Afton---Forever Young

So this is perhaps the longest, most drawn out birthday card anyone has ever received.   I hope you were able to muddle through this virtual treasure hunt of sorts down memory lane.

But I confess I lied to you.  It's not going to work out to be a memory a day for every year because this is the last day, and I figure in my own twisted way, if I don't go ahead and share that last memory, you can stay 39 forever!


So no dusty memory for you today.   Just a simple declaration of the overwhelming, unconditional love I have had for you from before you were even born.  I hope that comes through the words and images that hint at the feelings I have had, through the times we have shared.

I have found looking back that life is really really rich, even if you're not. Even if it isn't all moonlight and roses, sometimes funny trumps all.  Hands down!  Or looking back and seeing that you really do have whatever it takes to get through rough patches gives personal strength and perspective that comes no other way.  Life, such an outrageous, extravagant gift, isn't it?

There's a book, Oh, The Places You'll Go (Dr. Seuss), that expresses some sweet empowering ideas.  Here and now, this remembrance has been a taste of some of the places you have been.  With deliberate intention I have exposed the foundations of some of the places I hope you'll someday return to.  Moreover, I wanted to fan the flames of discovery and adventure in your soul.  My wanderlust has enriched my life beyond my dreams, beyond my imagination.  I want wander wonder to make magic of your life too.  And it's not even necessary to cross oceans to do so.  "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." --Marcel Proust

But where you've been, where you'll go are small matters compared to who you've become, all that you do.  I would that you could see yourself for a moment through my eyes.  Let me just assure you that who you are and all that you do so far outshines the best of the marvelous places you have been, will go to. You, my love, will ever be my treasure in this amazing world.  I could not love you more.  Yet everyday I do.

Happy 39th birthday, baby girl!

Love,
Mom

Afton---Murphy's Law

Well, that may have worked had I made sure everyone else on the plane had pills, but I am a slow, slow learner.  When we boarded the overcrowded plane, it was all women and children.  Well, actually women and babies.  Everyone had ONE.  Except for me.  TWO!!  And then this one woman who had NONE. Took her no time to come up to me and volunteer to help me with you both.  What a sweet gesture!  The only catch was that meant she took your seat.  I had known I would have to manage with Adam on my lap for 42 billion hours, but I'd planned on you sitting next to me.  And paid for that.  But this Good Samaritan had a better plan.  Scrunched!

Before the engines started, unfortunately, she began vomiting.  And vomiting.  And vomiting.  What an ugly word.  So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2.  The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the  hapless hurling helper wannabe.  I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag.  Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save if the plane went down.  And from sleeping.

When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over.  Ha, what did I know?  Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while you walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.)  Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. Funless.

Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in.   But we made it, in spite of myself, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal.  We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago.  Well, I waited.  You wandered off.  I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice you were gone.  But you were.  And I did.  Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling your name.  People started to pay attention, and search.  Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found precious little you, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.

I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago.  The last leg of our trip.  I could do this.  A few hours later you would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms.  Sweet.  Almost home!

A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing in to our gate to disembark. "Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.

Are you kidding?  You HAVE to be kidding!!

So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago.  After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma.  I think I was catatonic.  Still am.  And you, my love? It was a miracle you got there at all.

Afton, I know that when you became a Mom, you began traveling a lot with Madison from the very beginning as well.  I know you have your own war stories with the airlines as well.  I just wanted you to know I've been down in the trenches too and understand how it is.  Not just with flying.  All the trenches.   I do understand a little.  And proudly, proudly cheer you on.

Afton---Auf Wiedersehen

"Good bye" translates in German to "auf Wiedersehen," literally more like "until we see again."  Much like "Au Revoir" in French.  Reminds me of the hymn "God Be With You Till We Meet Again."  Our time across the ocean was wondrous, and for now, I have shared these places through my eyes only.   I have always had high hopes that at some point you will again see with new eyes that which we shared in the long ago.  Here's the wind up.

Well, of course, time flies, and eventually it was time to fly ourselves, to leave Germany to start a new life in the States.

It had been quite an ordeal to bring one baby over on the long Atlantic flight, and I was so dreading taking two babies back across the ocean.   Even though I begged, Dad had me convinced he couldn't accompany me on the military flight, as he would be so busy with official matters, whatever.  He sent us two weeks ahead of him, so we could spend time in Illinois with my family.  How thoughtful! (What he neglected to say was that he needed to "officially" go skiing with the guys for two weeks in Austria and Switzerland. A mere oversight, it seems. Which he will need to spend eternity paying for).

So yes, I was anxious about the trip.  Maybe not panic attacks, but definitely nightmares where the plane would go down into the ocean and I would have to try to decide which baby to save (never confronting the reality that I could no more even save myself than eat green eggs and ham.)  I decided the only rational thing was to go the the Dr. and ask for tranquilizers for the journey.  Done.

So the week before we were scheduled to ship out, I decided to try the magic pills and see how many I might need.  Not many, it turned out.  I took one and turned into a raving lunatic.   I could not stop talking, not stop laughing.  Unfortunately, the Bishopric Counselors from Church took the opportunity to stop by that night for some strange reason, and saw me in all my glory.  Thank goodness they were really good friends and we were used to teasing and fooling around.  But this was beyond the pale.  They wouldn't leave, because entertainment was sometimes hard to come by, and I was on a roll.   I knew I was a looney toon and probably scaring you, but couldn't stop myself.  I laughed myself silly.   And it was obvious no one was laughing with me.  They were laughing at me.  Nice to leave with a good impression.

Goofy is not the same as relaxed and calm, so I knew even while I was performing, that this would be my last hurrah. And I would face the flight with no pills.

Afton---Christmas To Remember

Our first Christmas in Bavaria (Southern Germany) was different.  You were two months old and we had just moved there two weeks before to join a certain young soldier who had been stationed there since you were 3 days old.  We were poor, and lived in an apartment a block from the Blue Danube, above a teenage discotheque, next to a couple of prostitutes, Frederika and Eva.  It was all we could do to get oil for the heater to keep warm, and when we would get the oil, it would explode all over, and I would have to clean black soot from the walls. I had to boil water on the stove to be able to wash cloth diapers in the bathtub. Every other day for dinner we had a 15 cent package of macaroni and cheese to share, along with a small package of frozen peas.  (Those were the good old days. I was down to 94 pounds in 2 months!)  

So obviously we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree.  But then. On the 23rd we went to a Christmas tree lot and they gave us one of the trees that hadn’t been sold.  Maybe it wasn’t breathtaking, and yet to us, it absolutely was. I strung popcorn and made garlands out of paper chains. What could be more beautiful?  The downside was that even though we were together for our first family Christmas, our Soldier Boy had volunteered to take on someone else’s guard duty Christmas Eve night and Christmas Day because we really needed the money.  Here we were next door to the Black Forest and the Land of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and our reality was less fairy tale, more a teeny tiny side of grim.  So the new momma and baby spent some more quality time together and we celebrated a little when he got back that night. All's well that ends well, right?

Our second Christmas in Germany was a little more involved than our first rudimentary one on many counts. Another year, another new baby, another Christmas tree. But it was different in the respect that Dad was able to be home with us this time. That was our extravagance. I was excited to be able to have our little family together for the Holiday, but I started remembering the year before, how it was to miss him, and to think of how lonely and cold it had to have been for him to spend this night in the dark, in a cramped, cold guardhouse. This year we were so abundantly blessed. To have him not be in Viet Nam. To have him home with us. How lucky can you get? I felt so spoiled this time.

And that made me think of the guardhouse, just a little box of a building with hardly room enough for one person to turn around. Who would be spending that special night there this year? Of course, it wasn't on my mind until it actually was Christmas Eve, and rather late at that, so we jumped at this sudden inspiration and got into action spontaneously. Better late than never. I spent the waning hours of the evening making cookies for the soldiers who would be huddled in the tiny guard booths throughout the base. We packed our babies into our ancient VW Beetle and took off at midnight to make our rounds.

Jingle Bells! Once we were on our way, we did pause just a second to wonder if these guys with rifles would mistake us for Santa...or Russian spies. We were in the middle of the Cold War, and you never know. Deep breath. We pressed on. It was cold and dark (imagine that) and it felt amazing to surprise these guys who were so alone, and probably a tad homesick on Christmas Eve, and see how grateful they were for such a bit of unexpected thoughtfulness. Off the wall. Hardly Bob Hope and the USO, but still.... Probably most of the soldiers on duty were single, missing loved ones far, far way. I'm sure it just seemed that way, but the stars appeared so much brighter to me then. Dazzling. O Holy Night!

You know, it was such a simple thing to remember the lonely that night, but that experience will always remain one of my all time favorite Christmas memories. I learned all over again how a little kindness goes an awfully long way, and I have always been grateful that over the years our whole family enjoyed nothing more than our tradition of Ding Dong Ditching when leaving goodies at Christmastime or throughout the year as Family Home Evening Phantoms. Who knows, maybe those seeds were planted one night way back when, in the far away and long ago.

  HO HO HO!

Afton---Shake It On, Baby

If you ever do get on Dancing With The Stars, you'll be able to trace your graceful moves back to the Old Country where our evening ritual was dancing to the music.  For one hour right around dinnertime every evening, AFN (Armed Forces Radio) broadcast American music, and I would go wild.  Rock out! Swinging you around, throwing you in the air, waltzing with you, everything but do-si-do and allemande left.  Without TV or radio or phones (too terrified to listen to the military news in the day by myself, and AFN was the only English language station we had), our only connection to our American roots was music, and precious beyond reason.  Exuberant moments.  Joyful, joyful!

After Adam was born and joined us in this ritual observance, wherein I had my arms full of 2 of you, I was ready for bed, if not hospitalization, at the end of our wild dancing hour.  Good thing we moved back to the States before you guys got too big to handle.  Still an armful of babies is an armful of babies.

Much later I remember watching you in your growing years as an extraordinarily graceful dancer at your performances.  Just wanted you to know I deserve a lot more credit than just paying for those lessons. Rock on!

Afton---Dinner Is Served

I may have mentioned before that any aspirations I had for being an Ambassador for the United States of America may have fallen a little short. But I always had the greatest of intentions.

So after we moved on base, I decided to invite our former landlords to dinner. They had us over for a fantastic dinner right after Adam's birth, and I wanted to at least reciprocate. I still remember being served an elegant roast with a hardboiled egg in the center of it. That was something almost artful as she sliced it for us. I was intrigued by the unfamiliarity of it all.

And unfamiliarity ranked high in my book. We rarely could afford to eat out, but when we did, we would try new local dishes. Honestly, it was boring to see that all the other Americans we would go out with always ordering the Wienerschnitzel or Bratwurst. We were proud of being a little more risky and experimental, probably just more mental, and trying things that we had no idea of what they were when ordering. Kind of a little game, a little gamble. One time I hit the jackpot in some little town when I ordered zwiebel something---grilled onion covered roast, I think. Fantastic! But Dad got the prize once in Ulm when he ordered some new entree. When it was served, it looked like a huge gray sponge. We surmised it might be a lung, or worse, of some long dead animal. How he ate it, I don't pretend to know.

But different cultures have their own foods, and their own way with foods, and one of the things I had discovered about the German culture was the foods they didn't have any familiarity with. They didn't eat corn, regarding it as lowly feed for cattle, not something meant for human consumption. They didn't have jello, and they didn't have marshmallows. So guess what?

Yep. I can hardly believe it either. I invited them over for corn, jello, and marshmallows! Well, at least I ambushed them with that dynamic menu. Figured they'd have to love sweet corn once they tried it. Heck, I have never even been able to stand jello myself, but must have thought I was spreading the gospel of marshmallows or something. Hostess with the mostess. Moi.

So I greeted them at the door. Surprised I didn't just tie feedbags around their stout little necks. But they were all smiles and gracious guests, no one actually gagged or got ill, and Hans Fried managed to keep a little conversation going on between us all. Likely they were distracted enough seeing you and playing with you again, they could forgive me my trespasses. They left on good terms. Funny though, we never did see them again.

I would sincerely like to claim to have gone on from there and developed into the quintessential hostess, but even though I have left jello far behind, my fling with corn petered out, and I only occasionally flirt with marshmallows on the end of a stick; still, it's probably safer bet to go out to eat with me than to come to my house for dinner. Just saying.

Afton---Honor Thy Father

In honor of Veteran's Day today, this memory has to do with before you were born. To honor the Veteran who took center stage in your life.








The spectre of Viet Nam loomed oppressively everywhere in the later 60s. It was a polarizing reality, of such a scope and breadth, that it impacted literally everyone and everything. But not on the same level, certainly, and not in the same way. D. was a founding member of the Y Americans his last two years at BYU. With his wholesome good looks, he sang patriotic songs, "This Land Is Your Land", "Freedom Isn't Free", on tour from Disneyland to the Ed Sullivan TV Show in New York. It was good times had by all, singing about freedom. Putting your life on the line for it, well that's a whole different animal.

Freedom is a pretty abstract, almost generic term, as used by most of us, casually, and with only a layer or two of understanding and appreciation. But those who have paid a price for it, by losing an eye or a leg or a loved one, or through blood, sweat, and tears, have far greater depth, far greater intensity in actually loving freedom. Because love is far more a song, than a parade, than a feeling; it's a dedication, a behavior, a way of life.

I think it's like romantic love or parental love in a way. What would you, could you, hold back from your beloved, or from your precious child? Only when you are willing to and actually do sacrifice for someone do you truly experience the completeness, the absolute knowledge of your devotion. The greater the sacrifice, the greater love. Some spiritual parallels are relevant here.

But sometimes to contemplate being asked to commit to making the ultimate sacrifice, putting one's life on the line for the love of freedom, when you're young and just beginning to step into all that life seems to promise, is a rather heavy thing.

And so it was for your Father. He had no desire to serve in the military, and had spent several years safely sequestered from that opportunity through college and mission deferments. But Congress passed a lottery system for the Draft the year he graduated from college. Two months after our wedding, his number was called up from Idaho, and so we left Seattle for him to report.

I remember his Mother driving us several towns away to the train station to drop him off, and she and I weeping all the way back to Geneva. I was soon to leave for Chicago to live with my family, scared of what the future might hold.

Found out two days later that the future is always full of surprises. Rejected because of back problems from his motorcycle accidents, he showed up out of nowhere with a big grin on his face before I left for my flight. Phew!

We moved back to Seattle and resumed life. Every couple of months, he would be called up again, this time in Washington State, would go and report and come home usually that day. Yawn. Got to be enough of a joke that they would hold mock farewell parties at work for him. The following summer he would be 26, and the draft could no longer touch him at that point. We felt comfortable enough to go ahead and start our family, a little earlier than we'd originally thought. Why not? Life seemed benevolent, if not magnanimous, to us in comparison to what had been a close call.

And so of course, life twisted, as it is prone to do. That spring, a month after we found out we would become parents in the Fall and welcome you, he went for one of these routine report for duty calls by the Draft Board. He didn't come home that night, or that weekend. Not even a phone call for two weeks! I had no idea where exactly he was, but I was sure the military had kidnapped him.

Devastated, picturing him decapitated in a jungle, a corpse before your birth, I fell apart in the bathroom. I wept and howled and screamed for two days and nights in there without coming out, until there was no emotion left. Quite a trooper, huh? Never had I felt so numb, so alone. I don't know if being pregnant, or being more than a thousand miles away from any living soul that I knew, exacerbated my fears, or if I am just naturally dysfunctional.

But just as strong as my vehement negative reaction to these events that were so out of my control, was the simultaneous and pervasive deep pride in my new husband, stepping up to the plate and being the man who accepted this mantle, even though he had absolutely no desire to. I had watched him initially when the first summons came the summer before and I knew without words being spoken, how foreign, how abhorrent this idea was to him. Never a fighter by nature, but a peacemaker, to think of killing or being killed was more than out of his comfort zone. I had observed his quiet times of contemplation without intruding, but I had wondered what I would do if I had been the one facing this destiny. Much later I asked him if he had thought about fleeing to Canada. Depending on the intent, that could be a noble option as well. Of course, he had given it serious thought. But in the end, he had soldiered up. The feelings that swelled inside me knowing that come what may, he had made an honorable decision were something I had never felt before. He jumped in and took the risk.

It ended up, happily for us, that he got orders to go to Germany rather than Viet Nam.(Can you believe I actually cried when he got those wonderful orders? Not for joy, I just didn't want to leave the States! And I worried he might not be able to take us with him too. One of the most amazing experiences of my life ahead of me, and I whimpered.)

I want you to know that those deep, deep feelings of pride I had as a young wife surfaced and throbbed once again with full intensity as the Color Guard who had played "Taps" and shot the rifles at your Dad's gravesite folded the flag that covered his coffin and placed it in my hands. He didn't have to pay the ultimate price, but he was willing to.

For men and women who like him, were willing to give it their all, and especially for those who did, I hope you and I forever keep a tender place in our hearts.

Afton---Over The Top

Reluctantly, oh so reluctantly, I forced myself to move from our little village paradise on the economy into quarters on base a month after Adam was born. Dad was so relieved to have finally been able to get us on base, as he was getting concerned about getting called out into the field for an extended period, and felt we would just be safer and more able to take care of ourselves there if he were gone. Broke my heart, but nothing is forever.

The plus side of it was we had so much more room. 8 bedrooms! I didn't realize it till just now when I saw that in black and white that there would literally come a time when that's exactly what we could use, but who knew? Think when we got the 8 kids, we had 5 bedrooms, then 3. And we so could have used a dormitory. Life.

Anyway, the down side was that the reason for the bedrooms was that we got the maids' quarters on the very top floor. During the War and/or after, the Officer's families lived on the lower floors and were well taken care of by the German women who lived above. So it wasn't set up for families exactly. But it worked for us. Back then we had a room for us, a room for you, a room for Adam, a couple rooms to just hang laundry, and several for you just to explore. We even let people who were returning to the States come and stay with us for a week or two so they could get checked out of their housing early. The best part though, was seeing you walk, and run and hop down the long hallway. I could throw a ball for you to run after and have time to fix my hair or make a meal before you returned! Well, almost.

The down side was the stairs. Oh sure, great exercise. 3 or 4 giant double flights of stairs. But it was an issue when having to take you guys up or down, one at time meant leaving one of you alone upstairs and one alone in the car. Carrying you both at once invited disaster. And leaving you both in the car or at home while hauling groceries from the PX could invite catastrophe as well. But we were there only for several months, and with luck, we managed to get by.

So we ended up enjoying our time on base, even though it lacked the picturesque, peasants-living-in-a-fairy tale quality we had heretofore so relished.

One thing about on base housing was the availability of teenage babysitters. I think we tried that twice. Kids who grow up in military families are a different breed. "Yessir, yes ma'am,"--politeness over the top. Did I say over the top? The girl we had come to watch you one night knew all about that. When we came back from our date, we opened the door and stepped into...someone else's house. This little sprout had taken it upon herself to entirely rearrange the entire house! The furniture was moved completely around, everything in every way was different. I was stunned, speechless. I mean, I would go ahead and do the dishes if there were any in the sink when I was a babysitter, but moving couches? I have no idea what she was doing with you kids when she was practicing being the future Martha Stewart, but you were alive. I was happy for that. But I was in no hurry to ever go out again. Maybe I missed the boat.

Afton---Who Does That?

It wasn't all fun, just running here and there on some wild weekend, especially when Adam arrived the very last of October. There was so much more to do when there was 2 babies to take care of. Especially laundry. So when he was a week old, in the name of efficiency, I left you both with Dad, stuffed the car with all the dirty laundry that had piled up and went to the laundromat on base for a couple hours, intending to take that place over and max out on those wonderful machines. Guess that's how us girls who can't go to spas find time for ourselves. Laundromats.

On my way home when finished there, I found myself moving along in the late afternoon traffic when suddenly my little excuse of a car just flat out stopped. This vintage VW Beetle,like all the others like it, had a reserve gas tank, so you would have a couple of extra gallons on hand when it looked like you were on empty. Only thing was, ours apparently was just for looks. And seeing as the gas gauge was just one of the things that didn't work on our car, the only way to keep track of how much gas there was left was to remember when you had filled it, and then just guess wildly. So there I sat, smack middle in the street in front of the Mercedes factory that workers were just leaving for the day. The Mercedes factory. For pete's sake. Wow, did I feel popular, almost like an Ambassador for US/German relations. Those looks I got. I hung my head, and looked down at the street though the floor boards.

But just because I was floundering and didn't know what to do didn't mean the more resourceful Germans didn't. Like it was synchronized, in a flash, a few guys jumped out of their cars and lifted mine up out of the way of the street and onto the sidewalk. Before I could manage a "Danke", they were gone. So I began walking back to base, to find friends, to get gas. It took quite a humiliating while, but when I got back to the place, there sat the little blue VW, vegging on the sidewalk, snuggling with all that clean laundry.

I expect you had your hands full with the new little baby during my extended absence. Did I ever thank you for that? Remember how later, in 4th grade I think, your teacher told your class that parents would say they would be gone for 20 minutes running errands, and then show up 2 hours later. Ahh, that was just parents for you. You came home vindicated at last, taking it personally that you had inevitably been stuck babysitting beyond what was reasonable. Well, this is where it all started. The rest of the story.(Sorry, my life has never had much at all to do with reasonable. I owe you.)

I have no idea what I said when I finally got home. I just know we never ran out of gas, ever again.

Afton---Castles for Our Princess

When our friends, Kent and Sharon Aland, came to visit from the States, we went to the Black Forest with them and then on to some serious castle hopping. One of the stories my Dad told me when I was a little girl was about the Mad King and his crazy castle that he had seen as a soldier in Germany.

I remember how reclusive he had said King Ludwig II(think we nicknamed him Louie, actually)was; so much so, that he didn't want his servants in the same room when he ate or bathed. At tiny Schloss Linderhof ("schloss" being German for castle) he indulged himself. Small and intimate, its size is inversely proportional to its elaborate, over the top elegance. Necessity being the mother of invention and all, he had a dining room table that sunk through the floor to the kitchen below, where the staff would pile on the feast and send it back up to the lonely King. A state of the art dumb waiter.

He had a grotto room where he would row himself around in a shell shaped boat while watching live opera(he adored Wagner), and on and on with his eccentricities. Spending his life and fortune building 3 castles, he died suddenly and mysteriously before 2 of them were completed. Linderhof alone was completed and the only one he lived in. His favorite.

Here's a link to find out more about this curious man and his strange and beautiful masterpieces:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludwig_II_of_Bavaria

Linderhof castle was our first stop that summer day. The grounds were exquisite. We joined an English speaking tour to see the interior, and were ushered into the the first room. As usual, the eager crowds materialized, and as more and more people packed the room, we were pushed to the far doorway into the next room. The last thing I remember was our guide, close to the entrance, beginning to talk. Even though she was in the far corner at the front of the room, opposite and as far from us as could be, I could hear her voice as everyone began to pay attention. So it was strange to hear her all of a sudden sounding really, really annoyed. She kept directing people to move on into the next room. Over and over. Evidently no one moved.


As her voice escalated and the exasperation scale climaxed, I opened my eyes. Opened my eyes? Why were they shut? I blinked and saw the ceiling, and looked up into the faces of Kent and Sharon. Dad was behind me, and there I was, sprawled out on the floor directly in front of the doorway. Dad had grabbed me as I passed out, but you were on his back in a carrier pack, so he couldn't bend over and lay me out, or you would have fallen out on your head on top of me. So he just held me and gently let me glide to the polished floor. My very swollen, pregnant belly took center stage, and no one dared break a leg trying to step over that considerable obstacle.

I was beyond embarrassed. Tried closing my eyes again, thinking somehow that would keep all those people from seeing me. No such luck. But the people turned out to be really nice, and once I was out of the way and ensconced in a little kind of courtyard room with some fresh air, I was so moved by all the compassionate, solicitous people from so many different countries who went out of their way to come up to me and ask about my well being and share ideas and experiences. So you all wandered around while I basically held court, so to speak.

Did you see the Hall of Mirrors with those parallel mirrors creating a never ending tunnel? The King was known to stay up all night and sleep during the day, so when he would read by candlelight, the mirrors would take the light from each candle and multiply it a thousand times. I wonder if this may have been the inspiration for the eternity mirrors in the Mormon Temple sealing rooms. I missed the carpet of ostrich plumes in there as well. I didn't get to see any of that room or the rest of the castle with you guys, but meeting these kindly folk touched me so deeply, I think I likely got the best part of the deal.


It swung back in your favor soon after though. From there it was onto Neuschwanstein castle, the model for Sleeping Beauty's castle in Disneyland and featured in the movie, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Dad decided he couldn't carry both of us through that castle, so I got the dubious honor of babysitting the car. I'd so wanted to see that castle too, but there's always tomorrow, I guess. I'm ready to go back whenever you are. Rain check, anyone?

Afton---Missed Out

OK, I have a confession. A couple of places you and I missed seeing(tho we did drive bys) that I hope no one else who travels to Germany will forgo.

The one I missed that hurt the most was Hitler's Eagle Nest. My Dad had been there shortly after the Allies' victory, following Hitler's suicide. One of the few stories he had shared about wartime experiences, and so as a little girl this was an intriguing place that held sway in my mind. Then your Dad had spent a weekend there at a Church Conference while you and I were still in the States, so this was #1 on the list. Mine. But while in that area, we had a fight, Dad and I, and he refused to take me. Not a happy camper about that. (Moral: pick your fights when you don't have a lot riding on the outcome)

One highlight we spectacularly missed was the Passion Play in Oberammergau. We went to Oberammergau, an artisan town of woodcarvers, cuckcoo clock makers, and painters.


Many of the outside walls of homes and stores are colorfully painted with fairy tale like scenes.
Extremely picturesque. While we saw the town, we missed the point.


A little insight from Wikipedia:

Passion Play

The town's residents vowed that if God were to spare them from the effects of the bubonic plague ravaging the region, they would perform a play every ten years thereafter for all time depicting the life and death of Jesus. The death rate among adults rose from one in October 1632 to twenty in the month of March 1633. The adult death rate slowly subsided to one in the month of July 1633. The villagers believed they were spared after they kept their part of the vow when the play was first performed in 1634. The most recent performances took place in 2000 and the next will be a season of 102 performances on dates from Saturday, May 15 until Sunday, October 3, 2010.
The play, now performed repeatedly over the course of five months during the last year of each decade, involves over 2,000 performers, musicians, and stage technicians, all residents of the village. The play comprises spoken dramatic text, musical and choral accompaniment and tableaux vivants, which are scenes from the Old Testament depicted for the audience by motionless actors accompanied by verbal description. These scenes are the basis for the typology, the interrelationship between the Old and New Testaments, of the play. They include a scene of King Ahasuerus rejecting Vashti in favor of Esther, the brothers selling Joseph into slavery in Egypt, and Moses raising up the bronze serpent in the wilderness.

Wow, since 1634! We were actually there in a year it would be performed, 1970, but knew nothing about it. If I win the lottery, I'll take you in 2010. Or 2020. Or....
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Afton---Zugspitze

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Following our time in Germany, we moved to Denver. It was with chagrin that I, who had so passionately dreamed of the magnificent Rockies since I was a little girl, having never seen a mountain, was ultimately disappointed to be there. It was kind of "How you gonna keep them down on the farm, after they've seen Paree?"(Paris-old tune)

But living so close to the Alps is a pretty hard act to follow. The Zugspitze is the highest mountain peak in Germany. We went there one day and took a tram up. Like no other. Had done similar summer ski slope ascents in the States, where it was fun and exhilarating, but this was an entirely different animal. Scary doesn't cover it. Because of the nature of the beast, the danger, we had to leave you in a nursery there. As we ascended towards the face of the Zugspitze in our puny little cable car, it appeared inevitable we would slam right into that imposing rock wall. "Too young to die, too young to die," my brain kept pulsing to my terrorized heart. My heart mourned for you, soon the littlest of orphans. Closer, closer. The sheer physicality of the the mountain made a mockery of these tiny human invaders approaching. Adrenaline rush? Adrenaline overload! "Holy S***! At the last moment we unexpectedly veered, and instead of splattering ourselves on the rock, we were lifted to its crown.

Once out of our metal cage, and able to breathe again, albeit with difficulty at such altitude, we were stunned by the view. The crystal blue of the Alpine lakes, shimmering against the stark white brilliance of the massive mountain arms they were cradled in. The dome of the cerulean sky blazing shamelessly over the endlessness of it all. Who could conceive of such absolute raw majesty?

On the way down the slopes, when life no longer seemed in such jeporady, I realized how worth it had been to feel like one had risked everything, however unintentionally, to experience something so overpowering. Still, I was even more thrilled to hold you in my arms again and hope that the blessing of raising you would be forever mine.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat now. A pounding heartbeat.

***photo from: lifeslittleadventures.typepad.com/photos/unca.

Afton---Your legacy

Ahh, back on the road. At the foot of the Zugspitze, where Italy, Austria, and Switzerland intersect with Germany, is the winter sports capitol of the northern Alps, Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Site of the 1936 Winter Olympics, and in 2011, the site of the World Ski Cup, this is a fantastic playground. Park City and more. Pure tourist.

So what a place for the American Military to establish a resort for a little R&R for its own. And what a place they did! High class(well, what would officers expect?).
But open to the little guy as well. So being really, really little guys on that hierarchical totem pole, we jumped right in. The price was a joke, so nominal we couldn't afford not to go, impoverished as we were. That, and lots of time off, the Army wasn't all bad....

The rub came at dinner. The absolutely poshest restaurant ever. We had our own private elevated room, and our very own private waiter who stood by like the king's butler, waiting to anticipate and respond to our every whim. Figured I could easily get used to this. But your poor Dad, no way. He was of the school that children should be seen and not heard, and he was no more inclined to take you into public settings than to put on a tutu and dance for the Colonel. But we were there, after all. So he struggled to be imperturbable while you would throw crackers, peas, all you could find on the floor, and every single time our stoic waiter would bend down and pick it all up. Game to you, agony to your red faced Father. He couldn't get out of there fast enough. Made me giggle.

Pretty sure your manners improved over time, but did you notice through the years, Dad never much volunteered to take the family out to eat? Thanks, kiddo.

Afton---First Steps

While we spent lots of time on the road in Europe, we spent more just around the neighborhood. And so it is fitting that you took your very first steps when you were 9 months old, in the hills of Herrlingen. Perhaps you walked early because of my refusal to put you down on the ground so you could crawl. Germs everywhere, you know. You were my first born, and I was told by someone I happened to be married to, that I would walk around with you on one hip and a can of lysol in my other hand. Who, me, neurotic?

One perfect summer day, we had taken a picnic lunch to one of the hills on the outskirts of town, and as we languished about up at the rim, we were startled to see sheep appear at the bottom of the valley below us. Excited by the sudden presence of so many animals, we were amazed to see their Shepherd accompanying them. As if he had stepped out of time, he was dressed all in black, from head to toe. A flat, wide brimmed hat, a long black cloak, a staff. But it was the way he seemed confidently and effortlessly to lead his little band that was mesmerizing. They were noisy and rambunctious, but so aware of him in their midst and he of them, that they all jostled along together, under his watchful eye, his deliberate guidance and protection. An idyllic scene that made me fondly think of the Good Shepherd.

Then you arose and began to take your very first steps. So exciting! Were you trying to follow the Shepherd as well? Coincidence? Started to think about you being in reality our little lamb for now, and what kind of shepherd I wanted to be.

I wish I had pictures or movies of that experience, but I had anticipated only a very ordinary day. The images though are indelibly etched in my mind. I have a very tender place in my heart now for sheep. And shepherds.

Afton---Dachau, No Words

There were so many times in our life in Germany that occasioned opportunities to marvel, to imagine, to examine. Probably none so profound, ironically, as the trip we took to nearby Dachau, an infamous concentration camp of WW II, where countless victims of the Nazis suffered unbearable horrors and met unbelievable fates.

There are of course no words to convey the impact of the experience of visiting such a place. And if that is so, and it is, then how can there be words to express the experience of those who actually agonized here in the flesh? Still, it is important to come here, to acknowledge such a place. Such a damn reality. Come. Remember.

To walk in the misleading sunshine that day to the "showers" where women with babes in arms were gassed to death alongside old men and toddlers, then on to the remains of the ovens where many were reduced to ashes. To see the barracks where so many endured a living death until they gave out body and soul, or found it to be their turn to line up for the death march. To see the displays and pictures of these very lost ones in the museum and to read of their privations, tortures, and hopelessness. Somber? Despairing? Haunting? Heart wrenching? No, there are simply no words.

There were few people there that day, and one was free to simply wander around. It was a hushed atmosphere, dare I say a strange, but consecrated holiness in bizarre juxtaposition to the evil that had dwelt here? Usually when there are no words, from the depths of the heart spring sacred tears. But even they failed me. The impact of the abrupt sculpture depicting bodies being thrown helter skelter into a mass grave moved me as no other work of art ever has, ever will. Forever seared into my being. This picture we took of it does it no justice. How appropriate for the last place having nothing at all to do with justice.

I brought home a book from Dachau, They Killed 6 Million Jews, and learned a lot more about this nightmare. Can anyone ever really learn, really understand how the hell this hell happened?

Afton---The Perfect Church

One place in Herrlingen that I took you to frequently because of both its proximity and appeal was a small Church, apparently out of a Disney film. It appeared to be in a world of its own, with vivid stained glass windows and a timeless charm. Surrounded by voluptuous trees, it was set back aways from the street, and had to be discovered. Once I did, it was as if I'd found a priceless gem, and was constantly lured there to relish its sparkle. As I recall, it was across the side street from the Rommel's.

When you entered the grounds, it was overwhelming to see how well cared for the beautiful grounds were, not to mention the lovely building itself. No effort had been spared to create and meticulously maintain the beauty of it all. And yet, not once out of all the many, many times we walked there, did we ever encounter another living soul. Regardless of the time or the day, it was empty. As if perhaps some entities came in the night(remember the story of the Shoemaker and the Elves?)to work their wonders and leave them to be discovered in the noonday sun. But by whom? Apparently it was never used. It seemed to be a haven just for us to meander about. Sometimes it would bother me a bit; it seemed to be an affront to that little handplay, "Here is the Church, Here is the Steeple, Open the Door, See all the People." But for Heaven's sake, just where were all the people?

One thing that came to mind was that while Europe had a grand history of religion, replete with the Art and Treasures that honored it, maybe it was just that. A tribute to the Art and History, not so much the sacred anymore. On Sundays, we noticed that while shops and markets, even gas stations closed down, the main event in Ulm seemed to be the people dressed in their very best, window shopping and greeting each other on the city streets. Somewhat an Easter Parade of sorts. Social event of the week? I know weekend hiking was the most popular weekend activity, but there were still crowds of people left to pursue the urban alternative. On one level, they seemed more serious about keeping the Sabbath than America, where many businesses stayed open. Yet to what avail, if the Churches seemed pretty empty?

Introspectively, it made me wonder how often we settle for the honoring the more outward observances, preferring to luxuriate in the beauty of appearances rather than going inward to find the peace and serenity there. Isn't that where it's at? How many times have I been guilty of going through the motions? I often find myself going back to the perfect image of this splendid little place we encountered so long ago.

Afton---The Desert Fox

Happy All Saints Day! I picked out perhaps an unusual Saint to honor. Here's the story.

When we were at home in our teeny tiny little cottage(ok, apartment, but I was going for the fairly tale feel, after all we lived not far from the fabled Black Forest), we spent a lot of time outdoors in peaceful and picturesque Herrlingen. Putting on your little red hood and heading through the woods for Grandma's. No, wait, that was someone else. OK, so rambling through the village, walking to town, watching the fish in the little river there, going to the cemetery.(I started a quasi fascination with cemeteries as a teenager, so it was kind of natural in a way. And I'm basically writing this on Halloween, after all....)

This particular quaint little cemetery hosted the gravesite of a famous German Nazi, Erwin Rommel. He had been Hitler's favorite General, and because of his brilliant leadership during WWII, especially in Africa, he was known to the World as The Desert Fox. He was known as a chivalrous and humane officer, in contrast to so many. Even Winston Churchill publicly acknowledged this unusual man and held him in high regard. Grandpa Ernie in his Army career had followed General Patton to Germany right after D Day, so I had a longstanding interest in these matters. And though we went there almost daily, at first I was queasy visiting his grave because after all, he was a NAZI. But....

Sometimes there is a rest of the story. A saving grace. Rommel had been forced by Hitler to commit suicide on Dec. 14, 1944, because Rommel had become disenchanted with what he found out was going on under Hitler's insanity. To save his country, he became involved in plots to eliminate The Fuhrer. Because he was the most illustrious hero of the German people, Hitler needed to avoid a trial for treason. I came to think highly of him. To my mind, The Desert Fox died a hero.

And that actually happened in our backyard. Sort of. Our yard really bordered the Rommel's very spacious and forested grounds, so when I would take you out for a little sun, my mind would wander to that time 20+ years earlier when the powers that be came to that very backyard and gave a cyanide pill to the Desert Fox.

By the way, things change with time, and at that point the Rommel place had become a kindergarten. Many books and movies are out about the Desert Fox.