Chapter Twenty-One: Monkey Mountain

When our teenage friend, Rebecka, came to stay with us in Germany for several weeks, we managed to tour her around to several places in that short time. One of the trips we took was over to the Alsace region of France. While there for just a night and a day, we had opportunity to go to Monkey Mountain. It is a wonderful, outdoor, open-air, animal sanctuary for Barbary Macaques Monkeys that was situated in a forested area atop a large hill in the region. We started following signs to get there but soon were relying on our trusty GPS as the way was not clearly marked.

Upon arrival, we parked and walked through a large cage-like gate after paying the admission fees. We were instantly greeted by a park ranger who spoke several languages and addressed each person in a known tongue. He admonished us to tie back long hair, stow away back packs, purses, fanny packs, camera bags, etc. into available compartments especially if they contained food or snacks. Or if we wanted to keep our belongings with us, we were instructed to zip them shut and hold them close to our body at all times. We were also warned not to feed the monkeys ANYTHING except the popcorn they were about to hand us. And finally, we were instructed to NOT put the popcorn in our pockets, bags or purses, but to keep it enclosed in our fists at all times. Then we filed past to another park ranger who was doling out the popcorn by the handfuls to each person.

After that we were mostly left alone to stroll along the pathway that twisted and turned along through the forest feeding monkeys by hand along the way. The Barbary Macaques are beautiful caramel-brown, medium-sized, tailless monkeys that live in groups. These were just hanging out sitting on the low, split-rail fence along the path or climbing in trees or sleeping in the sun on the grass at the base of the trees. Some were sitting alone and others reclined in groups and yet others were running along the ground. There were adults with babies on their backs; there were females, males, young and old. There was even one that looked like a drunk sleeping off his hang-over, with mouth askew and hanging open complete with dripping drool. It was simply a delightful place! The sanctuary grounds were clean, the atmosphere enjoyable and we happened to be there on a unseasonably warm Spring day. Thus, people were sitting and lounging on stumps, stones and benches everywhere throughout the park.

About half-way through the park, the pathway widened into a large, open area and a park ranger was giving what appeared to be an oral presentation on the park or the monkeys themselves but as it was completely in French with no offered translation, I cannot be sure. This is the humorous thing about the French; they insist that you speak their language when you enter their country. Every other country in Europe where we traveled was a little more accommodating about offering interpretation options other than French. The only exception was Euro Disney in Paris. They offered and spoke a multitude of languages. Otherwise, when in France, one must speak French!

The entire afternoon we spent on Monkey Mountain, I kept thinking that something like this could never be situated in America; Land of Litigation. There were too many risks, too much interaction, and too many unknowns to be adequately contained. I could envision one disaster or mishap after another. Not that the Monkey Park was a dangerous situation; it was not. It is just that there was the potential for danger if you disregarded the rules. This is the great irony about America that one begins to understand by leaving it; it is the Land of Freedom except in regards to stupidity. Freedoms must be curtailed where stupidity might prevail; this is our American mantra. In France and Germany, this was not the case. You were told of the risks in advance and then expected to take responsibility for you own actions; which, in turn, granted us all kinds of freedom and opportunities to experience steep inclines, crumbling stairs, ancient ruins, wild playgrounds, dangerous precipices, spectacular views and even, this Monkey Mountain! We got to experience all these wonderful things that would not be possible in modern-day-sue-happy America where your own stupidity or even just plain bad luck is often considered someone else’s fault.

Chapter Twenty: The Romantic Rhine

After visiting Burg Eltz on the Mosel River, we drove back to St. Goar on the Rhine River and spent the afternoon exploring the Rheinfels Castle ruins that overlook the town. The ruins are huge and yet are estimated to be only about one third of the original castle size. It took several hours to walk through the small museum and then wander our way through most of the multiple levels of ruins.

We then spent the evening walking around and exploring the town of St. Goar. We found a couple of rooms in a small, locally-owned hotel in which to stay. Most of the small shops were already locked up for the night but we still enjoyed strolling along and window shopping. We had dinner at an outdoor café in perfect, spring weather and just enjoyed watching the children play and all the people walking past.

When we tramped downstairs the next morning to check out, most of the other hotel guests were just eating breakfast in the adjoining room. I guess we presented quite a sight with all of us trouping down and out of the hotel because they all looked up and watched us exit. We had our four kids in tow along with 15-year-old Rebecka so we must have looked to be an exceptionally large family to everyone there.

After checking out of the hotel the next morning we booked a roundtrip cruise on the Rhine, up to Bacharach and back. The Rhine cruise we took was between St. Goar and Bacharach and is really the most interesting and scenic section of the Rhine River. We cruised past the Loreley, the iconic “lighthouse” castle mid-river at Kaub, a multitude of castles and past several other lovely Rhine towns on both sides of the river.

Bacharach, like most other Rhine towns, is known for its Rhine wine. It is the quintessential, picture-perfect German town with lush green vines hanging over most doorways and gingerbread-style houses and buildings amidst narrow, winding cobblestone streets. The castle stands guard from high on the hill above the town. It is an old town with a Roman cathedral ruin and an old wall with a few remaining towers. We spent most of the afternoon just walking around exploring the town, old wall and towers after enjoying ice cream cones. Then we meandered our way home along the Rhine before getting back on the autobahn and speeding home.

Chapter Nineteen: Rhine Trip

One of the things we did when our friend, Rebecka, came to visit us in Germany, was to take a trip to the Rhine River region. We hadn’t been there yet and so we rose early one Saturday, packed the car and drove about three hours to the north and west. We headed to the Mosel River first and then on to Burg Eltz, a castle there.

Even with the Global Positioning System (GPS), we actually became lost and confused (surprise!) at the town of Koblenz which sits at the confluence of the Mosel and Rhine rivers. After traversing the highway at the edge of town about three times we finally exited and ended up down town. We would have liked to have parked and got out and walked around and explored the city or at least stopped for lunch but instead we became hopelessly lost. Once again we found ourselves driving around and around in circles in the downtown area. This is usually about the time the kids in the back get bored and look up from their electronic entertainments to say something helpful like, “Hey, this looks familiar. Haven’t we been by this shop already?”

To which my husband or I reply a little too loudly, “Yes. Thank you. We’re lost.”

We pulled over, tweaked the GPS and consulted maps before realizing our mistake. This is the maddening thing about the GPS. It gives you lots of information but never blurts out, “Blockhead, you just missed your exit!” It simply…recalculates. Unless you are watching it every second, you don’t notice it recalculates. So, you drive in a circle as it says, “Up ahead, keep left.” And then “After 50 meters, stay to the left.” And “At the end of the road, veer left.” And you find yourself on the very same street driving past the very same storefronts, until you once again miss your poorly marked highway exit to repeat the process all over again.

We finally found our intended highway exit and continued on along the Mosel River. It was beautiful. We drove through several quaint towns set between hilly vineyards and the tranquil river. There were walking paths studded with benches and trees along the river throughout each town and even in between the towns. But somehow we missed each and every turn to pull over until we actually pulled over into a wide parking lot in the middle of nowhere along the road. We ate our sandwiches there and managed to cross the highway to walk down to the river’s edge. The vineyards on the hill next to the parking lot and all along the Mosel River were so steep that there appeared to be some kind of chairlift contraptions built into the hill presumably to help in the grooming and harvesting of the vines. After consuming our sandwiches and visiting the river’s edge we continued on down the highway toward our destination.

Burg Eltz sits in a quiet river valley along the meandering Eltz River. But first, we had to park and then walk downhill towards the castle. After about 20 minutes of walking we reached the edge of the river valley in which the castle sat proudly below. It was a dazzling and gorgeous site shining in the sun! But, it was still another 20 minutes walk down a very steep incline. The weather was unseasonably warm for late April. It was already at least 80 degrees F. And my two-year-old was already good and ready for a nap so we had to carry her most of the way downhill on our backs. We also ended up carrying the five-year-old as well. All I could think about on the way down was the long, hot tiring trip back up!

We found the inner courtyard and waited till enough people gathered for an English tour. All our effort thus far was well worth the castle tour. You don’t actually get to see the entire castle interior but what we saw and learned was quite interesting. After the guided tour my husband took the older children to tour the treasury while I took the younger ones out into the sunny outer courtyard to play.

The girls saw some young boys sword fighting and climbing around on some huge rocks at the castle foundation and joined in the action. After six months in Germany, my daughter Mariel had become accustomed to everyone around her speaking a foreign language. After a few minutes of playing alongside the boys she ran up to me and excitedly recounted, “Mom! Those boys are speaking English!”

I answered, “Yes, they are.” And she ran back to the rocks again.

A few minutes later Mariel got the courage to address the boys directly and I heard her exuberantly say, “You’re speaking English!”

One of the boys, the older of the two, who looked about six or seven years of age, proudly stiffened up and in perfect British English (to my untrained ears) said, “I’m not speaking English. I’m speaking Welsh!” And walked away offended.

Mariel looked up at me baffled with her mouth hanging open and her eyes as big as saucers and said quiet sadly, “But he WAS speaking English, Mom. He was.” If my daughter hadn’t been so incredibly deflated I would have laughed out loud.

As it was, I was suppressing a smile as I answered, “I know honey. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Chapter Eighteen: Hiking in the Alps

While we were staying in Garmisch in Southern Germany, Cory’s sister really wanted to go hike in the mountains. Thus, we went to the hotel’s front desk to ask about lifts (Gondolas) and hikes in the area. The very kind and helpful lady at the front desk had all kinds of brochures and maps and information on all the local hiking trails and pricing on the lifts. After she gave us a 10 minute detailed and slightly overwhelming run-down of all our nearby options, my father-in-law looked at her and said, “How about a short, level hike for an out-of-shape Opa (Grandpa)?”

“Oh, I see,” she said knowingly. “And the other hikers? What ages would they be?” she inquired looking over my way.

“Five kinder (children) ages 2, 5, 11, 12, and 14 and myself, my husband and Opa (here) and Oma and also my brother’s sister (I motioned to Vicki),” I replied.

“Okay,” she responded. “Then I have the perfect family hike I would suggest that includes riding lifts up and then hiking down.”

Well that sounded great to us. We took her detailed instructions and headed back to the room to grab sweatshirts, jackets, gloves, and backpacks full of snacks, water bottles and Euro and we were off. All ten of us walked several blocks across the valley floor over to the base of the nearby mountain to ride our first lift. There we purchased a one-trip family pass for everyone and boarded the next available Gondola.

It was a sunny, spring day in March and we could see for miles and miles in every direction as we lifted up into the blue sky and moved up the mountain. We shared the Gondola with downhill snow skiers who were fully clad with equipment. We must have been a sight to them; a large family group of all ages including Grandparents all the way down to a toddler who were all dressed for a cool spring mountain hike. And as we rose in elevation we kept “Oooing and Aahhing” and snapping pictures on every side and angle. The mountains were steeped in snow-capped majesty on every side and framed with blue sky and white puffs of clouds all around. And we were still rising up, up, up. We were riding almost to the very peak of the 2nd highest German Alp called the Alpspitze.

Once we reached our destination atop the mountain we unloaded and looked around a bit. We found ourselves at a sky lodge sitting in the sky. There were restrooms, lockers and an indoor cafeteria. So we ordered some hot lunch and then headed outdoors to enjoy the sunshine. We sat around on picnic tables outside and watched skiers unload from the platter-lift and ski down the steep hill on slushy, wet spring snow. There were people skiing in short sleeve shirts and others just sitting around basking in the warm sunshine.

After this we loaded back onto a different Gondola and headed down a tangent side of the mountain. We were heading to a different lift location and then to hike downhill to the final Gondola station where we would take our final ride back down the mountain to end up just a block away from the place in which we began thus completing our hiking lift circuit. At the last moment, before the doors automatically closed, a young German couple jumped into the Gondola with us. When we arrived at the lift station we were a bit dismayed to find ourselves in the middle of a ski hill and thus completely surrounded by snow on every side. We looked around for a trail sign and found one but the young German couple said the sign read something like, “Skiers only—no hikers!”

The young couple were not outfitted for skiing either and said they were also looking for the foot trail. We were much relieved when they offered to go ask someone at the lift station. However, they returned pointing directly up the steep hill in front of us. We all looked up to where they were pointing and I think I said something like, “You have got to be kidding me!” Or “Why can’t we go that way where it’s flat and easy?”

My husband responded, “Because it says no hikers.” But the couple didn’t even answer, as they were already attempting to walk (if you could call it that) straight up the hill slipping and sliding as they went in their street shoes. After all, this was Germany and above all, you follow the rules!

The problem was that none of us had really dressed for hiking in the snow. We were all wearing street shoes and I was probably the worse off as I had slip-on, Docker walking shoes that had absolutely NO traction on the bottom whatsoever. And by this time, my two and five year old children were tired. It was now mid-afternoon, just after lunch and normally would have been naptime for the two year old. The children were also wearing slip-on kinds of tennis shoes with little traction and after just a few steps their little shoes and socks were soaked completely through and they began crying. But, we were stuck. We had only purchased one-way, one-trip, tickets and the only way down the mountain, at this point, was up. So, up we went.

The adults took turns carrying and alternately dragging or pushing the two younger ones up that almost vertical hill. I ended up crawling up it like a bear on all fours, using both my hands and feet. All ten of us also took turns sliding down a few feet so that our progress upwards really went something like ten steps forward and then two steps back. My husband’s sister, the only in-shape adult, zoomed up the hill with the older kids compared to the rest of us.

Once we were up that awful hill, the rest of the trail was relatively downhill. But it was still snow-covered and steep in places and it took us quite a while to traverse the entire trail carrying two small, cold and tired children most of the way. At one point, my daughter Grace (the two-year-old) fell asleep on my back and kept slipping down and became almost completely dead weight. About that time, I fell far behind everyone else and my husband hiked back and took her from me. He slid Mariel (our five-year-old) off his shoulders and around to the front and then put Grace atop his shoulders so that he was walking down the trail carrying two girls at the same time!

It was difficult to enjoy the breathtaking scenery all around us while we were enduring all this physical cold and hardship. And I mostly had to just focus on my feet and every step I took so I wouldn’t slip and fall on the ice especially during the times I was carrying a small child on my back. But every now and then I just had to stop and look around and even snap a picture or two which is partly why I fell so far behind everyone else. I knew I had to savor the moments up in the Alps because there was no way we were coming back anytime soon!

We did eventually reach the other lift station and we were so ready for hot chocolate and German cake. But alas, we were too late in the afternoon. They had closed the restaurant down after lunch. Deflated, tired and cold we climbed into our last Gondola and headed back down the mountain and then walked back to the hotel.

Chapter Seventeen: Trip to Dachau and the Wonder of Young children

Children are astounding but especially young children. Their inexperience and blunt honestly sometimes shock us, but this can be a good thing from time to time. Young children are NOT innocent from selfishness; they quickly learn all kinds of manipulation and stall tactics. But, their innocence from the potential evils that humanity can attain can certainly be refreshing.

While living in Germany, we had opportunity to travel to Dachau, the former concentration camp outside of Munich. When we made our plans known to some older Germans, they thought it was ludicrous to take young children to such a place and “expose them to that kind of thing.” Well, I realized that my two and five year-old children were not really going to understand it or absorb it and that was fine. But, neither was I going to leave them behind at home. We were planning on traveling with extended family and going on to southern Germany afterwards, so they went along with us on this occasion.

And, like we all expected, the young children were indifferent to it all. They did not understand why we were standing around reading signs (boring) and they didn’t exactly get why we had brought them to this tedious, museum-like place. During the movie presentation, my Mother-in-Law took the two of them outside for some fresh air. We met them outside afterwards and walked around to the display barracks and to have a closer look at the guard towers. All the while they were being dragged along with us not quite sure what they had done to have to endure these tiresome events.


Then, the sun burst out from behind the clouds and even though the weather was cool, we were all able to strip off some cumbersome outer layers and enjoy a few fleeting rays of sunshine on our faces. The youngest one immediately plopped herself into the gravel and began to pile up rocks and draw and play in the dirt and then her sister quickly joined her. It was a beautiful site. Two young children; the picture of health, who were completely oblivious to the past evil of their surroundings, sitting and happily playing on the ground. The sun was shining down on them and the guard towers, the barracks and the memorial. And I was reminded that God “makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” and that the gift of childhood “innocence” is a beautiful and fleeting thing.

Chapter Sixteen: Roadside Bathrooms

“Did you just see that?” I asked incredulously.

“See what?” My husband responded.

“That guy by his truck? Did you see what he was doing?” I answered.

“You mean going to the bathroom in plain view for everyone by the roadside to see?” he replied.

“Yeah! What’s up with that?” I exclaimed.

“Oh, I see it all the time.” My husband explained.

And so it was to be, an oft repeated scene before us; a car or truck pulled to the side of the road and the driver using the outdoors as personal bathroom facilities. The more acquainted we became with Autobahn bathrooms and some public restrooms in general, the more we understood these impromptu, roadside pit stops. But, I still never got used to the wide-open, public view, laissez-faire attitude.

Autobahn bathrooms were a complete crap-shoot most of the time. Sometimes they were so incredibly nasty and discussing as to render them completely unusable. Other times, there were attendants and/or pay facilities but we found this was often money well spent to have toilet paper and soap and water at the sink. And sometimes the roadside bathroom facilities were useable but not pleasant. We also discovered that stopping at either Autobahn restaurants or gas stations usually provided better public bathroom facilities.

For our family, with three daughters, plus me, even if our inhibitions were lower, using the great outdoors as a bathroom just wasn’t much of a realistic option. And with a toddler who was in the midst of potty training, we often found the need for a bathroom away from home. Thus, everywhere, we went, we would require a visit to the public restroom before leaving the building from each of our children regardless of their felt “need” for it at the moment. We just never knew how easily or soon we would find another useable one.

One time we went to visit King Ludwig’s famous castles in Bavaria (Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau) and our oldest daughter (age 11 at the time) didn’t heed our advice about using the bathroom before the castle tour began. In the midst of the English-guided tour she suddenly needed a bathroom. Now the guides are very careful to keep the group together room by room and they continually gate, close or lock the doors behind one group so the next tour group can be moving into the rooms just vacated by the previous group. We had waited quite a while in line to get tickets, spent a wad of money and planned the entire day around these English guided tours so we weren’t about to abandon the tour even for an emergency bathroom visit!
There were also ten of our family participating in that castle tour and we wanted to remain together and not get separated. So, my daughter was forced to hold her urge for the remainder of the hour-long tour. By the end the poor child was doubled over with her legs crossed in the middle of the large, beautiful and ornate upstairs ballroom of Hohenzollern. We thought she might leave a puddle on that ballroom floor, but she made it through and we all made a mad dash to get her to the bathroom at the conclusion of the tour.

In fact, we made such a mad dash that we managed to lose track of our five year old daughter in the process. My husband, Cory, thought that she was with me and I thought that she was with Cory. So after everyone used the bathrooms and we regrouped in the lobby near the gift shop, we were all horrified to find ourselves one child short!! We at once split up and I began back-tracking to find her. She quickly appeared out of the gift shop with a new friend in hand. She had found another little girl about her age and latched onto her near the end of the tour. So, though my heart was racing wildly, she was completely unconcerned and thankfully unharmed.

Chapter Fifteen: Adventures in Eating Out

Dining out in a foreign country can be a fun experience. It is rewarding to try new foods and every region usually has its own unique delicacies. I was always willing to try new things but often had help with menu translation from locals who spoke some English, from German friends or even from American friends who had lived in Germany longer than I and thus knew more vocabulary.

One memorable evening dining out was with girlfriends in the region of Alsace, France. A dozen or so of us had a weekend Mom’s retreat together and stayed in the elegant Hotel Arnold located along the Route des Vins (wine route) in the town of Itterswiller. We drove over from Germany on Friday and that evening decided to dine together in nearby Ribeauville . We ended up at a small restaurant within the old, city wall. It was a warm, inviting place and the restaurant graciously offered us a large table upstairs all to ourselves. All my companions were ordering familiar foods such as Quiche Lorraine or Escargot so I thought I would be brave and blindly order something unfamiliar. I don’t recall the actual menu item name but what I was served was actually a bowl of sour cream with a side of roasted potatoes and a small slice of French cheese. Now, I like sour cream but I don’t usually eat it by the bowl full and while I also happen to love cheese, I think that particular slice is the richest, most expensive that I’ve ever eaten.

When the dessert menu was passed around, I, still being hungry, was willing to try something else. So I again randomly picked something unfamiliar as I had already eaten crème brulee on previous occasions. And thus, my desert was set before me; the smell of hard liquor preceding the actual plate of food. It looked to be an apple dessert on a pizza crust but it had been thoroughly drenched in liquors. I did try a few bites but it was strong and a few bites were all I could tolerate. A couple of other brave souls also tried a bite or two but when we paid the bill, left the tip and departed, more than 3/4ths of it was left behind. What a memorable meal and a wonderful weekend with friends!

Chapter Fourteen:Rothenburg ob der Tauber

One Saturday in February we road tripped to Rothenburg ob der Tauber (literally Rothenburg over the Tauber--River); the famous, well preserved medieval town just outside of Bavaria. It is quite a gem of a town; quaint and beautiful. It was cold but the sun was shining and we enjoyed just traipsing around and exploring the city walls, shops and streets and lunched at a Turkish café. Phillip, Elizabeth and I climbed the 200 foot town hall tower and enjoyed the skyline view of the town and walls. We all toured through the criminal museum full of medieval instruments of discipline and torture. That made us glad to live in this century! And we went inside of St. Jacobs’s church and saw the famous wood carved altar piece by Tilman Riemenschneider. It was another lovely day spent exploring this country.

While Cory and the little girls sat down in the Marktplatz (Market place) eating treats; the big kids and I climbed the tower steps. Cory had a good laugh at all the cars that drove through. Every car that drove by was an American military-licensed vehicle (you can tell by the license plate) and they had their GPS on taking them to the town center (marktplatz). All the Germans would look at them weird and Cory would just laugh. You aren’t really supposed to drive through the middle of the market square in your car. It’s suppose to be residents only driving in certain areas of the city, but sure enough every person going by him and the girls were dumb Americans following their GPS right into the Market place in the middle of the village!!! We could laugh, because we’ve done dumb things like that too. That’s the one drawback of the navigation systems they don’t tell you whether you should be driving places, just “turn right here, or turn left here.”

Rothenburg is a unique town with its original, medieval wall mostly still intact and thus is usually packed to the brim with tourists. Luckily, our visit was during the slow season just after the busy Christmas holidays and before the influx of tourist in the spring and summer. It was a cold but clear day with great views, blue sky and less crowds. Mariel and Grace had started fighting colds on Friday but since the sun was shining we thought they would be okay exploring in the outdoors for a short time. We tried to take it easy and didn’t start till 10:30am and returned home by 6pm for dinner but we still wore them out. Their colds turned into a croup cough. Both Elizabeth and I ended up with the cold as well. Gracie cried the next night inconsolably for quite some time and finally said she had an “owie in her ear.” Sure enough her cold had turned into an ear infection.

Chapter Thirteen: New Year's Eve

Around Christmas time in December I had noticed lots of fireworks for sale in stores, in printed advertisements, and all over the place, but I did not think much of it at the time. Little did I know that the New Year’s Eve celebration in Germany was to be one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I just had never seen anything like it, ever before.

The afternoon of New Year’s Eve, we piled into our car and headed through a few towns over to a friend’s house in Steinenbronn, another small town in the area. We had been invited to a Mystery Dinner Party at their house that evening. The kids were going to watch movies and eat pizza in the family room while the parents ate a multi-course dinner in the adjacent studio apartment. As it drew close to midnight, the kids and adults all bundled up and headed outdoors to light sparklers and shoot off fireworks.

It was an excruciatingly cold night and so I grabbed coats and blankets and headed upstairs to the attic with my hostess, Vivian, and my two-year old daughter. We lugged an old chair over to the attic window and Grace, my daughter, climbed up onto it. Then we lifted open the large window to watch the firework show spread out below us.

Nothing had prepared us for the view in which we were about to partake. At the stroke of midnight, the few, sporadic fireworks suddenly exploded into a city-wide covering of shimmering lights. We could smell black powder and sulfur as bursts of lights fell in fountains over the orange-tiled rooftops. It was a stunning sight. The deafening sounds of explosions were all around and so close that in spite of the noise, we kept hearing the empty shells roll down the tile rooftop on either side of our attic window. A couple of times we even flinched thinking that the shells were going to shoot through the open window into the attic.

As we piled back into our car for the return drive home later, we were shocked to see almost each and every road covered with a layer of firework shrapnel and singed paper. We just had to drive right over the top of it all as there was no way to maneuver around and miss it. When we returned to our small town of Magstadt about a half-hour away, the situation was the same. And we drove home across roads littered with exploded fireworks that lay like a blanket across town. All I could think was, “Wow that is a ton of money in exploded fireworks. And who is going to clean all this up?”