Jumping Rope in the School Yard

What is it about sunshine which brings out the best in most of us?! Today was one of those days. During the first long break there I was in the thick of it on school yard duty, met almost immediately by a horde of my grade 7 French students speaking English to me for the first time. They had a basketball in their possession and were determined to dominate the hoop where we stood. It had been taken over by big kids, probably grade 12, at least twice the size of the little ones and it was a sort of stand-off, but no one was actually confrontational. I was most hesitant to say or do anything, mostly I was just sizing up the situation. The grade 7 pupils claimed they had been there first. The older group was suggesting the little ones move to another hoop across the way. But the little ones were holding their ground. Meanwhile another adult who was listening in on the bits of English took the older players off to the mobile hoop (on wheels) and they all pushed it out of the area where soccer was seriously underway. It happened all so smoothly that I was surprised when my pupils thanked me for what I had done, which actually was nothing. Meanwhile I turned my attention to the jump rope at my other side. There were my really big, grown-up grade 9 pupils having the time of their lives. Various kids were taking turns turning the extra-long rope while grade 9 kids (boys and girls alike) were running into the center and giving it a try. This was most entertaining. These were the kids I had begun the year with, fresh out of grade 8, still looking so young, who had matured physically in more ways than one so that I felt as if I were watching young adults jumping with glee. Sometimes a group would get going and find themselves in perfect coordination for several synchronous jumps, then some other kids would jump in and trip it up. Still others would deftly dash through. Perhaps most daring were the little grade five girls trying to roll their hula hoops through the swinging rope. I finally suggested to them that elsewhere might be better. Some of these grade 9 kids were so tall, you could wonder how the rope managed to miss them. As I watched these happily jumping kids, relaxing at random, I kept thinking of those 11 subjects they juggle each week, of those who take three foreign languages, biology and physics, history and geography and so on. On the other side of the play yard, the grade 5 and 6 boys play ping pong around a circular table, in a continuous running circle. No one is actually left out, as far as I could tell. These are permanent outdoor concrete table tennis tables. Just beyond them there are the hardcore smokers banished to a position a meter off of campus, just one meter from the old assigned smoking area for upper level pupils. I am so happy my duty assignment was changed from the bicycle cellar cum smoking area end of the courtyard to the middle of the sports area. Waving smokers from under the overhang to the off-campus walk-way was no pleasure for me. I always found it deeply depressing thinking of what those very bright, promising young people were doing to their bodies. And of course there were often a couple of teachers standing there with them since even teacher smokers have been banished from the campus since January 1 of this year. My plan is to bring a camera next week when my duty slot comes up again but I wonder if I will actually be able to capture that same moment in the sunshine.

The Package Which Has Been Around the Block

The morning after Tax Day I was innocently descending the stairs to fetch the morning paper when my neighbor accosted me with a package she noted that had been delivered the previous day. I was both thrilled and curious since mostly, I don't get much personal mail and most definitely very few packages. But it was so early in the morning and much too soon for my eyes to focus properly. So it wasn't until somewhat later when I was able to read to whom and from whom the yellow box was. The color alone should have tipped me off to the fact that it had been sent from Germany where you can purchase these practical and useful build-it-yourself cartons right at the post office. The return address was my street in Münster and it had been destined for son number two in Pacific Beach. To the best of my knowledge I had sent this package in early January since son number one had requested it be sent as soon as possible. It was his nasty old, smelly old jacket which he had left accidentally (or on purpose) here in the guest room. This had meant that we two had had to go shopping for a new winter coat for him in Paris during our stay the first four days of 2008. It was cold in Paris and a warm coat was definitely in order. After some Internet research we located just the shop for us: "Big and Nice", which specializes in the sizes larger men need. How it got this name I am not sure, especially considering the French aversion to borrowing English words into their language. Back to the package! Son number one doesn't actually receive non-cyber or physical mail so the package had had to be sent to son number two who does normally receive snail mail. Somehow however the notices of "attempt to deliver" didn't get through. So after the "statute of limitations" ran out, that elongated yellow box found its way back to Piusallee in Münster. It would be most intriguing to know what kind of a route and form of transport takes fourteen weeks from Münster to San Diego and back again. The official stamp on the fully intact package stated "failure to claim". So the search is on for someone who "will claim". As the weather in San Diego reaches into the 90's and Münster yearns for a 50-degree day, the package is on its way to an institution which rarely closes its door, is staffed by living, breathing human beings who stand ready to sign for a package: the place of employment of a trusted friend. The method of delivery requested was the "least expensive" which officially means "Land" or surface mail, but in fact, it often goes air freight since "slow boats to China" seem to be laden with other kinds of cargo these days. You might ask: "Why not just tuck it into the suitcase for the return trip?" Most of the major international airline carriers have cut back the luggage allowance beginning in early May to one checked through item for free. After that there is a charge. But actually this has become a challenge to see what comes of this well-traveled little yellow box. Will it ever get home?

The package from hell!

I guess it just doesn't pay to relax too completely when on vacation. I had allowed myself to fall apart. There we were housed conveniently at the Intercity Hotel in Erfurt in the state of Thuringa for just one night and everything went to pot. Two days after leaving Erfurt we began to realize that we had left stuff behind. To be honest, one of the items was supposed to be left, another could be dismissed as not so crucial and another was so inconsequential that it wasn't even recognized at first. But the lovely little alarm clock was sorely missed. The dilemma became: "How to get it back?" The new cellphone which Andy had brought me in February could finally serve a truly essential function. I called and talked to Housekeeping. They made the necessary search and found the mentioned items plus a couple we hadn't thought of. They agreed to send it all to my Münster address at my expense. Trying to lighten the load, I said they could keep the little white blouse, Ellen had intended to leave behind. Many days later, after visiting Dresden, Magdeburg, Berlin, Antwerp, Gent and Brugges and returning to Münster, we made the requisite trip to the post office on Berliner Platz with the delivery notice in hand only to find out we had not made it in time. After seven days, an unclaimed package is returned to the point of origin. Oh woe! Oh sadness! That little silver-gray travel alarm was becoming increasingly important to me on a daily basis. It was all I could think about. Even the grey-brown jjill jacket seemed to be beckoning to me across the kilometers. That was when the phone calls back to the hotel began in earnest. I soon learned that Housekeeping has very restricted hours: 7:00-14:00 on weekdays. They didn't care that I couldn't sleep quite right not having my little clock at my side, my clock which would glow brightly with a touch in the night. Day after day I would call and ask for Housekeeping and be put on hold or told that the woman couldn't be found. Or I would simply forget to place the required call until it was too late in the day. I needed to find out if the package had been sent back to the hotel because the gentleman at the post office had been so thoroughly unhelpful. I kept thinking: "Some way to run a business!" Certainly there must be a way to track these things! Finally I was smart enough to try my call towards the end of the Housekeeper's shift and actually got hold of the woman. Well, she didn't know where the package was but would check with the front desk to see if they had received it back but she was doubtful since it would have required payment for an unfruitful journey and well, who would pay, etc.! The next day, I was livid! I was determined! I was going to storm the German postal service and I was going to demand a face-to-face with the supervisor even though I don't know how to say the word. I was going to let them know "just who I was", give them a piece of my mind! Quite fortunately on Thursdays I have a late start at school which means that I could bicycle over to the post office in time for their opening at 8:30 and still be at school on time to press a bit of English into the grade 9 pupils. I planned my approach carefully, but felt a bit insecure because I had failed to bring (official identification in the form of my passport) but had my trusty California Drivers License (as if that would actually be a valid proof of anything in Germany!). First I mailed a small package and sent two postcards. Then, as I laid the delivery slip in the front of the employee, I struck gold. He said to his coworker: "That is the package we have been talking about it, isn't it?" So indeed, the German postal service came through. It cost me €12 even though it had been back and forth from Erfurt twice and perhaps technically I should have been paying €24. You don't want to know how many dollars that is, because the dollar is falling daily. I felt blessed indeed. It was a large package filled with more than I could have hoped for. H. had long since told me I could toss the foam travel pillow. E. had wanted to be rid of the white blouse. But hey, all four items were there. I carefully strapped the box on the back of my bicycle with two bungee cords, stored it in the teachers coat closet at school and by the end of the day took it up the 43 steps to my "home away from home".

Why go to Magdeburg?

"Why would anyone want to go to Magdeburg?" asked a friend. It was another friend from much further away who said he absolutely had to visit Magdeburg. Since his interest is primarily in modern architecture, I assumed he had wanted to see the canal which crosses over the top of the Elbe River just outside of Magdeburg, certainly an amazing feat! But I was wrong. It was in fact "Die Grüne Zitadel" designed by Hundertwasser, the last-executed project completed after his death in 2001. Having visited his "Wohnhaus" in Darmstadt and his "Gymnasium" in Lutherstadt Wittenberg, I was prepared for brightly colored irregular columns and trees growing out of windows. In fact what we came upon was true to his colors. A whole city block had been transformed in a way which brightened and beautified a somewhat drab stretch of post-Soviet blocks. Our tour guide enlightened us to the fact that living in this complex comes with various privileges and other obligations but especially a sense of community. Even the parking garage was subject to unique rules. Individually-assigned spaces were marked not by letters and numbers but rather by child-generated art pieces mounted on the wall. You could say your car was parked by the duck in the pond for example. Hundertwasser left a few of the details in the completion process up to the workers. The tile-layers were given the area in the staircase foyer to fill in as they pleased. This may or may not have been pleasurable for them. When seen from the rear, the complex reveals why it is so livable. There are numerous small and unique green spaces built into the landscape. Community gatherings such as grill parties were planned in the beginning but now occur spontaneously. Neighbors know, greet and take care of each other. On the lower three levels there are professional offices, shops, a hotel and a restaurant. The front door of each apartment is unique, a chance to show one's individuality. Straight lines are almost non-existent. Don't expect the floor or the walk-way to be completele flat either. Waiting for our tour to begin we discovered other reasons to visit Magdeburg as well. The cathedral as archaeological dig site was particularly interesting as well. It turns out in the former East many of the cathedrals are protestant. It seems as well that there is a very thin line between what is protestant and what is Catholic in Germany. High church liturgy can sometimes seem especially close, especially to this outsider from a low church. But one thing is certain, there is beauty there to behold!