of yore and beyonder

Last Wednesday I booked tickets, and five hours later I was on a plane to Germany with
my mom. Very impromptu. But I just felt I had to go, and I am so glad I did.

I had a wonderful time with family and some friends, too. No children to take care of, just
us women telling stories until the wee hours of the night.










This is my grandfather Friedel. We spent five hours at his house, the house in which my mother and her sisters
grew up,  and he told us stories of the old ones, old aunts who hid money under aprons, of great-great-great
grandfathers who ploughed fields with oxen - an old and a young one, of my grandma Walli giving birth in a garage
and the midwife falling asleep next to her. Of him falling off a scaffolding at work, the old kind made of wood,
and then sneaking out of the hospital through the window to have a beer. Of great great uncles who walked back
from the war (the first one, or the one before that, who knows) to keep an eye on the young soldiers billeted on
the attic in which he had hid all his money.


I could go on for hours. I love old stories belonging to old people. :)

Day 10: Overcoming the Kankle.

Everybody seems to be getting excited about fall, about woolen socks and knitted hats, but I fear fall. (It's the harbinger of winter.) But Her Majesty The Frog Princess's rubber boots did put a big smile (or two) on my face today. As did the Majesty herself.

Did I tell you? I have kankles. (If you don't know what they are, you need to watch Seinfeld). They are knees that grow into calves that grow into feet, with no ankle in between. (I blame Frau G., the ballet instructor from hell, and those farmer ancestors of mine). Anyway, it's the reason I always wore jeans as a teenager, in the middle of summer (sweating), when everybody else wore short dresses. This year will go down in the history of Isabell as the year that I finally overcame the kankle. Yes, I did! I've worn short dresses all summer. I am a strong independent woman who does not care about her appearance (so much). Applause please.

Oh, and I have the cutest two daughters in the world. (And I'm supposed to post pictures without words, sorry, I can't help it - again, I blame those farmer ancestors.)

Talking of farmer ancestors, these are the most amazing Depression-era pictures (via The Sleeping Time Gal, thankyou!). I have looked at them all night, in wonder.

Dresden

1954. My grandmother is 15 and grinding poor when she hops on a train somewhere in bombed-out Dresden to escape to West Germany. She gets caught. It doesn't take long and she tries again. Successfully, this time. I wish I'd know the details of the story (Where did she hide inside that train? Was she afraid?), but I do know now that she must have been very brave.

Oma Walli passed away some seventeen years ago. I've always thought I don't remember her all that well. But in Dresden, staring up in awe at the Zwinger Palace, the way she always said she had done as a teenager, and playing with Fé in that little park right next to where she used to live, I suddenly remembered. Her warm smile, her dark voice, and her thick, almost black hair. I remembered the sweet woodruff syrup she used to make, which we kids loved. And the gooseberry rice pudding, which, to this day, is the only rice pudding I have ever managed to eat without choking. And we always, always, got Black Forest Cake with a cherry on top and hot chocolate when we came over.

I can see her now, as a young girl, standing in the middle of the Zwinger, dreaming the dreams all young girls dream. And I feel like I know her again.

Seeing, remembering. It was glorious. Dresden is magical.

That gorgeous woman you see on these pictures is my cousin Pia, who also happens to be one of my best friends. And whom Fé adores like no other. Who also took this picture above of the Dresden Elbe Valley. (If you are ever in Ratingen-Lintorf, drop by in her boutique, Leroy.)

P.S. We stayed at this hotel. I highly recommend.

Returned.

We have returned, but my heart is still in Dresden. What a wonderful thing, to walk where your ancestors have walked. I will be back soon.