Bows and Arrows

It is 28 degrees outside, icy, slippery. I'm still doing the Old Lady Waltz. A pack of young boys on their way to school this morning crossed my path, and I almost froze in my place just to avoid the minor possibility of Rutschgefahr in their presence. I need no buzz-killers today. I would like to revel a little more in yesterday's pleasantness first.

It was one of those days on which everything flows smoothly, you feel a part of a larger rhythm, a sense of knowing your place in the world and being just fine in it. I ended up meeting and talking to a lot of new people, of being more accepted by people I already know, and just generally feeling at ease, something I haven't felt since the end of September. My funds will only be low for a couple more weeks and then I'm comfortable again, the apartment is starting to feel like my apartment, and I am starting to slip into a comfortable yet stimulating routine.  Things are looking up.

I am always surprised when I get to know new people, partially because I don't like most people, partially because I believe most people don't like me, although I have nothing but evidence to the contrary. Despite a layer of bitterness mixed with shyness and a strange lack of impulse control and concern for social rules, people still actually like me, a lot.  In this way, I know I am a truly fortunate child. Someone once said it was because I was so guileless. He meant it in a good way, but I in no way lack guile.  I just don't like small talk.

I talked to someone from the IT center while he was twiddling with a computer in my office yesterday, and we ended up talking for almost an hour.  My office is separated from the rest of the team, and usually empty other than me.  So no one interrupts a conversation or makes me feel like I am not working enough--which is probably unfortunately the case anyway.  We talked about his growing up in the East. He was 14 when The Wall fell. He didn't understand what the big deal was until a little later. And now, he is absolutely thrilled with the change. We also talked about privacy issues, Linux and the Cloud. Nice guy. Since he also lives in Erfurt, we might actually hang out a little. But of course, an official invitation to have a beer won't come for a while yet.

Then, I ran into some colleagues form the Language Center at the cafeteria, ate with them and then had coffee with one afterwards. It's sometimes nice to walk into a foreign environment with someone. People all of a sudden have a different impression of you, like my co-worker from University Communications, who was sitting in the same place. My coffee partner and I cracked up over Family Guy videos and just really enjoyed the half hour.

Then, I met this other guy at the Christmas market, and within ten minutes he had given me his phone number, saying we should hang out soon.  Okay, Mr. Long, cool drink of water.  We can do that. I have no problem with that.

Then, walking through the Christmas market again in the evening, before I went to the Christmas party for the Language Center, to do some shopping for my host mother, host sister, her husband and their baby. I got everything accomplished in short order, at a bargain and quite easily. On my way across the theater square, several men simply smiled at me, those smiles men give when they are actually enchanted, just enchanted, and can't help but display it.  I like those smiles.  They remind me that I am actually a woman, not just a baking, fencing and grading machine.

On the way to the square, I decided to walk behind the stalls, since the guy who gave me his telephone number runs one of them there and I don't want to seem like I'm stalking him, even if it is impossible to not run into people in this town. As I am passing his stall from behind, he steps out, of course, and we talk for another 10 minutes before I rip myself away to make it to the party. After the second conversation, I really started to wonder when I should send a text message, since that is now the official first step in pursuit of the human object you would like to play footsie with.

I arrived at the party in a daze, quite pleased with myself. As soon as I walked into the door, the boss of the place lit up and says, "Hello, my lovely darling! Come in, Come in!." My God are you beautiful! Please, let me escort you to the back," which he did, his arm extended for me to guide me down that one treacherous step into the next room.  He asked me if I was taken, told me his name was Dieter, and told me to let him know if there was anything I needed.  If Dieter were about 10 years younger, I might be tempted to bask in that kind of worship a little while longer.

Because Germans have to be unconventional in controlled environments, the organizers of the party thought it would be great to have an archery range set up so we could take a quick lesson and then shoot arrows like they must have in those Karl May novels (The Germans have a thing about Native Americans. Perhaps more on that later in a different blog entry.) I have always wanted to try archery, and it turns out I'm not bad at it.  Like darts and fencing, it's all about one moment of concentration and relaxation all at the same time.  I did the same "Yes!!!" when I hit the bull's eye as I do when I make a really nice touch in fencing.  Obviously, the two sports have the same effect on me.

After tearing up the target and freezing my toes off for another half hour, while Dieter watched and smiled and waved at me, I wandered inside to the party and chatted amiably with several people, but the lack of impulse control took over and I ended up talking about how I used to carry a whip to class for a semester (No shit, I actually did. I got tired of trying to get the students' attention at the beginning of the hour.  Doing target practice with an eraser was far more effective) I think everyone is getting used to the strange outbursts that make me me.

One of the teachers brought his wife and kids with him.  French, charming, the total flirt and gentleman, he has a nice family, a really engaging wife, a new baby and a four-year-old little girl, Adeline.  Later, Adeline comes up to me, looks me in the eyes and says, "May I touch your hair?" I have dreds, and kids find them absolutely fascinating. So do I. " Of course," I said, and bent down so she could tentatively touch the locks. "What kind of hair is that?" she asked.

"It's a different kind of hair."

"But how did it get that way"

I showed her the hair that is still fuzzy, that has not found it's home in a knot yet. I explained the process to her, and she listened closely, attentively. "But why isn't it soft?"

"It's soft in a different way."

She looked at one of the other teachers sitting at the table. "Would you like to touch her hair, too?"

It was T. He smiled, said no, it wasn't necessary.  "It's really weird," she said. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." T. smiled at her, and she went on her merry way.

That is guileless.

At the end of the party, I thanked Dieter for his attentiveness.  He invited me back for their live music nights. I think he will make a great Bar Uncle, the guy who always makes sure no dirtbag approaches me or gives me hassle. Cute.

On the way out the door, as I say good night, Dieter bursts out, "I love you!" and the other women with me and I start to giggle like a bunch of school girls. Cute.

And our time is up.