Burning a straw man

** Sorry we don't have pictures to illustrate this, but the story is too good to pass up!**
** ok, I added some shots of what's on our balcony right now to break it up a bit!**

A few weeks ago we received a little invitation to dinner at our friendly neighbors' downstairs. The invitation lead us to assume it was a cook-out with some other neighbors out in the garden. Boy were we wrong! When our neighbor opened the door in semi-formal attire, we knew we were sunk. Stefan and I were both looking super casual and there was no chance to run upstairs and change, so in we go.

Our neighbor makes a big deal of having us wait in the front hall before ushering us into the living room where a circle of 14 adults in semi-formal attire was standing and watching us expectantly. I was mortified at how under-dressed we were, while also surprised to notice that, as I looked at the faces watching us, everybody else in the room looked like they were easily over the age of 70.

We received a 10 minute introduction from our host (while I stood clutching the 4 Euro potted plant we'd brought as a thank-you) before he then went around and quickly introduced the other guests to us. Their inner circle of friends was mostly comprised of other former DDR/Thuringia residents who'd moved West or were simply visiting - largely senior level doctors, private hospital owners, and professor doctor emiritus types. Throughout the evening there was much talk about who had 'been in The Party', persecuted or marginalized by the Stasi, when and how people came to West Germany, Party politics in academia, etc. It seems this little group looked out for each other back then and still celebrate that circle of trust today. It was fascinating and intimidating at the same time!

We knew we were in for an unusual evening when, following the introductions, our hostess came out of the kitchen with the most massive glass goblet I have ever seen. It had etching on the sides and a gold rim; you'd think a church had been robbed of it's communion goblet! The evening was dedicated to the passing of winter and the beginning of spring and the goblet was passed around. It reeked of licorice/anise and tasted like fire. It went around the circle 3 times before it was all finished - at which point we discovered it was a mix of hard liquors and had 45% alcohol. No wonder Stefan and I were having trouble taking 'polite' sips!

After dinner, when Stefan's plate held a neat stack of seashells that had previously cradled soft piles of smoked salmon, we were all instructed to go out on the back patio. Song sheets were passed around while our host pulled out a box of matches. Hanging from a tree was a straw figure about the size of those giant plush toys you can win at the fair. Our host ignited the figure and, as the straw man burned, the group began to sing:

Winter ade, scheiden tut weh, (farewell winter, separating hurts)
aber dein Scheiden macht, (but your separation)
Dass mir das Herze lacht, (means that my heart laughs [b/c Spring comes])
Winter ade, scheiden tut weh.

Winter ade, scheiden tut weh,
gerne vergess' ich dein
kannst immer ferne sein
Winter ade, scheiden tut weh.

Winter ade, scheiden tut weh,
gehst du nicht bald nach Haus
lacht dich der Kuckuck aus
Winter ade, scheiden tut weh.

- H. v. Fallersleben

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, we all went back inside and our host began pouring ridiculous amounts of dessert drinks. It was 10pm and the party was just getting started! A tray of old corks were passed out. We had to put the cork lengthwise between our top and bottom teeth and try to talk to each other. It was hilarious watching everybody, but I had to secretly laugh about how these 70 and 80 year olds were basically were playing some kind of drinking game! Then our host pulled out a little booklet and began to read an eternally long section of Schiller's William Tell. I might've understood, except the first page was completed with a cork in his mouth, and the rest he did in a Saxon dialect - which is nearly impossible to understand! (Maybe I should try it in English?) The other guests were in hysterics, and it was funny watching everybody!

After this series of events, people broke off into conversation groups. Stefan found an orthopedic surgeon who was sincerely interested to hear about his recent knee problems, while I talked to an elegantly dressed widow. She told me how in DDR times you could never buy whipping cream, so when children's birthdays came around, they would make it themselves. Apparently you heat milk to 35 degrees Celsius and melt butter and heat it to the same temperature before beating them together. At least, that's how I understood it. She also told me how her mother refused to flee the Russians after the war and chose instead to stay on the land that had been in her family for over 400 years. There were more stories, but at 1am Stefan and I simply had to go to bed. Thankfully some other people decided to leave around this time as well!

All in all it was a unique evening. Once again we told each other how grateful we were to have such nice neighbors - and interesting ones at that!

* P.S.- I suppose this wouldn't have been such a random evening for us if we hadn't gone in expecting something so completely the opposite of what we got!