Chapter Twenty-Five: The Shower Fiasco

Our next to last weekend in Germany, my Dad and oldest brother were able to swing through to stay with us a couple of nights and see our little town and area where we lived. They had been on a ten-day tour across London and France to see some of the major battlefields and monuments from WWI and WWII; my brother’s lifelong dream. They made the trip with my brother’s wife and my Dad’s girlfriend and the four of them seemed to have a great time touring famous places such as Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, the Eiffel Tour, the Louvre and the Palace of Versailles along with the famous battlefields and beaches across France.

They arrived on a Thursday evening in time for dinner and they were thankful to get out of the car after hours driving on the Autobahn, to sit down to a meal in a house, do a load of laundry and just relax. The next day they had decided that a trip into the Black Forest area would be enjoyable so we set about soon after breakfast to pack up drinks and snacks and cameras and jackets for a drive into the Schwartzwald for a day of sightseeing.

As we were backing the cars out of the driveway a man walked up and introduced himself as an employee of the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz (German Red Cross). He was here to assess our couch that we wanted to donate. So we let him in and five minutes later he was on his way out again after handing us another person’s name and phone number for scheduling the donation pick up. Thus, we jumped back into our cars and started backing out again when a huge tanker truck pulled up and blocked our way. We got out of our cars again and spoke with the driver and realized that this was the oil delivery truck here to refill our oil heating tank since we were packing up and moving out in a few days. So, we waved on my Dad and brother and stayed behind while the man turned our heater off and filled the oil tank. When he finished, he told us not to turn the water heater back on for several hours. So, when he left, we once again piled into the van and off we headed down the autobahn to meet my family in Triberg in the Black Forest.

Triberg is a small but highly touristy town that is known for Germany’s highest waterfalls and the world’s largest cuckoo clock. We had a wonderful day in there, walking around, lunching at an outdoor café, sightseeing and cuckoo clock shopping. After lunch, when my family decided to take a trip through the local Schwartzwald Museum, that we had already seen, we headed to the outdoor playground by the entrance to the waterfall. The girls and I swung and climbed and rested in the shade while Cory headed up the hill to hike around with our son. They headed up a trail and then happened upon an outdoor climbing park complete with zip lines in the trees around Triberg. Since it was our son’s 14th birthday that day, they paid their money and geared up and spent an hour or so climbing and sailing through the trees.

When we finally drove back home to our town, we fed the kids leftovers, got them ready for bed and put a movie on the T.V. Then the adults headed out to dinner to the nearby town of Weil der Stadt. We drove into the city and parked near the old city wall. We walked around the marktplatz until we found a crowed Gästehaus. This is a small, usually family-owned and run restaurant with good food and a warm atmosphere. There we partook of a tasty traditional German dinner before finally heading back home late. My Dad, brother and company were heading out early to catch a nearly 6AM flight back to the states. So, they made sure to pack up and gather their luggage and belongings for that early departure. My sister-in-law and my Dad’s girlfriend, Diane, even took showers that night just to be more prepared to leave come morning but they failed to mention to us that the water temperature wasn’t hot. In fact, it was closer to lukewarm by the end of their quick showers. Everyone went to bed and Cory and I didn’t get up until long after they all departed. We were greeted by a small, perplexing, scrawled note on the counter, near the coffee pot that said simply, “Thanks for everything.” And, “Heater might be off.”

Well, as soon as we read it over, we suddenly looked at each other in an “ah ha,” kind of moment and my husband said, “The water heater! It never got turned back on after the oil tank was filled.” Well, sure enough, we went to the basement and everything was in the “off” position. So, later my brother informed us that his shower was less than lukewarm and then my poor Dad was the last to shower that morning and he had to endure an icy cold shower in my house before leaving! We felt awful. In the business of the day and evening we had just completely forgotten to turn back on the water heater for our company. I'm so sorry about that Dad!!!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Back to Boise we go!

On May 3rd, just six and a half months after entering Germany, my husband was given the choice to voluntarily resign his job or continue to be fired. Thus, his job duties ended voluntarily that day and the company resigned a new contract with him and they moved us back to Boise. I was glad the stress ended for my dear husband but I cried for at least a week. How I miss Germany and the people there!!!

So, our return to the states was sudden and unexpected AND almost completely out of our control. Cory didn’t ever quite understand his supervisor, Glen, over there and they were two completely opposite people. Thus, there was conflict. And as much as Cory tried to understand what his supervisor was saying, meaning, and at times demanding, with clarifying questions and such; Glen took even the clarifying questions as disobedience and disrespect. And then when Cory went to Glen’s supervisor for help, Glen proceeded to write up Cory for insubordination and then proceeded to try and fire him.

In hindsight, we had arrived in Germany right during some huge upheavals with the military community. There was a push to transfer many of the contract positions into GS (Government Service) positions. There were also changes afoot with the EUCOM (European Command) spinning off a separate division into AfriCOM to oversee that continent and the intervention and operations there.

But ultimately, Cory and his supervisor, Glen, were just from very diverse backgrounds. We had come from the west coast and Cory was more used to the Microsoft, hands-off management style while Glen was from the East coast and used to the very structured, top-down, Military-style management. Glen wanted a yes-man, not a problem solver with solutions. Cory kept getting into trouble for fixing things and proposing solutions to IT problems because that was very threatening to someone like Glen who liked to be in control of everyone at every moment.

This job trauma all played out from about mid February to early May. Cory was able to contact the HR department and submit to them that everything was really a blown up misunderstanding, a twisting of the facts (because he had most communications documented) and that his supervisor was guilty of trying to fire him for retaliation (for reporting communication problems to his boss). The HR department intervened, had a short investigation and then offered Cory a way out of the contract—but that meant they would pay to ship us home—right then.

Since Cory’s supervisor, Glen, had been threatening him that if Cory was fired, we would not only have to get ourselves and our stuff home, but also we would be required to repay the contract all of our expenses for getting there (airplane tickets for six, hotel expenses for three rooms for 6 weeks, rental car for six weeks, etc. etc.) this would have left us jobless in Germany with about $50,000 of debts to repay and possibly a lawsuit on our hands to try and fight it, so we took the free ride home; but sadly. Cory looked and asked around about trying to get on another contract job there but just didn’t have enough time to find something. So, we got packed up and headed home within 30 days of the notice (part of the deal).

The whole situation was such an intense spiritual attack. It was difficult to walk through but it was amazing how God carried us and what we learned through it all. I can honestly say that I never worried about the money element (not because of my saintedness but because God just surrounded us and reassured us that if He takes such good care of the birds, would HE not care for us?). I had some great teachable moments with my kids about God’s Will because they wanted to think, well we shouldn’t have come; it must not have been God’s will to come if everything turned badly. So, I was thankful for the conversations and opportunities to teach them that our circumstances won’t always look good and that they are NOT a predictor of God’s Will—otherwise you could say the disciples or even Jesus Himself must not have been in God’ Will.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Reflections on Poland

Poland was interesting. I visited twice during our time living in Germany. Both were short trips with other friends to shop for Polish pottery in the town of Boleslawiec, Poland. The Polish countryside looks very similar to Germany but the towns and farms there look more like East Germany which still appears more economically depressed than over in the western half of the country. Thus, the farther north and east we drove in Germany from Stuttgart and the closer to the Polish border, the more drab the buildings and farms became. Everything faded into an industrial, dirty gray and pretty much stayed that way on into the country of Poland. The exceptions in Boleslawiec were the pottery shops themselves most of which were clean and brightly painted. Other than that, most of the apartment buildings, businesses, and houses were dull, dirty and run-down. People would hang out of windows staring lifelessly from between walls of peeling paint. It is always exciting to visit and explore new places and Poland was no exception to that. It was a fun, different, and sad place all rolled into one. The people were friendly and helpful and spoke some English and/or understood some German. We stayed in a bed and breakfast where a multigenerational family rented out rooms upstairs in their home as well as a separate cottage behind the house near the huge garden plot. They had a high, secure, and heavy iron gate that they locked across the driveway at night as car theft was rampant in the area. Everywhere we went, we either parked in a guarded or gated lot or in a parking lot directly in front of the large shop windows in order to keep an eye on the autos. One evening as we sat at a table inside a restaurant and had just finished ordering when my friend, Vivian, sprang to her feet and was out the door yelling in a flash! She had seen a young man near her car in the parking lot. It turns out, he simply wanted to wash the windows in exchange for some spare change but my friend shooed him away because she wasn’t taking any chances. Another lady, who accompanied us to Poland and back the first time, had been visiting that particular town in Poland periodically for the last 20 years. She and her husband had been stationed overseas much of that time and she would make sporadic trips into Poland via train or eventually by car. So, it was encouraging that even though it still seemed like many improvements were needed, she reassured us that much progress had already been made such as new roads and highways. On my second trip to Poland, I drove, so I found myself watching my own car in the parking lot more closely than on the first trip. And these window-washing boys seemed to appear out of thin air everywhere we went; restaurants, pottery shops, and even at busy intersections. The first trip had been in February and the second trip in May so that may explain the increase in solicitors the second time around. A couple of times during that second excursion, I noticed people congregating in the parking lot near my van. And both times when I stepped out of the shop door, the people drifted and/or drove away. If it had only occurred once I would have chalked it up to coincidence but since it happened more than once and both times in unsecured parking lots, I think it was more than just a coincidence; and especially since every time I simply stepped out the door, the people left the area. During one trip we drove to the town square and visited a toy shop, a crystal shop, and a material shop. While standing outside the bank, we were approached by a couple of young boys who asked us in halting English if we had any Zloty (Polish money). We honestly shook our heads, “No,” because all of the stores accepted Euros as well as Dollars. Then the boys asked for Euros and being at the end of our shopping excursion, we again said No. Then they switched to asking for dollars. When the answer was again, “No,” they quickly asked for chocolate! Once again, we laughingly shook our heads, “No,” with our empty hands in the air as the universal sign for empty-handed. After refusing them four times in a row, my friend pulled out an unopened pack of chewing gum and handed that to them as a consolation gift. Interestingly, the boys gladly grabbed it but appeared to not know what it was. As we were driving away in our car, we saw the boys huddled in a group, ripping open the package. And then, to our astonishment, they shoved several sticks of gum into their mouths, wrapper and all!! Well, of course, they spit it back out and we felt bad that our gift was spoiled and not enjoyed. It just never occurred to us that those boys wouldn’t even be familiar with chewing gum. This was one aspect of the sad side of the country of Poland.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Polish Pottery Mix-up

Once we moved to Germany, we were quickly introduced to Polish Pottery. It is hand-made, hand painted, high quality stoneware from the city of Boleslawiec , Poland. This small city lies just a couple hundred kilometers across the border to the Southeast of Berlin. This pottery was everywhere on the American military bases in Germany. There was some in the PX and some in the Commissary and even a few smaller less expensive pieces for sale in the gas station convenience store! And, in the local American shopping mall complex, there was one entire store that sold nothing but Polish pottery imports.

The best comparison for Polish Pottery I am familiar with is either Pampered Chef stoneware or Home and Garden Party stoneware. The difference is that Polish Pottery is completely painted and glazed inside and out. Thus, it is really beautiful stoneware that is just as durable; it can go from the dishwasher to the microwave, into the oven and then onto the table as a serving piece. This pottery is quite expensive once imported to the U.S. but if you travel across the border into Poland and purchase it there, not only is there a tremendous selection but the price is much less as well. This price difference is mostly due to the exchange rate between the Polish Zloty and the Euro or the U.S. dollar. I did some price comparisons on websites while living in Germany and a typical cereal-size bowl that would cost about $30 to $40 in the United States, I could buy on the American base for about $20 or drive to Poland and purchase it there for about $8 to $10. Thus, something which is financially out of reach for most people became affordable for many just through proximity.

When Cory and I had decided that it would be fun to purchase some Polish Pottery for our new set of dishware and as a memento and reminder of our time living in Germany, we were keeping our eyes open for a sale. When the new PX opened at a nearby American base, we were in luck. The local Polish Pottery wholesaler decided to have a half-price sale. They took some seasonal pieces and mixed sets and laid them out on a table marked half off. Our family had gone to the new mall and PX store to buy some things and have a familiar fast food dinner.

We noticed the sale when we walked into the mall that Sunday afternoon but did our shopping and then fed the family first. As we were finishing our fried chicken dinner, Cory sent me there to look things over and check out the sale. The Polish Pottery store had quite a few pieces that I liked on their ½ off table. I examined several pieces and counted the plates in stacks and did some quick mental math to see how much they were charging for the sale items. The ½ off price brought the cost down closer to the prices over in Poland which was a much more attractive and doable endeavor for us. Cory briefly brought the kids over to see the pattern and price of the stoneware but then quickly disappeared again to entertain the two and five year olds elsewhere while I stood in line to purchase the pottery. We did not want to be forced to buy some broken items just to replace their inventory!!!

It was drawing towards closing time, and there was a gal in front of me also buying stacks of the stuff on sale. I heard her ask about some other matching pieces and the store staff responded that they may get some more of it on the next truckload in a few days. The lady responded that she lived several hours away by car and wouldn’t be coming back anytime that soon. When they finished bagging and wrapping her items, she left and it was my turn to pay.

Since the store was near to closing, the other clerk began to add up my order on a calculator before the other customer had finished her transaction. Then another store worker began wrapping and bagging my dishes. So, by the time the other lady finished I just had to hand over my money, get my receipt, gather up my packages, and leave. My husband and teenage son reappeared to help carry the box and bags of dishes out to the car with our other household purchases. When we returned home, we got the younger kids into bed before we unpacked and inspected the newly purchased dishes. It was no surprise to my husband that I had spent about $100 but as he unpacked things and laid them out he was surprised that there were so few plates. We unwrapped every item and laid them on the table and then double-checked the back of the van. It was empty.

We were missing almost half of what I had purchased. It just wasn’t there. I looked at my husband ashen-faced and shook my head. “The lady in front of me must have ended up with a bag of my items,” I told my husband. We were missing all of the large plates, a creamer container and the small desert plates as well. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Well, you’ll have to go back tomorrow and tell them that you paid for those items and didn’t receive them,” Cory said.

“Okay,” I responded, “At least I have a receipt.”

“Yeah, but it’s very non-descript. And I want the dishes or I want my money back,” He explained.

Then I broke the bad news, “Well, we might not get the dishes back because I overheard the lady in front of me say she lived several hours drive away and wasn’t planning on coming back any time soon. Plus, she just ended up with some free dishes."

“Well, then I want my money back,” retorted my husband.

“I understand. I’ll go back tomorrow and see what I can do."

I was just so disappointed because we had purchased this particular pattern because we liked it but also because there was almost an entire set of matching dishes on sale. And now I only had ½ of them. It truly ended up being a half price sale; half the money but half the dishes as well. I was hoping to make it back to Poland to purchase a few more matching pieces before we left Europe, but there was no guarantee that this would be possible.

I went back to the store and after some discussion the owner did, grudgingly, refund my money. And then about a week later, the pottery store called with the news that the dishes had been returned. So, I drove over to the next town again the following day to repurchase my returned dishes!!!

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.”