Tag Archives: unexpected visitors

housekeeping tips

You’d think after all these years in Germany…

I’d know the drill when it comes to getting our heating oil. But, sure enough, this morning, the heating oil guy came. And, sure enough, I was totally unprepared.

For those of you who have never lived in Germany, or elsewhere in Europe, most houses here are heated by either heating oil or gas. Some newer homes now have heat pumps, and, in fact, our landlord has told us he intends to install a heat pump system in his home and ours. That’s why we got new windows last summer. But doing that is a major undertaking, and I’m not sure when the work will be done. So, for now, we have to order heating oil every year.

When we lived in our first German house, we had to buy gas. I don’t think gas heating is as popular here as oil is, probably because the gas historically comes from Russia. Although Avia, the company that brings us oil, is Swiss, I’m not actually sure where the oil comes from. I would assume it comes from Russia, as well.  Our former landlord told us that he prefers oil heating over gas because of the Russians. So I’ll go with that… (My German friend says the oil is also from Russia, but now it gets routed through India, thanks to sanctions against Putin. I don’t know why former landlord didn’t realize that. Maybe he just didn’t want to buy gas from Gazprom, which is a Russian company.)

Bill ordered oil on Saturday, and I think he was expecting it to take more time than it did to get to us. Usually, he’s here to deal with the oil guy, because they let us know when they’re coming. In the past, I have dealt with them, but it was no big deal. In our old house, it was obvious where the oil tanks were. They were in our basement, plain as day. In this house, they’re in a separate room, where I never venture. In prior years in this house, the same guy brought the oil and knew where everything is. 

Bright and early at 7:30 AM, the doorbell rang. I was not (and still am not) dressed. I answered the door to a pleasant looking man who spoke excellent English (not always a given). He told me he’d come with our heating oil. I then had to spend time scrambling to find where the tanks were. This was the guy’s first visit to our house, and this neighborhood, so he asked me to tell Bill that next time he orders oil to warn them about how narrow our street is, so they can bring a smaller truck. 

I also had to be reminded how to turn off the heating. In our old house, there was a big button no one could miss. In this house, there’s a button on the wall that is easy to ignore, as well as a small one among several on the heating machinery itself. So I asked the guy how to turn off the heating. He showed me the switch, then told me to wait a couple of hours before I turn it on again. That way, the dirt doesn’t get mixed in with the oil and mess up the system.

Again, as I mentioned earlier, our landlord has been vowing to put in a heat pump system since we moved into this house in late November 2018. Will we have it by next year? I don’t know. Putting in the heat pump will require a lot of drilling and other intensive, expensive, and unpleasant work. I know the landlord would like to schedule it when we’re on vacation, so we’re not in the way.  

But at least this year, we have our oil. It’s not good when the tanks go dry. In our first German house, we had the unpleasant experience of running out of gas. I had to take bucket baths for a couple of days until the gas guy could fill up the tank. That was an experience from my Peace Corps days that I didn’t have any desire to repeat. 

I do feel fortunate to live in such a nice home… with a landlord who upgrades things without trying to make his tenants pay for it. I think he gets an incentive for making the switch, though. The German government wants to stop relying on Russia for energy. I can’t blame them for that. But as nice as this house is, some things about it are pretty old school. 

Anyway… at least that chore is done… until next time (if there is one). Next time, I’ll have to remind Bill to give them my cell phone number, so I can have warning and be dressed when they arrive. 

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Funny stories, Hessen

We just got a visit from the “ghost” of Zane…

It’s been two weeks since we lost our beloved beagle, Zane, to canine lymphoma. I’ve really missed him a lot. It’s been hard getting used to not having him with me all the time, as I have for the last ten years.

I usually get “signs” when I lose a pet. Often, the signs come in the form of vivid dreams about the recently deceased animal. For years, I have had dreams about my long deceased pony, Rusty, who was my best friend in high school. I also get other “signs” that trigger memories. A lot of times, the visits seem to come in the form of unusual behaviors in surviving pets. For instance, Arran was never a particularly gentle dog when we had Zane– or especially compared to Zane, who was extremely gentle– but lately, he’s been a little more Zane-like. Unfortunately, Zane hasn’t influenced Arran to be as well behaved as Zane was, but Arran seems to be trying harder lately. I took him to the vet yesterday and, for once, he was a perfect gentleman who didn’t shriek the whole time.

This morning, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. It was the Jehovah’s Witnesses. We get them no matter where we are. The only place we’ve ever lived and missed out on JWs was when we lived on Fort Belvoir. And that was because it is a military installation, and JWs aren’t supposed to serve in the military. Religious proselytizing is also not allowed on military installations.

A very confident woman who spoke perfect UK accented English announced to Bill that she wanted to “talk about the Bible”. Bill interrupted her and launched into a diatribe about an angry conversation he’d had with God regarding Zane’s recent death. Without giving her a moment to collect herself, Bill told our unexpected and uninvited German religion peddling visitor a story that probably rattled her sensibilities. I don’t know this for sure, but I have a feeling that even religious Germans have a hard time swallowing “Rainbow Bridge” talk about animals and their souls. Most Germans strike me as being much too practical to believe in animals having that kind of a connection to God… but, of course, I could be wrong about that.

Bill told the JW that when it became clear Zane was going to die, he’d told God that he was pissed off that, once again, we were going to be forced to euthanize a much beloved family member. But then, Bill got an “answer” from God, reminding him that euthanasia is ultimately a gift. We would have some time to make sure Zane was comfortable. I could take many pictures of his last days. We’d be there to ensure that he didn’t suffer, and he would not be alone as he took his last breath.

As Bill was relating that story, I could hear his voice raw with emotion. I knew he also had tears in his eyes, because I’ve seen and heard him like that before. I could hear the JW lady trying and failing to steer the conversation back to her pitch for the JWs. But Bill resolutely continued on with his thoughts on God and our dog’s recent demise. The JW’s male partner was silent the whole time, probably thinking they’d run into a nut.

The JW finally broke in and asked if we had a Bible in the house. Bill said we did. But then she concluded, “But you’re probably in a hurry, aren’t you? You’re too busy to talk to us, right?”

“No, actually, I’m not.” Bill said.

So they spent a few more uncomfortable minutes talking, and I could tell the JW was non-plussed about how to deal with this man who was controlling the conversation, talking about his recently deceased dog. It was pretty funny, and I could just picture the ghost of Zane defending the family, just as he always has, in his noisy, but offbeat, way.

Finally, she said, “Thank you.” and took off. I have a feeling she won’t be back. Although Bill might have gotten the same results if he’d just told her he was a Mormon and offered her a Book of Mormon and a stimulating discussion about religion, I am tickled that Zane’s spirit showed up just in the nick of time. He always was a very faithful and loyal dog who would protect us and the home with his life… or, in this case, his death.

Thanks for “visiting”, Zaneykins… Mama misses you. <3

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anecdotes

Ding Dong!

 

Yesterday, I was minding my own business at my computer when the doorbell rang.  When I lived in the United States and people rang my bell unexpectedly, I usually didn’t answer it.  Here in Germany, I answer because sometimes it’s my landlords or someone coming by on business.  Like, for instance, a couple of weeks ago, the chimney sweep came by.  What I miss about our old house in Germany was that there was a window by the door that wasn’t covered in decorative 70s era glass.  You could look out and see who was calling.  Here, we have a peephole.  I should probably use it more often.

Anyway, the bell rang.  I hustled the dogs into the downstairs “apartment”.  I opened the door and it was an older gentleman who ignored our “Keine Werbung” (no advertising) sign left by people who lived here before us.  He was holding a catalog and a roster.  He launched into a rapid fire German spiel.  I stopped him and said I didn’t understand.  He switched to decent English and said he was representing a company that sells frozen foods.  He wanted my phone number so “some girl” could call me for my order.  He proffered a catalog, which I initially took.

I told him, truthfully, that we don’t have a house phone.  He wanted my cell number.  I do have one of those, but I haven’t yet memorized the number.  Really, I haven’t.  No one ever calls me and I don’t call myself.  So I don’t know it off the top of my head.  So I told him I didn’t know the number.  But I said I’d take a look at the catalog because, honestly, we might have been interested.  In fact, I just ordered a box from the German version of Hello Fresh! the other day.

Well, my uninvited visitor’s demeanor immediately changed from friendly and enthused to decidedly pissy.  He wanted the catalog back.  I gave it to him and closed the door, feeling bewildered.  I mean, does he not have enough catalogs?  Does he only give them to people who give him a phone number?  Seems like a stupid way of doing business, because if I had liked what I saw, I very well may have ordered.  I just prefer to call companies myself rather than being ambushed in my home and having my phone number demanded of me.  Next time, I won’t even listen to the spiel.

Then this morning, around 11:00 or so, the bell rang again.  Right now, it’s 2:33pm and I’m still not dressed.  Fortunately, my husband is dressed and home.  He answered the door.  It was the Jehovah’s Witnesses.  We are very familiar with them, of course.  We get a visit from them every time we move.  I swear, I even got a visit from them in 1996, when I lived in Armenia.  They are everywhere.

I was actually a little worried that it might have been a neighbor coming over to complain because Bill took the dogs out in the wee hours of the morning for a pee and they got on a scent and started barking up a storm.  But no, it was someone peddling religion.  Bill is a lot nicer than I am.  He listened to the lady, who had a cute little daughter in tow, and took her card.  Of course, he probably wasn’t thinking about how that child was being taught that people like us are going to be doomed to hell for not being JWs… but on the other hand, most JWs are also doomed because only 144,000 will be saved in the remnant and most of them have already died.

I really need to quit answering the door.  On the other hand, sometimes unexpected visitors give me something to write about.  If the Mormons come, things might get more interesting.

I wish people would call before they come calling.  Sometimes, they catch me at very inopportune times.

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