I bought Danny an Advent calendar today. I sure do miss Woolworth's-I never imagined I'd be spending four dollars on one. It's not even religious themed (dontcha think an Advent calendar ought to have the Nativity on it instead of some Victorian looking Father Christmas?) though perhaps that's too much to expect these days.
So I'm standing in line purchasing my Advent calendar and a rubber duck wearing a yarmulke and a Star of David (hey, we're an interfaith family) and a jar of capers when the woman next in line begins reminiscing. She was slightly older than I (I'd guess about fifty) and had a very heavy German accent.
"Jah, they were just pictures on paper, not chocolate ven I vas a child. My muter, Jah she knew I vas peeking ahead."
At that point it sort of felt like the conversation was either going to turn quite maudlin with stories about the Marshall Plan, or she was going to enter comedic territory with descriptions of her mother punishing her by holding her hand over the kitchen range (if that were funny, which I guess it's not, but in the context of a culture that gave us children's stories like Struewlpeter, it has amusing aspects). Instead, she didn't elaborate.
I wonder what stories Danny will have to tell complete strangers about me?