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 #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