iPhones can't swim.

And I should know ... mine took a tumble into the waters of the porcelain god and sank straight to the bottom. I'm sorry to say that my iPhone 5 has gone to be with the Lord. The ironic thing about this is that this particular phone was, by the way, already the second I'd had, seeing as how the first one became one with the ocean last summer. I put too much trust in the pocket of my sweatshirt. All we wanted was to watch fireworks - was that too much to ask? Apparently. Put some rocks in our way, throw the dog in my arms, visualize us running around said rocks to get a better view of the fireworks, and the end result is the ocean claiming my phone for its own.

Now I know we've all heard this before, and many of us fall into the "I'd-never-let-something-like-that-happen" category. Well, I'm here to tell you that your best intentions will fail you. How do I know? Because it's happened to me.

Twice.
There's not a whole lot to this story, except to put out a  
VERY STRONG WARNING!!!

Never again shall I put my phone in the back pocket of my pants. Well ... I probably will ... but I shall strive ever so hard to always check said pocket before using the loo. And I should like to encourage you and everyone of our acquaintance to do the same. Lack of vigilance may result in the purchase of a new phone much sooner and for much more money than is necessary.

I shall be especially aware as my phone is a means of communication with beloved people such as yourself, and I should not ever like to lose that. Because I like you quite a lot, dear friend.

Cellularly safe,
Mandar the Magnificent

The Peculiar Thing About Adventures...

Dear Mandar,

I know it has taken a long while for me to write, but I can explain.
To be perfectly honest, I was having a difficult time knowing exactly what to write because, well, I wasn't feeling like my adventures were much of anything. In fact, they didn't feel like adventures at all.
Then it occurred to me.
Even the best stories have passages related to " the before" or "the build up" to the adventure. And even the best characters in those stories are sometimes completely unaware that they are on an adventure, until they are smack dab in the middle of one.

It can be difficult to recognize the adventure we are on because we are so focused on moving beyond it to the next, more exciting one.
This has been my lesson lately.
I believe that God has been revealing to me the importance of being in the present, no matter the stage or season that part of the adventure or journey may be in.

So here I go, living, and writing in the present, and accepting this part of the journey, no matter what it looks, or feels like.

A few months ago, I woke up with quite a lot on my mind. I thought about the future, specifically how God would work out the whole, "stay behind to finish grad school while living separately from my husband for six months as he starts his fellowship program in another state," conundrum.
Then it dawned on me.
Maybe I didn't have to stay behind.
Maybe I could transfer to my Alma Mater, which was what I had wanted to do well before I even met my husband.
I remember in 2005, after graduating from good ol' CBU, praying that if it were possible, God would lead me back to this place to complete my masters program.
Here we are, nine years later and it appeared that this simple prayer was coming to fruition. I nearly jumped out of bed in excitement and startled Midge the pug. I consulted some important people in my life and after some prayer, decided to take a break from grad school and transfer to CBU.
Immediately after making the decision I felt such peace and was eager to get, "operation move to California" going.  I did as much as I could to get the proverbial ball rolling i.e. researched places to live, contacted a moving company, etc.
But now, as I mentioned before, this adventure is in quite the transition. I had been so focused on the actual move and getting out of here, that I was missing this important build up to said adventure which was, "the waiting."
Waiting doesn't have to be so bad. So far in this, "waiting" period before the big adventure, I've read two and a half books for fun, I've trained for and successfully ran a 15k (more on that in another blog post), I've taken up swimming, and gotten to spend time with dear friends. I consider these to be mini adventures while I wait for the big adventure to begin.
Whether big or small, this is precisely where God has me, and I am doing my best to enjoy it.

Though I miss you terribly, I know that you are right smack dab in the middle of the adventure that God has for you too. What a gift it is to lean in to the adventure God has us both on!

Your pal always,
Briatron

GPS's and the art of getting un-lost.

Dear Briatron,

Allow me to introduce you to our GPS. While he swears his name is "James", we have decided to call him "Junior," in deference to Alfred, our former GPS. (Alfred apparently does not like to travel, thus the addition of Junior to our lives.)

If Junior could talk - and by "talk," I mean have a conversation, as opposed to arbitrarily giving out directions - I believe he would express a certain amount of annoyance towards Louchador and myself. We keep asking him to take us to places around the Air Force base when he simply is not equipped to do so. And when we discover this inadequacy, the annoyance is returned and I'm afraid we insult Junior from time to time. 

This would not be the only cause for everyone's annoyance. American roads often tend to be guided and organized by clear street signs, traffic lights, and legitimate left- and right-hand turns. German roads, on the other hand, are characterized by a roundabouts (traffic circles), a multitude of traffic signs that MUST be memorized, and more twisting, curving roads than actual angled turns. As a result, we have failed to follow a number of Junior's instructions and he has been forced to find alternate routes for us.

That being said, Junior has been a tremendous help in our search for a house. He has informed us of the change in speed limits by sounding the first six notes of "Jingle Bells" as a warning. He has taken us to addresses in Kaiserslautern, Landstuhl, Mackenbach, Weilerbach, Steinwenden, Frankelbach, Haupstuhl, Kindsbach, and Niedermohr. He has taken us to see townhouses with no garages, duplexes that do not have actual kitchens, and stand-alone houses where Chuck would not be welcome. He helped us to successfully follow Stephanie, our realtor, as she took us to see two potential homes. And he has now been programmed to remember our soon-to-be home in the village of Brücken! (The outside is gonna be redone once the weather gets nicer, but the inside is GORGEOUS.)

Front Door:

Backyard:

I do believe Junior thinks we are nothing more than ignorant Yankees who do not know an autobahn from a roundabout. We shall prove him wrong in this:

     - Anyone who passes the USAEurope driving test is clearly NOT ignorant. (Trust me. Louchador and I have both had to face this beast of transportational instruction.) 

     - We may still be frightened of the autobahn, but at least we can enter and exit this massive speedway without causing any traffic accidents. 

     - We DO know how to distinguish the autobahn from the roundabout. On the autobahn, one must drive continuously, and at a high rate of speed. In a roundabout, one must maintain a lower rate of speed and pay attention so as to not keep driving in circles forever.

So, dearest Briatron, someday you and Phongster shall have the opportunity to meet Junior. I sincerely hope he is able to retain his good manners until then, even in spite of the aforementioned annoyances.

Much love and safe navigating,

Mandar the Magnificent

Episode #4

Dear Midge,

I'm sosososososososososo excited to be pug-pals with you! (The humans think they're the only ones who can make jokes, but I couldn't resist.) It's okay if you're mostly indifferent towards me, not everyone's as overly-excited as I am. It's also okay that you like to fart. I don't do it often, but when I do, it's really impressive.

I hope you're having fun with all the snow. Mom showed me some videos of you and it didn't look like you were having fun, but maybe you were just acting. Sometimes I act like going outside is the most exciting thing in the world, just because it makes them laugh. (But between you and me, sometimes they take FOREVER to get ready in the morning, and I reeeeeaaaaaalllllyyyyyy have to piddle!)

Have you ever ridden on an airplane? It's crazy! And terrifying! And I don't ever wanna do it again! Mom and Dad kept saying we were moving to this new place called "Germany," but I still don't know what that means. I'm just glad I can still run around outside sometimes. Anyway, we had to ride on three planes to get there! At first I wasn't scared because they just put me in the kennel like they did when we were at the house. (I didn't used to like the kennel, but I don't mind it now.) But after we went for a ride, they left me with some guy I didn't even know and walked away! Mom told me I was a good boy and that she loved me and that I would be okay ... I was so confused! I saw all these other people I didn't know and I had to ride on these strange cars with all kinds of suitcases and I didn't know where they were taking me!

I don't really remember much about the ride on the airplane ... I think I'm blocking it out because it was so frightening. All I know is that after what seemed like forever, my kennel finally got taken outside and then I got to see Mom and Dad again! It was magical! We went to a place that wasn't home but we slept there that night, and we slept for a loooooooooooooong time. (I don't remember Dad ever sleeping that long!) 

I was really hoping the trip was over, but boy was I wrong. The next day, they put me in the kennel again and we went to another strange place with more strange people. I had to stay in my kennel and be quiet while we walked around for a long time. I got to meet some other dogs but I don't know if any of them wanted to be friends ... One big dog slept the whole time, and a really hairy girl dog just yelled the whole time. I guess being forced to stay in your kennel in a weird place like we were makes everyone kinda sad. Anyway, I had to go through another long plane ride (I think I blocked that one out, too) and I was beyond happy to see Mom and Dad afterwards. It would've been better if I didn't have to wait even longer in the kennel, only to get out and have some strange woman checking out my eyes and my ears and my butt. (By the way, that's extremely embarrassing - I sure hope you never have to go through that!)

It was definitely a long, tiring trip. And I still don't think we're "home" yet. But I get to be with Mom and Dad all day and they play with me and give me treats sometimes, so I guess that makes everything okay.

Anyway, I hope you liked my story. And I hope you still get to fart whenever you want. And if you want to write me another indifferent letter, that would be super duper awesome!

I wish you lots of treats and toys!

Cheers,

Chuck

Episode 2: Snowmageddon and the Snowy Snowshoes

"Do you think this is a good idea?" I asked Phong as I looked out the sliding glass window, watching the snow swirl in the air before it found its home with the other snowflakes on the ground. "Why not?" He said, "It will be an adventure." We collected our cold weather clothing,  some snacks so we didn't resort to cannibalism if we were stranded in the snow, and our snowshoeing tickets before heading outside. Midge sat silently on the couch, judging our every move. If Midge was a talking pug, she would probably say, "Don't say I didn't warn you!" or something equally disapproving of our choice to venture out into the snow.

We stumbled our way through the snow and made it to the car. Once on the road, we began to question our decision. Cars were abandoned along the main road next to my apartment complex. One car was left in the middle of the street as though it had completely surrendered to the snowpocalypse. Our car crawled down the street, headed to pick up our friends, Tim and Erin who were just crazy enough to go on this adventure with us. We passed more abandoned cars, an abandoned motor cycle and witnessed the spectacle that was a cyclist attempting to maneuver the snow covered streets on our way to Tim and Erin's house. Once we secured Tim and Erin, along with Tim's skis, we were ready to make the trek up the mountain to more snow. The drive up was uneventful, with only one quick stop to put chains on the car.

It took a little over two hours but we made it up the mountain. We parted ways with Tim as he ventured off to the ski lift.
And then the real adventure began.
We went to the area of the ski lodge marked "rentals" to get our snow shoes. The young Shaun White wannabe blinked back at us as though we had just asked him to solve for x.  "Ugh, you wanna snow shoe? I don't think we rent those." We assured the young man that they most certainly do "rent those", as we paid 45 bucks to do so. He finally came to his senses and consulted with his manager. His manager assured us that they had shoe shows just for our group but we needed to go to the rental desk at the far end of the building. We followed his instructions, winter coats swishing at our sides as we went to the far desk with yet another Shaun White look alike. He too, like his clone before him, struggled with our request. "So, you guys want snow shoes?" He stared at his computer for awhile, as though he was waiting for it to magically produce the cosmic question of the snow shoe. I thought to myself that the elevation must just be reeking havoc on these young minds, when the lightbulb went off and he too scurried off to consult with his manager. With the mystery solved, Shaun White part two confidently came back to us, pressed what appeared to be random keys on the computer keyboard and led us back to our snow shoes. With shoes in hand we asked what we thought was a simple question: "Where is the snow shoeing trail?" Again, that familiar vapid expression appeared before us until the young man answered, "Uh, we don't have snow shoeing trails, you just kinda go...wherever. I guess you can go to the dog park..."
The above exchange had taken about forty-five minutes away from our snowshoeing adventure.
We decided to be like the pioneers before us and forge our own snow shoeing trail!
Walking with snow shoes on made me pity ducks everywhere. It was awkward at first and you couldn't help but waddle slightly as you moved through the snow.

We trudged through the snow covered parking lot, recieving stares from the snowboarders and skiers alike. They must have thought we were the misfits of the winter sport community.We continued on past the judging looks in search of this on "dog park" clone Shaun White told us about. We found a sign in front of a snow covered clearing that assured us that we were looking at a dog park. We found a road beyond the park and ventured onward. Phong attempted to run a few times in the snow and ended up almost burying himself. As we climbed further and higher into the great snowy unknown, we came upon some explosives.

Snowshoeing was a lot of fun. It's like walking but with more potential to fall on your face because you keep accidentally stepping on yourself (guilty).

In short, the trip was a blast, but not a literal blast, which I'm thankful for.  

Episode #3

Dearest Briatron,

Greetings from Germany! (Wow. That's odd to say.) I should let you know in advance that this is a rather long missive ... but I'm sure you will forgive me this once.

Think back, if you will, to the days of your childhood to a moving picture entitled "The Goonies." I am certain you must have seen it because of your similar film experiences such as "Gremlins," "Legend," and "The Lost Boys." (I suppose these films have nothing in common besides the decade in which they were created, but I think that is enough given the decade in question.) You may recall that the story of "The Goonies" takes place in a booming metropolis known as Astoria, Oregon. ("Booming" may be an overly generous term.) 

As it happens, my husband is an avid fan of "The Goonies." It also happens that we currently live about 175 miles from Astoria, a distance that is easily traveled in the course of a morning. So, naturally, it made sense that we should embark on a journey to see this historic location. I arranged the trip as a surprise Christmas gift for him, and we were finally able to take advantage of it this past weekend. My parents decided they would meet us in Astoria so as to have one final opportunity to see us before we leave for Germany.

I should like to title the following account, "Morenos Never Say Die: A Goonies Adventure."

Our adventure began on a gloomy Saturday morning, not too different from the beginning of the Goonies film. Knowing the time it would take to get to Astoria and the variety of activities we planned to enjoy once we arrived, we left at the early hour of 7:00 a.m. We made only two stops on our journey: fuel for the car and fuel for ourselves (many thanks to Starbucks). Along the way, we encountered varying levels of precipitation, unexpected detours related to road construction, and a driver from Kansas who seemed to be terrified of driving on a curved road. (For you know, in Kansas they only have long, straight roads through long, straight plateaus - not a curve or mountain to be had. I think.) Fortunately, none of these things cause us any great loss of time and we arrived exactly at 10:30 a.m. My parents arrived shortly thereafter, so we collected our museum passes from the hotel clerk (many more thanks to Groupon) and ventured out.

Because the museums were not yet open, we decided to drive across the Astoria bridge, and imposing green structure that crosses the mouth of the Columbia River between Oregon and Washington. To do so, one must drive up high onto the large green section pictured below, followed by a long stretch of bridge that quite literally floats on the water. 

Once on the other side, we saw signs for such locations as Cape Disappointment and Dismal Nitch. As these are not particularly positive names for locations, we agreed that we should turn back and begin seeking our tourist quarry.

Our first stop was the Oregon Film Museum, located in the former county jail.

 The museum is largely dedicated to memorabilia related to The Goonies, although it does include some history about the building itself. It also gives visitors an opportunity to film some impromptu scenes. To do so, however, one must be able to not only read instructions, but to maneuver the necessary equipment. While the four of us are perfectly able readers, it would seem we were not quite up to the task of the technology provided, and our exquisitely acted and directed scenes were not recorded, much to our dismay.

 Our one consolation was the purchase of some goonies merchandise, which we proudly displayed on our persons for the rest of the day.

We walked directly across the street to the Flavel House Museum, the historic home of Captain George Flavel, noted businessman and citizen of Astoria.

 As with many historic homes, the mansion was beautifully restored and a lovely tribute to times gone by. I remarked to my mother that I felt as if I should be in an episode of "Downton Abbey." The crowning moment, however, was as you see below: 

Nothing more need I say on the subject.

The next part of our adventure was obvious. We had to go to the Goonies house. Nothing could deter us. The location was marked on our map and the path was clearly laid before us. As we parked down the street from the hallowed location, my husband took a deep breath and said, "I'm not gonna lie. I'm pretty excited right now." We eagerly made our way to the bottom of the driveway where we were met by the following sign: 

A few steps further placed us directly in front of the house itself! Some changes had been made to the exterior of the house and it became clear that some shots from the movie had been filmed elsewhere, but none of these things could diminish Lou's excitement at seeing the house of his childhood memories. (At least, his cinematic memories.) 

Similar experiences took place at the bowling alley ...

And at the Heritage Museum.

We followed our Goonies Location Extravaganza by a visit to the Astoria Column, although we like to refer to it as the "totem pole." Built high on a hill above Astoria, this column is covered with artwork depicting the history of Oregon. And, after having climbed all 164 steps inside the column, one almost feels as if they have physically traversed said history. We were rather tired. Once you've reached the top, you have the opportunity to send a smalll wooden glider out into the wind and watch eagerly as it sails to the ground. (It sounds more exciting than it really is ... As my father likes to say, "It doesn't take much to please the simple.")

The rest of the day found us in various antique shops, a trading company with records that gave me pause, a Finnish/Scandinavian store, and a pub where the employees continually tried to serve us stout. All in all, it was a highly enjoyable (and successful) day. My husband was thoroughly pleased to have had his own Goonies adventure, and I was thoroughly pleased to have given him a successful Christmas present. Cheers to us.

Well my dear, that is, as they say, the long and the short of it. I suppose it could always be longer and it could always be shorter, but that is the beauty of our little exchange - it is whatever we want it to be!

Love to Phongster and Midgey-Poo,

Mandar the Magnificent

Episode #1

Dear Briatron,

Perhaps you have not heard the story of the great migration of 2013. If this is the case, then let me enlighten you.

You know, of course, that my dearly beloved husband and I must soon move to the distant land of Deutschland. (Some call it Germany.) When one moves from one house to another, a great many details must be handled. How many more details are involved when one moves across the world! However, for the purposes of time and patience, I shall limit this communique to the description of merely one facet of such a move.  

I would like to title it: "To Hoard or Not to Hoard."

The day finally came when the movers arrived at our quaint little home to pack up our material lives. The house was quite literally a disaster, as we had been moving things from room to room in an effort to create some form of organization. (We will not know the success of such efforts until our belongings arrive in Germany - I anticipate something akin to an archaelogical dig site.) The movers looked into each room to determine whether or not everything inside was to be packed, and we said that it was. 

Thus began two days of folding, unfolding, wrapping, stickering, labeling and inventorying. The movers had a seemingly endless supply of packing tape, paper, and boxes of all shapes and sizes. You might find yourself wondering, "Why did they need so much paper?" The answer is this quite simple: they wrapped EVERYTHING. Dishes, cups, books, cords, utensils, trinkets, you name it, they wrapped it. Not only did they use paper for wrapping, they also used it for stuffing. Not stuffing animals, though - stuffing boxes. I do believe that the only way for an item in one of those boxes to break would be if something very heavy were to land on it. (And by "heavy," I mean something like an elephant or a semi-truck.) 

They began with the kitchen and the office, one man in each room. Boxes were constructed, paper was stuffed, and the wrapping of each individual item commenced. As one might imagine, packing the kitchen did take a considerable amount of time, especially when one considers all of the dishes and glassware and other potentially breakable items usually housed in kitchen cabinets. However, I do not believe the man packing up the kitchen was prepared for the number of mugs we own. 

Mugs, you say? Yes, mugs. 

Mugs that came with our dishes. 

Mugs that were given to us as gifts. 

Mugs we have purchased as memorabilia. 

Mugs to use at Christmas time. 

It would seem that we have a certain affinity for mugs. 

As one of the other workers was packing up the office, it because apparent that we also have an affinity for ... well ... books and music and office supplies and electronics cords and action figures and all kinds of other miscellany. We reached this conclusion when, speaking to his coworker, the man in the office said, "Dude. It just keeps going."

An appropriate response in the modern vernacular might be "face palm." I looked at my husband and we both shook our heads in shame. It is surprising how much material "wealth" one acquires when one isn't looking. It's equally surprising how much of said wealth can be placed, packed, stuffed, and squished into small spaces when necessary.

Needless to say, we have since determined that we will be ridding our home of a great many things once we reach Germany. Some of it may be sold in a yard sale; some may be taken to a esale facility; some may even be thrown away in a fit of disgust. Whatever the method of shedding, we hope to vastly diminish the amount of unnecessary possessions that are currently making their way to Germany via the great blue ocean.

The moral of the story is as follows: Restrain oneself in the excessive purchasing of anything that is not an absolute "need." Failure to do so may result in self-imposed humiliation whilst watching complete strangers shake their own heads at the amount of packing they must do on your behalf.

Best wishes to the Phongster and Midgey-Poo,

Mandar the Magnificent