Co-sleeping nativity

When Zoë was looking at the nativity scene at her great-grandma's house the other day, she was very confused and distressed by the fact that baby Jesus had to lie by himself in his own bed. She really wanted his mama to be going night-night with him. And, while we're at it, his dada should lie down too. And they all need a blanket! We ended up with a co-sleeping nativity scene, where baby Jesus is also enjoying a nice drink of milk. I agree that it looks a lot more cozy:

Also, we saw the Christus at Temple Square last night, which Zoë immediately identified as "ho ho ho." Christ and Santa are, of course, quite existentially similar, so she's not getting the religious and material portions of Christmas mixed up--she's just displaying her philosophical aptitude.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Her name

Zoë was looking through photos with me to print off for her great-grandma for Christmas. She is, of course, in many of them. If I point to her and ask her who that is, she always says "baby."

Well, today when I pointed to the one above, she said "Woe" [Woah-y]. I've been curious how she would say the Z. I love how Ls and Cs are Ys ("yight" for "light" and "yay" for "cry"), Gs are Ds ("Dandma" for "Grandma"), etc.

My little girl knows her name!

Running soundtrack

I've been getting back into running lately and am looking for your favorite running/workout songs. It's playlist time.

So far, 80s songs--especially those that really build in the middle--are my favorite.

Suggestions?

"Ho, ho, ho--no, no, no"

That's what Zoë went around saying all day after her encounter with Santa at the ward Christmas party. Thanks to Leah for capturing this great moment.

Frankfurt

This wood pile is really is not a good representation of what most of Frankfurt (thriving urban metropolis) is like, but I liked how it looked.

Also, why has no one ever told us about Ethiopian food? Delicious!! Someone should start a restaurant here. (I know you hated it, Diana, but I think you must have just had a bad batch.)

Hannover

We Quebbemans have ancestors from here, so it was especially fun to visit. A very pretty city that was very dead after 6pm--especially compared to Spain.

Do you think a street library could work here? I'm going to suggest it to the Provo city council.

Nothing particularly German about this ladybug, but . . .

Meissen

When you sell ice cream like this . . .

You need signs to specifically ban it from museums:

Dresden

Berlin

We were in Berlin for about an hour--just long enough to see the wall.

"La Buerlinica" was fun to see after having seen "La Guernica" in Spain.

The space between the sections of the wall used to be patrolled by guards. Now it's the home of a cafe, skate park, and bike rental.

The wall is even used for fashion shoots . . .

Story #5: Circle of honor

You can't be Mormon and a BYU grad and not have this quote engrained in you:

"Stand me on the floor and draw a chalk line around me and have me give my word of honor never to cross it. . . . Can I get out of the circle? No. Never! I'd die first."

Frankly, it always seemed a bit extreme to me--Die? Really? How about instead reserving that word of honor for situations a little more worthy than being confined to a chalk circle for no reason.

But it turns out that Karl Maesar, who was in fact from Meissen, which is in fact Provo's sister city (did I just blow your mind twice?), wasn't too worried about the chalk circle drawn around his birth home. Yes, you can still see a faint remnant of that line. Observe me observing:

(And pay no attention to the shift from cobblestones to pavement. It's a common feature of 19th century German architecture.)

Apparently no one was around to make Karl give his word to this chalk circle or there would have been no such thing as the Maesar building in which to display the circle of honor quote.

Story #4: A better door than window

Because of logistical craziness (perhaps worthy of another story), we had about four hours to film and photograph Luxembourg for my job--and we needed to get enough multimedia to make it worth our trip to that country.

So I read up on some key sites in my guidebook and we started dashing to all of them. A picturesque market, fascinating people, and stunning mountain vistas were nice, but I was holding out for the coolest thing I had read about by far: a glass elevator built into the side of one of the cliffs where the heart of Luxembourg City was situated. Not only did this elevator provide a quick route from the city center to our hotel but it was the perfect place to film from--and it was free!

Its location, however, proved elusive.

The guidebook map was insufficient, as were the signs posted for tourists. Locals gave us conflicting directions. I was losing hope of ever finding the glass elevator of my dreams when we stumbled across a landmark the guidebook had mentioned--the elevator was just around the next corner!

. . .

The only problem was that the glass ended up being made out of metal. See?

Josh tested it for me to make sure that it wasn't just an illusion of metal--a reflection of sorts.

It was solid.

So the views from this 4-second elevator ride didn't turn out to be too hot. In fact, the picture I've posted here is pretty much the best one I got, and Josh's face isn't even in focus. Which makes sense because my focus was definitely on the non-glass walls surrounding him.

The most disappointing part about the whole ordeal was that it turned out I could not blame Lonely Planet for my false hopes! That's right--my frazzled, stressed, post-serial-killer-fleeing brain had actually manufactured the word "glass" out of thin air, or thick metal, as the case was.

But a glass elevator going down the side of a cliff in a really gorgeous setting would be cool right? Wouldn't you dream for that too?

Story #3: Why I'm not a photographer

After living in Spain for two months--the country that one Spanish ex-pat I interviewed in Luxembourg called an "[expletive] concrete jungle"--I was excited to see a lovely patch of greenery in the middle of otherwise paved Meissen streets. I immediately pounced. I wanted some non-sling pictures of me and Zoë and Josh complied. So we frolicked in the grass for a while and Josh shot away.

And then I stood up and saw this:

And that is just one of the many reasons I am not a photographer (you know, besides the whole need to take professional-grade pictures). Because I'm likely to pick the only 20 square feet in town that are zoned for dog poop to roll around in.

I'm just glad that Germans are better about picking up their doggies' excretions than are the French.

Story #2: Almost stranded

This note almost caused me, Josh, and Zoë to sleep on the sidewalk in the German town of Meissen on our fifth anniversary of marriage.

Josh plays this game when we visit the Netherlands where he sees how long it takes him to get his Dutch back to the point where natives will respond to his Dutch inquiries in Dutch instead of English. Josh has a great accent, but it usually takes most of our stay. Those Germanic countries know their English. And what could be more Germanic than Germany?

Not formerly East Germany!

Meissen is located just outside of Dresden, and though kids currently in high school speak some English, the predominant second language is Russian.

Here is the extent of my Russian: Babushka.

Now I had booked this hotel in Meissen on one of these sites that usually features international chains and the like. I was expecting something more or less corporate. Instead, our taxi driver dropped us off in the middle of a neighborhood filled with small shops--blocks and blocks of boxy storefront windows without an obvious hotel jutting into the street to advertise its presence.

Then, after finding the hotel, we found that the main door was locked. Taped to the inside of the window was the hand-scrawled sign above. And it would not have even registered with us that this sign might in any way be relevant to our situation were it not for our immensely good fortune of having run into Jesse and his German friend (a Meissen native) in the train station.

Jesse's friend read the sign, which turned out to be a note instructing us to go across the street and ask the owner of a certain cafe (who didn't speak English) for an envelope with our name and a key. The envelope ended up containing handwritten German instructions about the facilities and the owners' apologies that they were going to be out of town for the duration of our stay!

We're pretty resourceful travelers, but I can't imagine that we would have ever figured that all out on our own. And, again, baby in tow complicates everything.

I hate it when American travelers expect the world to speak their language, provide them with conveniences they're used to, and talk too loudly in the subway. But that day I learned that you can take Rachel out of America but you can't take the American out of Rachel (I've been watching too much 30 Rock. I'm channeling Kenneth). The next time I visit the former GDR, I'm bringing a lot more than useless English, Spanish, and Dutch with me.

Story #1: Serial killer on the loose

In finishing up our Europe photos, I came across some that reminded me of a few stories that I had meant to share. Here's the first one:

This poster was plastered all over Lelystad (a Dutch city outside of Amsterdam that we stayed in after Spain).

It's a warning about a serial killer.

Do you know what scares me more than a serial killer?

A serial killer on the loose.

More scary than a serial killer on the loose?

One on the loose in a town where I'm residing.

Knowing that this guy the news media had nicknamed "Jac de Prikker" (their version of Jack the Ripper) had recently stabbed a handful of random strangers in this relatively small town and had yet to be apprehended, Josh and I set out on our first Dutch day trip with the firm resolution to return to Lelystad before dark. Not only did we not make that deadline, we also missed the last bus. So we were stuck walking (Zoe slung to me) at midnight through the woods to our friend's house.

I know it sounds silly to say that I have a fear of serial killers--who doesn't, right? But my fear is pathological. I feel like there's a good chance I will die at the hand of a serial killer one day. I remember watching this Looney Toons cartoon when I was about 11 in which an escaped chainsaw killer played a small comedic role. I had nightmares for months.

Have you ever wondered how you would do if you were in a horror movie situation in real life? Well, Josh and I learned an important lesson about me that night: I would curl up in a ball and hope for sudden death while he would be left stranded without his co-star.

Josh was very proactive. The smallish stick he picked up early on in the walk was soon replaced by a 2x4 beam that he reached under the fence of a construction site to retrieve.

The problem was that his beam-wielding and frequent over-the-shoulder glances, as much as they were for my benefit, just made me all the more terrified. I was expecting Jac de Prikker to emerge behind Josh's shoulder with a beam-slashing knife any moment.

Which explains why the man who stepped out of the shadows while innocently walking his dog behind us was greeted--to his surprise--with a scream and lurching motion from me.

It also explains my hyperventilation. The funny thing was, I didn't know I was hyperventilating. Josh had to tell me later. Have you ever been so scared that you could barely breathe but didn't notice?

If I sound crazy at this point, I want you to remember that MY BABY was strapped to me through all this!

Did Jac de Prikker get us? Did we make it? I think I'll leave you in suspense . . .

Earache

Zoë has her first earache. It freaked me out to hear that diagnosis. You know how there are families where kids get earaches and families where they don't? Well, my family squarely falls in the latter camp. Neither me nor any of my siblings have ever had one. So while our pediatrician assured me that it wasn't very severe and would be cleared up with a simple round of antibiotics, I'm still a bit worried.

The last of the Spanish people