We were lucky to enjoy a fairly mild climate, because even though we learned that we actually did have an oil stove, and the possibility of heat that winter, the reality of the situation was that no sooner would Dad pour oil into it than the heater would explode and there would be black soot all over the walls, ceilings, and every corner. It would call for immediate clean up. Vexing, so vexing.
So during the days, I would put you in your stroller and wander for hours. At night, we three were in bliss under that generous fedderdecker. We were happy.
One evening just before Christmas, there was a knock on our door. There was Frederika, cheerfully asking if we wanted any ale for Christmas. She spoke no English, and we, no German, so we cheerfully declined her offer. But she was very persistent. So we tried to explain how we didn't drink because of our religion. We couldn't seem to find the right words, and were at kind of an impasse. She wouldn't leave. It was perplexing to have her so intent on us accepting her offer of ale. We wanted to be polite and all, but it was getting old. Finally, after these protracted communication failures, it dawned on Dad that she was proffering "oil" for our stove, to make sure we'd have enough to get through the holiday. Danke schön.
Duh!!
No comments:
Post a Comment