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.)