I was re-reading my posts and came across this
one from last year. It talks of my days here and
the many wonderful people in this small village.
One person in particular was Herman. Herman
was and always will be one of my favorite people
from my village.
Sadly, Herman is no longer in our village. He was
a dependent of his niece and she could no-longer
care for him after his brothers death. Herman
and his brother looked after each other and were
best friends, but after his death Herman was
harder to care for and the niece had to place
him in a retirement home far away.
A week before Herman was gone I kept thinking
how I would like a picture of him and I together.
Of coarse this thought occurred to me as I was
heading up the street in my car and Herman was
on "his" bench waving away to me and all those
The next week Herman was no longer on his bench.
I worried every time I past it and he was not there.
After 2 weeks of not seeing him I started to ask
of his where-abouts. I was finally told by my friend
who owns the local Italian pub that he had gone
to a home.
I am hoping to find out where he is so I can visit.
I wonder though if he will recognize me If I am
not in this familiar setting.
I miss you Herman wherever you are...... This post
is for you.
A Morning in my village....... 12 August 2008
I live on a little street in a quant little town.
It is a very peaceful place to be. Not much
happens here on my street, but when it does
everyone knows about it...gossip travels fast.
The latest gossip is about the newest neighbor
moving in. No bad gossip, just the little tidbits of
information that I am sure occur on every street
when a new person joins the hood.
This morning started like all other mornings
in my village. I heard the rooster and pretended
I hadn't. He kept to his duty and continued to
sound the alarm for all lazy bums like me to get up.
I carried on sleeping, but this time I dreamt of what a
nice meal my friend the rooster would make for a
Still lying in bed I began to hear church bells ring.
When the windows are left open I am greeted by this
lovely sound from the 1000 year old Catholic church
on the hill.
I can see this church from my kitchen window and love
to hear it ring it's deep sounding bells....
Once in the morning to remind you to get your day
And again at 11 a.m. to let you know that work can stop for
Then lastly at night to say the day is done and you
can go to bed.
(see the church on the hill?)
I remained in bed and let the bells lull be back to sleep.
But then I heard the sound that lets me know that I have
over slept and I will be sorry. It is the sound of the bread
van ringing its bell.
The bread van makes it way down all the little streets in
our village ringing its little bell to let you know it has arrived
on your street.
If you make it outside in time the bread van operator will
stop in front of your house and open the side doors and let you in.
Once inside you can buy pastries, milk, and other sundries.
I remember the first time I dared step outside and try the
"bread van experience".
I was a little frightened to go inside this strange man's van
and kept an eye to the door.
I thought just maybe this was a ploy to kidnap unsuspecting
"newbies" in the village and take them away from the people
who have known each-other for generations.
Of-coarse, these were thoughts of a crazy person who
had just woken up and made a mad dash down two flights
of stairs to catch the bread van.
I had been trying in vain to catch this little bread speed
demon for days.
He didn't know I was living in the old white house and would
rush past my house because he wasting looking for me to come
I did finally catch him. I woke up early and pressed
my face to front glass window and waited to hear the
bells.... Once I heard the jangle of the bells I then made
my mad dash for the front door.
Let me tell you, I have been a sight to be seen on many occasion
making the hurtle down the stairs and out the front door
in whatever I could throw on in a hurry.
(we won't mention the state of my hair!)
But this morning there would be no pastries for me. I slept
past the rooster, the church bells and the bread van. Today,
my lazy little bum would have to walk up the road to the only
shop in town if I wanted (or daughter) a pastry, milk or a croissant.
This little shop (and i mean little...size of small garage)
is called a pantry or "ladchen" and is owned by a kind middle
aged woman who doesn't speak a lick of english.
We have fun practicing our new words in each others languages
and do awhole lot of pointing to get our message across.
I relish these little days when I have slept in and will have
to make the walk up the road.
I am greeted by all the friendly neighbors wanting to say "morgan"
good morning to me and find out what is the new gossip
on my street.
I enjoy most of the people in the village, but i especially love
an older gentleman named "Herman". Herman is suppose
to be the town drunk and simple minded. He sits everyday
on the bench going up the main road and greets the walkers
and drivers going past with a friendly wave and smile.
I am not sure if he is a town drunk at all, but I do know he is so sweet,
and acts like his day has just brightened up every-time he sees me.
Who could not love someone like that!
I hardly understand a word he is trying to say to me, but I can
see in his eyes the kindness of angel and the goodwill he
spreads with his smile.
Well, I hope you have enjoyed my morning here in my
I must run for now and make the walk up the
street to the village pantry and just maybe I will "accidently"
run into the new neighbor and find out what her story is.
From there I can spread the word to all the gossips
up the road that she is just a newbie like I once was,
And to give her some time and maybe she will one day make
the walk up the road as an established member of the village :)
Hugs to all ~kimme