Skip to main content

Lasts



Nowadays, I will be doing some task and think, "This is the last time I will do this in Germany." The days are slowly dwindling on our European assignment. We must go back to our home country. The emotions involved are so contradictory that the whole family is struggling. Yesterday, we went to daily Mass (it was the next to last time for that), and after returning home, I was so tired out that I didn't have it in me to do any schooling, and I thought, "Let them just relax and play." They are just as unsettled as their mama apparently, for chaos and arguing quickly filled our echoing, empty house. As soon as dinner was done, we headed for the bowling alley to release some stress. It worked. Tears turned into hugs and laughing (the chocolate chip cookies might have helped too).

The previous day we went on a field trip (another 'last') that a friend so graciously set up for our family. We learned how brass instruments are made. Most of us were spellbound, excepting the two smallest, who quickly lost interest but hung in there with minimal complaints.

We toured the Alexander Musical Instrument manufacturing company. They produce baritone horns, Wagner tubas, regular tubas, and french horns. Their claim to fame are their french horns. Tony informed me that the first really good tuba he ever played was an Alexander.




















































Tomorrow is likely our last culinary hike. Monday is our last day in the house I have grown to love. Then we go to temporary lodging to await our flight home. Home. We have one waiting for us. A place I have only seen in pictures on the computer. But we will make it our home for the next year. This military life is full of upheavals, yet it is our life. And we will soldier on.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Door Table

Once there was a store in Georgia. It is no more, but how I wish it was. I likened going in there to treasure hunting. One never knew what was going to be in there, and you had to dig through and wade through all the "other people's treasures" to find your own. I once found a set of blue and white teacups and saucers from England. I found lace handkerchiefs, a rocking chair, and an end table. But by far the best find was my kitchen table. I had stopped by one day while the kids were taking horseback lessons and the then little ones were asleep. The store was not open, but I went up to the window to see if anything new was there. And it was there. The table. And six chairs too! We were in need of a bigger table with Jack on the way. My mom had offered to give us her old one, which I was going to accept if I didn't find something I liked better. I didn't want anyone else to even see the table because I knew it was supposed to be ours, but one can never tell abo

Fog and faith

 I stepped out into the coolness of the November morning to start the car and defog the windows, preparing to take Jack to school. Daylight had yet to appear. As we drove the many miles, the sky lightened, and we could see the mist hanging out just above the grass. We usually listen to a story together on our drive, adding commentary, exchanging a knowing glance or a shocked expression as the twists and turns unfold. I relish this time with Jack. I know that all too soon he will be preparing to leave the nest, like his sisters before him.  On the drive back, I pull my rosary from my purse and pray. By this time, the sun is just about to appear, making the sky a beautiful orange-pink on the horizon. I am pondering much as I pray, for the path I am on is once again rocky and uncertain. Such is life, whether we have faith or not. Faith makes it bearable. For the most part, the road home is a straight shot and I can see the ribbon of road laid out before me, narrowing in the distance. The

A Tale of a Tail (or the excitement of the day)

 First of all, I doubt anyone still checks this little old neglected blog, so I am probably talking to myself right now. But if by chance, there is still someone out there, I will tell the tale of the tail I came to tell. As little boys are apt to do, Peter left his rainboots outside on the front porch several days ago. As they do not add to the decor on the porch, I decided to bring them inside this morning and I put them by the back door, where they belong. There they sat, until the mail truck came by and tucked our mail into the box. I may or may not have mentioned that our property is surrounded by a moat during the rainy days. There is no going to collect the mail without rain boots. Seeing how Peter was supposed to be doing his math lesson, of course he eagerly volunteered to go get the mail. He hopped up from the table and went to put on his boots. The scream that came from him made me leave my seat! I thought he had hurt himself. He claimed there was a roach in his boot. I pick