Tracks

When the snow was new and coated in ice, the creatures of the forest seemed frozen somewhere other than at our place. No tracks appeared for a couple of days; the birds and squirrels being too light weight to make a dent, simply skated across the snow.

With the addition of several inches of powder last night, it is as though an invitation to party was issued. Around the bird feeders, stomach-dragging birds left drunken tracks hither and yon, back and forth, around and about. In the broader open areas and habitual crossing trails, deer have gathered and traversed and circled but we haven't seen even one of the creatures as they passed by. Mixed in is a trail of rabbit-looking tracks though we've never seen hide nor tail of a bunny here. Maybe there is a padded footprint of a bobcat out there. We saw those tracks once. We are not curious enough to go out in search of them. It is too cold and leaving our human foot trails in the snow seems too intrusive in this tableaux.

How I spent this cold, snowy day

Unwilling to walk outside on ice-covered snow, I used a photo taken yesterday by Bill and painted a watercolor of our house while watching the sun paint shadows on the snow outside my studio window.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, my German friend Silke took photos of our snow-covered little village of Queidersbach and the house I used to live in there. She posted them on Facebook along with a video of her dog playing in the snow and her voice cheering him on. 

All that combined to bring tears for the first time since I moved. I had been missing Germany all this month so Silke's thoughtful gesture was all I needed to push me over the edge.  She will visit me next year, bringing her lovely daughter, Tasha with her. Of all the memories I have of Germany, they are among the best. She was always there when I needed her.

Winter scene

The misinformed calendar says winter starts Dec. 21.

About five inches of snow blankets the forest around us. Our driveway is marred only by Bill's foot prints leading to and from the mailbox at the end of a long stretch. Ice covers the snow in a crunchy layer.  "When you go to the mailbox today...," I said. "What? I thought getting the mail was your special walk-in-the-woods thing?" "Yes," I said. "Three quarters of the time. This is your quarter. I don't do slippery."  He headed downstairs to his workshop, not ready to do slippery himself.

The ice is not a bad thing for the birds.  They make slippery landings around the feeders and don't sink in, leaving no trails. Strangely, winter-coated gold finches have come back to the nyjer feeder which I almost put away in their absence. They litter the snow with seeds for the ground-feeding juncos. A downy woodpecker hangs from the suet block alongside two fat, brown wrens who never came in nice weather. One junco is missing tail feathers, making his little behind pointed and short. Yesterday I tossed seed onto the snow and today only husks remain after the flock of juncos had their fill. The tall conical evergreen has become shelter for birds during the day. At night, when we turn on the Christmas lights around it, I wonder if the birds are mad at us for waking them or grateful for a few degrees of warmth generated by the decoration.

Three squirrels run wildly around the trees and across the frozen snow like children on the first day of vacation. They show no interest in raiding the bird feeders or the easy buffet on the snow. They crash into each other in their frenzy, get upright and charge up a tall, swaying tree. Winter is a playground for the wild things today. The watching humans hunker down inside and think of things to do to pass the time.

Someone in China read my blog?

This morning I decided to investigate all the little tab thingeys on the management side of my blog. Normally, the only one I really look at is the stat tab.  After not posting very frequently in my previous life, I now post with semi-regularity and finally got over the fear of really telling anyone I had posted! Duh, you want to know someone is reading it, it pays to let someone know it exists! Slowly but surely, the read count has gone up, two comments have been made (thanks, June!) and today a new follower showed up (bless you, Chas, I love you).  In my excitement over seeing the new follower, I decided to spend some early morning time exploring all the other tabs to which the owner, not the readers, of the blog have access.

China? Someone read my blog in China??  Three times. Three times one person or one time three people is unclear, but one thing for sure, I don't know anyone in China, but do own a bunch of china.  Know someone who went to China--lovely Chinese couple here who are coming to dinner soon. Maybe they showed it to relatives while they were visiting there.

How about Russia? Five reads took place in Russia. Nope, don't know anyone who lives there and only one person who visited there a long time ago. Don't have any Russian china and don't want to go there myself after seeing photos on email this morning showing an incomprehensible amount of snow burying cars three times over. Can you say Siberia?

Poland I have been to and found a bit depressing. They are probably lovely people, but their border crossing was a real trial the four times I did it. Poland represents four of my 341 hits thus far. I do own some Polish china, only we call it pottery, a more fitting name for a folksy-looking polka dot pattern and plates heavy enough to be used for weight lifting.

Two hits apiece are listed for Spain, France and the Netherlands. Been there, done that. Worked my butt off in Rota, Spain, to open a new commissary; have three wonderful friends in France not to mention great shopping memories (no china, French pottery, shoes and clothing); been to the Netherlands many times to Schinnen for work and visits with friends.  So I do know people in all those places.

Three reads took place in the United Kingdom.  No big surprize there. Been there too many times to count and survived the left-handed driving so I'm here to tell about it. Know a bunch of people who go there or live there, even if on a rather transient basis.

Germany and the U.S. harbor my biggest fans, but Germany runs a very poor second with only 6 hits.  Until just a few months ago I lived there--for 17 years--so they should be getting on board a bit better, don't you think? The U.S. wins the count with 308 reads. In all fairness, my willingness to finally post my posts on Facebook is the number one reason my posts are being read and the number two is the fact that another blogger, http://www.adhominem.weebly.com/ graciously posted my blog address, did an awesome job of covering a month-long art project I and others from this area were involved in and, currently, is featuring me and my art done outside of that project.  Easily the biggest coverage my art has ever received. Thank you, Michael. Go look at it so Michael can see his visit count go up, too. It will make him feel good. If you go there after it comes down and is replaced by another artist, check out the archives for my name and also for FloCoiMo. You'll understand what that means after you get there.

Last, but not least, I have been read in Tajikistan. Did you know that the "stan" part of that word means land? Tajikis land.  Not sure who or what the Tajikis are, but I know my blog was being read there for a time by a Brit named Wally, who lives in Germany and is, at this very moment recovering from his latest visit to the Tajikis and packing his bags for Ireland where he will spend the holidays taking spectacular photographs of spectacular scenery and brightening my email with them. He will frequent the pubs and party with crazy people he met and loved earlier this year and regale me with stories of it as he goes. I hope he gets the really nice Christmas present he wants while he is there...but then, isn't just being there a nice Christmas present?

Merry Christmas to all my readers, whoever and wherever you are. Maybe I should be saying Happy Holidays!

Even the deer don't want to get up

It was 14 degrees outside at 7 this morning. The sun was up, I was up, the deer were not. Curled on the ground in underbrush about 30 feet from the kitchen window were four deer, heads up, ears twitching. Nearby, a few hungry juncos hopped around under the bird feeders. Lucky for them, birds using the feeder are sloppy and routinely throw seeds to the ground. Juncos seem to be ground junkies.

Slowly, one doe gets up and spends an amazing amount of time standing on three legs while slowly chewing on something inside the raised leg.  I have an inane thought--is it possible for a deer to nurse on itself? Can I find the answer to that question on Google? Finally, she drops her fourth leg and meanders around munching on something on the forest floor. The recling deer stare away from all this activity, chewing their cuds. Irritated at the inactivity, the doe goes over to the smallest recliner and taps it on the back with a foreleg. Interesting. I'd never seen this before. The small deer, probably her fawn, wobbles up, stretches, takes a few steps, and, like all teenagers, goes back to bed. A few minutes pass before mom gives up and returns to bed herself.

Twenty minutes later, after some serious procrastination on my part, I leave the house to go swimming.  The deer have all stood up and begun their trek through the forest toward doing whatever it is deer do all day. They were wearing their winter coats of taupe, matching the cold bark of the trees, making them disappear more easily into the scene. The lead doe stops to watch my car go by, totally adjusted to the presence of human life in her turf.

Before discovering this group outside the kitchen, I'd had the good fortune to watch two other deer very clearly through my office window as they strolled the driveway eating acorns from the gravel. Not often I get a view good enough for videotaping. Shot through the window screen, it is a bit fuzzy.

The art project with a funny name is over

Anne's Feet, one of the daily artworks I did
for FloCoiMo. It now acts as Anne Armistead's
profile photo on Facebook.

FloCoiMo is over. I miss it.

On the last day of November, the FloCoiMo'ers ended the month-long project which had kept so many of us connected and inspired. We met new people on line and then in person. We collaborated and inspired each other spontaneously and unexpectedly. We learned things about ourselves and each other. Facebook became a much more interesting place to go each day in search of words written by Mara or Sarah, sketches done by Patricia, photos by Coriander and Michele, blog entries by Carly, falcon videos by Lee. In search of who "Liked" our works, who took the time to comment. As the month marched to the feast of Thanksgiving, some of us, me included, felt despair over the lack of "Likes" and comments. Did they not like? Did they have nothing good to say?  No, Carly assured me at the Jacksonville Winterfest.  "Just because we didn't click those buttons and make comments doesn't mean we didn't see them and like them." Carly makes beautiful jewelry and Christmas is rushing upon her as she tries to meet her orders in spite of a broken tool.  I shouldn't give her a hard time, she owes me pieces promised. Now that FloCoiMo is over, we all have more time for other things. But I still miss it.

The first snow of the season

As the weather man promised, we received about four inches of snow yesterday afternoon and into the night. With the back spotlight on, I could lie in bed and watch the flakes fall against a background of naked trees and night sky. High above the ground, the bedroom offers a somewhat treehouse view. This morning, the sun delivers the classic crisp, snowy Christmas card sort of tableaux, albeit a very windy one at the moment.

Outside our kitchen window we have a bird feeder which, in the warm months, attracts a nice assortment of avian visitors. Juncos, chickadees, gold finches, nuthatches, are regular diners. An occasional woodpecker, tufted titmouse or phoebe stops by. Now that it is 25 degrees and covered in snow, only the juncos are foraging on the ground, leaping on the feeder roof and finally making it into the protection of the feeder.  I will venture out in a while to spread more seed on the ground where they seem to dine the most and figure out where to hang a suet block to help them keep warm. Evidence on our deck indicates at least one bird spent the night under the cover over our deck furniture. Bird tracks in the snow mark their entry and exit.

Seeing these dusty gray birds this morning reminded me of an attack of envy I felt last weekend.  We did two stops on the 16Hands pottery tour in Floyd County. At the lovely home and studio of Silvie Granitelli, several feeders hung just outside the studio.  Suddenly they were covered in gold finches, tufted titmouse (titmice?) and one glorious blue bird no more than four feet away from me as I looked through the window.  I can't recall ever seeing a blue bird before and it just made my day.  Then I was envious. Why should these beautiful bluebirds be in Floyd but not in my part of Blacksburg?  Why are there still gold finches here when they have abandoned my feeders already.  What do I have to do to lure them to my forest? Some feeders are more blessed than others, it appears.

Amazing gallery opening

On Saturday, we drove to the Sarvisberry Gallery and Studio near Floyd, Va., on the edge of the Blue Ridge. This is the home of Gibby Waitzkin where she has carved out a special piece of heaven. From the timber frame home, to the timber frame office of her husband, to the environmentally friendly studio and gallery building, it is a place of invitation--inviting you to be at once at peace and at your creative best. Gibby has mastered the art of papermaking and often combines digital photography with paper and botannicals to make wonderful pieces, both large and small.  For her gallery opening she took the practice to great heights, presenting numerous pieces mounted in old window frames and rusted wrought iron.  It was a festive evening with food, wine, candles, friends and art. What more could there be?  See her work at http://www.sarvisberry.com/.

A great art project with a funny name

I continue to have fun with my artwork for the FloCoiMo project. I'm learning things about myself and my artistic abilities and connecting with people I've never met.  Art and the people who do it in this area have been my passport to my new life in Virginia and made my new way much easier than I expected. The top piece here is a scene from Dresden, Germany, in the bohemian area of the city.  No art in stuffy museums for this neighborhood!  The art was on the outside for all to see for free, rain or shine. This courtyard was just full of surprizes. On a funny note, one day bacon accidentally became a theme for the FloCoiMo project, starting with Mara waxing poetic about this favorite breakfast food. Then Sarah chimed in and I just had to give them something to illustrate their thoughts. The bacon is sizzling, but so are the FloCoiMo folks including Michael at http://www.adhominem.weebly.com/ who is supporting us every day!

On a slightly different note, yesterday I went to the YMCA Crafts Bazaar at University Mall in Blacksburg.  Took a long time to get through it because I kept stopping to talk to artists that I already knew like Darcy Meeker and Becca Imbur, Sarah McCarthy, Cecilia Riegert, Anne Anderson and Carly Burke.  See what I mean about connections? I've only lived here since March. Life is good.

Dinner , friends and the Indigo Girls

We fixed dinner for our new friends Anne and Jean last night. It was the first time they visited our house. What a delight to be visited by people with curious minds and an appreciation for art. That kind of first visit is never just a peek at each room during the house tour. It is a room to room discussion of my art work, Bill's woodwork, our combined antique pieces, papyrus and copper from our travels in Europe and northern Africa. It is looking at books and being excited to see new things. It is feeding enthusiastic eaters and having lots of interesting, free-flowing conversation. Afterward, we fought the parking frenzy in Blacksburg as hundreds of people arrived for the Indigo Girls concert at the Lyric. Anne and Jean had invited us to join them for this group they loved and we had sort of heard of.  Now we love them, too.  The Indigo Girls and Anne and Jean.

Every day is art day

Sarah and Mara, two energetic, creative ladies in Floyd, came up with FloCoiMo, Floyd County Imagination Month, and challenged interested parties to contribute writing or art or photography or just about anything to the process.  After hesitating to do this thing, I jumped in with both hands and have been creating one mini artwork a day.  One smart jewelry maker decided to contribute one post a day to http://www.mountainlightjewelry.wordpress.com/.  Great idea! The only time someone reads my blog is when I send them a note saying...hey, go read my new piece! My family is not real blog savvy! So, here goes. I won't post every day, but each time I do this month, I'll add it to my contributions to FloCoiMo (gulp, scary making it so public). Here is one of my submissions. Each one is on watercolor paper 2.5" x 3.5". Go to http://www.adhominem.weebly.com/ for the rest of mine and many other excellent works of art and words from the other creative folks.  Also check out http://www.jacksonvillecenter.org/, the glue that brings us all together.

Tornadoes on the prowl

This autumn has been so beautiful with little rain and lots of sunshine.  I love it, but last night realized there was a price to pay for this extended comfort.  A huge band of storm conditions ripe for tornadoes was moving across the nation and was still alive and threatening as it approached Virginia. Our house sits a ways up the mountain and is surrounded by hundreds of very big trees which we enjoy watching through our very big windows.  As the evening wore on, and the hazardous trailers kept crawling across the  TV screen, we kept opening the doors to the deck to test the atmosphere.  This started out to be mostly idle curiosity but by midnight I started saying things like "should we sleep downstairs?" "Should we be prepared to go to the storeroom under the steps if the weather gets weird?" "Let's take a big quilt and some pillows with us and a flashlight and some water and a radio, and, and, and..."  The TV warnings got more serious and we stood to watch exactly what the storm was doing, only to discover that it had skipped right over us and was already well to the east, having only dropped a little rain.  I went to bed in my usual place, Bill went downstairs alone.  I slept right through a heavy 4:30 a.m. rainstorm Bill told me about. Today we heard a man in a small town describe all the damage done to his place. He said the whole thing took only 30 seconds.  That's just about how long it would take to jump out of our downstairs bed, if fully awake, and make it across the hall to the partially underground storeroom under our steps.  If we have to get serious about tornado protection next time, we had better stock all those supplies first and just go ahead and sleep in there on the air mattress.

A glorious Fall

This is our first Fall in our forest home and it is truly glorious. The brilliant sun, the rainbow painted against the blue sky by autumn leaves and the warm temperatures combine to make being outdoors a lasting pleasure. Maples, oaks, dogwood and other trees as yet unidentified have begged me to pick up leaves and turn them into art. As they fall to the ground and dry, the walk to the mailbox down our long drive becomes a symphony of crackling sound as my feet shuffle through the drifts of leaves and crunch on the gravel. Is there a way we can make autumn last until spring?

The painted leaves and the real.

Ada

Ada is 89 years old. We met at the hairstylist's and she invited me to visit her.  Yesterday, I finally made it to her pink stone house near the campus of Virginia Tech.  A native of Italy, she married American and has spent most of her life in the states.  She is amazingly sharp, full of talk and confidence.  Only five minutes of the hour visit was spent telling me about her health, most of which is good.  Her home was neat and full of wonderful things with wonderful stories attached to them.  She showed me all around and then got up on a little stool to find a teabag so she could make me tea.  Then she told me how to cook tilapia and explained her new phone contract to me that enables her to call her friends in Europe.  She has a standing appointment to get her hair done every Friday and several months ago when I had my first appointment there, she heard that I had arrived from Germany and came over to say hello.  I was surprized to find she had been to my German town and knew all about several other towns around there.  By the end of our meeting, she had invited me to visit and I promised I would.  I should have gone sooner.  Spending that hour with her yesterday was a pleasure.

Around the forest

October is well underway and Fall is definitely in the air.  Night temps dipped into the upper 30's last night and winds are blowing many more leaves from the trees.  One tree near our driveway decided to take all its leaves down in one fell swoop.  It leaned over, away from the house and driveway, thank goodness, hung its upper branches high in a neighboring tree and came to rest at a 45-degree angle.  A close inspection showed that insects of some kind had eaten away at the bottom and weakened it enough to topple it. Much quieter than a chain saw.

Surviving despite the chilly air, a late-planted thunbergia or black-eyed Susan vine, is still blooming in a pot by the front door. Two pink impatiens plants are still covered in flowers and have not been nibbled by the deer. A pot of swiss chard gave up its leaves to a deer a few days ago, revealing a beautiful assortment of pink, red and yellow stems.  New, tender leaves have sprouted among the nubs.  Will I get to eat them or the quadriped?

Rain at last

It is raining this morning for the first time in over two weeks.  It is slow and steady and promised for the next three days. As it hits our newly painted deck it makes big bubbles to float in the puddles.  I will pursue indoor things today or maybe just live in the "Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society," a charming book that makes me miss England.

Walking stick photo published

I'm a regular!  My second photo has been published in the New River Valley Current and they printed it BIG.  It was the walking stick photo from a couple of blogs ago.  I bought myself a new camera this week so I'll have to try it out in hopes of getting more pics published.

Acorn symphony

Acorn symphony
Living in a city, away from a natural forest, it is easy to forget seasonal sounds made among densely growing trees.  It certainly was that way for me. In Germany, I lived surrounded by large pine trees mixed with an occasional deciduous and even an acorn-dropping oak. The pines frequently bombarded the red tile roof of my house with cones, especially when coaxed by wind. Acorns fell mostly unheeded because I was gone so much.  In Blacksburg's Preston Forest, acres of trees surround the house.  When we first arrived here in March of this year, leaves were uppermost in my mind--trillions of them--so when feeling the onset of our first Fall here, leaves again factored into my thinking.  Acorns were not on my radar until I was outside recently for a long period of time messing with mulch. Suddenly, all around me I heard thunk and plop noises and felt as though someone unseen was hurling stones at me. Then it happened. A fat green acorn plopped to the ground in front of me and another and another. I quickly realized nature was the pitcher and acorns her object of choice.  The hair on my arm went back down as I looked around and realized acorns come in several different shapes and sizes--at least ten different kinds of oak trees each with a slightly different acorn, according to my field guide to trees.  A cursory inspection of the acorns around me revealed at least 4-5 kinds of oak trees grow on our land.  Deer and squirrel love this fall delight.  The roof bangs and pops with the impact of falling acorns. Our deck was covered with acorn bits one morning.  Had the squirrels thrown the acorns to the deck and then feasted on them or had they munched them high in the branches overhead and let the crumbs fall for me to sweep? The deer must be satisfied with this extra taste, too, because they haven't nibbled on my flowers and bushes lately.  Maybe I should wish for acorn harvest all year long.

Walking stick visitor

Some visitors come to talk, some to eat, some just come to Preston Forest  to hang around, as was the case this week with a large and strange bug perched by Bill's workshop door.  "Get your camera!  You gotta see this thing!" said Bill.  A good carpenter always measures so he came to the photo shoot with tape in hand to show just how big this dude was.  For 10 minutes we closely examined him from inches away and he never so much as twitched.  His quarter-inch, squid-looking face was armed with antennae about three inches long; his jointed legs bent at strong angles. A search of walking sticks on the web revealed his Borneo cousins can grow to 13 inches long so ours proved to be a lightweight in the world of phasmida. Most fascinating detail--females don't need the males to reproduce so totally female colonies are sometimes found.  As we were checking him out so closely it would have been nice to know he (she?) is capable of shooting poison that causes blindness in his enemies!

Caterpillar photo gets published

I sent the caterpillar photo seen in my last post to the New River Valley Current (newspaper magazine) and today they published it.  How cool is that?  They have a page of reader-submitted photos.  Neat to see my stuff printed like that so I'll have to do more of it.

Finally writing from Blacksburg

March 8 was our first day in our new home. I have thought many times that I should post something because there were certainly things to write about. We are now in our seventh month in the forest. We survived the huge effort of moving in, picking up cars, unpacking (most) things, getting rid of many things and being reminded of how many bugs there are in an American forest--at least in this one! I lived on the edge of a huge forest in Germany and could walk for hours in it without being bothered by bugs. Here, I think mosquitoes would fly through three states for the joy of attacking even two inches of my exposed flesh. Go outside to work in the garden, walk to the mailbox, walk in the neighborhood--swarms of gnats gather around our heads, get in our eyes.

As lovely as the location and house are, the bugs have frustrated us so much we thought we couldn't live here. Trust me, 18 itching mosquito bites from knees to feet will keep you from sleeping! It is now September and the critter concentration seems a bit lower. By now I have a huge selection of bug bite prevention and/or treatment. Off, Cutter, Skin so Soft, organic all-natural for the preventing (none of them 100%). Afterbite (smells strongly of ammonia), anti-itch creams and Zyrtex antihistamine for the dealing with. The creams seem the best. The Zyrtex wired me to the point nothing would make me sleep that night. Not a good thing considering I had a 40-minute drive the next morning to an art class. A neighbor suggested I wear a big straw hat because the gnats won't go under the brim. Mostly true, I found. I'm not a pretty sight--tall socks, long pants, long sleeves, gloves, layers of spray and giant hat--sometimes with a dryer sheet tucked into the band for extra measure, another bit of advice. Add to that misery, unusually high heat and humidity and the cool fresh air of Germany beckons to us daily. Sigh.

Hmm, I forgot to mention the "nasty quadrupeds" otherwise known as deer. While bugs are eating me, deer are eating my plants. Is there no end to all this munching?

There are many good things to write about but I thought I'd get the gripes out of the way first. Happy things in the next post.

Photos with this post: Four-inch lunar moth on the wall of our garage. Caterpillar (soon to be black swallowtail butterfly) on a parsley plant on my deck. Critters that bring me joy, not bites!

Goodbye speech

I wrote the following to give at our farewell luncheon two days from now. Had to get it done before they wrapped up my computer for shipping...

"I write these words surrounded by boxes, paper, muddy floors, the sound of tape being laid and the smell of cardboard. Bill and I are exhausted beyond belief and still not finished. My home office is the only safe zone left, door is closed and movers ordered not to enter until the very end.

The end is near, so I must gather my thoughts about how to say goodbye to you, my many friends and coworkers. Both of us have procrastinated about something hard to do the last few weeks. These words are my “hard to do.”

Nearly 18 years ago I came to Europe saying “three years and I’m outta there.”

Obviously, I failed in that pledge.

I am the family wanderer. The one that goes out on the edge, according to my younger sister. I have always gone places and done things no one else did because I always tend to find the wonder in things and places and, even now, maintain an interest and curiosity.

My 18 years in Europe have been so very interesting. I have travelled to places I never thought I'd see. I have ridden a camel in Cairo, driven a jeep over frighteningly high, rail-free bridges in Croatia, danced in Turkey, stood on the edge of a volcano in Italy, eaten roasted chestnuts in London and pigeon in Egypt, spent the night in a thatched cottage on a stormy Aran island. I have been in every DeCA Europe country except Saudi.

They have been curious…just this week I found a dead bat in the guest room of my house, a curiosity I could have done without!

They have been hazardous to my health. Broke my left wrist first at Germersheim some years ago and again in Livorno just last June. Did my first-ever emergency hospital stay in August from the car accident I shared with Bill and Gerlinde.

The years have been mostly wonderful.

Wonderful was doing thousands of miles on the road with John Hoca, Arno Franke and Earl Taylor who became my dearly beloved brothers, far beyond the state of co-workers. Wonderful was getting to know Gerlinde and treasuring her friendship forever. We will spend our last few days in Germany in her company.

Wonderful was making friends from so many countries as I went around on official travel and opened more new stores than I care to remember. As silly as I sometimes think it is, it is nice to know I have Mohamed Enein as a friend on Facebook so we don’t lose touch.

Wonderful was working with and for Mike Dowling, as fine a boss and friend as I could have asked for.

Wonderful is having too many people to say thanks to for making me welcome and at home in this country. It has been a privilege to work and live here and I will cherish it forever. DeCA people are amazing. They are dedicated, energetic, and caring always.

Wonderful is having met William Pulley. A more patient, kind, caring, supportive and loving man I could not have wished for. I hope he will be by my side for a long time and I intend to be a real nag about him kicking the cigarette habit as soon as this stressful transition is over in order to ensure his long life.

Not so wonderful has been an extreme workload loaded with stress. That, coupled with the accidents in 2009, joined forces to make me finally say genug, enough, I am finished. With that I will give you one word of wisdom based on my life.

Work hard, take pride in what you do, always help others, but do not forget to help yourself. Do not sacrifice more of your personal life than is prudent or healthy. If you do, you may end up with bats in your bedroom and a garage full of trash.

Thank you, vielen danke, alles gute, auf wiedersehen.

Too late to turn back now

We were up at 0530 today. Up, but dragging. Each day layers upon the next and we have seven more big days to go. Sleep is brief and fitful--mind kicks in, wakes us up and we start having a case of "what about's..." What about tomorrow? What about the car? What about the food in the fridge? What about protecting all the important papers, keys, passports?

What about bringing all this to an end?

Our feet hurt, our backs, Bill's head cold; our hands have turned to sandpaper.

We swear we will never accumulate so much stuff again.

We pray for no more snow in Germany.

We sighed when we opened the email from one of our house watchers in Blacksburg who sent pictures of the two feet of snow surrounding our new house and of the damage inside the great room from snow on the roof. Not a good winter to own an empty house. Our new floors we wanted done this month while we were not there, will probably not get done now until we after arrive. Road and driveway conditions have delayed it.

My cousin Mike who lives about 3 miles away, took his front loader to the house and cleared the driveway a couple days ago. Thank goodness for family with big toys. Does he have a giant blower that could get the snow off the roof?

We pray for no more snow in Blacksburg.

Bill's house packed out in two days this week. We were blessed with an excellent crew. Will we be that lucky with my house? We staggered out of his place and returned to mine to get ready for the next pack out round.

Today Bill has gone back to his house to wait for the pickup of the military loaner furniture and appliances he has and to clean the garage. I am at my house doing the same thing. We finished cleaning my washer, dryer and fridge after 11 o'clock last night and quit when we could hardly stand it any more.

Including today, we have three days before the movers come to pack up my whole house. At the end of day one, we move into a hotel. It will be a hard week, but at least the last one for awhile. Friends at work ask if we are having second thoughts or are we ready? It is too late for second thoughts. Moving has a way of making you ready--ready to end this difficult ending and get on to the new beginning.

Friday, 12 Feb...another snowfall

It started snowing again early yesterday morning and isstill doing it at 10 a.m. today. At least it calmed down from the wind. Another eight inches of Ivory Snow flakes have covered my tracks in the drive from yesterday afternoon when I moved my little rental car out of the garage to the front off-street parking to keep from being permanently marooned in the house. Later, I traipsed across the street when I saw the snow plow moving around. Cute snow buster man Johannes agreed to do my drive again today and gave me his phone number so I could call whenever I need him. Those tracks were covered by the time he arrived this morning and scrapped off another layer of this dastardly stuff.

Testing the tiled front porch with one foot while hanging on to the wall, I quickly encountered something like jello on glass and gave up on the thought of sweeping snow away from the entrance. Wading through the piles from the garage to the bottom of the steps, I was able to shovel a little path from where Johannes left off to the brick stoop and clear the snow from the steps which are sort of a pebble aggregate surface not as slick as the tile. I cleared the porch as far as the broom could reach without me stepping off the aggregate. A treacherous patch of about three feet still sports a half inch of snow offering great risk to all who walk there. With my history of accidents over the last year, I refuse to venture on to it. I take a piece of cardboard and write in big letters "Geht nicht!! Glatt Eis! Vorsicht!!" and place it at the bottom of the steps. I have no more streusalz (combo of sand and salt for the sidewalks). Neither does Germany!

Upstairs, my balcony is a foot-deep drift created by a funnel cloud of wind and snow between two bordering roofs. It reaches all the way back to the deep-set wall of glass lining my upstairs hallway. I've never seen this happen. When the temperature finally gets above freezing, this melting knoll will drip into my art room below for a month unless I can somehow get it off. Under it lies another of the slippery white tile surfaces so I am not inclined to tackle it. Even the dreaded cleaning of my huge closet seems like a more attractive task.

Bill works in his house and I work in mine. We call each other to commiserate. About the safe room lock that won't lock until taken apart twice. About having no idea where the compiled folder of the tax papers I put aside for safe keeping actually is. About cabin fever. About eating the six leftover manicotti tubes for dinner last night with no stuffing in them just to get them gone. About being in withdrawal because I have totally run out of Pepsi.

We think we are being punished for leaving. Snow after snow complicates the moving process needed to get out of Germany. At our new home in Blacksburg, the flooring men can't get up the hill to our house to do the floor change we wanted done before we arrived. There is no escaping it.

Moving from Europe times two

The whole process of moving one household lock, stock and antique from Europe back to the U.S. is a bear. To do what Bill and I are doing--moving two complete households, and two cars at the same time we are going to work nearly every day--is a recipe for meltdown.

Dealing with all the necessary paperwork of both retiring and moving with no central point of information and guidance has been frustrating and time wasting. Because of our status here--we both came over on separate orders and must go back that way--every single paper and process has to be done twice as we stay in our respective homes and get them ready by ourselves. Tomorrow, at last, we have an appointment to go to the transportation office to set schedules for packing and pick up of household goods and moving of cars. We've decided to ship Bill's goods first so his house will empty and he'll come stay with me for a few days and help with the last minute things before my packout. My house is closer to our work location so it made sense to do it that way. My car will ship first so we can keep his and use his roomier storage compartment for hauling things around.

From Europe we will wade through six shipments all of which ship at different times and take at least 30 days in transit:

1. Two of unaccompanied baggage (military lingo for small-shipment-of-kitchen-linen-clothes-TV-tools to ship early, arrive early and help you set up house in a primative manner at your home of record or alternate destination), packed into wooden crates, put on trucks, moved to a container ship, sailed across the ocean to Norfolk, Va., taken off the ship, onto trucks, driven to 931 (number of our new house in Blacksburg), taken off the trucks and hauled into the house, placed by the workers wherever we tell them so we have stuff to wear, dishes to cook with and eat from, no table upon which to eat, no bed upon which to sleep because all that is too big for this baggage shipment; tools for hanging pictures if only we had some, a mini computer if only we had a service. Etc.
2. Two major loads of household goods (see transportation route in 1. above)
3. Two cars placed in seagoing containers and shipped into either Richmond or Norfolk, arriving several weeks after we get there and several weeks apart. Note to self: buy Hertz stock now. (See transportation route in 1. above minus the personal delivery to our driveway.)

Don't forget, what gets shipped out must get shipped in and we must be standing ready at the door on all days of delivery to watch the trucks back down our long forest drive, watch the men tromp dirt and snow into our lovely house, over the beautiful oak flooring and off-white carpet to place each piece and unpack each box, praying the whole time that nothing was stolen or broken.

On my move over here, the head board to my long-sought and treasured bedroom set came in the door in two pieces, reducing me to tears at the end of a stressful day all alone save the German movers. Moments after seeing it, a lovely neighbor showed up with a pot of coffee in one hand and a kid in the other, took one look at me and invited me next door for wine instead.

In the U.S. already, we both have non-temporary storage of items we decided not to ship here. For me, non-temp means 17 years but I guess neither myself or the storage folks had any idea I'd stay so long and therefore really should have called it long-term storage.

1. From Norfolk to Blacksburg they will deliver my relatively small amount (I hope) probably before any of the European shipments arrive or at least they will if we ever actually get them a set of orders and our overall schedule. The most welcome thing that will come from that shipment will be a small dining table and chairs and maybe the ping pong table to help us while away empty hours waiting for the next onslaught.
2. From Richmond they will deliver something belonging to Bill. He doesn't remember what he stored but thinks maybe there is a wash machine which, of course, we no longer need because the house is equipped with all appliances. So now we'll have to sell or scrap an extremely heavy piece of useless metal.

Somewhere in this schedule my car will arrive somewhere and we'll have to drive all over the place to get rid of rental, pick up shipped car, get it registered, inflate the tires, put gas in it, hope nothing got damaged or stolen and drive back to Blacksburg with the car least helpful for carting things around. Did I mention we will then have to repeat the scenario for Bill's PT Cruiser x number of weeks later?

I will never move again.

And we're moving in February why??

(Photo is view from my home office door which opens on to the front porch of my beautiful home in Queidersbach, Germany.)

It has been snowing for a week.

All the locals told us it would be a hard winter. They were right, but seems a large part of the world is experiencing the same misery. Where we are trying to move from is covered in a white blanket even as the place we are moving to is getting pounded hard for the second time this year. "We haven't had much snow in five or six years," my cousin told me when I inquired as to the winter weather in Blacksburg.

It was certainly not our plan to move in February. We wanted to be out of here before then but all the accidents and recovery times just kept pushing us later and later.

This morning I cannot see the dense ivy at my front door. The trees are coated white yet again--the last coating never left, it just got added to. The funny front yard sculpture of a dog with his nonexistent head stuck in a hole in the ground is unseen, the only hint of his location being marked with a little mound of snow over the tip of his tail. Inside the metal body is a complete ant colony I discovered when I tried to move it to a new location. What are they doing now, buried in frozen darkness? I should have removed him and my favorite terracotta yard items into the garage while I had the chance this fall.

At the side patio I have been sprinkling seed on the bricks to make it easier for all the birds to find. I will run out soon. Seven fat blackbirds are either hunkered down in the deep snow, puffed out and unmoving, or hopping around pecking to find whatever they can not covered by the fall from last night. A netted bag of suet and nuts takes a while to get their attention. It is frozen and hard to eat. I should put on my boots and fill up the feeder. Grand tits, nuthatches, chaffinches and enormous jays are regular visitors. This morning, a solitary blackbird sits motionless inside the empty feeder, wondering why the filler-upper has been shirking her duties.

Inside the house, the packer-upper is hunkered down from the weather starting her third housebound day wondering why her "feeder" is so incredibly full and trying to get it ready to empty out.

My last grand opening

Tonight I sit in a billeting room on Chievres Air Base in Belgium. It is cold and foggy outside. Inside, my room is littered with papers, briefcases, and various digital gadgets from computers to card readers and cameras, all the necessary trappings of pulling together a commissary grand opening and being able to record it as I go. New to me this time is a Blackberry, a modern-day nag if ever there was one. Trying to be all things--phone, internet, camera, stereo--it has all sorts of challenges requiring me to figure it out as I go and frustrating me all the while. Of a greatly easier device is the new Kindle I received from Bill for Christmas. This device has nothing to do with the grand opening, it is just for feeding my ever-present appetite for reading. This device has turned out to be one of the easiest and must enjoyable electronic gadgets I've ever used. It is currently dishing up "The Measure of a Man" by Sidney Poitier, an actor I've always admired. For a book junky, this is like having a library on demand: buying a book can be done in less than a minute with the device not even plugged into the wall or a computer. No more having nothing to read on the road!

This trip is my last official grand opening. I have five weeks to go before I retire. Instead of going out in the evenings with the group, I stay in my room, isolating myself as a way of distancing from the emotions of saying goodbye to friends from Cairo, Egypt, and Livorno, Italy, here to work their usual magic on the new store. These talented and hard-working people have gained my respect. Knowing I may never see them again causes my insides to tighten and all my words to catch in my throat. I wish I could work beside them to design an endcap but can't find the time from my own job to do so.

My future keeps intruding on me this week. A problem with a new bank account in Virginia. A lost key to 931, our new house in Virginia. The longer I stay in Belgium, the more I can distance myself from the whole idea of leaving. These little surprizes jump into my email and remind me. Again my loyalties do the split, one foot on each continent, trying not to fall face first into the Sea of Separation.

The holiday is finished

(Photo of Bill and the little tree he decorated before I got home. We usually have a big tree with lots of European decorations on it.)





Thanks to Bill's efforts, Christmas did exist in my house this year, though in a much smaller and colder fashion than we normally have.

After arriving home from the airport on Christmas eve morning, I found only a trace of snow on the ground. Inside, my very smallest tree stood atop an end table with decorations and a few packages around it. The fridge had food for Christmas day. I went to bed for a few hours and got up to speak on the phone with a friend having a very sad Christmas because of a marriage gone nuts. As I spoke with her, I noticed the house getting colder and colder. Bill came up to me to inform me that the tank in the basement was totally empty! Christmas eve, 300 feet from my oil man's truck, and the tank is empty. Another fallout from my snow delay. Knowing it is probably hopeless, I call the cell phone and leave a message. We spend the evening feeding the fireplace and curling up under the covers. Fortunately, it is not below freezing outside.

At 1030 Christmas morning, my oil man Herr Wilhelm, calls to say "I come 5 minutes or never!"

Of course, we welcome him with open arms and profuse thanks and a few hours later the house is cozy again.

Christmas and New Year's were amazingly quiet this year. We were tired and just happy to read, eat and sleep. We stay up late and get up late. We wonder if this is what it will be like to be retired. We stay in our pajamas for two days and go nowhere. Bill had bought me Amazon's electronic book called Kindle and, though in love with real books, I take such a liking to it that I read one whole (free!) book on Christmas day. Bill has to travel to England for four days on business before New Year's and arrives home late and exhausted on the eve , another reminder of why we want to retire. Two airplanes, three cars, 1100 kilometers in four days takes a toll.

After New Year's, I marvel at the fact that I buy Andre Agassi's book "Open" through the computer and it drops magically into the Kindle in about 35 seconds from "one-click buy." As I take root on the couch again for hours and hours, I remind Bill that he is the one who bought it for me. He doesn't care. He is asleep in the recliner, recovering from his whirlwind tour of England.

Finally, on Saturday, we remove all signs of the little Christmas, pack it up and start working on my retirement papers. I've stalled on this long enough and dread the process immensely. I feel totally unprepared but grateful that Bill has gone through the process and mailed his forms a couple of weeks ago so he is coaching me through it all the way. When finished, I feel relieved but still wish I could just fast forward to the new house and be planted in one place, no longer in limbo.

I have not set foot in the office since arriving home except for a brief 30 minutes. More importantly, I haven't wanted to. Mentally, I have almost cut the cord completely, but remain still attached to it through obligation. I hope that once I've landed on the other side I will be able to move forward with some determination, no longer in limbo with one foot in each world. I have come full circle. Seventeen years ago, first arrived in Germany,I described myself in the same way and, as time went on, began to feel my worlds slidely slowly apart, pulling me away from the country I will now return to for good.