Holidays in the Alps

        Thanksgiving and Christmas on a mission are very special, indeed. We've made a lot of new Facebook friends, several of which are senior couples who have since been released. One, in fact, Kathey Mackay, is pretty much directly responsible for the fact that I own a pair of lederhosen. I was hesitant, anticipating untold ridicule from our children, but she challenged me openly, posting, "Oh, the worst thing that can happen to you is that somebody will hand you a tuba!" The inevitable result:

    A more somber conclusion is the overall impression I get that while the couples are overjoyed to be reunited with their families (as we certainly will be), they also sorely miss the friends and places they experienced on their missions. Leesa and I have been so completely accepted by the members of the Freiburg ward, the young missionaries, the other senior couples in the mission, and both our mission presidents and their wives, that we are led to two inexorable conclusions: We are having a golden experience in our lives, the likes of which we will never again experience, and that each day should be savored and cherished. 

    Just a couple of weeks ago, I remarked to Leesa, "Next November, I don't know how we're ever going to be able to say goodbye to this ward." She has mentioned more than a couple of times that the ward leadership is of City-of-Enoch caliber, an observation with which I cannot disagree. We tend to idealize certain scriptural individuals and groups, and it's easy to create in our own minds the illusion that they were perfect and completely holy. But in reality, who were they but normally flawed and regular people who were simply devoted to their Savior? So yes, the leadership of the Freiburg ward would fit right into the society of the City of Enoch. As would most of the wonderful people we have come to know all our lives. 

    For me, Thanksgiving dinner (like nearly all dinner parties I throw) is like a mother dressing up her baby daughter, in that it is Vanity Unleashed. I revel in the opportunity to put some really good food on the table to, in a small way, bless the lives of those who dine with us. This doubly so when our guests are full-time missionaries. This hearkens back to experiences related in earlier posts on this blog involving Werner Riesen of Frauenfeld, Switzerland.

    Bottom line is this: I wanted our full-time missionaries to feel at home, even though they are, for the moment, away from family back in the U.S.A. Thanksgiving isn't celebrated here in Europe, although most calendars over here acknowledge a day called "Erntedankfest," meaning "feast of gratitude for the harvest."

    So I set about the business of securing a couple of turkeys. I usually like to buy a big 25-pounder, but German ovens are smaller, so two 12-pounders do nicely. Early in our stay over here, we located a really good meat market, of which our dear friend Angela Pum (poom) is co-owner, along with her husband. She found me a couple of extremely fresh birds, raised in the Black Forest, and which on the day before pickup had still been alive. Curiously, they still had the necks attached, and upon my request, she cut them off. They wouldn't have fit into the ovens otherwise.

    One other thing about my poultry order should be revealed. Being as about as American as they come, I am used to buying a frozen turkey from the supermarket when they come on sale, so for me it was natural that I ask Angela when I ordered them, whether my turkeys would be fresh or frozen. Well, you should have seen the look on her face. She looked like I had just brought a petri dish full of anthrax into her meat market. I backpedaled quickly with profuse apologies, explaining that I was used to buying frozen birds, and would have needed extra time to thaw them in order to brine them as well. 

    Thanks to Amazon.de, I was able to find canned pumpkin pie filling and cranberry sauce with little trouble, and I made my own stuffing from scratch. Mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans with bacon, and a Dupree family staple, Swiss Apple Pie.

    In the preparatory stages, we put on a streaming movie, a 1972 screwball comedy "What's Up, Doc?" with Barbra Streisand and Ryan O'Neal. Everything went wonderfully, except that another senior missionary couple, Mike and Sherri Fuhriman from Boise, Idaho, fell ill and couldn't join us. 😔

(L to R, Bethan Hoggan, Sisters Rachel Weber, Mikenna Kunz, Elders Dan Milne, In-Chol Chang, Matt Eliason, Ian Hilterbrand, and dearest Leesa)

Thanksgiving was a barrel of fun for us, and that set the stage for all of the December holidays. First up: My birthday on the 4th, a Monday. Mondays we have District Council, so we did that in the morning. Directly afterward, I invited the district to lunch with us at Freiburg's own Five Guys, which I might add, is inexplicably better and cheaper than the ones I have visited in America. Go figure. Watching the missionaries eat and socialize was probably the best birthday present I could have received.

    That afternoon, Elders Chang and Hilterbrand came over to decorate our apartment for the birthday dinner that night. They did a super job, and in the concurrent conversation, Elder Chang and I found a common connection: He had grown up in one of the wards in which I had served in Bad Nauheim back in 1976, which is now the Wetterau 2nd ward. His Young Mens' advisor was Bernd Kröll, whom I had known when he was a Priest (age 17) back in the day. Small world, indeed.

    That night, we served Boeuf Bourguignon to the missionaries and their investigators, so the entire day became much more a day of service than about getting stuff. Can't complain a bit.

    Next up was the Freiburg ward Christmas party. It was the event I had both waited for and dreaded most of the year, as I was requested to make a boatload of Belgian waffles. The ward members came through with both berry toppings for the waffles and a willingness to help me get the cooking done.

    Enter Bethan Hoggan and her twin sister Carys. They are not missionaries, but dear friends from London, who some time ago became acquainted with the missionaries. Bethan is doing a year of University here in Freiburg. We have kind of semi-adopted her and her twin sister Carys as granddaughters. The following is a Christmas greeting sent by them and their mother from London.

    They were a huge help with Belgian Waffles at the Ward Christmas party, and Bethan (and her parents) have expressed their very pointed desire for us to come and visit them in London this coming summer. Leesa and I very much want to take them up on their offer. Normally we don't care a lot about visiting tourist destinations (like London or Paris), but when you have somebody you care about there, then that changes the whole game for us. London would be marvelous with the Hoggans!

    Due to our townhome in Orangevale, CA not being big enough for both a Belgian Waffle breakfast and a Christmas tree at the same time, we decided we wanted to get a nice, big Christmas tree. Turns out you can order them online over here, whatever size you want, and it'll be delivered to your door. So we did, and were very happy with what came.

    While I worked on the menu, Leesa really did me one better, and took it upon herself to knit personalized stockings for all of our missionaries, plus our friend Wali Hakimi from Afghanistan. She knitted their first names into nine, count 'em nine, stockings, including two missionaries who got abruptly transferred elsewhere just before Christmas. She didn't finish the last one until 3:30 a.m. Christmas Eve.

    One missionary for whom we felt particularly concerned was a greenie, Sister Katie Chambers from Provo, UT. She came to Germany just 12 days before Christmas. Her family wouldn't have her address yet, so she was facing a Christmas without gifts. Well, not on OUR watch! Besides, Leesa herself was in that very position on her first mission, back in the city of Koblenz in December of 1976, and we weren't about to leave Sister Chambers high and dry.

    Did I mention earlier that I felt very protective of the full-time missionaries? Well, since being called to our own mission, I've become rather psychotic about it. So Leesa was busy knitting, and both of us were looking for stocking stuffers all over town and on Amazon.de.

    Part of that search included Freiburg's Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Market), located in the pedestrian zone downtown. We went there on our 45th anniversary (Dec. 19th), and we had a lovely time.

    Leesa is always cold, pulling up the blankets over her chin in July, while in December, I routinely have both feet out. I saw a booth offering lambskin slippers, and made a beeline. The vendor took her into the booth to get a good fitting done, and she came out with these. Hand to heaven, every day since, she exclaims how warm and soft they are. I love this picture because that is the smile I can't stop adoring.

    Now we come to Christmas Eve dinner. About 20 years ago, I was serving in our Brea, California ward as ward mission leader. At that time, we had a couple of full-time Elders serving in our ward from, of all places, Mongolia. I've always felt protective of the missionaries, ever since Werner and Nelly Riesen set the example for me way back in Frauenfeld in 1977. As ward mission leader, I felt a stronger responsibility to make sure they have a home to go to over the holidays. 

    So I got hold of the Missionary Dinner calendar, and blocked off Christmas Eve for us to host them. I then asked Elders Oyunbold and Altansukh if there was a particular meal they'd like to have that evening that would help remind them of home. Elder Oyunbold replied instantly: "Meat, with fat!" Not long afterward, I was in the grocery store, and in the meat section I found this huge prime rib roast on sale, practically calling my name.

    So Elders Oyunbold and Altansukh got prime rib on Christmas Eve, with all the trimmings. That started something, and every year since, we've served the missionaries prime rib at Christmastime. Well, just because we're on our own mission in a country where the cattle industry isn't as strong as Argentina or the U.S., that wasn't gonna stop me. I had a short conversation with Angela, and she ordered me a wonderful roast.

. 

 (L to R. Elders Matt Eliason, Jesse Halladay, Ian Hilterbrand, Dan Milne, Mike Fuhriman, Sherri Fuhriman, Sisters Rachel Weber and Katie Chambers. Next is Wali Hakimi, and my dear bride)

    Leesa started the season adamant about making the missionaries wait until Christmas Day to open their gifts, as in her family that was the tradition. Put bluntly, she got overruled in a very lopsided vote. Watching them open them was the best Christmas gift I can think of. Sister Weber had a horrible wristwatch, with the band flopping all over, so we found her a new one. The rest got big Swiss Army knives. A Swiss Army knife is one of the best and most useful friends a missionary or a traveler can have. I'd had one on my mission, and it was invaluable. Plus we filled in the rest of the stockings with candy and fruit, heavy on the chocolate stuff. We're close to Switzerland, after all.

    We wrapped up the old year with Andreas and Astrid Andrich, our ward mission leader and his bride, on New Year's Eve. Normally, I tend to ignore what I think of as booze holidays (New Year's Eve, St. Paddy's Day, and Cinco de Mayo), stay off the roads and start "checking my eyelids for cracks" about 10 p.m. When Andreas invited us, that's pretty much what I told him. "Nein, nein, nein! We are going to stay up unto two!" Oy. So my strategy was this: I normally don't drink anything caffeinated because it really messes up my sleep cycle, except in moments I need to stay awake. So I found a 1-liter bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper, and chugged it about 7 p.m. 

    Worked like a charm. We stayed wide awake until about 1 a.m. when we got home (Leesa's a nightowl anyway). I was worried about drunk drivers, but roads were pretty empty both ways, and we made it safely there and back. Incidentally, Germans do their fireworks on New Year's Eve, what they call "Silvester." So the week before, pretty much every retail shop in the country sells fireworks. And not the wimpy "safe and sane" garbage they sell in the states (with few notable exceptions). Here they have firecrackers, M80s, cherry bombs, quarter sticks, and skyrockets aplenty. Driving home, the middle of every street was littered with used fireworks. And so, to bed, to sleep the sleep of the just.

Happy New Year!