What are the odds?

A funny thing happened on my way to a yard sale:  I found one of my old lamps for sale!  I walked up their driveway and exclaimed, "That's my lamp!  I made that lamp!"  No doubt  I had everyone's attention within hearing range.  It was then that your father got out of the car and walked up to the lamp.  (He had kindly consented to accompany me because my yard-saling-buddy had opted out.)   Yes, it definitely was one of the ones I had made at our house on West Holland Drive; the ones your father had wired; the ones we had used for maybe 20 years; the ones we had retired and sent away--where and when escaped us.  Was it CA?  I think it was because we bought new lamps when we visited Granny back in her condo near the Lamps Plus store.  Could the lamp have made the 1200 mile journey to Cody just to end up at a yard sale that we happened into?  What are the odds? 

My Room Divider

     I am NOT an oil painter!  Do not attempt to dussuade me; I have come to grips with it.  I am writing this even as I am wiping globs of paint off my face.  I look like I went three rounds with my palette.
     I am presently working on the three-panel room divider I made in wood shop back in Taft and I so apologize to my shop teacher for defiling our hard work!  I wanted to paint Byzantine figures on it.  The hands are good.  I am confident that I can make the robes look good enough; it's the faces.
     Actually, it's not just the faces, it's my entire mentality.  I have this mind set.  Follow me here:  I have a Masters Degree.  People with Masters Degrees are very clever.  Bro. Poulson, the professional artist, does not have a Masters Degree and he can paint anything.  Ergo, I can paint Byzantine characters if I try.  Okay--so there's a hole in my reasoning.
     I've done a factor analysis of the situation and discovered that my lack of success is multi-causal.  One problem is my brushes.  Cheap brushes self-destruct.  As a result, I don't have crisp lines and, even more counter-productive, I have been tweezing brush hairs off my paintings all morning.
     Another brush issue is brush control.  I can draw just a bout anything and make it look good.  Nevertheless, a pencil and a brush require two different skill sets and my brush skills stink on ice.  I think that about covers it.
     Skills and supplies having been discussed, there's the Byzantine syle in and of itself.  All persons depicted look totally depressed and despairing of future events and/or future generations--like they know something we don't and are loathe to share.  I do NOT have the glory or I don't flow with the Byzantine Zen or something.  Maybe if I got really depressed, I too could make mournful, miserable faces.
     Apart for the drama, they all have great big, shadowed eyes, except, the figures I have been wrestling with.  They only look wrechedly despondent.  After painting the faces for the 89th time, I finally gave up and asked Bro. Mike Poulson for help.  His paintings are so remarkable that the images appear to hover over the canvas.
     I had misguidedly told him that I was going to do an oil painting and asked for his help in brush selection and colors.  He was eager to assist and invited Steve and me over to see his studio and to give me some basics--I mean elementary, not even elementary art school stuff, like artist preschool level.  (Inconsequential Note:  The last time I worked with oils was as a teenager.)
     He was helpful and supportive.  He told me which brushes to buy so that I could BLEND.  It clicked!  I KNOW HOW TO BLEND!  Actually, any make-up-wearing teeny bopper knows how to blend.  If I blend, my work will be wonderful, I thought.  I blended.  I blended so well that my "Byzantine" faces were starting to look like Cover Girls.
     After a week or two, Bro. Poulson started asking me questions at church, like, "Are you done yet?" and "When can I see it?"  Oh yeah, like I'm going to show my derisory attempts to him.
     I knew I was getting too wierd when I started sneaking around the church building to avoid Bro. and Sr. Poulson.  I came to grips with the truth:  I had to show him my work.  So after the 89th attempt on the faces, I gave up.  I called Bro. Pouslon who was very eager to come.

Bro. Poulson and the Room Divider

     The next Tuesday, Bro and Sr. Poulson came over and were verrrry supportive.  Let me make this clear:  They were extreamly supportive, but that's about it.  OK.  So he suggested I do a yellow wash over their robes.  (How does one do a yellow wash without smearing what has already been done?)  He told me to attach a dowel to a hook and hang it over the panels so that I would no longer drag my hand through the paint.  (Where does one get such a hook?  Do they even make them?)  He advised me to buy sable brushes.  (Ca-ching!)  Lastly, he suggested that I take his painting class.  (Read between the lines.)  Notice that nothing substantive was offered like, "Here!  Let ME do the faces for you...Ah!  Much better!"
     So I am plugging away at it.  I should be done within the next decade.  I have to bribe mysilf to work on it.  I mean I have a stash of 13 Hershey Bars on my work table.  This is genuinely pathetic.
     I must get over it and push along.  I feel like I have disappointed my pioneer ancestors who put their "shoulder[s] to the wheel" and "no toil nor labor fear[ed]."  Putting it off is just bad for my personal Zen.  So I better get busy and do what I'm supposed to do.  Maybe heavenly messengers will aid me and I will do the faces to my satisfaction today.  Maybe little pink men will skip into my attic and finish the painting while I sleep.

Our Missouri Experience

Saturday, March 29, 2013
     At 2:00 P.M., Craig Dansie, Steve, and I packed our things and three horses into Craig’s truck and horse trailer and started for Boliver, Missouri. Craig informed us that there would be frequent stops during the 20 hour ride. Riding in a horse trailer is very hard on the horses because they are constantly shifting the weight on their legs to accommodate the road. This makes frequent stops necessary.
     I sat in the backseat of the truck while the guys sat in the front seat and talked about guns, ball games, and other guy stuff. Because I figured that I would not be too interested in their talk, I brought along some embroidery, two books, crossword puzzles, a manicure set, the May issue of The Ensign, a pillow and blanket, and a book of strange but true facts.

     Our first stop was just outside of Shoshoni, Wyoming, at a rest stop. The old adage that “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink” is true. Horses don’t like to drink when they are trailered. But horses always love to eat, so Craig learned to put hay in feed bags and then add water so the horses don’t dehydrate.
     When Steve stepped out of the cab, he noticed that the trim on the horse trailer was falling off. So Steve and I peeled the 40 foot piece off, rolled it up, and put it away until it could be fixed. At our second stop, we found that the trailer door was left open from stop number one. No further incidents of a similar nature occurred during the entire trip.
     Our course took us through Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, and Missouri. During the trip, Craig warned us not to mention that we were LDS. He said that there are still people that are proud that their ancestors drove the Mormons out of Missouri. We took his advice seriously.

No scripture study today.

I waited too long and it was too dark when I thought of it.

Sunday, March 30, 2013
     It’s Easter Day. After a fairly miserable sleep, I read President Eyring’s message from the April

Ensign to Steve and Craig. Besides me reading the Ensign to myself and Steve, that was all the religion we got on the trip.
     We finally arrived in Bolivar, the heart of the Ozarks. A range of mountains thousands of years ago, the Ozarks are only rolling hills today. But so green and beautiful! The area had just gotten three inches of rain, which is common, but it was only drizzling on the day we arrived. However, the heavy precipitation in that area has repercussions, those being high humidity, chiggers, brown recluse spiders, and ticks among other creepy crawlers.

The Ozarks in Early Spring

     I suppose that if Cody got that much rain, we would have too many bugs too. But it makes me wonder about Carmel California, with the most perfect weather in California. It gets about the same amount of rain, but doesn’t have the bugs. Why? Craig said that the rich people bought the insects off. Notwithstanding, I wish Missouri could share just some of its wet with Cody.
     We arrived in Boliver (rhymes with Oliver) around noon their time and went straight to Vance’s stable. Vance is Craig’s trainer. Craig has known Vance about as long as he has owned fox-trotters. He not only knows Vance, but he is friends with most of his family as well.

Our Inferior 8

     Vance’s facility was expectedly soggy. There were puddles everywhere. We let Craig’s horses graze on Vance’s front “lawn” and then stabled them. As soon as the horses were cared for, we drove to our second-rate hotel, a Super 8, because there is no first rate hotel in town.

     Missouri is the land of the toothless smokers, where no one knows how to conjugate a verb and hotel maids think putting fresh towels out is cleaning a room. We found our tobacco-smelling “no smoking” rooms, took naps, and then went to a new restaurant in town.
     The restaurateur, one of Vance’s friends, was on site and eager to tell us all about his establishment. It was originally his father’s law office and the owner displayed some of his father’s old law books and a partial wall from his office as part of the decor. Vance thought it was ironic that the place was in the heart of cattle country, but was the only steak house in town.
     After dinner we returned to our hotel. Steve crashed while I embroidered on the last panel of my crazy quilt and watched The Robe. Steve had stayed up all night to keep Craig company during the drive, while I caught a few cat naps.

Ensign, April 2013

Monday, April 1, 2013
     We dressed, breakfasted, and went to Vance’s barn. His barn consisted of an enormous rusted out, broken down arena that smelled of a multiplicity of disgusting things I do not care to report on, and some stalls.

Manuel Trigo

     Vance was eager to show us the new training techniques he had learned from Manuel Trigo. Mr. Trigo is a horse trainer of the French classical dressage style. He studied manuscripts from the 15th century and discovered the secrets of those training the war horses. During that era, war horses were more than transportation, they were weapons and defenses in and of themselves. They were trained to kill by striking and kicking, and to hold people with their teeth. Several equestrian aerial maneuvers were used to put the rider out of reach of the enemy or to protect the rider while breaking through enemy’s lines. However, the trainers tightly guarded their secrets, not even keeping an apprentice. Thus their training methods were lost.
     Mr. Trigo does not permit videos of his work, but he does train others people at $150 an hour. By the second day of instruction by Mr. Trigo, Vance said he was suffering from acute information overload. We spent from 10:00 A.M. to noon and from 1:00 P.M. to 6:00 P.M. in Vance’s barn, during which Vance squeezed a three day training session into a seven hour day.
     Craig ate it up. He watched Vance in the icy arena for three days. I stuck it out the first day by alternating between standing with my hands in the pockets and my coat zipped up to my chin and sitting on a very cold, dirty chair with my hands in the pockets and my coat zipped up to my chin.
     The day finally came to an end and we returned to our hotel. While we walked down the hall, Steve and I noticed that the stairs were strewn with hay and a toothpick and dental floss from the morning still lay in the hall. I figured they’d be gone by tomorrow.

Ensign, April 2013

Tuesday, April 2, 2013
     I gave the day my best by standing/sitting in the frozen barn most of the morning. Then I retreated to the truck and wrapped myself in the only things I could find to keep me warm; a towel and a plastic bag.  In my frozen state, I embroidered to take my mind off my undoubtedly frost bitten digits.
     Steve stood his ground because of two of his super powers; the ability to tolerate the cold and to stand as long as he has to.  Steve was in his own element.  Craig and he both took turns in the assistant’s position while Vance drove the horses, teaching horses to be lighter than air on their cues.
     In the afternoon, we went for a ride into the country to see some horses for sale. The rolling hills hid the palatial estates of two different owners. When I say palatial, I mean palatial. One lady was spending all of her inherited millions on her home and arena before she dies of COPD.
     After some disappointing horse shopping, we stopped in Dadeville for lunch. The hole-in-the-wall diner at which we lunched had obviously been in operation since before the Great Depression and maybe the Civil War. We expected the worst, but were surprised at the interior. Since so many contractors had been working on the above mentioned ranch, the café had done considerably better and could afford a facelift.
     Besides all that, the food was good. I ordered a taco salad. Missouri taco salads are considerably different from the ones made in California. In Missouri bar-b-cue sauce is substituted for taco sauce. Nevertheless, it was fit to eat.
     In the evening, we had dinner at a fast food place with Rex, Vance’s 89-year-oldgrandfather, and were then invited to his birthday party. The party was held at Vance’s mother’s home, which Rex had built! There were 11 adults, two children, and four dogs at the party.
     It was a weird celebration. It had been advertised as having homemade cake and ice cream, which it did. However, the living room was still set up for a bridge party held that afternoon and the cake was leftover from the same. They didn’t sing the Birthday Song, they didn’t have candles, there were no gifts, and they didn’t even start making the ice cream until we had been there over an hour. Moreover, hardly anyone paid any attention to Rex. Maybe he doesn’t like a lot of attention. At least there was entertainment. Besides the dogs, the six-year-old did some gymnastics for us.

Ensign, April 2013

Wednesday, April 3, 2013
     Although the sun was shining, it was still cold. Unable to tolerate another cold day in the car, I spent the morning in the hotel room. I did some embroidery and washed my hair. Around noon Steve came to take me to lunch. It was then that Steve noticed a bottle cap in the hall besides the dental floss. I figured they would vacuum the hall sometime before we left.
     We then journeyed to Wheatland with the horse trailer to see another horse. Gail, Vance’s cousin,


Scout looks kind of like this.

 had her mother’s little black horse named Black Jack (icky name) for Craig to see. Craig had seen him before and offered to buy him three years ago. Gail’s mother wanted to sell him now, being “too old” to ride. Unfortunately, he was too hot for me to ride at that time. Gail gave several reasons for his being skitterish; he hadn’t been ridden in six months, the wind was blowing (which always makes horses nervous), and he had always been ridden with another rider before. So he performed several uncalled-for side passes and jiggered all over the place.
     We left the horse trailer with Gail’s husband. He was going to fix the trim on the trailer. He worked diligently for the rest of the evening and then again the next day.

Ensign, April 2013

Thursday, April 4, 2013
     We looked at two more horses for sale in the Boliver area and then returned to Gail’s farm. I resolved to ride Black Jack. Gail brought him and another horse into the barn and I groomed Black Jack while Gail prepared her horse for the ride. That was when I fell in love with the little black fox-trotter.
     After the horses were saddled, Gail and I went for a ride. We were out for over an hour. Gail made sure that we rode past some scary things (bird houses) and over a bridge. We talked and enjoyed ourselves. Steve said that he knew the little black horse was for me when I returned and was smiling. Then I stopped a few feet from Steve and said, “Give this horse a kiss.”
     The horse trailer was fixed so we hooked it up and returned to Boliver just in time to experience

Boliver Court House in Town Square

one of their traffic jams. Every town in Missouri has a town square around which all traffic must pass. It was a good idea in 1920, when there were only 17 cars, but now that everyone had a car, it was a mess.
     We returned to the steak house for dinner. Craig treated Gail’s family as partial payment for fixing the horse trailer. Gail’s husband thought that Craig’s payment of $100 was too much. When Craig paid for their dinners, Gail’s husband was sincerely mortified.

Ensign, April 2013

Friday, April 5, 2013
     Steve lay awake all night trying to think of ways to make buying the little black horse—now called Scout—work. Scout’s Coggins test was out of date. Finally Steve thought of leaving him until Craig went back in June to a show. By then Scout could get a Coggins and a health certificate, some solo riding time, and I would have a Western saddle.
     We were up by 6:30, hurriedly showered, packed, ate breakfast, pastured the horses, and were on the road by 8:22. Note: The floor still hadn’t been vacuumed, but the hay on the stairs had been rearranged.
     We drove to Lebanon, and checked into a hotel near where the horse auction was to be held. We met some of the people instrumental in organizing the auction as we watched a parade of horses doing laps in a very large barn which was even more rickety than Vance’s, filled with kamikaze chickens. The parade of horses was like watching a team of models strutting down a catwalk.
     We had received a program a few weeks prior to our trip and marked the horses that were of


Previewing the Horses

 interest to us. We looked for the horses we had preselected and crossed off the ones that were spooky. We also marked off the ones that had bad gates, the ones that were not sufficiently “broke,” and the ones that were too young. We were there for seven hours watching horses arrive, being groomed, fed, and sent through their paces. We ate hamburgers on site that night.

Ensign, April 2013

Saturday, April 6, 2013
     I stopped drinking water. The head of the auction had moved in some porta-potties and I refused to

use one. The last of the horses arrived. Craig said that some of the horse owners brought their horses late so that no one could evaluate them before the auction.
     It was no use seeing any of the horses. Every horse we saw was compared to “my horse” and nothing came close.
     Someone put cedar chips on the barn floor where the patrons were to sit. It was very refreshing. When the auction finally started, the bids were very poor—so poor that the auction ended an hour and a half earlier than expected. A boy rode his horse in, unsaddled it, stood on its rear, slid off its back down its tail, and crawled under it. Craig bought that one and another one.
     We left at 2:30 P.M. and I spent another 23 miserable hours in the car as we traveled home. The trip was nothing to Steve because of his third super power: staying awake all night. To me, it was something.

Europe Nov. 2012

Day 1: Friday, Nov. 23, 2012

 It was travel day, the day after Thanksgiving. We were not sure why, but both Steve and I are nauseous. It might have been the smarmy turkey casserole I force fed Steve. But in my defense, we both agreed that fussing over a big turkey dinner would be a waste of time and energy since we would be leaving the next day.  I concluded that the casserole, some cranberries, a salad, and pie for dessert would do nicely. OK, it didn’t.

We awoke before 5:00 A.M., showered, gathered our things, and left for the Billings airport. Billings is about two hours from Cody. Because we left in the dark, the first part of our drive was slow so as not to hit any deer which can cause massive damage to a vehicle.  That would have put a damper on our trip as well as our car.

     Even with that constraint, the trip to Billings was easy. What was hard was parking. We forgot that it was a holiday weekend and that everybody’s relatives were in transit via air. Because the parking lots were totally full, we had to park a mile away from the terminal.  Luckily we didn't have to drag luggage and walk all the way back.  The airport had provided a shuttle to serve displaced parkers. And, when we finally reached the airport proper, we were assured that security would look after our car and that we would not have to pay the $60 parking fee. We shall return to this subject at the conclusion of our narrative.

     The flight to Denver was easy. But because all our friends asked us to travel safely, I told all the stewardesses on every leg of our journey to remind the pilots to fly cautiously. Whether or not the messages got through, we did arrive safely every single time.

     The Denver airport is immense. We had to take a train within the airport to our concourse. Once there, we had a three hour layover. I was delighted because it meant we would have no trouble connecting with our flight to Budapest (from now on pronounced Bū-da-pesht). Steven, however, was less delighted because he doesn’t like waiting around.

     During this time I observed two fussy babies. Surely, I thought, these babies will be on our flight. And surely, knowing the nature of fussy babies, they will cry all night long. I hope the Benadryl we brought will knock us out sufficiently.

     In the meantime, I had more serious things to think about than fussy babies. While waiting for take-off, I consider worst case scenarios. In this instance, What if the airplane malfunctions mid-Atlantic? If anything catastrophic happened, would I die from depressurization or hypothetical explosion? Or would I be spared so that I drowned in the ocean? Or would I have to suffer bite after bite, while being eaten by a shark? Or finally, would I just dehydrate while bobbing up and down in my life vest?

     I usually pay attention to the emergency instructions, but this time, flying Lufthansa, the information was in German, as were the magazines and crossword puzzles in the magazines. However Inflight Shopping Mall Magazine was in English. Curse my insistence on taking High School French!  Eventually the emergency instructions were repeated in English so I couldn’t complain about it any more.

Day 2: Saturday, Nov. 24, 2012

     At least I think it was Saturday. We had a long dark period of time intended for sleep and then it was light again. The Benadryl was not used because Steve gets doped up on it for 18 hours some times and we felt it would be best if he were alert when we arrived in Frankfurt, we being naive tourists. (“Naive” in this context is code for “stupid”.)

     But I need to revisit the period designated for sleep.  The air line, being well aware of the baby/passenger problem, graciously provides cribs that fit between seats so that babies (and therefore passengers) can theoretically sleep. We were blessed with three—not two—crying, whiny babies that did a tag-team kind of thing all night long. What did we ever do to deserve this? I wondered in my wakefulness.  To add insult to injury, the next day as we exited the plane, I noticed that all three babies were fast asleep on their mothers’ shoulders.  I don't think I need to spell out the irony of the situation.



The Interminable Terminal

     In Frankfurt we were given bad information.  We were told that we would have to go through another passport check by one of the stewardesses and then we were left to find our ways through “The Interminable Terminal,” which is what we called the Frankfurt Terminal because it made the Denver Airport look like it was just kidding around. It reminded me of the Mall of America shabbily dressed for Christmas.

Real German bakery with real pretzels for sale

     Observation: Germans look just like Americans. Go figure. Germans are famous for their breads. Here is a picture of a bread shop that I found of interest. I assumed they’d have some Kaiser rolls for sale, but no.  But they did have a good selection of bread, not that we bought any.
     Other airport shops featured Rolex watches and miscellaneous cameras and clothes for sale at astronomical prices. This makes sense.  We were all captives until our next flight.
     At this point, we had been awake for 24 hr. and were rather punchy. But we had a three-hour wait in Frankfurt, after which we were processed and packed onto a bus. The bus took us to the other side of the airport, which was about half way to Budapest (pronounced hereafter Būd׳·uh·pĕsht). And, on the final leg of our trip to Hungary, Steve sat in one row on the airplane and I in another.  We had to wonder who booked the flight and why he or she wouldn't assume that we would rather sit together, not that anything bad happened.  We were just tired and a little grouchy. 

     Steve reads too much. The brochure indicated that, after arriving at the Budapest Airport, we were to go to the end of the terminal and down one level to find our guide. Following the diagram, we did exactly as advised and got lost immediately. We asked directions to no avail, searched in vain, and finally returned to our starting point, where our tour guide and all the other would-be cruise members had been waiting for us. After checking us in, she put us on a bus which took us to the ship.

     At  first I was amazed at how Americanized Budapest was. The first thing I noticed was a gigantic, inflated, Santa Claus that looked every bit as tacky in Hungary as it did in Taft. Then I saw a sign with Mickey Mouse on it, a McDonalds, some common American gas stations, a Samsung sign, and bill board for “Dog Chow” (are the Hungarian words for dog food “dog chow” now?), and some graffiti. I hope the young people in Hungary never copy the American curse of gangs!
     As we rode along, I noticed that the roofs were of red tile.  The part of the city we were driving through was what you would expect of a second world country, with classic decaying Soviet architecture. But the architecture changed dramatically as we neared Old Budapest.  It was made up of beautiful architecture, small shops, and narrow, windy streets.  Eventually, we arrived at the dock and boarded our Viking Tour Ship, the Njord.



The Bullard's cabin

Camera case made from Alecia's formal

     Our room was directly across the hall from the Bullards (hug, hug, kiss, kiss—“It’s so good to see you!” etc.). Practically the first thing I did was show them the camera case I had made. This was of interest to them because I lined it with material from one of Alicia’s old formals. Years ago, I took the formal apart and made Gryffindor capes for the Bullard and Bauer grandchildren. Just before our trip, I found enough left over fabric to line my camera case. So there you have it.

The Njord, Norwegian for Heaven on Earth

     People misuse a lot of words by pivoting around a buzz word. When I was a kid, it was "neat". As a teenager, the word was "groovy." A word that should have been retired years ago is "awesome." Applicable to all faddish words, very few things described by it fit with Webster's definition of the word. That's why I don't generally use trendy words. But the good ship Njord and her crew can only be described as AMAZING! It reminded me of the Star Ship Enterprise, complete with its self-cleaning decks. If you wished it, it was there. If you didn't like it, it was removed. If you couldn't find it, the entire crew looked for it. If you didn't care for its taste, it was replaced with a steak.  Furthermore, each evening we were given a schedule for the following day to inform us of available activities.  An example follows:

Each "news letter" (an oxymoron: how do you have a news letter before the fact?) was filled with historical information, a quotation, demographics, a recipe, biographical data about famous people connected with each port of call (ex. Harry Houdini was Hungarian), and an item about Vikings. 

     Not only were we in heaven on board, but we were also in Budapest! (Observation: Hungarians look just like Americans, but without the benefits of orthodontia.)  Budapest is called "the Paris of the East." It shouldn't be. The people of Budapest were the nicest, friendliest, most accommodating people we could hope for.  (Read between the lines of the last comment.)

     That evening, we went to the Christmas Market, a 10 min. walk from the ship.  While there, I found some genuine wooden, Hungarian Christmas tree ornaments made in Germany.  Too late I found out that Germany has the copyright on Christmas.  Evey single ornament and decoration in Europe is probably made in Germany.
(Matt. 1:1- 3:5 I like to record my daily scripture study.)

Day 3: Sunday, Nov. 25, 2012



The Shoes on the Danube Promenade

     I slept in. I really needed the sleep. Thus, Steve and I skipped the bus and walking tour of Budapest. Instead, after a leisurely morning, we walked around the town by ourselves. The first thing I wanted to see was The Shoes on the Danube Promenade. The ship’s activities coordinator had told us at the first guest briefing about the bronze memorial and where it was located—only 300 yards from our docking point and on the Danube’s bank.  It is a commemorative of the Jews who were killed by fascist militia members during World War II. The Jews were lined up on the water’s edge and instructed to take off their shoes. Then they were shot. Their bodies fell into the Danube and were carried down river.

Textures



Patterns





Colors



     We took many pictures in Budapest. Steve took pictures of buildings, statues, and memorials. I took pictures of patterns, colors, textures, and detail work.  As for examples of detail work, I couldn't possibly pass by Budapest's manhole covers which rival the manhole covers of Ireland in every way.  

     Hungarians are an interesting people in and of themselves. They have what they call “Csikos Cowboys” in Budapest; young men that perform daring feats on horseback. The real trick is that they do it in their native dress—literally dresses. However, we decided to forgo our Csikos experience because we decided to honor the Sabbath.

    





Communist Monument.

Flag with hole



     Then there is the Hungarians’ indomitable nationalism. During the Communists take over, the people of Budapest held an uprising which resulted in many Hungarian deaths, but not their freedom.   They have many monuments commemorating the numerous times their freedoms were threatened on Heroes’ Square. One of my favorites is the Hungarian flag with a hole in it. The hole was cut where the Communist hammer and scythe detail was added during Hungary's  Soviet occupation.  Monuments erected by communists have chain-link fences around them to prevent vandalism.  We were delighted to find one of two statues honoring Ronald Reagan for his role in ending communism.  It was very nice of him to pose with me.



Cedil and Susan Bullard by the Njord.

     After we returned to our ship, the Njord, we joined the Bullards and entered Budapest’s Christmas Market again. A Christmas Market is a bunch of booths in the town square packed with irresistible Christmas do-dads and gifts. Budapest’s had hundreds of booths of hand-made winter wear, traditional clothing, art, ceramic cook wear, straw ornaments, food, etc.

     The one featured here was loaded with candy. Cecil asked what was in the chocolate bonbon. The clerk answered, “Yes. One?” Cecil asked again, “What is in it?” “Chocolate, one?” “No, is it made with peanuts?” he asked. “OK. One.”  “Are there any nuts in it?”  "No.  Are there any peanuts in it?"  An Scotsman behind him joined in to help, “Are there any noots in it?” “OK. One.” Cecil gave up and gave her the money .

     The problem for us was that we were in Budapest on the Sabbath, which prohibited us from shopping. Fascinating tourist shops and American stores lined the streets. The tourist shops were filled with the usual T-shirts etc., and also with beautiful folk art; dolls, wood carvings, embroidered blouses, and traditional clothing,.

     The shops with American merchandise reminded me of the stores one might see at an up-scale American mall. And to make it that much harder, the town was abounding in Byzantine art, a particular love of mine. Many such items had depictions of Mary and baby Jesus, which I really wanted for our creche collection.
     To make shopping that much more enticing, the Winzenrieds had asked us to buy a table- runner for their daughter at a certain store if we should find the store. The Bullards and we stumbled right into it and could have easily bought the table runner. But that’s the way it goes.  

On our way back to the ship, we happened upon a man that played goblets filled with water.  He was a virtuoso at his art. Cecil took a video of him playing. What few photos of him I got were blurry because his the music was very fast paced and his hands moved like lightning. His music was so delightful that we had to chuck some change into his hat.

Example of Budapest's relaxed parking rules. 

    The issue of greatest interest to Steve was the parking habits of the locals.  In most of Europe, including Budapest, cars drive on the right side of the road, just like in America.  Notice creative parking of the Hungarians.  Hint:  All cars in the photo are parked.
     We returned to the ship in time for dinner.  Dinner was superb. I asked the chef for the recipe. He typed it up for me badly, with just hints of what was in it.  If I ever find it among all the papers we collected on the trip, I will enter it into the on-line family cook book. 

     After dinner we went up on deck to witness our departure.  The most spectacular features of Budapest were lit up as we left.  In the background, an Hungarian anthem was playing.  It was glorious.

(Matt. 3:6-5:2)

Budapest at our departure

Day 4:  Monday, Nov. 26, 2012

     The first things we saw when we awoke and looked out our window were trees slowly moving to the right. This was the first time Steve and I ever woke up while moving.   But Steve really didn't do much sleeping during the entire trip.  There was too much to think about during the night, like the locks.  We passed through ten of the eleven locks on our journey during the night.  But that morning, the Bullards and we got to experience a lock first hand.  I never thought of it, but it makes perfect sense that we would have to wait for other ships to move into the lock before it was filled.  The practice is much more economical in time and resources.

     While we were waiting, we all touched the slimy side of the lock just to say we had.  But waiting for other boats and filling the lock took more time than we were willing to wait and we soon dispersed.  I went to the computers and,  I imagine, so did the Bullards.  But they had brought their own computer while I had to use the ones supplied by Viking.  Either way, I discovered that computers don't work while in a lock.  Good thing I had written the kids and asked them to send their addresses the day before.
     For lunch I tried some beets.  Beets generally have a bad reputation, but I like beets.  I figured they should be especially delicious, considering the cuisine on board.  I was ready to rag on my traveling companions for not trying them, Steve included, when I tasted them.  Yuck!  What was that glop they threw in with the beets? I puzzled.  It has the consistency of...? raw yuck...or maybe decaying mackerel.  I asked what it was.  A server replied, "meat."  Notice--no explanation as to which kind of meat or from which organ.
     I went to write in my journal and could not find my pen so I used one of the ship's pens.  Instead of being round-tubular, it was squared off  tubular so it wouldn't roll off the table top.  Viking River Cruise people think of everything!
     It was about this time that I noticed that I was was using some of my French.  At first it was just the English word, "Pardon" as I tried to maneuver around people.  Then I added the French pronunciation.  Eventually, I abused my repertoire of trite French phrases, with the rationale that most Europeans are fluent in several languages, French being one of them, n'est pas?  Who was I kidding?  If I were in France, Je ne dirais pas un mot.

     Soon after we left the lock, we had an emergency drill.  We were all instructed to go to our cabins and put on our life vests in preparation.   I considered it ironic that the maids laid the vests out for us on our beds.  What if it were a real emergency?  I am so sure the cabin maids would lay out our vests before they abandoned ship.

     We passengers were called up in groups and instructed to stand on the top deck in certain areas.  That was it.  There were no life boats because we were on a river.  Cecil said that if the ship sank, we'd have five minutes to swim to shore before we'd die of hypothermia.  No problem.  We could probably jump to shore from the ship.  This was all a non-issue to Steve.  His thinking was that if the boat sank, the top deck would most likely clear the water's surface, in which case his only concern was if they still serve lunch.

Bratislava Palace

     We docked in Bratislava, Slovakia around 2:00 P.M. and took the bus/walking tour.  (Note:  Slovakians look just like us.)  The tour was disappointing, to say the least.  The town had virtually nothing of interest to see, even though their shiny brochures said otherwise.  It boasted that it was only one hour from Vienna and that it had a palace.  But the palace was a rebuild of the original and no one is allowed inside.  So we stood outside and admired the view, which was like looking at the far wall of a shower through a thick plastic shower curtain, i.e., we couldn't see a thing.

     They lengthened the tour by showing us their ambassadors' homes and a graveyard filled with German soldiers from World Was II, and telling us repeatedly that Bratislava has an unemployment rate of two to three percent due to their car factories.  They bragged that Bratislava is sometimes referred to as "the Detroit of Europe."  They also told us that the Kia is named after the country in which it is manufactured--SlovaKIA.  When we got home we looked it up and found that it was a Bratislavan lie. 

Coronation Marker

     But they had several sculptures that were of interest.  One was of a sewer man.  Steve took a great picture of me asking for directions.  The sewer man is a sculpture by Andy Warhol, who was born in Bratislava.

     There was also an interesting plaque that commemorated the first witch burning in Bratislava.  We had to take a picture of it and include it on my blog. 

     The best part of the tour was the arch that was part of Bratislava's original wall.  It featured two original arched entrances to the city and some coronation markers.  Coronation markers showed the path kings walked to their coronations.  It was on a curving street with hanging signs and cobblestones which led to the Christmas Market.  As soon as we heard that the Christmas Market was straight ahead, we broke and ran.

Ornaments at a Christmas Market

     The Christmas market was colorful and lively, with children singing Slovakian folk and/or Christmas songs in costume on stage( We weren't sure which because we don't speak Slovakian.)  Steve and the Bullards loved it.  I bought Christmas ornaments for the grandchildren and a German cross with the first Christmas depicted on it.  Also available were leprechaun figurines.  Why? Susan and I wondered.  Steve had to buy a book of poetry bound in red leather for Bess. 

     Alas, my joy was stifled.  The problem was that I couldn't take the odor that hung in the air.  I smelled the same thing in Budapest's market around the food stalls, but the stench in Bratislava was acrid and overpowering to me, especially by the stage, where I wanted to linger.  It overwhelmed my senses and I couldn't get out of the Christmas market fast enough.  Looking back on it, the smell might have been a combination of beer, onions, nasty sausage, paprika (which Budapestians and Bratislavans use heavily ), and pure evil.  Once again, Yuck!
     We returned to the ship.  After dinner the Bullards and we conferred on the next day's activities.  We would be in Vienna and we were very excited.  Ever thoughtful, Susan offered me a medical mask to filter out any undesirable smells. 
     At 9:00 P.M., we were entertained shipboard by a Slovakian Folkloric group of musicians and dancers.  The instruments consisted of two violins, one base violin, and a dulcimer.  The dulcimer was wonderful and quite different from the American, smaller ones.  There was also a female vocalist who used her chest tone to sing too loudly through her nose.  But the two folk dancers were delightful!  One dance was primarily an incessant series of twirls initiated by the male and carried out by his female partner.  I got dizzy just watching them.  Then my feminist side came out and I wondered, Why can't she twirl him for a change?  Answer:  Just like labor, men couldn't take it.

     After the dancers left, we retired to our rooms. It was at that time that I noticed that my pendant thread cutter was missing. Everyone, including maids and the Bullards helped me look for it. We found some one's black leather slippers and some beads, but not the object of our search. When everyone left, Steve told me that one of the attending maids looked quite upset at being asked to look for the missing item. A while later I found the pendant around my neck, tangled in my two layers of clothing.
      Changing the subject, I wanted to buy two things while on our cruise:  a German, bulky-knit, multi-colored, button-up, hand-knit sweater like the one Grandma brought back from her European tour, and a German Pyramid creche, even though it would be very expensive and very large to carry home.  I wanted to get some nice, albeit small, gifts for Micah, Jared and David, but they didn't have Legos in the Christmas markets.  Leah would be easier to buy for.
Matt. 6:14-16

Day 5: Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2012

Note:  Austrians look just like Americans.


Vienna's Town Hall

Viennese carriage horses generally wear caps.

Vienna's Christmas Street Decorations
Some places just have class.

We were in Vienna!  I love Vienna!  Everything good is in Vienna!  It's a beautiful art and music capital!  On New Year's Eve, the people of Vienna go to the town Hall and waltz at midnight!  Besides that, Vienna is easy to get around in.  It has tons of shopping and tons of history, tons of chocolate, tons of culture, and tons of pastries.  All this reminded me of a song I heard a long time ago on some TV show. It was a waltz that went kind of like this: "In Vienna! In Vienna! ..." That's the only part I remember. But it's so true!

     We spent the morning touring by bus and walking Vienna's fascinating shopping district, which they referred to as "Vienna's Rodeo Drive."   It was a very good shopping district, but it was obvious that the analogy's originator hadn't visited America's Rodeo Drive. 
     We passed Freud's office and his home, Strauss's  and Beethoven's apartments, and the hotel in which Gershwin stayed during his visit. 

      We passed by the ferris wheel that was used in the movie The Third Man.  It looked just like itself; it hasn't changed a bit since the movie was made, but we didn't stop.  We were on a mission.  What we could not by-pass was the Museum of Art Design.  It was pointed out to us on the bus ride.  Steve and I back-tracked to it on foot so that we could look for a graphic design book for Micah.  And, as a special Christmas miracle, we found the book of books for both Micah and Jared there--a book on bicycle design.  Steve got mushy when he picked it up and read the title, he was so taken by the book. 

     On the way back, we stopped by a store that carried religious articles.  There we found a small Byzantine triptych of the adoration of the Magi.  Everything else was way over-the-top expensive and probably well worth it.

Stallion having hair done.

Daily ration of carrots.

     We stopped by the Lipizzaner stallion's stables and took pictures as best we could through the bars.  Steven was mightily impressed with their daily ration of carrots.  We had no time to watch them train because of our excursion to the Museum of Art, but felt that the trade-off was fair.  Besides, watching the horses train was surprisingly expensive.  I suppose that is entirely understandable, due to the cost of caring for the horses.

     We rejoined the Bullards at the Christmas Market and found what we had missed out big time.  Cecil took pictures to show us the light filtering through St. Steven's Cathedral windows.  The photo looked surreal or at least Photo Shopped.  If I could achieve that effect, I would spend the rest of my life adorning my windows with stained glass. 

     The Christmas market was teaming with ornaments.  We bought two additional creches; a matchbox with wood cuts of Jesus as a toddler and Mary, and two pewter ornaments. 
     Later in the day we returned to the market and bought more ornaments and some soap molded into animal shapes for some of the grandkids.  For dinner I ordered wiener schnitzel and potato salad so I could have the full Vienna experience.

     After dinner we went to a Mozart and Strauss concert by the Vienna Residence Orchestra in the Vienna State Opera or maybe it was the Konzerthaus. Unfortunately, we forgot to write the name of the concert hall down.  Cecil took a picture of the bill board outside.  We were hoping that would reveal the name of the building, but it didn't.  However, it would have been easy enough to identify the correct hall.  All one would have to do is go to the women's restroom and compare their toilet tissues to the sample I took the night of the concert.  Unfortunately I used it as facial tissue so I no longer have a piece with which to compare it.  But I digress.  Which ever concert hall it was, it was said to have been the residence of Mozart, Strauss, and Beethoven as well as a place in which they conducted and composed. 

     We were informed by the presenter that a Stradivarius would be used by one of the violinists.  We felt awed by this information and under-dressed.  Steve and I had packed as lightly as we could and did not bring dress clothes so we entered the concert hall wearing casual pants, blue jeans in my case, and sweat shirts.  Thus, I fidgeted all through the evening. 
     We were told that no one would fall asleep during the concert.  However, Cecil gave it his best during the first piece or two.  After that, two ballet dancers entered and performed several enchanting ballets to the music.  Then two animated vocalists sang to us.  We were delighted and felt culturally fed.
     When we returned to the ship, there was a late-night snack of goulash soup for us.  It tasted like Campbell's beef soup with extra paprika to me.   But the effect of the snack was kind of like coming home after a date to a late-night snack prepared by mother.  Very cozy.
Matt. 6:16-7:28

Day 6:  Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2012
     The disgruntled maid was giving me the silent treatment.  I apologized, but she turned her back on me and avoided eye contact.  I felt very sad about it.  I don't want anyone to be angry with me.
     Add to this Steven's inability to sleep.  He usually lies awake all night during vacations so that he can protect me and be alert to any problems that may arise.  For instance, if a lock were not operating properly during the night, he could jump out of bed and fixing it, or at least give me a full report on what went wrong.  Knowing sleep deprivation is not good, he took his Benedryl and laid awake anyway.  In the morning we told Susan and Cecil about Benedryl's inability to knock Steve out.  Cecil referred to it as "phenomenon paradox," meaning no one knows why the Benedryl failed, it just did.

     We stopped in Durnstein, a delightful little town with a population of 900 that served 1.3 million tourist each year.  The castle there was famous as the place that Richard the Lion-hearted, of Robin Hood fame, was held captive until his ransom was paid. Considering the size of the town, it was a mouse that roared.  



Some of the houses were built
right into the rock.



     We took many pictures of the vineyards, houses, and charming detail work. We happened to find a T-shirt that said, "No Kangaroos in Austria" and had to buy it for Henri.  Unfortunately, our stay there was too brief.  We were only there from 8:00 A.M., before most of the stores were opened, until 10:30 A.M.



Melk Abby

     From there, we cruised to Melk, where I forgot how to say "milk."  The words are so similar I wasn't sure what I was saying after a while.  Nevertheless, we arrived in Melk at 1:30 and took the bus to Melk Abbey.   




Spiral Staircase




Gold tree
with jaw and tooth
of saint in base





Entry Archway

      The abbey defines and overwhelms the town.  Its opulence is indescribable.  Even the archway leading into the Abbey was a study in form and design.  The Bullards and we took millions of pictures but pictures don't do it justice.  The abbey was enormous with its school rooms, display rooms, staircases, library

Mixed Styles

(complete with hidden passage way), and chapel.  Everything was carved or gilded or embroidered. 

Dead guy

     Steve and I found it very strange that the design supervisors mixed mythological and biblical themes.   We were also stymied at their mixed styles of art.  Another quandary was why the chapel had the corpses and other remains of their dead "saints" on display.  It seemed a little insensitive and a breach of good taste.  Even though Steve tried to explain it to me (?) I felt that it was an invasion of the deads' privacy.

 

Chapel Ceiling






Melk Abby's torturous church pews

 

     Yet another thing that struck us was the church pews.  Too narrow and with a board attached where one's shoulders should rest, they were impossible to relax on.  However, we did notice that the kneeling rail found in front of each pew was quite comfortable for the user.   Obviously these accouterments were designed to keep parishioners awake and on their knees.  



     As we perused the Abby gift shop, I was disappointed by the selection.  We were told that the monks raised apricots to support themselves.  I was looking for canned apricots and apricot jam to send Steve's parents for Christmas.  Instead, the apricots were turned into wine and liqueurs.   Thus disheartened, we bought a booklet of byzantine art and some chocolate candy for Steve's parents.

     We took a leisurely walk down the hill and through the town on our way back to the Njord.

 On one of the local's fences I saw an interesting piece of art worth photographing.    I don't know if an adult or a child made it and put it up for display, but I liked it enough to take a picture of it. 

     The streets were clean and the town was charming.  I absolutely love cobblestones.  But the shops were mostly closed by the time we got to them and their Christmas market wasn't open for business yet, traditionally starting after a certain holy day.  Susan bought some Sudafed at a pharmacy and we found a little pastry shop to rest in.  When we sat down, Susan was surprised to find her Sudafed was in powder form.  Go figure.

Moonrise by the Abbey

     By this time the sun had set behind the mountains across the river.  We walked back to our boat though a forest and across a bridge in the moonlight.  Cecil and Steven tried to capture it on film.    Back at the boat, I worked on next year's Christmas cross stitch gifts.  It was very calming to me.  I also figured that it would take some of the pressure out of our preparations for next year.  That's what I thought until I realized that I was working on the wrong pattern and would have to start all over again after Christmas.  Oh well.
     While we were at dinner, the maids always turned our beds down and left the next day's schedule.  Another nice touch was that we were awakened each morning with a woman's voice wishing us "Dear ladies and Gentlemen, a wonderful good morning.  This morning we..." in a strong Hungarian accent.  We could turn the intercom off, but we liked the cheery wake-up.  But we never learned how to operate the heater in our cabin.  I was always cold and Steve was always too warm.  This is an ongoing theme in our lives.

Matt 7:28-9:37

Day 7:  Thursday, Nov. 29,2012
The cabin maid was still ignoring us so we talked to the ship's executive officer.  We explained her behavior and concluded that she thought we suspected her of stealing the pendant.  We explained that we never thought that she or anyone else on board would steal from us, that her work was exemplary, and that we trusted her completely.  We requested that he tell her that we were sorry for any hard feelings.  The next time we saw her, she was all smiles.
     Note:  People in Jarlsberg look just like us.  We traveled to Salzberg, home of The Sound of Music, by bus.  The Salzberg flag is red and white.  Austria's flag is red, white, and red.  I found these things to be of cultural interest.
     The bus ride to Salzberg from Linz, where we were docked, took two hours. During the ride they played the score from The Sound of Music, of course. We were told that there were actual Sound of Music tours, where the attendees sang to the music and saw Maria's wedding church, etc. 
     We stopped by a restaurant with clean restrooms and free toilets, a rarity in Europe.  I thought we were home free, but the restaurateur was crafty.  He arranged it so that restroom users had to exit through the gift shop. (Caching!) They had some cool stuff there, but nothing that was particularly tempting to me.
On the outskirts of Salzberg, we drove past a houseboat that looked like a castle.  The "castle" had a goat, some sheep, and a horse on its sun deck.  It was the funniest thing in the world  to see a horse standing on top of a house that floats on water.

Mozart's Birth Place



Childhood Home of Mozart



"Mozart Candy" shop

     We passed the home in which Mozart was born as well as his childhood home, and a great many shops that sold the candy named after him.  However, we were warned that those shops sold knock offs.  Our tour guide would lead us to the no kidding, genuine shop in which the real Mozart candy was invented and sold.  The real candy sported a blue wrapper.



Mozart's High Chair



Garden in which Do Re Mi was filmed

     When we finally left the bus, we were shown a very modern monument to Mozart. It's referred to as Mozart's high chair. It symbolizes Mozart's exalted position compared to other composers.  We also saw some of the places the Sound of Music was filmed. 

     We were then walked through the shopping district and past the famous Mozart candy store that won a world prize for its confection.  We marked the place and vowed to return.  The district also contained some quaint restaurants and the Christmas market.  After we were repeatedly told where we would be picked up and at what time, we were let loose.

     First we found a restaurant named "the Gold Duck" for lunch.  It was rated as one of Salzberg's best restaurants, but they didn't serve duck and there wasn't any gold that we could see.  However, it was dark, quaint, and had a mermaid chandelier for reasons unknown. 

    We ordered and then were pressed to order more.  The patrons there were very nice.  The Bullards and we were tired and forgot to take several of our belongings with us.  The people that took our table called to us and returned our things very good-naturedly. 

     As I was still in search of a German, hand-knit, bulky knit sweater, Susan made it her quest to see that I found one.  By this time I was fairly confident that the over-sized, three-tier, revolving, pyramid creche was an impossibility, but we looked and found the best crafted ones yet.  The creche was either $450 (ouch!) or made in China for $200.  The creche was also over 18 inches tall which was too big and fragile to pack.  Additionally, the extra carry-on would cost $100.  All this applied to a two tier pyramid creche and I didn't want a 6 inch, one level creche.  Maybe someday we will order one.

     It was about this time that I noticed that Steve stood guard every time we entered a market place.  He would find an observation point and vigilantly stand there with his hands in his pockets.  Later he revealed that he was keeping tabs on Cecil, the great wanderer, and me, of the same persuasion. 
     As for the sweater like the one Grandma got for Mom, we saw a lot of sweaters, but none that were hand-made, bulky knit, button up, and multi-colored.  We had sought them from Budapest to Salzberg with no luck.  So again, I reluctantly gave up.      
    Earlier, Susan had talked me into searching for a pewter triptych creche made in Germany.  She had shown me the creche in the window of one of the closed shops in Melk.  We pursued this idea for two days and finally found it in Salzberg.  I estimated perhaps $30 to $40 for its purchase.  Jokes on me.  It was 100 euros or $135 American!  OK.  We bought the creche and I abandoned my quest for the German pyramid and the sweater, both for the third and final time.

     The biggest disappointment of the trip was the Mozart candy.  We stopped past the honest to goodness, no kidding, serious Mozart candy shop to buy a few.  A sign in the window related the story of its invention and its fame.  It also reported that candy makers were required to whistle while they worked so they couldn't snack on any.  We noticed that there were no preservatives in the candy so they didn't last long enough to ship.  We bought a few and found that we weren't impressed.  So we bought some of the knock offs to give Steve's parents.
     I forgot to mention that Salzburg has two brides that lead into their shopping district.  One is for traffic.  It is near the High Chair monument to Mozart.
 

     The other bridge is the walking bridge which was festooned with locks.  At first, I thought that people were leaving their locks there because they were going to come back and lock their bikes to the bridge before going to work or school or what ever.  Then it was apparent that there were more locks than bikes in the world.  I guess it's a locals' thing.

Matt. 10:1-12:49

Day 8:  Friday, Nov. 30, 2012
     I had eaten anything I wanted because Cecil reminded me of set-point.  Set point is the body's natural weight.  After dieting or starvation or over-eating, one's body weight naturally returns to its set-point for better or for worse.  My set point is pretty good so I ate what I wanted and didn't worry about my weight until Cecil said, "I ate too much.  Now I'm going to have to go on a diet."  Thanks a lot.  Maybe I would get the stomach flu or something.  Maybe I would have to exercise for the rest of my life.  Maybe I would just explode.
     It was also about this time that one of the crew members caught me speaking French.  "Are you speaking French?" he asked.  "Oui," I answered, "Je parle bien mais je ne comprends rien."  "Did you just say that you don't understand anything?"  "Uh huh," I quipped.  Then I headed for the door.
     We went into Passau, yet another town with a Christmas market.   But I had had it with Christmas markets.   I wanted to see the real shops.  We spent the morning wandering through the town just browsing.  As Steve and I wandered about, we found a small bead shop that had the most beautiful glass necklace in the window.  When I found out the price, it remained in the window.  But I did buy three felted "beads" to sew on my black winter hat, which can now be described as "not as ugly." 

Passau back street

     We also found a cute little kitchen shop with beautiful Christmas patterns on its dishware and ornaments.  We bought a ceramic boot with the most delightful pattern for Leah and a heart-shaped cookie cutter for me.  Later, when we met up with the Bullards, we took them to the shop and showed them the patterns.  Cecil had to buy several things there.  He loves "stuff".  The patterns really were lovely. 
     Outside the shop I ran into our cabin maid. We greeted each other in the best of spirits and talked about her purchases. They were for her mother. Then we parted company and I felt much better about our relationship.

     Other than that, Steve and I had seen it all and were tired of it.  We decided to spend a little time in the Cathedral  just to say we hadand to do a quick sweep through the Christmas Market, which was directly in front of the cathedral.  We found a walnut shell with a depiction of the first Christmas in it.  That was enough.  We returned to the boat.

St. Steven's Cathedral,
Passau
Why a warewolf door pull?

     We had lost our email connection three days ago and it was now working again.  It was good to be connected to home.  I received a quick note from Jared and one from Leah.  We were tired of spending money.  Every castle, door knob, manhole cover, cathedral, and place looked the same.
     We were weary and ready to go home.  I missed normality.  I missed my horse.  I even looked him up on line to see a picture of him.  I missed my own cooking and Steve's cookies.  I missed grazing through my refrigerator and drinking tap water instead of bottled water.  I missed my privacy and my electric toothbrush.  I missed the routine of watching TV until 9:00 P.M., getting ready for bed, and reading until I fell asleep. 

Day 9:  Saturday, Nov. 30, 2012
     We were at the Munich airport without a toothbrush.  We packed our bags the previous night and a porter whisked them away while we were at breakfast.  Susan gave me a one-use Colgate throw-away.  It was better than nothing, but not satisfactory.
     The airport personnel had been very good to us.  They all had a remarkable sense of humor considering we arrived at 6:45 A.M.  It's funny how similar the Munich Airport was to the American ones.  The Germans are into the techno-gadgets and love them all.  So of course everything was identical to that used in the U.S.
     The BIG exception was security.  We went through five passport checks and two security checks.   Steve was mega bugged.  He didn't think it was necessary.  He reasoned that anyone who can get through two passport checks and one security check can get through three more passport checks and and another security check.
     I couldn't figure out why uber security was such a big issue.  Germans are known for their paperwork and attention to details.  Steve is German.  This should be second nature to him--warm and fuzzy.
     We watched a lot of movies on the plane.  One of them was We Bought a Zoo.  It was cute.  Then I watched Marie Antoinette with Kirsten Dunst  for its educational value.  From it I learned that Marie was just a victim of her time.  She wasn't really an unfeeling egomaniac, she was just out of the loop.
     I also watched part of a T.V. program about a news debate that asked "Why is America Great?"  The key speaker said that it wasn't and gave statistics that showed that it wasn't:  Other countries boast about their freedom.  Families are falling apart.  About half of all births are to single mothers.  America is 16th in education.  The economy is falling apart.  We have terrible rates of homelessness and unemployment.  Other countries have better gross national products.  The U.S. infant mortality rate is the highest of  any industrialized country  The U.S. still operates on a fee for service system in health care and minority groups have high uninsured rates.  I thought about all these factors for a long time and asked myself Why is America the greatest nation in the world?
     Our flight from Newark to Denver was late.  This caused our change-over in Denver to be so tight that Steve and I had to rush from the plane, flag the first golf cart we saw, and order the driver to take us to the appropriate gate.  As it was, we were the last passengers on the plane. The stewardess told us that we were very lucky as she closed the door behind us and the plane began to roll toward the runway.

     When we landed in Billings, we stopped by the luggage carousel to confirm that our luggage had indeed missed the flight.  While there, we noticed a piece of Billings art:  A life-sized horse, covered with beans.  Of course the name of the piece was "Pinto."  (Get it?  Pinto beans?) 

     We reported our absent luggage to a very nice lost-luggage-lady.  She wore steel toed boots with the leather worn off the toes.  Her counter was tastefully decorated for Christmas, but from time to time, she bumped into a low-hanging ornament.    While Steve filled out the proper forms, I showed her how to hang Christmas ornaments from a drop ceiling with a bent paper clip.  She indicated that not all travelers with missing luggage are as nice as we were.

     Since it was late, no shuttle was available to take us to our car.  Through the black, cold night we trudged the mile to our parking spot with our carry-ons.  At least we didn't have our heavy luggage to drag with us.  As promised, our car was unmolested by thieves, juvenile pranksters, and law enforcement officers, and we had no parking fee to pay.   But on the windshield, tucked in a snack-sized, color coded zip-lock plastic bag, we found the following note from Ron Parduba, our neighbor, written on a torn piece of paper :

     We drove from Billings that same night, watching for deer.  Exhausted, we arrived in Cody at 11:30 P.M.  With no unpacking to do, we brushed our teeth and went straight to bed.

Day 10:  Sunday, Dec. 2, 2012
     There were no crying baby on any of our return fights.   I had gotten three naps so I wasn't suffering from jet lag to speak of yet.  Steve slept fairly well too.  Because of that, we went to Fast and Testimony meeting. 
     During the meeting I bore my testimony and related the provocative TV show I had watched.  I said that the reason that America is great, despite all the reasons as to why "it isn't," is that we have a constitution and many other factors that allowed an obscure farm boy to restore  the Gospel of Jesus Christ and establish the only living church upon the earth.
    We do not worship Joseph Smith.  We do not celebrate his birthday (which is December 23), but we do recognize that he restored the covenants necessary to save the living and the dead.  I am thankful for this knowledge and the means by which my family and I can participate in these ordinances.