Afton---Intruder

Even though it was fun to be away from home on our many trips, life there wasn't exactly dull.

Johnny, the bartender and manager of the disco on the first floor, was a skinny, quiet guy who kept things interesting. Married and father of two, he found time to fool around with Frederika when she was not involved with "clients". Heidi had some funny ways to describe such arrangements, but I can't recall them now.

Anyway, I don't know what else Johnny had time for, but evidently things that aroused the curiosity of the authorities. One evening Dad was gone and I was nursing you back in bed when there was pounding on the door. It was glass, and it sounded like it was about to break. The next thing I knew, there was Johnny, diving under the bed. When the German Police came, it wasn't hard to act dumb. Dumbfounded already to have a strange man under my bed, I was pretty much in denial at whatever seemed to be transpiring. I couldn't/didn't understand them, and the favor was returned. He managed to stay hidden and left after they did, and that was the end of it. No rest of the story.

This was hardly the environment I had imagined bringing up a baby in, but I must say, you seemed to thrive on the drama and take it in stride. Everybody probably just seemed like silly adults to you. The only damages might have manifested in your proclivity to eat paper. Every letter from the States you ingested. Tummy still hurt? Is there a diagnosis for that? Can you sue your parents because of it?

Afton---Merci

Not only was Italy in your repertoire at such a young age, but Austria, Belgium, FRANCE, Liechtenstein, and the Netherlands were under your belt before you were a year old.

Most of the people stationed in Germany seemed to accumulate leave time to go back and visit their loved ones in the States. And everyone there had a pretty dismal opinion about going to France, expressing the idea that the French were none too fond of Americans, and less than hospitable to them. But Dad was impervious to the naysayers, and said we had to go there because I had spent so many years studying French in school. He was taking me no matter what.

The only drawback was that I was pregnant. Emotional. To the hilt. Everytime he wanted me to use my command of the language, for instance to ask for directions, I would start to open my mouth and begin to cry. Then he'd have to come and muddle through somehow what was wanted. Hand motions, lots of pointing. And the French responded so warmly to us. Exactly what we hadn't been led to believe.

One time a woman dragged him home to her home a block and a half away to have her family help her figure out how to help us. We were blown away. Maybe it was the magic of the universal appeal of a child. Who knows? At the Louvre, in front of the Mona Lisa, we had a repeat of our Sistine Chapel experience, when people ignored the art to play with you. In one restaurant, they were so excited to see a baby, they took you back to the kitchen to show you off (not that many tourists running around with babies). Even going up the elevator in the Eiffel Tower, people fussed over you. It made us realize people are pretty much the same the world over. Joy is in the moment. And children bring us to the moment.

Still, 6 or 7 years of French, and once in France I couldn't spit out even one "S'il vous plait"?

Afton---Ciao!

How good can life get---barely 6 months old and off to see Italy! Sweet!

What did you like best? In Rome, I was blown away by the Coliseum. I was convinced I really could smell the lions there. Following the ancient Appian Way and climbing down into the underground catacombs on the outskirts of the city, where the Christians lived and died seemed authentically sacred. Unbelievable, and extremely moving. I loved the fountains, Castle San Angelo with dungeons and all things medieval, all the venerable old Cathedrals. Everything. Truly everything.


For you, I think it was Piazza San Marco, which we reached by gondola in Venice. You went wild for the pigeons going wild over us, gathering on our heads and outstretched arms.

We stayed for most of our time there in Vatican City. The endlessness of all the priceless treasures in the Vatican Museum, room after room, was too much for my finite mind. The majesty of Saint Peter's, all the massive statues of Saints crowning it.

Then, the absolute supreme highlight---the Sistine Chapel, Michaelangelo's magnificent touch. Who would have thought we would ever get a chance to see that in the flesh? Hard to believe actually being THERE. We just stood there, speechless. And then a beautiful Italian couple, so classical, with a preteen son and daughter, approached us. In excellent English, they effused over you. "Ah, see, God's true masterpiece---your little one." Such a miracle is a baby. Kind of puts everything in perspective, no?

Afton---Sigmaringen

Living like kings may be a great thing, but then again when we visited Sigmaringen Castle on the beautiful Blue Danube in the dead of winter, I was persuaded that it was probably an advantage to live in the 20th Century. It was freezing!. Our German speaking guide somehow conveyed that it took 3 days to get the furnaces working back in the day, and I doubt they made all that much of a difference.

But the spaces and furnishings and art were more than compensatory for the discomfort. To enter where the knights would ride in on their steeds. To wander from ornate room after ornate room. Even so cold, it was sheer luxury. It was fun to imagine what it would be like to live like that. At least in summer.

We were the only souls around that January day, and our guide had lots of time to spend with us, though we didn't understand a word she said, and conversely. However, it was hard to mistake her enthusiasm as we reached a table with a little glass piece on it. About the size of a postcard, it depicted an intricate hunting scene. It was delicate, like exquisite filigree, and all white. I nearly yawned, but that's a little difficult to do when shivering. I just didn't get what was so remarkable, when we'd seen room after room of giant Chinese vases, priceless tapestries, centuries old portraits, and so on. But this animated woman got more and more wound up about this diminutive display. So we all worked diligently to understand why, and finally it became clear that this singular piece of art was over 400 years old and was made of bread dough. Isn't it funny what forms of expression a master artist can find to bring forth beauty? Seeing it through her eyes, it did become a true highlight for me. Even all these years later. Maybe there are more masterpieces around than we realize, if we just keep our eyes open.

Afton--Bottoms Up!

Lest you think it's my DNA alone you need to be queasy about, let me share the time we were on some trip, out and about in Germany, and we suddenly found ourselves out of our new most prized possession, disposable diapers. Drat!

So we pulled up to what was obviously some kind of little store in this little village and Dad got out of our little car to go and make a little purchase. Catch was, he had no idea how to say diapers in anything but English. So a little while later, I saw him come out of that store, convulsing in laughter, followed by two German fraus, who weren't laughing at all. They came to the car and he pointed to you. Grins broke out on their faces, and they all went back into the store. When he came out again, with the coveted diapers for you, he explained that he had been getting nowhere trying to get across to them what he needed. When he pointed to his nether regions to try and show them, they became rather disconcerted, if not downright alarmed. Somehow he managed to get them to come outside with him, despite their being irate. Charades don't always guarantee a winner. All's well that ends well though, and fortunately it ended well for your end.

Afton---Camping Tips (What NOT to Do)

There were actually some less glamorous parts of camping in Europe that were part of the package. Like the toilets in Paris. Because we weren't staying at hotels or buying gas at local service stations that would have restrooms, our choices were limited. Literally to a hole in the cement floor in the stall some places.  Or male/female open air bathrooms on the busy streets--- you could see people's feet as they were in the cubicle.To me, people seeing my feet while peeing was the same as seeing my face, which would have been red and extremely contorted. Or what if "they" could see other body parts? Horrors! Being pregnant, I was more than interested in finding suitable "toilettes." Often desperate, in fact. One time, I had had enough, and forced Dad to buy $5/gal gas so I could enjoy a regular bathroom then. We were used to paying a quarter for a gallon of gas at the military stations, so it was a rude awakening for him, but necessary in my mind.  o we would have to forgo food and shelter, at least we could have some dignity, no?

He found a way to get even on some trips by having me, obviously very pregnant, and with you in an carrier on my back, begin to blow up the air mattresses by huffing and puffing. What a shill. He would be in the background setting up the little tent, and people of all different languages would come out of the woodwork, well, out of the forest, to gallantly help me by trying all their different air pumps. Inevitably one of theirs would do the trick, and we would be in business without having to buy an air pump or exert ourselves much either. Did I mention we were poor?

Then there was the time in Switzerland when I got the attention of all those people from other countries by another method, this one rather inadvertent. Most campgrounds there were very unlike their American counterparts. Instead of private or semi private sites, your tent basically was staked right next to someone else's, with only a little area in front so you could walk to the path to the restrooms (Yea! They did have decent restrooms in good old Switzerland!). That night, we drifted off to sleep with the cacophony of so many people talking in so many languages. It seems as though I should have been dreaming about the Tower of Babel. But no, I dreamed a dream that life should end. I dreamed a dream I was being buried alive, a nightmare!

With limited space in our tiny 2 man pup tent, with you sleeping in the middle between us, I had rolled over with my pregnant belly into the side of the tent and was inhaling canvas into my mouth. Terror filled, and screaming bloody murder, I woke up! And so did everyone else in the vicinity. Trying to figure out what had happened and explain it when you literally don't have the words to jump the language gap, is a bridge too far in the middle of the night. Things eventually settled down, and I wonder how many were now convinced that American GIs beat their wives. Who knows?

But I couldn't get past the overwhelming claustrophobia one must have when being buried alive, so Dad took my sleeping bag and turned it around, stuck my body in it with my face totally outside the tent pointing to the heavens, and zipped the flap down to my neck.  One way to deal with panic. Yep, it almost immediately started to rain. But what's a little drizzle when you can still breathe? At least I knew I was alive. Humiliated, but alive.

Afton---Moo, Moo

Don't think we never got to show you around. We lived in Bavaria, the foothills of the Alps were our backyard. It was hard to not be impressed. And the one thing that the Army was pretty good about was the amount of leave time it bestowed. Plus weekends we would often camp in Switzerland; it was very close. Not a bad life.

But we did have to do it all on the cheap. Even though gas for the Europeans was extremely expensive, for the GIs it was next to nothing. It was easy to be mobile with a borrowed pup tent. So we would camp during the good weather, and it was extremely picturesque wherever we were. Breathtaking much of the time. What seemed so amazing to me was how different it was than the States. Driving up a mountain, we would see a herd of huge cows with huge bells hung from their necks. And the kicker was stopping and getting out with our picnic lunch(cheese and crackers, ham if we were flush)and going and sitting among them to enjoy the sunshine. There were no fences, so we just made ourselves at home. Just us three and the girls. Holding you up next to one for a picture, it was so idyllic and charming, never wanted such a perfect moment to end.


On one trip we were camping up on the side of a steep mountain in Switzerland in just a tiny little place. We got there and set up the tent close to twilight, so didn't get a chance to look around much. In the morning we were awakened by a symphony of those ponderous cowbells in the misty valley directly below us as the cows began to meander and greet the day. Some alarm clock! It was surreal. So magical. Want to go back?

Afton---Come Clean

So what to do with a baby to keep her entertained all day? Think I mentioned taking a lot of long walks already, but how about the idea of spending all day once a week in the laundromat? That's got to be entertaining. The whir of the washing machines. Watching the clothes go round and round in the big drum dryers. Funny the things you can come up with when you have no choice.

We did meet a few charming people that way.(not as many as you can see if you go to peopleofwalmart.com right now). Anyway, we had clean clothes, and I no longer had to boil pans of water on the stove to wash diapers in the bathtub. And it seems looking back, it has often made life seem easier since then. Looking at what you can do during the lean times.

Seemed like laundry eventually became my career as you got more and more brothers and sisters. The very first thing we did when we finished our tour of duty and moved back to the States was to buy a washer and dryer. Was I in heaven!

I'd be interested to know how those early experiences affected you. Is laundry your favorite chore? Or wish someday we'd have disposable clothes? Hey, it could be worse.

Afton---Honey, I Shrunk the Kid

Even though our apartment had its challenges, it was not without its own appeal. Primarily that would be the huge German "shrunk" in the living room. This was a grand piece of furniture that I suppose would be used to house and showcase treasures, china, whatever. Made of beautiful dark wood, it was beautiful and elegant and fit with the deep blue curtains and lace sheers, all of which seemed such an irony in that place.

You were our treasure, and though we couldn't place you behind the glass doors, we would lift you on top of it, and you seemed to like being way up above our heads more than anything. Maybe it was the view there, maybe the fact that you inevitably drooled down on us and found that amusing somehow. At any rate, whenever we'd lift you up there, you'd giggle like crazy and spit on us. Guess you thought you were King of the World. And indeed you were. (I know, I know, Queen)

Afton---Along for The Ride

So I became motivated to get my driver's license after all. Dad had told me no one passed the written test on the first try, so I determined I would show those GIs over there what a real woman could do. Kind of felt my reputation could use a lift. I studied diligently and aced it. Aced it. So there!

However, getting behind the wheel was an altogether different matter. Did you know there is absolutely no speed limit on the Autobahn? We lived in a land of fire breathing dragons. Well, of Mercedes and all. And we would limp along in our little handicapped VW, as the race car wannabees sped by. Thump thump! Thump thump!

But that was OK. The traffic circles were NOT OK! There was one with at least four levels of circles from inner to outer. You had to enter the outermost circle, merge into the innermost, and get back to the outer one to exit. It was impossible to avoid this evil place, as it was right outside the base on the way to Neu Ulm. I would have happily driven north to Finland in an effort to avoid this particular trap, but one Saturday, as luck would have it, we were going south, and I was driving!

I entered this nemesis, and like a pinball on course, entered the inner sanctum circle. There I froze. I lost all courage, and began crying hysterically, begging your Dad to take the wheel. Of course he refused. He was laughing hysterically, he had streaming tears as well. It was impossible to take the energy from my overwhelming fear and channel it into any other emotion, like anger and hate, so he was plain lucky. I just kept crying and going round and round the inner circle. Round and round. Round and round. Yep. Round and round. He just kept laughing. Finally, finally, just before running out of gas, the way was cleared. No cars in any of the circles. I gingerly moved over into one level after the other, and got the heck out of there. He was still laughing.

But I learned I could do anything. Just not effortlessly. Or gracefully. Never let the details stop you.

I confess this to you now because I'm just curious about after effects. You have much problem with dizziness? Maybe it's not just because you're blonde....

Afton---Fasching

In Austria and Southern Germany(München/Munich), the Carnival Season, known in that area as Fasching, starts officially on 11/11 at 11:11, but it's low key until the end of January. Then look out! It's a season of wild excess and full hearted abandonment prior to the beginning of Lent with its requisite fasts and deprivation. Incorporating pagan traditions with a modern bent, it's understood that a good time will be had by all. Anything goes. Anything.

Who knew that? I had not yet taken the test for my European driver's license by the end of January, so had taken the bus into base for a Wednesday night Relief Society meeting with the four other ladies in our tiny Branch, all of whom I think must have lived on Base.

It was the first time I had left you alone with your Daddy, and I knew you guys would have fun. So I enjoyed my time out with the girls, and following the meeting that night, walked across the highway from the base and waited for the bus to pick me up for the return trip. And waited. And waited.

Minutes ticked away. Before long they added up to hours. No bus ever came. In desperation and defeat, I crossed back and approached the Guardhouse at the Base entrance. Needing sympathy, expecting help, I was greeted with contempt and hostility. Stunned, I asked them to get me Captain Cox, our Branch President, on the phone. I believe he was like the Base Commander or some VIP, and trusted he could part the seas. The Guards refused to let me contact him.

In tears, I was able to remember the name of one of the young GIs who worked with Dad and had come to our house to visit(I think our Disco/etc. location made us a destination for some reason). He lived in the barracks and they did let me talk to him. I was shaking as he came to the phone. I hardly knew him, and I could hear him cussing and yelling as he came to the phone. Unhappy to have been been roused from sleep, he gruffly answered, but he melted when he heard me sobbing and quickly came to pick me up. You gotta love the shining knights of the world, white horse or not. I explained to him how I was stranded, with no way to reach my husband. He explained why I was treated so disrespectfully---the guards would have been watching me alongside the road, waiting to be picked up like any lady of the night ready for a Fasching experience. That I'd begged to speak with a family man was a bridge too far. Embarrassed? Humiliated?

I was driven straight home, and Dad was relieved. But he sure laughed a lot! Not me though, for years.

So I start out with a good intention, Church meeting, and practically end up with a scarlet letter. Pretty much the way my life usually goes. Hope that DNA spares you, love.

Afton---Out & About

Without speaking the language so as to be able to talk to anyone(other than Heidi, which had its drawbacks), and without car, phone, radio, or TV, I would spend long hours exploring on foot with you as my sidekick. I knew of no Americans living in Vohringen, so our circle was pretty small, except for Church on Sunday. So rove we would. Waiting for your Dad to return in the evenings. Hoping he would.

The Cold War was a dark shadow between the East and the West, and we lived oh so close to the Iron Curtain. If he were a few minutes late, I would start planning his funeral. Then ours, for I knew of no lifeline or way to reach out for help, should we need any. There was always a possibility that his unit would just be called out on alert with no notice, as that was constantly happening to others. They would be in the field for a week, or even several. Then it would just be you and I that would perish, with no food, no money, no transportation. But Dad was always lucky, and as a clerk, he was hardly Infantry, so I think one time he was gone for a couple of days. Obviously we all survived.

Anyway, we would walk everyday downtown, and one day in early January, the weather was lovely and I decided we would walk the 13 kilometers or so to the base in Neu Ulm and surprise your Father. I remember wearing a skirt and matching blouse and being bold and confident enough to leave coat and sweater behind. Thank goodness I brought a warm blanket for you, probably accidentally, because by the time we were 2 towns down the road, a snowstorm moved in. I have sometimes reflected what a pitiful sight that must have been for Germans driving by---your American stroller identified us, but probably not as much as my American lack of proper attire and common sense.

But there was no turning around, and was your Dad ever surprised to see us begging a ride home from him when he got off duty.

I never was a Boy Scout.

Afton---Ale, Anyone?

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!!

Afton---First Christmas

Guess I should back up a minute and touch on your first Christmas. Seeing as we arrived in December, when we went into Neu Ulm, the city where the Army Base was situated, we literally entered into a fairy tale. This was the land of fairy tales, and the Christmas aura seemed to magically merge with that. Even entering the streets was like living in a book of make believe. Going into the stores and seeing toys and clothes and all manner of delights that were so different from anything American we could ever imagine was a sensory feast.

But we had no money, and I mean no money. An Army Private back in the day could hardly afford air to breathe, much less a family to feed.

Grandma Mudgie, our fairy godmother, had sent gifts for you to put under the tree. Problem was, we had no idea how we could get a tree. Would it be Christmas without one. And what to get for our precious little gift from heaven?

As it turned out, at the last minute we found a tree at a lot that was closing, for a dollar or two. We popped popcorn and made garlands to decorate it with. That was it. And we called it perfect. Dad arranged to pull guard duty and KP for some of the single GIs who could afford such extravagance. So he was gone for Christmas Eve, but joined us later Christmas Day. And Santa brought you a baby doll and beautiful heirloom German bassinet for her. Fröhliche Weihnachten!, Fröhliche Weihnachten!, Best Christmas ever!

Afton---The Fun Continues

Life with our neighbors continued. Much the same way it began. Heidi and Cleve would get in major knock down, drag out fights. The German Police and MPs would arrive. They'd smile and hand us little Santa Maria.

By New Year's Eve, 3 weeks since our arrival, we had long been on a first name basis with most of the MPs who came out to our little village, our little drama; and they came to spend that holiday with us. Well, so we thought. They seemed to find time to spend downstairs at the disco with the German movers and shakers (likely Frederika and Eve, the barmaids---and ladies of many talents, our second floor tenants). Of course, that night we had custody of your almost sister by then, and took some photos of you two wearing some improvised New Year sashes. We listened to fireworks throughout the night, and wondered where in the world we were.

We had custody of Santa Maria so often, it just seemed natural. One day, Heidi excitedly called me down to her apartment. Cleve had just bought a new suit. She was thrilled to show me that she had cut it to shreds while he was on duty at the base. I nodded and waited to take the baby upstairs later.

This pattern continued for several months. One Saturday we had driven to the PX with you and Santa Maria (with our usual custody arrangement) to do some shopping. We were leaving base as evening was approaching. Reality was approaching as well, when we noticed Heidi & Cleve standing in line---together! Outside the little movie theater. What?

Guess that worked for them. As it turned out, Heidi had 2 other children by other GIs that were being cared for in the social system there. She sure knew how to work a system. And I felt like a milked cow. Moo!

Afton---A River Runs Through It

Seeing as we had to lock ourselves into our apartment for our first weekend in Europe, we were unaware that we lived only a block away from the fabled Blue Danube River. Not being on top of my geography, I hadn't realized that as an actual place, but as the setting for the waltz, "The Blue Danube" by Johann Strauss.

Unfortunately, there was considerable stress while we were cloistered with our little charge. Santa Maria's parents evidently bought separate but equal supplies for her, and neither of them would relinquish one diaper or can of formula to us, so I had taken to trying to nurse both of you. Dad hadn't gotten around to buying the things I had requested him to have on hand before our arrival, and the Army hadn't delivered our belongings from the States yet(that would have been our clothes, our pots, pans, dishes, etc.) The place was furnished, and he had bought some sheets. And a cake. We had cake.

It seemed strange to have being stranded as our first experience. We couldn't really leave the apartment. Who knew when those crazy parents might attack? And Dad wouldn't leave me alone, just in case. So it seemed like quite a long weekend, all and all.

But Monday came. And so did Heidi. I gave her little girl back, and took mine into the base at Neu Ulm to her first Dr. appointment. After some much needed reassurance that we hadn't yet caused you any permanent damage, we returned and began to explore our new surroundings.

What a thrill to find the lovely and famous river so close by. You yourself had been named for a beautiful river. It seemed like a good omen. Finally!

I'd loved "The Blue Danube Waltlz" by Strauss ever since I was a little girl.  And here I was now with my little girl. Let's dance!

Afton---Guten Nacht

So your first night in Germany, we had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of another family. Heidi and Cleve and baby Santa Maria lived on the floor below us. And could make themselves heard. Boy.

I had collapsed with you and Dad under our fedderdecker(down comforter)in our brand new surroundings. When what to my wondering ears did appear, a few hours later about 2 am, but shrill screaming, "Help, help, he's trying to kill me! Help! Help!" In perfect English? Perhaps it was the jet lag causing me nightmares?

No, I was fully awake, and there was no mistaking the cacophony beyond our door. "D," I whispered to your Dad, "go help whoever that is."

"Are you crazy?" he replied, and rolled over. Without another thought, I bolted from under that feather comforter and ran out the door and down one flight. "He's kicking me down the stairs," the blond woman wailed. How anyone would be capable of transporting this over 6 foot tall, big boned German woman in the hallway anywhere she didn't want to go was a puzzle to me. But I was too tired and confused to argue, and took her word for it, and told him to stop it right now. Cleve was tall, but slender. A black GI from the base in New Ulm. They both started to tell me their side of the story at the same time, but it was hard to process. I did gather that there was a baby involved in the squabble somehow, so I left them and ran into their apartment and found little 2 month old Santa Maria on the floor by the bed.

Others had gathered in the interim, and somehow eventually both the MPs from the base and the German Police appeared. Whew! Well, it turned out to be a dilemma for them to communicate in the first place, and to figure out who had jurisdiction in the second. So guess what? They struck a deal and in a Solomon like decision, I was given custody of little Santa Maria for the weekend, and told in all seriousness to guard the baby with my life, and under no circumstances to let either parent near her for the weekend. So I returned upstairs with a temporary orphan and brought you your first little "freund".

Ahhh, baby girl, what a kaleidoscope of changes for you in this new world you had so recently been welcomed to! Guten nacht, little one, back to dreamland.

Afton---Guten Tag

Your Dad tended to look on the bright side of things, so he wrote from Germany that it was going to be an unbelievably wondrous experience. Heck, the currency exchange was more than 3 marks, nearly 4, to every dollar. We would be living like kings! Kings!

Unfortunately, he neglected to mention that he meant kings from the 13th century. Because when we got to our little apartment in Vohringen after traveling over 30 hours, we had no heat, no hot water, no this, no that. However, we had traveled by car, rather than carriage. Improvement, no? Although said car had much in common with travel of yesteryear. We had no floor in the ancient VW, no muffler, no heat. We had to keep the windows open(did I mention it was Dec. 9th?)so as to not die of fumes. Year round we ended up doing this, with you in the back seat. However did you survive these novice parents?

Things balanced out however, perhaps somewhat by the free entertainment we enjoyed as we lived on the third floor of a very small building. The only other apartment on our floor was rented by Turks(the imported low echelon workers of German society), the second floor by, how shall I say, "working women" on one hand, and Heidi and Cleve on the other(more to come on this). And the entire first floor was a teen age discotheque. Wow! How could you not have fun?

Our new home was not without its charm however. If you consider that I had to boil pots of water on the stove for us to bathe, and for me to wash out your cloth diapers in the tub. In a matter of months Pampers made their debut, and I knew the age of miracles was not dead. Even living in the age of "kings" as we were.

As excited as I was to see your Dad again, it took only minutes for me to start crying to go "home" again. But we were home, tears and all, and home we stayed.

Afton---Surviving Supermom

We brought you home from Sherman Hospital, and had you to ourselves, well not really, for such a brief time(hours)until your Daddy had to ship out. We didn't know where he would be stationed, or indeed, when we would ever hear from him, but the general plan was we would follow him to Europe as soon as possible.

You and I occupied ourselves in his absence with eating. And only eating. First time Mom, I thought the answer to everything was feeding you. So you I nursed you with a passion, till you had rolls on your arms and legs within a couple of weeks. Four or five pounds in a month? Who does that? When you weren't being fed, you were sleeping, and I felt I had to watch you round the clock, so you wouldn't forget to breathe. So I would gaze at you endlessly and will you to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Seemed to work. How seriously I took that mission, not just to give you life, but to protect and preserve it; yes sir, 24/7, I wouldn't let you have a moment to yourself. I was just exhausted and sore, but you poor baby, were nearly overmothered to death.

Six weeks later you and I were on a plane over the Atlantic. Germany, America was about to bring you to your knees! Well, at least make you suffer a little. Or give you something to laugh at. Your Daddy picked us up at airport in Frankfurt, and we headed for our first real home, in Bavaria.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AFTON!

So in honor of this milestone of yours, I'm going to post one memory each day of your very first year- or so- for every year of your life since. Like I can remember THAT far back! All those times when you were a bitty fraulein living the life in Europe.  Those were the days!  Well, some of them anyway, bits & pieces of the long ago.  So to jog your memory....  Here goes:

Once upon a time, there was an exquisite baby girl born in Elgin, Illinois, and had that mirror of the Queen's been available, it would have said, "Indeed, this little one is now fairest of them all." (Thank goodness this is a different fairy tale, and we didn't have to go the poisoned apple route.)

Because your Dad was in the Army with orders to ship out to Germany on your due date (Oct. 10), we got the Dr. to agree to induce you a little early, so you two could meet. Dad seemed to think making this appointment to get to the hospital early in the morning and having a baby in hand a few hours later was easier than going to the Dentist. Maybe for him. Grandma Mudgie saw him in the Hospital Lobby after you were born, where he came to announce, "It's a Girl!", and said he was beaming to the moon and back.  

I wasn't sure it was quite that easy, but it was the most overwhelming feeling, the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to me. More than worth it. Flooded with love and gratitude, I looked around after catching my breath and simply couldn't figure out where the chorus of angels was, or at the very least, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Whenever had rejoicing been more appropriate?

How many times through the years have you again and again taken my breath away? Still, I remember with awe that very first time. With a crown of long black hair, delicate features, and a tiny pink rosebud mouth that would now dictate my every move, you were perfect. Absolutely perfect. And still are, my love.

CROCODILE HUNTING!

SEE YOU LATER, ALLIGATOR!




Adequately warned about the danger? Sure. The Government bulletins from the State Department all but screamed, "Don't you dare go to Guatemala; you'll never come back!"

Our Bishop had cautioned me with some unsolicited advice, "Watch yourself, be careful! You won't be under the protection of the Lord there, you know." (A strange man. One had to consider the source.)

A week before our departure, headlines chronicled the execution of a Catholic nun, exactly my age, in Guatemala City. A couple of days before we were to fly out of San Diego, a neighbor a block down the road, whom I barely knew, showed up at our doorstep. He had grown up in Guatemala, eventually leaving, but not before his Father had been ambushed and killed by the native Guerrillas. Even though he ventured back every year, he was always careful to blend in, taking pains to look authentically Guatemalan (as if he could pass for Danish). Over and over, he would plead for us to reconsider. "Really, just don't go!"

But, HELLO! One of my babies, as sweet and pure as they come, had been living there for the past 18 months. So, though it appeared somewhat ominous, I insisted to my husband we were going, come you-know-what or high water. I'm nothing if not a rebel by nature.

Besides, from Day One she had braved a lot of intimidating circumstances over there. The first weekend she arrived, she couldn't go to church on Sunday because of a funeral taking place in the Chapel. A doctor had left his office, then stopped to call his wife. The phone booth was as far as he got. He was shot at point blank range.Next day funerals are par for the course in Central and South America because air conditioning is the exception to the rule; bodies don't keep. Did I mention the erupting volcano on the outskirts of the city as her plane was landing? And that was just her first weekend. She'd seen much more in the ensuing year and a half. And luckily had survived. During that entire time, the lady missionaries were confined to the city. I wanted more, wanted her to see places she had heard of and places she hadn't, from ocean to ocean. I was more than determined to reward her with a trip to see the country she had unselfishly served. I didn't expect it would be scenic or compelling or enchanting...or dangerous.


Boy, was I wrong.


How exhilarating to meet the native people, the children with ravishing smiles, shining eyes. As amazing as the places we went were, nothing compared with the beauty of the people Treesje introduced us to. Friends she had made in the time she had been one of them. Some homes we went to were one room hovels, some really nice for the area. Haves or have nots, all were gracious and friendly and made us smile. Some moved us to tears.


But talk about frosting on the cake!

How stark, yet colorful were the primitive mountain villages, pristine the jeweled lakes. Roasted sweet corn with salt and lime at the markets in Chichicastenago and Panajachel seemed exotic. Not nearly so as the exquisite taste of the fuchsia fruit someone offered us on the boat as we crossed stunning Lake Atitlan in the Guatemalan Highlands---I'll spend the rest of my life searching for exactly what that was, and angling for my next bite. (Maybe only available in paradise and the next life....)









Beautiful beyond reasoning, Lake Atitlan is the deepest lake in Guatemala, and is the Mayan word for "place where the rainbow gets its colors". Three volcanoes anchor it to the top of the world. Our first slice of heaven. What more could you ever want?


How humble the huts along the Rio Dulce as we floated down the river to the Caribbean village of Livingston on the Atlantic.






Fascinating were the Mayan ruins of Quirigua, the monuments with hieroglyphs in the midst of the jungle that seemed to thrust us back more than a millennium.

Then throw in the vibrant charm and architecture of old Spanish Antigua, and the breathtaking elegance there of a candlelight wedding at the open air ruins of the Chapel on the grounds of Casa Santo Domingo, a former Dominican Monastery from the 1600s. And on and on. The land, the people, their handiwork. An endless kaleidoscope of dazzling color, dramatic shape, dream like magic.

Of course there was the reality check in the town of Santiago, a primitive town accessible only by boat on the shores of Lake Atitlan. Despite being explicitly warned not to, we wended our way to a shack to pay homage to the village protective "Saint", Maximón, stumbling over passed out drunks littering the sidewalks like cairns pointing the way. Inside the darkened room was an effigy, which was a stretch to take seriously, but when in Rome.... Paradoxically this protector---and the padded image is just the representation of the more ethereal "reality" hovering mysteriously around---is guarded by villagers 24/7 on a rotating basis. The rather subdued ritual involves placing nicotine and cigarettes into his mouth. Villagers wait their turn with their offerings of alcohol and spirits, and strangers are readily admitted as long as they leave a donation for the upkeep of Maximón, who seems possessed of some pretty massive, questionable habits for a Saint. Maybe he was more of a Marlboro man, or a Mafia dude back in the day, and just couldn't let go. Anyway, we shelled out, and hoped he might opt for some sparkling cider and gum for a change of pace.

Still, the variety, the contrast, the beauty was without parallel. The drama was even more palpable as we flew into the jungle heading back in time, to the daunting ruins of Tikal.
Ah, yes, Tikal. Plunging into millenniums past. Climbing up the perilously steep steps and looking out in astonishment from the very top of the Temple of the Jaguar. Taking in the deep green vastness as it must have appeared all those eons ago to the eyes of the ancients. Eyes that must have been wide with wonder every time they surveyed the endless view. Profound.














Maybe it was the singular terrifying sound of howler monkeys, which has been compared to the din of dinosaurs giving birth, that made my mind race; I became convinced I could hear the cries of the doomed humans, being offered as sacrifices as their hearts were being ripped from their bodies, mingling with the frenzied chanting of the natives assembled below for the ceremony. Wasn't that actual blood I saw staining these very steps as the intensity of the crowd was whipped into hysteria? Surreal.

But not as surreal as it was about to get. We got to our lakeside hotel that afternoon and found only one other couple there. Rainy season---mid May--and others knew better than to be out vacationing. Crazy Americans. We'd had guides tell us it was an unusual treat to host us, as Americans rarely venture to Guatemala (guess someone heeds those Government advisories); their cash crop was actually tourists from Spain. Well, 1 point, team America! Rainy season, and not one drop fell the entire time we were there! Hardly ominous.

The earlier drama and adventure from the ruins seemed to be giving way to "laid back", so wanting to make the most of every minute we had and jazz it up a bit(we'd been on a roll with excitment for days), I noticed a little card posted on the wall as I waited for my husband checking into our hillside hotel. "Crocodile Hunting", it beckoned.


Now the one thing in the whole world I'm most scared of is alligators. More than sharks, more than snakes, spiders, or the boogeyman. More than all of them combined. I had refused to even consider taking my kids to Disneylworld because you-know-what lurks in Florida. Ditto New Orleans. I wasn't even sure about Philly---what if they had a zoo? So who was that lady who opened her mouth and blurted out to her daughter, "How about going crocodile hunting tonight?"
How ludicrous! Absolutely preposterous! But we were in vacation mode and had left common sense and all responsibility behind, so we giggled at the idea and sauntered over to the desk where my husband was still registering(the language barrier was a delay), and informed the clerk that we wanted to sign up to go crocodile hunting. Gasp! She replied that that was highly out of the question because the place was deserted, and since there were no other people around to go, that wouldn't be feasible. Sigh of relief. She took our names anyway.


We spent the rest of the day meandering around by the water and lounging leisurely. Think hammocks. Very mellow. Dinner that night on the veranda, virtually in isolation. Enchanted by tranquil Lake Petén Itzá and the surrounding hills, mesmerized by the sunset, we were absorbed by the beauty of the moment. Far, far away, the world. Yet its best was right before us. Suddenly, the peace was interrupted by the intercom, paging us.

What on earth could that be about, we wondered, totally forgetting our inquiries at the desk hours earlier. Sure enough, we went to the lobby and were informed that our dedicated crocodile hunting guide was coming to get us at 8 o'clock. Not knowing what to say, what to do, we went to our room to change, virtually in a trance. At least I was filled with dread, but ironically never even thought of calling it off. The plan had been made. Destiny awaited. I didn't even have the courage to ask if my daughter and husband were scared as well. What if we'd just had our last meal?

Right on time we rendezvoused with our guide in the lobby of the Hotel. He was predictably small and predictably spoke no English. Even though Treesje was Spanish fluent now, none of us had figured out what questions to ask, so we followed robotically behind him, down the steep hill to the water. It was dark, oh so dark. And irrevocably still. A world away from cities, a world away from any civilization, it appeared. I squinted to see if there would be any lights from other boats, or from an enclave or two on a far shore. Then I remembered noticing during the day that the shore melted into the horizon after the curve of our beach disappeared from the eye. The lake was vast, and no far land was within seeing distance. We were so alone. So very alone.










And then a miracle! Dead ahead---a small yacht. And, sigh of relief, men with machine guns loomed above us on the second deck. The fear inside me suddenly vanished; we would be protected; we would be more than safe. Phew!

Guatemala was awash in guns. Small trucks making deliveries to neighborhood grocery stores would have at least a couple guys with semi automatic rifles riding in the back, obvious to all that the goods would be delivered, no matter what. Everywhere guns, making the mundane, the routine of life flush with danger. Always danger around the corner. The 36 year civil war had just ended a couple years previously, and so many had grown up knowing nothing but violence, that it had merely gone underground in some ways, renegade in others. But finally, it would work for us. We had at the last minute hired a private guide and driver to escort and protect us, but we had left them behind when we flew to Tikal. So it was fitting that other precautions were being taken for our ultimate safety. Impressive, really. Menacing mental images melted away instantly.

As we approached the side of the boat to board, my exuberant bubble burst instantly as I noticed the muzzles of the machine guns were focused directly on US! For crying out loud, what kind of sense did that make? It was a little disconcerting as well, when our guide marched right past the yacht into the little rowboat I hadn't even noticed there at the water's edge. There awaited his partner in crime, who handed us each one of those plastic 99 cent flashlights. I turned mine on and the beam flashed weakly and flickered out. This is what we were going hunting crocodiles with? CROCODILES?
So men had machine guns aimed at my head as we slipped into the water to go after monsters and we were armed with play flashlights, one of which wasn't working. Did I dream this up? Where was a rational thought? I couldn't locate one. Our little boat had a little motor; it started up as my heart thudded to a stop.

As we moved to the middle of the lake, the irony was apparent. It could have been the ultimate serenity experience. Tangible darkness. Not to be interrupted by an occasional plane flying overhead, not pierced by any light from the shore. What shore? Absolute, penetrating isolation. But wait, this was not serenity. Not for me. Not even close. My Aha moment seized me---we were removed from every hope of rescue. It swept over me, how foolish I was. How foolish I always was. But this was over the top, even for me. And everyone I loved was about to pay a heavy price for that. A very heavy price.




Here we were, having just previously spent time learning all about the violent human sacrifice history of the Ancient Mayans, out in the middle of an endless lake in the middle of an endless jungle nobody had any idea we had come to---with the very grandkids of the grandkids of the grandkids, etc., of those very relentlessly bloodthirsty Mayans!!!



Was I living in my very own novel, on the last page so soon? Were we truly about to be sacrificed to pagan Gods? A crocodile feast? I knew I deserved it. No question now. I made my peace. Even rationalized my husband's end. He let me do this! Wasn't this somehow his fault by now? We had both led full lives, I mused. We'd made it all the way to middle age, after all. It couldn't go on forever. But this precious daughter, so achingly young, so overwhelmingly beautiful. Twenty two and just starting life. How did I get her into this? Never, ever should I have been a mother. I was no longer worthy of the word. I needed to be stripped of my mother license immediately. I should be thrown to the sharks(And by the way, coincidentally, wouldn't Providence have to intervene and get us out of the way of the crocs to accomplish that? Temporary reprieves are the Holy Grail to desperate souls). Internal torment was ripping me to shreds far more brutally than any giant teeth ever could.

Finally, I pierced the silence. "I am SO SORRY!" I bleated.

"What?" my husband replied. He turned around with an enormous grin. His eyes were shining, his face was luminous. He was virtually a 15 year old boy on a great adventure. He was transfixed. "This is incredible!" Men. We were about to die.

"Treesje", I struggled, aiming to take back some control, interject some hope, find a way to manage a final good-bye. Trying to forget every National Geographic Special I had ever seen on PBS, I continued, "Ask the guys(in Spanish)just how big these crocodiles are." My mind was racing. The Guatemalans, being very small in stature, logically should live in a land amidst very small crocodiles, right? Life being fair and all. It could happen.
She translated and answered, "The cocodrilos are three or four meters." Hey, now we're talkin'! That's kind of on the small side.(It didn't dawn on me at all that she had said meters---the metric system is unnatural to me, so I heard feet, and did not begin to conceptualize the closer to 9 foot reptiles she was reporting about.) So 3 feet? It wasn't impossible. I could clobber one in the eye with my non-working flashlight, while those with the working models could focus the beam of light in crocodilian eyes and blind them at least temporarily. I recalled General Patton's advice, something like a good plan executed today is better than a great plan next week. There was a way, if only the mini crocs played along and took turns with me. I was no Eagle Scout, but finally, I had a plan. Oh that adrenalin rush! I began getting cocky, almost feeling sorry for those little creatures who would soon have to face the indomitable me. I had once killed a rattlesnake in the garage that I perceived was a threat to my "babies", and I couldn't stop fiercely beating it with the shovel I used long after it was dead. I was virtually a serial killer! I would save my angel daughter, I would save my family, I would even save the Mayan progeny. Heck, I would save the entire free world!

Five minutes into this scenario, I was interrupted by a rational thought. What if these cocodrilos were babies? Maybe they weren't so much a mini species, maybe just young and innocent. I got my built in interpreter to ask, and she confirmed that indeed they were babies. Wow, this was going to be a piece of cake. I was destined to be invincible. We were going to the baby crocodile place, where there were only baby crocodiles and we would all be JUST FINE.

We moseyed along, me in quiet reverie at last, gratefully smiling in the dark, confidently smiling at the dark. Unfortunately, because it was a moonless, dark night, as luck would have it, that meant we were now lost. These guys were likely born in this very boat, and had spent every waking hour since they were 7 months old trolling every inch of this body of water, and they go and pick this night, of all nights, to get lost?

Apparently, we were looking for the mouth of a tributary river to get to the favored cocodrilo hang out, and it was such an exceptionally black night that we had missed it and wandered afar.We found ourselves in a dire situation; reptiles aside, we had ended up in a shallow area, a submerged dead forest, that was both eerie and threatening. They cut the motor, and we desperately floated about, dodging one projectile after another, trying to avoid being impaled by any of the sharp pointy tree trunks a few feet above the water's surface. Or ambushed by any other...lurking dangers.

Time stands still in circumstances like these. After awhile, I had become numb to the danger following so many close encounters. However long it took to get out of the spooky underwater forest, it took. Unscathed, we eventually got away. The motor luckily turned back on without incident. We had been out for what must have been quite a long time, with not much hope left of finding where we were supposed to be. It seemed like they were deciding whether to keep going or not.
Keep going, it was. My adrenalin ebbed away. It only lasts so long. Again, it was painfully clear, no cell phone coverage, no 911 backup, no posse, no cavalry, no helicopter search, no trained dogs, no national guard to summon---whatever the contingency. Not a soul to even look for our bodies(not that there was much likelihood that there'd be any traces left to be found), much less come to the rescue. Of course. Euphoria gave way once more to foreboding.

I retreated to contemplative silence. Then out of nowhere, a reality check. The facts of life popped up on my brain screen, not solely as a distraction. Once more I was prompted to ask Treesje to inquire. "What about those baby crocodiles? Are they orphans? Are we going to a crocodile day care/night care center? Bottomline, where are the Mommy and Daddy crocs then?"Hoping the zoo had signed them all up, I held my breath. Not for long. The answer was quick and sure, "The Moms and Dads are THERE, of course, they're just way too smart to let you see them. Unless, of course, they want you to see them." And then, of course, it's too late to matter. Of course.

Holy flashlight!


I wasn't paying attention, clinging to my doom and gloom. I have no idea how long it took to find the mouth of the river we wanted to reach. But it's clear that's the moment when it all changed. I remember they cut the motor again as we began to float up the river to whatever fate awaited.


I don't know why or how, but it immediately became so exquisitely beautiful; so perfectly, and I mean perfectly, peaceful that there was room for nothing but absolute joy in the deepest level of my soul. I thought beauty was about color, and form. Eye candy, melodic harmony, whatever. But this experience transcended all my expectations. I felt what it was to be part of it all, one with the moment, one with the universe. And to know how every detail therein was totally, unquestionably as it should be.

Passing by a huge tree, we noticed the thousands of "leaves" were actually bats, hanging there upside down. In another life I would have been "concerned", but there was no fear now. Only total love, raw appreciation for this perfection. Pervasive serenity. Transfixed by this glimpse of heaven, I wanted it to never end.

As we glided up the narrow river in sheer ecstasy, my husband and daughter would catch red eyes in the water with their flashlights, that weren't powerful enough to discern anything beyond that. No sudden violent attacks by truculent monster reptiles. No movement disturbed the tranquility. It was as if we just belonged there, and "they" knew it, welcomed it. Like being in a living work of art. Nothing happened, and yet somehow everything did. I expected to be terrorized, at the very least. Instead, it was a transcendent experience for all of us. How does it get any better than that?

We continued up the river until it was time to go, and we came back across the lake in absolute bliss. No words were spoken, no words were needed. What words could there be?



Still there are no words. But besides being ever grateful for my family, and yes, for their safety, finally I am grateful God made even the alligators and crocodiles. I know it's been a long time He's been waiting for my approval. Well...way to go!




TREESJE, I HAVE TO HAND IT TO YOU AS WELL! YOU ARE ONE BRAVE, BEAUTIFUL CROCODILE HUNTER!!




HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL!























P.S. Chris, just don't get any ideas:

Europe In July!

Having lived in Bavaria in the shadows of the Alps long ago, I have been yearning to return for years. Finally, I feel like that dream came true this weekend! Early Saturday evening we drove up to Mt. Charleston in a thunderstorm (if you can believe it rains here anymore) and ended up having dinner outside on the balcony of Mt. Charleston lodge.  The view was more Alpine to me than since I have lived in Europe.  And I have lived 10 years in the Colorado Rockies, under the thumb of Mt. Rainier in Seattle, the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, AZ., Mt. Palomar, etc. in San Diego.  I adore visiting Timp and the Wasatch Range in Northern Utah, the Abajo and La Sal moutains surrounding my land north of Monument Valley, Zion and Snow Canyon peaks in Southern Utah, Cedar Mountain (Duck Creek) views where Willow and Shane had their cabin, and on and on.  My heart belongs to the West, but the Mountains from Coast to Coast mesmerize me.  Even the Pyrenees in France and Spain stole my heart a couple of years ago.  But never have I felt like I had come home to my beloved Bavaria until this fantasy weekend.  It was like being a world away from the desert and the Las Vegas vibe.  And the true magic is that it's only 20 minutes from my house!  You gotta love Vegas---1/2 hour to Europe, no passports, no jet lag.  I love it!  I love it!  Oh, and did I mention it was probably 65 degrees on the deck when we were eating dinner and breathing the freshly washed (rain had stopped) pine air?  THE place to go this summer--- Mt. Charleston.  Priceless!

Maya's Date

Again I went cameraless to Torrey's fashion show. This week as an escort to Maya. Torrey brought 4 of her gorgeous model friends up to meet Maya between shows(thank you Christina, Megan, Tiffany and Tricia!), and took her shopping as well. These are pix I just stole from her that have nothing to do with the ramp modeling, but from a shoot a while back evidently. Close as I can get to the general idea.                                           

Anyway, I love the Gramma dates with these little cuties. And I get a buzz when Torrey sees the girls and smiles and waves just to them as she struts by. Hey, Brooklyn, you're next!