Summer and Fall of 1965

I'm sure G could tell you exactly how long it took to get the car fixed. That's what they did. The Germans completely rebuilt the car after the fire. From the engine to the wiring to the upholstry and melted gauages. It was all like new when we got it back. Just like the hog we butchered, (see the post of April 5) they don't waste anything. I don't know how much they actually reused, but there wasn't even a hint of any smell of smoke left. G brought that car home for us. It was set up in kilometers and metric gauges and it came over on the same ship G was was sent home on. A real European Volkswagon Bug.

G was forced to hitchhike and accept rides again for awhile, but, I wasn't effected quite as much. I was still a young Mother learning the hard way how to take care of a baby. I thought I'd gotten throught the hardest part by the time R.B. and B.B. had visited. Those scary weeks of a newborn, when I was 6500 miles from home. (I've just looked up the distance. I knew it was over 5000 miles, and after all, what is another 1500 miles when it's that far?) Frau Reiss and Segroine had been been a big help, but they weren't family. By the time of our trip, I was managing pretty well. And, I was lucky that J was always a happy baby.

The only scare I remember, really had nothing to do with the care of J. He was about a month old when I woke up to the smell of smoke and a crying baby. I'm a light sleeper and the only way I could get any rest was to move his crib into the living room at night. Where our coal burning stove heated our rooms. (Which also made it warmer for him.) I don't know what went wrong with the flue that night, but there was a thick black haze of smoke floating in the top half of the living room.. I got J and the crib out and we had to open the window and balcony door to the cold March air. G got the stove working again, but I was afraid to go back to bed. That heater was one of my most hated jobs. I had to remove the ashes and keep it going. Our landlord kept me supplied with the small brickettes of coal. It was included in our rent, but G wasn't home enought and I had to learn to keep it full and the ashes dumped and how to work the flue. And, bank it for the night. It was dirty, uneven heat, and a real pain. Especially when we were gone for hours, and came home to a cold apartment.

My next scare started when J learned to crawl. This second floor apartment didn't have a door between us and the stone stairs leading to the front door. J started crawling a month before the baby books said he would. And, right after the car fire, when it was so hard to get to the P.X. for one of those childproof gates. Wouldn't you know there wasn't a second hand one available in the village when I needed it. His little crib became a playpen when I couldn't watch him every second. But, my happy baby was not happy about that. When I did put him down on the floor, I couldn't even wash or dump ashes or turn my back on him for a second. It was a relief to finally buy the gate. Which I used to lock him into the living room, becaue I didn't trust it at the top of the steps. Then I had to keep his fingers away from the heater. Later, I was also able to inherit a fishnet sided playpen that gave him a lot more room then the crib. The fishnet strings also made it easier for J to pull himself up, and he was using it to take those first pull along steps, way too soon. Summer was coming to an end, and so was G's two year tour in Germany. We would be home just days before Christmas.

I was looking for Christmas gifts from Germany to take home to all of our families. We bought cookie jars for our Grandmothers. (Except Moms Mother who never baked cookies.) They are fat, and round and made like beer steins. The handle of the lid is a Hummel like figure of a boy in Liederhosen pushing a wheelbarrow. The other grandmother got three plates of German scenes in relief, like the steins, to hang on the wall. The Grandfathers got CooCoo Clocks. Not as big as G's clock. Our parents got large musical beer steins. My brothers got beer steins too, not as big and not musical. They also got knives that folded into deer hooves. I was tickled to find very small steins (without the metal tops) that we could afford for each of our cousins. But, these didn't survive shipping home and we weren't able to give them. The coffee mugs, in the same box, for Aunts and Uncles were broken too.

I was also able to get myself a special gift to take home. I had fallen in love with a large steak knife set when I first got to Germany. (After growing up with cattle, I thought it was perfect for me to keep) Service for 8 with carved horn handles and scenes painted (and enameled) on each knife blade. The forks are included too, and have the same carved handles. There is also a full carving set with clever and chicken shears made the same way, and it all came together in a silverware box. G told me to forget it because it cost too much. What he didn't know was that I saved every bit of change during those two years. At the clubs where The Dukes played were "one arm bandits." Every time I went to a show, G gave me change when the other wives were given money to gamble. I only pretended to gamble. It was the only money I had access to while we were there. Before I left Germany, I was able to buy my knife set with a pile of loose change that I proudly dumped on the counter. When we separated, G kept the clock, (and just about everything else) but that knife set was mine and I wasn't about to let go of it. Through every thing else in my life, I still haven't let go of it. Or the Swiss pictures. And, over the years I've inherited back my families cookie jar and plates and musical steins. Which J has his eyes on. After all, he was born over there. (He can wait a bit longer.)

Just A Note

Today is April 29, 2006, which happens to be my 61st birthday. Rediscovering all of these memories has been quite an experience. If you are thinking of writing your own memories for your kids, family, friends or whoever else may manage to find them, I want to encourage you to do it. Even if no one ever reads any of it, you will be enriched by every single piece of memory that comes back to you. Even the bad ones. They are the lessons that make us who we are, and it's only when we put them together, that we are aware of who we have become. This may all seem trite, but I'm discovering just how true it is. You don't even have to be ashamed of your mistakes, IF you have learned from them. And, you don't have to tell everything you remember. After all, the lesson is your's alone. And, everyone has their own lessons to remember and learn from.

Forgive me, if this sounds like I think I know it all. I'm very much aware of how much is still a mystery to me. I only hope I can encourage others to search for what they have accomplished. Whether you are young or old, you will be surprised. I'm pretty sure of that.

After the Fire

We were incredibly lucky considering how wrong it had gone. To be able to make it to the rest area, when it could have happend anywhere. To be back in Germany, where the Army could help us. To get away before the smoke damaged our lungs. The fire started in the wiring and the smoke was bad. J was only 6 months old. It could have been so much worse. But, it didn't seem that way at the time.

I'm not sure of the time or how long we actually waited in the rest area. But, it was almost evening when the calvary arrived. If there hadn't been a fire, we'd have been home by then.

Our rescuers arrived in a military car and an ambulance with siren and lights showing how they had hurried. They'd been told a baby was in need of help. Thank goodness that wasn't true. Two soldiers and two medics were sent to save us. They looked at the car, and at us and our pile of possessions, and questioned how on earth all of it was in the V.W. They loaded our possessions in the ambulance, and filled it up. We were put in the car, but we had to leave the burned out Volkswagon sitting in the rest area. G had expected a tow truck, but the bus driver hadn't made that clear. Arrangements would have to be made later to retrieve our Bug, which had G all upset. They took us to the base, where we learned we would have to wait till arrangements were made for the next base to pick us up. Each base had an area, and we were passed from one to another till we reached our own base. And, each time we arrived on a base, we had to go through all the paperwork again and wait to be picked up. It took us another day and a half to go that last 100 miles. The bases weren't accustomed to this kind of thing, and we waited in offices on hard chairs and benches for hours at a time. Each time two vehicles had to be sent to carry us and all of our possessions. And, no one believed we had all been packed into one little V.W. Bug. They didn't have luggage racks on military cars, but otherwise the cars were much bigger. G was busy each time filling out forms and making arrangements, but we could only sit, pace and wait. I believe there were only 3 or 4 bases involved, but it was the most exhausting day and a half of the whole trip. And, it was the only time J was fussy. His car seat was scorched and saturated with smoke and we couldn't use it. So were his extra closthes and diapers. We all smelled like smoke and there wasn't anything we could do about it. The Army is "Hurry up and wait." We were told to be ready as soon as another car arrived. They didn't want to possibly have to wait on us to finish at a laundromat. There would have been plenty of time, but the Army doesn't work like that. So in total misery, we were passed along like some unexpected nuisance.

When we finally got home, we still had a problem. No car. G had to find transportation so our things could be cleaned and he could get to the business of straightening out the whole mess. I started my little countertop washing machine right away on small items and baby things. We all just wanted to sleep, but there was too much to do before R.B. and B.B. could catch their flight home. G found a friend to take R.B. and B.B. to a laundromat on base while he started the paperwork on the insurance and retrieval of our car. I stayed home and finished what I could there. I was unpacking souvenirs and airing out what I could. I got the things boxed up that had to be mailed home to my In-Laws. We had been lucky there too. G had saved the coo coo clock without throwing it like the rest had been thrown. Most of the souvenirs had been away from the flames. Except for my Swiss prizes, which had been the last things actually bought and were stored in the boot behind the back seat. R.B. had tried and stayed in the car much too long for safety, but, my beautiful swiss high heels had been scorched and smelled awful. I was never able to wear them, though I did keep them awhile. And the two Swiss pictures made it out with just a warped frame. I never fixed them, and they are hanging on my wall right now, warped frame and all, as a reminder of my European vacation and how it ended.

We had R.B. and B.B.'s packages shipped home, even though they still smelled of smoke. Their suitcases still smelled too when G and a buddy took them to Frankfort to fly home. Since we had to rely on a friend to drive them, I'd said my goodbyes at home and J and I didn't go to the airport with them.

After everyone was gone, I thought I could finally relax and get some rest. That's when J discovered crawling.

A Surprise Ending

I can't remember the route we took, but Switzerland is as beautiful and friendly as it's portrayed. I remember Lake Lugano, which lends it's name to seperate cities in both Italy and Switzerland. I've already described the San Gottardo Pass in my blog called The Alps. We were in Zermatt at the base of the Matterhorn. These are all along the border of the two countries. But, the route itself is not in my memory. G and his Mother planned that.

I'm sure of Bern, Switzerland. That is where I found a beautiful pair of shoes. I hadn't bought very much for myself. Most of my purchases were for baby J, or gifts for my family stateside. I couldn't resist the reddish, golden brown suade high heel shoes though. Since we were coming to the end of our trip, I felt it was ok to spend something on me. The only other thing I'd bought was for the home I hoped to have some day. It was two small picures using straw to design a mosaic scene of Switzerland. They are stamped, "Rattenberg-Tirol"

Bern is known for the Clock Tower that juts out into the street. It has an arch that can be driven through at it's base and the tower rises several stories above the street. Every hour the clock puts on a show of Bears and Jesters, Knights and a rooster to announce the time. Because of the River Aare and the mountains, Bern is full of curved and winding streets. Everything a Swiss city is suppose to be.

I remember three cities best. Besides, Bern, I remember Luzern (Lucerne) and Zurich. My most lasting impression of Switzerland was of mountains and lakes. Villages in the montains and the cities shared the valley's with lakes or rivers. I remember where one of the roads we were on turned into a long overland bridge that took us from one mountain top to another. There were several of these, but this particular one was so long and so high, all we could see below were clouds. One of the towns we stopped in had a track going almost vertically up the side of a mountain, and what looked like tram cars staggered on top of each other to climb the steep incline. I wanted to ride to the top, but they didn't. I also wanted to ride one of the suspended cable cars across to another mountain. That almost happened. Till R.B. got to the line and saw how much the car was swaying. Everytime they didn't want to do something, they made me feel like I was endangering baby J's life by even suggesting it. For the sake of peace, and after being given so much flak over my hissy fit in Florence, I always backed down.

Our trip was coming to an end. Once we'd crossed Switzerland, it would be a short run back to Siegelbach, Germany. That is, it would have been if another "DRAMA" hadn't been thrust upon us.

We were in Germany, on the Autobahn and scooting right along when we smelled smoke. It got worse very quickly and we realized it was coming from our own engine. Just ahead was a rest area and G made the decision to try to get to it before stopping. A busy Autobahn is not a good place to be stranded. A tour bus pulled along side of us and everyone was shouting from the windows and pointing at our car. G made it to the rest area and the bus followed us in. The smoke had made its way into the back seat and the baby was passed to me in front. G had pulled over as soon as we were clear of the road and in the rest area. The bus pulled on in and away from our car. Everyone already in the rest area was running to move their cars as far away as possible from us. There must have been a half dozen languages all shouting at once. As soon as the car stopped, I was out and ran with my son. B.B. was right behind be at first. Then she realized her Mother and Brother hadn't followed. R.B. was still in the car and throwing things out of the car. G was trying to get the suitcases off the luggage rack on top. By now there were flames shooting from the back of the car. R.B. was forced to get out, but she stayed to help G with the suitcses. B.B. had run back to help. They screamed at her to stay back. They were throwing things as far as they could and B.B. started pulling things back further. Meanwhile the bus driver had arrived with a fire extinguisher and was spraying foam on the engine compartment whos hood had popped open. Someone else arrived with a second extinguisher. They emptied both on the engine, but the fire had gotten to the inside of the car and the seats were burning. We had attracted quite a crowd, but no one else came near. Because of the language barrier, the only word that sank into my numbed mind was, "BOOM" Everyone was trying to get G and R.B. away before there was an explosion. It didn't explode though. It just kept burning. They had pulled all of our belongings over to where I had sunk down to the ground holding J. Everything had been saved except the car. We were safe, but stranded over a hundred miles from our apartment. The bus driver and his passengers were willing to take us to the next town, but didn't have room for our things. I don't even know what nationality they were, but we could have been in a real mess without them. G was able to make him understand that what he wanted was for them to notify an American Army base that was nearby, and have them come to get us and our things. We spread a blanket out on the ground and there we waited for help while our car burned itself out, and everything we had smelled like smoke.

Our trip of a lifetime had ended in a way we never could have imagined.

Up the Italian Coast

When we left Pisa, we followed the coast north. I'd always thought it was all Mediterranean Sea along the west coast of Italy. But, it's the Tyrrhenian Sea that is west of Italy. Till you reach the Ligurian Sea, that we were beside now. So Pisa and Florence were as far south as we got. Which is only about a third of the way down. We didn't go to Rome (further south) and we didn't go to Venice (on the east coast.)

We did see the Italian Riviera, which is what they call the La Sepzia and Genoa area. Both are port cities as well as beach attractions. La Sepzia is deep in a bay. It has some rocky coast too, and what I thought looked like cliff homes. The kind that look like they will slide into the sea if there is an earthquake. Their age indicated this can't be much of a concern. Genoa is a bit flatter and wraps around a beautiful rounded bay. Sunshine, sea and sand, it really is like the Riviera. And G was able to see plenty of topless sun bathers. And many more who just strip down to bra and panties to enjoy the beach. (It was true that they don't shave armpits or legs!!)

It was somewhere in this area that I tried octopus. My travel companians didn't share my willingness to try different foods. They all three spent most of the trip sticking to ham or pasta. I didn't always like what I got, but it was fun to see what was coming. There was one memorable soup. It was suppose to be turtle soup. When it came it was a golden brown broth with one square cube of something sitting on the bottom of the bowl. I couldn't poke my fork in the cube of something. I tried cutting the cube of something with a knife. No luck there either. It was like a hard rubber cube of something. If that was turtle meat, that must have been one old, tough turtle. The broth was good, but the cube of hard rubber something was still in the bowl when I gave up on it. Oh yes.....I almost forgot. The octopus. It was in a sauce over pasta and it was like rubber too. Gritty rubber. I hope the Italians have learned to batter and fry since 1965. Octopus isn't bad that way. I was 20 years old and I was on the Italian Riviera, and what I remember is rubbery meat.

We'd spent a few days here and it was time to head north. Our next layover was in Milano (Milan) Italy. Milan almost made up for what I'd missed in Florence.

Milano, Italy. Where Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper" was painted on dry plaster at the Monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie. It's painted on an end wall of the Monastery room where the Dominican Monks ate in a building seperate from a very beautiful Church. The room is long and narrow, and there is another painting on the opposit wall. I don't know the second paintings name. It was supposibly painted by a student of da Vinci's. When I saw the paintings, they were in bad shape. But, with it's history, it is a miracle it is still there at all. Some of the earlier restoration did more damage than good. Also, the building was bombed in 1943 and the roof and one wall were destroyed. It was a whole year before the room was repaired, while The Last Supper was protected by sand bags. We were not allowed to take pictures, but at the time visitors weren't restricted in any other way. We didn't even have a tour guide to help with questions. With that many people of every faith coming and going, it was hard to get a real feel of what I was seeing. I felt it should be more sacred than the tourists allowed it to be. Still, I wasn't disappointed. The painting is 15' by 29', and despite the condition it was in, I was awed. It had been restored several times over the centruies and a major restoration started in 1977 that continued for 20 years. I'm not sorry I saw it when I did, but, I would really like to see it now. I understand reservations must be made weeks in advance, and visitors are restricted to 25 at a time. That really would make it a better experience. If you ever get the chance, you really must try to experience it. Because that's what it is. A religeous experience.

(And, if you know the name of the other painting in the room, I'd like to learn more about it.)

Italy

Driving south from Europe, you have to cross the Alps to drive into Italy. From anywhere. If it's not surrounded by water, it's surrounded by the mountains. Think about that when you remember how far Roman rule extended. We drove through the widest part of the Alps when we crossed Austria, Liechtenstein and a corner of Switzerland to arrive in Verona, Italy. The northern part of Italy, in the Alps, is still a lot like those countries. But, arriving in Verona is totally different.

The mountains were behind us and suddenly we see a Roman Arena. (Amphitheater) A long Roman bridge seperates two parts of the city. This was the home of Romeo and Juliet. We were in tourist country. People even visit Verona just to get married. We stretched our legs from the long periods spent in the car, walked around a bit....and moved on. My travel companians were still set on "going."

We drove through vineyard country. Rolling country, pretty country with lots of streams and rivers. If I had been traveling with my own Mother, we would stopped a lot more often. Then the land changed again. The mountains ahead weren't as high, but they were more than hills. Bologna was next. We were driving down a wooded, steep hill with a high stone wall on our right The wall ended just above town, at a sharp right curve and when we went around the curve, we were hit by an open jeep. A jeep with two policemen. Just a bump and no one was hurt, but we were the foreigners and it gave me quite a scare. I could just see "our word against theirs." And, our words couldn't even be understood. Listening to the policemen talk, I wasn't sure their words should be translated. They were throwing out more words per second then the human tongue should be able to get itself around, and arms were going every which way too. There was no damage to either vehicle and they seemed as anxious as we were to shake hands and move on. Which is just what we ended up doing. I don't remember anymore about Bologna. Having the police run into us was all we talked about, and we kept going before anything else could happen.

Bologna was at the edge of a smaller range of mountains and my Florence (Firenze) was on the other side. We arrived in Florance just before noon. In other words, just before Siesta. Which, at least when we were there in July, meant everything would shut down, close, lock up, be unavailable for at least 2-3 hours. Guess what? My Husband, and his Mother, and my Sister-In-Law, didn't want to sit around and wait. They voted to keep going. The only request I had made before leaving home, AGAIN, and I was out voted. NO museums. NO Leonardo da Vinci. NO shopping on the Old Bridge. NO sitting or wandering along the Arno River. NO Palazzo Vecchio. NO art masters. They did drive up the hill overlooking the whole city where a plaza holds one of the life size copies of Michelangelo's "David." It was a beautiful view and it's etched in my mind. But, I was now officially ANGRY and BITTER. I was not a good sport. I was not a cheerful traveling companian. I was not pleasant!!! In fact, it was mentioned by two someones that I was a Bitch, with a capital "B". And, I didn't care.

All the way, due east from Florance to Pisa, I held on to my "bad mood." But, Pisa is a wonderful place to recover. Of course everyone knows about the Leaning Tower, but you should see the Cathedral of Pisa and the round Baptistry that sits on the other end of the Cathedral from the Leaning Bell Tower. A soft white and gray marble with hints of pink. They deserve more attention then they get. Each, including the Tower itself is ornately carved and decorated. The Tower reminded me of seven layers of a wedding cake. Back then, in 1965, tourists were still allowed to climb the bell tower. Two walls seperated by a spiral staircase lead you to the very top. The center is hollow and open. Maybe R.B. was just a bit aware of my disappointment over our last stop. (???) She offered to hold the baby so I could climb to the top. (Maybe she got a look at all those stairs, and didn't want to try it.) Now let me digress and tell you that B.B. and I had already learned how much the Italian men like to pinch the ladies. Where ever they can reach you. The climb is up that very narrow staircase where you have to turn sideways to pass the others who are coming back down. I had made the mistake the first time I met someone of turning inward. Full frontal pinch to both breasts kept me from repeating that mistake. Better my butt than my boob. We were both black and blue by the time we'd made it to the top. And I swear they weren't all Italians. Tourists in every country must have heard the "when in Rome" thing. Once on the top, the view was grand, but we both stayed up there a long time before we convinced each other we had to get back down. Some experiences are remembered for the wrong reasons. (Angry thought.......wish my Mother-In-Law had climbed that staircase!)

((Sorry, I just have to say, she was a wonderful person and we had a very good relationship, even after her son and I were through. I made sure she and her family got to stay close to their first Grandson, and they appreciated it, and were good to me. That was the only time, ever, that I was mad at her.))

The Alps

We were on our way again. Feeling like seasoned travelers now. We'd been through Germany, France, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Ahead were Austria, Liechtenstein, Italy and Switzerland. There were a lot more miles involved in this trip and the American bases would be further apart. But, we had a better idea of what we'd need and what to expect. Or, so we thought.

We had agreed we wanted to spend as much time in Italy as possible, and that was where the army bases would be. So we crossed Austria where we could stop in Innsbruck. It would be too far east and mean a lot of extra driving to go to Vienna. Innsbruck sits in a wide valley in the Alps on the Inn River. It was our first stop and experience of the Alps.

What I said about the first four countries being distinct and seperate doesn't hold true for the Bavarian Countries of the Alps. Austria, Liechtenstein and Switzerland are very much alike. In the way they look, the buildings, the land and the friendliness of the people. I've been studying my Atlas and searching the web and they haven't helped me sort our what I remember.

Innsruck, Austria is a university city. The Bavarian cities are beautiful with the large old buildings with their carved fronts and fancy stonework. But, I was still the country girl and it was the scenery in the country and the villages that I remember best. And that didn't change much from one country to the next in the Alps.

Liechtenstein, according to my web search is only 160 Sq. Kilometers. My memory is of going into the Rhine Valley, which is half the country, and then climbing a large mountain, which is the other half of the country, and sudenly we were no longer in Liechtenstein. But, we were still seeing the same views of cold mountains and summer time valleys. It was all so beautiful, and strange. In Switzerland, I got to see the Matterhorn from different angles and views and it took my breath away no matter how I saw it. Just because it's the most recognizable, it's not the hightest. It was a thrill just to know I was there.

But, my strongest memory is of the San Gottardo Pass in Switzerland. After we were there, they built a tunnel through the Alps. I can't imagine crossing the Alps through a tunnel. Our southern route across the Alps into Italy was a zig-zag of over and around. I will bring us back to Italy in the next blog, but this is about the Alps and I want to share what it was like to cross the San Gottardo Pass from Italy into Switzeland.

We left Italy on a very hot sunny morning wearing sundresses. (B.B. and I, not G or his Mother) Climbing the San Gottardo Pass was another "experience of a lifetime." Switchback curves so tight you couldn't pass another vehicle of the curve. Especially a tour bus. The bus would stop before attempting to come around a point of mountain. A spotter would get off and walk around to make sure no other vehicles were coming. Everyone else waited. If you arrived before the bus had maneuvered around the switchback, you had to stop and stay out of the way. Some were so tight, the bus would have to pull forward, crank his wheels and back and pull forward till he had gotten around the switchback. The whole trip was in low gear and slow. Much of the road was sheer drop off, narrow and dangerous. We crossed in July and there was still danger of ice slides and rock slides. The higher we climbed, the colder it got, till we were driving through snow deeper than our V.W. This was as close to the "top of the world" as I would ever get. There were some wide, parking areas so you could expereince the view. It was the only way a driver could dare look at anything but the road right in front of him. But, a quick look and a picture and you wanted back in the warmth of the car. The top was nothing but rocks and snow. Too many of each, especially snow, and more mountains, so that there wasn't much of a view from the top. The decent was every bit as scary and just like the climb. I'm sure the tunnel is safer, but I'm glad we had to take the pass road. It was beautiful and very frightening and I'm sure it was a stressful drive for G. But, it's still my most vivid memory of the Alps.

Back to Germany

We had made our northern loop and returned to our apartment at Siegelbach. We were back early because we hadn't stayed in France and we hadn't been able to cross into England. Now we could stay home a couple days and still have extra time for the southern loop.

I felt it would be good for baby J to be out of the car and stroller. I wanted him to have a chance to use his muscles and roll or try to crawl. B.B. and I stayed home with J while G and R.B. went to Vogelweh to do our laundry and some shopping for supplies.

Segroine had given up her room during the time B.B. was there, so B.B. would have a bed. R.B. got to sleep on the sofa. Now that we were back early, Segroine was losing her room again, but she was excited to meet an American teen. She and B.B. spent that first day in "their" room getting acquainted. When J was ready for a nap, I was able to leave the apartment to the girls and see some friends. When I got back, Segroine took B.B. out to see the village. They were still gone when G and his Mother came back.

R.B. had gotten supplies and planned a big supper. Then discovered she needed help with my German stove. She was discovering first hand how different life was for me. Even the simple task of washing your hands took an adjustment. You didn't leave hot water running, when the supply was limited and it took time to heat more again. And remember, I was limited in pots and pans and utensels and even dishes. Getting that big home cooked meal ready, took on a party atmosphere.

After we'd eaten, G decided he wanted to join his band that evening. He offered to get Segroine and her Mother to watch J, so his Mother and Sister and I could go to hear him play and sing. R.B. said she'd rather stay with J, but we could go if we wanted. So B.B. got to go to an N.C.O. club and watch her brother perform with The Dudes. She was excited, but she was going to be even more excited when we arrived. She hadn't realized what the appearance of a pretty young American girl from "Home" would mean to a bunch of young homesick G.I.'s. B.B. got to be the Belle of the Ball that night. I don't believe the girl sat through a single dance, or danced with the same guy more than she wanted. As the only American band members wife, I had experienced the same thing. Even when I was big with pregnancy. The homesick boys just wanted to hear familiar words without the accent of Germany. The fact that B.B. was 16 and pretty, made her very popular and gave her a very special night. One which lasted till after 2 A.M. It was probably just as well that her Mother had stayed home. Wanna bet she spent more time talking to her friends back home about that night, than any other part of her trip to Europe? I know she had addresses to share with her friends so they could all have pen pals over seas.

We spent another couple of days with side trips to the cities of Germany. G wasn't allowed to go near Berlin, or any part of East Germany, because of his army clearance rating. But, we showed R.B. and B.B. around the sites we had discovered and wanted to share. Including the Black Forest area, which I loved. G bought a big CooCoo clock with a carved bucks head on top. These were the kinds of souvenirs we took to the base Post Office and had shipped home. I don't know how many, but there were a great number of packages sent to one or the other of our parents during those two years in Germany. I have some of the things. I know G has some of them, and there are other things, that I can think of now, that I have no idea what happened to.

The next day was spent with maps and a list of Army bases for a southern trip. This time we'd be farther from the apartment, and gone much longer. His family was with us for a month. He'd never taken any time off and was able to be with them the whole time. Once again, I let them plan everything. I only had one request...again. I wanted time in Florence, Italy. Time to explore the shops on the bridge. Time to see the the great art works that Florence is famous for. This time I stressed that these were important to me and I didn't care where else they took me, if I could just spend time in Florance, Italy.

Luxembourg

I only remember two stops in Luxembourg, and since it's a small country, that was probably the only times we did actually stop awhile. I am only now realizing that when I let them plan the trip, it turned out to be a, "we were there" king of thing. We went through a total of 8 countries and visited a few cities in each . But, no one checked on the sites or "spots of interest" in any area. We were just there and saw what we happened upon, without any real understanding of what we were seeing. I was thrilled just to be on the trip, but there were disappointments. When I objected, like at the Lourve, the standard reply was, "there isn't time." We were there, we can say so, but we missed so much. If I were doing it now, I would insist on less "we were there" and more of "we saw." (But, I suppose that would have made me a bad travel companion.)

Our first stop in Luxembourg was the town of Viaden in the northern part of the country. What catches your eye first is a very large castle high above the town. I don't even know it's name, nor did we "have time" to tour the castle. It's the kind of place you see on the post cards that make Europe so different from the U.S.A. It's deeply forested with very high, steep hills and deep valleys and beautiful rivers. Where the towns met the rivers, they have been banked in stone or concrete, with streets running along the water. And the old buildigns right on the edge of the streets. So close they are reflected in the water. The town follows the river aroung the base of the hill. Then the deep forest climbs the hill and the castle dominates the top of the hill and the view. Viaden was like that too, quaint and lovely.

When the road takes you away from the town, you are back in the woods or you come around a hill and find vineyards spread out around you. This is wine country too. Some of the woods have been cleared and the vineyards cover the hills. Most of the roads that I remember in Luxembourg followed the valleys, so the vineyards were always above us.

Luxembourg City was surprisingly large. It started as a walled city, and that part of the old town is still large. But, it outgrew the walls and they have been removed in places. The city had spread into the valley below, and back up the side of another hill. On both sides of the river that runs through the valley. There was even a bridge high above the valley that connects the two hills of the city. A long viaduct kind of bridge made of huge stones. I was amazed at a the height of the old wall where it still stands around the old town. It dwarfs even the Churches in height. Even in town the hills are still (were still) covered with trees. This is not the Capital city, but it is the biggest city. And, very much worth a visit.

Another thing I learned and want to mention is about their language. Luxembourg has a language all their own. Again, there are a lot who also speak English, but they also speak other languages. Over the centuries, these people have taken French, German and Flemish, and turned it into a language that isn't understood by the French or German or Flemish. It is all their own.

For small countries so close together, it was surprising to me that they could each be so much alike in landscape and yet so very different in every other way. Different attitudes and tastes and cultures. At the borders, you would know you had entered another European counry, even without the check point. I thought it was a National Pride in their homeland that made them seem different in some untangable way. They were friendly with us, but there was still a vague difference everywhere we went. Maybe it was because of the different attitudes to our 3 generation travels together. (And one of them a 5 month old baby.) And traveling randomly where there wern't a lot of tourists. It would be interesting if I could retrace at least part of that trip again. J has always wished I could take him back some day. But, I'm afraid this is the only way I can give him any part of that experience.

Belgium

I absolutely fell in love with Belgium. It was such a storybook place. Villages with thatched roofs and beautiful cottages. There was an old world look and feel to Belgium. Not in a backward way, don't get me wrong. I mean there was a pride and so much care for every building and all of their history. I've heard an expression that Belgium is the "Capitol" of Europe. It feels like that. Maybe it was the striking difference of going from France to Belgium, but they are more than different countries. It was like a different world. When people travel, they want to see Paris or they talk of Italy. But, no one should claim to visit Europe unless they have experienced Belgium. I know it's been over 40 years, but I am sure I could still recommend it highly. Just about everyone speaks two to four languages. They made every effort to be garcious and friendly.

Gent (or Ghent or Gant) is a port city on the North Sea. Close to the Netherlands. It sits where two rivers come together and Gent has waterways or canels all through town. In fact, in much of the "old city"cars are restricted. Old city Gent is full of Gothic style buildings, (forget what you know of "Goth" children) that are ornate and neatly kept. Among them is a Belfry or Bell Tower with several different kinds of bells. It must have been four or five stories high. They have big bells that warn of fires or something to make the people gather. Then there were the carillon bells that rang every 15 minutes and set a joyous tone that reflected in the people. Not a sharp ring, but the music of carillon bells. We didn't go into the Belfry, but I've seen papers that tell of a huge music box like drum that rotates with pins to make the music. So many European Churches and bell towers announce the time and ring joyously in their cities and towns. I loved it.

And, we must not forget the Belgium Chocolate. Or European pastries and baked goods. Everything tasted so good. Our time in Belgium was relaxed and fun. I'm not much for shopping, but I enjoyed their shops too. I bought a toy for J, and started a trend. He got a new toy in each country we visited after that. Those little animals or people who are connected by string and when you push the bottom of the platform they stand on, they collapse. Only to spring back into shape when you release the pressure. After all these years, I still have some of them. I also have a mug shaped like a chubby, smiling mans face that still has the "Gent, Belgium" stamp on the bottom. He looks like the happy people I remember.

Belgium is small, but we took our time traveling from Gent to Brussel, (Bruxelles) on the Senne River. We didn't hurry through any part of Belgium. Even after these 41 years, I have many impressions, but not enough details. Except for one special meal.

The food was all good, but there is one meal that I still remember in detail. The waiter was very helpful, but didn't have a translation for a sauce served on ham. I've never been afraid to try something new, and I ordered the ham without knowing what was on it. When it came, the sauce was a pretty dark brown and smooth except for the raisins in it. Then when I bit into the first raisin, it was gritty and had an odd flavor for a raisin. I ate several more of them before I was able to figure out that the the raisins were actually snails. They made a pretty good sauce on the ham. Eating strange food in a foreign country is part of the adventure. I wonder what the people of Brussel would think of being connected in my memory with snails. Probably amused.

Leaving France

Before leaving the Paris area, we stopped at the Palace of Versaille, at my request. There just isn't any way to describe one of the largest castles in the world. Palace of Louis XVI, it has 700 rooms, 67 staircases, 1250 fireplaces, 2000 windows and the Hall of Mirrors. Plus 1800 acres of gardens and parks. Nothing cold and damp in this castle. It had always been , and was still, fit for a King when I saw it. I'm sure it still is a main attraction in France. I believe the original building was a hunting lodge, but that was totally swallowed by additions added through the 1600's. I can't even imagine living like that, but I loved seeing it.

Next we headed for the coast of France. I was quickly coming to the conclusion that I would no longer be saying much about my maiden name being French. The people were not friendly. As soon as they heard an American accent, service ended. We had trouble getting served at restaurants or any other stop we made. B.B. didn't do much better, even thought she was trying to speak their language. I say trying, because her high school French and the different dialects were causing her more problems than she expected. And they were not willing to help her. From city to province, even in 1965, they just did not like Americans. If it hadn't been for the American Army Bases, we couldn't have gotten the gas to cross the country.

It was 20 years after WWII, and there were still so many left over war scars in the bombed buildings and land. They had made no effort to clean up or rebuild. Many towns just built beside the destruction. As if they wanted to remember every pain. And, they were certainly not appreciative of our having liberated them. They blamed us for the damage, and the bitterness still was very evident. I'll never understand why.

At the coast we found huge concrete bunker after bunker that had been used by the big guns to defent the coast. Some in pretty good shape and some showing the damage of being hit by bombs. Left alone, exactly as they had been walked away from, 20 years before. The mindset of it was incomprehensible to me. We followed the coast north to Calais, France, at the Straight of Dover, with the intention of crossing into England. We had ALL had enough of France.

Here, we had to change our plans. It would have been impossible for us to travel in England without our car and everything we had to carry for the baby. They wanted over $500.00 to ferry the car across the channel. A fortune to us. Not to mention another fortune to come back. We talked about it, but it wasn't gong to happen. Despite our disappointment, we didn't even want to try crossing without the car for just a day trip. It was too late in the day, and we needed the car. We decided to jump ahead to our next itinerary.

From Calais along the North Sea Coast and across into Belgium. We made it to Gent, Belgium and stayed there that night. I've already mentioned that no one traveled with a small baby back then. Everywhere we stopped, we found no cribs available at hotels. Or highchairs at restaurants. J was only five months old, so I was able to put him to bed in drawers from the furniture in the room. If that wasn't available, I had to empty out our the big suitcase and prop the lid up for his bed. I would put it on the floor by my side of the bed, so I could keep tract of him in all the strange rooms. I was grateful he wasn't old enough to get out and crawl away. He was awful close to being able to, but we took that trip just in time. Once we left France, there was always someone to fuss with the baby at the restaurants while we ate. He was such a happy, beautiful baby, (I can hear his brother right now saying, "What Happened?") that he was often passed around from table to table and played with. Times were so different then and the only thing I had to worry about, was what someone might be trying to feed him or give him to drink.

His own meals were often given to him while he sat in his little seat as we were going down the road. Both his Grandmother and Aunt liked to feed him in the car. We didn't even have to stop for his meals. Everything needed was in the deep area behind their seat. He seemed to enjoy his own little seat. It raised him up where he could see everything. We only had to hold him the few times he was fussy. Usually when he was too tired to sleep. That didn't happen often in the car. Diapers were changed outside the car. G had to stop every time we "smelled a good reason" to examine the countryside closer.

Visiting Paris

G's Mother, R.B. and his sister, B.B. flew to Frankfort and stayed with us for several weeks. B.B. was a 16 year old High School student who had been studying French. She was thrilled at the chance to visit the country and practice the vocabulary.

First, of course, was the excitement of meeting baby J and learning about our own lives. We had been in Germany well over a year and there was a lot to tell and show. We also had to plan the trip we were going to take. Four adults, B.B. was close eough to be called adult, and a baby in a volkswagon for an extended trip took some forsight.

Most important was arranging the tour to include American bases, so we could restock baby food. It was almost unheard of to travel with a child that young, and European hotels were not set up to accomodate infants. I'd been breast feeding, but by 4 months it just wasn't enough. I had to suppliment with formula. Which takes up space (especially the bottled kind we had to use because you can't just add water anywhere in Europe.) along with baby food jars and cereal. A volkswagon will only hold so much. There were suitcases for all of us and we hoped to bring back some souvenirs. Our VW had a luggage rack on top and that deep pocket behind the back seat, along with the front trunk area. They do hold a lot. And, I must say, G was a genious at packing it all.

Germany is pretty much centrally located, so we decided to break up the trip and circle home, so we could return when needed to do up laundry at the base and leave souvenirs and restock. The priority for B.B. and R.B. was France. Namely, Paris. Which wasn't that far away. Since my maiden name is French, I also wanted to see more of the country. I had been to Nancy and Verdun with G on band jobs, base to base. But I knew nothing of the people. When they were making these plans, I was asked what I wanted to see. I just wanted a chance to visit the Louvre, so I could see the Mona Lisa for myself. I had always loved the old masters and did a lot of those school theme papers on the old masterpieces.

I don't remember what order we visited the famous sites, but, we hit them all. At the Eiffel Tower, I stayed with J and the stroller, while everyone else went to the top. That may have been a mistake. It set the tone for much of the trip. I stayed with J, because the stroller wasn't permitted in most of the tourist attractions. He was a good baby to travel with. Cheerful and not at all fussy. But, he was heavy and squirmy and it was too hot to hold him all the time. The car was parked a lot and we did a lot of walking. Grandmom and Aunt were the real tourists, with cameras and curiosity. And, G was never much good at sharing baby responsibilities. So, Mom got most of her sight seeing around and over and with a baby to take care of. I saw the Eiffel Tower. I sat in it's shadow. I watched all the excitement of people from all over the world as we shared the experience of Paris. I even ate ice cream under the Eiffel Tower. I was perfectly content....then.

But, I din't get to visit the Louvre. Or see any of it's art. When we arived and tried to get tickets, we learned the stroller was not allowed inside. And R.B. was wearing high heel shoes, which were also not allowed. The Louvre had to protect it's ancient floors. So, my traveling companions decided they didn't want to see it that much. I had to swallow my disappointment and be a good sport with the majority vote.

At Notre Dame though, I was able to go inside. There was a place to safely leave the stroller, so I carried my baby inside. It's size is awe inspiring. Tourists were restricted from wandering all over, but what we were allowed to see was beautiful. I love ancient buildings with history, and anything religious makes it even more perfect. I was shocked though to find souenir shops just inside the great doors. It didn't feel religious till we passed deeper inside. Then you feel it. A wonderful experience.

On the Champs Elysees, we had quite an experience too. The Arc de Triomphe sits on an island out in the middle of a circle of traffic. Lots of traffic. Many lanes of traffic. While we waited for a break in traffic to cross, I watched as others just took off and went. Pedestrians crossed where and when they wanted and the cars avoided them. It's scary when you have a stroller in front of you, but we waited and waited. R.B. wanted to leave without going over. I was not going to miss this too. "When in Paris..........." So, I stepped out and went. R.B. started screaming, but B.B. jumped out with me and we went across. I never hesitated or looked anywhere but straight ahead. When B.B., J and I got to the other side, G was with us. And, he had pulled his Mother along too. She was white as a sheet and too mad to even stutter. When it was time to go back, we went. Never once did a car even come close to us. I don't know how they do it.

Once back where we started, B.B. and I wanted to find a bathroom. She saw the sign first. Down some steps, underground. I left the baby with his Daddy, and B.B. and I went to the bathroom. Never did I imagine this would actually be my most memorable experience in Paris. At the bottom of the steps was a long narrow room. No dividing walls! The arrow for men pointed one direction and the arrow for women pointed the opposite. But, it was all open and there were even several men leaning against the steps watching everyone come and "go". We didn't have any choice. We both had to go too badly to wait. And, if this was under the Champs Elysees tourist area, we had to assume all public restrooms would be the same. I've never forgotten my first "Pee" in Paris. (Surely it's not still like that today?)

Spring, 1965

When a G.I. family arrives in another country, they can get most of what they need from others who hve been there and are going home. It's the same with a baby's necessities. We had acquired a small crib. About half the size of cribs you see in the states. We would be going home before J outgrew it, and it would be passed on to another family. There were gifts of new things mailed to us by family, and the rest were passed around things. As a child outgrows something, there is always someone in the service family who needs it. The only thing we bought new, was a counter top, portable washing machine we found at the PX . With no laundromat in the village and too far from the base for daily washing, I needed it for the diapers and baby things. It had to be filled by hand with my precious hot water. It would wash a half dozen diapers at a time. And, I do mean wash. That's all it did. Then I could lay a hose in the sink to let it drain. Everything had to be rinsed out by hand, wrung out and hung all over the apartment. Till the weather was nice enough to hang them on my little balcony. There were diapers and tiny clothes in every step of the process all the time.

During this time, I received a letter from a friend back home. She had a new husband and a new home, (house, not apartment) and she was upset because her new full size washer and dryer hadn't been delivered on time and she had to go to a laundromat another week. I looked around at a sink full of diapers, more boiling on the stove and damp things hanging all over, and I had to laugh. I thought of taking some pictures and sending them to her. Everyone should have to do things the hard way for a month or two. It will change your outlook in a good way.

(Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I didn't feel like complaining back then. It was an adventure...the experience of a lifetime. I knew it was temporary, and everyone around me was in the same boat. And, I was lucky enough to see it like that even then. If I would complain about anything, it would be that G didn't share the experience with me.)

Early that spring, when J was a couple months old, we had one of those suddenly warm beautiful days that coaxes everyone outside. With a tiny baby, I had been pretty much stuck at home. I was sitting on our front steps, just me and J. We had new neighbors in the lower apartment of the other half of our building, and I hadn't met them yet. An American woman, about my age, came out and sat on her steps, just 10 feet from my steps. When we introduced ourselves, I got a big surprise. She had my maiden name. Which isn't at all common. I knew my family added a "y" to the end of the name about 4 generations before. Their name was still spelled the original way. Duprey and Dupre. Her husbands family was from Louisiana (she was from Iowa) but, I still wondered if there could be a relationship. We exchanged information and we both wrote to our Grandparents. Both families sent us the same names and it looked like the ancestor on my side who had added the "y" could have been a brother to his ancestor. Not 4, but 5 generations before. Can you imagine my excitement in finding a "cousin" I never knew existed, thousands of miles away? I felt like I suddenly had family living right next door. They had a boy who was about 2 years old, and a little girl who wasn't quite a year. And a poodle.

They did go to some band jobs with me, but mostly Toni and I spent our days at home with our kids. Her husband, Kerry, was around evenings and it was fun to get to know "a cousin" who's life had been very different from my own. His Grandparents (related to my own) were Creole and he spoke some Cajun French. Nothing like the life of an Ohio farm girl. Kerry and Toni, keeping with the idea that their names could be male or female, had named their kids, Dana and Terri.

That spring, I had a new baby, and new cousins living right next door. G wasn't around much, but it didn't seem to matter quite as much anymore.

Then, that summer got really busy and interesting and exciting. We had company from stateside, and four adults and a five month old baby toured Europe in a Volkswagon. Now, that was a trip.

(Time Out)

While I'm doing a bit of living in the past here, I still have to deal with the present. This present day held a bit of a scare for me.

It's time to renew my drivers license and I spent well over an hour sitting there waiting for my turn this afternoon. No problem with the tags for the car, but then it was time for the license and the eye test. I looked into that machine and I couldn't read line four. I couldn't even see four lines. She asked me to read line three and it was a guessing game. Switch to the other eye and it was even worse.

Now what is so scary about this is that I just got new glasses four months ago. She moved on to another line and did let me pass. I can see with both eyes, but neither eye was what it should be, especially with almost brand new glasses. My head was spinning. I saw fine when I got the glasses. Did my eyes deteriorate that much, that soon? I was fighting tears, and couldn't even tell what I could see. Now, I have to admit that with the headaches, my vision is not a steady thing. I can see, but with the pain, there is some variation from day to day. But, the idea of that much difference in that short a time, sent me into a tailspin.

They handed me my license and I headed straight home. I found the papers that were given to me with my new glasses, and I headed straight for the eye doctor. No appointment and no phone call first. When I walked in, the receptionist asked me if I had an appointment. I said, 'No, I have a problem." She was with someone else and asked me to sit down and she would be with me soon. I didn't sit, I paced. Before she got to me, the Doctor walked by and asked me what was wrong. (I probably did look that bad, I was scared.)

I told the Dr. what had happened at the eye test for my license. Bless his heart, there was no one waiting in the office, and he took me right back. First he took the glasses and went somewhere to check them. Then he came back and asked me a few questions and he gave me another eye test. By then I was seeing perfectly and very confused. His explanation was perfect. I have no line bifocals. The machine at the eye examine forces you to look through the bottom of your lenses and then gives you something in the distance to read. I am extremely nearsighted. If I hadn't been so upset, I might have noticed when I was driving that I could see. Although, with tears to blur my vision and a foggy lens to look through....it's no wonder things were blurred.

What a scare. What a relief. What a day. Now I wonder why my head is pounding so????

In The Hospital

Every time I hear that some of our troops have been taken to the Landstuhl Hospital in Germany, I wonder what it's like now. It must still be the biggest American Base Hospital in Europe. It's mentioned in the news a lot.

I spent 5 days there, back in 1965, when my son was born. Not because anything was wrong, that's just the way it was done then. The nursery was small, and kept available for emergencies. So the babies were left in bassinets in our room. Right from the start, which really scared me. I'd never even been around a new born before. Thank goodness for an experienced Mother in our room.

There were six of us in an end room with sheets hanging all over in an effort to control dust and cold air due to some construction. The sheets gave us a false sense of privacy. We were divided by them, but the construction workers, (German, not G.I.) were constantly pulling them aside and going through to the door outside. Then back in again. I'm not sure what the construction was, but it was noisy and dirty and drafty and there was no privacy at all. A major problem for me.

Everything we needed was down the hall at a nurses station. No room service, they had us on our feet right away. Since J was in such a hurry and had arrived in the hall, there was tearing and stitches for me. Those first walks were pretty uncomfortable. But, we couldn't have more than one diaper at a time and weren't allowed to fetch for each other, so I made a lot of trips down the hall. Which was exactly their intent.

When G finally returned to the hospital, I was already settled in the room with the bassinet and had already done the toe and finger count and decided he looked exactly like G's Father. He'd been rubbed with oil and his skin looked ok. G didn't stay with us very long. He took off to fill out the paperwork required when an American baby is born in another country. J has both an American Birth Certificate and a German Birth Certificate. And, G was told, we had to register the baby when we got back to the states, or he could be drafted into a German Army when he was old enough.

When G came back to the room with the papers, I learned he had switched the names we agreed on. Instead of T.J.B., the birth certificate was J.T.B.. But that didn't anger me as much as discovering that G had already phoned our parents with the news. We were suppose to do that together. It was my only chance in those two years to talk to my folks, and he took it away from me. G was still selfish, controlling and immature, and I was growing bitter about it.

For 5 days, baby J and I were on Army time. Reveille and Taps. Meals announced over a loud speaker, "Come and Get It." We would walk down the hall, get in line and carry our trays back to the room. And return them when we finished. If I wanted a nurse (or medic) in the room, I had to go find one. Bathrooms were also down the hall. And, shared with other mothers and nurses, medics, visitors and all those construction workers. Single rooms for whoever got there first and usually, lines to wait in. Or you could use a bed pan in your room, (then you had to empty it yourself) with all those construction workers coming and going in plain view. Because of my stitches, I had been given some heat lamp contraption and told to use it to heat the stitches several times a day. I tried it once by tenting myself in sheets in bed with the darn thing and shining it where "the light don't shine." It glowed through the sheets and the workers laughed and pointed and I never used the heat lamp again.

The front man for The Dudes, Ollie (His last name was Olsen) was stationed at Landstuhl and he was my only visitor during those 5 days. G stopped by each day, but never stayed. He was too busy with the Army and the Band. I was still so angry with him about the phone call, I didn't care if he was there or not. But, I was glad enough to see him when I was released to take J home. Even though they released me at noon, and he decided not to come till he got off duty. (They would have let him leave early to take home.)

Segroine had made us a big "Welcome Home" sign and it was stretched across the house when I got there. There was still a lot of snow on the ground, but the child was at the door waiting. She was tugging at his blanket to get a peek, before we were even inside. Both Segroine and Frau Reiss followed me upstairs and it was almost as nice a homecoming as I could have expected from family. Almost. G didn't even come in. He dropped my things inside the door for Segroine to carry up and he went off again on a band job. We had a brand new baby, but it was "back to normal" for G. selfish....selfish.....selfish.....selfish.........................................

Finally, A Baby Boy

At last, on the evening of February 12, 1965, I knew labor had started. G was away on a band job in Nancy, France. I expected him home around 2 A.M. and figured that would be ok. Little Segroine had been in and out of the apartment and her room all evening. When she realized the baby was coming, she stayed close to me. Around midnight my pains were about 10 minutes apart and she brought her Mother up to see me. It was snowing like crazy and the roads were getting bad. I was beginning to wonder if I could wait till G got home. Frau Reiss was acting lke a Mother Hen and wanted me to let her get the village midwife. I told her (through Segroine) that if G wasn't home by 2:30 A.M. or if my water broke, she could get help. Till then I was going to hang on. Segroine was excited to be part of it and knew she wouldn't be sent off to bed. We needed her to translate. Meanwhile it just got later and the storm got worse. It was beginning to look like I might have to deliver there, even if G did get home soon. Frau Reiss wasn't taking any chances. She had things ready and I was sure glad to have her with me. The water didn't break and we waited. G finally arrived at 4 A.M. Just after poor Herr Reiss had been ordered from his bed to fetch the midwife. The Reiss's wanted me to stay there and not go back out into the snow. G wanted to take me to Landstuhl. By then my pains were just a few minutes apart. The hospital was only 10-12 minutes away on clear roads and G said the roads hadn't been as bad as they looked in the village. So we left for the hospital. We made it in 15 minutes and they took me to a room while G did the paperwork. I was barely in the room when my waters broke. There was only one nurse on duty and she left me to get undressed and into bed by myself. Everything seemed to happen at once. Within 10 minutes, I had that uncontrollable urge to push. I yelled for the nurse. She didn't come. I screamed for the nurse and she yelled back at me. She didn't come, she yelled at me! Clear down the hall. Now I was mad. Too mad to be scared. After waiting an extra two months, this baby was coming now. I didn't stop screaming and the nurse marched into the room, jerked back the blanket, turned white and started screaming too. She ran out, brought back a gurney and rolled me onto it. Then the ~#*##$%** crossed my legs and climbed up and sat on my ankles. Pure adrenelin kicked in and I threw her across the room. She was still on the floor when two medics arrived and wheeled me out of the room. But, my son didn't make it to delivery...he was born in the hall, attended by medics. I never did see a doctor. It was just minutes after 5 A.M. on February 13, 1965. My last period had ended March 8, 1964. Five days after arriving in Germany. My baby was 1/2 oz. shy of 9 Lbs. and almost 23 inches long. The first time I saw him, I thought he was covered in the Psoriasis that covers my ankles. But, they told me his skin had only been effected by being so long in the womb. It cleared within hours and they were right.

G wasn't there when our son was born. He'd signed me in and then he went back home to sleep. He came back to the hospital 5 hours after our son was born. All he said to me was they told him it would be awhile. I will leave it up to your imaginations as to how I felt about that.

Pregnant, far, far away.

Everything about the pregnancy was different than what my friends were going through back in the states. My letters must have seemed as strange to them as theirs did to me.

I had a standing appointment every month at the hospital in Landstuhl. All 82 wives who were due the second week of December would sign in and get in line. Medics weighed us, took our blood pressure, and listened to our hearts. In a few months they would also take a blood sample and listen to the babys heart. Air Force Medics.....not Doctors. I never saw a Doctor. And I never saw the same medic twice, at least not close enough together to remember one. We were given a chance to say we were having a problem, but if there was no problem we went through the whole procedure, in line. The biggest surprise was their rule for our weight. We were allowed to gain 25 LBS. over the nine months. One single pound over 25, and they would put us in the hospital and control every bite we received till our baby arrived. Thus, my extreme diet including lots of tuna. It was easy to get. Easy to fix.....open a can an eat plain, and it was nutritous without adding pounds. I was determined no one was putting me in the hospital.

It was an easy pregnancy. All medical tests were ok, and my weight made the officials happy. I did tend to pass out on occasion. That scared a few people who happened to be near when I went down. I passed out once in the base book store and once in the commissary. Other times I was just walking with friends. It always happened when I was walking. I was fine as long as I was sitting. So, the lessons learned in childhood still applied. I was better off being lazy. There were things I missed doing and sometimes I would rebel. But each time I did, I had to pay the price. Extreme headache, dizzyness or fainting. What really surprised me was being able to sit in the club surrounded by the loud, live, amplified music of The Dudes. It never did make the headache worse. I could relax and the music seemed to flow through me. I "felt" music instead of pain. Vibration usually drives me crazy, but the music never did. Even with those amplifiers right near our table. I wondered about that often, it didn't make sense. And it has never been explained to me. Is it the rhythm that makes the difference? One flows, one jars?

The 7th month of pregnancy meant appointments twice during the month. And, from the 8th on, I had to go every week. I was right on schedule according to the medics. Baby had a heart beat when he was suppose to. He kicked on schedule. Talking to whichever of the 82 were nearest me in line, also soothed any fears. We were all young and a long way from "HOME" and we supported each other. As our time grew near, some of the 82 went missing. There was a lot of chatter about who had delivered during the week. Our numbers dwindled during the week, and new faces were replacing them. But, I was still there.

As Christmas approached, I was getting anxious letters from Mom. She was convinced something was wrong and I wasns't telling her. I assured her they were assuring me all was still ok. They thought I'd missed the period date. I knew that wasn't possible. This baby was as lazy as me. They didn't have the scans back then. At least not at the Air force Hospital. My babies heartbeat was strong and he was kicking me very strongly. And he was getting long. He actually tore whatever holds the flesh to the ribcage. Those little feet pushed themselves upwards and I could pull the flesh out away from my ribs for months after he was born.

Another month had gone by. It was mid January and still no baby. Then the end of January. Now even the Medics were talking about inducing labor. But, just talking. I'd gained 22 pounds and they did tell me not to worry about my weight anymore. All 82 of my gang were home with babies and I had outlasted several more weekly groups. I was beginning to feel like a freak.

Changes

It didn't take long to get pregnant after arriving in Germany. And I wasn't the only one. There were 82 of us due the same week. And that wasn't unusual. There were a lot of American bases, both Army and Air Force in Germany. They all had to report to the Landstuhl Air Force Base Hospital.

When I told G to arrange the first appointment, he discovered I would have to miss two periods before I could see a Doctor. We waited and then he called again. They gave me an appointment so far ahead, I had missed three when I finaly went to Landstuhl. There wasn't any doubt when that last period had been. It started the same day I left the states, and there was no period after that. They gave me a due date the second week in December. G had been a Christmas time baby and he was pleased.

Then G was offered a chance to join a country western band. A retired officer had stayed in Germany and started several bands to entertain the troops in Germany and France. As a soldier was rotated home, another was given his position in a band. G told them he could play anything and wanted the first position. It was drums. He'd never played drums before, but then he'd never played guitar before either. There was never any doubt in either of our minds that he could do it. G could pat his head, and rub his belly and tap a different beat with each foot and never miss a beat. He received the drums from the member who was leaving, practiced in our apartment that afternoon and went on his first gig right away. And, he got away with it. They never even knew it was his first time on drums.

The band was called "The Dudes" and they played at E.M. (Enlisted Mens) and N.C.O. (Non-commissioned Officers) clubs almost every night of the month. He still had his army duties, but as an intertainer, he got out of maneuvers and extra duties. He was having a great time, but, he wasn't around much during my pregnancy.

I still spent my days with friends in the village. But now there were new friends with more in common. The wives of the other members of The Dudes. We didn't go to the jobs at the E.M. clubs because they could get rowdy. But, we often went to the N.C.O. gigs. And, when they did have a day off, some of them would practice new songs at one of our apartments. What a mixed group we were. Two of the women were German. The front man was married to a Philippene woman. And I was the only American. The fifth band member was a batchelor. Pop Phillips owned and managed seven bands, (if I remember right) and he had big time connections back stateside. He brought some of the big country & western stars to perform on the bases. And, his bands, including The Dudes, took turns with opening acts. I knew nothing about that kind of music, or the stars G and I met. I'm afraid I wasn't suitably impressed. I'd never heard of Loretta Lynn, Bobby Bare, Buck Owens, Hank Thomson, Joe Joseph and others I can't even think of. Except that when I learned that Joe Joseph played a double neck guitar and was the man who played the theme song for the T.V. show Bonanza, I was impressed. That one I recognized. This introduction to their music did lead me to a life long love of Country Music. I'd be much more impressed if I could meet them now. Stupid Kid!!!

It was exciting, it was fun, and it was too easy. (Maybe that's why the aneurysm didn't show up for that pregnancy, or maybe it was because I was so young.) All I had to do was be there. Everything had to be handled through the army, and that made it G's job. He got the money, he paid the bills, he made appointments, and he handled all paperwork. I had no phone, or any need for one. I had no T.V., there wasn't any station for Americans. (Germans had to pay a luxury tax on T.V.'s and cars and a lot of things we took for granted. There weren't many in Siegelbach) I had a radio, but there wasn't much to listen to. When the pregnancy was confirmed and we had a due date, G bought a set of Encyclopedias from a G.I. who was earning extra money. I read the whole set while I was waiting for my baby. When the weather was bad, I did a lot of reading. All the wives saved every magazine and paperback and passed them around and around. We visited each other a lot and our numbers were always changing. Short timers and new comers meant there were always some farewell and welcoming.

With G in the band, now I didn't even have many meals to fix. He ate at noon on the base and in the evening the band ate where ever they were playing. I spent my pregnancy living on Tuna Fish and Peanut Butter. And whatever produce and dairy I could get in the village. I grew up with milk and still prefered it to soda pop. I had meals when I joined the band wives at the clubs. I also had a few drinks on those nights. The "girls" drank Sloe Gin Fizzes. Too many calories and they were a disappointment for another reason. I never felt a thing. I never got drunk, or had a hangover. Everyone else would get silly and have a ball and I never felt a thing. I even asked one of the medics at the hospital about it. He said he had heard of such a thing, but one day I'd reach a tolerance and then I'd get as drunk as anyone. (I'm still waiting for that day.) Different people have tried to get me drunk. They all gave up.

I was certainly living a very different life than anything I could have ever imagined or had ever known. It was a strange time.

The Second Apartment

That first apartment was on Kirche Strasse, (Church Street) and my nearest American neighbor was Patty. We spent quite a lot of those early days together. But, I never got to know her husband and the four of us never got together. I don't know why. They were short timers and went back to Rhode Island before I'd been there long. They had a car and Patty was the only Ameriacan woman I met who had an international drivers license. Her husband took the car to work most days, but occasionally she took him to work so she could go shopping in the city. I've never met another woman as young as Patty who had that kind of self confidence. She wasn't afraid to try anything. She had friends all over the village, and I had to take my turn on her shopping trips. She would be the one I'd have expected to learn the language, but she fell into the same trap. She could understand quite a bit, but never tried to speak much. I was disappointed that we didn't have more time together.

My pregnancy was progressing and I was looking for another apartment. I couldn't see any way I could take care of a baby when I had to draw water from a bathroom sink and heat it. I wanted a kitchen with hot water available. And, that simple requirement was proving to be a hurdle. We were too far from any kind of laundromat. G could take our laundry to a cleaner on the base and pick it up on the way home. But, I didn't think that would work with diapers and baby things. Disposable diapers were not available back then, or at least not over there.

We finally found somthing I could live with, on the other side of Siegelbach, where new construction was expanding the village toward Vogelweh. It was in one of the new buildings built to hold four families. Our first landlady was disappointed when I told her we were leaving. She had been all excited about having a baby in the house. She just drooped when I got her to understand we would be leaving. Do you suppose part of that was the idea of breaking in another young foreign couple.

The new landlords were Herr and Frau Reiss and their daughter, Segroine. (I can find nothing anywhere to help me spell her name. That is how it was pronounced.) They lived downstairs. The other two homes were entered by a separate front door which made their half of the building completely seperate from our side. This building was considered very modern. It had a buzzer and intercom at the front door so the occupant could speak to a visitor before buzing them in. The front door led down a very short hall to the Reiss's front door or up the stairs to our apartment. But, we didn't have a door upstairs. I had to give up that security in exchange for my kitchen. The top of the stairs were open to another hall. Immediately on the right was our bedroom. Again no closet, just a wardrobe and a bed. The room was narrow and not very big, with one window looking out the back of the house. On the left, across from the bedroom was a half bath. We had a stool and a sink, but once again the tub was downstairs and shared with the Reiss's. They heated the water when they wanted and if we weren't home or didn't take our bath when they told us it was ready, we had to wait till the next week. Beside the bedroom was the living room. A nice big room with a small coal burning stove for heat. There was a glass door leading to a very small balcony and one big square window. The windows, every one in the apartment, and the door to the balcony had a metal shutter that folded and rolled down to completely seal us in. Like a blackout. When those shutters were down, no light came in or got out. Across from the living room and beside the bathroom was my small galley like kitchen. With a 10 liter hot water tank hanging on the wall over the sink. There was my required hot water. 10 liters at a time, and it dropped into a real single basin sink. We had a nice cupboard. Not built in, it was a piece of furnature, but it was larger and held enough. Across from the sink was the usual counter high fridge. The top of which was my only counter space. Beside the fridge was a marval of a stove. It was a combination gas and wood burning stove with a flue that I had to learn how and when to open and close. It was a lovely enamaled green. It had three burners and one deep well that heated water or soup. This adjoined the oven and got it's heat by heating the oven. I never did quite manage to master that stove, but I did well enough to keep us fed, and I rather enjoyed the experience. There was also another window with it's shutter and a view to the front of the house. So I could see the street and watch for G's car to come home.

At the end of our hall, between the kitchen and living room was a locked door. It was Segroine's bedroom. And, the reason we didn't have a front door to lock. She could come and go as she pleased. Segroine was a 10 year old when we moved in. Actually I don't believe she spent more than a dozen nights in her room during the approx. one and a half years we lived there. But, she did a lot of coming and going during the day. And, I enjoyed her company. She had been studying English in school and already spoke pretty well, but was tickled when I could help her with her homework. She was learning quickly and had a million questions about the United States. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she eventually married a G.I. and moved here.

Once moved into my modern new house, I thought I was ready to have my baby. But, being pregnant thousands of miles from my Mother, and in the Army, and in a foreign country and with a husband who wasn't always home and due in the dead of winter was going to be a "whole nother" experience.

Picnics and Castles

Germany is a beautiful contry. I loved the city of Heidelberg, but that could be due to the tours Trudy gave me. I was able to see and learn more about it because it was her home.

Most of our tours were with other G.I. families. Shortly after I arrived, Eddie's family came over. Eddie was a "good ole boy with sophistication" His wife was another matter. They had a little girl about 5 and a boy not quite 2. We babysat for the little girl several times, the little boy didn't leave his Mother for anything. We all went on a few picnics and toured the local area and it's castles. This took place shortly after their arrival. It wasn't long till she decided she belonged with G.I. families of higher rank. Other than babysitting with Cindy, I can only dig up one memory of time spent with them. Eddie was driving on what looked like a timber road in the woods. His wife, I can't even remember her name, and I were in the back seat with the boy. G had Cindy on his lap in front. The path was rough and Eddie stopped several times to point something out. We were looking for a clearning to have our picnic. It was during one of the stops that I looked back a bit and found myself looking eye to eye at a wild rabbit. I gasped out loud. Rabbits shouldn't be that big. Granted I was in a small car. The rabbit could have been on ground a tiny bit higher than the path we were on, but he was eye to eye with me. The men laughed at me. They had seen the rabbits around the base and out on their manovers. They are big. This one was sitting on his haunches and didn't even seem afraid of us. Later, when I saw deer I couldn't get over how small they were. They looked just like the white tail deer I was familiar with, but quite a bit smaller. Now, the squirrels looked the same. And I recognized the birds I saw. Germany is also home to a lot of wild boar. It's a big hunting attraction. They are dangerous and aggressive. We had been warned not to walk in the woods and to stay alert for them, because of their aggression. So, our picnics were always close to the car or protected in the shell of a castle.

Castles had always fascinated me and I wanted to see everyone we could find. In Germany the larger the castle, the larger the town or city that grew around it. There were some very small castles scattered in wild areas, but a lot of them had been destroyed beyond repair. Either by the centuries, or bombs or from people taking the stone for other construction. These are free to explore, if you can find them, though they can be dangerous. If there is a castle in good repair, you will probably have to pay to see it. Not that the price is prohibitive, the amount was always small. I never lost my fascination for the castles, but I did learn they weren't as romantic as I'd dreamed. They really are damp and dark and drafty with uneven floors only safe to walk on where centuries of feet have worn them down. The archers slits were deeper than I'd imagined and dark and cold. It didn't take much imagination, while sitting in one, to vision the men shooting arrows at the enemy. But, it took a lot of imagination to wonder how they ever saw anything or could hit anything. The view was narrow and the sides V'd to a point that ended at the opening, so there wasn't room to maneuver. Most castles are on high ground, and the walk, (that wide area on top of the outer wall) if it was intact, always gave you a beautiful view. The most interesting castles are the big ones that originally proteted whole neighborhoods. I loved touring them, but had to join a group and wasn't allowed to wander and explore. The small remote castles were the ones we most enjoyed for our picnics. Occasionally you had one to yourself, but usually there were other tourists and G.I. families coming and going.

It was at a remote, almost complete castle where I had another memory that has occasionally come back to haunt me. There was no road leading up the hill. It was a tourist attraction and there was a parking lot below and a narrow path upwards. Stone steps had been put in the steepest part of the path up, but mostly it was a climb through woods. I had my camera and had fallen behind the others. There was a sharp turn and when I came aroung the stone corner I was startled by a man and I made my usual gasp that subs for a scream. Then I got a better look at him. He was a small hunchback. My gasp must have seemed like a response he was use to getting for his appearance. He had dropped his head and hunkered down as if to avoid offending me. I was immediately shamed. My gasp had been due to being startled and not because of any aversion to him. I reached out and lay my hand on his shoulder and said in English how sorry I was and it was that he had suddenly appeared that startled me. I knew he wouldn't understand the words, but I hoped my tone would be understood. He didn't even look up. He scurried away and disappeared down the path. It ruined my day. And the memory comes back to haunt me occasionally. That I could have caused the kind of hurt that I felt at the horrid school.

Bill and Trudy

I'm not sure just when G met Bill, but it was soon after my arrival. Bill started picking up G on their way to Vogelweh and was soon coming to the apartment to pick him up. Bill told his wife, Trudy, where I was and she came to find me. Bill was from Michigan, almost a neighbor. Trudy was from Heidelberg. My first German friend. Her English was still laced with a strong German accent and, to my amusement, was pepperd with some profanities. How could it be otherwise when she learned a lot of her English from her G.I. Hubbey and his friends. I've been lucky enough to stay in contact with these two wonderful friends all these years. They are now in Michigan, still almost neighbors, and e-mail has made keeping in touch a lot easier. They gave me permission to use their names.

Trudy took me shopping in Kaiserslautern, and gave me my first experience with the cable cars. With Trudy, I could go anywhere. She is so upbeat and I love being with her. She was pregnant when we first met. And, Marty was born just about the same time I discovered I was pregnant, So, she was a big help to me during that time. Germany is a long way from family in Ohio when you're pregnant.

I don't know now why Bill was selling his Volkswagon. He must have gotten something else, but we bought his car. Even though they didn't ride to work together, our friendship grew and we got together a lot, usually to play cards. The only American card game Trudy knew was canasta. I had to learn canasta because I came from euchre country. We played a lot of canasta. Also a little euchre, and some hearts. After Marty was born, we usually played at their apartment. It's easier to keep a baby home then to drag along all the stuff they need.

Trudy also invited us along on several trips to Heidelberg to visit her family. I felt like they more or less adopted G and I. Trudy always had to translate, but I was learning to understand more. Those times with her family would have been the perfect time to learn to speak German. I've kicked myself hundreds of times since, because I didn't. The funny thing about the language situation was that, at the time, Bill still wasn't communicating real well with his In-Laws. That is, till he and the Welk's had a bit to drink. The more they drank, the better they could communicate. And, Herr Welk made the best fruit flavored Brandies. I wasn't use to having alcohol aroung, but everyone drinks in Europe. Frau and Herr Welk introduced me to a home made fruit brandy that has never been duplicated, let alone topped.

I want to add right here, that there was never any annimosity when the young Americans were in their home. There was a snapshot on the wall of their home of Herr Welk in the Uniform of a Horse Soldier and standing beside his horse. I asked Trudy about it and she answered with pride that he had served his country in the war. Then she made sure I understood he was not a Nazi. The Germans I met, even those in the war, were not Nazi believers or followers. They had been young people who were misled and as adults were not proud of what their country was known for. They loved their homeland, and were willing to die for it, but there were very few average Germans who could actually be called Nazi. There was never any hint that Herr Welk was an enemy to my own paratrooper Father in any way. They hoped I understood, that awful past had nothing to do with now.

My favorite experience of the whole two years was with these people. Trudy invited us to join them on butchering day. Farms in Germany weren't way out in the country. They were part of the towns and cities and circled the edges. Her family was butchering a hog. I was no stranger to butchering or cutting up meat. We'd had a hog fall on ice and had to butcher it right there in our barnyard. But, I learned that day that it wasn't at all like butchering in Germany. The first difference was the size of the animal. This hog was huge. The second difference was, they don't waste anything.

I watched Herr Welk pin the animal against the butchering table with his legs and knees. Then he leaned across the animals back and reached under to grab it's legs. In one swift motion he had lifted that big hog and layed it on the table and slit it's throat before the hog even had time to struggle. One squeal when it's legs first left the ground and it was over. Herr Welk was a solid built man, but I was amazed at the casual show of strength. I'd never met anyone who could lift a big hog like that. (Or since)

My next lesson was how wasteful we Americans are. There was a tub in place to catch the blood before they even started. Trudy's brothers-in-law and a couple other men were there to help. Everyone had a task and it was obvious they all knew exactly what to do, and this wasn't the first time they had worked together. Bill and G were go-fers and in no time at all the hide was off and various parts were starting the process to make use of them. The hide was scraped and the hair was saved, hooves were being boiled for glue. I didn't see what everything was used for because they found a job for me. There was a grin on Herr Welks face that gave me a clue. This big man had a plan and it had something do to with teasing the young American farm girl.

Sausage (wurst) is a mainstay in the German diet. There are many different kinds of sausage. The blood is cooked and seasoned for Blood Wurst. Other parts are kept for special sausages. What has no other use is added to meat and ground into the sausage, which is stuffed after cooking into the cleaned intestines. That is what Herr Welk had in mind for the self proclaimed farm girl. To see how I would do on the grinder. It resembled the grinders I was use to, only bigger. It clamped to the side of a table and had a hand crank. Everything was ground raw and then put in an enormous cast iron kettle over an open fire to cook.

There are men who make at least part of their living with their own spice and herb blends. When a family butchers, they bring in the man who's recipe they like best. He arrives with his mixture already prepared in little cloth bags, so his recipe is kept a secret. He alone is in charge of the kettles and cooking and seasoning the sausage.

My job started as soon as the actual cutting started. Chunks of raw meat were carried over and added as I stood and cranked. The grins and comments started. They brought me the tongue. I just smiled and kept cranking. Some of what they tossed in there was pretty disturbing, but I managed to continue my cranking. I knew they were trying to make me gag and I was determined not to. I have to admit, I did turn beet red when Herr Welk himself carried over the penis and poked it in the grinder. But, I kept going dispite the hoots and hollars. The only thing that almost did me in, didn't make me sick to my stomach. It was a weirder sensation. They dropped in the two eye balls. And, they wouldn't go down. They just rolled around on top and watched me. Rolling around in different directions, and one at a time keeping an eye on me. And I couldn't bring myself to poke them down into the grinder. The just kept rolling around on top. I said I had to go to the bathroom and I left. Didn't fool anyone. The men did give me a cheer though. I'd made it through everything else.

A Solution and A Distaster

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced the easiest thing to do was just show G that I could get out without his key. If he knew he couldn't lock me in, why would he bother. If I was sitting outside on the steps when he got home and acted non-confontational and normal and happy to see him, he should get the message, without a fight. I went over and over it in my head. He didn't like to lose, but I was pretty sure it would just quietly go away. I hoped he'd rather ignore it than confront it.

With my mind made up, I relaxed. It was a pretty day and I decided to go for a walk. But then I realized if I left the apartment, I couldn't lock up. I couldn't take a chance of anything being stolen. That wouldn't help my case with G and trusting the Germans at all. So I settled for sitting on the outside steps. The sun had warmed the concrete and I sat there a long time. Every German who walked by nodded and said, "Tag" (sounds like tack with an aah sound) Meaning "day" or short for Guten Tag meaning good day. Two American girls went by pushing their babies in German strollers. Patty lived just down the street and asked me to walk with them. I just told them we didn't have a spare key yet and I'd better wait for another day. It was a pleasant afternoon and I never felt a moment of threat.

When it was near time for G to return, I went back out to the steps. My landlady found me there and jingled her keys and pointed upstairs. I kept telling her , "It's ok." and I stayed put. Finally she just sat down with me. Then Patty came back with her baby girl, and sat down with us. My landlady reached for the baby and Patty didn't hesitate. With Patty and the baby there, I could visably see my landlady relax. We enjoyed our attempted conversation and since Patty had already been in Germany for over a year, it was amazing how much we were able to share. Patty didn't speak the language either, but was able to understand more. And mostly the landlady played with the baby while Patty and I got acquainted. She was from Rhode Island and would be going home in the fall. I never told Patty how she saved me that day.

That is what G saw when a volkswagon pulled up and let him out. I introduced Patty as if this was perfectly normal. Then Patty's husband drove up and more introductions were made. The landlady slipped away and the rest of us talked for awhile before going home. (Now I could call it home.) G didn't say anything, didn't even ask how I'd come to be outside, just as I'd expected. On the way up the stairs I made a simple statement about him leaving the keys so I could lock the apartment when Patty and I went for a walk the next day. And, that was the end of my being locked in. Neither one of us lost control, and I thought I'd figured out how to handle my man. Little did I know that it was me who would eventually really lose control.

I was trying to follow the written instructions that came with the apartment. But, there was nothing to tell me where to pour out the bowls of my "sink." It seemed the obvious answer was to pour out my used dirty water down the toilet. Which I did for several days. Till my landlady came upstairs one morning and spent several minutes trying to tell me something. I couldn't follow all of her words, even though a few words were getting through. It all had something to do with "water closet" Finally she pulled out the drawer under the table, lifted out a bowl and walked to the window and acted like she was throwing it out. Then she took my hand and led me to the bathroom and pointed to the toilet and kept saying, "Nein, nein." That should have been clear enough. But, I'm telling on myself when I admit that after she left, I actually opened my "closet" wardrobe to see if there was a water drain on the floor. I still thought one of her nein's was also being said when she pantomimed throwing the dirty water out the window. But when there obviously wasn't any drain in the "water closet????", I figured I was going to have to throw it out the window. (OK, I learned "water closet" is a European way of saying toilet. After all, I WAS a 19 year old country girl.)

So, that very evening, after our meal and dishes were done, I opened the window...... But, there were a lot of people in the street and the window was right over the front door. So I decided it would be more considerate to throw it out the back window. Which I did. I'm always considerate of others. OH.....MY.......GOSH! I forgot the rabbit hutch. And why did the landlord have to be feeding his bunnies at just that moment??? I soaked the poor man and his rabbits. How could one bowl hold that much water? We could hear him yelling all the way through the basement, all through his house, all the way down the hall, all the way up the stairs and right through our door. Without so much as a knock. These were German words I knew I didn't want to learn. It was the first time I was afraid in Germany. The soaked man had his say, glared at me, then lifted out the second bowl, went to the window, (The big front window) stuck his head WAAY Out, looked both ways, shouted something totally unintelligible, and threw the water out of the window with enough angry force to clear the steps. (I know, I looked. After he stormed out.) When the door closed and the steps receeded, G burst out in laughter so hard he sank to the sofa holding his side. It took me awhile, but I also learned to clear the steps when I threw water. I never did figure out what I was suppose to yell, but I always waited till the street was clear. (Didn't I say I spent a lot of time at the window seat.) I still don't know why I couldn't just pour it down the water closet.

I wish I could remember their name. I can still see him exactly as he was when he opened our door and glared at me. A very wet, very angry, very imposing little old man.