Fly Me To The Moon

                                        

                                                                   1970 New Years Eve Party

While talking one evening about the popular sixties television show, Bewitched, Brian looked at me and said, “Real people do not have cocktail parties where they stand around, drinking highballs listening to Frank Sinatra on the record player.”  I looked at him and started laughing.  I smiled at him and said, “My parents had such parties all the time; we kids had to go upstairs.”

 I remember many nights when my lullaby was Fly Me to the Moon.  My parents loved inviting friends over to eat, drink, play games and dance.  The parties in my home were not merely work-related cocktail parties like the ones on television; the parties on the television were boring by comparison, most of the guests merely standing around talking.  In my home, everyone danced and there was a great deal more laughter.   

Typically, my sister Cece and I would quietly spy on the party from our balcony.  We often saw a similar sight like subject picture:  my mother, Aunt Sharon, Uncle Jim, my father’s partner, Mr. Weinbrenner, and some other guest are dancing around the house in their 1970’s New Year’s party garb.  It was apparent to us that they were having a great time; smiles were seen on all the faces and the house was filled with their chattering.  I love this snapshot of the party frozen in time, real family history.  My parents really knew how to have fun. 

The excitement over the coming evening of fun began with the day’s preparation for the party.  Mom had us clean the house top to bottom; for some strange reason I always got stuck vacuuming the stairs.  I think it was because I was the youngest.  All five of us kids were in charge of making the bathrooms shine, the house dust-free, and kitchen sparkling.  If there was snow in the driveway, my brothers were in charge of completely clearing it so that none of the guest would slip and fall. 

            Other than cleaning the home, we kids could detect the other signs of a big event about to take place by the visit to the store for new coloring books and crayons, special treats and pop.  We kids were told to stay upstairs, where our parents prepared a “kids only party” to take place while the adults had their fun in the rest of the house.  Mom made sure that we had a special celebration with our own special food table, the television set up in the girl’s room, and a pile of games handy to keep us busy throughout the night.  If we were lucky, our cousins would join us upstairs for our private party and a sleepover, and then we would really have a lot of fun.

            Another sign of a “big party” was mom pulling out her beautiful glass dish that she used for her special cherry torte.  Also on the menu, my favorite party food:  golden cheeses.  These were small cheddar cheese-filled pastry. To this day it is one of my favorite nostalgia foods.  Other signs of a big event included the large fancy punch bowl, vegetables and dip, potato chips and dip.

As the sun set, my father turned on the outside Christmas lights as a beacon to guide the visitors.  At the appointed time, the knocks on the front door seemed continuous, as men in suits and ties, and women in colorful maxi-skirts and bee-hive hairdos crossed its threshold, carrying large bowl and trays filled with finger foods or desserts.  Rounds of kisses for all present, and we kids were banished to the upper regions.  It was party time!

I remember a silly game that my parents bought for one such party called Funny Bone.  It was a hilarious game where two people picked a card and imitated the picture.  For example, "the funny bone is connected to the knee bone".  The two-person teams had to place the card between the elbow of one person and the knee bone of the other.  The small team continued to pick cards and connect their bodies together, with the card between them, until they fell or dropped a card.  Watching the grown-ups play this game always made me jealous; I wanted to be invited into the night’s fun.

In the end, I did not really know all that took place at these gatherings, the endless talking and laughing about subjects we knew nothing about.  We kids had to stay in our rooms.  Other than my sister’s and my bird’s eye view from the balcony, all we could tell is that we really wanted to grow up so we could attend such parties.  Finally tired, I laid down to sleep, still listening to the chattering and laughing of my parents and friends, as their voices lulled me to sleep and I flew to the moon, past Jupiter and Mars.

                                                              This is a game worth getting. 

  
                                       

Our First Christmas as a Family of Five

Christmas 1989 – This is the first Christmas spent with all five of us; Ted is two months, Candace is seventeen months, Amanda is twenty-nine months,  Dorothy is twenty-four years old, and Brian is thirty years old. 

Looking at this photo, the realization of what how young we were when we had our kids really hits me.   Back in the 1980’s, it was normal, at least in the circle that we were in, to get married young and start having kids immediately, especially if the wife was not working.  I guess Brian and I took this “having babies” thing seriously, and birthed three two and a half years, not counting my miscarriage between Amanda and Candace.  Our parents thought we were nuts.  My father begged me to stop having kids.  Brian’s father told him that he was not using his head.  He was worried that we would continue birthing babies, without a thought to the rising costs of raising a family.  They did not know what we were we thinking, but I must admit, I did talk about having ten kids, but that was before I had any!

Today, I can honestly say that I am very happy that we had our three kids as close as we did.  It was not always easy, but I loved having the kids close together.  They’ve always had friends no matter where we lived.  Their closeness has continued into the present. I thank God that our kids love and care for each other as much as they do.  

Back to Christmas; Grandma Rabourn loves Christmas.  She did not care if we were not around for Thanksgiving or Easter, but Christmas has always been a totally different story.  When we first drove up to the house, the steamy windows always declared that mom had been cooking for hours.  Walking into her home, our noses were greeted with the aroma of turkey cooking in the oven, a large pot of carrots boiling on the stove, potatoes boiling in their own pot, and of course the large bowl of creamy noodles with chunks of brown meat in it.  I quickly learned to stay away from this bowl, because the meat is chicken gizzards and hearts.  YUCK!  On the center of the table always stood my favorite dish of Christmas -- Honey Baked Ham, and on the counter there were no less than three different pies, sometimes, even more.  This was never a day to diet, but rather to relax and enjoy the foods of the season.

After our noses were greeted by the wonderful smells of Christmas foods cooking, our eyes always started drinking in the colorful lights, tinsel and variety of Christmas bulbs and decorations.  If anyone was not already in the Christmas Spirit, the decorations around the house were enough to dissolve even the Grinchiest attitude into a smile, especially when present time started.  Brian’s parents passed out the gifts, and the paper started to fly.  Well, at least with Amanda, who knew to just rip away.  Candace was still in training, and Ted just sat there looking at us, as if to say, “Why are you so excited?”  Amanda and Ben knew the routine and got into the spirit of the event, tooth and nail.  Those were great times at Grandma and Grandpa Rabourn’s home; I will never forget as long as I live.

            Today, I look forward to the day when I get to be the Grandma buying way more presents than my grand kids really need.  I want it to be my turn to have kids to walk into the steamy windowed house, where their stomach practically gets full smelling dinner.  I earnestly desire a great big dining room table where my kids and their kids can sit and chat the festive day away. 

Rabourncrew First Christmas in Munich

                                                       Grandma Rabourn's Christmas 1997

                                                                            

            I love being part of the Rabourn Crew at Christmas time.  Today, I sat listening to a news report about families losing their jobs and homes, and not being able to celebrate Christmas.  Our family has a very strong opinion of what the true meaning of this holiday is, in addition to the celebration of Jesus arrived in the world as a gift from God.  While in Europe, our family started a tradition that I insist on continuing each year, no matter how much or little money we have.

            When our kids were young, we always spent Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa Rabourn’s, where the tree was so jam-packed that it spilled over half of the living room floor.  Brian’s mother really loved Christmas time.  I cannot even imagine how much money she and dad chose to spend each year on presents, but I know one thing, our kid’s toy room was full of every kitchen appliance that Little Tykes made, in addition to all the food and accessories, Legos, and Barbies that were largely bought by Brian’s parents.  For this, I am deeply appreciative of their generosity.

Our family moved to Europe in 1997.  We did not celebrate a Slovenian Christmas that year, because Brian’s father died that December and our family flew back home for the funeral; we had a Rabourn traditional Christmas with Grandma.  As strange as it might seem, but at least the timing of Dad's death was good, because that December it made it easier for mom to get through her first Christmas without him, in the presence of all her kids and grand kids.  

The first Christmas that we celebrated in Germany was a sad affair, though that had its high points.  In fact, it turned out to be the beginning of the Rabourn Crew tradition that we insist on ever year.  It was Christmas Eve, and we did not have a tree yet.  Brian thought that we would walk around Munich looking at the various Christkindlemarkt, enjoying the Christmas booths, Glühwein, and the beautiful festive decorations set up around the city.  At about 2:00 p.m. people started taking down their booths and all the stores closed their doors.  We did not know that the entire city would shut down completely in order Munich to celebrate birth of the Christ child.  Now the there was nothing to do in town, so we headed home, looking for a tree as we went.  Brian figured that we would buy one from the man selling them close to our home.  When we got off the underground, we saw that his stand was gone and all the trees with it!  We looked at each other, worried that in addition to being the first Christmas away from Grandma, our kids would have to go without a tree.  Feeling like failures, Brian and I started walking down the streets in hopes of finding a tree.  At one point, Brain felt quite desperate and considered cutting down a tree in the woods.  It was good that he did not do this; it is quite illegal remove a tree from any natural area in Germany.  Those "woods" were considered "city park area," and were protected areas.  Candace, Ted and I headed home while Brian and Amanda kept up the search.

As we walked into the lobby of our apartment building, we noticed that there was a small box leaning against our door, and a television set sitting next to the box.  We grabbed the box and opened it up to see what was inside.  Ted’s eyes grew to saucer size and a big smile spread across his face.  He looked up to the ceiling and said, “Jesus you are so funny!” In the box was a miniature Christmas tree completely decorated, lights and all.  When Brian and Amanda got back from their tree search, their defeated expressions did a complete turn-around.  They both looked at us three and asked where we got the little tree.  Believe it or not, that little tree-in-a-box lifted our spirits, especially because it showed that someone was thinking about us.  We spent the rest of the day as usual, cooking special festive foods, making eggnog, drinking sparking grape juice, playing games and telling funny stories.  

In the following years, we invited many people into our family celebration.  This time is precious to the Rabourn Crew.  Its focus is never on presents, but on people.  Actually, there have been many present-less years where our being together eating good food and playing games was everything, but was always enough.  

This year our family is thankful for surviving another tight recession year.  We bought three homes on a very tight budget, and managed to keep our heads above water, at times only because we banded together and pooled our bills.  Many times this season I tried to make myself depressed for not being able to buy presents for the kids, or for my husband, and of course, myself.  Then I started thinking about how strong our family is and how we chose to stick together and support one another.  This Christmas eve, we will not be opening presents, but we will be having a Rabourn Crew Christmas, full of good food, wine and cheese, laughing and games.   

Summers in Oscoda

                                                                                                                       

Yaya and Grandpa Skupin loved staying out in Oscoda, Michigan on their fifteen acres.  As children, their cottage became our summer home-away-from-home.

As kids, were could hardly contain our excitement at the first glance of the gated cottage property entrance, with its small hill and a very narrow two-track, where only welcomed visitors had a key to unlock the summer’s adventure.  After passing through the locked gate, the tree lined, manmade dirt road snaked right and left, straightening out a bit before reaching two trailers.  Along the path, signs to unwelcomed guest were posted here and there reading, “No Trespassing!”  This was one warning that should be listened to; grandpa carried a pistol, and warning shots could be heard in that area.  Unsuspecting trespassers had need to be concerned, even though we called these warning shots "target practice."  Another deterrent to wandering onto the land was our German shepherd, Windy.  She took her job of protecting family seriously; unwanted guests were not looked on as "friendlies".

            The trailers had not always been on the land.  When I was very young, the cabin burned to the ground.  The only remnant was the large sand pile next to the underground electric pump, where my sister Cecelia and I dug for treasure.  Our expeditions turned up old spoons, pieces of broken dishes and an occasional pot or pan.  Mom told me that she spent all of her summers as a youth in that cabin.  There is a visual tale, my mom's personal story of the cottage, which is still easily discerned from the snapshots taken at the time.  Almost every black and white picture of friends and relatives is another page in the catalogue of smiling faces from the past. 

            Yaya and Grandpa were not the original owners of that cottage.  The original owner was a man named Hindy.  He lived in the other cabin at the head of the property.  Grandpa had Hindy when he was in school, as a teacher.  From what I understand from anecdotes, Hindy routinely invited students up North, to Oscoda, for swimming and fishing.  My Grandfather and Hindy grew very close, so close that Grandpa ended up buying fifteen acres from him.  It was not hard for anyone who has ever been there to figure out why he bought fifteen acres of mature hardwood trees, with motor cycle paths, a shooting range, and a down-the-hill path which lead to the docks on the Au Sable River.

            My grandparents' love for the river getaway transferred to us grandkids; we all loved swimming, boating and fishing with them.  I believe that all my siblings and I, and all of our cousins learned how to swim at the cottage.  Every day, my mother and grandmother packed a picnic basket full of food, filled a Thermos with Kool-Aid or tea, and one very important treat, Yaya's lemon drops.  Yaya always told us that if we sucked on a lemon drop, we wouldn’t get thirsty.  Every day our family spent hours swimming, fishing and boating.  Our dogs, Windy and Abdul, could be found at any time, swimming and running up and down the banks of the river, and often flinging dirt on unsuspected sunbathers.  I can still here Yaya yelling, “No, dogs…!” as they both climbed out of the river and intimately shook off by her.  “Splash!”, off went grandma into the water to rinse off.  Each day, after hours of playing in the sun, we dragged our tired bodies up the full one hundred, twenty steps back to the trailer.  Grandma cooked the fish we caught each day, while we kids fell asleep, lying all around the trailer.  

            Sometimes, mom stayed up North with us kids during the week, and dad came up on weekends.  One night, my dad thought it would be funny to surprise my mother in the middle of the night.  Grandpa heard the unexpected car drive past his trailer, and grabbed a gun to go check it out.  Our dog Windy heard dad's station wagon pull up, but didn't recognize it, and started growling.  The door knob turned, and the door swung open.  Windy launched forward at the unsuspected intruder, who was really just dad.  Face to face with a very angry dog, he was also angry.  “Stop, you dumb dog, it's daddy!”  As soon as she heard dad’s voice, Windy backed off, switched off "attack mode" and switched on her “welcome home” mode.  Mom came running out of their bedroom to see what was going on.  After the dust settled a bit, I could hear mom and dad laughing in the bedroom over what had happened.  The next morning at breakfast, I overheard grandpa laughing with dad about how dad almost got shot. 

            In the years to come, Yaya and Grandpa gave each grandchild their own exclusive cottage experience.  During the special vacation week, the chosen grandchild went on their own private adventure.  It typically included going to historical sites in northern Michigan, swimming, boating, picking berries, going to Mr. Jim’s Ice Cream Shop, and for the boys, hunting. 

            These days, we no longer go to the land in Oscoda.  I haven’t been there myself since 1979.  I wish I could’ve passed on the tradition of going to my summer home to my own children, but that chapter in my life closed.  Yaya and Grandpa Skupin are both gone now, leaving us one snapshot catalogue of our childhood in the photo albums, and another special snapshot catalogue of my own, up North, in my heart.

Murphurles

                                                                                

                                                                  Murphurles        

            Wow, I never thought that they would abandon me like they did.  What did I do wrong?  I wonder if dad had it with me jumping on the couch every time he left the house.  Maybe mom did not like how I ate their son’s cowboy boots?  Did the cat tell them that I was eating his food? I just don’t understand…mom loved me.  I remember that short lady coming over for a visit.  She must have really liked the way I greeted her, because she took me outside and put me in her child filled car. Was I going on vacation? The youngest kept pulling my tail.  I did not like that.  We dropped off all of the children at church and went for a ride.  I thought we were going back home, but no, we ended up back at a big brown mountain and the girls got back in the car.  I looked out the window and saw mommy.  "Mommy mommy, hey come and get me, I do not like it here with this family!"  I missed my kids, they called my name, and my heart sank when they drove off.  Where did they go?  This short lady took me to her home.  There were two dogs and three cats living there.  I was use to my cat but not all these strange cats.  The big black dog pushed me around and made me wait until he was done eating before I could eat.  Why was he so mean to me?  The youngest kid came and pulled my tail while I ate my dinner.  I decided to show her not to hurt me by biting her in the arm.  Now I have shown her.  The next thing I knew the short lady put me back in the car and took me for a ride.  Oh, could it be. Yes, it is. It is my home!  Where is mommy?  I got out of the car and ran into her arms as fast as I could, we would never be separated ever again.  That night I got to sleep in bed next to my mommy.  It is my job to protect her and I would never leave her side again.  A couple of days later, mommy turned a strange white color.  I remember laying my head on her to make her feel better.  What it that rattling noise I was here?  Mommy must really be sick.  I stayed right with her being the faithful friend that I was.  A couple of days later a really nice girl came to visit us.  She worked really hard to make mommy feel better.  I was so excited when she took me for a walk.  Since mommy was sick, I had not taken many walks.  Wait, what are you doing?  This girl took me and put me in a really big car taking me far from my home.  They took me to a big house out in the country and chained me to a tree.  There was a little house attached to my chain that I slept in at night or in the rain.  I am afraid of the dark and they left me outside at night.  One day the youngest kid in the family decided to come and visit me.  Oh boy, company!  She started pulling my ears and it really hurt. I remembered that the last time someone hurt me I bit them and ended up going back home.  Chomp!  I got her good.  A man named Uncle Roger came and put me in his car.  Home home home.  Wait, what is this big blue house?  A grandma and grandpa walked out the front door and gave me a big hug.  This home was not my home, but it did not have any annoying kids.  For the rest of my life I missed my family, but grandma and grandpa always took great care of me. He always hugged me tight and told me that you did not want to leave me the way you did.  The day I died, grandpa wrapped me up in the blanket that grandma made for me. He walked out into the back yard and placed me in a nice big hole.  I noticed that grandma could not stop crying while grandpa placed the dirt on my limp body.  I am never alone in this hole, because grandma comes out to talk to me once in awhile.  She even planted a pretty flowering tree where grandpa buried me so that she could have a peaceful place to relax on a hot summer’s day.  Mommy, I never forgot you, and I really missed you.


We had our dog Murphy while the kids were going up.  When we moved to Europe we had to give him away.  I always wanted to take him with us, but we did not know where we would be living and had to leave him in the states.  To this day, Brian and I wish we would have handled finding a home for our faithful dog in a better way.  Sometimes lessons learned are very sad ones to look back on.

Before Coffee

                                                                                 

                                                                                                                                                         

Eyes slowly open like rusty hinged doors.

As I sit up, my vertebrae crack like brittle ice.

Right foot—

left foot.

My knees creek as

I stagger drunk;

straining toward the prize

of liquid energy.

There on the counter,

drip by drip

drop by drop,

the steamy,

 brown,

 liquid energy,

reaches the eight cup mark.

 My cup fills

 at a snail’s pace

 with an atomic drink

that warms me from within.

Eyes pop open.

Nuclear power surges through my being.

Removing the black-out that was over

the city.

The Diamond Rose Ring

                                                                           

The Diamond Rose Ring

            It was tradition in our home to get a birthstone ring for your sixteenth birthday.  My birthday is in April, my birthstone is a diamond.  I did not want my dad to buy me my first diamond ring that was for Mr. Right to do.  Dad and I agreed that he would get me a sapphire ring instead.  For months we looked at several beautiful sapphire rings. Within reason he didn’t care about cost, I was supposed to get anything I wanted; anything that made me feel special.  I was so excited that he valued me enough to buy me the ring of my dreams like he had done for both of my sisters only a few years earlier. On my sixteenth birthday we were in Naples Florida.  My father cooked a traditional Dorothy birthday meal; lasagna, strawberry jello salad and a special strawberry jello angel food cake for dessert.  I remember my cake was shaped like a mixing bowl because he did not have the proper pan in our condo and improvised.  I had always felt special having my daddy cook my festive meal. 

            “Dorothy, go into my bathroom and get a towel for me.”

            I stood up and quickly ran to the bathroom to grab him a towel. “Wait. What is this little box on the counter with a bow?” I thought to myself.  Dad had always had funny ways of giving me special gifts.  Once he had yelled at me for not closing the garage door and told me to go shut it right now before someone stole one of our bikes.  I had argued at the time, that I hadn’t left the door open, and begrudgingly went to close the door.  “Wait one minute, whose is the blue ten speed bike in the garage?”  Dad had started laughing, he had gotten me, and the bike was a present for me.  Back to the bathroom, I stood there and picked up the little bow wrapped package, I knew it was mine.  Slowly I opened it; my heart was racing to see which of the sapphire rings dad had chosen.   “What is this?” All of a sudden I felt sick.  How was I going to pretend that I liked my birthday ring? It wasn’t any of the ones we had looked at; instead a miniscule diamond ring in a cheap gold setting sadly stared up at me, as it wasn’t large enough to twinkle. Who would ever buy a tomboy a rose petal shaped ring? I knew that my father’s second wife had once again changed my dad’s plan.  She hated him spending money on me.  Dad should have put his foot down, after all, I was his youngest daughter and this was the last ring he would ever buy for one of us.  My dad had spared no expense buying my sisters both big beautiful rings; mine had maybe costs 50 bucks. More a present from a high school boy to his prom date than a special gift from my dad. My sister Cece had even lost her first one, which dad quickly replaced with an even better ring.  If jewelry is supposed to show how much you care, I guess I was shown.

The Opal Ring

            He was six foot three inches tall and had beautiful blue eyes; I am sure that it was his height that drew me to him.  I needed a strong man to protect me.  A couple of weeks earlier we had broken up.  It was not easy for me to do. He had been my first and I had thought we would get married and live happily ever after.  We broke up two weeks before Christmas, as he had already bought my gift he decided to go ahead and give me the ring.

            “Dor, come over to my house after work today.”

            “Why, we aren’t even dating anymore?”

            “I got you something for Christmas and I want to give it to you.”

            Great. I knew what that meant; he would give me a gift, and then he would expect me to give him a “gift.”  “Whatever… see ya at your parents at 9:00.”

            I had bought him a little pot made by the local Indians in Tucson.  I had maybe spent twenty bucks. We were not dating and I really did not want to get him a gift, but he kept mentioning a “special” gift for Christmas.  After I got to his parents house we went for a ride in his old light blue Ford pick-up truck.  We parked in the same park we always had, all too familiar to us and the location of several of our late night rendezvous.

            “Dor, I want you to have this.” He passed me a small wrapped box. “Look, I know we have had some hard times, but I want and need you in my life.  Please wear this and always remember me. You know, what we had and have.  I really do not want to lose you.” 

            My mind had started racing.  I remembered the day when we were sitting on his mother’s couch watching General Hospital, and I had somehow made him mad.  Normally we would just yell at each other. Our argument this time had taken a more physical route, and I had ended up being smacked around the head a few times.

            “Hey, what did you do that for?”

            “You made me mad, and you deserved it.”

            “Are you kidding me?  No one ever deserves to be hit in the head!”

            From that day on, I knew I needed to break up with him.  It was so hard.  I had thought that I would marry him.  But I could never marry a man who was willing to hit me.

            Back in the truck Bill had leaned over for a big kiss, it was not really a kiss he wanted, more like a reward for buying me a nice opal ring. I felt indebted to him over a piece of jewelry.  His plan worked and I started dating him again.  I was addicted to him and his unhealthy ways.  For some strange reason, I loved him. 

The Diamond Ring

            We walked into Andrews Jewelers in East Brook Mall.  Brian and I looked at all the rings in the case.  At first, I had tried to be humble and said I only wanted a gold band.  Brian wanted me to get a ring with more value than that.  In his eyes I was worth it.

            The lady at the counter greeted us, “Hello kids, how I can help you?”

            “We are here to pick out an engagement ring.  Could you please help us?”

            Mrs. Andrews personally waited on us.  We didn’t know it at the time, but we were buying a ring in a high end store.  We were too young and too ignorant to know which store would be the best for buying the highest quality ring for the lowest price. In reality we didn’t know anything about relationships or life either, just like ring shopping, we were just figuring out as we went and hoping for the best.

            “We don’t know anything about buying rings, could you please explain to us, what we should be looking for in a diamond?”

            The kind old lady started explaining the different cuts, clarity and color to us. 

            “If you want this ring to be an investment, then you must buy one that has good clarity.  I suggest VS1 to VVS1.   The color should be an E, F, or D.” She held up a chart to help us understand what she was talking about. 

            Brian and I settled on a 26 point round diamond with VVS1 clarity and F color. The woman showed us how my ring hardly contained any flaws even though cheaper ones normally do; she even offered us a two hundred dollar discount because she knew were young and just starting out. 

            “If you make twelve simple payments of fifty dollars a month, you will have the ring paid off in one year.”

            I remember Brian and I looked at each other and realized that a payment plan was the only way we would be able to afford an expensive ring.  After all, Brian only made five-fifty an hour at the time; we had no business buying a six hundred dollar ring. This ring cost more than a month’s wage, and all things considered according to common advice regarding “responsibility” we really should have stuck with a gold band.  But this was my ring, the ring that I would wear every day.  It was important to me that I got a really nice ring, and not a chintzy one or a ring for the wrong reasons.  This ring would be a symbol on my finger declaring that I was “valuable.”  I loved my special ring, and although we couldn’t really afford it, felt loved.

The German  Ring

            It was our fifteenth wedding anniversary and we were living in Munich Germany.  Brian asked me to go down to the Jewelry store on Implerstrasse to look at a special German wedding ring.  He had found one about a week earlier at the store next to Penny Mart, but was worried that I would not like it, because it was gold and white gold band with only a small diamond set flush in the metal.  In Germany, people normally wear simple gold matching bands.  They do not understand why Americans spend so much on a diamond ring, when a proper wedding band is always simple gold.  The gold band on my diamond ring from fifteen years earlier had worn thin and cracked in half from constant wear, so I had not been wearing a ring for the last two years.  We had wanted to get it fixed, but we did not trust the lower class jewelers in our area, and we were too embarrassed go into the ultra fancy stores on  Maxamillianstrasse that sold opulent jewelry to the super rich.

            “Gruβ Got”

            “Gruβ Got, Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?”

            “Do you speak English?”

            “Yes, I do. How can I assist you?”

            “May I please look at this ring?”  Brian pointed to a gold ring with a white gold swish that wrapped around a modest inset diamond.

            “This one sir?”

            “Yes, thank you.” 

Brian slipped the simple German wedding ring on my hand and looked at my face for a reaction.

“What do you think?”

            “I love it!”

            “The white gold, does it bother you?  I would have bought it for you as a surprise, but I know you, and how much you dislike white gold. I looked down at my finger and started laughing, “Brian, many of my friends are requiring their husband to buy them a bigger diamond at their fifteenth anniversary. Look what I am getting. I am so excited that I have a real German wedding band.  I can’t wait to see the look on my friends faces when they see my new ring!” 

            Brian leaned over, “Dorothy, you know, if I had a chance to marry you again, I would.”

            I smiled at him and kissed him, “Thank you baby, I would marry you again in a heartbeat.”

Is This Home?

                                                                            

            On December 15, 1998 the kids and I finally joined Brian in Munich, Germany.  For the past three months, Brian had diligently worked at Berlitz Language School, making the money needed to see his family join him.  In addition he was in a constant search for the perfect place to call “home”.  After many attempts at getting a place, he had finally found an old pre-WWI building on Schaeftlarnstrasse near the Munich Zoo. 

            My friends Darja and Louisa volunteered to drive us and our very few possessions through the snow-capped Austrian mountains to our new home.  Early in the morning the kids and I loaded Muca, our cat into Darja’s little blue Opel.  Then we filled the van with thirty boxes and some additional bedding.  I’m sure you could have lit a house with the electricity that was felt in the car.  Finally after three longs months of being separated, we were joining Brian. 

            “Kids, we are finally going to Munich.  We are like the Israelites crossing the Red Sea into the promise land.  We heard a word from God, remember, that we would one day live in Munich, and now we are on the way!”

            Six and a half years earlier, God gave Brian, Amanda and I each a vision that we would one day live and minister in Munich.  Often the vision tried to die, but God kept leaving breadcrumbs of encouragement along the way lest we felt it were a mere fantasy.    

            “Mommy, look there’s daddy!”  The kids started shouting.

            “Oh boy, I bet he’ll be happy to get home cooked meals again.”

            Darja stopped the car in front of the pre-WWI gray flat.  As I looked around the outside of the building I noticed that each door had a very old flagpole mount.  After living there a while we were told that our building was part of the twenty percent of the structures that did not get hit during the hundred bombing raids on the city during WWII.  At that time, the streets had been filled eight stories high with rubble from the bombings.  Daily when I walked home I imagined the red and black “twisted cross” hanging from the building during that dark time in Munich’s history.

            “Hey you guys made it on time.” Brain said as he gave each of the kids a huge daddy bear hug and me a long-awaited kiss.

            Darja smiled, “We were lucky to arrive to the train tunnel when it was loading.  Do you remember how the car tunnel caught on fire last year?  Well, they have not finished re-building the new one so all traffic must board the train and disembark on the other side. Just ten minutes more and we’d have been hours later.”

            Brian opened the very old front door of our building.  The entry way carried a strong hint of years gone by and a bit of mold.  Our apartment was located on the main floor.  In the front of the building it was above ground, while in the back it was half way underground.  My imagination started running wild thinking about all the events that might have taken place in our building.  It was a piece of history.  If walls could talk, I am sure we would have learned a lot about the families that lived and died there.

            “Now Dorothy, I am going to let you guys inside the apartment.  Please remember our greater mission and not what you first see.  I am sure that you can make it a pleasant home in no time.  Your cooking alone will help a lot.  Remember, this is the best place I could find for the price that we can pay.  You should have seen the other places; they really needed a lot of work.”

            “Are you telling me that they rent homes without fixing them up here?”

            “Here in Germany they do not even provide kitchen counters and appliances in rental.  From what I understand everyone brings their own, just like they move their furniture.”

            “Wow, that is really strange!”

            “Foreign, rather than strange, but yes it is.  Regardless, that is the way they do it, so when you see your kitchen, be happy you have a place to cook at all.”

            As I looked at our little cave-like apartment, I gulped back tears.  Not tears of joy, but of frustration at our new “home”.  Brian noticed my frustration and my attempts to not cry, and held me.  “It is O.K., we are together now.  Remember Miza za pet.”  That is what we called ourselves, “Table for Five” after an American show that we watched in Slovenia.  This little saying brought comfort to our family.  We knew that as long as we had each other, everything would be just fine.

As I walked into the front hall way I noticed a very strange unpleasant scent.  After a bit of investigation I realized that it came from the toilet, which didn’t have enough water in the bowl.  I adjusted the water flow and fixed the first of many irritations that this place presented.  Looking around all I could do is think of the wonderful large two story raised ranch that we rented in Slovenia.  It had four bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a large family room, good size kitchen, laundry room and a garage.  Now we had exactly three, count them, t-h-r-e-e  rooms, not including the bathroom and toilet room.  I did not even have a kitchen, and the only way to cook was the two small burners at the end of the hallway on the tiniest stove ever.  I guess the landlord decided to create a kitchen by adding an efficiency stove and apartment refrigerator to the flat.  The kitchen sink was so small that I could barely wash out my frying pan.

            “Brian, where is my kitchen?  How do you expect me to cook on only two burners?  I don’t even have a stove!  Where are we going to store our food?  We do not have any cupboards?  Look at that refrigerator, I believe a college dorm has a larger one.”  Once again tears started rolling down my cheeks.

            “Don’t worry Dor, let us get settled in and we will figure out a kitchen for you.”

            “But where will we even put a kitchen? There is not any room!”

            “I guess we will have to make the hallway by the bathrooms into a small kitchen.  Look, there is enough room for a stove, cupboards and a refrigerator.”

            “Ok, I choose to have vision and a good attitude and make this fun, even if it is worse than camping.”

I daydreamed about our place in Slovenia with its many different types of fruit trees:  apple, pear, peach, cherry, and Japanese apple.  The back yard was filled with colorful flowers that bloomed in new stages every two weeks; the garden was a real work of art.  Our new backyard contained a clothing line, a few bikes and a very small place for the kids to play.  It did have a forlorn rosehips tree; it was nothing like out place that we called “home” in Slovenia.  The flooring in our new place was the strangest of all.  It was brown rubber covering with raised circles.  The three rooms had outdoor brown carpet, the kind you put on a balcony.  It was very scratchy stuff.  For the last year and a half I’d been living in a home with parquet and Italian tile floors.  Now I could not even imagine where one would buy what was on our floors, or why. 

“Brian, are the floors really rubber?”

“Yep, I guess they really are rubber. It’s strange.”

Looking out our bedroom window I watched traffic racing past our place.  We lived just off one of the main highways in Munich, called Mittlerer Ring.  Immediately I knew I would miss the deer running around on the hills across the street next to my neighbor’s house in Slovenia.

That evening we walked to the grocery store to buy food for dinner. Brian pointed out some special weisswurst, and semmels.  When we got home we found my favorite cast iron frying pan, and made dinner on the tiny two burner stove.  While I cooked dinner, Brian and the kids spread out a couple of towels and set the floor as if it were a table.  We all sat Indian-style on the floor and had our dinner.  If we were still in Ex-Yugoslavia our family would be sitting on wooden chairs at a table underneath a dining room chandelier, overlooking peach trees and grape vines.  Our kitchen wouldn’t be freezing, like this cold place.  I could see that these three foot thick stone walls were not going to warm up over a single night.  As for our first night, we shivered under blankets while eating dinner.

  After dinner, the kids grabbed their bedding and made three little nests in the smallest bedroom, crawling into them after their long journey, snuggling down to listen to Brian read James Michener’s Hawaii.  We did not need a television, our family loved listening to Brian read, especially when he changed his voice for different characters.    Darja grabbed her sleeping bag and snuggled into the nest where the kids lay.  One by one, everyone fell asleep.  When only the deep-breathing sounds of our kids were heard, Brian and I left the room to make our nest for the night.

“Well Dor, I am so happy to have you and the kids with me.  It has really been a very long three months without my family.  I know we do not have anything, but we are together.”

“You know Bri, for the last six years we desired to move to Munich Germany.  Remember how in the very first month we lived in Slovenia, God brought six young men from that Munich church group to stay with us for a week?  We always said that they were bread crumbs leading us to where God really wanted us to be.  And when we hosted those boys, Mark let you stay in his home for three months.  If it weren’t for Mark’s help I don’t know how you would have found work or a place to live.  I say it does not matter that we are sleeping on the floor, or that we do not have any house hold furniture, even that we don’t have a decent kitchen.  All that matters is that we are in the center of God’s plan.  He said that he would always carry us in his palm and never drop us.  I am sorry for crying earlier today.  The kids and I are here with you and that is all that matters.”

Brian appreciated my supportive attitude.  Other wives might demand all their worldly belonging where ever they go, but not Dorothy.  She was “have suitcase, will travel” all the way, that is, with a few tears here and there.  God would provide.