Mannheim and Marzipan

Shortly after a series of windstorms ravished middle and southeastern America last month, a similar anomaly struck the European continent. Mary was in her nearly outfitted new apartment in Mannheim, and could not get back to Gelsenkirchen, and Rainer could not get to Mannheim.

She wrote that the unprecedented wind storm forced halting of every train in Germany, for the first time ever. I can’t imagine how disconcerted the Germans were, accustomed as they are to their perfectly dependable transportation system.

Forced to take a break herself, our “non-techie” daughter had plenty of time to set up the printer-scanner-fax machine she bought herself for Christmas. She complains about “wires everywhere.”

Her father sent Mary a toy dog for Christmas, and she says he (the dog) watches her when she practices.

“I am working on an early classic opera from Piccinni,” she writes, “which had its premiere in Mannheim in 1770. Perhaps not a masterwork, but we have an early music expert (started Musica antiqua in Koln) here to conduct, and I'm learning a lot. Also I’m playing cembalo in the orchestra and for the recitatives. Have been reading the English translation, which I thought was good, until I came across 'Let not the mallard defeat the mallard.' The old Italian word 'germano' means brother, German, or...a species of duck...”

Did I say she is cyber-challenged? Let me take that back. She has mentioned some sort of device small enough to carry around easily, by which she can access the web, among a lot of other things. I’m shopping, sort of.

Talk about your learning curve. I promise, she disdained such gadgets up until just a year or two ago, and now she’s wired. We can hardly talk to each other about it, since we each seem to be cyber-literate in different directions. Half of the stuff on hers uses German and I have no idea what it means.

She said when she wanted to go into her bank page to check her account online, and it was locked, and she apparently doesn’t realize she needs a password. She also wants access to a calendar feature she can’t open just now. Fortunately, Rainer is a couple of years ahead of her and should be able to help her out.

She calls the little “portable” device the Pocket Web, and I don’t know exactly what it corresponds with here in the States. Or if that’s the name of the device or the program.

“They have already come through with some improvements or updates. There is also a calendar feature I haven't used yet. The instructions made it very easy to use right away but the details I've had to discover on my own, probably no problem for handy or computer freaks, but me.…?

“Right away, I had to ask how to write an Umlaut, and they wrote back that it was unfortunately not possible. Wasn't sure I even wanted to keep it if I couldn't write properly in German, when for some reason, I held down the 'u' key too long, and a whole list of accents and dots came up for me to choose from. I guess it's good for emails on the road, and some easy Internet searches, but not something for writing columns to store.”

They are still getting Mary moved into her little place in Mannheim:

“We lugged up the futon sofa bed. I have more space than I did in [couldn’t read name of city because the German accent scrambled] but because I have a regular kitchen room, the living room is not any bigger. I am outfitting for guests, so you are welcome! Just don't overdo it, since Dad is counting the days he has left. I am further south, but still hours from any place you've mentioned except Stuttgart.”

Mary loves movies, and her DVD player is a good companion for the long train trip from Mannheim.

“Got ‘Tora! Tora! Tora!’ out of the Gelsenkirchen library and watched it while on the bicycle trainer I gave Rainer, hoping he would use it. Also watched a beautiful Planet Earth DVD (a BBC series for TV) on my laptop in the train.”

And today a Valentine. Mary crams a lot of writing into a small space, but I’ll spare you the part where she is already planning our visit there this summer.

“Am sitting in a café near the Bahnhof, where I have the best chances of getting this off. The menu offers ‘Mannheimer Dreck’ which means ‘Mannheimer Dirt’ – Marzipan cookies that are supposed to look like what was forbidden to be thrown out of the windows onto the streets – sort of like Nana’s doggie-doo in the pool.”

The back story here: Dave’s mother had a swimming pool when she lived in Safety Harbor, Fla. Every summer when we visited, Nana could be depended on to gross the kids out by tossing a pile of plastic doggie-doo into one corner of the pool. Which I suppose is the only clue we’ll get about Mannheimer Dreck.

“What can one expect from a city where the architectural triumph is a water tower?” Mary concludes.