Spring

It's official. It's Spring. I can't think of enough ways to tell you what a relief that is. Winters here are nothing compared to what we had in Alaska, but still, we are glad that it's in the past and warmer weather is finally here. We misplaced Americans are digging our bikes out of storage, polishing the chrome, and airing up our tires. (The Belgians are made of tougher stuff, and were out cheerfully riding along in the falling snow like it was the middle of August.) Spring also brings the next school sport into our lives. Jess is now involved in soccer. She hasn't played since she was in the 5th grade, but has slipped back into the routine quite well. Apparently, things are a little more competitive in the High School world of soccer, though. She comes limping home from practice each night, covered with blisters, scrapes, and bruises. Still, she enjoys it, so she continues on. Aspercreme and Motrin are her new best friends. Jess had her first game this weekend. She and her team boarded a bus in the Netherlands at 5 am yesterday, and drove away to England for the weekend. The fellas and I took off in the opposite direction to Spangdahlem, Germany, for the day. (We are a typical American family. I'm sure most of you spent your weekend in much the same way.) Spang was hosting their annual Spring Bazaar this weekend. Russ worked a booth, selling steak sandwiches, and Brandon and I sauntered off to spend money. It's a tough job, but we were willing to work at it. I'd like to think that we showed great restraint. Brandon invested his cash in a wooden sword. I picked up a Polish pottery casserole dish and... cheese. Three chunks of cheese, to be precise. In case you are wondering why, in the face of two hangers filled with treasures from all over Europe, did I buy cheese, you will be relieved to know that Russ already asked. First of all, they had cheese that tasted like pizza. Really. I'm talking tomato sauce, bread, spices, olives, and ... well ... pizza. It's amazing how they squeezed all of that Italian goodness into that little chunk of German cheese. I figured that some sort of magic must be involved, so I bought some. Then they had another chunk of cheese that tasted like pesto sauce. When have you ever seen anything as fascinating as that? I love pesto, so into the bag it went. I was willing to stop at two, but they threw that little advertising hook out, baited with something that no respectable shopper could walk away from. A sale. If you purchase 3 chunks of cheese, then there is a discount. So cheese number three was chosen out of the line up by my sword wielding partner in crime, and tossed into the bag. Done. In all, we behaved ourselves rather well, and only hauled a couple of small bags out to the car. Hmmmm. Now that I think about it, I probably should have gone back to the Polish pottery booth and picked up that lovely cheese dish that I'd been admiring. After all, magical pizza cheese and her two feisty friends deserve it. I'm just saying.