hope things are well in America or wherever you may be at the moment. I haven’t prepared a full-on update of what I’ve been up to in the past week or so, but I thought I’d take a moment to display for you my current sleeping quarters. Maxie’s brother and his wife are in Shanghai at the moment and we are doing our best to eat all of their food, break their household appliances and leave the house a general mess. (Not really, Mother, we’ll clean it up). Anyway, the wife has a passion for frogs. I don’t know how this came about, nor why it continues nor when exactly it will end, but here for your viewing pleasure (and my waking terror) is The Frog Room:


More Frogs

This one makes me particularly anxious

I wasn’t a big fan of the two dark ones, so I turned them around, but now it just looks as if they are urinating.

And here we have Rambo, the Yorkshire Terrier who enjoys waking me up by licking my face with his little flickering tongue, much to my chagrin. Just like Mom in grade school days. (Still trying to figure out the whole 'rotate image' concept)


That’s all for now. Stay tuned for: Churches Around the City, My New Friend the Bakery Lady, My Trip to the Cemetery, and beginning Monday, My Trip to Rome!

Pretty, eh?

Okay, I went photo making (as the Germans term it) this morning and these are the fruits of my labor:

http://picasaweb.google.com/racheldubya/

Just go to this website and you can check them all out. Get a bowl of popcorn, hit the Slideshow button, sit back and relax. But eat quickly - it's not that long. Sorry that the pictures I took vertically are in an horizontal layout. I might fix it in the future, but I found turning my head sideways was easier for the time being.