Oh My Goodness...Urp...Excuse Me

Started the morning feeling pretty good about my belt and how there was actually a little wiggle room and maybe even the need for another hole to be punched to make it a little tighter.  It is now evening, in Austria, and all hope is lost.

We left Monika and Jürgen's house this morning (cough cough...our mornings have been turning into early afternoons) and drove to Austria to visit Rosel and Hermann's house.  We navigated roads that had four wheel drives (and Sherpas) sitting alongside scratching their heads.  This is the type of place where, when a car is coming toward you, you pull to the side and stop so there is room for others to pass...for miles and miles.  We arrived about an hour and a half later than we told them and were greeted by a very enthusiastic Rosel! 

We were given the Reader's Digest tour and were ushered into the kitchen where Rosel began pulling food out of thin air.  Suddenly there was fresh bread, meat, cheese, three different kinds of mustard, butter (fresh from the dairy), and butter fresh from the market (just in case we preferred that), there were rolls and pretzels straight from the bakery, and we were to wash it all down with good German beer, homemade pear juice, homemade juice from a berry that has no English translation, and apple juice that comes straight from their apple orchard where their house sits.  I do not wish to make anyone think that we are finally being fed...quite the opposite.  This feast is just an example of everyplace that we have been so far.  If this was a food blog, I would have material for days!  Up to now I have been able to monitor/control myself fairly well.  What was the difference?  in a word, Rosel!   

When we met she said to me, "Nicht sprechen Deutsch, Ich nicht sprechen Americanish."  Which, you might have guessed, means, you don't speak German, I don't speak American.  This might present a problem to other people...not so for us.  Everything moved along swimmingly as long as I got the gist of what she meant.  It was pretty easy to determine that this laughing exuberant woman had one thing on her mind...feed the guests!  

We all took a roll, some meat and cheese, and ate heartily.  I personally tried every one of the drinks.  When we'd cleared our plates, she would start gesturing again and then start pushing food toward us.  If we stopped chewing she got this mournful look on her face like she'd failed as a hostess.  Finally Sylvia clued us in..."Shes going to keep giving you food...eat very slowly."  Ruth asked where the butter was, whoops...she got more from the refrigerator so there wasn't a wait.  Someone pointed at the meat platter and she jumped like she'd been poked and sliced more prosciutto!  I'm usually pretty good at resisting peer pressure but I didn't want to upset her...and it was so good!  

When everyone had given up trying to shovel food down our gullets, she joked, "we can't stop yet...there's more food.  You'll just get it for breakfast!"  I told her that was a joke in my family, if you don't eat your dinner you'll just get it chopped up in eggs in the morning!  She slapped her hand to her head, (I had mentioned a food not represented on the table), jumped again, and returned with a basket of hard boiled eggs that she proceeded to peel before we could shout to stop!  It was my mistake, I ate the egg.  I leaned over and whispered to the kids, "whatever you do, don't call someone a turkey!  She will start cooking a bird!"  

As our comas settled in, she offered the kids some hot chocolate since it was a bit windy...they accepted, but she was unable to provide it since her milk was a little past what she would like...she would have to go to the dairy.  Well all of the city folk jumped at the chance and we traveled down the road a bit to get milk that, until recently, had been delivered to houses...in tins.  We got to meet the woman who runs the dairy and take a quick tour while picking up some fresh yogurt, milk, and butter.  When we returned, after about a half an hour, she brought the yogurt out so we could all try it.  There was no saying no...in either language!  

We all laughed when she brought out her homemade biscotti and two different types of cakes.   When people groaned and said that we were already full, she went and grabbed a special bag of cookies (for us to munch on) since she sensed that we were disappointed with the choice of cakes.  Ok, so the cookies were delicious.  At every turn we were handed a new thing to munch on, a new wine to try, a new juice that the people in the family were making.  

When we had settled down a bit and sat and talked, it had to happen between the laughs.  The kids and I picked up on a few of the stories in German but much of it was lost.  Every once in a while they would throw us a bone and give us the main idea of the story just to keep us in the mix. Every once in a while I would tell part of a story to try to be funny.  I have to tell you, it is extremely satisfying to be able to cross a language barrier to cause laughter!  

We talked, and laughed, and ate, and drank, deep into the night.  We talked about breakfast and said our good nights...so we could start it all over again tomorrow.  I warned the kids not to mention anything remotely related to Hawaii or a luau...I seriously think this woman would start digging a pit to roast a pig!!!

Generalizations

Generalizations can be a dangerous thing.  They can make you trust people without merit or distrust people without cause.  A famous scholar (or someone in my family) once said, "I hate people who generalize...all MEN generalize!"  I will now pause for a moment while my philosophy professor rolls over in his grave.  Come to think of it he is still alive, so I think he is just feeling a disturbance in the Force...or just having to take a Tums.  

... Ok, I'm back.

Wth all of that being said, let me tell you about some generalizations that I could make if I wanted to.  If I were to judge the German people by the man who questioned why we needed to continue driving on the road that he had blocked, when it was painfully obvious that a) we could pass easily in a moment, and b) that there was zero chance of turning around on one of these typical single lane roads, then I might be inclined to think them rude.  If, however, I judged the German people by the family that we have eaten with, stayed with, and parked an oversized vehicle in front of....then I would generalize that they were warm, friendly, generous, funny, accepting, accomodating people.  (I'm going to lean toward the latter.)

Me, and my merry band of travelers, have been greeted with enthusiasm at every turn and we are feeling very blessed to be on this wonderful trip!  I fear that we are going to be a little like cats and, since we have been fed very well, we will long to come back over and over again.  I sense a second (or third) job on the horizon.

Alas, we are entering a new chapter, one most likely without WiFi, and so the writings will be slower to come.  I will try to continue off line and then post when I get near a Starbucks, McDonald's, or apparently one of several other Americanish restaurants that are invading the countryside.  (Still no Round Table Piza has been spotted, but I will keep you posted!)

California Envy!

One of the more interesting things I noticed about the people in Munich was that they seem to have a little bit of west coast envy.  I counted two Hollister t-shirts, three "West Coast" sweatshirts, several Los Angeles clothes, and even a Huntington Beach hoodie.  Sylvia once said something along the lines of, if there was a shirt that had the words, "This shirt has English writing on it!" German people would buy it.  Let me assure you, and them, they have it pretty good over here.

From the train ride over to Munich and beyond, we were seeing some gorgeous countryside and, in the city, some beautiful architecture!  You'll just have to imagine the pictures of the S-Bahn, the countryside, and the Marienplatz (both from the ground looking up and the tower looking down).   I can see them, they are very nice, but every time I try to upload the pictures into the blog on the @&;$?$! iPad, (did i mention that it is an Apple product?) it freezes my writing.  I have tried several times and for all I know, several pictures will be in the finished blog when I send it to publishing.

Ok, deep cleansing breath...out of my system.  I will try to paint a picture with words, as best as I can.  Also, I will post my pictures on Facebook whenever I can.  Feel free to stalk/browse as you like.  I will even befriend you on my page, but please send me a note telling me where you found me.  I am not in the habit of accepting random friend requests.  Just search by my email.

In Munich we disembarked (I know it's a big word but it felt European to use it) from the train and walked up the steps to a very crowded fussganger zone (walking area).   There were thousands of people walking along the cobblestone walkways mixed with fruit stands, product demonstrations, and street performers.  It was a little touchy navigating through all of these people and keeping our band of visitors intact.  We had to rush as we had just gotten to the Karlsplatz area a few minutes before noon and we really wanted to see the glockenspiel (think of the largest cuckoo clock you have ever seen but in lieu of a small bird coming out, there are instead dancers, musicians, and even carousel horses traveling in their mechanized paths) atop the Marienplatz Rathaus. (More in a moment).   The Rathaus is the main government building.  Similar to a city hall back home.  But function is as far as the similarity goes.  I do not know how old this building, the ornate clock and the surrounding town square but I did see a carving over a door that said 1907...it was one of the newer looking doorways in this stained glass encrusted cathedral like building.

We searched the inside trying to find out how to climb up the many floors of steps to the platform above the glockenspiel.  This was a very important part of our journey.  We really wanted the kids to see this beautiful place, and I wanted to propose to Sylvia again.  Actually, we were already married when we came here the first time in 1995 but that is where Sylvia gave me my golden band to wear on my right hand.  In our wedding ceremony Sylvia was given her Oma's ring to wear on her right hand.  I didn't have an American counterpart.  Sylvia solved that problem in one of the alcoves atop the Marienplatz.  I did ask her to marry me again while we were up there, had Jake take a picture while trying to stop us from kissing, but this time she said she was already married to a really big guy.  Now what am I going to do!

We topped off the trip with a visit to the Hofbräuhaus.  The kids were able to see what a bustling beer  garden was like.  There were no dirndel clad waitresses serving us, but we did get to see the waiters carrying more beers than should have been possible.  And much to my delight, the kids did not even hint that they would rather go to the Hard Rock Cafe that was across the walkway from the HB (that is what we world travelers call the Hofbräuhaus.).

We made our way back to the train and almost one fifth of us stayed awake after our long excursion.  For a moment before leaving we debated going on a guided bus tour.  When we looked at the tour highlights brochure, we found that we had already visited the lion's share of the sights, so we skipped it.

Back at Monika and Stefan's house we decided where our next steps will be.  I say we, but it was really a matter of the three women speaking German while I wrote my blog.  I'll let you know what I decided as soon as they tell me.

We're Here!

Just a quick note to let everyone know that we arrived safely in Munich.  The trip over was Uneventful for the most part and after many hours of travel, we are in the friendly arms of Sylvia's cousin and family.  It is very nice to invade a country (and household) and feel welcomed with generosity and friendliness.  The kids are getting reacquainted as their family came to visit us last year.  We have rented a camper and are planning on taking it to many parts of Germany, Austria, and even Italy where Sylvia's uncle and aunt are vacationing (I guess we can go to Italy if we have to).

We have not had a lot of time to adjust to the nine hour time change but we were up early this morning and planning to take the S-Bahn (train) into Munich.  We have been told that the possibility of parking a camper in the city is zero percent.  We decided not to take those odds and purchase a family pass for traveling.

I have decided to chronicle our trip on this format for two reasons...one, it is already set up and people are accustomed to visiting here, and two, my mother absolutely refuses to join Facebook so unless I write it here she will feel left out.  I hijacked her computer and joined this blog as a subscription so these will be sent to her as an email.  I have no pictures on this iPad as of yet but will post some as soon as I am able.  The little city of Landsberg is as beautiful as I have seen and we had a little walking tour yesterday.  I have explored the panorama feature on my phone to capture much of the architecture.  For now, you will just have to believe me.

It is nearly time to eat breakfast (at midnight our time) so I will sign off for now.  I hope you enjoy this sidebar from my regularly scheduled nonsense.

Jeff, Sylvia, Kristiana, Jacob, and Ruth (Sylvia's mom)

Sheesh!

I should really be in the classroom beginning to work on the goldenrod page of the report cards for my students.  Unless my principal is reading this, then I should be putting the finishing touches on my report cards.  There are two problems...it is far too early in the morning, and what the heck is goldenrod?

I'm only partially kidding.  I do know that goldenrod is a yellowish page and it is different from the the other two colors of paper that are sitting there waiting for me to print out copies for the parents.  But color is what I wanted to talk about today.

Before I begin let me just say, Mom, I warned you.

Colors and I have not been the best of friends over the years.  At first I didn't know what to think.  

As a kid I got a Lite Brite for Christmas.  Not a spectacular thing.  Pretty generic.  Lots of kids had them.

 

It came with seven bags of pegs like these.

See all those happy kids playing with their new toy?  That was me.  (the one on the left)  The way it worked was there were these black construction paper pages that had letters printed on them in a pattern.  That page lay between two sheets of plastic that had holes in them that allowed you to see the letters.  The letters stood for colors the primary colors.  R = red, O = orange, T = taupe, A = auquamarine, P = periwinkle...you get the idea.  Behind this plastic honeycomb and black paper was an incandescent light bulb...back before they were declared illegal and people who owned them were carted off to re-education camps.  Spoiler alert:  The Easy Bake Oven used a huge light bulb also, to cook its little cakes and such.  When using this year's model, and its stupid curly cue light, you have to plan on about a three week bake time..but I digress.

  The object of the Lite Brite was to take these little pointy plastic pegs and poke them through the paper to be held by the plastic holes.  When you were done you could plug it in and voila!  The light would show through the plastic and your picture glowed. It was kind of cool.

I remember distinctly the first picture I made. 

 

Look at it!  A thing of beauty!  Totally symmetrical.  It used all of the colors.  It was great.  I know my parents were impressed.  Then it came time to try the next picture.  They got me one of our fanciest containers to hold all the little pegs...a cool whip container...and away went the picture.  I set up the next picture, the slightly less aesthetically pleasing sailboat, and began to work.  When immediately I looked into this white plastic tub and thought, "What manner of hell is this!?" 

You see, when I made the first picture I took the pegs right from the little plastic bags...the LABELED plastic bags.  When I needed an orange I grabbed for the bag that said orange.  When I needed red, I grabbed for the bag that said red.  When I needed taupe, I grabbed...you get the idea.  When it came time to take it apart I just grabbed all of the pegs and tossed them into the container.  When I looked at the new picture and went to grab a peg, there were no more labels.  The tub of pegs looked like a stew of similarly colored plastic.  When I asked my parents what the heck was going on, they couldn't understand why I didn't get it.  It took the help of my brother and sister to get through subsequent pictures and Lite Brite was relegated to the shelf of, yeah, if you want to play with it, go ahead.  But I never chose that toy for myself again.

That was the first time I, looking back, became aware that I was colorblind.  I didn't know there was such a thing when I was a kid.  I just thought I was stupid or something because everyone else could just grab the right pegs on the first try, and I had to hold it up to the light, compare it to another, and then ask for help.  

It wasn't until I got glasses, in junior high school, that I discovered that I was colorblind in addition to being blind as a bat!  The doc, Ronald H. Sand in the mall near our house, showed me a page of dots in a book and said, "Trace the triangle."  He said it in a , "Oh yeah, I almost forgot to ask you this..." sort of way.  I looked at the page, back at the doc, then back at the page.  I tentatively reached out and picked three of the dots to make a triangle.  Any three points, not in a line, make a triangle ya know.  

(This is a picture I Googled and it's as distinctive as a patio paver to me.  I hope it doesn't say a bad word.)

It was only then that he got interested.  He flipped the book back to the beginning and showed me the page where the dots were gray and black...I saw a figure 8.  "I said, there wasn't anything like that on the first page though."  We went through the whole book and he determined that I was red green colorblind.  Nothing I could do about it.  My eyes were just missing something.  It wasn't til high school biology that I discovered that I was one of the ten percent of people who were colorblind...and that it was my mom's fault!

OK, not really.  It's not anything that you do to become colorblind but, genetically speaking, the gene that flips the switch for your eyes to not work right is carried by the mother.  I had a lot of fun with that bit of info growing up.  It's not everybody that gets to tease their mother on a genetic level!  I used to point at her and very dramatically yell, "YOU DID THIS TO ME!!"  Don't worry about my mom though...She gave as good as she got in the teasing arena.  There was the time that I was frantically opening and shutting cabinet doors looking for the "green pitcher!"  "Mom!  Where is the green pitcher?"  "We don't have a green pitcher." open shut "Yes we do!" open shut "No.  We don't."  open shut  "Oh my goodness!  The green pitcher we use for orange juice!"  OPEN SHUT!  Mom walked calmly over to the one cabinet I hadn't yet assaulted, reached in, and gently pulled out what I was looking for.  "Do you mean the brown pitcher?"  Yeah, it took me a while to get over that one.

Well that brings me to a month ago.  We were in the audience at a play that Jacob was in.  I was sitting next to my mom and Kristiana and Sylvia hadn't come to their seats yet.  They were busy putting make-up on all of the actors.  We had arrived ridiculously early and to pass the time I was pointing out people walking in and who they were to us.  It is a smallish school so I knew a fair number of people. "That is the lead actor's mom."  "That is Kristiana's friend from choir."  "They lived down the street from us."  That kind of thing.  Then a couple walked in that I felt additionally compelled to mention...this was the mom and dad of the other Kristiana at school.  (They spell it with a 'Ch' but we don't that against them)  As you can imagine, we don't encounter too many Kristiana's in our day to day lives.  I said, "Mom, that is the dad of the other Kristiana!" and scanning a little further along the audience..."And that is her mom!" 

As I look back at this interaction I replayed the scene in my head.  Christiana's mom was alone.  She was walking.  She was standing.  She was smiling.  She was blond.  She was on the steps.  She was holding a purse.  She was not sitting down.  She was turning around and looking for her seat.  Any of these would have been wonderful descriptors!  She could have even said, "The one in front of that man?"  Nope, my mom, comes up with, "The one wearing green?"  Picture me...eyebrow raised, mouth flat, shoulders up, hands out palms up like I was checking to see if it was raining in the little theater..."Really mom?  The one in green?  Are you sure you don't mean the one in gray?"  She started laughing and all I could say was, "You're going in the blog."

Attack Of The FLY!

I was reminded of a story recently as I went to my cousin Kim's house for her son's confirmation party.  No, they were not confirming that he was their son...this isn't Jerry Springer.  Get your mind out of the TV.  It was a nice event and I was happy that we could attend.  I was also happy that we weren't attacked by flies like we had been at another one of their parties.  Whenever we get together, the flies are mentioned.  It was really something.  There were hundreds of flies that had decided to enter their kitchen and land on the ceiling while we talked.  I am not exaggerating.  I DO NOT exaggerate!  (Even though I am accused of it a billion times a day!)   They were managed due to numerous fly strips that Dan, Kim's husband, ran to the store to buy. The flies, and their sudden appearance, were eerie. We were one scary soundtrack away from being in a horror movie!  We were all OK ..except that one guy who decided to go down into the basement, ALONE, to find out what that noise was.  We never saw him again.

Anyway, that is not what I was going to write about today.  I had another fly in mind.  The Mediterranean Fruit Fly!  Dun Dun Dunnnnnnnnnn!

That's right, our little neck of the woods was plagued by this particular bug, affectionately called The MedFly, a few decades ago, with momentous consequences...all because of my friend.  But I'll get back to that.  What I won't do is tell you his name.  There are probably hundreds of people who would love to know  the real story and his life (or the finish on his car) might be in jeopardy.

If you are not from the San Francisco bay area then it is conceivable that you have never even heard of this particular pest.  I would say that even fewer of you know that their arrival on the scene caused a great amount of concern among farmers and even greater concern among politicians.  I would also say that if you didn't know those two facts, then you most likely didn't know that there was a controversy surrounding the way that this little bug was handled.  And finally, an infinitesimal amount of you have ever seen one of these winged trouble makers...but I have.

In the early 80's there were crop failures galore.  That was bad enough!  But we were also getting ready for the coming ice age that the government was warning us about so we were all a little on edge.  (and you know that when the government warns you about a global weather disaster they are correct one hundred percent of the time.  ahem...coughBScough...coughINCANDESCENTlightBULBSareWAYbetterTHANthoseDUMBcurlyCUEthingsAREcough...coughBUYaHUMMERcough)  But I digress...must have been something that they are trying to feed to me.

The way it worked was they wanted to spray insecticide all over the areas that could be affected.  This was disconcerting to many, problematic to some, and the worst thing that could ever happen in the whole world to others.  Debate got heated.  People on both sides were very passionate about what to do. One politician B.T. "I Grew a Third Nipple!" Collins is remembered as the guy who, during all of the hearings on the spraying of malathion, drank a glass of the stuff to prove that it wasn't harmful.  The entire debate was academic since the Medfly had been found in crops but hadn't been seen in the cities...yet.  This whole thing about the spraying was being thought of as a preventative measure to keep things from getting out of control on the fruit trees of the cities.

And then my friend came into the picture.  No he didn't lobby congress.  He didn't address the city council.  He didn't even write an article about it for the school newspaper.  He was, as far as I remember, as apolitical as they come.  We were high school students.  I vividly remember saying, "They said that if they start spraying one of the side effects could be that the poison might cause little pits in the paint on cars."  Crops are dying.  No problem.  Food supply in jeopardy.  Yawn.  They are going to spray poison on the entire population with black helicopters like we all had the plague or something.  Whatever.  Your buffing towel might not slide all the way across the hood of your car and fall to the ground because the mirror finish has been diminished ever so slightly.  NOW WAIT JUST A GOSH DARN MINUTE!!! Yes, I was that guy. (was, being the operative word)  My friend did the one little thing that changed the course of history.

Following all the debate, everyone said, "Fine!  Prove to us that the Medfly is, in fact, in this area!"  And here came the troops.  Dozens of workers came around putting up hundreds of little bug catchers in people's trees.  They put these little rectangular shaped glue traps with lime green A-framed roofs all over the cities of the bay area trying to capture the elusive fly.  Don't try to figure out why a fruit fly would fly into a cardboard longhouse instead of landing on the delicious fruit right next to it...it'll only give you a headache.  And the truth is, they didn't.  Not one fly was trapped in one of these contraptions...ever...until...

We were sitting out in front of my friend's house when he looked at the very shiny hood of his Mazda 626.  There was something on it.  A bug.  But it wasn't just any bug...dun dun dunnnnnn....it was the dreaded Medfly!  We had all been seeing pictures of this thing warning us that it was armed and dangerous and that we should avoid eye contact at all costs.  I think that it was such a troublemaker because it had these odd shaped triangular wings and it was picked on by all the other bugs in bug school. But maybe that's just me.

My buddy saw that thing, picked it up, walked over to the trap that he had hanging in the tree in front of his house, and threw it in.  Then we continued to talk about important things like pranks we could play on our science teacher Mr. Patton and exciting things that happened during the latest Roman themed spirit day assembly.  In other words, we forgot about the bug...until the end of the week.

The headline in the paper was something like, "THE SPRAYING WILL BEGIN!"  It seems that we would soon have helicopters hovering over our houses and we were about to have our cars assaulted (oh yeah, there was something else about poison) but here is the kicker.  They basically said that there were no bugs found anywhere in the whole region except for one trap on my friend's street!  They described what trap it was, where it was, how far away it was from the pathway to the junior high school... it was my friend's trap!  There was no question!  He, and the bug he threw in, was the reason that hundreds of people could be seen washing their cars in the middle of the night for months after that.  The onslaught had begun, and my friend had fired the first shot.

 I'm sure there was some bureaucrat somewhere who was patting himself on the back saying, "See!  I told you they would like lime green cardboard!"  In true governmental efficiency it seems that they decided to spray every three months...and the Medfly reproduced every two months...so they never really got a handle on this infestation.  Eventually the Medfly news stories, and the spraying, faded away...much like the time it takes to maintain a mirror finish on my car.  And suddenly I have a hankering for a nice juicy orange..hold the Medfly.

The Garage Door.

Just submitted this story to KLOV radio.  They are making a new book with inspirational stories and were asking for help.  When I hit submit it said, "Unfortunately not every story can be published."  Wanna bet?  I have a blog!  So here you go.  It's short on purpose...They asked for stories to be less than 250 words.  Don't bother counting...it's 250 (exactly).  Yeah, I'm OCD like that.
Jeff

Very late one night I opened the sectional garage door to take out the garbage. Pick up was early the next morning and I had forgotten to do it earlier. When I went to close the automatic door I heard a horrible noise that I was sure would awaken the family, and quite possibly the neighbors. The door got twisted from its track and the roller nearest the top of the door fell off, leaving the door dangling precariously on one side. 
No matter what I did, I couldn't fix it. In fact, everything I did made matters worse...much worse! Now two rollers had fallen off and the door looked as if it was ready to just crash to the ground since the cable connected to the spring had unwound violently! 
We don't live in a horrible neighborhood but I would really feel unsafe leaving the door like it was for fear that people would either steal our possessions or, worse, come in to harm my family. I couldn't wake my wife, it was past 11:30, no one was around, and I could think of nothing I could do. I was beyond desperate. 
I sat down on the step that led to the garage, I put my head in my hands, and prayed aloud, "Lord, I cannot do this myself. I need your help." As I lifted my head from my hands, my mechanically gifted neighbor walked up and said, "Do you need some help?"