Life’s Miraculous Journey

Continuation of Travels with Rob dans la Belle France

I do not remember how long it took us to get to Tours. I vaguely remember stumbling out of this famous train like a sleepwalker rushed on by Rob. Despite his limited French, Rob gets a taxi and tells the driver to take us to the hotel d’Opéra.

 Before I have time to nod off again, we stop on a quiet side street in front of two ruined buildings. One is a completely dilapidated shell overgrown with weeds and ivy. Only broken-down walls of the ruin are remaining. The other appears in slightly better condition. Although ravaged looking, the walls, windows, and roof seem intact.

“l’hôtel d’opéra! “, the taxi driver announces, pointing to the ruins.

With a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he stopped the taxi, opened the doors, quickly removed our luggage from the trunk, deposited it on the sidewalk, and pocketed his fare.

Suddenly wide awake, I ask in disbelief, “l’hôtel d ‘Opéra?” “There”, he replies, jumping back into his cab.

We enter the building with some trepidation on the once imposing but now dangerously crumbling flight of stairs. The glamour of days gone by is still evident in the chipped and dusty chandeliers, the stained, worn-out purple carpets, the faded murals, and the elegant interior design. A glowing bouquet of red tulips and yellow daffodils, beautifully arranged with blossoming branches on the reception desk in the entrance hall, detracts the eyes from the shabby surroundings .

Contrary to all expectations, our chamber—like room on the second floor has charm. A single bed standing close to the entrance is partitioned off by a screen. Rob graciously offered to take this and gave me the big double bed facing a huge open window leading into a park. The branches of a blooming chestnut tree are almost touching the panes. Numerous birds have chosen this beautiful tree for their happy home. They are singing, twittering, and chirping at their heart’s content. Taking a rest from their nest building, they enjoy the last sunrays of the declining day. A warm breeze stirs the delicate curtains. The air smells fresh and fragrant with the aroma of spring flowers and blossoms.

After a short stroll, admiring some of the interesting facades of the old buildings downtown, Rob and I are lured to a cozy family restaurant by the enticing aromatic smells wafting out of the open door. The taste of grilled Iamb chops swimming in a sauce seasoned to perfection lingers in my memory forever. Back at the hotel, I relax in the enormous antique bathtub. I start feeling like a queen. The bed is comfortable, and the sheets are clean and smooth. I have an excellent deep sleep until the birds’ jubilant morning concert wakes me to another brilliant spring morning. *

Life’s Miraculous Journey

Continuation of Travelling with Rob in La Belle France

The train we take to Paris the following day is crowded with noisy schoolgirls who are going on exchange programs to France. The exuberant holiday atmosphere is contagious. Many of the teenagers practice their flirting skills on Rob. For a while he enjoys being their centre of attention until they become bothersome like persistent flies. I am free to look out of the window and see the beautiful spring landscape pass by. Even old, dilapidated walls look lovely when adorned with fresh leaves and colorful blossoms. Nature appears to be so tame in Europe. Forests are tended like parks and lack the pristine beauty of the Canadian wilderness.

Rob is relieved when we reach Paris. For hours, the girls have been swarming over him like bees. There is no way to escape their pestering presence. Good—naturedly, he endures their teasing.

In Paris, we must change from one train station to another. For each cardinal direction there is a train station, which is connected to the other terminals by the Metro. In transit to Montparnasse, we meet Rick, the prospective groom, at the station and deliver a suitcase bulging with wedding presents. Packed with Canadian whisky, Okanagan wine, smoked salmon, maple syrup, and other gifts, it feels like a ton of bricks. Coming from so far, I am still amazed at the accomplishments of modern travel. We meet Rick precisely at the right time and appointed place among the crowds of strangers.

From Montparnasse we take a TGV (train de grande vitesse) to Tours. These famous trains reach a speed of 350 km per hour. The scenery is flying by at that dizzying pace in a blur of colors and shapes. Overcome by jet lag, I fall asleep as soon as I nestle into the comfortable seat of the luxurious compartment. Rob is disappointed that I do not show more enthusiasm for this momentous train ride. But all I want now and long for is a clean and comfortable bed.

Life’s Miraculous Journey

Continuation of Traveling with Rob to La Belle France

I had phoned Rob when I arrived late last night. He had asked me to compose a short note in French to confirm a hotel reservation in Mons, the last destination of our planned sightseeing trip. He had been able to make all other arrangements in either English or German. Glad to show off my French skills, I took this task very seriously and sacrificed quite a bit of time and paper. Finally, this note, written in my neatest handwriting, is faxed off to the hotel with the romantic name of Le Castello de Braye et Mons. The next day, I met Rob in Stuttgart, and we had a wonderful excursion to Heidelberg. I had never been to this famous tourist attraction before. After climbing on a cobblestone road up to the imposing ruin, we enjoy sitting in the shade of a budding Linden tree in the idyllic garden cafe. While eating a delicious apple Strudel, we watch little sparrows hop from branch to castle wall, cheerfully chirping and nimbly picking up seeds and crumbs. I remember old photographs of my mom in her youth posing as a charming tour guide with groups of mostly American tourists in front of these walls. Sitting here with Rob, I suddenly feel her spirit surround

Life’s Wonderous Journey

Continuation of Traveling with Rob to La Belle France

On a beautiful spring day in the middle of April, I start my journey to the old country. Not accustomed to traveling alone, I feel somewhat lonesome and insecure after saying goodbye to Peter at the Kelowna airport. These feelings intensify in the crowd of strangers at the Vancouver airport terminal. Suddenly, I am embraced from behind. Two excited voices are screaming simultaneously in my ears, “Gertrud, what on earth are you doing here? “

Anita and Gerhard, two old acquaintances we had lost contact with, are bombarding me with questions. Friends of our Bavarian neighbor, they are part of the visiting crowd of seasoned globetrotters whose stories we had previously listened to. And as coincidence wants it, they have seats right beside me on the same flight. Traveling with friends is like having guardian angels accompany you. Engaged in animated conversation, the time passes quickly. Before I know it, we have crossed Greenland, Iceland, the North Atlantic and Scotland. We are preparing for landing.

Since I arrived late at night, my travel agent had arranged for a stay in a hotel in Frankfurt. It is located at the city’s outskirts beside a huge and lifeless computer terminal building heavily fenced in like a prison. On the

other side is an idyllic little park with a fishpond and bird sanctuary. Waking up at dawn, not accustomed to the time difference yet, I have the opportunity to admire the sunrise. The distant city on the horizon is bathed in golden light. I listen to the cheerful chirping of birds greeting the new day and watch two wild rabbits playfully chase each other on the grass strip around the computer terminal. I even venture on an early morning walk to the nearby fishing pond, a quiet green oasis. The bushes and trees are just bursting forth with fresh new leaves. Usually, I am not an early riser. Therefore, it is quite an exciting experience for me to walk before breakfast. The girls at the reception desk of the hotel, whom I had asked for directions, were relieved to see me come back. They had worried about me walking all alone so early in the morning. They welcome me back with friendly greetings.

Wonders of Travel

This is a long story which I will spread over several posts. I hope that you will enjoy it.

Traveling with Rob in la Belle France

When we travel, we must expect the unexpected. The most memorable events of our journey are often unplanned. In retrospect, we can laugh about stressful or embarrassing situations. They are the stories we tell your friends. For over 25 years, I hardly had the opportunity to travel far, especially alone, without my husband and family. Our budget was stretched to the limit by the financial demands of raising five sons. However, we had a constant stream of visitors every summer from far and wide, who had interesting stories to tell.

Then came the time when our sons flew out of the nest. One by one they discovered the joy of traveling in the big wide world. Our oldest son, Rob, fell in love with Italy, and our second son, Rick, with France, or rather with a beautiful girl from Paris. To our great surprise, he was the first of the boys to announce wedding plans. The marriage was to take place in a small village close to Paris called Saint–Etienne–Roilaye

This announcement caused great excitement in our quieted-down household. Since our budget would not allow for two tickets to Europe, my husband, Peter, magnanimously decided that I should be the one to go. I was overjoyed. Our oldest son, working in Germany as a civil engineer, supported his father’s decision wholeheartedly. He offered to take me on a short sightseeing trip to the castles of the Loire before escorting me to the wedding.

“You deserve a real holiday Mom,” he declared, “and since you are proficient in French, I feel comfortable traveling to France with you. “

His invitation extremely touched me. It exceeded my wildest dreams. When the boys were still in diapers, I started envisioning all the exciting things we could do together. Traveling was high on that list. Now my dreams were coming true! All the maternal sacrifices of the past were forgotten in an instant. What wonderful prospects lay before me! Since I was far from proficient in the French language, I practiced speaking it from dawn to dusk until my German accent took on French overtones, and strangers asked me if I had recently moved here from eastern Canada.

Kindness of Strangers

Angels in Disguise

When our second son, Richard, got married in a small village close to Paris, France, my husband Peter could not attend. Our oldest boy, Robert, then worked and lived in Stuttgart, Germany. I was overjoyed when he proposed to accompany me to the wedding and take me on a short sightseeing trip to the famous castles of the Loire before the big event.

My generous husband encouraged me to accept Robert’s proposal. I will write more about our exciting and adventurous sightseeing trip to the Loire valley. Robert had rented a car. We started our journey in Tours. After our circle tour, we planned on taking the train to Paris.

Our exciting, adventurous trip in the most beautiful early spring weather ended far too early. Full of fantastic impressions and memories, we arrived in Tours again to return the rented car and board the train to Paris.

Entering the vast central station in mid-morning, we were puzzled. There were no people and also no wickets open. We wondered what was going on. Maybe a significant holiday? That did not make sense. Or the trains don’t run until later in the day? That was equally senseless. Before we came up with more stupid explanations, a policeman informed us that there was a strike which could last who knows how long.

Needless to say, we were shocked and at a loss for what to do. We took our suitcases and decided to go to town for a coffee to devise a plan for solving our predicament. We had hardly walked a few steps when a taxi stopped at the curb, opening the door to invite us in. After a short hesitation, we let him drive us to a cafe. When he heard our story, he got very agitated. He explained that these frequent strikes hurt the local population, inconvenienced the tourists, and ultimately were bad for the economy. Looking at us with genuine pity, he proposed to take us to a small train station on the outskirts of Tours for local transit. Once a day, a train to Paris will come through, and if you are lucky, you will get on and arrive in Paris tonight he told us.

Full of hope we had a pleasant conversation with our friendly taxi driver in broken French and English. At the station, he insisted on carrying my suitcase to the platform where a vast crowd of people anxiously waited, almost like in war times. I wanted to pay our driver and award him a massive tip for his helpful kindness. But he refused, adamantly saying he would be insulted if we persisted. We will never forget your kindness, I told him in parting. He left with a smile. I had tears in my eyes.

We did get on the train despite the huge crowd. Contrary to my fears that people would try to storm into the wagons everyone boarded the train calmly and orderly. There were friendly smiles and joyful chatter of relieved people happy to be on board. I will never forget the kindness and generosity of the taxi driver in Tours, France, an angel in disguise.

Human Spirit

Last week, Peter and I drove through dense fog to the hot springs up in the mountains to fight the winter blues. We both felt a bit depressed by the long, dark winter.
Entering the pool area after changing, I scanned the steaming water to find Peter in the rising mist.

Suddenly, I noticed a good-looking man with an athletic body sitting at the edge of the hot half of the round pool. He looked at me with a bright, expectant smile. Coming closer, on the verge of asking if we knew each other,  I suddenly remembered,  “Danny, Daniel’.

He was one of the first students Peter taught at the Fauquier School. He came from a family of four brothers and sisters. Shortly before we arrived in Fauquier, they had tragically lost their mother in a car accident at the dangerous S curve close to the ferry landing on Highway 6 to Vernon.

“ Oh, Danny,” I smiled, “ so good to see you after so many years. You have changed so much,” I laughed. I hadn’t seen him since he left high school. “You haven’t changed at all, Mrs. Klopp,” he laughed back, “that’s why I recognized you.”
I suddenly noticed a wheelchair close by at the edge of the pool. Seeing my questioning glance, Danny told me his story. After graduation, he worked in construction, building motels and hotels throughout the province.  After he married and had a little daughter, he had a devastating accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. For many years, he stayed like a hermit at home, depressed and grieving his loss.
One day, he decided to embrace life again. He learned to drive his truck, getting in and out without assistance. He started working and founded a taxi company in Kelowna. He learned new life skills to cope and overcome his handicap. This is his story in a nutshell.

When I later met his lovely wife, I could see that she and his daughter must have played a major role in his recovery back to life. Daniel had the brightest, happiest, contagious smile, radiating joy and love. I took pictures of him and his beautiful partner before they had to leave. Two friends expertly lifted Danny out of the water into the wheelchair, and we waved goodbye.
This encounter raised my spirits. There is always hope in the worst situations of life. Some people like Danny learn to cope and overcome unimaginable hardships and injuries.  Their resilient spirit inspires us to never succumb to depression but to embrace life and find the joy of living again.

Peter and I were so touched by our encounter with Danny and his inspiring story.  Thank you, Danny!  Your happy smiles are like sunshine. You chased our winter blues away.

Guardian Angels

This post continues the previous post on When Prayers Get Answered.

After the injections prescribed by the specialist, our little son started to sleep peacefully. No more convulsions or other scary symptoms. Peter was suddenly by my side, and feeling incredibly sorry that he had not realized the gravity of the situation. He stayed with me by our son’s bedside until the early morning. That’s when Robert was taken by ambulance over prairie winter roads to the Edmonton Hospital 300 km from the little town of Consort to be checked out by specialists. 

We could not accompany him in the ambulance. After a short rest and sleep of exhaustion, I went by Greyhound bus to the capital city I had never visited before. Peter would pick us up as soon as our son would be released from the hospital.

I slept most of the long bus ride over the dreary prairie roads. A January Chinook brought in dark clouds. Raindrops like tears were streaming down the windshield. It was already getting dark when the friendly bus driver dropped me off at a motel within walking distance of coffee shops and the huge General Hospital. 

After checking in at the hotel, I went to see our Robert. The hospital looked intimidating, like an enormous prison. When I was finally led by a friendly nurse’s aid to the pediatric ward, I could already distinguish Robert’s loud, crying voice from the wails of the other little patients. Hearing his anguished cries reassured me that he was getting stronger. I never forget the disbelief in his swollen eyes and his outstretched arms when he saw me. He almost flew over the railing of the crib into my arms. I stayed with him until later that night, when he finally fell asleep peacefully in my arms.

The nurses connected me by intercom with the head doctor, who assured me that Robert checked out fine and could go home the next day.

In the meantime, Peter got our car ready to drive to Edmonton in the morning. The car was a gift from Peter’s principal at the German Saturday school. It was a second-hand Pontiac still in good condition but too old to be traded in. Mr K. liked Peter as a colleague and friend. He felt sorry for us, just starting as new immigrants in a foreign country without poper transportation.

Peter arrived early, and finally, we had our little Robert back to drive home. In those days, seatbelts were not mandatory, and children did not need car seats. Bundled up cozily, reassured by our presence, Robert slept like an angel in my arms in the front seat . On his early morning drive to Edmonton, the roads were only wet, but a sudden drop in temperature below freezing had turned them into skating rings. Out of the city, on the highway, we would see jackknifed semi-trucks and other vehicles left and right in the ditches. It looked like in a horror movie. 

Peter stayed calm and focused. I kept my eyes on the bundle of joy sleeping in my arms. It felt like we were gliding on eagle wings over the icy highway, not slipping once. To this day, we marvel at this miraculous drive home on Eagle Wings.

A Prayer Answered

A cold, dark New Year’s Eve on the prairie many years ago. The first snowflakes are swirling from the dark sky when I close the door behind our neighbors. They had planned on taking us to a year-end dance in the arena of our small ranching community. We had to decline because the only babysitter that night phoned in sick.

Although I love dancing I was not too disappointed because I did not want to leave our little son, our pride and joy for a long night out.

Peter and I decided to to prepare for a cozy evening with games and music instead

Suddenly, I heard a terrible retching sound from the living room and saw our little boy throwing up violently. Our little whirlwind had been unusually quiet during the neighbors’s visit, and now I realize why. When after a few hours, the violent vomiting and diarrhea did not stop; panic gripped me. This was not a mild stomach flu that little children survived quickly.

I convinced Peter to drive us to the local hospital for help. Our sick son was immediately admitted by the perceptive head nurse to be put on intravenous to replenish his body fluids. 

“Now he is in the best hands,” Peter told me, “and we can still go to the dance”.

I was in disbelief. The thought of going home never entered my mind. I would stay with our little boy. 

Disappointed and telling me that I was an overly protective mother, Peter left for home.

I watched the nurses trying to find a vein for the intravenous needle in our son’s head after they administered medice to stop the vomiting and diraiah and to calm him down.

I sat by his crib, gently stroking his body, watching him breathe, and occasionally stirring in his sleep.  Time ticked away. It felt such a relief to see him sleep.

After a few hours, a nurse came to change his intravenous drip. While she was working on the apparatus, I saw our little son suddenly turn blue. Unaware of what was happening, I asked the nurse if this was normal. She had not looked at him while installing the drip fluid bag. One glance and she stormed out of the room, returning in an instant with an oxygen tank. By that time, our little boy was in convulsions. She immediately pumped his heart to revive his breathing. After what seemed an eternity, she succeeded and immediately put him on oxygen.

I watched it tomorrow. She called another nurse and phoned the only doctor attending the dance.

Dr. Knight arrived in his finery, annoyed to be called away from the festivities. He told me to leave the room to call my husband, saying, ” I think we are fighting a losing battle.” I was numb with anguish and terror and sank down beside the wall, praying with incoherent words, beseeching God to save our little boy. I felt like in a nightmare.

On his way out, the doctor asked what I was doing, seeing me on my knees with folded hands. My heart was crying out to God to save our child. I repeated over and over the Prayer like a mantra;

Suddenly the doctor muttered, “I will try to phone a specialist in Edmonton. Pray that I can reach him.” (This happened before mobile phones.)

The prayer was answered. The specialist advised the doctor to give a calcium injection to stop the convulsions. Young children lose electrolytes faster than adults. Until that night, the country doctor did not know children needed different procedures.

These calcium injections not only saved the life of our son but many small children from that day on. As the nurses told me later, many small children in the past had died of similar conditions because the doctor lacked that knowledge.

On New Year’s Day, our little boy was transported by ambulance 300 km over icy roads to Edmonton Hospital to be tested for brain damage due to the convulsions.

I am happy to say that he survived the ordeal without any damage and grew up to be a healthy, strong, intelligent and loving man.

I never forget that fateful night. It taught me to believe in God and the power of prayers to bring about miracles.

Memories of Miracles

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein

Miracles happen all the time. We are often unaware of them when they happen and only recognize them in retrospect. Sometimes, we fail to notice them all together.

In crisis situations, we hope and pray fervently for miracles to happen instantly. But we are not in contol. They often happen when we least expect them.

The greatest miracle of my life was that I was born into this world with my twin brother. My mother had been told by many doctors that she would be unable to conceive children after the birth of my half-sister, twenty years older.

My mom was orphaned when she was twelve years old. Her mother died giving birth to her fifth child. A few months later, her father died from a broken heart, leaving his young children under the care of an aunt.

My mom was raised in a convent school by nuns. As a young woman, she worked as a receptionist and photo model for a photographer in a small town in the Rhineland of Germany.  She was very beautiful and intelligent. Her kind and cheerful personality attracted people like a magnet.

Unfortunately, there are gaps in her life story. I never knew until I left home to live with Peter in Canada that my sister was only a half-sister. My father had adopted her when he married my mother.

My mother never revealed the name of my sister’s biological father. She only told me that he was engaged to her and died in a motorcycle accident before my sister was born. 

My father loved my sister like his own child. Doctors had told my parents that my mom would be unable to conceive any more children. So they lived happily as a threesome for twenty years, traveling every summer by canoe on all the scenic rivers in Germany. Luckily my father was a terrific photographer, and his beautiful photos survived.

And then the miracle happened. When my mother thought she was in her menopause, she conceived us. On a beautiful Sunday at the end of October, my twin brother and I were born into this miraculous world under a full moon. 

My parents