meanwhile in michigan: greenfield village

Greenfield Village is truly one of my favorite places on the planet.  All of the historical buildings are original and have been brought to the location piece by piece.  I love the variety of it.  At one end there is a Victorian farmhouse, home to the Firestones of Firestone Tires.  On the other end is Noah Webster's home, the father of the modern English dictionary.  As a girl, I learned all about glassblowing, printmaking, potting, and smithing from the various volunteers and onsite workshops.  And every time we went, my family appeased me and stopped at the milliner so I could try on a minimum of five beribboned hats.

Last week my family treated Mr. F and me to a day at the Village.  For me this was an especial treat as I got to show it off to my history loving husband.  I don't know if I loved trying on the hats or seeing Mr. F's reaction to muskets being fired more.  (Maybe the muskets...)  The Village in summer is a lot of fun as they have weekly vintage baseball games, workshops, and war reenactments.  On one day we were able to see a baseball game from the 1800s and an enlistment camp for the War of 1812. (Hence the muskets.)  And I got to try on a couple of hats.  Really fantastic day.

If ever you make it to the Metro Detroit area, be sure to check out Greenfield Village.  It is great for families of all ages (we  have pictures of my brother and I there as toddlers) and never disappoints. 

.....

 A few tips:

If your group is large enough, check out an annual group membership.  Your one day visit will alone cover the cost of it.  If you live close enough, you should just have one.  Always.  No really.  

Pack a lunch.  A cooler.  A wagon.  Stuff a stroller.  This place allows you to bring in your food, picnic blankets, water bottles, whatever.  So while you might want to eat at one of the restaurants once you're inside, you don't have to.  Saves a few dollars and in a way, picnicking on the green really adds to the experience.

Be prepared to walk.

Go in the fall for Harvest Days.  It is one of my favorite times to visit.  The working farm is harvested and are there all sorts of hands-on activities for young and old alike to participate in.  

Go at Christmas.  I don't believe the whole village is open at Christmas BUT Eagle Tavern is.  They put on a special Christmas feast straight out of Dickens.  Amazing food and even better atmosphere.  Book tickets early, they go fast for this.

Ride the train.  

Remember to act like a kid and ask as many questions as you can think of.  The things you'll learn in a few hours will boggle your mind!

Schedule another visit for the Henry Ford Museum next door.  Especially if you have boys.  Check out the website and you'll get why.  (Hint: planes, trains, and automobiles!)

Send me pictures when you go (:  Pleeeeeeasseeee.....

wiki

Since I knew next to nothing about my new home a few weeks ago, I thought I would share some of the tidbits I've garnered.  I still have a tremendous amount to learn, so be patient as I try to fill in the gaps in information.


Cyprus is a small island in the Mediterranean.  So small and so remote that google maps does not recognize it and the Weather Channel has no comprehension of the capital city.

It's Nicosia, by the way.  (Nih-COH-see-yuh)

The island is small.  I think we saw a reference once that put it as about the same size as Massachusetts.  In all honesty, I think Massachusetts is bigger.

To make it even smaller, the island is divided in half, the south being the Republic of Cyprus, the predominantly Greek region.  The north is occupied by Turkey, calling itself the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus.  Only Turkey recognizes this as a country.  I find it odd.  Apparently the Turks invaded in the 1970s, leaving a battered capital and a whole lot of barbed wire fencing behind.  Oh, and a giant Turkish flag that lights up at night on the side of the mountain.  The mountain overlooks Nicosia and the flag is ginormous and imposing.

Greek is the de facto language, though nearly everyone we've encountered speaks English.  I like to say this is because the island used to be a member of the British Commonwealth but I believe it has far more to do with tourism and the high presence of international business.  Brits flock to the island to get some sun.

Citizens are called Cypriots.

They drive on the lefthand side of the road and use the same sort of outlets as in the UK.  Again, I place this on the Commonwealth.  (Mr. F, I am pleased to report, has been rockin' the backwards driving and has managed to get to and from work everyday thus far in a fairly timely manner without much incident!)

Member of the European Union.  Non-Schengen.  Use the Euro.

Roads go in whatever direction they like.  Someone told us that if we get lost, turn around at the sea.  My standard has been that the mountains indicate north, but when I can't see the mountains because of the buildings, I'm utterly confused.

Our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was only recently recognized officially by the Cypriot government.  This means we can now put up signs and buy property.  Should be a fun experience!

Cypriots don't eat dinner until eight o'clock at the earliest.  I like to be in bed by the time they're getting to the appetizer.

Concrete is the building material of choice.

There are four main cities, Nicosia, Larnaca, Limassol, and Paphos.   Apparently the good beaches are in Larnaca.  I'll report back on that later.

Birds SWARM at certain times of the day.  There won't be a critter around, then all of a sudden, birds starting singing together all at once.  It's beautiful and mildly creepy.

Public transportation is next to non-existent.  There are so many cars it's like being back in the D.

There's no H&M.  Personally, I didn't think you could be a member of the EU without having an H&M.  Shows how much I know...

family tree

 Mr. F and I are about to ride off into the cloudy German sunset for a night in Frankfurt.  We've had a lot on our minds so we figured it was time to visit this place.  I'm incredibly grateful that this opportunity is even available to us!  Before we depart, I wanted to share these wonderful images I just stumbled across from EvaJuliet.  I sense some serious family history and projects in my future!

Happy Weekend!

joie de vivre

 

 I posted this picture on facebook when we got back from our trip and I received a surprising number of comments recommending it as our Christmas card picture.

 First off, am I old enough to be sending out my own Christmas card?  I'm pretty sure the two of us have a combined age of about eight, maybe ten on good days.  But we're married and job hunting, not really living on our own yet, though we're working on it.  I guess this means we do send out a Christmas card.  Weird...  Now I'm contemplating what photos I would use.  It's kind of fun to think about everything that has already happened this year!


 Anyway, wanted to share a few thoughts on Paris before I get back to useful things, like ironing and thank you notes (yes, they're still not done...I'm horrible).

This was my second trip to the city of lights and overall, I thoroughly enjoyed myself more than my first time.  I think several things contributed to this. 

1. I was with Mr. F.  It's the city of love for crying out loud!  Even without the kisses on Pont Neuf, I loved experiencing the city through Mr. F's eyes.  He soaked in everything and I got a fresh sense of how wonderful Paris really is.

2. After living in Germany, where I speak no German...at all...it was so much fun to be surrounded by a language I understand a bit more.  My French consists of two very shaky years of training in high school (oh goodnes...) and three months in Brussels.  Somehow between these two situations I know enough to order food and feel confident enough to say hello to people.  That's enough for me.

3.  Just last week I finished a book, The Greater Journey by David McCullough, giving the history of Paris in the nineteenth century through the perspectives of influential Americans living there.  That in combination with several other books I have read in recent years gave me a much better knowledge and appreciation of everything around me.  For example, I marveled all the more at the Louvre knowing that it has been open to the public for a couple of centuries now as a museum.  During the nineteenth century, the reigning French government of the time wanted to destroy the Louvre.  That's when the people revolted again.

a statue from Versailles.  isn't she pretty?

A quick rundown of what we saw:  Sacre Couer, the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay, Notre Dame, Tour de Eiffel, Palace of Versailles, the Sorbonne, the Pantheon, and the Arc de Triomphe.  I don't know if my feet have ever hurt so badly or been as filthy as when we got back to Germany from this excursion.  We walked from sun up to sundown the whole fifty-six hours or so we were there.  Mr. F and I have begun to embrace the true European spirit in which we would walk as long as we could before sitting for as long as we could at a cafe.  French food is not to be underestimated.  We ate simply, mainly baguette sandwiches, but they were absolutely divine.  Did you know that sliced camembert cheese on a baguette with a little butter and lettuce could make a filling sandwich?  Well, let me tell ya, it's not only filling, but positively delicious!

Mr. F's favorite thing was the Louvre.  He looked like a kid in a candy store as we wandered the palace of art.  He was astonished by the history of the building and taken aback by the vastness and richness of the collection.  He handpicked a few pieces he definitely wanted to see, namely the Venus de Milo and the Code of Hammurabi. 

As cheesy as it sounds, I think my favorite part of the trip was being there with Mr. F.  The more time we spend together the greater I understand how lucky I am to have married my best friend.  We really have so much fun together!

parisian hangover

I feel like I've been run over by a truck, or, more likely, a pair of hostile, vengeful trucks. Mr. F and I went to Paris (AH!!!!) over the weekend, leaving Thursday afternoon and returning with the approaching sun on Sunday morning.

I'm still tired.

I have never, ever, EVER been one of those people who enjoys late nights.  In college, rather than pulling an all-niter  for a paper, I would go to bed at eleven and wake up at four in the morning.  No joke.  The number of papers written at o'dark thirty would astound the common masses. So, driving through the night and climbing into bed at seven just seems like cruel and unusual punishment for going on holiday.

There are so many things I want to say about our trip, but really don't know where to begin.  My distraction is due in large part to my soar throat, cough (dang you o'dark thirty!!!) and a bedroom the mess of which Oscar the Grouch would not even claim.

Rather than regale you with stories, which aren't exactly formulating coherently at the moment, I'm going to share some of my favorite photos.  Stories will come, I swear.

 

 

Happy Labor Day!

where at least i know i'm free

"LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!" we hollered out as we reached the chorus of the tune John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt. It was about a fifteen minute walk from the bus stop to the cemetery and we were filling the moments with silliness. With every step along what appeared to be a not oft used footpath, the air grew more muggy. We had arrived in Luxembourg that morning and by eleven were walking from the bus on the southeast side of the city.
We came to the top of the hill and saw the golden eagles before anything else, forming the sides of a beautiful blue iron gate. They were high in the air, forcing the head to tilt upwards toward the heavens. We crossed through the entrance, flanked by the gilded sentinels. Without realizing, our giggles came to an abrupt halt and were replaced with a hallowed reverence. We had made our way to the U.S. Military Cemetery.

The Czech took his time at the visitor's center by the gate, trying to read as much as he could. I pressed on, knowing tears would fast be approaching and needing a few moments to let them fall. Directly before me stood what I thought to be a monument of grand size, with words on the side offering gratitude for the men and woman buried there, the brave souls who perished after the Allied invasion of Europe in 1944. I have always been interested in World War II, but since being with the Czech I have learned a vast deal more than ever before. I sat on a bench and thought about these men before going to walk amongst them. Many of them had died at Bastogne, months of mortar fire in the woods of eastern Belgium during the winter of 1944-1945. They could not warm themselves with campfires, supplies were limited, and the fighting endless. It was cold and they were freezing. But they stayed in their foxholes and saw it all through.

The Czech met up with me and we kept walking, past the monument that was actually a chapel and into the fields of crosses. We stepped onto the perfectly manicured grass and my tears flowed freely. We read the names somberly, curious about who these boys were and where they were form. California, New Jersey, Wisconsin. Two boys from Ohio and Michigan were buried next to each other. On and on it went. The Czech pensively examined his surroundings, soaking everything in, gratitude emanating from his stance.
The leaflet told us that twenty-two sets of brothers were buried side by side through the cemetery as well as several sets of friends. The crosses were so simple, as were the stars of David. I've walked through many cemeteries and have seen the most beautiful tombstones, eloquently carved with figures and images to depict the soul whose body lay below. These boys deserved such monuments, I thought. Each of them. But there they were in Luxembourg, on the other side of the world. Some of them were not even named.
I have been to several memorials honoring American soldiers and have even been to Arlington National Cemetery, but have never been so humbled. Nor so proud to be an American. There were a handful of other visitors meandering on their own course throughout the grounds. One set was a middle-aged daughter touring with her veteran father. He seemed so proud to be back around his comrades and she delighted beyond measure with all that her father represented.
My tears ebbed with the cessation of the rain, leaving an indelible mark of humility and the utmost thanks. I thought a great deal about my loved ones who have very recently passed away. Mental wishes for my two grandmothers to hug these boys were sent to the heavens. My time to hug them will come, too, but I wanted them hugged then and there.
We packed away the umbrella and made our way to the veranda surrounding the chapel. On our way we saluted the bloody bastards of Bastogne in the only way we knew how; we had a drink of Coke in their honor. As we left, we noticed the soft chime of church bells coming from the tiny on-site chapel. It took us a few verses before we realized what we were listening to. It was The Star Spangled Banner.
The walk back to the bus and the trip into the city center went far more quickly than our initial journey. Our hearts were full, but our spirits light. We walked and kept singing, enjoying the sunlight and warmth of a summer day in Europe, such a day the men buried two miles away would never know.

italian schnitzel

Have you ever been to Frankenmuth? It's the tourist trap to end all tourist traps about an hour north of Detroit, Michigan. It's a "Bavarian" wonderland, filled with lederhosen, chicken dinners, and decor fresh out of the 80s.

I love Frankenmuth.

Up until three days ago, I thought that as much fun as Frankenmuth was, there was no possible way Bavaria could actually be filled with that much pastel floral fabric.

I was wrong. Oh, boy, was I wrong!

The Czech and I embarked on an Italian adventure last Friday and ended up in Bavaria. I think we may be the only people to ever plan a trip in Italy and have more fun in the rain in southern Germany. Oh well....

We stayed in a charming village just on the other side of the Austrian border at a small hotel run by a German couple. The wife was no more than five-foot-three and did everything. Changed the sheets, served dinner, vacuumed the halls. And she did it all in the greatest vests. The entire inn looked exactly like Frankenmuth, which perhaps made me feel even more at ease.

After coming down with the cold of the century, this hotel was a blessing of mass proportions. I took a bath in a pink tiled bathtub while listening to rain pattering against the pavement and the gentle chiming of cowbells from a nearby mountain pasture.

This trip got off to a really rough start, but I am unbelievably grateful we got to go.

We drove though, what I am convinced to be, the greater portion of the Alps. Swiss, Italian, Lichtensteinian, Austrian, and German. There were rushing rivers, wildflowers, cows, hikers, cliffs, trees, tunnels, waterfalls, and bridges. Churches older than I can understand sat atop ledges that no mortal man should be able to reach. Ruins marking the reign of the Romans speckled the landscape. It was beautiful.

I sang a lot of tunes from The Sound of Music understanding full well why Maria couldn't help running into the hills. We walked through the rain to see the "Cinderella" castle in southern Germany. We survived the switchbacks along the shore of Lake Como in Italy and drove like a bat out of hell on the autobahn.

I have fallen in love with the Alps and for the first time in my life want to learn how to rock climb. The Czech and I are now playing the "What if?" game and saying to each other, "What if we got a job, could we save up and go camping in Switzerland one summer?"

It was a much needed hiatus for the two of us. It was the first time we had been on our own since our honeymoon. After who knows how many hours in the car, I still didn't want to send the Czech to the office this morning. I wanted to go on a walk with him instead.

We got home yesterday and all day today I have been in bed drinking tea and bonding with dayquil while reading and recuperating. The Czech is back at work and there is a pile of laundry the size of an Alpine mountain waiting for me. Tonight, though, I think I'm going to fall asleep to The Sound of Music and pretend I'm still on hiatus.

high on a hill was a lonely goatherd, lay-dee oh da lay-dee oh da lay-hee-hoo! 

friday: the story of a day in pictures

a chip in the bucket

looks like any other day at the beach here in Florida...

except it's eight-thirty on a monday morning....

and more people keep showing up...

they find places standing...

sitting...

in the surf.

all eyes are fixed on the northern horizon for this tiny blip of light..

it hides briefly behind clouds....

but steadily, and unbelievably, ascends into the heavens.

higher...

and higher it climbs.

we follow the cloud of smoke...

and then the shuttle is gone...

only then did we hear the rumble of the jets. it took nearly five minutes for the sound to travel nearly forty miles down the beach. racing down the surf, the sonic boom rolled over all of us, reminding us of the power behind this historic flight.

I always thought seeing a shuttle launch would be cool. I had no idea how truly awe-inspiring it would be. I marvel at the minds that were able to engineer something so remarkable as propelling a relatively small object carrying human life into the great void of space and to bring those lives safely home, time and time again.

farewell, Endeavor. enjoy your last trip. and thank you for your service.