Well, If I gotta!

Dear Tony,

You know what happened to me?  Darlene got me to go on this river cruise in Europe. One of the places we stopped at was in Austria. She said we were going to some kind of special event on shore. You know she made me take off  my NRA cap and I had to put on a button-up shirt over my Jimmie Johnson t-shirt!

"I don't know why I have to do this," I complained as we boarded the bus at the pier.

"Because this is Vienna and Vienna is famous for classical music," She reminded me.

"Maybe on our next trip?"

"Nope, today! We're seeing The Vienna Residence Orchestra!" I was detecting a threat in her voice.

We boarded the big fifty foot Mercedes-Benz bus and were soon on our way through the rain drenched streets of Vienna. It is a beautiful city but did look better freshly washed. Soon we were getting off the bus at the Auersperg Palace.

There was two  stairways leading up from the foyer. Columns of marble abound with banisters of carved stone.  I believe that all of Europe sits on one huge rock that is constantly mined for building material.  Most everywhere you go from Ireland to the Med has stone buildings.We opted for the elevator on the left of the stairs. (There was a bunch of stairs!)  After we got out of  the elevator we entered a large room. You could have put a dozen city busses in there or more. It was big! There was a small stage and about two hundred chairs in front of it.      The room had very high ceiling with big curtains of shiny cloth. There was fancy wallpaper and, of course, more marble columns.  I hadn't never seen nothin' like it before. We all set down. The chairs were really close together. It was very cozy. Then the band came out onto the stage. Darlene said it was an orchestra.  She had taken me to see an orchestra before at the Sottile Theatre and it had about a hundred people in it. Don't guess you get but about ten people for sixty-five euros.  That's sixty-five each. I had complained to Darlene about the price but she said we had to hear some classical music in Vienna. 

Everybody got real quiet and they started playing. It looked like them fiddle players was trying to cut them fiddles up with them bows the way they was a sawing on 'em. A fellow told me one time 'bout how the fiddle makes that sound.  It seems that the bow has hair from a horses tail on it and they put tree sap on that hair. That hair with the sap on it kinda sticks to the strangs as the fiddler moves the bow.  And that is how the sound is made. Oh, yeah, one other thing.  If the fiddle don't play bluegrass or country music it's called a violin, I reckon.  They had violins, little bass fiddles some horns and a drum in the orchestra (band). There was a big piano too beside the stage with a lady in a long dress playing it. I whispered to Darlene, " When they gonna play the theme from the Long Ranger?  They say that's classical music."

"That's from the opera William Tell by Rossini.  This concert is the music of Mozart and Strauss," she said as she shushed me.  

I don't like to be shushed. 

The orchestra continued to play.  After a while some dancers come out onto the little stage. They was ballet dancers.  I have never been fond of men and women dancing around on their does although them girls do have some nice lookin' legs. I would not be caught dead wearing tights like them men wore. I mean what if you got hit by a car crossing the street. That would be worse than havin' on dirty underwear. They gotta be in pretty good shape like jocks.  They do jump really high.  After they danced a while the band, orchestra, took a break.  We all got up and stretched  and they gave us either champagne or orange juice. Champagne always tickles my nose. At least it was not as strong as that stuff they called schnapps  we had at the horse show.  It was real fire-water! We set back down again and the band, orchestra, played some more.  I recognized the second song they played. It was from the Stanley Kubrik movie, 2001, A Space Odyssey.  I was excited.  I had recognized a song. I whispered my discovery to Darlene. But she said it was written by somebody named Strauss. After a while, some men and women come out and sung. There was two of each. I don't know what they were saying in the songs. It was in German or something. Darlene said it was opera. There were some people in front of us kinda giggling as the large lady was singing.

And then the concert was over.  I guess it's true what they say, " It ain't over 'til the fat lady sangs!"

Claudette enjoyed the concert and I got another dose of culture. By the way, she said she thought the people were giggling because they thought the big lady singer might experience some kind of "wardrobe malfunction".

We got back to the ship in time for supper. I ain't seen any of them vienna sausages 'round here,

Latter, buddy,

Bubba

Sunday Morning, Cigars and A.R.P.s (Flashback to my youth)

It was the last Sunday in September.  I was with my best friend Jimbo Dillashaw, and we were at the Sunday morning church services at Lower Long Cane Associated Reformed Presbyterian Church. The old church was organized in 1771.  My great grandaddy’s daughter carried lunch to the workman who built the current structure in 1856. That was a long time ago.  The event described here happened in the early 1950s.  

The morning church service had started.  Jimbo and I were supposed to be inside.  We were feeling about grown-up and didn’t want sit with our parents. Momma had given in to our plan, but I knew that her keen eyes would be scanning the back pews for me and Jimbo. I believed that it was a matter of time before she would realize that we were missing and come get us.  It would not be one of our better days when we were found out.

In the front of that church with its four Greek columns reaching skyward beneath a gnarled cedar tree was a tombstone. That tombstone sat on a rectangle of granite. And on that granite were the objects of our desires.

“Let’s do it!” Jimbo said.

“Yeah!” I said. We had long awaited the opportunity to partake of this particular sin. Because, you see, at the base of that tombstone were three cigar stubbies. My daddy, Jimbo’s daddy, and Uncle J. C. left the stubs of their cigars by that tombstone when they went into the church for services. Afterwards they’d light ‘em up again. This was the chance Jimbo and I had waited for.

“I’m gonna get Daddy’s Hav-A-Tampa,” I said.

“I’ll get my daddy’s too,” Jimbo said.

We picked  them up. They were wet from our daddys’ saliva and about to fall apart. We stuck ‘em in our mouths.

“Yuk!” I said.

“They’ll taste better when they’re lit,” Jimbo said.

“Gotta match?” I asked.

“Ain’t gotta match.  What we gonna do?” Jimbo added.

“Bet there’s one in the car!” I said.

“What if the car’s locked?” Jimbo was worried.

“Don’t nobody lock their cars at church, Jimbo!” I said. “ We’d better hurry! Momma will be looking for us anytime now!”

So we ran to the back of the church where the cars were parked. There Chevrolets, Fords, one Plymouth, and a couple of pickup trucks parked under the shade of giant oak trees.  The leaves were just beginning to change color.

“Tell you what.  You start at one end of the row and I’ll start at the other. We’ll find some matches or a lighter or something. Let’s do it!” I said enthusiastically.

I was quick about it. But Jimbo seemed to be having trouble. I had gone through a bunch of cars by the time I got to him.  He had only searched two!

“What’s wrong with you, Jimbo? I’ve done looked in a dozen cars and you only looked into two!” I was what LeRoy Collins called p-oed!

“B-b-but,” Jimbo stuttered, “You gotta see what I found!” He was sitting in Darwin MacQueen’s rusty and bent up old faded green Chevy pickup truck. Darwin was an old bachelor farmer who lived over in Winterseat. Momma said Darwin couldn’t help it ‘cause he was ugly, and that he probably had a good heart.

“It better be matches! We gotta hurry!” I said. What my grandma called my Irish temper had flared up.

“I found matches but lookie  here!” he said with a kind of excitement I had not heard before. He was holding what looked like a tattered and torn magazine. He held it up for me to see. On the page of that magazine was a picture of a young woman. She was a-layin’ on a blanket on her belly. She was propped up on her elbows. She had a big smile on her face. And that was the only thing she had on! We h’ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before.

“Lordy mercy!”  I said. And, although I had to tear my eyes off the picture, I added, “ Jimbo put that back.  We gotta hurry, Momma will be looking for us!”

He stuffed the battered up magazine back under the pickup truck’s seat and we went for the cigars. They were kind of hard to get lit and there were only five matches in the matchbook. We got the stogies lit up on that fifth match. Jimbo started coughing on his first puff and I quickly did the same. This taste of sin lasted only a few minutes.  I got to feeling sorta dizzy and Jimbo was staggering too.  We put the little used cigars of our fathers back at the base of the tombstone and went inside the church.  I saw Momma cut her eyes around at us as we sneaked into the back row.  During the next Bible song I wasn’t feeling too good, and JImbo looked like his face was turning green. As my mouth filled with the taste of bile I jumped from my seat and sprang for the door. Jimbo was right behind me.

We had passed the tombstone and were across the old road before I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the ground. Jimbo did likewise.  Momma had followed us out of the church, having heard the commotion at the back.

“What’s wrong, Son?” she asked sympathetically.

“I must have ate something that disagreed with me,” I said.

“And Jimbo ate it too?” she wanted to know.

“I donno,” I answered.

She didn’t ask anything else.  Made us wipe our mouths real good with our handkerchiefs before escorting us back into church.  I didn’t feel too good the rest of the day but was okay to go to school on Monday.  Nobody ever mentioned our getting sick at church again.  Over the years I’ve smoked  other things, but I’ve never developed an affinity for cigars!

Miltenberg and free beer!

"I knew a guy named Milton once," I said.

"Was he German?" she asked.

"Redneck, I think," I answered.

"From your childhood, no doubt," Claudette said.

"So...I don't reckon Miltenburg, Germany, was named for him," I surmised.

We were on the Grand European River Cruise, three rivers and five countries. Claudette and I had left our Viking ship docked on the Main River and were navigating the cobblestone streets of a town that had survived the Middle Ages.   There was a mist in the air and it was a slippery uphill walk, not always easy for  man with CHF. I had an umbrella from the ship. It had become my habit to pick up one as we left the ship. They were nice and big and red.  At the ship they divided us up into tour groups.  One of the groups was "less strenuous", but we didn't join that one. In such situations, I'm always reminded of a line from "Dirty Harry".  "A man's got to know his limitations." At the top of the hill, or rather almost to the top, we saw the ancient walls of the town with guard tower.  The houses along the wall used the wall for the back wall of their houses. They were small and cottage-like with colorful gardens. I stopped  before reaching the top of the hill.  Claudette continued on for about seventy-five feet to see a Jewish cemetery. (For some reason all our tour guides pointed out Jewish cemeteries.)  We followed our guide along the wall for a few hundred feet before returning to nearer the river.

Our guide, Eva, said, " Much of Miltenberg was destroyed by warfare but not in the usual way. During the Thirty Years War between the Protestants and Catholics the occupying armies had destroyed most of the housing. They tore down the houses to burn for firewood. That was in the seventeenth century."

"Maybe that's why most of the houses here are of half-timber construction," I said.

"Like we saw in Rouen, France?" said Claudette.

"And England too," I added.

"But not in Spain, Turkey, Italy, or Morocco?" She queried.

"I didn't see any there," I said.

Miltenberg is renowned for its half-timbered houses.  When I think of Bavaria I always think of half timbered houses. This very old construction method consists of building a framework of timber and filling in the empty spaces with other material.  Virtually anything can be used. The facades of the gabled buildings appear to be a patchwork. Several of the buildings had lettering on the outside with verse, and some depicted the number of children in the family. Many of the buildings had statues of the Virgin Mary or the Holy Family. They were brilliantly painted and many wee gilded. I was under the impression that Germany was predominantly Protestant  since the Protestant Reformation began there. But, alas, my thinking was in error.   We visited the city hall, which was a stone structure with a fountain that seemed to operate intermittently. It was mildly fascinating to watch. One of the most interesting things I saw was the old water well. It was a rectangular opening in the street with steps leading down from either end. A villager would walk down the steps and dip the water from the well. The town square should appear on every postcard from Miltenberg. It is picture perfect with a large fountain surrounded by half-timber buildings and a church with a spire and the far end of the cobblestone street.

After the tour was over we met with our friends in a restaurant for beer. It was cool and dark with very few customers. The ship's Activities Director, Chantal, was there as well. She said that our departure was delayed.  We had gotten off the ship in Miltenberg but would board it in Wertheim after our tour.  Chantal decided to treat us to free beer.  There must have been over one hundred fifty in the combined tour groups.  Not only was the beer free but it was served at Zum Riesen, one the oldest if not the oldest inn in Germany. The beer was dark and smooth, but before I reached the bottom of the one litre mug it was time to go.  We would catch the Viking ship, Kara, in Wertheim. It had been an enjoyable visit to the Bavarian town of Miltenberg.

Eva's humorous recitation:

There once was a very wealthy man in Miltenberg named Werner who had an attractive but not very smart servant girl. This servant girl had to be given exact instructions about everything. One day when the rich man was very busy, she kept asking him, "What do you want me to do?  What do you want me to do?   What do you want me to do? 

He became very upset and said, "Just go and stick you rear end out the window!" 

 And so she did! Later, he realized what he had told her to do and asked, "What did people say when they saw your rear end sticking out of the window"   

With a smile she said, "Good morning, Herr Werner!"

Millers, but no Flour.

"You know how I've been looking forward to this," I said to Claudette as we got off the Viking ship, Kara, in Kinderdijk, the Netherlands.

"Yes, I know how excited you get about mills.  I think it goes back to when you read Geoffrey Chaucer's tale about the millers in The Canterbury Tales in high school," was her response.

"I'm not sure about that.  These are windmills. I think it's a testament to mankind's ingenuity to use wind power to grind wheat into flour for bread," I said.  I have always been fascinated by mechanical contraptions, especially those of the eighteenth century.

We were on a river cruise upon which we would navigate three rivers and visit five countries. Having begun in Amsterdam, Kinderdijk was our first stop in Holland. Kinderdijk is a UNESCO World Heritage Site with nineteen windmills, many of which are operational. I experienced quite an odd sensation there.  I found it quite unusual to disembark a ship then walk down hill. But that is the way Holland is.  Much of the land is below sea level and indeed river level. Our guide was Hans, a handsome lad, who was a college student and who, by his own admission, had taken a tour guide job to improve his English language skills. His field of study in college was international commerce.


"Did you notice his name?" I asked Claudette as we followed Hans on the road beside the river.

"So?" was her curt response.

"Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates.  You know, the little Dutch boy who saved his country by plugging up the hole in the dyke with his finger! Didn't your Mom read you that story?  I queried.

"I don't remember.  But probably," she answered with a slightly bored tone.

Before us appeared almost a postcard view. Stretching in front of us was a flat landscape punctuated by what appeared to be rectangular shaped bodies of water. And beside these bodies of water were those curious appearing windmills, their blades reminiscent of a flower blossom on its stem.  Hans led us a few hundred feet down to the water and a stone building which was like a windmill maintenance shop. There he gave a lecture about the history of the windmills, their construction and operation. During this lecture I found that his reference to millers was not the same as mine. He referred to windmill operators as millers.  But the term miller to me meant someone who ground wheat or other grains into flour or meal.  I was not to see windmills making flour from wheat.* The purpose for the windmills is for water control.  Much of the Netherlands is below sea level and consequently is often flooded. The windmills pump the water from these flooded areas. The dutch have been practicing flood control with windmills for over three hundred years!

As we walked along the path toward a windmill there were people fishing  and an artist selling his wares. Claudette was very interested in the fishermen but did not see them catch a fish. There were a few wildflowers scattered along the path. We came to a narrow drawbridge across the water to a windmill.

"Wow! they're much larger than I thought!" Claudette exclaimed.

I used the measure application on my phone to determine the height to be about 51 meters  as we gathered at the base of the windmill. Hans, the guide, was saying, "...and the miller's family lived here. A miller's family was usually large, sometimes as many as 15 children. Kinderdijk is named for children.  They looked around one day and saw so many children playing that they named it Kinderdijk. Kinder means children in Dutch. While we wait for the other group to leave the mill, I will ask you this question.  Do you know why so many Dutch people are blonde? It is because in the old days people shaved their heads because they had lice. Then they found out that bleach would kill the lice! And there you have it!  We can go in now."

We entered the mill. To the left was a narrow stairway up to the top of the mill. Being in the midst of recovery from a bout with severe bronchitis I did not attempt the climb.  But my dear wife did.  Inside

the windmill was very compact as you might imagine. It had never occurred to me that people lived in them.  The rooms were small and very compact and on several levels. The giant gears, water wheel, and mechanisms of the mill received the priority of space.  Almost all of the mechanical parts of the mill are made of wood. Different types of wood are used for specific parts.  The wooden shoes made famous by the Dutch were a necessity for the millers to keep their feet dry. The miller received compensation from the government for operating the mill.  Outside the mill, Hans demonstrated how to aim the huge windmill fan blades into the wind. It was quite a time consuming method to rotate the top of the mill to which the fabric covered blades were attached.

As we walked back to the ship we passed the giant Archimedean screws which now move water from the lower level into the river above. There was also a gift shop where those souvenirs could be purchased.  A wooden shoe was outside the shop large enough for a tourist to sit in for a Kodak moment!

*There were windmills used fro grinding grain in Holland but that was the most common use for a windmill.

After thought:   The positions of the blades of the windmills were used to signal such events as births, deaths, approaching armies and other.

from my sketchbook

The Fourth Day of July

It was the fourth day of July when the Viking Kara docked at Passau, Germany. We had been sailing overnight on the Danube River. It was a brilliant day with only a few puffy white clouds in the cerulean sky. The temperature was in the eighties, and we were anxious to get ashore.  On this particular day we were in group 3B.   There were 198 passengers on the ship divided into several groups, perhaps only twenty-five persons per group.  Our tour guide was named Greta. Her mastery of English was quite good, and she wore a native dress. Many of the guides were students, but Greta was a bit older.

Our tour would be about two hours long, and we would be back aboard for the cook out on the forward deck.  Boris would be cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. As we took to the narrow cobblestone streets sans sidewalks, the feeling was almost claustrophobic. (I sometimes suffer from this phobia.) The white buildings were brilliant in the sunlight.  It was the first time I had seen buttresses between buildings. We had frequently seen flying buttresses of gothic cathedrals where the walls are supported by the earth, but these were different.

The street we were on led to a wide plaza. On one side was the Danube River but on the other was the City Hall of Passau. It was an impressive structure with a clock tower. According to the "Measure" app on my phone it was 225 feet tall. The Rathaus (City Hall) was built in 1398.  On the side of the building the residents have been recording the level to which the Danube has flooded since 1501. The highest mark was in 2013. Virtually every town on the river has a high water mark on some wall. The mural over the windows of City Hall depict the reign of Frederick II of Prussia. He was the major monarch of the Hohenzollern dynasty. I'm pretty sure he was the emperor who had the tallest men in his empire for palace guards.  They were known as the giants of Frederick the Great. The Hohenzollern dynasty ruled Prussia from 1415 until 1918.  As luck would have it, we were on the Rathausplatz at 10:30 a.m. when the glockenspiel was played. The bells rung out in the clear morning air and drowned out any commentary of our guide.

Greta led us into the interior of the pale yellow City Hall.  We entered the actual chamber that is used by the local government.  We thought we could sit in any of the chairs but found out that those at the head table were not to be used by tourists. The tables which were aligned together seemed to be of a modern style. The walls were decorated with paintings by Ferdinand Wagner.

Back on the street we walked uphill before going downhill to the river.  But it was not the Danube, it was the Inn. While we were on the banks of the Inn, Claudette discovered she was missing her hat.  She retraced her steps to City Hall while we followed a zig-zag street to higher ground.  The nice receptionist was holding it for her. We emerged on a large plaza.  On our left was the former home of the prince-bishop who once ruled the area. These men were initially bishops of the Catholic Church who obtained the title of prince from a local monarch.  Hence, they become known as prince-bishops but their titles were not hereditary . Only the entranceway was accessible to us, but we were able to observe the beautiful staircase and the interesting  fresco on the ceiling above. By this time Claudette had rejoined us. Steve and I had trailed the tour group waiting for her.

Our guide Greta led us along the cobblestoned streets toward Saint Stephen's Cathedral. It loomed up ahead with some scaffolding around the exterior of the apse. So often in our travels major structures of interest have scaffolding attached for restoration or maintenance  purposes.  St. Stephen's was no different.  The entry of this cathedral, named for the first Christian martyr, faces a plaza with a statue in the center of it. The church was built in the Baroque style. This style is characterized by more color and more light in the interior. We thought it was great! Claudette decided that it was our second most favorite cathedral after La Sagrada Famelia in Barcelona. It was so very bright, airy, and very colorful. I thought the golden pulpit was a bit much, but I was impressed by the 17,974 pipes of the pipe organ. To me, pipe organs are where art and mechanical wizardry merge. We were fortunate to hear a concert by the organist while we were there. After the concert we visited the gift shop. I wanted to buy a postage stamp. Along with drawings I add postage stamps, beer labels, and other ephemera to my sketchbooks. Fortunately another tourist was able to translate for me. Although my ancestors immigrated from Germany in the eighteenth century I have no facility with that language.

Our guided tour was over, and we had a leisurely stroll back to the ship.  The cook-out was in progress with hot dogs, hamburgers, and barbeque.  Later in the afternoon we sailed. At dinner the bakers presented a cake with an American flag on it. We Americans sang our national anthem and God Bless America. There were toasts and the decorative cake was consumed.