Labor Day

Sometimes we all have to eat our words. I don’t think many people like it, at least I don’t. With “stubborn as a mule” as a middle name, admitting I’m wrong is painful. Fortunately, practice makes perfect, and this Labor Day offered me another perfect opportunity to practice eating humble pie. And it’s all our house’s fault.

In order to explain this, I need to go back several years to my my first year as a doctoral candidate in graduate school. I had just completed my master’s, and thought the worst was over. And there is yet another example of having to eat my own words. Because when I arrived at my Texan university, the workload didn’t just hit me in the face, it pretty much swept me off my feet. I was working nights, weekends, evenings, working while I was eating and showering , and still I was barely getting things done (you try reading three books at the same time, writing a critical essay on each of them, carrying out three independent research projects, preparing class presentations and working on your research proposal. All in one week). Anyway, I was so desperately looking forward to having Labor Day off, that when I realized I would have to work the whole weekend to meet a deadline, I almost cried. Well, actually, I did cry. And I promised myself that I would never ever again work during those few federal holidays that Americans get.

And you know what, I have kept that promise. I may have worked through summer breaks, winter breaks, spring breaks, birthdays and Christmas, but whenever we would have one of those single-day holidays, I would kick back and relax. Husband-dear and I would spend Labor Day shopping at the antiques bazaar on base, we have spent Memorial Day in Heidelberg, President’s Day in Trier, and have generally made an effort to make each of those Mondays off special.

Well, all that changed when we bought our current home. We did not kick back once this weekend, nope, we worked. On the house. And the funniest part is, we wanted to. We were actually looking forward to a few days of honey-do’s, and are already contemplating what to do on Columbus Day. I guess wanting to work while you have time off comes with the territority of being a home-owner. After all, it’s your home, and you want it to look the best it can. I remember my parents working on their home on Easter Monday and May 5th. So I guess this burning desire to spend your free time at work is a universal curse.

I think the difference between American and European home owners lie not so much in this ongoing urge to improve on one’s home, but in what exactly constitutes a honey-do. What do home owners across the Atlantic feel they need to do to their house when they have time off?

Well, window-washing appears to be huge in both the Netherlands and Germany. Especially Germans seem to be big on keeping their windows clean. You couldn’t turn your back in the street we lived on, or there would be another German hausfrau perched on a rickety ladder, running a shammy across the window in the freezing wind. We were the talk of the neighborhood because we never really cleaned our windows (apparently Windexing does not count). That and the fact that we never closed our Rolladen. Now maybe we currently live in a really unhygienic town, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone clean their windows. I know I haven’t since we moved here. But why bother when half your window is covered by a screen, and the other half is generally hidden from the elements by a porch or the eaves of the roof? Not to mention that getting the screen off is an exercise all by itself. Now my parents are coming for Christmas, so I know I'm going to have to give in sooner or later, but I'm OK waiting until later for now.

Another huge honey-do in Europe appears to be sweeping one’s front stoop. I can remember my parents spending countless hours sweeping the driveway, the stoop, the patio. And of course all the men on our German street would, after they had washed their cars, sweep out the driveway on Saturday. Again, maybe we have a severe shortage of leaves, or very little wind, or maybe we all just don't care, but the only time I see people sweep here is after they’ve mowed the yard, and a really big storm. There was no sweeping on Labor Day.

Now we did see a lot of yard work though. In fact, most of our, and our neighbors’, honey-do’s consisted of yard work. And not like in Holland, where you will spend days weeding the endless flowerbeds. No, none of that. Although we may have beds here, there are no flowers to be seen anywhere, and we use this nifty little thing called landscaping sheets, mulch, and/or lava rocks to keep the weed out. So weeding is not an issue. Thank Goodness. No, we spent two days planting a wide variety of shrubs and trees I had never heard of before moving here: crepe myrtles, Indian Hawthorns, some plant called Pizzaz, and have a Blazing Maple and a Leland something bush on hold at the nursery. And just because that wasn’t enough, we also installed a storm door, and in a touch of Dutchness, my husband set up a laundry line for me in the backyard.

And in spite of having to eat my words, it was a good Labor Day. Maybe we can screen in our back porch next time we have Monday off.