Windies

vun Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

In 'n Christmoond, Sneemoond un den Iesmoond wüür to mien Kinnertiet de Winter noch een Winter mit Ies, Snee un Iesblomen an de Finsterruten. Mierstiets harrn wi al in'n Nebelmoond veel Snee un Küll. In Huus un Hoff bruken wi nich to helpen, heuchsten Sprockhult to'n Anbeuten un Klobenhult vun Boven holn, un in de Eck op de Achterdeel opstopeln. Poor Brikett un een Kohlenschütt vull Anthrazit hebbt wi ok för Mamma hinstellt, dormit se de Döns scheun kommodig warm moken kunn. Iers no 'n Middageten wörr in de Döns de grote Kacheloben, de bet an de Deck recken dünn, anbött. Mit Füürung müß düchtig sport warrn, in de swore Tiet wüür dat Geld allentalben knapp.

Wi harrn noch Wiehnachtsfiern as ik no'n Eten Mamma freug: ,,Mamma, dröff ik mit Irene op den Groben rüschen? Hett jo so veel sneet öber Nacht, mit Strietschooh warrt dar hüüt nix''. ,,Vun mi ut treckt man mit joon Kreken loos un vergeet de Peken nich, dor koomt ji beter mit vörwarts. Ober eens verspreek mi, mien Diern, goh nich so dicht an'n Walln, mank de Besen un den Reet is bloots Windies un batts sitts denn warrer in. Is noch keen Johr vergohn, datt du nich mit natte Klomotten vun 't Ies na Huus koom büß. Du heß bloots dat een Poor Stebeln un de mööt dreug blieben. De Hacken heß al gans koputt mokt mit dat An- un Afschruben vun de Strietschoh. Nee'e köönt wi nich käupen, de mööt öber den Winter utholn mit di. Wohr di weg vun dat Windies!'' verklomüster Mamma mi Dag för Dag.

Irene teuv al op mi, denn se harr al een grotet Lock in de Iesblomen pust. As se mi wieswörr keum se mi in de Meut un wüür gans jibbelig, datt dat man losgüng. Irene kreeg de lieke Predig mit op 'n Weg as ik. Wüür ober soveel Snee fulln, dat wi uns Rüüschbohn ierstmol vun Snee freeschüffeln müssen. Nu kunn dat Rüschen losgohn. In een kotte Tiet harrn wi rode Backen.

No een halbe Stünn seet mi ober de Dübel in 'n Nacken un fluster mi in de Uhrn: ,,Kiek mol, dor mank de Besen un den Reet an Grobenrand dat scheune Windies an, dor schullst du man mit de Hacken vun dien Stebeln een Lock rinhacken, datt de Fisch Suurstoff kriegt''. Weg wüür de Klooksnacker, ober dat mit den Suurstoff harr uns Schoolmester Herr Kruse uns al lang un breet verkloort, dorüm wüür dat jo Windies, dat reck för de Fisch, wat dor an Suurstoff dörchkäum. Nu, an mi schull dat nich liggen, datt de Fisch gor ünner dat Ies sticken wörrn.

Vörsichtig, iers so een beten mit de Hack vun den rechten Stebel wüür ik ohn notodinken op dat Windies an 't Kloppen. Mit een lutet ,,Huch'' seet ik denn ober ok al bet öber dat rechte Knee in. Rut wüür ik liekso gau as rin, ober nu stünn Irene blang mi un schimp: ,,Nu heß uns ganse Freid toschann mookt! Wo scheun wüürn wi an 't Rüschen. Goh bloots fuurts na Huus un treck dreuget Tüüch an". ,,Büß du mall? Ik kann doch nich no Huus gohn, denn krieg ik op de Steed een Oorsvull vun Mamma. Dien Mudder kann mien Klomotten doch een beten an den Kacheloben hingen, mien Mamma hett di doch ok al foken ut de Patsch reten, wenn bi di wat scheeflopen wüür'', geev ik bedröfft trüch. Dünn mi jo ok bannig leed, datt uns Vergneugen so gau to Enn gohn wüür. Irene ehr Mudder wüß, datt uns wat molüürt ween müß, wiel wi so gau warrer bi Huus wüürn. ,,Na, wokeen vun jo beiden schall ik nu afrüschen?" froog se mit een Smustergrien. Se hett mien Klomotten an den Oben hungen to 'n Dreugen, un den Stebel hett se mit Popeer utstoppt un in 'n Oben in de Piep stellt.

In de Schummeree müß ik no Huus. Mien Stebel wüür noch bannig natt. Dor müß ik mi noch wat infalln loten. Vun 't Flett ut müß ik nu verseuken, den Stebel gans figelinsch achter den Oben to versteken. Op den Kökendisch leeg dat <>. Gau tosomknüllen un rin in den Stebel, dat wüür eens. Gans dicht kreup ik an den Oben ran, üm den Stebel achter den Oben to stelln. Mamma meen: ,,Na mien Diern, büß sachs düchtig dörchfrorn, krüppst jo meist in den Oben rin." ,,Och dat geiht", anter ik schienhillig.

Pappa keum vun de Wisch, woneem he an de Est Reet sneen harr, un wüür totol dörchfroorn un verklomt. Mamma hett Sprockhult ünner den Teeketel smeten, dormit dat Woter för een Rumgrog gau kook. Ut den Biketel hebb ik Pappa heet Woter in de Waschschötel goten un frogt: ,,Is wull kuum Woter in de Est bi den Oostenwind, wat Pappa?'' ,,Nee, ok bi Floot is kuum wat rinlopen. De Est hult, is tofrorn vun Cranz bet Buxtud'', anter Pappa mi.

Nodem Pappa sik wuschen harr, sett he sik kommodig op de grote Eekenbank. Vör em damp de Grog as he to Mudder sä: ,,Johanno, giffst mi mol dat <>?'' ,,Mook dien Ogen op, dat liggt för dien Nääs op den Kökendisch'', meen Mamma. Mi schuur dat heet un koold öbern Rüch. Verdorri nochmool, dat Blatt harr ik in mien natten Stebel steken. ,,Nee, hier liggt ober nix. Amenn is Liesbeth ok gor nich dörch den hogen Snee komen, or heß dien Romon al leest in de Döns?'', meen Pappa mit een Grientje üm de Ogen. ,,Mit Liesbeth hebb ik noch snackt, de wüür al Kaffeetiet hier un wull sehn, datt se noch vör de Schummertiet warrer bi Huus ween kunn. För den Romon hebb ik noch keen Tiet hatt. In dien Strümp mööt de Hacken nee inknütt warrn, un de Maschen kann ik blots bi Daglicht opfangen. Peter, ihr du dat Blatt nich leest heß foot ik dat nich an, dat weest du gans nau'', anter Mamma een lütt beten grandessig. Nu müß ik jo vertüüch mit de Wohrheit, füng an to blarrn un stünn in, woans allns koom wüür. Oorsvull hebb ik nich kregen, ober een poor an de Riestüten vun Mamma müß ik insteken. Achterran keum de Gordienpredig, un ik hüür hüüt ümmer noch ,,... Windies ... Windies ... un al warrer inseten ... ümmer du ... Gertrud sackt gor nich in ...'', un wat noch allns käum.

Dat Windies hett mi noch foken Schereree mookt. Wenn dat ober nochmool so een Winter geben wörr as to mien Kinnertiet, ik gläuv, ik wörr mi hüüt mit mien 78 Johr nochmool natte Feut in 't Windies holn. Poor Stebeln to 'n Wesseln wüürn hüüt sachs dor.

On Thin Ice

by Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

When I was a child, wintertime still used to be wintertime in December, January and February, with ice and snow, and frost flowers on the windowpanes. We tended to have very cold and snowy weather already in November. We (children) didn't have to help in and around the house. At most we had to fetch wood for kindling and also had to get wooden logs from upstairs and had to stack them in the corner on the back porch. We used to put a few pieces of pressed coal and a container full of hard coal there for Mom so she could make the living room nice and toasty. It used to be only after lunchtime that the large tiled stove, that reached the ceiling, was fired up. People used to have to be frugal with fuel. There was never enough money to go around when times were hard.

We were still having our Christmas vacations when I asked Mom after lunch, "Mom, may I go sliding on the ditch with Irene? There's been a lot of snow overnight. It isn't a good day for skating." "As far as I am concerned, you may be on your way with your toboggans. And don't forget your picks! It's going to be easier to move around with them. But promise me one thing, honey. Don't go to close to the banks! In among the rushes and reeds there's only ["wind ice" =] thin ice, and before you know it you break through again. So far not a year has passed without you coming home from the ice with wet clothes. You've only got one pair of boots, and it's got to stay dry. You've already totally ruined the heels with screwing your skates on and off. We can't afford to buy new ones. They've got to last the winter for you. Stay away from the thin ice!" Mom explained to me day after day.

Irene had already been waiting for me. I was able to tell by the large clear spot she had blown into the frost flowers (with her warm breath). When she noticed me she came to meet me and was all eager to get started. Irene got the same lecture on her way as I had gotten. Boy! A lot of snow had accumulated, so we had to shovel our chute free (from snow). Now the sliding could commence. We had flushed cheeks in no time.

But half an hour later the devil was possessing me and whispered into my ear, "Look at the lovely thin ice there amongst the rushes and reeds on the edge of the ditch! You ought to make a hole in it with the heels of your boots so the fish can get some oxygen." Gone was the wise guy. Well, true ... Our teacher, Mr. Kruse, had explained in great detail all this stuff about oxygen, how the oxygen that got through it was enough for the fish, and that that's why it was "wind ice."

Without a thought -- carefully, at first just a bit with the heel of the right boot -- I found myself stomping on the thin ice. But with a loud "Whoops!" I was through it up over my right knee. I got out as quickly as I had gotten in, but now Irene was standing next to me scolding, "Now you've spoilt our fun! We had such a nice time sliding! You'd better go home right away and put on some dry clothes." "Are you crazy? I can't go home. I'd get a hiding from my mom right there on the spot. Your mother could hang my clothes onto the tiled stove for a bit. After all, my mom has been getting you out of trouble quite a few times," I responded sadly. I did feel pretty sorry about our good time having ended so soon. Irene's mother knew that something bad had happened because we were back at the house so soon. "All right, which one of you should I give a spanking?" she asked with a grin. She hung my clothes onto the stove to get them dry, and she stuffed the boot with paper and put it into the oven.

At dusk I had to go home. My boot was still rather wet. I had to come up with something. Entering from the hall I had to try and hide the boot behind the stove in some elaborate way or other. The Ollander News was lying on the kitchen table. In one fell swoop I crumpled it up and stuck it into the boot. I sneaked very close to the stove in order to put the boot behind [the stove =] it. Mom said, "Well, honey? You must be pretty much frozen through. You look as though you're about to crawl right inside the stove." "Ugh, well, it's all right," I answered sanctimoniously.

Dad came from the meadow where he had been cutting reed at the Este River, and he was totally frozen and stiff. Mom had thrown some kindling underneath the teakettle so water for rum toddy would come to a boil soon. From the other kettle I poured some hot water into the hand basin for Dad and asked, "I suppose there's hardly any water in the Este, what with all the easterly wind. Right, Dad?" "No, hardly any got into it even at high tide. The Este is on hold, frozen shut from Cranz all the way to Buxtehude," Dad replied.

After he had freshened up Dad sat himself down cozily on the large oak wood bench. The toddy was steaming in front of him when he said to Mother, "Johanna [= Joan], would you pass me the Ollander News?" "Open your eyes! It's right in front of your nose on the kitchen table," Mom said. Shivers were running down my spine. Damn! The newspaper was stuck inside my boot! ,,No, I can't see anything here. Perhaps Liesbeth [= Liz] didn't get through the high snow. Or did you already read [today's sequel of] your novel in the living room?" Dad said with a bit of a grin around his eyes. "I did talk with Liesbeth. She came by at around coffee time and wanted to try and be back home before dark. I haven't had time for the novel so far. Your socks need new heels knitted into them, and I can catch the stitches only in daylight. Peter, I won't touch the paper before you've read it, and you know it perfectly well," Mom answered just a bit peeved. Now I had no choice but to come out with the truth. I started crying and admitted how everything had happened. I didn't get a hiding, but I did take a few ["onto the rice bags" = "onto the cheeks" =] slaps in the face from Mom. And then came the curtain lecture, and I can still hear, "... thin ice ... thin ice ... and broke through once again ... always you ... Gertrud never does ..." and all the rest of it.

Thin ice got me into trouble quite a few times after that. But if nowadays there were another winter of the kind we used to have during my childhood, I suppose I'd get myself wet feet through thin ice despite being 78 years old. I guess these days I'd have a few boots to change into.

Wind-Iis

fun Clara Kramer- Freudenthal

In d'n Kristmaand, d'n Sneimaand un d'n Iismaand woyr tou miin kindertiid de winter noch ein winter mit iis, snei, un iisbloumen an de finsterruten. Meirstiids harren wii al in d'n Nevelmaand feil snei un kuel. In huus un hov bruken wii nich tou helpen, hoychsten sprokhult tou d'n an-boyten un klovenhult fun baven halen un in de ek op de achterdeil opstapeln. Paar brikett un 'n kolenschuet ful anthrazit hebt wii ouk foer Mamma hinsteld daarmit sei de doenss schoyn kommodig warm maken kun. Eirs naa d'n middag-eten woer in de doenss de grote kachel-aven, dei bet an de dek rekken duen, an-boett. Mit fuyrung muess duechtig spaard warden. In de sware tiid woyr dat geld allentalven knap.

Wii harren noch Winachtsfeirn as ik naa d'n eten Mamma froyg: ,,Mamma, droeff ik mit Irene op den graven ruyschen? Het jaa soo feel sneid euver nacht. Mit striidschou wardt daar huyt niks''. ,,Fun mii uut trekt man mit joun kreiken loos, un fergeitt de peiken nich. Daar kaamt jii beter mit foerwards. Aver eins ferspreek mii, miin Deirn: Gaa nich soo dicht an d'n wallen! Mank de beisen un d'n reit is bloots wind-iis, un bats sitst den warrer in. Is noch kein jaar fergaan dat duu nich mit natte klamotten fun 't iis naa huus kamen buest. Duu hest bloots dat ein paar steiveln, un dei meutt droyg bliven. De hakken hest al ganss kaputt maakd mit dat an- un af-schruven fun de striidschou. Neie keunt wii nich koypen; de meutt euver d'n winter uut-holden mit dii. Waar dii weg fun dat wind-iis!'' ferklamuyster Mamma mii dag foer dag.

Irene toyv' al op mii, den sei har al 'n grotet lok in de iisbloumen puustt. As sei mii wiis woerd koym sei mii in de moyt un woyr ganss jibbelig dat dat man loos gueng. Irene kreeg' de like predig mit op d'n weg as ik. Woyr aver soo feel snei fullen dat wii uns ruyschbaan eirstmaal fun snei frei-schueffeln muessen. Nuu kun dat rueschen loos gaan. In 'en kotte tiid harren wii rode bakken.

Naa 'n halve stuend seet mii aver de duyvel in d'n nakken un fluster mii in de ouren: ,,Kiik maal dor mank de beisen un d'n reit an gravenrand dat schoyne wind-iis an! Daar schulst duu man mit de hakken fun diin steiveln 'n lok rin-hakken dat de fisch suurstof kriigt.'' Weg woyr de klouksnakker, aver dat mit d'n suurstof har uns schoulmeister Her Kruse uns al lang un breit ferklaard. Daruem woyr dat jaa wind-iis. Dat rek foer de fisch wat daar an suurstof doerch-koym. Nuu, an mii schul dat nich liggen dat de fisch gaar uenner dat iis stikken woerden.

Foersichtig, eirst soo 'n beten mit de hak fun d'n rechten steivel woyr ik aan naa tou dinken op dat wind-iis an't kloppen. Mit 'n lutet ,,Huuch'' seet ik den aver ouk al bet euver dat rechte knei in. Ruut woyr ik liik soo gau as rin. Aver nuu stuend Irene blang mii un schimp: ,,Nuu hest uns gansse fraid tou schanden maakd! Wou schoyn woyren wii an't ruyschen! Gaa bloots fourts naa huus, un trek droyget tuyg an!'' ,,Buest duu mal? Ik kan doch nich naa huus gaan! Den kriig ik op de steed 'n aarsful fun Mamma. Diin mudder kan miin klamotten doch 'n beten an d'n kachel-aven hingen. Miin Mamma hett dii doch ouk al faken uut de patsch reten wen bii dii wat scheiv loupen woyr,'' geev' ik bedroevd trueg. Duen mii jaa ouk bannig leid dat uns fergnoygen soo gau tou end gaan woyr. Irene er mudder wuess dat uns wat maloyrd ween muess, wiil wii soo gau warrer bii huus woyrn. Na, woukein fun jou baiden schal ik nuu af-ruyschen?" fraag' sei mit 'n smuustergrinen. Sei het miin klamotten an d'n aven hungen tou d'n droygen, un d'n steivel het sei mit papeir uut-stopd un in d'n aven in de piip steld.

In de schummerei muess ik naa huus. Miin steivel woyr noch bannig nat. Daar muess ik mii noch wat in-fallen laten. Fun't flet uut muess ik nuu fersoyken d'n steivel ganss figeliinsch achter d'n aven tou fersteken. Op d'n keukendisch leeg' dat Ollanner Blad. Gau tousamen-knuellen un rin in d'n steivel; dat woyr eins. Ganss dicht kroyp ik an d'n aven ran uem d'n steivel achter d'n aven tou stellen. Mamma mein: ,,Na, miin deirn, buest sachs duechtig doerch-froren. Kruepst jaa maist in d'n aven rin." ,,Och, dat gait," anter ik schiinhillig.

Pappa koym fun de wisch, wouneem hei an de Est reit sneen har, un woyr totaal doerch-froren un ferklaamd. Mamma het sprokhult uenner d'n teeketel smeten, daarmit dat water foer 'n rumgrog gau kaak. Uut d'n biketel hev ik Pappa heit water in de waschschoytel gaten un fraagd: ,,Is wul kuum water in de Est bii d'n oostenwind. Wat, Pappa?'' ,,Nei, ouk bii flout is kuum wat rin-loupen. De Est hult, is tou-froren fun Krans bet Bukstuud,'' anter Pappa mii.

Nadem Pappa sik wuschen har set hei sik kommodig op de grote eikenbank. Foer em damp de grog as hei tou Mudder see: ,,Johanna, givst mii maal dat Ollanner Blad?'' ,,Maak diin ougen op! Dat ligt foer diin nees' op d'n keukendisch,'' mein Mamma. Mii schuur dat heit un kold euver d'n rueg. Ferdorri nochmaal! Dat blad har ik in miin natten steivel steken ... ,,Nee, hiir ligt aver niks. Amenn is Liesbeth ouk gaarnich doerch d'n hogen snei kamen. Or hest diin romaan al leesd in de doenss?'' mein Pappa mit 'n griintje uem de ougen. ,,Mit Liesbeth hev ik noch snakd. Dei woyr al kaffetiid hier un wul sein dat sei noch foer de schummertiid warrer bii huus ween kun. Foer d'n romaan hev ik noch kein tiid hat. In diin struemp meutt de hakken nei in-knuet warden, un de maschen kan ik bloots bii daglicht op-fangen. Peter, eir duu dat blad nich leesd hest faat ik dat nich an. Dat weist duu ganss nau,'' anter Mamma 'n luet beten grandessig. Nuu muess ik jaa fertuych mit de waarhait, fueng an tou blarren un stuend in wouans allens kamen woyr. Aarsful hev ik nich kregen, aver 'n paar an de riis-tuyten fun Mamma muess ik in-steken. Achterran koym de gaardinenpredig, un ik hoyr huyt uemmer noch ,,... Wind-iis ... wind-iis ... un al warrer in-seten ... uemmer duu ... Gertrud sakt gaarnich in ...'', un wat noch allens koym.

Dat wind-iis het mii noch faken schererei maakd. Wen dat aver nochmaal soo ein winter geven woerd' as tou miin kindertiid, ik gloyv' ik woerd' mi huyt mit miin 78 [acht-un-seuventig] jaar nochmaal natte foyt in't wind-iis halen. Paar steiveln tou d'n wesseln woyrden huyt sachs daar.

On Thin Ice

by Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

When I was a child, wintertime still used to be wintertime in December, January and February, with ice and snow, and frost flowers on the windowpanes. We tended to have very cold and snowy weather already in November. We (children) didn't have to help in and around the house. At most we had to fetch wood for kindling and also had to get wooden logs from upstairs and had to stack them in the corner on the back porch. We used to put a few pieces of pressed coal and a container full of hard coal there for Mom so she could make the living room nice and toasty. It used to be only after lunchtime that the large tiled stove, that reached the ceiling, was fired up. People used to have to be frugal with fuel. There was never enough money to go around when times were hard.

We were still having our Christmas vacations when I asked Mom after lunch, "Mom, may I go sliding on the ditch with Irene? There's been a lot of snow overnight. It isn't a good day for skating." "As far as I am concerned, you may be on your way with your toboggans. And don't forget your picks! It's going to be easier to move around with them. But promise me one thing, honey. Don't go to close to the banks! In among the rushes and reeds there's only ["wind ice" =] thin ice, and before you know it you break through again. So far not a year has passed without you coming home from the ice with wet clothes. You've only got one pair of boots, and it's got to stay dry. You've already totally ruined the heels with screwing your skates on and off. We can't afford to buy new ones. They've got to last the winter for you. Stay away from the thin ice!" Mom explained to me day after day.

Irene had already been waiting for me. I was able to tell by the large clear spot she had blown into the frost flowers (with her warm breath). When she noticed me she came to meet me and was all eager to get started. Irene got the same lecture on her way as I had gotten. Boy! A lot of snow had accumulated, so we had to shovel our chute free (from snow). Now the sliding could commence. We had flushed cheeks in no time.

But half an hour later the devil was possessing me and whispered into my ear, "Look at the lovely thin ice there amongst the rushes and reeds on the edge of the ditch! You ought to make a hole in it with the heels of your boots so the fish can get some oxygen." Gone was the wise guy. Well, true ... Our teacher, Mr. Kruse, had explained in great detail all this stuff about oxygen, how the oxygen that got through it was enough for the fish, and that that's why it was "wind ice."

Without a thought -- carefully, at first just a bit with the heel of the right boot -- I found myself stomping on the thin ice. But with a loud "Whoops!" I was through it up over my right knee. I got out as quickly as I had gotten in, but now Irene was standing next to me scolding, "Now you've spoilt our fun! We had such a nice time sliding! You'd better go home right away and put on some dry clothes." "Are you crazy? I can't go home. I'd get a hiding from my mom right there on the spot. Your mother could hang my clothes onto the tiled stove for a bit. After all, my mom has been getting you out of trouble quite a few times," I responded sadly. I did feel pretty sorry about our good time having ended so soon. Irene's mother knew that something bad had happened because we were back at the house so soon. "All right, which one of you should I give a spanking?" she asked with a grin. She hung my clothes onto the stove to get them dry, and she stuffed the boot with paper and put it into the oven.

At dusk I had to go home. My boot was still rather wet. I had to come up with something. Entering from the hall I had to try and hide the boot behind the stove in some elaborate way or other. The Ollander News was lying on the kitchen table. In one fell swoop I crumpled it up and stuck it into the boot. I sneaked very close to the stove in order to put the boot behind [the stove =] it. Mom said, "Well, honey? You must be pretty much frozen through. You look as though you're about to crawl right inside the stove." "Ugh, well, it's all right," I answered sanctimoniously.

Dad came from the meadow where he had been cutting reed at the Este River, and he was totally frozen and stiff. Mom had thrown some kindling underneath the teakettle so water for rum toddy would come to a boil soon. From the other kettle I poured some hot water into the hand basin for Dad and asked, "I suppose there's hardly any water in the Este, what with all the easterly wind. Right, Dad?" "No, hardly any got into it even at high tide. The Este is on hold, frozen shut from Cranz all the way to Buxtehude," Dad replied.

After he had freshened up Dad sat himself down cozily on the large oak wood bench. The toddy was steaming in front of him when he said to Mother, "Johanna [= Joan], would you pass me the Ollander News?" "Open your eyes! It's right in front of your nose on the kitchen table," Mom said. Shivers were running down my spine. Damn! The newspaper was stuck inside my boot! ,,No, I can't see anything here. Perhaps Liesbeth [= Liz] didn't get through the high snow. Or did you already read [today's sequel of] your novel in the living room?" Dad said with a bit of a grin around his eyes. "I did talk with Liesbeth. She came by at around coffee time and wanted to try and be back home before dark. I haven't had time for the novel so far. Your socks need new heels knitted into them, and I can catch the stitches only in daylight. Peter, I won't touch the paper before you've read it, and you know it perfectly well," Mom answered just a bit peeved. Now I had no choice but to come out with the truth. I started crying and admitted how everything had happened. I didn't get a hiding, but I did take a few ["onto the rice bags" = "onto the cheeks" =] slaps in the face from Mom. And then came the curtain lecture, and I can still hear, "... thin ice ... thin ice ... and broke through once again ... always you ... Gertrud never does ..." and all the rest of it.

Thin ice got me into trouble quite a few times after that. But if nowadays there were another winter of the kind we used to have during my childhood, I suppose I'd get myself wet feet through thin ice despite being 78 years old. I guess these days I'd have a few boots to change into.

Windies

vun Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

In 'n Christmoond, Sneemoond un den Iesmoond wüür to mien Kinnertiet de Winter noch een Winter mit Ies, Snee un Iesblomen an de Finsterruten. Mierstiets harrn wi al in'n Nebelmoond veel Snee un Küll. In Huus un Hoff bruken wi nich to helpen, heuchsten Sprockhult to'n Anbeuten un Klobenhult vun Boven holn, un in de Eck op de Achterdeel opstopeln. Poor Brikett un een Kohlenschütt vull Anthrazit hebbt wi ok för Mamma hinstellt, dormit se de Döns scheun kommodig warm moken kunn. Iers no 'n Middageten wörr in de Döns de grote Kacheloben, de bet an de Deck recken dünn, anbött. Mit Füürung müß düchtig sport warrn, in de swore Tiet wüür dat Geld allentalben knapp.

Wi harrn noch Wiehnachtsfiern as ik no'n Eten Mamma freug: ,,Mamma, dröff ik mit Irene op den Groben rüschen? Hett jo so veel sneet öber Nacht, mit Strietschooh warrt dar hüüt nix''. ,,Vun mi ut treckt man mit joon Kreken loos un vergeet de Peken nich, dor koomt ji beter mit vörwarts. Ober eens verspreek mi, mien Diern, goh nich so dicht an'n Walln, mank de Besen un den Reet is bloots Windies un batts sitts denn warrer in. Is noch keen Johr vergohn, datt du nich mit natte Klomotten vun 't Ies na Huus koom büß. Du heß bloots dat een Poor Stebeln un de mööt dreug blieben. De Hacken heß al gans koputt mokt mit dat An- un Afschruben vun de Strietschoh. Nee'e köönt wi nich käupen, de mööt öber den Winter utholn mit di. Wohr di weg vun dat Windies!'' verklomüster Mamma mi Dag för Dag.

Irene teuv al op mi, denn se harr al een grotet Lock in de Iesblomen pust. As se mi wieswörr keum se mi in de Meut un wüür gans jibbelig, datt dat man losgüng. Irene kreeg de lieke Predig mit op 'n Weg as ik. Wüür ober soveel Snee fulln, dat wi uns Rüüschbohn ierstmol vun Snee freeschüffeln müssen. Nu kunn dat Rüschen losgohn. In een kotte Tiet harrn wi rode Backen.

No een halbe Stünn seet mi ober de Dübel in 'n Nacken un fluster mi in de Uhrn: ,,Kiek mol, dor mank de Besen un den Reet an Grobenrand dat scheune Windies an, dor schullst du man mit de Hacken vun dien Stebeln een Lock rinhacken, datt de Fisch Suurstoff kriegt''. Weg wüür de Klooksnacker, ober dat mit den Suurstoff harr uns Schoolmester Herr Kruse uns al lang un breet verkloort, dorüm wüür dat jo Windies, dat reck för de Fisch, wat dor an Suurstoff dörchkäum. Nu, an mi schull dat nich liggen, datt de Fisch gor ünner dat Ies sticken wörrn.

Vörsichtig, iers so een beten mit de Hack vun den rechten Stebel wüür ik ohn notodinken op dat Windies an 't Kloppen. Mit een lutet ,,Huch'' seet ik denn ober ok al bet öber dat rechte Knee in. Rut wüür ik liekso gau as rin, ober nu stünn Irene blang mi un schimp: ,,Nu heß uns ganse Freid toschann mookt! Wo scheun wüürn wi an 't Rüschen. Goh bloots fuurts na Huus un treck dreuget Tüüch an". ,,Büß du mall? Ik kann doch nich no Huus gohn, denn krieg ik op de Steed een Oorsvull vun Mamma. Dien Mudder kann mien Klomotten doch een beten an den Kacheloben hingen, mien Mamma hett di doch ok al foken ut de Patsch reten, wenn bi di wat scheeflopen wüür'', geev ik bedröfft trüch. Dünn mi jo ok bannig leed, datt uns Vergneugen so gau to Enn gohn wüür. Irene ehr Mudder wüß, datt uns wat molüürt ween müß, wiel wi so gau warrer bi Huus wüürn. ,,Na, wokeen vun jo beiden schall ik nu afrüschen?" froog se mit een Smustergrien. Se hett mien Klomotten an den Oben hungen to 'n Dreugen, un den Stebel hett se mit Popeer utstoppt un in 'n Oben in de Piep stellt.

In de Schummeree müß ik no Huus. Mien Stebel wüür noch bannig natt. Dor müß ik mi noch wat infalln loten. Vun 't Flett ut müß ik nu verseuken, den Stebel gans figelinsch achter den Oben to versteken. Op den Kökendisch leeg dat <>. Gau tosomknüllen un rin in den Stebel, dat wüür eens. Gans dicht kreup ik an den Oben ran, üm den Stebel achter den Oben to stelln. Mamma meen: ,,Na mien Diern, büß sachs düchtig dörchfrorn, krüppst jo meist in den Oben rin." ,,Och dat geiht", anter ik schienhillig.

Pappa keum vun de Wisch, woneem he an de Est Reet sneen harr, un wüür totol dörchfroorn un verklomt. Mamma hett Sprockhult ünner den Teeketel smeten, dormit dat Woter för een Rumgrog gau kook. Ut den Biketel hebb ik Pappa heet Woter in de Waschschötel goten un frogt: ,,Is wull kuum Woter in de Est bi den Oostenwind, wat Pappa?'' ,,Nee, ok bi Floot is kuum wat rinlopen. De Est hult, is tofrorn vun Cranz bet Buxtud'', anter Pappa mi.

Nodem Pappa sik wuschen harr, sett he sik kommodig op de grote Eekenbank. Vör em damp de Grog as he to Mudder sä: ,,Johanno, giffst mi mol dat <>?'' ,,Mook dien Ogen op, dat liggt för dien Nääs op den Kökendisch'', meen Mamma. Mi schuur dat heet un koold öbern Rüch. Verdorri nochmool, dat Blatt harr ik in mien natten Stebel steken. ,,Nee, hier liggt ober nix. Amenn is Liesbeth ok gor nich dörch den hogen Snee komen, or heß dien Romon al leest in de Döns?'', meen Pappa mit een Grientje üm de Ogen. ,,Mit Liesbeth hebb ik noch snackt, de wüür al Kaffeetiet hier un wull sehn, datt se noch vör de Schummertiet warrer bi Huus ween kunn. För den Romon hebb ik noch keen Tiet hatt. In dien Strümp mööt de Hacken nee inknütt warrn, un de Maschen kann ik blots bi Daglicht opfangen. Peter, ihr du dat Blatt nich leest heß foot ik dat nich an, dat weest du gans nau'', anter Mamma een lütt beten grandessig. Nu müß ik jo vertüüch mit de Wohrheit, füng an to blarrn un stünn in, woans allns koom wüür. Oorsvull hebb ik nich kregen, ober een poor an de Riestüten vun Mamma müß ik insteken. Achterran keum de Gordienpredig, un ik hüür hüüt ümmer noch ,,... Windies ... Windies ... un al warrer inseten ... ümmer du ... Gertrud sackt gor nich in ...'', un wat noch allns käum.

Dat Windies hett mi noch foken Schereree mookt. Wenn dat ober nochmool so een Winter geben wörr as to mien Kinnertiet, ik gläuv, ik wörr mi hüüt mit mien 78 Johr nochmool natte Feut in 't Windies holn. Poor Stebeln to 'n Wesseln wüürn hüüt sachs dor.

On Thin Ice

by Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

When I was a child, wintertime still used to be wintertime in December, January and February, with ice and snow, and frost flowers on the windowpanes. We tended to have very cold and snowy weather already in November. We (children) didn't have to help in and around the house. At most we had to fetch wood for kindling and also had to get wooden logs from upstairs and had to stack them in the corner on the back porch. We used to put a few pieces of pressed coal and a container full of hard coal there for Mom so she could make the living room nice and toasty. It used to be only after lunchtime that the large tiled stove, that reached the ceiling, was fired up. People used to have to be frugal with fuel. There was never enough money to go around when times were hard.

We were still having our Christmas vacations when I asked Mom after lunch, "Mom, may I go sliding on the ditch with Irene? There's been a lot of snow overnight. It isn't a good day for skating." "As far as I am concerned, you may be on your way with your toboggans. And don't forget your picks! It's going to be easier to move around with them. But promise me one thing, honey. Don't go to close to the banks! In among the rushes and reeds there's only ["wind ice" =] thin ice, and before you know it you break through again. So far not a year has passed without you coming home from the ice with wet clothes. You've only got one pair of boots, and it's got to stay dry. You've already totally ruined the heels with screwing your skates on and off. We can't afford to buy new ones. They've got to last the winter for you. Stay away from the thin ice!" Mom explained to me day after day.

Irene had already been waiting for me. I was able to tell by the large clear spot she had blown into the frost flowers (with her warm breath). When she noticed me she came to meet me and was all eager to get started. Irene got the same lecture on her way as I had gotten. Boy! A lot of snow had accumulated, so we had to shovel our chute free (from snow). Now the sliding could commence. We had flushed cheeks in no time.

But half an hour later the devil was possessing me and whispered into my ear, "Look at the lovely thin ice there amongst the rushes and reeds on the edge of the ditch! You ought to make a hole in it with the heels of your boots so the fish can get some oxygen." Gone was the wise guy. Well, true ... Our teacher, Mr. Kruse, had explained in great detail all this stuff about oxygen, how the oxygen that got through it was enough for the fish, and that that's why it was "wind ice."

Without a thought -- carefully, at first just a bit with the heel of the right boot -- I found myself stomping on the thin ice. But with a loud "Whoops!" I was through it up over my right knee. I got out as quickly as I had gotten in, but now Irene was standing next to me scolding, "Now you've spoilt our fun! We had such a nice time sliding! You'd better go home right away and put on some dry clothes." "Are you crazy? I can't go home. I'd get a hiding from my mom right there on the spot. Your mother could hang my clothes onto the tiled stove for a bit. After all, my mom has been getting you out of trouble quite a few times," I responded sadly. I did feel pretty sorry about our good time having ended so soon. Irene's mother knew that something bad had happened because we were back at the house so soon. "All right, which one of you should I give a spanking?" she asked with a grin. She hung my clothes onto the stove to get them dry, and she stuffed the boot with paper and put it into the oven.

At dusk I had to go home. My boot was still rather wet. I had to come up with something. Entering from the hall I had to try and hide the boot behind the stove in some elaborate way or other. The Ollander News was lying on the kitchen table. In one fell swoop I crumpled it up and stuck it into the boot. I sneaked very close to the stove in order to put the boot behind [the stove =] it. Mom said, "Well, honey? You must be pretty much frozen through. You look as though you're about to crawl right inside the stove." "Ugh, well, it's all right," I answered sanctimoniously.

Dad came from the meadow where he had been cutting reed at the Este River, and he was totally frozen and stiff. Mom had thrown some kindling underneath the teakettle so water for rum toddy would come to a boil soon. From the other kettle I poured some hot water into the hand basin for Dad and asked, "I suppose there's hardly any water in the Este, what with all the easterly wind. Right, Dad?" "No, hardly any got into it even at high tide. The Este is on hold, frozen shut from Cranz all the way to Buxtehude," Dad replied.

After he had freshened up Dad sat himself down cozily on the large oak wood bench. The toddy was steaming in front of him when he said to Mother, "Johanna [= Joan], would you pass me the Ollander News?" "Open your eyes! It's right in front of your nose on the kitchen table," Mom said. Shivers were running down my spine. Damn! The newspaper was stuck inside my boot! ,,No, I can't see anything here. Perhaps Liesbeth [= Liz] didn't get through the high snow. Or did you already read [today's sequel of] your novel in the living room?" Dad said with a bit of a grin around his eyes. "I did talk with Liesbeth. She came by at around coffee time and wanted to try and be back home before dark. I haven't had time for the novel so far. Your socks need new heels knitted into them, and I can catch the stitches only in daylight. Peter, I won't touch the paper before you've read it, and you know it perfectly well," Mom answered just a bit peeved. Now I had no choice but to come out with the truth. I started crying and admitted how everything had happened. I didn't get a hiding, but I did take a few ["onto the rice bags" = "onto the cheeks" =] slaps in the face from Mom. And then came the curtain lecture, and I can still hear, "... thin ice ... thin ice ... and broke through once again ... always you ... Gertrud never does ..." and all the rest of it.

Thin ice got me into trouble quite a few times after that. But if nowadays there were another winter of the kind we used to have during my childhood, I suppose I'd get myself wet feet through thin ice despite being 78 years old. I guess these days I'd have a few boots to change into.

Wind-Iis

fun Clara Kramer- Freudenthal

In d'n Kristmaand, d'n Sneimaand un d'n Iismaand woyr tou miin kindertiid de winter noch ein winter mit iis, snei, un iisbloumen an de finsterruten. Meirstiids harren wii al in d'n Nevelmaand feil snei un kuel. In huus un hov bruken wii nich tou helpen, hoychsten sprokhult tou d'n an-boyten un klovenhult fun baven halen un in de ek op de achterdeil opstapeln. Paar brikett un 'n kolenschuet ful anthrazit hebt wii ouk foer Mamma hinsteld daarmit sei de doenss schoyn kommodig warm maken kun. Eirs naa d'n middag-eten woer in de doenss de grote kachel-aven, dei bet an de dek rekken duen, an-boett. Mit fuyrung muess duechtig spaard warden. In de sware tiid woyr dat geld allentalven knap.

Wii harren noch Winachtsfeirn as ik naa d'n eten Mamma froyg: ,,Mamma, droeff ik mit Irene op den graven ruyschen? Het jaa soo feel sneid euver nacht. Mit striidschou wardt daar huyt niks''. ,,Fun mii uut trekt man mit joun kreiken loos, un fergeitt de peiken nich. Daar kaamt jii beter mit foerwards. Aver eins ferspreek mii, miin Deirn: Gaa nich soo dicht an d'n wallen! Mank de beisen un d'n reit is bloots wind-iis, un bats sitst den warrer in. Is noch kein jaar fergaan dat duu nich mit natte klamotten fun 't iis naa huus kamen buest. Duu hest bloots dat ein paar steiveln, un dei meutt droyg bliven. De hakken hest al ganss kaputt maakd mit dat an- un af-schruven fun de striidschou. Neie keunt wii nich koypen; de meutt euver d'n winter uut-holden mit dii. Waar dii weg fun dat wind-iis!'' ferklamuyster Mamma mii dag foer dag.

Irene toyv' al op mii, den sei har al 'n grotet lok in de iisbloumen puustt. As sei mii wiis woerd koym sei mii in de moyt un woyr ganss jibbelig dat dat man loos gueng. Irene kreeg' de like predig mit op d'n weg as ik. Woyr aver soo feel snei fullen dat wii uns ruyschbaan eirstmaal fun snei frei-schueffeln muessen. Nuu kun dat rueschen loos gaan. In 'en kotte tiid harren wii rode bakken.

Naa 'n halve stuend seet mii aver de duyvel in d'n nakken un fluster mii in de ouren: ,,Kiik maal dor mank de beisen un d'n reit an gravenrand dat schoyne wind-iis an! Daar schulst duu man mit de hakken fun diin steiveln 'n lok rin-hakken dat de fisch suurstof kriigt.'' Weg woyr de klouksnakker, aver dat mit d'n suurstof har uns schoulmeister Her Kruse uns al lang un breit ferklaard. Daruem woyr dat jaa wind-iis. Dat rek foer de fisch wat daar an suurstof doerch-koym. Nuu, an mii schul dat nich liggen dat de fisch gaar uenner dat iis stikken woerden.

Foersichtig, eirst soo 'n beten mit de hak fun d'n rechten steivel woyr ik aan naa tou dinken op dat wind-iis an't kloppen. Mit 'n lutet ,,Huuch'' seet ik den aver ouk al bet euver dat rechte knei in. Ruut woyr ik liik soo gau as rin. Aver nuu stuend Irene blang mii un schimp: ,,Nuu hest uns gansse fraid tou schanden maakd! Wou schoyn woyren wii an't ruyschen! Gaa bloots fourts naa huus, un trek droyget tuyg an!'' ,,Buest duu mal? Ik kan doch nich naa huus gaan! Den kriig ik op de steed 'n aarsful fun Mamma. Diin mudder kan miin klamotten doch 'n beten an d'n kachel-aven hingen. Miin Mamma hett dii doch ouk al faken uut de patsch reten wen bii dii wat scheiv loupen woyr,'' geev' ik bedroevd trueg. Duen mii jaa ouk bannig leid dat uns fergnoygen soo gau tou end gaan woyr. Irene er mudder wuess dat uns wat maloyrd ween muess, wiil wii soo gau warrer bii huus woyrn. Na, woukein fun jou baiden schal ik nuu af-ruyschen?" fraag' sei mit 'n smuustergrinen. Sei het miin klamotten an d'n aven hungen tou d'n droygen, un d'n steivel het sei mit papeir uut-stopd un in d'n aven in de piip steld.

In de schummerei muess ik naa huus. Miin steivel woyr noch bannig nat. Daar muess ik mii noch wat in-fallen laten. Fun't flet uut muess ik nuu fersoyken d'n steivel ganss figeliinsch achter d'n aven tou fersteken. Op d'n keukendisch leeg' dat Ollanner Blad. Gau tousamen-knuellen un rin in d'n steivel; dat woyr eins. Ganss dicht kroyp ik an d'n aven ran uem d'n steivel achter d'n aven tou stellen. Mamma mein: ,,Na, miin deirn, buest sachs duechtig doerch-froren. Kruepst jaa maist in d'n aven rin." ,,Och, dat gait," anter ik schiinhillig.

Pappa koym fun de wisch, wouneem hei an de Est reit sneen har, un woyr totaal doerch-froren un ferklaamd. Mamma het sprokhult uenner d'n teeketel smeten, daarmit dat water foer 'n rumgrog gau kaak. Uut d'n biketel hev ik Pappa heit water in de waschschoytel gaten un fraagd: ,,Is wul kuum water in de Est bii d'n oostenwind. Wat, Pappa?'' ,,Nei, ouk bii flout is kuum wat rin-loupen. De Est hult, is tou-froren fun Krans bet Bukstuud,'' anter Pappa mii.

Nadem Pappa sik wuschen har set hei sik kommodig op de grote eikenbank. Foer em damp de grog as hei tou Mudder see: ,,Johanna, givst mii maal dat Ollanner Blad?'' ,,Maak diin ougen op! Dat ligt foer diin nees' op d'n keukendisch,'' mein Mamma. Mii schuur dat heit un kold euver d'n rueg. Ferdorri nochmaal! Dat blad har ik in miin natten steivel steken ... ,,Nee, hiir ligt aver niks. Amenn is Liesbeth ouk gaarnich doerch d'n hogen snei kamen. Or hest diin romaan al leesd in de doenss?'' mein Pappa mit 'n griintje uem de ougen. ,,Mit Liesbeth hev ik noch snakd. Dei woyr al kaffetiid hier un wul sein dat sei noch foer de schummertiid warrer bii huus ween kun. Foer d'n romaan hev ik noch kein tiid hat. In diin struemp meutt de hakken nei in-knuet warden, un de maschen kan ik bloots bii daglicht op-fangen. Peter, eir duu dat blad nich leesd hest faat ik dat nich an. Dat weist duu ganss nau,'' anter Mamma 'n luet beten grandessig. Nuu muess ik jaa fertuych mit de waarhait, fueng an tou blarren un stuend in wouans allens kamen woyr. Aarsful hev ik nich kregen, aver 'n paar an de riis-tuyten fun Mamma muess ik in-steken. Achterran koym de gaardinenpredig, un ik hoyr huyt uemmer noch ,,... Wind-iis ... wind-iis ... un al warrer in-seten ... uemmer duu ... Gertrud sakt gaarnich in ...'', un wat noch allens koym.

Dat wind-iis het mii noch faken schererei maakd. Wen dat aver nochmaal soo ein winter geven woerd' as tou miin kindertiid, ik gloyv' ik woerd' mi huyt mit miin 78 [acht-un-seuventig] jaar nochmaal natte foyt in't wind-iis halen. Paar steiveln tou d'n wesseln woyrden huyt sachs daar.

On Thin Ice

by Clara Kramer- Freudenthal 

When I was a child, wintertime still used to be wintertime in December, January and February, with ice and snow, and frost flowers on the windowpanes. We tended to have very cold and snowy weather already in November. We (children) didn't have to help in and around the house. At most we had to fetch wood for kindling and also had to get wooden logs from upstairs and had to stack them in the corner on the back porch. We used to put a few pieces of pressed coal and a container full of hard coal there for Mom so she could make the living room nice and toasty. It used to be only after lunchtime that the large tiled stove, that reached the ceiling, was fired up. People used to have to be frugal with fuel. There was never enough money to go around when times were hard.

We were still having our Christmas vacations when I asked Mom after lunch, "Mom, may I go sliding on the ditch with Irene? There's been a lot of snow overnight. It isn't a good day for skating." "As far as I am concerned, you may be on your way with your toboggans. And don't forget your picks! It's going to be easier to move around with them. But promise me one thing, honey. Don't go to close to the banks! In among the rushes and reeds there's only ["wind ice" =] thin ice, and before you know it you break through again. So far not a year has passed without you coming home from the ice with wet clothes. You've only got one pair of boots, and it's got to stay dry. You've already totally ruined the heels with screwing your skates on and off. We can't afford to buy new ones. They've got to last the winter for you. Stay away from the thin ice!" Mom explained to me day after day.

Irene had already been waiting for me. I was able to tell by the large clear spot she had blown into the frost flowers (with her warm breath). When she noticed me she came to meet me and was all eager to get started. Irene got the same lecture on her way as I had gotten. Boy! A lot of snow had accumulated, so we had to shovel our chute free (from snow). Now the sliding could commence. We had flushed cheeks in no time.

But half an hour later the devil was possessing me and whispered into my ear, "Look at the lovely thin ice there amongst the rushes and reeds on the edge of the ditch! You ought to make a hole in it with the heels of your boots so the fish can get some oxygen." Gone was the wise guy. Well, true ... Our teacher, Mr. Kruse, had explained in great detail all this stuff about oxygen, how the oxygen that got through it was enough for the fish, and that that's why it was "wind ice."

Without a thought -- carefully, at first just a bit with the heel of the right boot -- I found myself stomping on the thin ice. But with a loud "Whoops!" I was through it up over my right knee. I got out as quickly as I had gotten in, but now Irene was standing next to me scolding, "Now you've spoilt our fun! We had such a nice time sliding! You'd better go home right away and put on some dry clothes." "Are you crazy? I can't go home. I'd get a hiding from my mom right there on the spot. Your mother could hang my clothes onto the tiled stove for a bit. After all, my mom has been getting you out of trouble quite a few times," I responded sadly. I did feel pretty sorry about our good time having ended so soon. Irene's mother knew that something bad had happened because we were back at the house so soon. "All right, which one of you should I give a spanking?" she asked with a grin. She hung my clothes onto the stove to get them dry, and she stuffed the boot with paper and put it into the oven.

At dusk I had to go home. My boot was still rather wet. I had to come up with something. Entering from the hall I had to try and hide the boot behind the stove in some elaborate way or other. The Ollander News was lying on the kitchen table. In one fell swoop I crumpled it up and stuck it into the boot. I sneaked very close to the stove in order to put the boot behind [the stove =] it. Mom said, "Well, honey? You must be pretty much frozen through. You look as though you're about to crawl right inside the stove." "Ugh, well, it's all right," I answered sanctimoniously.

Dad came from the meadow where he had been cutting reed at the Este River, and he was totally frozen and stiff. Mom had thrown some kindling underneath the teakettle so water for rum toddy would come to a boil soon. From the other kettle I poured some hot water into the hand basin for Dad and asked, "I suppose there's hardly any water in the Este, what with all the easterly wind. Right, Dad?" "No, hardly any got into it even at high tide. The Este is on hold, frozen shut from Cranz all the way to Buxtehude," Dad replied.

After he had freshened up Dad sat himself down cozily on the large oak wood bench. The toddy was steaming in front of him when he said to Mother, "Johanna [= Joan], would you pass me the Ollander News?" "Open your eyes! It's right in front of your nose on the kitchen table," Mom said. Shivers were running down my spine. Damn! The newspaper was stuck inside my boot! ,,No, I can't see anything here. Perhaps Liesbeth [= Liz] didn't get through the high snow. Or did you already read [today's sequel of] your novel in the living room?" Dad said with a bit of a grin around his eyes. "I did talk with Liesbeth. She came by at around coffee time and wanted to try and be back home before dark. I haven't had time for the novel so far. Your socks need new heels knitted into them, and I can catch the stitches only in daylight. Peter, I won't touch the paper before you've read it, and you know it perfectly well," Mom answered just a bit peeved. Now I had no choice but to come out with the truth. I started crying and admitted how everything had happened. I didn't get a hiding, but I did take a few ["onto the rice bags" = "onto the cheeks" =] slaps in the face from Mom. And then came the curtain lecture, and I can still hear, "... thin ice ... thin ice ... and broke through once again ... always you ... Gertrud never does ..." and all the rest of it.

Thin ice got me into trouble quite a few times after that. But if nowadays there were another winter of the kind we used to have during my childhood, I suppose I'd get myself wet feet through thin ice despite being 78 years old. I guess these days I'd have a few boots to change into.