A challenging year lies behind us. First, a severe drought, devastating wildfires, evacuation of thousands of people, then one downpour after another, causing widespread flooding and destruction of crucial BC highways, hit our beautiful province of British Columbia. Finally in December, when everyone was preparing for a blessed and joyful Christmas Season, snow storms stopped normal traffic, and an arctic chill plunged the coastal regions into the deep freeze. Then there was Covid-19 creating unprecedented hardships in the entire world. Considering the impact of all these horrible calamities, my wife’s broken leg seems almost like a trivial event. However, it brought unexpected challenges to our personal lives. At first, Biene has been completely immobile. Our son Michael brought her a rented ‘scooter’ for Christmas. Now, she is happy to be able to move around the house with relative ease. The latest x-rays indicate that her broken bone is healing well. The air-cast is doing its job.
A heartfelt thank-you goes out to all my followers who expressed their feelings of compassion and concern for my wife’s health and well-being. It is also my hope that you all will understand my silence in the blogging sphere. A most challenging time lies behind us. Still, I am hopeful and cautiously optimistic for the year to turn out to be happy and prosperous for all of us.
After their failed attempt to flee to the West, my freedom-loving parents had to survive in a totalitarian state. The communist regime had curtailed many of their freedoms. For example, my parents could not visit their friends and relatives on the other side of Germany and the rest of the world. Before the war, my Dad had transferred to the police force in Gotha. Now, under communist rule, he could no longer keep his position as a police officer. Miraculously, one of my Dad’s old friends, a dentist, remembered that my father had worked as a dental technician in the past. He offered him a job to work in his dental laboratory. Food supplies were very short for several years after the war, especially in the East. I remember my Dad taking us to small villages in the surrounding area. He would try to trade in his high-quality police boots, belts, leather gloves and other valuable clothing for precious food like flour, butter, eggs and cheese. I will never forget the tasty delight of a freshly baked heart-shaped waffle a kind farmer’s wife handed me on a chilly fall day. It was still warm and tasted heavenly!! I never had one before.
Our diet mainly consisted of porridge, root vegetables, bread, molasses and some butter or other fat. There were strict government food rations. Since I was underweight and slightly anemic, a concerned doctor prescribed extra rations for me. But I was also a picky eater. It upset my Dad tremendously when I refused to eat or left something on the plate. He had experienced extreme hunger as a POW. My mother ended up feeding us children separately to keep him calm.