Wow.  What a blast reading all of your comments on the post, Let’s Talk About You.  70 comments later, and I still can’t pull my eyes away from so many awesome introductions.  Thanks for chiming in (especially all you first time commenters!).  It’s so nice to meet you and know a little more about you.

I think Rowenna sums up my biggest goal on Making This Home:

Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in this materialistic, stuff-driven world that would really rather just have less.  I’m glad to know that I’m not!

Martin and I are so glad we’re not the only ones, too.  So thank you!  We love sharing this community with all of you.

So just who are you… and where are you?

• Most of you are women.  But not all. (Hi Eric!)
• Most are married.  But certainly not all.  (Congrats to our two future college grads.)
• Some are expecting babies in the next few weeks or months. (Congrats to SIX of you.)
• Most of you live in Texas, California, or Oregon in the United States.  But there are plenty of us expats, Germans, Englanders, Australians, Canadians, Europeans, other Americans, and New Zealanders poking our heads in.
• A lot of you have lived in Germany, dreamed of living in Germany, have German roots, or -yeah! – you live in Germany.
• Simple.  You loooove simple.
• All of you made me smile with your comments, blog links, and awesome etsy shops.

My mind is abuzz with some really great ideas to share with all of you.  The common themes you’re asking for:  more photos, more simplicity, more expat, and more Berlin.  Check.  Check.  Check!  And oh – check.

Can you guess how flattered I was to read how many of you look forward to reading Making This Home every day?  Thank you!  I never imagined that my blog would grow like it has, and I know I have all of you to thank.  More than a couple of you commented that you feel like we’re sitting down to coffee in my kitchen every day.  Awww.  You’re welcome to stop by any time!  Just be forewarned: I really hate to answer the doorbell (really fast German over an intercom doesn’t work so well with me), so ring a few times, okay?

There was one request that came up several times that I sadly cannot fulfill: gardening stuff.  My green thumb is a limp brown thing.  I bring plants home and -oh!  here’s a good example.  As I write, Martin says, “Katie – your basil needed water.  I just fed it.”  There is a reason we do not have a yard, people.  I grew up with plant lovers, yet the knack just isn’t there.  I’ll keep working on it.

And now, I’ve got something for you to work on.  (Insert rubbing hands together with way too much energy.)  I’m not accepting comments in English today.  Nope! Here’s your chance to comment in German.  Gasp! Okay… maybe say the same thing in German and English so everyone can understand or mix the two together a little.  Whatever you need to do.  Tasha asked me to challenge you guys a little with speaking German.  So here we go… what have you got?

Was hast du zu sagen?

Hint: if you read the FAQs in my journal shop, Gadanke, you can snag a few fab words. You know – like danke.  I’m not picky!

I last left you with German Dentist Part I when Martin heading out the door for his dentist appointment as I contemplated the outcome mine. The fear of what two kaputt teeth could mean definitely swam through my mind. So I waited. I went on a walk around the neighborhood, and ventured back home to await Martin and the verdict.

Martin walked in the door. He couldn’t stop smiling as he took off his coat. “Could you believe how fast they were?” he asked. “Wow! When was the last time you got such fast service at any medical place? I love Germany! We didn’t even have to sit down in a waiting room.”

It was true: our appointments were half as long as they ever were in the US.

Oh but Martin couldn’t stop gushing. He was thrilled! “And my teeth? I don’t think my teeth have ever felt so clean. That’s the most amazing, efficient dentist’s office ever. Don’t your teeth feel clean, Katie?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. That was true. My teeth had never felt so clean. When I had looked in the mirror earlier to make sure I’d gotten all the teeth cleaning goo off my face, I couldn’t believe the gaps between my teeth. All this gunk had been completely blasted out. Of course, German efficiency and the cleanliness of my teeth were not what I was thinking about at all…

“What’d they say about my teeth?” I begged. The words two teeth and kaputt ran through my head.

Martin shrugged. “The hygenisist says you have two small cavities.” He bent down to take off his shoes. “So I made appointments for us to see the dentist.”

(I am not sure how other dentists’ offices operate in Germany. At ours, you make seperate appointments to have your teeth cleaned and to see the dentist. The idea is that when you see the dentist, she can actually help you and correct any problems, take x-rays, and really evaluate your teeth. If you need the drill, boom! It’s there. Teeth cleaning takes place in the morning; dentist visits are in the afternoons.

At my dentist’s office in the US, we spend a lot of time in the waiting room. Then we get our teeth cleaned and have to wait for Dr. B. He barely has five minutes before he has to rush to the next waiting patient who just had her teeth cleaned. It’s a very interesting change, don’t you think?)

So I thought about what Martin said. He was so impressed with our dentist’s office, and we hadn’t even met the dentist yet. I guess my first cavities couldn’t be all that bad.

Is going under the drill as scary as they say?

If anything, the idea of cavities was a huge relief to hear. Add the word “cavity” to the list of German words to know. And just to be safe, throw in “root canal”. Oh – and “kaputt”!!

Martin went on to tell me the questions on the health form. “I see why you couldn’t do it, Katie. There were a lot of words. It was all yes or no, though.”

Then he started laughing and added, “Well almost all of the questions were yes and no. One wasn’t: Are you pregnant? Yes. No. I don’t know.”

The rest of the day, Martin and I couldn’t chew very well. Our gums were throbbing.

Three weeks later, we went to meet the dentist. Together. Everyone was so friendly… and yeah, yeah, yeah. They were incredibly kind the first time, too. I was just so unsure that I didn’t realize it.

I sat in the dentist’s chair. Martin sat in the corner to translate and wait his turn. The dentist poked around my mouth and chatted with us. It wasn’t the American chatter I am used to about pets and college plans. I have to remember that just because people aren’t friendly the way Americans are, it doesn’t mean they aren’t kind people. Poor Germans have an especially bad reputation, which is unfortunate because Germans are fabulous and loyal friends. They also make pretty good husbands, if you ask me!

So there I sat with my mouth wide open as the dentist poked and examined each of my teeth.

“Your teeth look beautiful,” she announced in German with a few other things I didn’t quite catch.

I grinned. I kept bracing for that drill.

Martin added, “Katie, she just said you don’t have any cavities…”

I gasped. I smiled. Yeah!

The dentist stood up and pushed her chair out of the way.  I leaped off my seat and went to take Martin’s chair in the corner.  Oh what a fabulous day!

Perhaps my teeth are shaped slightly different than what the hygenisists were familiar with. (Can American chompers be different? Who knows.) All I know is that I completely blew the whole thing out of proportion. The hygenisists were simply trying to help prevent something that could have been bigger.

And guess what – our appointment cost 1/3 of what we’ve ever paid in the US. Needless to say, we’ll be back in six months. The pain was real, but it was oh-so-worth the results.  Plus now I kind of like these ladies.

* * * * * * * *

I thought my experience was something important to share with all of you because the dentist’s office is the all-time feared place to go, and my experience really presents some interesting ideas for you to consider.

Yes – I should have researched the way they would clean my teeth so that I would understand what was going on. Maybe I just expected that I would know. After all, my experiences at the dentist’s office have always been exactly the same my entire life.

That’s the thing. The things that are the simplest and most obvious things for one person are not necessarily so easy for someone who doesn’t speak the same language or comes from the same place.

If you are the person coming from a confussing experience like I was, I think that laughing later is the best medicine.

And if you are interacting with someone or seeing someone who isn’t familiar with your ways, be patient. Not everyone understands how the local banks work or how the recycling system functions. Bridal showers, opening Christmas gifts on Christmas day… so many things that we do our entire lives are not what other people have ever done.

I think about all of the Spanish speaking immigrants in the US. Whether they are legal or illegal and should or should not be there is not something to argue here. What is worth noting – and I hope we can all do this – is to see that those people have a really tough situation. They probably don’t have a husband to come translate like I do. They aren’t held to equal standards to locals like I am as an American in Germany. Everything they know is different. Not wrong. Just different. Be tolerant.

Oh – and please don’t use the word “kaputt”.

Part of the fun of living abroad is figuring out how to do the everyday things that you used to do without thinking. Like going to the dentist.  I thought I’d throw in a little twist today and share another expat adventure with you.  I’d love to hear about any experiences you’ve had with dentists, doctors, or barriers of communication.  It’s so much better when we have stories we can look back on and laugh at no matter how PAINFUL they may be at the moment (that may or may not be a clue into today’s story…).

So are you ready?  Here we go…

* * * * * * *

I was never afraid of going to the dentist in the United States as a kid. I suppose if there were such thing as a dentist’s favorite patient, there’s a good chance I could have been it.  I couldn’t help it.  Dr. B said brush, so I did.  He said floss, so I did.  Yeah… sure I did.  Well he was reliably my biggest customer come Girl Scout cookie time year after year.  The irony!  All I know is that I have been going to Dr. B since my preschool class took a fieldtrip to Dr. B’s office. He won me over with a “brush your teeth” pencil. He won my mom over with his passion for awesome teeth (she was chaperoning our trip).

So the way I see it, if you’re going to go to a different dentist for the first time in memory, you might as well take a really big plunge.  Me?  I decided to find a dentist 4,000 miles away, right here in Berlin.  So off I went.

Martin and I had already been there together to make our appointments and decided the place looked great.

I walked to the dentist’s office on a Tuesday morning for my appointment by myself.  I’m trying to be more independent in Germany. I want to be able to do more day-to-day things without Martin helping me. The dentist’s office felt like a great step in the right direction.

And that’s when everything went downhill fast.

“Open wide.”

Just typing those words is giving me the shivers today, and I don’t think I even heard that phrase once.  My appointment was all in German, after all.

I rang the doorbell, and the receptionist buzzed me in. She nodded at me; she seemed to have no trouble remembering who I was. American girl.  Bright red coat.  Smiles a lot.  She pulled out a form and handed it to me. Normal stuff, normal stuff.

Oh wait. Katie? The form is in German.

I recognized a few things like allergies and chronic headaches, but that was it. (Unless you count my name and address – yes! I could answer those!) I held the form toward her and tried to explain that I wasn’t sure what a lot of the words were.

I don’t think she understood me.

Well I mean she didn’t seem to understand the words I was trying to formulate.  My lack of proper subject/verb structure pretty much gave it away.  She didn’t need to know my words.  It was obvious that I was painfully lost.

“We’ll have your husband do it,” she said in German. I nodded.

A second woman flagged me into a room, had me hang up my coat, and showed me where to sit in the patient’s chair. Now this was a routine I knew. Even the chair was the same whitish gray color.

Then the receptionist walked in and gave me a cup. I started rinsing. She told me to stop. I started to spit into my cup. “No, no, no!” she started correcting me and waving her arms toward this tray hooked to my chair. I needed to spit onto the tray.  I wanted to ask if she was joking, but my mouth was full of rinse.

It turns out the receptionist was also the dental hygienists who was going to clean my teeth; the other woman was her assistant.

After I spit onto the tray, they told me to open my mouth again – which mostly consisted of them making mouth gestures and wanting me to mimic them. The receptionist put on a huge mask that I could only describe as the kind you’d see a welder wearing. They grabbed their tools and began cleaning. They did not clean like Dr. B’s staff with their little picks and an earful of chatter.  How’s your brother liking his new job?  I saw your mom at church last weekend.  Are you still flying?  (How do these women in the US know this stuff?!)

I don’t remember a single word taking place in my new dentist’s office.  Perhaps it’s because I thought I was going to shrivel onto the bottom of my chair, so I wasn’t exactly listening for conversation.

My teeth were getting power washed. We’re talking high pressure water. My gums began bleeding. Every time the water pressure hit them, I wanted to scream. My eyes were watering, and I just wanted to quit.  I’d pull back a little or try to twist my head a little; they’d both twist right with me.  The pain was awful.  My hands were clenched together, and I tried desperately to keep them from my face.  Who needs clean teeth, I thought? I’m never coming back here.

The assistant held the sucker tool as my teeth were power washed. I think she was supposed to just suck water, but I could barely breath. I truly felt like my breaths were being sucked right out of me.

(Martin says I have a teensy bit of a flair for exaggeration when I’m in pain… I’ve just never wanted to cry at the dentist’s office before.)

They never handed me a tissue the entire time, which felt weird. Water, fluoride, and teeth stuff were all over my face. Both women pointed to the bathroom when I was done. It was my job to wash my face while they prepared for the next patient: Martin.

I came back into the room for my coat, and that’s when they said they needed to speak to me. It’s all a blur now. All I remember is this: two teeth. kaputt.

With a throbing mouth and wet eyes, I shaved 30 seconds off my walk home. In 2 1/2 minutes, I was in the door, telling Martin something was seriously wrong with me. “I think that I have to go back.   Now I’m not sure, but I think I am going to need two root canals.”

“But Katie, you’ve never even had a cavity before.”

“I know,” I said, throwing my arms into my face and bawling. “But they said my teeth are kaputt. KAPUTT. Dead. Doornails. Gone! I’m going to have to get dentures now. My parents will be furious.  How are we going to pay for this?  All those braces and now my teeth are dead. Wahhh…”

(So looking back, maybe Martin is right about the whole exageration thing.)

“Well I have to go,” Martin said, reaching for his shoes.

“You have to ask them to explain,” I said.

He nodded.

“Oh! And fill out my health form.”

to be continued…

Sometimes I crave the pieces of Berlin that are empty and silent.  I found some on Saturday.  It was rainy and cold.

It reminded me of home.  Well except for the green; home is more of a golden yellow.  I love the moss growing on the edge of the sidewalk and on the tree trunks here.  Some more sun would be beautiful.  But if we had more sun, I would not have moments like this.  ”Shhh,” I whispered to myself.

I am forgetting the sound of silence.

And then in the moments when I find myself alone and everything is quiet, I feel the brightest feeling.  I see how beautiful the world is. Even the poison ivy makes me smile… which is the exact point when I realize how much I really need more of these quiet moments.  Seriously?  Who gets excited about poison ivy?  Hmmm.  It reminds me of home.  It ties my roots and my new place together, so I embrace it.  (metaphorically!)

Did you pause this weekend?  I especially hope all the mothers reading today had the chance; it was Mother’s Day in both Germany and the US yesterday.  What are some of the beautiful moments you noticed in your weekend?

Remember when I showed you the bright quilt I made to add a little character to our apartment?

I seem to be really drawn to bright colors these days.  I think a lot of it has to do with the lack of sunshine we’ve been getting in Germany.  (Do you know what April showers bring in Germany?  No May flowers and Mayflowers bringing Pilgrims.  Nope.  April showers bring May showers.  It’s no wonder this country is such a beautiful, luscious green.)

My obsession with bright splashes of color was getting to be a bit much for Martin.  I guess there’s nothing like waking up to a dark house with (boom!) a bright yellow couch, (bang!) neon green dishes, and (wowzers!) a florescent quilt to go with it all.

So I promised to make him something a little less intense.

And here it is in progress:

Because our house is so small, we do not have the luxury of leaving projects out.  When I sew, I have to bring everything from the shelf in the bedroom and set it up in the living room.

Sewing machine on the table.

Old sewing box and cutting mat on the counter.

And ironing station on the coffee table.  (We don’t have an ironing board.)

You can easily see that when I sew, it takes up our entire living space.  I can’t just sew for an hour or two, then put everything back away.  I also can’t work without making it completely impossible for Martin to do anything at the same time.  I’ve never sat 15 feet away from a somebody using a sewing machine, but I’m pretty sure it’s really difficult.

So here’s another trick for surviving in a small space: make sure you leave the house.  Make sure you give the other person living there the chance to be at home alone.

I go run errands or meet with friends every week when I know Martin will be home.  He visits his family or attends his favorite clubs.  And the person left behind gets to spread out without worrying about stepping on toes, being too loud, or just generally bothering the other person.  And that’s when I sew.

The amazing thing is that I don’t mind pulling out my supplies every time.  If anything, I feel like I am more productive because I cannot wander into my creative space whenever I want. It’s only available at certain times.

Then I like to pick everything up before Martin gets home.  All that remains are tiny strings all over the floor.  If it weren’t illegal to vacuum in the evenings, I’d have those strings picked up, too.  (Germany has these amazing quiet hour laws.  Anything that’s a disturbance of peace can only operate during certain hours of the day – vacuums and washing machines included.)

So there you have it – our little tricks for staying sane and totally letting each other stretch out and enjoy a few hobbies at home.  Now it’s your turn.  We’d love to know about your favorite hobbies.  (Any other sewers out there?)  And how do you juggle life and hobby?

Do you ever wonder: if I could do this task twice as fast, I could hurry up and move on to the next thing.

Or do you ever want to push someone else to hurry up because you think they’re taking too long?

There are a lot of products out there who’s sole mission is to help us do everything twice as fast.  Like speed reading, for example!

Today I have a different idea.  What if instead of trying to do everything twice as fast… we try to do half as many things.

We might enjoy the process.  We could do a better job.  We could see things we wouldn’t even notice.  I walked by this kindergarten a few days ago.  All of these tiny bicycles were locked up in a row.

So is twice as fast twice as good?

Let’s say there are two brothers.  One cleans his room twice as fast as the other.  His mom is thrilled at his dedication to really go in there and get the job done.  Meanwhile, the other brother is taking for-ev-er.  It could be that the first brother stuffed everything into the closet in a heap while the second brother put each item in its proper bin.  Or the second brother could be enjoying the process and playing a little as he goes.  They’re kids, so it’s tough to say!

All I know is that if their mom goes and opens the first brother’s closet, she’s not going to be as pleased with him any more.  He was rushing.  Let’s just be thankful he wasn’t the plumber that just came and fixed your sink!

There’s a lot to be said for the benefits of slowing down, enjoying the journey, and doing a good job.

What do you think?

* * * * * * * * * *

I’d also like to send an enormous thank you for all of your kindness.  The new shop, Gadanke, is starting off so perfectly.  I promise to respond to all of your emails, and later I’ll answer some of the most frequent questions you’ve had in a blog post right here.