There is a stockpile of stories saved in a file on my computer for either later use or future rewrites. The historic event of the past week with the landslide reelection of Donald makes for easy subject matter and although pertinent, is nearing a burn-out.
The “crud” had me feeling less than spectacular over the previous few days and Sunday morning was no exception. I thought watching church services on television and drinking hot tea would be the better option.
At the conclusion of the telecast, I flipped over to the early NFL game being played in Munich, Germany, between the New York Giants and the Carolina Panthers. The international mix of the spectators – 80,000 strong, waved their large steins of Bavarian beer and sang songs by John Denver and Neil Diamond. It looked like one helluva party.
It made me think of Hildagard Rupprecht, a very dear lifelong family friend from a small village west of Dusseldorf. She’s always said we should go back someday during Octoberfest and enjoy the beverages along with the schnitzel and bratwurst and limburger cheeses; Wunderbar (marvelous) she says.
So I got on my iPhone and pulled up a map, curious, daydreaming. I suppose I could force myself to partake in some of the local delicacies if I were ever in the vicinity again.
And then I saw Luxemburg, a tiny landlocked country nestled between Germany, France and Belgium; mountains and medieval castles, dairy cattle and goats grazing along the steep grassy hillsides above the lower valleys.
During the blitzkrieg of WWII, they were easily crushed before quickly becoming occupied by the invading neighbor; the Battle of the Bulge was fought in its Ardennes forest. They also had to endure the construction of several internment camps within its borders. The entire Jewish population of the country at that time was 3,500; only 36 survived.
One tap of a link led to several more taps and I’m reading about its history and geography, its currency and economy. I’m sure it’s beautiful. It makes me think of a book about a little girl in the Swiss Alps named Heidi.
For hundreds of years they had an official "Coat of Arms" for the various kings and queens that ruled by monarchy way back when, but no flag. The
aftermath of Napoleon’s invasion caused it to side with the Netherlands and
they accepted that flag as their own. All this changed in the 19th century when the queen at that time finally established their own national colors.
The majority of the rain and the snow melt eventually will make its way into the North Sea, cascading down and running off into small rivers and streams, meandering through towns and villages, populated with citizens who remain relatively unhurried by today’s world. And they appear to wish to keep it that way.
The motto as written is: “Mir welle bleiwe wat mir sinn.” Any attempt to accurately pronounce this is….well, I didn’t even try. It is not uncommon for Europeans to speak several different languages, so I called Hildagard. I could have looked it up, but I wanted to hear her voice.
We talked for a short while and she giggled when I explained the reason for the call. In her 80’s, she is keenly aware of my wandering fascinations. It used to upset her when I couldn’t stay on task at the restaurant; she’s over that now.
Ending our conversation, I bid her a good evening and promised to visit on my next trip to Kansas City. She said to be sure to bring Margaret.
Donald won the popular vote with 75 million ballots cast in his favor. This many Americans might have a little Luxemburg in their blood. The motto translated says: “We want to stay what we are.” I’ll raise a stein to that.
