Europe Nov. 2012

Day 1: Friday, Nov. 23, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 2: Saturday, Nov. 24, 2012

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

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



The Interminable Terminal

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

Real German bakery with real pretzels for sale

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

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

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



The Bullard's cabin

Camera case made from Alecia's formal

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

The Njord, Norwegian for Heaven on Earth

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

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

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

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

Day 3: Sunday, Nov. 25, 2012



The Shoes on the Danube Promenade

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

Textures



Patterns





Colors



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

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

    





Communist Monument.

Flag with hole



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



Cedil and Susan Bullard by the Njord.

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

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

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

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

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

Example of Budapest's relaxed parking rules. 

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

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

(Matt. 3:6-5:2)

Budapest at our departure

Day 4:  Monday, Nov. 26, 2012

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

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

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

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

Bratislava Palace

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

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

Coronation Marker

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

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

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

Ornaments at a Christmas Market

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

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

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

Day 5: Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2012

Note:  Austrians look just like Americans.


Vienna's Town Hall

Viennese carriage horses generally wear caps.

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

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

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

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

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

Stallion having hair done.

Daily ration of carrots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Some of the houses were built
right into the rock.



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



Melk Abby

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




Spiral Staircase




Gold tree
with jaw and tooth
of saint in base





Entry Archway

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

Mixed Styles

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

Dead guy

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

 

Chapel Ceiling






Melk Abby's torturous church pews

 

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



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

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

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

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

Moonrise by the Abbey

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

Matt 7:28-9:37

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

Mozart's Birth Place



Childhood Home of Mozart



"Mozart Candy" shop

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



Mozart's High Chair



Garden in which Do Re Mi was filmed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt. 10:1-12:49

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

Passau back street

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brownie in Braids



Brownie in a bad mood.

Brownie's mane was flopping all over the place and I felt he needed a more sophisticated look.  To get his mane to lay on one side, I had to put it in braids for a while.  He expressed extreme annoyance with my work and great dissatisfaction with his appearance.  Then again, he had no idea what the end result would be.

Is it just me or does he look like a sissy in this photo?  I have GOT to take a good picture of him.  The question is When?  Emily says his hair will have grown back on his wounds by spring.  You mean I have to wait for SPRING to show off my horse?

My New Horse




His Royal Majesty, 2001

 

Brownie sticking his tongue out at the camera.

I have a new horse.  I call him Chocolate and sometimes Fudge, but his stable name is Brownie.  His registered name is "His Royal Majesty."  He is a thoroughbred.  Thoroughbreds are used as race horses.  Steve compared  a thoroughbred to a Ferrari.  As a race horse he was pampered, trained, and worked very hard.  He won $35,361.  But he neglected to save for his old age. 
Because of his lack of planing, he's had several careers.  He was also a dressage horse.  That means a well-trained rider can make him dance.
Unfortunately, I am not yet as well-trained as he would like.  But I am learning because he is now what is called "a trainer horse."  Instead of me training Brownie, he is training me to give the correct cues.  Soon we hope to be dancing together. 


Brownie getting tired of posing.

A beat up Brownie

 He was given to me by a lady that couldn't keep him anymore.  He considers himself a herd leader.  Unfortunately, another horse in his stable was also a herd leader.  They fought terribly and Brownie lost.  He was kicked and bitten so badly that he stopped eating for a while and lost weight. 

Luckily, I needed a horse.  He's a good boy.  He's very eager to please.  He does what you ask when you ask correctly.  And when you don't, he tries to figure out what you want.  He's also a cuddle-bunny.  When he needs a hug, he lowers his head and nuzzles until he gets the attention he wants.

But the best thing about Brownie is that, when the weather is good, my grandchildren and I can ride him whenever we want.

Large Dog Phobia and a Real Parallel

Good Looking Dobie

I love dobermans.  We've owned three now and are toying with the idea of getting another someday.  You have to own one to really understand what sweethearts they are.  They love to crawl up in your lap and snuggle.

However, some people think large dogs are dangerous.  The first dog that ever bit me was a nasty little wad of fur some lady was holding while talking on the phone.  "No.  My dog never bites anyone," she said, and it bit me. 

The other biter was a "red zone" (Cesar Millan term) pitbull owned by some people who had no business owning a dog.  Luckily, it didn't break the skin.  But the bite scared me enough that I never entered that house again.

This all adds up to the following Cesar Millan quote:  In the ’70s they blamed Dobermans, in the ’80s they blamed German Shepherds, in the ’90s they blamed the Rottweiler. Now they blame the Pit Bull. When will they blame the humans?  

Good question.  And the same applies to guns.  Is there a difference?

Letter to David

Sept. 23, 2012


Dear David,
Things are jumping in Cody. Last week was Rendezvous Royale, sponsored by the Buffalo Bill Historical Center (of course), our world-class (no kidding) museum. That means that, besides being a local’s festival, the patrons of the museum fly into town to attend the proceedings. It’s kind of a “Farewell to Tourists” and “Thanks for the Bucks” event. And, as the last hurrah of summer, the town was packed with vacationers for the last time this annum.
Last year we accidently walked into the museum’s furniture display (so gorgeous!) in our street clothes. I suppose I should explain that “street clothes” in our town means anything that covers your bod. I have actually worn a ball cap, T-shirt, Wranglers, and cowboy boots while shopping and felt perfectly at home.
But I digress. We walked in wearing sneakers and Wranglers, etc. to find ourselves unwittingly among zillionaires dressed in everything from CEO and wives’ couture to avant-garde Western wear. I tried hard to blow it off. Unfortunately, I am verrrrry fashion conscious. I gave scathing reviews, mentally, to the rich folks’ dress and was spitefully delighted to find one patroness’s faux pas: She was dressed in light tan, Western-cut, goatskin garb with perfect accessories, except from the ankle down: she was wearing SLING BACKS!!! And, as we both know, the shoes make or break you. Whenever I tell that story (I can be such a witch at times), the Westerners laugh, “Ha Ha!” or at least raise an eyebrow. Then and there I vowed that I would never go to another Rendezvous Royale furniture show (so gorgeous!) without dressing to the teeth.
Anyway, Thursday we went to the Rendezvous Royale Street Fair. All the shops were opened and had everything on sale. There were music, artisans selling their wares, kettle corn (big deal), and lots of creative input for me, and you know how much I LOVE creative input. And heck-and-darn, if the people weren’t dressed Western for the evening and there I was in my usual street clothes! Your father and I went home and discussed this state of affairs. We decided that at ANY event offered in Cody, we should play it safe and dress Western. Furthermore, we should also provide appropriate clothes for visitors, if we have any.

Beaded Cane

Returning to the street fair, I saw a man with a typical old-man cane—you know the kind, but it was beaded from here to eternity. It was stunning!

Steven and Me: What's a Cowboy without an Indian?

Then I saw a lady wearing a beautifully beaded two skin buckskin dress. I walked up to her to examine the beadwork and the lady accompanying her said, “2400.” I said something like, “That’s a lot of beads.” On our drive home, your father informed me that she was referring to the price of the dress, not the beading. Next year I am SO wearing my own beaded dress!
Speaking of beading, I have decided that I’m not crazy about your father’s rifle case. It’s not as authentic as I want it to be. He has to buy and new one for me to bead.
Now I have to tell you what happened to Sassy-the-homely. There is a very nice, very active family in our ward known for their fashion sense. The father dresses normally, but his wife and three daughters, are—different. They wear black tight skirts, tight animal print blouses, ratted hair adorned with purple locks and maybe feathers, rhinestone belts over their jutting bellies, and stiletto heels, (typical of thier home town) to church. We were very hopeful when the girls were sent to charm school that they would return and dress a little more flatteringly. Nope. They look the same, but with more bling.
While your father and I were tending the Dansie horses, the parents of the family previously mentioned came in from their ride around the Dansie ranch. The wife had sold her horse because the horse was too aloof and bought Sassy (the mare that tried to kill us) because she was such a sweetheart! The husband’s horse’s tack was ordinary, however Sassy was sporting a bridle laden with silver Conchos set with rhinestone and a matching saddle. When she unsaddled and unbridled Sassy, she put her on a turquoise leather halter with a rhinestone crown piece that looked, for all the world, like a tiara. Then she gave Sassy a kiss and some horse treats, and then another kiss, more treats, more kisses, etc.

I guess Sassy has come into her own. Good for Sassy. I just wish I knew how much her owner paid for that mule.

Elder Queintin L. Cook

Returning to the original subject, the ward is also jumping. Elder Quinten L. Cook spoke in our ward last week. Getting one of the 12 Apostles as a speaker in one's stake other than at a Stake Conference happens every…actually, it hasn’t happened since the 1800’s. We missed it because we were sick. But we were told that the men were instructed to love their wives and daughters because they deserve it. I love Elder Cook.

This week we got a new bishopric. Our new bishop is the Superintendent of the Buffalo Bill Dam and a very cowboy kind’a guy. While addressing the ward, he spoke like a young man just about to leave for his mission; awkwardly. This is puzzeling because while he taught Gospel Doctrine, he was very glib and knowledgeable. I suppose in a few months he’ll get the hang of speaking in front of larger crowds.

Your father and I will begin teaching Marriage and Family Relationships Class next week, whether we’re sick or not. At the beginning of every section, we tell our students that we have a testimony that people called to teach a lesson or, in this case, a class, are the ones who need the information the most. It’s only true.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorm

Slight deviation: Since I told you a little about Elder Cook’s visit, I need to tell you about Elder Uchdorf, the first counselor to Pres. Monson. As a child, he was an ethnic-German living in Czechoslovakia in an area later annexed by the Nazis. Raised by his widowed mother, his family was very poor. As an adult he got his Masters Degree and joined the West German Air Force as a fighter pilot. When terrorists killed over 30 people in the Rome Airport and skyjacked a Lufthansa passenger jet, Bro. Uchtdorf, then age 33 and chief pilot for Lufthansa, was in command of the rescue team that followed the terrorists from Beirut to Athens to Damascus to Kuwait, where GSG9 commandos stormed the airplane and rescued the hostages.

Elder Uchtdorf will undoubtedly speak and he is fun to listen to. He often relates his talks to aviation. If you’re interested, General Conference will be televised on Oct. 7 at 10:00 A.M., MDT, (maybe noon, Boston time).

Time to close. Love ya’ lots. Oh, I forgot to tell you I updated my blog.

Mommmmm

Confronting My Inner Cowgirl

I have loved horses as long as I have memory. My first recollection was of praying for a pony nightly and checking the garage in the morning to see if it had been delivered yet. I was about three years old then.

At that time, we lived in a rental house on Colfax Street, in or about Sacramento, CA. The house had a shed in the back in which I found a tin horse big enough for me to sit on. It was designed so that when the rider bounced on it, the tin horse crept forward. I loved it! But, as Mom explained all along, it belonged to the previous renters. Eventually, it disappeared.

My Parents tried to support my interest in horses as best they could, considering we lived in the suburbs. Mom betimes would take all three of us girls to Williamland Park to the pony rides. One time, when my father was in town, he took me to see a brand new foal. Another time, he and Mom took me to see the Greenies.

The Greenies was a group of little girls with ponies that practiced mounted drills. (I thought they were called Greenies as a satire on the Brownies. I didn’t realize until this year that they were referring to their level of horsemanship.) It looked like such fun. I wished that I could be one of them.  I wished so hard that it hurt.

Figurine collections being popular back in the 50’s and early 60’s, my mom helped me collect horses. Perhaps my first collected horse was of copper. It was about 2 ½ inches high with a saddle and bridle. The reins were made of ball chain. I remember to this day what the copper horse tasted like.

On virtually every gifting occasion, I received some sort of horse ornament. At first the figurines were small, with spindly legs that broke, were glued back together, and then broke again. Eventually, I began receiving very nice ones with spindly legs that broke and were glued back together.

My cousin, Gareth Tobler, gave me a very hard-earned figurine for Christmas in about 1962. It was a crude and ugly piece. Although I knew it was the thought that counted, I appreciate it more today than when it was received.

Gareth’s horse and the rest are gone now. All that remains of my collection are two silver charms on my charm bracelet. One commemorated our trip to the Seattle World Fair in 1962. Since we were so close to the border, Mom took us to Vancouver, Canada. The ornament was of a Mountie.

After the divorce, Mom and her friend, Al Epstein, took me to see the world-famous Lipizzan Stallions at the Memorial Auditorium in Sacramento. I didn’t appreciate the significance of their performance or that they were even scheduled to appear in little ol’ Sacramento. All I recall is the liveried riders and white horses, some of their drill patterns, and their exploits of kicking with their hind legs while simultaneously jumping in place.

I don’t know how old I was when Mom arranged for me to take Western riding lessons. The teacher was poorly qualified to teach, she being only a few years older than I. The lessons amounted to glorified pony rides, with the pony master nagging, “Don’t touch the saddle horn! “Don’t touch the saddle horn!”

Every lesson was the same: I made circles around the perimeter of the corral, first clockwise, then counterclockwise, while the teacher watched—at least I assume she watched. Every so often, she would say, “Now make him jog.” (“Jog” means “slow trot.” I didn’t know that then.) And I would jolt up and down, up and down, bumpity, bumpity bump, until my teeth rattled.

Twice I brought friends to observe. On those occasions, my instructor saddled two horses. She rode one horse and my friend and I doubled up. Then we would ride along the roadside. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

During one lesson, while I was making circles, I noticed the instructor’s snotty little brother sitting on the fence. At first he just sat there, but then he started brandishing a whip he had found. He got pretty good at cracking it and, as the horse and I passed by, he cracked it in front of me. The poor animal flew around the arena with me clinging to his back until somehow it came to a stop. The instructor’s only comment was, “Don’t touch the saddle horn! Don’t touch the saddle horn!” End of lessons.

It must have been the Christmas of my 12th or 13th year when my father gave me a horse. I received my second silver horse charm to commemorate her acquisition. We kept her on the Toblers’ seven acre ranch in Elk Grove, CA.

Nightingale was a stocky black Morgan with brown undertones and a shaved mane. She was a good beginner’s horse. She was hard to catch, but she didn’t buck, kick, stampede, or bite. She stepped on my foot a couple of times, but that was the worst of it. She moved forward when urged and stopped when required. And sometimes (very rarely), I would ask her to jog up and down, up and down, bumpity, bumpity, bump, but only for a few feet.

I don’t remember how long I had her. One day I was told she’d been sold. The Toblers said that I could ride their two new horses, but I never did.

I didn’t ride again until about 40 years later. During a visit with Blain and Jane Dahlstrom, our dear friends, we were invited to go for a trail ride with them. Steve declined, but I was more than game.

Several years later, after we were empty-nested and I was tenured at Taft College, Steve made the noble gesture and suggested that we take riding lessons. I wrote up our experience for the Taft Independent News paper. The story follows:

Riding Lessons

OK. I’ll admit it. I’m a wann’a be cowgirl. I got my first pair of cowboy boots at the age of four and wore them until I was eleven. I started saving for a pony in the first grade and owned one by the age of 12. Unfortunately, the only things I learned from my mare were that horses cannot be house trained, they do not come with seatbelts, and they are very heavy, especially when standing on one’s foot. Understandably, it was about the same time I lost interest in horses that I took up the far more fascinating sport of boy-watching.

Forty years have passed since I parted with my horse. Since then, I met and married Steven, a really great guy, and had four children who left home as soon as we could legally make them. With all the spare time we then had, we looked for a new hobby. The criteria were simple; it had to not have anything to do with ballroom dancing, backpacking, teenagers, or ice skating. Upon moving to Taft, Steven and I decided to investigate equestrianism. Thus began our seven-year search for someone that would teach the horseless how to ride. Take it from me—the market is wide open for instructors in Horseless Horsemanship.

Enter Jason Bluebaker (not his real name), a real live, honest-to-goodness cowboy. I suspected Jason was a cowboy the first time he moseyed on into my classroom. First of all, by law, only cowboys are allowed to mosey on in. Secondly, he was wearing spurs. Never mind that his legs look like a set of parentheses, the dead giveaway was when he disclosed that he was a cowboy and he gave RIDING LESSONS to the HORSE DEFICIENT! I couldn’t say, “How much?” fast enough.

Arrangements were made and I waited none too patiently for our first lesson which began promptly on Saturday at high noon. Having once actually owned a horse, I knew what to expect from riding lessons; how to watch someone saddle your horse from a safe distance, how to mount while wearing a belt buckle the size of a pie tin, and maybe some cool cowboy poses. Imagine my surprise when the curriculum included horsey hygiene and grooming, safety procedures, and preflight.

We manicured hooves, fluffed saddle blankets, moussed manes, and spritzed our steeds with scented fly repellent. We cinched, buckled and strapped on saddles, bridles, and whatever else Josh—I mean Jason (not his real name)—told us to. We checked to make sure there were two fingers of room under their belly cinches and one finger’s worth under their chin straps. We learned to measure our stirrups from our fingertips to our arm pits, and then how to double-check from our pits to our finger tips.

“Now, when walking around a horse, you got to either stay far away from the horse’s rump or get as close to it as possible in case it kicks. When you’re nice and close, they can’t get the momentum as much as if you stand a little ways off,” Jason instructed. “Oh yeah, when you’re working with ‘em, keep pushing ‘em away from the hitching rail so you don’t get trapped in case something happens.”

And sure enough, just after his deep massage, Josh’s pinto faked a fainting spell in a transparent attempt to avoid exercise. You’ve heard that horses can sense when someone doesn’t know what they’re doing? It’s all true. The other horses laughed themselves silly while Steve and I gawked at the ongoing spectacle. And, as Josh—I mean Jason—walked the horse back to the paddock, I could see the other horses pointing at Steve and me as they sneered and whispered amongst themselves.

In the meantime, Steven became more and more certain that the last thing he ever wanted to do was climb on top of a horse. But, being a manly man, he did what he was told. We finally hit the saddles as the sun was setting. Suffice it to say that Steve wasn’t having much fun. As I walked my well-coiffed mount around the arena, did figure-eights and figure-sixteens, Steve asked, “Where do the quarters go?” “How do you make this thing go?” “How do you make this thing stop!!?” and “Are we through yet?”
I think this is going to work out. I’m learning a thing or two and Josh is making good money. Two out of three of us are happy and Steven and I are still on speaking terms. Hi ho, Silver! And happy trails to us!

***Steve bought Chou-chou for me in 2009. She was an ugly, dirty little filly and he will never know how much that meant to me. Words seem inadequate. It represented a profound expression of his love. Later he admitted that he sold one of his guns for her purchase. Knowing how much his guns mean to him, I realize that it was also a sacrifice on his part.

As soon as I retired, I started taking riding lessons from Emily Zalewski, trainer of the horse-needy, par excellent. This was done in preparation for the great day when I could ride Chou-chou with confidence and style. At our first meeting, Emily asked, “What do you want to learn, Western, English, or Dressage?” “Western,” I averred.” “What do you want to learn, Western, English, or Dressage?” she inquired.

“Western,” I clearly affirmed. “So what do you want to learn, Western, English, or Dressage?” “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Western,” I meekly suggested.

I will write about my riding lessons with Emily another day—some day when I can write about my experiences without embarrassment and with a sensible humor. But not now. Maybe next year.
As for Chou-chou, when she was ready to be put under saddle, we were emphatically informed that green horses and green riders are a terrible combination. We did a reality check with Emily, the Brand Inspector, Chou-chou’s vet, the sales lady at the tack store, my needle-work group, and the mailman. They all agreed big time. I tried to think of a way of making it work, but none could be found. She was relocated to a well recommended trainer.  I miss my horse.

Our Clinton Anderson Walk-About Tour Experience

It’s always been Steven's dream to vacation in the fall. This year, we took the trailer to Kalispell, Montana. (As you well know, Montana’s nickname is “Big Sky Country.” So I have to ask; Who measured and made comparisons?) Besides its proximity to Glacier National Park (wow!), we received five free tickets to Clinton Anderson’s Walk-about Tour, held in Kalispell. So we invited Blain and Jane Dahlstrom, our long-time friends from the Border Patrol when we lived on the border, and they accepted. Does it get any better than this?

Sept. 5, 2012

We were on the road by 6:00 A.M.  At 8 mpg, the trailer never met a gas station it didn’t like. We were forced to stop to filler ‘er up every three hours. This was very effective in slowing down our forward progress.

To shorten this entry considerably, I have used lists extensively. Please forgive me if they seem a little cold.

Things we observed and remarked on:

Mobile homes

Montana smog (due to forest fires; visibility 3 mi. and smells like we’re standing in a campfire.)

MSUB (they have campuses in Billings, Bozeman, and Butte. Must be economical for buying sweatshirts and other goods with logos on them.)

Big Rigs

Road Construction

City names (Anaconda, Opportunity, Butte (the “e” is optional), Flathead, and Phosphate (go figure)

The hitchhiking cowboy (he was carrying everything but his saddle)

And my baritone voice (I have a virus)

The hills were brown, the pines and cottonwoods green, and the sky mushroom beige. Road kill included: skunks, deer, a bunny, an elk, and several unidentifiable slick patches on the road. Living animals we spotted included: horses, cattle, ravens, hawks, llamas, and an eagle’s nest—but it wasn’t alive nor was it occupied. We just found it note worthy. Of course, none of the above was as interesting as the brown bear spotted within 300 yd. of our home, among Bro. Dansie’s hay bales last week.

We also were intrigued with some of the signs. A list follows:

Don’t Pass By, Stay at the Sky—Sky Hotel

Bear Spray Rental

Fried Oreos

Mak a Wish (We spotted this one twice!)

Flathead Democrats

World Famous Bull Shippers

Neuter your pets and weird friends and relatives.

At about 2:00 P.M. I lost my voice so I took a nap. When I awoke, we had finally driven out of the smoke and saw blue skies. We were on the Flathead Indian Reservation. It was a clean, beautiful, and well kept college town. Lush forests surrounded it, but they were still quite dry. The town was replete with marinas and camping parks.

When we entered Kalispell, we were surprised by its size. It’s an affluent, huge, and charming town, with lots of shopping and traffic lights. Blain and Jane informed us that Hollywood found Kalispell about 10 years ago and it hasn’t been the same since.



Jane and Blain Dahlstrom



Blain and Jane arrived at our trailer park, located on the Flathead River, about an hour after we did. It took the guys an hour to set up camp. We grilled vegetables, microwaved more vegetables, and reheated leftovers for dinner. The rest of the evening was spent in our trailer (much more conducive to company than their camper) catching up and telling RV and car stories. Since the Dahlstroms don’t know American Sign Language and neither do I, it was mostly a three-way conversation with me listening and nodding enthusiastically. When I did venture a whispered comment, the listeners would respond by whispering back. It was kind of weird.

Sept. 6, 2012

We decided to get an early start to see the Park, so we took our truck (sans trailer) and were at one with the asphalt by 10:00 A.M. Kalispell is surrounded by gorgeous mountains. It had rained all night, which was very welcome and refreshing. This made the area even more beautiful.

We did some more catching up and told even more RV stories. Seeing the rivers run west instead of east was a little weird to me now that we live on the other side of the Continental Divide.

We arrived at the park within 30 minutes. Although the maps were a little confusing and trees obscured our view, the trees were heavy laden with moss so we always knew where north was. To pique our excitement, Glacier Park is huckleberry country. Thus, we kept a sharp look out for berry bushes (which we never found), as well as moss.

Glacier National Park

We were absolutely stymied that the mountain men could ever make their ways through the park.  The density of the forest was strongly reminiscent of North of Seattle. When we considered how difficult it would be for a mountain man to find his way back through the dense foliage, we were greatly humbled. I should not forget to comment on the river which was breath-taking. From here, I’m going to have to revert back to lists. I should mention that my lists were compiled as they happened.

Topics we ran through during the drive:

Fallen trees, avalanche areas, fallen trees from avalanche areas

The elevation; rock formations

Tunnel excavation, road work, construction equipment

Washes, sheer cliffs, the great up and down-ness

Flowers, fog, and fresh snow

Speed limits, switch backs, narrow roads, infinitesimal turn outs

Rest rooms, the crush of tourists after Labor Day

Glaciers, grizzlies, the Going to the Sun Highway

Obama, socialized health care, Obama's reelection, the end of the world...

The lakes, islands, the tree beetle destruction

The Alps-like mountains, the staircase waterfalls

I don’t usually get worked up about national parks, but Glacier was spectacular! We visited Glacier several years ago, but I had forgotten its majesty. There is only one road through the park because of the steepness of the alpin terraine, which explained the preponderance of avalanche areas.

Comments made on the drive back:

Native American tribes (we were on the Blackfoot reservation), Indian culture

The open range, topography, ugly dogs, cattle on the road

Absence of “Dip” signs, road conditions,

Luxurious motor homes,

Global warming, the Ice Age

The comparative merits of raising your own beef

Huckleberry pies, the likelihood of stopping and getting one

The prices of spoons

Yosemite Park, the Continental Divide

The trains that run around Glacier, reminiscent of the one that runs around Disneyland

At about 4:00 P.M., just before we stopped for pie, I tired of making notes.

Sept 7, 2012

Still tired of note-taking.

Sept 8, 2012

It was Clinton Anderson Day! I was way high! It was also Steve's birthday, but that had to wait until after the Clinton Anderson thing. The night before, I had dreamed that the seminar was a play made up of Southern fried songs and jokes. The audience was eating ribs and fries and their children were running around naked. I hoped it was just a dream and not a premonition.

We arrived a half hour early to get some of the worst seats there. We should have known that Clinton Anderson fans, just like rock star fans, line up the night before. For the next half hour we listened to blaring music in our lousy bleacher seats.




Mr. Anderson on Diaz

 

Then the announcer came out and led us in the National Anthem, acapella. We all sang along (cowboys are notoriously patriotic). But in my case, I mouthed the words. His key fell one and a half tones, but that’s OK because he was so sincere. The song ended and we applauded zealously. And then… and then…His Majesty entered! The place exploded with hooting, hollering, applause, and, in my case, loud whistling.

So as not to bore you with details, I will just give a rough outline of his program (code for another list.)

9:00-9:15 Introduction to His Method

9:15-10:30 His Method in Depth

10:30-11:00 Break and Autograph Signing

11:00-12:00 Round-penning

12:00-1:00 Lunch

1:00-2:30 Gaining Respect through Groundwork

2:30-3:00 Break and Autograph Signing

3:00-4:30 Advanced Riding

4:30-5:00 Photo Opportunities with Mr. Anderson and His Horse

He tenaciously stuck to his outline, but not to his time table. He tended to go long. I credit this to his passion for both the subject and to educating others. In the meantime, Steve was totally impressed with his work ethic. While the audience recuperated from their rump-flattening bleacher seats, he signed autographs for 25 minutes, taking only a five minute break for himself.

Before the breaks, there was a multitude of prizes given out to the audience. There were some very nice gifts and some not so expensive ones. However, Mr. Anderson played to the center sections and to his right. We, unfortunately, were seated to his left. Thus, we, as a rule, were not considered for distribution—mega bummer.

We tried our best to get his attention. We organized a chant: “O-VER HERE! O-VER HERE!” We also tried swinging and swaying to “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.” (I love that song.) Finally, we considered starting a wave.

Yes, I was the instigator of all of these tactics. My suggestions were based on strong scientific findings. Let’s face it: People tend to focus on people who look like they’re into them. I figured that showing our enthusiasm would get him to play to our side: Would that we had done a little more planning.

The chant bombed because the people around us considered me the leader and I still had laryngitis—no voice, no chant. As for swinging and swaying, they only played their deafening music before the session and during intermissions, when no one was around to notice. The wave was doomed from the beginning. You need a cheer leader to do it right. Unfortunately, the attendants caught him on the railing before he hit the arena floor. End of wave and bright ideas.

Returning to the clinic, the first day Mr. Anderson tamed a horse with a bucking problem and a fearful and, therefore, terribly dangerous horse.

The Dahlstroms took us out to dinner for Steve's birthday. When we got back to the trailer, they presented him with a lemon meringue pie, his favorite. I gave him my gift: some beadwork for his rifle case. The story follows:

I had to do the beading when Steve wasn’t around because it is impossible to put one over on him. Luckily, he was called away to do a background in Utah. He would be gone for three days and two nights. That meant that I could work on his gift in the family room in front of the TV. Unfortunately, he finished up early, when I was only half done. So I took all my supplies up to my art closet. That way I could hear the garage door opening and know when he was home and I could just close the door on the mess. During the week preceding our trip to Kalispell, he was gone for a few hours here and there, which gave me enough time to finish up without him even suspecting.



Steven's Secret Birthday Gift

I was so pleased that I scanned the completed bead work and sent a copy to our dear friends, the Hetheringtons. (Sweet!) I even remembered to take it out of the scanner so that he wouldn’t accidentally find it there. I felt so smug!

When he got home from his errands, he started up the stairs. I looked at my work table and couldn’t see the beading, so I knew the project was safely out of sight. Steve walked in, looked at the scanner, and said, “What’s this?” I had left it on the scanner, right in front of me. I sang him the birthday song and got over it.

Next year I am going to surprise the man if it kills me!

Sept. 9, 2012

The next day we arrived one hour early and still had to sit on the left side. Undaunted, Jane and I had brought some handwork for while we were being ignored.  To improve our situation just that much more, Steve bought me a jacket with Anderson's logo on the back, which I sat on to minimize the bleacher's effects on my rear.  The program was just as exciting and informative as the day before. I’ll spare you the outline.

He worked with another fearful horse which wouldn’t let anyone near it, and ended with one that was trailer shy. All the horses he worked with were good riding horses or trailer-loving within an hour. He also rode the bucking horse from the day before, as promised. (WOW!)

I suppose the best thing we learned was that, as novice trainers, we weren’t too bad. We discovered that sometimes Chou-chou (C-c) got away with murder, but we were better than some of the so called professionals. We also found out what to do when a horse walks out of yielding its forequarters and what to do when a horse stops during a lunging exercise (problems with C-c). In other words, all considered, it was a primo experience.

Sept. 10, 2012

We said good-bye to the Dahlstroms and drove to Bozeman, home of the Hetheringtons. Unfortunately, they were way busy, he being the CEO of Clean Waste Management, the second counselor in the stake presidency, and working on his Ph.D. while she was packing to go on a business trip. No biggy. We’ll see them next month. I rested all evening, still being a little under the weather. But at least I had my voice back.

Sept. 11, 2012

We hit the trail and 50 miles later, we heard a pop. “What was that?” we asked each other. “It sounded like we popped a tire,” I said. “Or maybe it was just the truck backfiring,” Steve suggested. “Yeah,” I agreed. “I thought that too. Pull over and let’s check it.” I could not believe what we saw! The trailer had lost an entire wheel—not the tire, not some lug nuts and maybe a hubcap or something (trailers don’t have hubcaps), but the entire wheel! There was nothing left but some sheared off bolts.



Can You Believe This??!!



The wheel took out the trailer’s lower body skirting, the trim, and stairs before it bounced off to who knows where. We later learned that the total bill would amount to $3406. This is why we buy insurance, as you well know.

Being just outside Livingston, MT, we walked to the nearest building and used their phone. Then we walked to the nearest garage. They were booked up until May. But they fixed the trailer enough to take it to another place that specialized in wheels. The wheel experts were booked until June.

I sat in the car with every expectation of spending at least one night in Livingston, when Steven returned and said that the wheel was fixed enough for us to get to Powell, where our trailer repair place is. I couldn’t believe it! From the time we stopped until the time we left for Powell, it took no more than two hours.

We left the trailer in Powell and drove home.

The End