Greetings in Germany

David says the thing he remembers about our trip to Europe was, “How friendly everyone was every place we went.” 

Because of the Nazis, I felt uneasy about going to Germany, but every place we stopped in Germany, people were kind to this little kid being drug around Europe by his middle-aged mother.. Even the Austrians and Belgiums, two proud and stiff people, were polite.  

The way people greet you makes all the difference.  On the night we returned to Frankfurt, David and I drove to the little hotel on a side street where we stayed before.  It was late at night.  After the terror of driving for hours through white-out fog, I was exhausted.  When we walked in, the same desk clerk was leaning against the counter, eyes closed, asleep standing up.  Our footsteps woke him.  He looked up, recognized us, and smiled. 

He did not speak English, but his genuine smile said it all.  He was glad to see us.  

Such a smile makes your heart sing.  For several years, a long time ago our family lived in Texas.  Once a month I left David, just a toddler, with a babysitter and drove into Dallas for lunch with Ilene Timmerman.   In the afternoon I returned to pick him up.  My little boy would be solemnly playing with toys in the middle of the floor.  When he saw me, he jumped up and ran to me, arms outstretched, an angelic smile on his chubby little face.  That is one of my happiest memories.

Now the radio blasts out Beethoven at 6:30 a.m.  I wake feeling, “I don’t want to get out of this warm bed.”  My cat Charlie jumps on the bed and meows in my face.  He isn’t saying, “Good morning.”  He just wants me to get up and turn on the faucet so he can have a drink.

I force myself to climb out of bed and get dressed.  I go downstairs to breakfast.  Our waitress Felix brings me a cup of tea and gives me a smile and a hug.  At once the day becomes bright and wonderful.