In the Arena

THE HORSE AND I

No, this is not a new musical by Rodgers and Hammerstein II.  But we will get to the story in a bit.  You will have noted that we have been quiet for a bit longer than usual.  Quite simple actually:  Most things have been rather routine around here.  Just day-to-day living and the puzzles being worked under the palapa.  At least until yesterday when we had a large storm, especially for this time of year; a couple of inches of rain at least and the high temperature was barely 70F.   We thought we were in Vancouver.

You probably think of Mrs.T as a woman of a certain age.  But you are wrong.  Sure she is grown up.  But I tell her she actually is about 12 years old, somewhere between a preteen and Doctor Doolittle who talks to plants as well as animals.  Here she relates a bit about her horse encounters at the equestrian school here in Mexico.  She fails to mention that I zip up her boots for her.  I have made it quite clear that we are not buying a horse anywhere.

I love horses.  I like the way they smell.  I like the way they farrup, the way horses sometimes talk in little snorts.  I like the way they look at me with their great wise eyes.  I like the way they stick out their tongues when they listen to me.  I do that too.  When I try to do something hard sometimes I stick out my tongue while I concentrate.  I like the way they lean against me when they are happy.  This is like a horse hug.  Sometimes horses nibble on me with their prehensile lips.  Not trying to bite, more claiming me like a cat who rubs against your ankles.  My person, she is mine.

Horses have their own personalities.  Some horses are happy horses.  Some horses are contented horses.  Some horses, alas, are mean.  There are nervous horses and calm horses.  There are horses who are kind of goofy.  And when I am in Mexico I ride Simon.

Simon - I could only describe him as a lazy old curmudgeon kind of horse.  All the beginning riders start with Simon.  You need not worry about Simon running away with you; it would take too much effort.  He would never bother to buck you off either.  In fact if Simon had his way he would do nothing at all, except possibly eat carrots.  Simon is quite fond of carrots.

When I started riding at the school one of the other riders told me, “When you start riding here you have to ride Simon.  His real name is Rocket!  If you can keep him from running away with you they will let you ride here. (!)”  This was a joke.

The first problem with riding Simon is getting on.  Simon is a rather tall horse.  They have no mounting blocks here.  Most riders stand on a little post, swing their left leg up to the stirrup (which is about at shoulder height) and lightly vault into the saddle.  NOT ME!!  I have also seen very small children grab the stirrup and climb up hand over hand like little monkeys until they are securely on top in the saddle.  I do not use this method either.  I stand on a chair.  I lift my left leg and shove it in the stirrup.  If I miss, one of the grooms takes my foot and gently puts it in the stirrup.  The plan is:  I stand in the stirrup grab ahold of the saddle - what there is of it, which is not much - and swing my other leg over and put it in the other stirrup.  Sometimes this works.  Sometimes my other leg refuses to cooperate and gets stuck on the top of the saddle.  Then the groom takes ahold of my leg and shoves it over.  It is at this point that Simon turns his head and smirks at me.  He leans forward slightly as if he plans to walk out from under me.  This is an idle threat as the other groom who is holding Simon’s head gives it an admonitory jerk.  I am up.

The next problem with riding Simon is getting him to move.  “VAS”, I say firmly and give his sides a little nudge with my legs.  Simon unenthusiastically ambles forward.  “VAS LARGO”, I say and give Simon and give him another little kick.  Simon continues his forward motion, just barely.  Marcella, the teacher, rushes over and gives me a short whip.  “Your FUENTE”, she says emphasizing the last word and glancing meaningfully at Simon.  Simon gives Marcella a dirty look.  He speeds up until he is going at what would be considered in most horses a very slow walk.

We head to the training ring.  Marcella tells us to ride around the ring a couple of times.  Simon wants to stop and think about this for a few minutes but I manage to get him going.  Keep in mind Marcella does not speak any English except for a few words I have taught her.  After circling at a walk a couple of times Marcella asks us for a trot.  “TROT!” I yell at Simon and give him a couple of firm kicks.  Taa-ro-ott, taa-ro-ott, Simon set a record with the slowest trot ever executed by a horse.  Then he tries to slow even more into a walk.  I give Simon a serious poke with the fuente.  Trot, trot, trot, trot Simon settles into a slow but respectable trot.  “UP, down; UP, down!”  Marcella encourages me to post, rising out of the saddle on every second step.  This is killing my thighs but I persevere and Simon continues his slow rounds for a while.  “Are you tired? Try sitting a trot for a while.”  I sit down in the saddle.  Simon immediately stops.  “Simon, TROT!” Marcella commands.  Resentfully, Simon begins a slow trot.  “How come the fat lady gets to rest and I don’t?” he must be thinking. 

After a while Marcella lets Simon walk while she tells me about trotting.  Marcella is explaining in Spanish.  From the knees up, I get that part, your thighs are supposed to do the work.  The next sentence eludes me.  It is something about feet.  Perhaps she is telling me not to stick my feet out so much.  At this point I should explain that in English style riding you are supposed to keep a tight rein.  In the north I ride Western so am used to a loose rein.  Simon has learned that if he casually pushes his nose out I will give him more rein and soon I have very little control.  Marcella is trying to explain about my feet when trotting.  Suddenly she stops.  She stares at Simon, clearly appalled.  “THAT HORSE IS ASLEEP!”  Marcella shouts.  Simon, oblivious, continues to wander slowly around the ring.  “Tight rein!” Marcella commands.  “Trot!”  Simon still oblivious does not respond.  “Hit him HARD!” Marcella knows I am prone to timid pokes.  Simon begins a brisk trot.  Up, down; Up, down - there is no more rest for anybody that lesson; we are both in disgrace.  “You got us into trouble today,” I complain to Simon as I lead him back.  “It’s all you fault for giving me such a loose rein,” he replies.  I am getting ready to give Simon his carrots when Marcella comes up.  “He should not get any he was a bad horse,” Marcella says.  We both look at her nervously.  “Oh go ahead,” Marcella relented.

The next week when we rode to the arena I noticed there were little flags sticking out of the top rail on two sides.  Simon pretended to be afraid of the flags.  Horses can be afraid of odd things.  For example Simon is afraid of cows.  But I am pretty sure he was faking it about the flags.  Marcella explained that this exercise was to test your balance and improve your control of your horse.  First you trot up to the flags and bend over and take one out of the fence.  Then you trot to the opposite fence and stick the flag in it.  I thought I understood and this might be fun.  Simon thought he understood and too much trotting was involved.  I trotted Simon over but he refused to go near the flags.  Five minutes later after much kicking and poking I maneuvered Simon close enough that I could reach over and grab a flag.  I looked up and was amazed to see Simon who had acted terrified of the flags reach over and calmly take one in his mouth and drop it on the ground.  Marcella who had missed this called out, “Oh, you dropped one.  Don’t worry; I will pick it up.  Take the one you have to the other fence.”  “It wasn’t me; it was the darn horse!” I replied.  This was one of the moments when Marcella had no idea what I said in English.  I trotted Simon over to the other fence.  Sure enough, as I reached over and stuck the flag in the hole, Simon reached out and grabbed another flag.  “Simon!” Marcella called.  Simon immediately dropped the flag and tried to look innocent.  So it goes.  But next year I am asking for a different horse.  (Good luck with that.  –dt)

Some pictures:  https://www.flickr.com/gp/9151458@N07/888KwJ

Now here we need to give you a MAJOR NOTE.  Many if not most of you – especially you Canadians – may have received multiple copies of this newsletter.  Window 8 and 10, in its infinite wisdom, decided to eliminate ‘Groups’ from Hotmail in the latest version.  That meant I would need to pick each of you out individually to send this email.  So I needed to backtrack to Outlook and recreate the Groups to make mailing easier.  Well, many of you were fitted into more than one Group for this mailing; I hope to have things simplified by the next time.  Also, there are several of you who are receiving this for the first time.  Just drop me a note if you want to be deleted from our distribution list.  Finally, if you received this for different email addresses just let me know which one you prefer and I will try to fix that.  Thank you for your patience.

In the Arena

THE HORSE AND I

 

No, this is not a new musical by Rodgers and Hammerstein II.  But we will get to the story in a bit.  You will have noted that we have been quiet for a bit longer than usual.  Quite simple actually:  Most things have been rather routine around here.  Just day-to-day living and the puzzles being worked under the palapa.  At least until yesterday when we had a large storm, especially for this time of year; a couple of inches of rain at least and the high temperature was barely 70F.   We thought we were in Vancouver.

 

You probably think of Mrs.T as a woman of a certain age.  But you are wrong.  Sure she is grown up.  But I tell her she actually is about 12 years old, somewhere between a preteen and Doctor Doolittle who talks to plants as well as animals.  Here she relates a bit about her horse encounters at the equestrian school here in Mexico.  She fails to mention that I zip up her boots for her.  I have made it quite clear that we are not buying a horse anywhere.

 

 

I love horses.  I like the way they smell.  I like the way they farrup, the way horses sometimes talk in little snorts.  I like the way they look at me with their great wise eyes.  I like the way they stick out their tongues when they listen to me.  I do that too.  When I try to do something hard sometimes I stick out my tongue while I concentrate.  I like the way they lean against me when they are happy.  This is like a horse hug.  Sometimes horses nibble on me with their prehensile lips.  Not trying to bite, more claiming me like a cat who rubs against your ankles.  My person, she is mine.

 

Horses have their own personalities.  Some horses are happy horses.  Some horses are contented horses.  Some horses, alas, are mean.  There are nervous horses and calm horses.  There are horses who are kind of goofy.  And when I am in Mexico I ride Simon.

 

Simon - I could only describe him as a lazy old curmudgeon kind of horse.  All the beginning riders start with Simon.  You need not worry about Simon running away with you; it would take too much effort.  He would never bother to buck you off either.  In fact if Simon had his way he would do nothing at all, except possibly eat carrots.  Simon is quite fond of carrots.

 

When I started riding at the school one of the other riders told me, "When you start riding here you have to ride Simon.  His real name is Rocket!  If you can keep him from running away with you they will let you ride here. (!)"  This was a joke.

 

The first problem with riding Simon is getting on.  Simon is a rather tall horse.  They have no mounting blocks here.  Most riders stand on a little post, swing their left leg up to the stirrup (which is about at shoulder height) and lightly vault into the saddle.  NOT ME!!  I have also seen very small children grab the stirrup and climb up hand over hand like little monkeys until they are securely on top in the saddle.  I do not use this method either.  I stand on a chair.  I lift my left leg and shove it in the stirrup.  If I miss, one of the grooms takes my foot and gently puts it in the stirrup.  The plan is:  I stand in the stirrup grab ahold of the saddle - what there is of it, which is not much - and swing my other leg over and put it in the other stirrup.  Sometimes this works.  Sometimes my other leg refuses to cooperate and gets stuck on the top of the saddle.  Then the groom takes ahold of my leg and shoves it over.  It is at this point that Simon turns his head and smirks at me.  He leans forward slightly as if he plans to walk out from under me.  This is an idle threat as the other groom who is holding Simon's head gives it an admonitory jerk.  I am up.

 

The next problem with riding Simon is getting him to move.  "VAS", I say firmly and give his sides a little nudge with my legs.  Simon unenthusiastically ambles forward.  "VAS LARGO", I say and give Simon and give him another little kick.  Simon continues his forward motion, just barely.  Marcella, the teacher, rushes over and gives me a short whip.  "Your FUENTE", she says emphasizing the last word and glancing meaningfully at Simon.  Simon gives Marcella a dirty look.  He speeds up until he is going at what would be considered in most horses a very slow walk.

 

We head to the training ring.  Marcella tells us to ride around the ring a couple of times.  Simon wants to stop and think about this for a few minutes but I manage to get him going.  Keep in mind Marcella does not speak any English except for a few words I have taught her.  After circling at a walk a couple of times Marcella asks us for a trot.  "TROT!" I yell at Simon and give him a couple of firm kicks.  Taa-ro-ott, taa-ro-ott, Simon set a record with the slowest trot ever executed by a horse.  Then he tries to slow even more into a walk.  I give Simon a serious poke with the fuente.  Trot, trot, trot, trot Simon settles into a slow but respectable trot.  "UP, down; UP, down!"  Marcella encourages me to post, rising out of the saddle on every second step.  This is killing my thighs but I persevere and Simon continues his slow rounds for a while.  "Are you tired? Try sitting a trot for a while."  I sit down in the saddle.  Simon immediately stops.  "Simon, TROT!" Marcella commands.  Resentfully, Simon begins a slow trot.  "How come the fat lady gets to rest and I don't?" he must be thinking. 

 

After a while Marcella lets Simon walk while she tells me about trotting.  Marcella is explaining in Spanish.  From the knees up, I get that part, your thighs are supposed to do the work.  The next sentence eludes me.  It is something about feet.  Perhaps she is telling me not to stick my feet out so much.  At this point I should explain that in English style riding you are supposed to keep a tight rein.  In the north I ride Western so am used to a loose rein.  Simon has learned that if he casually pushes his nose out I will give him more rein and soon I have very little control.  Marcella is trying to explain about my feet when trotting.  Suddenly she stops.  She stares at Simon, clearly appalled.  "THAT HORSE IS ASLEEP!"  Marcella shouts.  Simon, oblivious, continues to wander slowly around the ring.  "Tight rein!" Marcella commands.  "Trot!"  Simon still oblivious does not respond.  "Hit him HARD!" Marcella knows I am prone to timid pokes.  Simon begins a brisk trot.  Up, down; Up, down - there is no more rest for anybody that lesson; we are both in disgrace.  "You got us into trouble today," I complain to Simon as I lead him back.  "It's all you fault for giving me such a loose rein," he replies.  I am getting ready to give Simon his carrots when Marcella comes up.  "He should not get any he was a bad horse," Marcella says.  We both look at her nervously.  "Oh go ahead," Marcella relented.

 

The next week when we rode to the arena I noticed there were little flags sticking out of the top rail on two sides.  Simon pretended to be afraid of the flags.  Horses can be afraid of odd things.  For example Simon is afraid of cows.  But I am pretty sure he was faking it about the flags.  Marcella explained that this exercise was to test your balance and improve your control of your horse.  First you trot up to the flags and bend over and take one out of the fence.  Then you trot to the opposite fence and stick the flag in it.  I thought I understood and this might be fun.  Simon thought he understood and too much trotting was involved.  I trotted Simon over but he refused to go near the flags.  Five minutes later after much kicking and poking I maneuvered Simon close enough that I could reach over and grab a flag.  I looked up and was amazed to see Simon who had acted terrified of the flags reach over and calmly take one in his mouth and drop it on the ground.  Marcella who had missed this called out, "Oh, you dropped one.  Don't worry; I will pick it up.  Take the one you have to the other fence."  "It wasn't me; it was the darn horse!" I replied.  This was one of the moments when Marcella had no idea what I said in English.  I trotted Simon over to the other fence.  Sure enough, as I reached over and stuck the flag in the hole, Simon reached out and grabbed another flag.  "Simon!" Marcella called.  Simon immediately dropped the flag and tried to look innocent.  So it goes.  But next year I am asking for a different horse.  (Good luck with that.  –dt)

 

Some pictures:  https://www.flickr.com/gp/9151458@N07/888KwJ

 

 

Now here we need to give you a MAJOR NOTE.  Many if not most of you – especially you Canadians – may have received multiple copies of this newsletter.  Window 8 and 10, in its infinite wisdom, decided to eliminate 'Groups' from Hotmail in the latest version.  That meant I would need to pick each of you out individually to send this email.  So I needed to backtrack to Outlook and recreate the Groups to make mailing easier.  Well, many of you were fitted into more than one Group for this mailing; I hope to have things simplified by the next time.  Also, there are several of you who are receiving this for the first time.  Just drop me a note if you want to be deleted from our distribution list.  Finally, if you received this for different email addresses just let me know which one you prefer and I will try to fix that.  Thank you for your patience.

A Vignette

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

Your editor has been pestering the muse to prepare something for her audience.  And some of you also have expressed a desire for another issue of our newsletter.  We thought about taking a bit of a hiatus.  But as this production has always been a bit erratic, we did not think you would mind the gap.  And, other than the relocation to our winter residence, life has been proceeding calmly along with little of special note.  We have been well, doing the routine and regular activities to which you have become privy over the past many issues.

Nonetheless, Mrs.T had an incident that was an inspiration for musing:

 

Bucerias is basically a small town.  So I was not too surprised when one of our Mexican neighbors told me he had seen me falling asleep in church.  He also mentioned that he had seen Dan poking me to wake me up.  Lest anyone think that when I come down to Mexico I start misbehaving I suppose I should confess that I fall asleep in church in Ohio also. Of course Dan does his part there too. If it is a sin, and I suppose it is a small one, I feel sure that my grandfather will put in a good word for me as he was prone to the same foible.

            Monday's child is fair of face,

            Tuesday's child is full of grace,

            Wednesday's child is full of woe,

            Thursday's child has far to go,

            Friday's child is loving and giving

            Saturday's child has to work for a living,

            But a child who is born on the Sabbath day

            Is fair and wise and good and gay.

(There are other variations.  –dt)

I really like these small poems, which of course have no predictive value.  But I always thought that it was sort of ironic that I, one of the most awkward of people, was born on Tuesday.  As I grow older I have discovered that there are all kinds of grace that have only a slight connection with how you move.  I think it is a kind of grace to be willing to do things badly if you are urged to participate, a personal grace to be able to laugh at yourself and enjoy your feeble efforts.  So yes, I did dance with Ricardo at the Christmas party.  Not well perhaps, but enthusiastically.  And I enjoyed it!  I think there is a grace in sharing quietly in order to help others.  There is grace - Who would have thought it? -  in receiving help, gratefully.  It seems to me that when pride goes out the window, grace comes in and often joy sneaks in behind.  So I send joyous greetings from a very awkward dancer.

 

Here are pictures from a few of our recent activities:

https://www.flickr.com/gp/9151458@N07/3m6vn3

 

Feliz año Nuevo to all of you.

Dan and Rebecca

www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Water Baby

SEASons Greetings

As most of you know or can guess we are now at our winter residence.  We have been here almost four weeks and are back to our routine of living.  Our condo association meeting is over and now we have about a month of relative quiet until the folks from up north start to really pour in.  But we are far from tranquility as we are in the middle of construction zones – a three storey building at the corner and a highrise on the beach two blocks away.  (We can see the boom crane from our kitchen window.)  And there is a move on to bury many of the electrical lines around town.

It is the Dia festivo de la Revolucion -  as is the US, Mexico moved holiday celebrations to Mondays to create three-day weekends.   And the festival for St. Cecilia is going on for on of the churches on the other side of the highway; although by far the largest, Our Lady of Peace is not the only church in town.  So there have been a few 'booms' in the mornings.

Any surprise that Mrs.T has been in the water already?  Or already riding the horses?  (She has been on a rather docile one named Simon.)  And the other day she thought she was going to see a polo match – anything with horses, you know – that turned into more of an adventure driving around the municipality.

Mrs.T put together some guidelines she has learned from her divemaster Alex:

 

Greetings from the seas.  I am, I suppose, a stepchild of Neptune.  I love the sea.  I have a friend Alexander Sanchez who is my divemaster.  He guides me and teaches as I explore the wonders of the Pacific Ocean near Puerto Vallarta.  Today I want to share with you THE WISDOM OF ALEX.

 

GO SLOW, YOU'LL SEE A LOT MORE

Alex told me this the first time I dove with him years ago.  Under the sea if you swim around frantically you will go right past some of the most interesting things.  You will scare away other wonders.  But if you float casually along you will see a lot more and some of the more shy creatures will  actually come out to greet you.  This might actually be true above the sea too!

 

I CAN FIX ALMOST ANYTHING, BUT YOU HAVE TO BREATH FOR YOURSELF

When you are diving there are lots of dive related problems the divemaster can help you with.  If you are too light he can give you more weight.  If you are too heavy he can take weight away or add air to make you buoyant.  If you are lost he can show you the direction to go.  If you are low on air he can share air with you.  But you have to do the breathing.  You should never hold your breath.  In life I think there are always some things you must do for yourself and you should not hold your breath then either.

 

DO NOT GO DEEPER THAN ME OR GET AHEAD OF ME

In other words follow the leader.  Everyone these days wants to be a leader but there is a lot to be said for a good follower.  When you are diving you want a leader who is familiar with the territory, someone who knows the dangers to look out for as well as the direction you need to go.  You need a divemaster who knows where you plan to go and is familiar with the things you hope to find.  When you are diving it is important to choose a divemaster who is responsible, trustworthy, and careful because you are trusting him with your life.  Once you have found that divemaster, you need to listen to him and follow his directions.  The leader should always go first so that he can pick the best route, and spot any dangers or special sights.  It is a very poor follower who ignores the advice of the divemaster or who swims in front of him.  This could be said of other followers.  If you have found a good leader perhaps it is well to let him lead.

 

DANGER - DO NOT TOUCH

There are some underwater things you should not touch even though they may look attractive.  Stonefish, and lionfish have poisonous spines.  Guitarfish give electric shocks.  Fire coral can cause allergic rashes.  One of the reasons you have a guide is to alert you as to these dangers.  In everyday life there is often a time when we want to get involved in something and a wise and experienced person advises us, just stay out of it.

 

IT WAS A GREAT DIVE; ALL DIVES ARE GREAT DIVES

Alex is a person with a very positive attitude.  I believe it would do us all good to find joy and beauty in all of our lives.

 

Tomorrow (actually today by the time you read this  -dt) I am going diving again.

 

Rebecca only very rarely takes underwater photos not only for technical reasons but also because she would indeed miss many of the wonders under the sea.

 

Some special notes:

First, we are of course very saddened by the tragic events in 'The City of Light'; our hearts go out to all affected.

Second, congratulations to R and M for formally tying the knot; you know you have all our love.

Finally, although few of you know her, please keep F.E. in your thoughts and prayers as she undergoes treatment for a serious ailment.

 

Best wishes to all of you to be hit with winter weather.  We actually have been a bit warmer than we are accustomed to; Mrs.T says it is hot but I think it merely is a trifle warm.

Dan and Rebecca

www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com

 

Heat and Hot Undies

MOSTLY NORMAL

 

As you know, we do not publish 'Casa-de-Terrible' on a regular basis.  We greatly admire those that do, such as www.sue-feathersandflowers.blogspot.com  - that takes a lot of work.  Even more so to routinely change the background with new photos and such; what a great blog.  But our newsletter comes out whenever the mood strikes the muse and the editor gets down to the business of refining her work and adding photos if needed (none this time).  Sometimes a week or more can elapse between the first words and the actual publication.  Such is the case with the first part of Mrs.T's story.  At this moment the weather is about normal.  In fact we just had a cold snap and the furnace ran overnight.  We also have colds, but that is a separate issue.

 

As with much of the country we have had an unusual spring and summer.  May and June were about the wettest we have seen for a long time.  But after Independence Day we had scarcely a drop until Labor Day – two parched months.  And we had a couple of really hot spells – R writes about the second one below.  We did run the a/c for the first heat wave while Rita was here, but just the fans for the second which was shorter and has ended.  September will probably go down as another record hot month.  On to the story:

 

 

It has been a long hot summer.  It has been so hot that the weeds don't grow. It has been so hot that.my fish have started taking walking lessons.  I had to get 4 loads of water for my pond and if there is no rain soon I must get some more.  (The rains came.  -dt) It is so hot that my husband actually turned on the air conditioner.  No, I am hallucinating due to heat frustration; he did not do that.  (Yes, I did – for the first heat wave.  –dt)  It is so hot that I have had to subsist on Moose Tracks ice cream in order to keep my temperature down.  It is so hot that I climbed into the hot tub to cool down.  It is so hot that Rush Limbaugh said he now believes in global warming and climate change.  (I doubt that.  –dt)   It is so hot that I think our next trip will be to the North Pole if it hasn't melted. (Actually it is to Florida for my nephew's wedding.  –dt) It is so hot that when I have a hot flash I feel cooler.  Even Matt the WHIZ weatherperson says that this summer has been significantly hotter than normal.

 

In order to save our energy and stay cool Dan and I have mostly lolled about, he languidly tapping a key or two on his computer and I trying to decide if it is worth the effort to turn a page on the fantasy novel I am trying to read.  There have been a few significant events in the last couple of months.  We traveled to Georgia visiting both my sisters and saying goodbye to my brother-in-law who, alas, was finally conquered by cancer.  We also saw numerous nieces and nephews and great-nieces and -nephews whom I could not quite keep track of. 

 

My sister Rita came back with us (We had driven to Georgia.  –dt) to visit our home in Ohio which she had never seen because she had to work.  But now she is retired and she can visit anytime.  Whoopee!!  (Rita, we are always delighted to have you.  –dt) Dan claims I act a little crazy when I am with Rita.  (Let's say zany.  –dt) Anyway after a too short stay Rita returned to Idaho where she mostly plans on spoiling her grandchildren between other projects too numerous to mention.  She has decided that being retired might be a lot of fun after all.

 

There was one thing I noticed when Rita was visiting, she had purple underwear. (Why was I not privy to this information at the time??.  –dt) Purple is my favorite color.  Buying colored underwear is, I admit, a waste - after all who sees it.  (At least one person.  –dt)  But purple.  Sigh.

 

There had always been a little competition between us three sisters.  When we played as children Ruth was the Mother, Rita was the Father, and I was the child.  If we played 'Doctor', Ruth was the Doctor, Rita was the Nurse, and I was the patient.  When we played 'School' Ruth was the teacher, Rita was the Principal and I was the bad child.  When we played 'Church' Ruth was the song leader, Rita was the preacher and I was the congregation.  Do you see a pattern here?  This more or less continued when we went to real school.   Ruth was the perfect diligent student.  Rita was a good student but also popular, fashionable, and had a good time.  I muddled through wearing hand-me-downs.  But no longer.  I am as good as they are although perhaps a bit eccentric.

 

But let's be honest - I was envious.  I wanted purple panties.  Well why not?  I got out my fat lady catalogs to order some.  Unfortunately all the other fat ladies of my size wanted them too and they were sold out.  Life is unfair. (Dan had comments but I deleted them rt)  (All I said was that Rita must have had a matching purple bra because Mrs.T has been complaining that none of those are available in her size either.  –dt)

 

Since I had the dislocated arm last winter I have been unable to do a lot of my YOGA exercises.  However I am working at them and am slowly improving.  For example I am still unable to do downward facing dog but have modified it until I can do something which might be called downward facing lizard.  Sigh.  Well we do what we can. 

 

One bright spot in our hot sunny days has been my riding lessons.  I have slowly gotten less wobbly and more confident on and off the horses.  I can just about saddle and bridle one now.  When both the horse and I are having a good day we can wander about looking at wildflowers and eating them.  Last week Tori and I went riding at The Wilds.  It was a break for Tori because she did not have to watch me all the time to see what strange thing I would do next.  It was a break for me because my horse Barney was extremely lethargic.  And Barney, well it might not have been a break for him, but he certainly did not overexert himself.  Tori and I rode on short fat horses called Haflingers.  Tori had called ahead and asked for an easy horse for me.  There were four of us.  First came the lead rider and then Tori; they were riding along talking about horses. Then came Barney and I.  Barney was plodding along as slowly as it was possible to go without coming to a complete stop.  Then came the end rider.  Naturally the first two got ahead and had to wait for us every few minutes.  "Should I make Barney go faster?" I asked the end rider.  "Good luck with that," she replied. "Barney has two speeds, slow and stop."  So at this point I relaxed and enjoyed the ride, looking at birds and wildflowers - just Barney and I ambling along.  I think the end rider was a little bored, so telling me not to let Barney stop to eat, she rode up to join the other two.  When it was over they told me I had done well not letting Barney stop to eat which evidently he often does.  I had a very good time, and it was easy to get off Barney because he was rather close to the ground.

 

 

Some housekeeping is in order.   First, many of you may have received some spurious emails supposedly from this blog or directly from my email.  I apologize but have no idea when or how I was 'hacked'.  I hope you were not inconvenienced and I certainly hope it does not happen again.  But no guarantees.  Just delete those that seem suspicious.

 

Second, please let me know if your email changes.  Of course if it has, you probably are not seeing this anyways.  You are always welcome to share are newsletter and we welcome new subscribers.  And just let us know if you wish to be deleted from our distribution list.

 

Keep cool,

Dan and Rebecca

www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com

 

 

Still Cruisin'

International Eating

 

Some of you may know that when Mrs.T gets focused upon something she can be quite determined.  I would say obsessed.  She grips on like a gila monster and will not let go.  Such was the case on the cruise with the sachretorte.  Everywhere we went she wanted a sacretorte.  Eventually I weaned her from them, but it was tough work.  I expect she will want to make trips to some obscure bakery in another city to try to find one.  But I will agree that sometimes they were quite tasty.

 

 

 

Dan and I have always liked to eat.  I grew up on a farm and was aware of a satisfying connection between growing food and eating it.  It was a connection that held the world together.  Also I liked the taste.  Dan likes eating because he is Italian.  And therefore, as we have taken several cruises in the past, part of their appeal for us has been the food which we always found to be both plenteous and delicious.  Naturally we anticipated great things from our river cruise in this area.  Well we were not at all disappointed but we were surprised because the food was somewhat different.

 

Time, alas, has taken its toll and we are no longer able to stuff vast quantities of food down our gullets 24 hours a day.  (But we can give it a good try.  –dt) This is good because this cruise was more about quality and less about quantity.  We were never hungry but the need for Rolaids occurred a lot less often.  Also many of you are aware that my hands have become pretty shaky recently.  Since I brought several of my best clothes to wear at supper - Dan had told me not to but I seldom take his advice in matters of dress (All the material emphasized informality.  –dt) - I really did not want to start each evening dressed in the soup of the day.  What should I do?

 

I had a PLAN!  The first meal of the first day I sought out the Maître'd, Paul.  I explained my problem.  I asked that if I ordered soup could they bring it to me in a cup instead of a bowl.  Also if the waiters could cut anything that needed cutting then I could eat it with a large spoon. (Mrs.T is not at all good with chopsticks. –dt) Paul was enthusiastically supportive.  He promised to tell the waiters.  "If they have any questions tell them to ask Paul," he said.  "And if there are any other ways I can help just ask.  I am here, dear lady, to help you enjoy your cruise."  Well I will never think of maitre' d's as snooty again.  Paul was as good as his word - and good looking too! (He has a girlfriend back in Budapest.  –dt) When we went to supper I started to explain to our waiter, Miljan, and he immediately said "Oh yes, Paul told us; don't worry Madam, it will be no problem."  And in fact it was not.

 

The first night, and every other night when we sat with different passengers, the other people at our table were a little confused at my special service.  I could see they could not decide if I was decrepit or the Queen of some obscure Baltic country.   I acted extremely blasé' and they were embarrassed to ask.  The waiters were incredibly solicitous and all went well.  Dan and I decided to sit in the same general area so that we would likely have the same waiters and it worked out that usually we had either Miljan or Ned, both of whom were sweet and charming.  In fact as many people sat at the same tables, soon my fellow passengers were offering to butter my bread and so on.  There is really no reason for false pride and almost everyone is really happy to help.  Sometimes I did kind of feel like the queen.  Of course Dan said "Enjoy it while you have it because I'm not waiting on you at home!"  I ask you, is that anyway to treat the queen?  The fact is that Dan does cheerfully help me quite a bit especially with cutting things because he thinks I am dangerous with sharp knives.  (I desire to avoid trips to the ER.  Also, I sweep up a lot after meals.  –dt)

 

The food was delicious and beautifully presented except of course the asparagus.  I loathe asparagus but Chef Axel had made everything else taste so good I decided to try the asparagus soup to see if he could make it taste good too.  No he could not.  For this reason I cannot speak about the taste of the beets or the rhubarb either but everything else was fantastic.  This includes several items I liked even though I was not sure what they were.  There were always about six different choices in each category:  appetizer, entree, and dessert.  And I must mention that one of the dessert options was almost always a chocolate dish. 

 

Occasionally throughout the cruise little special offerings of food or drink would appear.  Nothing loathe, I always tried to participate in these little extras.  For example, one morning when we were on the Rhine it was drizzly and chilly.  Nonetheless many of us were sitting on the upper deck gazing at the castles of the robber barons which Rob, the tour director, described to us as we passed them.  There were tales of feuds and kidnapping maidens - all very thrilling.  But as we shivered between taking pictures, Attilla brought us warm blankets. Then as we began to get chilly again along came Paul and his crew with mulled wine.  I had two little cups and was feeling quite warm and comfortable by the time we came to the last castle.  I liked the castles quite a bit.  Another time when we were watching a glassblowing demonstration they gave us little bottles of Jagermeister which is some funny kind of liqueur I think.  Remembering my experience with brandy I did not drink it. (It is actually a brew of 56 herbs, supposedly with medicinal properties.  –dt)

 

So we had three delicious meals: breakfast, lunch, and supper.  If you felt a trifle peckish there was a place with cookies and baked things for between meals with tea and coffee and water; Dan's favorite was the chocolate muffins.  (But the snacks were not there around the clock.  –dt) Of course you could buy things at the lounge.  We found that the concierge had a nice plate of apples by his desk, so here and there we managed to keep our little fridge stocked with a few snacks and bottled water which we collected before tours.  And bottle water was provided each day.

 

Every evening there was a talk telling us about the cities we would visit the next day.  An important part of the briefing was a description of the local industries and the local food.  I felt that it was important that we immerse ourselves in the local culture, and Dan did not disagree.  Besides after walking a lot on those tours we needed a little fortification. 

 

My favorite was in Austria where they made sachertortes.  Sachertorte is an incredibly rich and moist chocolate cake iced with dark chocolate icing.  Between the layers in addition to the icing there is a layer of marmalade. "Would you like cream with that?" the waitress asked.  Well I thought a nice little dollop of whipped cream on top would be just the thing.  Keep in mind we are talking real whipped cream from plump, happy Austrian cows here.  They have never heard of Reddi-wip, thank God.  When my sachertorte arrived I was pleasantly surprised to learn that no dollops were involved.  I got a small dish of whipped cream.  What you did was cut off a bite of sachertorte and dip it into the whipped cream then eat it.  I must say I think I absorbed the Austrian culture rather quickly.  In fact after that whenever we stopped to sample local food I asked for sachertore but Dan made me try a lot of other things.  One day after our tour it was chilly and we decided to stop at a little café to get something to warm us up.  Dan had a espresso and I had a hot chocolate.  "Would you like cream with that?" the waitress asked.  Yes, I thought I would.

 

In Germany one of the specialties was gingerbread.  Now I have eaten gingerbread many times and it is okay but it doesn't thrill me.  Dan, however, although not particularly interested in gingerbread was paying attention to the briefing and made a mental note of the best place to buy gingerbread.  That afternoon when our planned trip to the toy museum fell through and we were wandering around the main square in Nuremberg, Dan noticed that we were passing the recommended gingerbread store.  "Why don't you check it out?" he suggested.  Dan is generally not much of a shopper.  But I was willing to do my bit to support the local economy.  It was a small store devoted almost exclusively to gingerbread, ginger cookies, etc.  They had beautiful tin boxes with nature scenes, pictures of homey people eating gingerbread and that sort of thing.  Or you could just buy the gingerbread or cookies in little plastic bags.  I thought one of the tin boxes would make a nice gift, so it took a while for me to decide.

 

In the background I could hear an obnoxious American tourist demanding a free sample before she bought any.  Sigh! (Americans are invariably the most obnoxious tourists.  –dt) "No we do not do that madam, but I can show you one," the clerk said politely.  What good would that do I wondered?  You can't tell by looking at food.  Little did I know.  The clerk opened a plastic bag and held up a gingerbread cookie.  Immediately there wafted through the store a spicy, mysterious, tangy scent with a touch of unidentified delicious tones.  Everyone in the store began grabbing tins, boxes, and plastic packages and rushing to the cashier.  With a superhuman effort of self-control I ended up with only two plastic bags and one tin box.  Dan found me in a kind of dazed condition as I exited the store.  "What took you so long? Why did you buy so much?" he hit me with the standard compound question. (I need to get my questions in when I can.  –dt) "You'll see tonight," I told him, leaving him a little confused.  Every night Dan takes medicine which must be taken with food.  That night he took it with a large gingerbread cookie.  There were no more questions as to how much I spent.  There was however some discussion as to whether we each got the same number of cookies.

 

So we ate our way across Europe.  In one town Dan had pretzels and said they were very good while I spent that time climbing a ruined castle.  But he did bring back some pastries.  I had one that was like a cream puff only with cheese Danish filling.  I am not sure what it was but it was delicious.  In The Netherlands we had milk chocolate shaped like windmills.  I'm not sure why but the chocolate seems to be more chocolaty in Europe.  Dan tasted a local beer and said it tasted like stout.  All in all I liked everything but the asparagus soup.  But best of all was the sachertorte.

 

Our pictures are a bit organized.  Here are some highlights for this story.

The staff:

 https://www.flickr.com/photos/9151458@N07/sets/72157655630532408

 

Cruising for castles:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/9151458@N07/sets/72157655624620959

 

BONUS:  Here are a few of our pictures of the Hungarian Cowboys: https://www.flickr.com/photos/9151458@N07/sets/72157656022885352

 

We hope you have enjoyed these recent postings about our European trip.  We have another adventure in the offing, so I don't know when the muse will get to another story. 

 

Stay cool.

Dan and Rebecca

www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

Heading up Rivers

Cruisin' on the Rivers

 

Those of you who have followed our offerings for a while know that we travel a bit.  And we winter in Bucerias, Mexico, to avoid the, for us, inhospitable Ohio weather.  In Mexico we have come to know through our many Canadian friends that we are almost amateurs when it comes to traversing the globe.  Last year one of our very favorite couples B&H - best to keep some anonymity in these musings – told us about the wonderful time they had on a European river cruise; they even showed us a darned good PowerPoint show.  Well, that closed the deal and plans were put in motion, especially as this trip was on Mrs.T's 'bucket list'.

Fifteen days from Budapest to Amsterdam aboard the Viking Mimir just making its second cruise, its inaugural sailing being in the opposite direction.  We were excited to see the riverside from Hungary to The Netherlands.  And it was a very nice trip.  But quite exhausting, especially for our two out-of-shape, lethargic torsos.  As you know R is more athletic than I, but we did well.

This was a small ship, only 185 passengers, with people from many countries:  US, Czech Republic, Austria, Germany, Slovakia, Croatia, Serbia, Canada, and probably other places as well.  There were only two children - intelligent, well-behaved teenagers – being treated by their grandparents.  We may have been among the younger passengers.  Virtually everyone spoke English and we met several fine people.

We stopped every day to visit a city or town and take the included tour.  The tours were rated 1 -3 based upon degree of difficulty.  And each tour had a subset for those of us that were not track stars.  We skipped the 3-level tours altogether and several times ventured off on our own.  In Vienna we followed the advice of our good friend JRS and visited a wonderful museum, the Hundertwasser, that no one else would see. The included tours were geared towards history and buildings, not art and museums.  Another time – surprise – we visited a garden not on the tour.  There were optional tours – read: extra charges – as well, and we took a couple of those.  All-in-all it was a great trip.

No surprise that Mrs.T would have several things to report, the first installment being below.  It was easy to jumble up things a bit as we sped through these venues.  So let the editor clarify R's story a bit; you will understand when you read below.  Indeed there were many Bishop Princes scattered about.  However, Melk was in actually a genuine Benedictine Abbey from its beginning unlike Wurzberg – still cannot get those umlauts – where we also visited.  So on to Rebecca's story:

 

 

Dan and I are back from our river cruise through Europe on the Rhine, the Main, and the Danube.  We started in Budapest and finished in Amsterdam.  In Budapest we went on a special tour to see Hungarian 'cowboys', riders who in the past were called Cossacks.  When we arrived we were welcomed with the traditional bread, salt, and brandy.  Many of you know I am not a heavy drinker, however, anything in the name of international understanding.  (Mrs.T is virtually a teetotaler.  –dt) I took a respectable sized gulp.  It did not taste too bad until I swallowed.  Then "ARGG!! AAEEOO!! COUGH!! COUGH!!! SNORT!! SNORT!! MMMM!! Quite delicious!" I said.  Both our hosts and other members of the tour were viewing my performance with interest.  Dan looked completely bored (just nonchalant -dt) but I could tell by his eyes he was laughing inside. 

 

The cowboys did quite a show.  They jumped on and off horses, rode them standing on their backs (the horses' backs, that is.  –dt), drove them from carts and had a Lipizzaner stallion doing special tricks.  It was all quite entertaining. Dan said it was not absolutely necessary that I look at every single animal in their barns.  (Mrs.T wants to pat and talk to every critter she encounters.  –dt)

 

There were a lot of churches and palaces in Budapest but after a short walking tour of the highlights we wandered around taking pictures.   We did stop at a local café and bought some ice cream and lemonade.  In fact we nibbled our way across Europe.  We got three meals a day on the boat and they were delicious, but after our walking tours a little extra snack to absorb local customs - not to mention local food - seemed quite appropriate.  But I had no more unfamiliar drinks.  I had learned a few words of Hungarian, with a little coaching from Attila, the hotel manager on the boat.  Yes, he really was Attila the Hun (He was a very jovial guy.  –dt), but with the name Terrible who am I to talk.  I think the local people appreciated my efforts.

 

Perhaps the most spectacular part about Budapest was leaving it. At night the lights of all the castles, palaces, and churches along the Danube were magnificent as we slowly drifted away.

 

Every day we went on tours.  The bad thing was sometimes we had to walk a long way to get on the bus to take us where we were going.  Then we when we got to the bus drop-off we had to walk some more to get to what we were supposed to see.  This made me pretty tired and Dan both tired and grumpy.  Dan is not too walkable anymore.  (Walkable?  Sounds like I am on a leash.  –dt) We were supposed to be in a group that was the leisurely tour, i.e., very slow.  There were only a couple of people who were slower than we and one of them was Earl who was 97.  Earl was attended by three ladies in their 60's who were always misplacing him.  They would wander around frantically trying to find out who saw him last and where.  Eventually Earl would always show up cheerful but slightly confused.  The four of them are all members of a computer club at a senior's complex in Arizona.  Dan hopes that when he is 97 he will have 3 ladies looking out for him. Evidently Earl has a girlfriend back at the complex but she refused to come.  (I do plan to be like Earl when I grow up.  –dt)

 

One day we went on a tour of the Abbey of Melk.  It seems that back in the good old days in 13^th to 15^th centuries, Southern Germany and Austria were ruled by Bishop Princes.  These guys had the best of both worlds.  As Bishops they ran the churches and collected tithes and told everybody how to act.  As princes they collected taxes ran the states and told everybody what to do.  Nice work if you can get it.  Since these guys were - in theory at least – celibate, their jobs were usually inherited by their nephews.  The Abbey at Melk belonged to a Bishop Prince.  It was a Benedictine monastery with anywhere from 50 to 100 monks doing prayerful stuff.  The Abbey also owned a lot of farms and businesses in the area.  This was a Romanesque monastery.  It had lots of golden statues, beautiful tapestries, frescos on the ceilings and seven courtyards with gardens, statues, and fountains separating one part of the abbey from another.  The Bishop Prince and his family and court lived there along with the monks.  Do not forget the courtyards!

 

The Abbey of Melk was one of those places that took a lot of walking to get to.  When we arrived at the first courtyard Dan rebelled.  This particular courtyard had four gates one on each wall and a large fountain in the middle.  In the corners were some shaded benches.  Dan and Elise, another slow walker, sat down.  They were not going to go another step.  After coming all that way I was not going to miss the Abbey.  "Go ahead," Dan said.  "I will wait right here."  So I did.

 

The other slow walkers and I were given a tour by an ex-monk who lived there.  As I had never been in an Abbey before I have nothing to compare it to but this Abbey was huge and had a lot of great art and some weird religious stuff: a splinter of the true cross, various bones  and teeth of saints, all kept in gold boxes etc.  Now I'm not really buying that-- but they did have it.  We went through bedrooms with gorgeous tapestries on the wall.  We went through court rooms with frescos and paintings.  Everywhere we went there were religious statues covered with gold.  They were not really gold; the guide said they were wood or stone covered with gold but still we are talking a lot of gold.  Every so often we would come to a courtyard, don't forget them.  One of the most impressive parts was the library.  This was two large rooms packed from floor to ceiling with thousands of books and incunabula (books printed before 1501  -dt).  I guess it came in handy to have all those monks.  The books were mostly in Latin.  We crossed another courtyard, don't forget about them, and went through one of its four doors and came into the chapel.  It was positively dripping with gold, jeweled crucifixes, marble, and stuff like that. 

 

By this time I was totally overwhelmed, but I thought, well a church, so I slipped into a pew to say a little prayer.  When I opened my eyes a couple of minutes later all of the slow walkers had slowly walked on.  I was alone in the chapel with God and one old German lady who was dusting the pews.  "Can you tell me the way out?" I asked.  "Please do not take any flash photos," she replied.  This I imagined was the extent of her English.  I slowly wandered around the chapel peeking out each of the six doors.  I found one that had a clear plastic box with a slit in the top for donations.  Aha!!  I put some money in the box and went through the door into a courtyard.  There were no slow walkers in sight.  Would they really leave me?  Rob, our program director, had said they would leave if we did not get back to the boat on time.

 

The courtyard was designed like the others had been.   There were four doors, almost like gates, one in the center of each wall.  If I excluded the one I had just come through I had three choices left.  A man exited the door on my right.  I would try that one; there must be something in there.  I rushed through the door and found I was in the gift shop. Well I am probably headed in the right direction, I reasoned.  I quickly circled the room and saw that there were no other public entrances or exits.  Should I?  Of course not.  But I can resist anything but temptation.  (She must have said the wrong prayer.  –dt)  I quickly perused the wares.  I bought a small overpriced book with lots of pictures of the Abbey.  Exiting the gift shop I looked at the two remaining doors.  I saw a small group of people heading for one of them.  Well I thought why not.  At this point perhaps I should mention that these courtyards were not small.  They were perhaps 50 yards long and 30 yards wide, although they did seem to get larger as my time within them expanded.

 

I crossed the courtyard diagonally but by the time I entered yet another courtyard the people were out of sight.  At this point I realized that I should have asked the old lady at the gift shop the way out but I was not quite sure I could find my way back and had no idea if she spoke English.  I ventured on.  I crossed over and peered through the gate on my left and saw a small parking lot.  This was definitely not the way we had come in.  Sigh!  Time to try another door.  I was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland. 

 

I went across to the next door.  It opened into another courtyard.  But wait, was it possible?  This courtyard looked familiar.  It was the court where I had left Dan.  There were the benches in the corners.  But no Dan.  He had abandoned me! (Rob had told me to get to the bus.  –dt) I looked at all four corners.  He was not there!  I rushed across to the opposite door.  There was the long hill.  And there, almost at the top, was Dan walking slowly up.  "I'M COMING!" I shouted as loud as I could.  But it was a long ways and Dan's hearing is not the best. (R's voice does not carry well.  –dt) He trudged on. He was almost at the top.  I trotted as fast as my short legs would go but soon he was out of sight.  In despair I slowed to a walk.  I never really imagined he would leave me.  Then I began to trudge upward once more.  As I looked up I saw Rob striding determinedly down the long hill.  Hurrah!!  I sped up once more.  I could tell when he sighted me as he made a dash for me.

 

"Where have you been?" he demanded.  "Well I stopped to say a little prayer in the chapel and when I finished everyone was gone," I explained.  Rob stood looking at me in amazement waiting for the rest of the story.  But I was out of breath and that was all I had to say.  "Well we've found you; let's go," Rob said.  And he turned and bounded up the long hill at a great pace.   Perhaps this would be the time to mention that Rob is young, athletic, well over 6 feet tall with great long legs.  (Women probably swoon; he had a striking blond on his shoulder most of the trip. – dt) He soon reached the top of the hill and vanished out of sight.  I trotted determinedly behind.  Well they know I am coming, I mused; I don't think they will leave me now.    When I got to the top of the hill I saw a great mass of buses but eventually found ours - 42E - and crawled into my seat beside a very grumpy Dan.  (Bewildered is a better word.  –dt)

 

"I only stopped to say a little prayer and they left me," I explained.  Well we got back to the boat and all was well.  But the next morning as we left to go on our next tour Rob looked me in the eye and said very sternly, "NO praying!"

 

Did we take any pictures?  Probably a couple of thousand which we are still sorting through.  But sometimes really we do not know why we bother – websites and Google have better photos.  So this time we will link you to photos that are not ours.

The place outside Budapest where we saw the horses is actually an all-purpose activity center; its specialty is weddings, one of which was being set up while we were there.  The website is:  www.tanyacsarda.hu   Sure it is Hungarian, but you can click away.

Mrs.T did not take so many pictures at Melk, but Google has thousands.  Outside:  https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1600&bih=799&q=melk+abbey+austria&oq=Melk+Abbey&gs_l=img.1.2.0l10.1643.5388.0.9331.10.10.0.0.0.0.934.1747.6-2.2.0....0...1ac.1.64.img..8.2.1745.I-asLaY8Y_k   and inside:  https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1600&bih=799&q=melk+abbey+interior&oq=melk+abbey+interior&gs_l=img.3..0.1528.6222.0.7097.19.14.0.0.0.0.1013.1856.6-1j1.2.0....0...1ac.1.64.img..17.2.1854.-NO4zXB-7rg     The Abbey's website is:  www.stiftmelk.at   

 

 

 

Mrs. T has promised another installment in the near future.  Hopefully she will complete it before our next trip at the end of July.  It is a very full summer this year.

 

We give a special thank you to GG for the very, very touching letter.  Our trip might bring memories to you.  Oh yes, we have two GGs among our followers, but the correct one will know.

 

Hope you enjoyed the 4^th.  Stay cool.

Dan and Rebecca

www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com