Headin' out!

About this time tomorrow we'll be heading to

and a few hours after that we'll be on our way to

and

I. Cannot. Wait!

TTFN

Leaving Winslow

We're not bringing Winslow back to the States with us on this visit :(

Thankfully, our neighbors have agreed to keep him for us. We are grateful that he doesn't have to make the trip over or back, but we will surely miss him and worry about him until we are back with him.

I know. He's just a dog. But he's not just any dog. He's our dog.

The list

I'm a serious list maker. I love making lists. I sometimes even make lists of lists.

In a few days we will be heading to the States for a visit and I've got lists all over the place. Lists of lists of things to do.

For example . . .

My list of things to take with us includes:

- a really big suitcase

- Dramamine

&

- beer, of course

My list of things to bring back with us includes:

- chili powder

- corn meal

&

- Nyquil, of course

My list of things to do while we are in the States includes:

- eat lots of Mexican food

- eat lots of moon pies

&

- drink lots of margaritas, of course

My list of things to buy while we are in the States includes:

- fashionable shoes, of course!

But my most important list is pretty short:

- celebrate graduation

&

- enjoy every minute of being with our family :)

And I can hardly wait!

Flemish 101

I mentioned in an earlier post we are attending a new Flemish (Dutch) course and it has been quite an eye opener.

Since only me, Jim, and a guy from Scotland speak English, there are 20+ others who don't. So you might ask, how does the teacher teach when everyone speaks a different language?

In Flemish.

That's right. She only speaks Flemish and she gestures a lot. This may not be easy, but I think this is what we've been missing out on.

Forced Flemish.

Our teacher is a young woman named Veerle. She does a great job and has lived in Belgie all her life. Our other classmates have not. There's Anna from Poland, Ana-Maria from Romania, Naphat from Thailand, Michael from Scotland, Ivaylo from Bulgaria, Kaya, Mustafa and Taner from Turkey, Karina, Grisha, and Khoren from Armenia, Samantha and Bedri from Albania, Sylvanus from Cameroon, Ladi and Bobby from India, and more I don't know yet.

After a couple of brief conversations, I believe living in Belgium and this Flemish class may be all we have in common and I'm curious to find out.

Bankers' Hours

I'm sure you've heard the term "bankers' hours". It's used to describe a short work day and someone who works the most convenient hours - for THEM!

Well, that same term can be used for a lot of businesses here - not just the bank. I am amazed how many large businesses and most all small businesses shutter the doors for at least an hour at lunch time. Yeah, turn off the lights, pull the shades, and lock the door.

Of course, in the case of the bank, it's an hour and a half - from 12:30 to 2:00 (see exhibit below). Now keep in mind, the bank didn't open until 9:00 and once it reopens at 2:00, it's closed again at 4:30 (exhibit . . . again). And furthermore, notice no hours on Zaterdag or Zondag (refer to exhibit . . . again).

The ATM is open all the time as far as I know, but no drive-thrus. None. Not at any ATM or any bank. None.

As a matter of fact, the one and only drive-thru I've seen at any type of business is at the one and only American restaurant here. Thankfully it's just out of town. You can surely guess it. Golden arches, happy meal, hamburglar. But, I digress . . .

Now, while I find it unusual given the hours many businesses are open in the States (24/7), I can't say this system is completely flawed. Yeah, it's pretty inconvenient if you forget you're going to the bank and show up at 12:45. And don't think you're gonna wait it out by running down to the butcher or the baker 'cause, that's right, they're closed too.

On the other hand, at least everybody is assured of taking a break. When I was working, I almost never took a lunch break. My choice, but still. I think if everything had shut down, I probably would have.

But, oh yeah, it was a hospital. Now that's something I haven't checked here - hospital hours . . . perhaps I should. They may also have the second drive-thru. I'll let you know.

The irony of it

On my list of things to bring back from the States is a Scrabble game. They are quite expensive here (imagine that) plus I figured the K and V are probably not worth much since these letters are in pretty much every Dutch word. Turns out that's not entirely true.

Anyway, I say to Jim "When we get our Scrabble game, wouldn't it be fun to play with the neighbors . . . one game in Dutch and the next in English?!" Of course he agrees. Like he always does :)

So it's the weekend and we're headed out to walk the hondje and we run into Jan (Yon) our neighbor. He asks if we'd like to come over at 7 or 8 and have a glass of wine. A no brainer.

We arrive at 7 or 8 and he says he has an old bottle of wine that was a gift and he'd like to share it with us. We protest telling him to save it for some special occasion and lo and behold he says this IS a special occasion. I guess he means us coming over for a glass of wine.

So he brings out this bottle and I say "1983! That's the year our daughter Randi was born!". The wine was good despite the age. Ha.

Then Annemie (wife of Yon) says "Do you ever play Scrabble?" I. Am. Not. Kidding. "Do we ever!" I told her she must be reading my mind and I will have to be more careful what I think from now on. I didn't really say that last part.

So that's what we did! We played Scrabble. In Dutch! Even with a dictionary, I didn't win and neither did Jim, but I think he came in second so not bad. Annemie won and frankly she might even beat us in English!

While we were playing Scrabble, the first bottle of wine ran dry and he (Jan/Yon) said he had another old bottle of wine he'd like to open and share with us. No protest this time. So he pulls out this bottle and I say "1989! That's the year our son Ross was born!".

Disclaimer: My share of these may or may not have had anything to do with my score in Scrabble.

So vintage wine and Scrabble. It was an evening of irony. Or coincidence. Whichever.

It's Saturday morning

And you know what that means. Well, among other things, it's the day for our policeman's visit, of course.

When he finally rings the bell, we are way past ready for him to show up.

He quickly proceeds right into the kitchen and sits down at the table with paperwork in hand.

He asks Jim if he knows why he is here. Jim says yes, but thankfully doesn't elaborate by telling him right off the bat we have no family photos. I went ahead and wore my warm-up so there would be no surprises when it came to the clothing section.

He clarifies by telling Jim he's here to verify we are indeed living here together. Translated to mean - I am here to verify there is really a "Jim" living here. He asks Jim to sign the form next to my signature from his last visit.

So far this "signing" has not come back to bite me.

He then got up to leave. That's it?! No looking through our closets? No going to the mantel in search of the elusive family photos? No probing about why the neighbor with the cat doesn't know us? Nothing?

Nope. He's off to protect and serve.

The Market

Every Tuesday and Friday morning vendors come to the area in Hasselt called the Kolonel Dusartplein and set up a market. It's just a few blocks from our house.

Not sure who Kolonel Dusart was, but his namesake plein is usually just a big wide open space unless there's a market or some other special event. I'm going to look that up (the Kolonel Dusart part).

de plein, de plein

But when there's a market you find lots of fruits, vegetables, shrubs, flowers, bread, cheese, meat, clothing, antiques, even hardware. The market is every week all year - even in winter. Every Tuesday and every Friday! Like on this day, the temperature was a -6C with a wind chill of -12C (for us, that's 21F with a wind chill of 10F).

I'm just sayin' . . . that's cold.

Waffle House

de kaas man

Starbucks wagon

fish pot - fish soup?

brood!

quite a crowd - gratis sausage?

the squeegee dept

this will be empty by noon - really

kip aan de spit

(chicken on a stick)

And dat's de market.

Oh, and Kolonel Dusart was a senior Belgian officer during the First World War.

He came back

I mean the policeman. And he'll be back on Saturday. For coffee since we're pals now.

Well, that's not entirely true.

Several days after his first visit he showed up at my door again with a 4-page form in hand. He said he would need to ask us several more questions since we were "strange in Belgium". Followed quickly by "well, not strange to me because I know you now". See I told you we were pals. Buuuut, in order to complete this new form, he needed to do it when Jim is home. He asks when Jim would be home and I was getting the sneaking feeling he doesn't believe there really is a "Jim".

See, I knew those office people at our old apartment had led them astray telling them we'd gone back to the States!

I assured him we'd gone to City Hall with the last form he provided and had our address changed. That turned out to be pretty simple, considering. Jim made it home during their business hours and we simply told them our new address and the change was made right then and there. No copy of our lease, or our passports, or our fingerprints required.

We usually haul our personal information file around to every agency, bank, restaurant, . . . with all these documents, plus some - open it up - and say "just take what you need". It's just easier that way. Jim commented one time as we were walking past the carnival at Christmas that the only person in Hasselt who didn't have a copy of our passport may be the guy running that ferris wheel. And he's probably right.

So, back to the police visit.

As I hesitated on my answer (about when "Jim" would be home), he suggests Saturday morning. "Prima!" That would be great. Then he asks me to sign the form and I decide I probably should ask what I'm signing since this isn't my first time to sign and later regret.

Remember Tom?

He (the policeman) begins to explain each page of the form and says he'll need to check to be sure we have things like clothes in our closet and family photos. Stuff like that. Okay. We have clothes. Sure hope the next question on the form isn't "Are they fashionable?". Fail.

Now - family photos may be a problem. Most. Yep, nearly all of them are on my computer. Does this qualify as "family photos"? Who doesn't print and frame their family photos? That's us. But only because we haven't figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

There is also a section where he will talk to the neighbors to be sure it is really us living here. Okay, our huisbaas (the pharmacist) knows us, the frituur (the guy who makes fries) next door to her knows us, Frere Jacques (my French hairstylist) 2 doors down knows us, but the lady right next door with the cat in the window has no idea who we are. He will probably choose her.

Plus there is a whole section on the names of other people living with us. I tell him there's no one else unless you count that dog that's been barking since you got here.

So he says "See you Saturday" and I say "See you Saturday".

I run off to try and find a family photo with "Jim" in it. Just in case!

The €60 Omen

If life weren't complicated enough . . .

It was the first sunny day we've had in a while and I decided to get out and do a little shopping. Not wanting or needing to wag my big purse around, I put a couple of necessities in my wallet and put my wallet in my coat pocket. Off to shop.

I found a bargain sweater at Zara then walked right across the street to H&M and found a really cute jacket to match a black skirt I already have. Now, here's where it all went wrong. I put my hand in my coat pocket and - you guessed it - no wallet. I frantically dig through all my pockets. Keys, cell phone, kleenex, doggy poop bags, gloves - but no wallet. I frantically search through the little Zara bag - sweater, receipt - but no wallet.

I immediately go back into the dressing room - nothing. Dash back across the street to Zara - nothing. Inquire at the shoe store, the lingerie store, the accessory store nearby - nothing. I frantically text Jim then go to the nearest bank to begin whatever process to cancel my bank card.

Fortunately, the good news is the only things I put in my wallet when I headed out on this day was my Belgium bank card and €60. Sure, I was sick about losing that €60 and the hassle of getting another bank card, but by some miracle I left the following items out of my wallet on this day: my American Express card, my Ruston debit card, my Ruston checkbook, my Visa card, my TX driver's license, my Belgian ID card, my health insurance card, . . .

It's hard to say just how my wallet got out of my pocket, but when Jim got home from work he said "The bank called and somebody returned your wallet." Then he added "With the bank card, but no cash".

Well, I really am glad to get my wallet back and even though I've cancelled the bank card, I'm really glad to know it's not floating around out there. But the €60. Who decided to return my wallet and bank card to the bank? Was it the same person who decided it was okay to steal my €60? After all, my name is on my bank card so they knew whose cash it was. What would you have done?

Consider it your lucky day? Return the wallet and the cash to the bank? Go out and spend my €60?

All I know is what Jim and I would do and what our children would do. If you take something that's not yours, it's stealing. Any way you look at it.

So, I figured this was an omen that I didn't really need that cute jacket to match my black skirt after all.

Yep, there's nothing quite like a perfectly sunny day!

5+ Alarm Chili

I looked at several different grocery stores for chili powder and hadn't found any until now! I was really looking forward to making chili since it's a winter staple for us. And it is definitely winter here.

This should have been simple - ground beef, onions, tomatoes, chili powder, red beans. That's pretty much it. Red beans were only sold in dry form (no cans), but we cooked them the old-fashioned way for several hours and they turned out fine. So then we added the chili powder.

A little blurry, but under Chili, it says Poeder (Dutch) - Poudre (French)

Our best recollection is that chili usually takes 3 to 4 Tbsp. of chili powder so we add about 3 to 4 Tbsp. Okay, that looks like about enough. Then for some reason Jim decides to taste the chili powder. You may have guessed what's next.

Yep, our chili powder is cayenne. And our whole pot of chili now has 3 to 4 Tbsp. of cayenne pepper in it.

So Jim says, "It'll be fine, we can eat it". And I say, "No, I don't think we can eat this". One bite and our mouths are on fire, but Jim is still optimistic. So I decide I'll just "wash" it and it won't be so HOT. I take all the solids out of the liquid - discard the fiery liquid - and put it all back into some fresh water to simmer some more.

I guess the washing worked okay. I have to say it wasn't too bad. We had to eat it on rice along with a whole loaf of bread, but we ate it!

And the police came . . . again

One day this past week, at about 10:00 a.m., the bell rang and I go to the door. To my surprise it is a policeman.

To my further surprise he says "You were expecting me?".

Not sure how to answer that other than "Well, actually no, I was not expecting you."

Which begs the question . . . "Should I be?"

I evade that one and invite him in thinking we will converse in the foyer.

Oh no, no talking in the foyer. He asks to follow me in and to sit down.

Okay, now I'm really confused, but not in panic mode. Yet.

Speaking fairly good English (thanks), he explains he is here because we have a new address. How do these people know this stuff? I've had "change of address at City Hall" on my To Do list for 2 months! But it requires Jim accompanying me and their hours are like 9:00 a.m. to 10:20 and 2:15 p.m. to 3:50. Something like that. So we haven't been able to get by there during "business hours".

So back to the police. He asks a couple of questions - like to confirm our name and why we are here. Fortunately I know both those answers. He signs the paper, tears off a copy for me, and says to take this paper and go to City Hall within 8 days. That was it.

Jim comes home that evening and before I can tell this story, he says he just got a phone call at 5:00 pm and someone from the City Administration was at our apartment to verify our address. Our apartment? They verified that address months ago. And furthermore, we don't live there anymore. Since we aren't "home" at the apartment we don't live in anymore, he goes to the office next door and the people in the office say "No, they've gone back to the States". OMG! After all we've done to get all this alien paperwork right?! They've told him we've gone back to the States?!!

Fortunately, like manna from heaven, Jim's cell phone number is available to him. He calls and Jim actually answers. Jim tells the guy we are STILL in Belgium and we've moved to a house. And apparently that's good enough. For now. He says he will come by our house to verify that. So see ya soon, I guess.

Still not sure exactly why, on the very same day - 7 hrs earlier - the police came by for that exact purpose? But at least he (the police) came to the right place.

So "change of address at City Hall" just moved to the top of my To Do list. And hopefully in the next 8 days, Jim can make it home from work during their "business hours".

We keep asking ourselves when we will be able to say "Well, all the alien paperwork's done!" But I have a feeling this is when one year will be up and we can begin again :)

Southern Snow

The snow in Louisiana and Texas has made me smile :) I can surely remember the thrill at getting snow in a place where . . . well, it almost never snows.

Our neighbor in Jefferson took this picture of our house. Just like a postcard, huh?

And these pictures from Randi's blog bring back some wonderful memories. One of the first things Jim said when it snowed here the first time is . . . "wonder if we could make an igloo?" To which I said . . . "no, 'cause your helpers are not here!"

And Happy Valentine's Day today. Tell somebody you love how much you love them!

Mardi Gras

Is French for "Fat Tuesday". And it's this coming Tuesday February 16.

But Mardi Gras begins at Epiphany and ends on Fat Tuesday. Followed by Ash Wednesday. Which begins the season of Lent. If you grew up Catholic, you know just what I'm talking about :)

I've lived in Louisiana pretty much my whole life and never been to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Of course, I've lived in the US pretty much my whole life and never been a lot of places!

Mardi Gras is celebrated all over the world, but the biggest celebrations are probably in Mobile, Alabama - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil - Quebec City, Canada, and of course, New Orleans, Louisiana.

For many years we always baked a King Cake. Yum. And we often went to a parade somewhere. Just not New Orleans. But that was pretty much the extent of our celebrating.

So eat something good, make it a true Fat Tuesday, and for those of you in the Big Easy - please be careful and have fun. You know who you are :)

Heureux Mardi Gras!

Live and learn

This is often a difficult concept for me because I'm pretty gullible and don't always think things through. Here's what I mean.

This guy shows up at the door with 3 envelopes. Naturally, I let him in. He wants me to sign for them. I ask him what they are. He apparently speaks English like I speak Dutch so that was that. I see that the envelopes are addressed to the previous tenant of our house, Tom. For whatever ridiculous reason I immediately assume they are the house inspection we've been expecting.

Now, why would I think that these are our house inspections? And why do I think they would come to Tom? And furthermore, at his new address? I know - it defies all logic, but nevertheless that's what I thought.

So I say in English (knowing perfectly well he doesn't speak English because he's already proved it). I say "Oh, you're Tom" "The Tom who used to live here!" and he (who has no idea what I just said) says "Yes!". So naturally, I proceed as if he's Tom. I know, defying logic. Again.

He asks to come inside and naturally, I invite him in. All the way into the house, down the hall and into the kitchen! After all, he's Tom!

He still wants me to sign for these envelopes which seems strange, coming from Tom, but naturally, I sign on the dotted line and with relief like you wouldn't believe, he scurries toward the door. No chit chat. Nothing. Tom? Why the hurry?

So, for whatever reason, I open one of the envelopes expecting to find our house inspection. Instead I find these little envelopes with what appears to be tickets. Then, without any thought whatsoever, I open the other two envelopes. Inside each is another envelope with these little tickets.

Now, coming to my senses, I go back and examine the form I just signed my name to and it clearly says I just signed for something valued at 485 Euro. 485 Euro! What is that in US$? I should know this. Well, naturally, I panic realizing that I just signed my name for and am now in possession of 485 Euro worth of tickets! That belong to Tom!

How will I ever explain this? Especially to Tom?! I tell the whole story to Jim when he comes home and he wonders privately *How does she survive every day? and *Why did she open the other 2 envelopes? I have to ask myself the same question (just the second one) with no reasonable answer. Expecting to find something different in envelope #3? I. don't. know. why. I. just. did!

So he (Jim - not Tom) suggests I email our realtor who knows both us and Tom. The Tom I thought I knew, but had never seen. So I do. He says he'll let the real Tom know that I've got mail for him. In the meantime, I tell our huisbaas (landlord) about what I've done and she turns to her husband and tells him (in Dutch) what I've done and he gets this "Oooh, really? :/" look on his face. A clear indication that what I've done is incredibly stupid and probably irreparable.

So, I ask her (the huisbaas) if she thinks I should get Tom to sign for these tickets when he comes to pick them up and she says "Yes, definitely". Hmmmm, I believe this might be another indication I've done something incredibly stupid - bordering on inept.

So with this advice, I type out a full page explanation of my snafu and use our new copy/fax/scanner to make a "signature form" for Tom. I am ready. I'll make sure he's really Tom and I'll get his signature to prove it!

Tom rings the bell one evening and he (the real Tom) actually does speak perfect English and looks nothing like the other Tom. We chit chat and I tell him my ridiculous story. He wonders privately *How does she survive every day?* He takes the envelopes and being my gullible self, I let him leave without signing anything. That's right. He walked right out the door with his 485 Euro and my signature. Jim was even right there and didn't say a word about my fancy signature page!

I guess this should be one of those "live and learn" moments, but I suspect I'm capable of doing something like this . . . again. It's really only a matter of time.

Just another Q & A

Q - About the speed....guess the tires must be balanced perfectly! If I get up to 80 in my Camry I can tell. BTW...what were you all driving?

A - (This question is about driving on the Autobahn in Germany)

We were in Jim's car - it's a Porsche. I mean a VW Passat :) It's actually a really nice car and it probably takes 100 mph much smoother than a Porsche! Of course I wouldn't know about that personally.

Q - Soooo how many channels? Do you have any from the USA? Inquiring minds need to know.

A - (This question is about our new TV!)

Well, we don't have any channels. Really. We opted not to get cable since we had it the whole time we were at the apartment and never watched television. This new TV is only for watching movies and so far we've watched The Simpsons - twice : /

Q - Hi, I am an american living in Belgium,just arrived in December. I live in Beek (Stad Bree) with my soon to be Husband Erik. I noticed your weather was from Genk and that is close to me. Where are you taking your lessons just wondering? Christine

A - (This question is about Flemish lessons)

First, congratulations Christine on your arrival in Belgie. We moved here from Texas in July/August of last year. Second, congratulations on your upcoming marriage to Erik. And third, we have been enrolled and are still taking private lessons at ELan in Zolder. We have also recently enrolled in a class in Hasselt.

Here's a link to the website for this class http://www.modernetalen.be/INFO/Alginfo.html We live in Hasselt and my husband works in Genk so we are about 45 minutes away from you. Good luck and if I can be of any help, please comment again!

The scathing letter - slotstuk

So we're at the House of Dutch and as I was saying . . .

The House of Dutch lady pulls out this logic test for me and Jim to take. We have 20 minutes to answer 24 questions. Okay, how hard can this be, right? Although I'm often irrational, I can be logical if necessary.

The test consists of all these shapes and sequences and dots and letters and with my 0ver 40/40 vision, I am having a little trouble seeing every dot and line. But as was true 25 years ago in my test-taking days, I'm done in 5 minutes. Done!

Of course, Jim is over at the other table poring over his answers and making sure they are all correct and I'm looking at my watch wondering when will this all be over?!

Finally, mercifully, "Time's up!". She takes up our tests and we wait for the results. Waiting, waiting. Okay, finally, mercifully, she's finished. But before she reveals the good or/or bad news, she tells us the results will determine whether we can take the "short course" in Dutch or the "rest of your life" course.

Wait a minute. Our future Dutch course lies solely on the results of this test? THIS test?

What?! I didn't know this was serious! I would have pored some more! I would have checked over my answers! I would have taken the full 20 minutes! I, I, I would have . . . Well, no, I probably wouldn't have, but still . . .

She says "Jeem, you got all of them correct". Of course he did.

And with this consoling look on her face she says "Kadden, you missed 2". Followed quickly by "But that's good also". Well, not really. But nice try on making me feel good about scoring whatever that is if I wanted to do the math.

Now here's the best part. She says that even though I missed 2 (apparently close to being the 2 biggest mistakes I've ever made!) and even though I should be relegated to the "rest of your life" Dutch course, she will make an exception and allow me and Jeem (us being married and all) to attend the same class. Thank you! Thank you for not making me take the remedial "rest of your life" course and thanks to Jeem for poring and scoring a perfect 24. : /

So, after all that, we sign up for the 2 nights a week, 3 hours each time class. Yeah, that's TWO nights a week - THREE hours each night.

We attended our first couple of classes this week and I have to say . . . well, no I won't say that.

There are 22 people in a classroom the size of a really small bistro and only one other person from Scotland speaks English as their primary language. Let me repeat that. Only one other person out of 22 people in this class speaks English!

Plus, if you remember my post on Scotland - I'm not sure that's English.

So . . . Bulgaria, Romania, Armenia, Albania, Thailand, Poland . . . and the list goes on and on . . . and I need a map!

We interact with each other as part of the class so all I can say is - this is definitely not our old private lessons, these people are far from privileged, it appears they may have left their home country for a better life, and I'm looking forward to getting to know them!

This should be an interesting 4 months. Stay tuned.

The scathing letter . . . deel 2

So as I was saying . . .

I added "present ourselves to the official integration office" to my To Do list and there it remained for about 2 months. After all, the scathing letter said we had 3 months so why go ahead and get it over with when you can worry about it longer, right Jim?

So Jim comes home early last week and says "I thought we would try to go by the official integration office and present ourselves".

Okay. So I gather up the passports, identity cards, and try to figure out what our penalty will be for not being able to offer our first born . . .

After getting lost, phoning the office, going to the wrong place, we finally make it to the right place. This lady escorts us into her office and asks for our paperwork. She taps away at her computer and says to me "Kadden, let me explain to you about the integration program." She pulls out a paper and begins to tell me the 3 steps. I feel like it should be 12 steps since I may need it by the time this is over.

She says I can

1) learn Belgium government, culture, etc

2) learn the Dutch language, and

3) something else I can't remember because my head is spinning!

Now, this all sounds like a good thing, right? I would like to learn more about all of the above, but here's the catch. . .

"Kadden, entering into the integration program requires that you sign a contract agreeing to attend not less than 80% of the meetings and if you fail to attend, you could be fined."

Or behind Door #2, since in my situation, integration is not required, I can opt out and she will close my file.

Did I hear OPT OUT?!

and CLOSE MY FILE?!

Yeah, that's what I heard.

I look at Jim and we agree to "go with Door #2."

She proceeds to explain the same information verbatum to Jim who also, as you probably guessed, opts for Door #2.

Unfortunately we can't take the government and culture classes without signing our life away, but we can take the Dutch language classes with no penalties attached - so far as we know. So that's what we decided to do.

The nice lady who let us "opt out" and "closed our file" escorted us across the hall to the House of Dutch. Another lady asks for our paperwork and taps away at the computer. She then says we will be taking a logic test.

What?! A test?! The opt-out-close-our-file lady said NOTHING about a test. By this time, it's way past happy hour, I don't think rationally or logically most any time, and I haven't been test-ready for 25 years!

You see. I told you I would be signing up for the 12 steps before this is over.

She pulls out the test and . . .

To be continued . . .

The scathing letter - deel 1

In the very first week I was in Belgium, Jim and I went to City Hall to register for an identity card. While waiting, we picked up a flyer about learning to speak Dutch. At the time we weren't sure if I could accompany Jim to the Flemish lessons he was already attending. So Ross and I walked over to the place listed on the flyer. Just to check it out.

That was our first mistake.

We wandered around, asked someone where to go, the person wasn't sure, wandered some more and finally found it.

That was our second mistake.

We were escorted into this office where a guy who didn't speak perfect English, asks why I'm in Belgium and to see my identity card so he can check in the computer to find out if I am required to go through the integration program. What?! What integration program?!

I am here on my own volition, guy-who-doesn't-speak-perfect-English! And I don't have my identity card . . . yet.

So, he asks for my husband's name so he can look him up in the computer. That's when I realize we have made a grave error in judgement by coming here on this day.

We have about a million other things to do and worry about without THIS!

I tell the guy we need to get more information and will come back another time. Ross and I scurry out and I text Jim that I've probably gotten us into a nice mess. He says it's okay. Not to worry.

But I am the Queen of Worry so I add this to my list.

Anyway, September, October, November go by and nothing. Buuuuuut, around the first of December, the bell rings at our apartment. I carefully dash down the ladder that is our stairs and dash outside since the bell is all the way around the apartment and outside the gate.

Waiting there is the postman with a letter addressed to me requiring a signature. So, of course, I sign it.

I believe that would be mistake number three.

I open the letter and find it's from that same place where Ross and I moseyed in and scurried out so many months ago. So I go ahead and ruin my day by translating the letter on google and learning I must present myself at the official office and if I don't, I could be fined. Fined! As in a ticket for not showing up!

Okay, so my first question is - why is this letter addressed to ONLY ME?! Not Jim. Second question - why didn't HE get a scathing letter too?!

So, I get back out that worry list and email the google translation of this registered letter I just got to Jim. He emails it to the attorney, the accountant, the teacher, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker and they all say . . .

Yeah, you're going to have to present yourself at the official office and by the way, have on hand your passport, identity card, birth certificate, first born child . . .

I KNEW IT! I was only trying to get information! I beg you, don't make me integrate!

And Jim was now caught in the net that was cast after consulting the baker.

So, what could we do, but go present ourselves?

To be continued . . .