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Saturday, December 3, 2011

Rome

The most meaningful things are always the hardest things to write about. Why is that?

We (the three big kids, my mother-in-law Brida and I) got to spend a week in Rome, almost embarrassing to say, but true! And even though it was mid-November we had blue sunny skies and very agreeable temperatures every day but one.

But how to sum it up? For anyone it is a fascinating city. For anyone interested in art or history or architecture or all three it is magical. Not to mention the beautiful language and interesting people. And the food! The wonderful thing with a week was that while the chaos and busyness would have seemed frustrating after only a day or two, by the end of the week we’d gotten used to it.

An example: crossing the street. The first day we huddled on the sidewalk, wondering at the fact of no traffic light, looking in bewilderment at the raging river of cars and thinking we’d never get to the other side. My first clue was the bent over little old lady with a cane who stepped out nonchalantly into the river, and like Joshua and the Israelites, the river piled up and stopped and the little old lady walked calmly to the other side, never breaking her stride. We stuck close behind.

Actually, it’s one of the few things I retained from a brief visit to Rome when I was twenty, that excellent example of faith. The cars are barreling five abreast down the broad avenue. There is no crosswalk in sight and standing on the sidewalk, getting to the other side not only seems, but actually is, an impossibility. Until you get off the sidewalk. Once you take that first step off and into the stream of trouble, one by the one, the impossibility becomes possible, and you cross safely to the other side. My metaphor would be better if Jesus had been waiting on the other side, but unfortunately it was only the pope (!).

Okay, on with the story.

We stayed about 10 minutes walk  away from the Vatican and several mornings one or two of us got up early to visit soon after it opened at 7 before the crowds show up and while it is still a peaceful place of worship. It was peaceful with little groups of visiting nuns singing during a celebration of Mass.

I confess I have very mixed feelings about St. Peter’s Basilica.  It certainly is impressive – built, according to tradition over the burial site of the apostle Peter. Since it is right next to the old site of Nero’s circus and that there’s been a church there since very early days, it is not unlikely. Other history as well – a spot on the floor marks the place (in the old St. Peter’s church) where Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor by the pope on Christmas Day 800. Architecturally it is an amazing feat. But I couldn’t help thinking about the pope needing more money to complete it and sending Johann Tetzel out to sell indulgences to the peasants of Germany. Martin Luther was scandalized, stuck a notice on the church door, and well….if you don’t the story of the Reformation, you should probably go read it now. So I found myself wondering about the life savings of German peasants at the same time as I was inspired by the building.

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the south transept

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But, it is an impressive building, very much in the tradition of the old Roman baths and basilicas. The dome was designed by Michelangelo in his spare time.

 

photoThe visit to the Vatican Museums was a highlight ~ I only would have liked to have a few more days to stay there. So many amazing works of arts that one has always heard of from ancient times and the Renaissance. Perhaps I shall spare you lots of photographs of old statues and artifacts, but it’s like grandma’s attic of the world – a little bit of everything. Ancient Sumerian writing tablets? Check! Egyptian sarcophagi? Check!  A genuine mummy? Check! (poor woman)

Mid-November was certainly a great time to visit because there were no lines and we stayed in the Sistine Chapel as long as we wanted, (even longer than some of us wanted!) getting cricks in our necks and deciphering the Old Testament stories that Michelangelo painted there. My Apollo was especially absorbed in Michelangelo’s painting of The Last Judgment which covers one huge wall. It’s a somber painting and makes you thoughtful and serious. My favorites were the Raphael rooms – I think because I am always yearning for more balance and beauty and less drama. To see The School of Athens for myself, there on the wall, that was something else. And to think that the pope had these painted essentially for wallpaper!

At the Vatican Museums and at the Borghese Gallery the next day, I felt like all  the kids’ study of Greek and Roman history and mythology paid off. They were deciphering the artwork better than I, rattling off the twelve labors of Hercules and picking out Aeneas carrying his father out of a burning Troy from across the room! At any rate there is art and history to decipher everywhere in the city. Here was the base of one fountain. Can you name that story? I thought it was special (and took a picture of it) until I saw it on every lamp post in the city.

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On the weekend, Zeus arrived with little Hermes. We had saved the Forum and the Coliseum for them. With the help of Rick Steves and his Ancient Rome app on my iPhone, we sat on the ruins and deciphered them. The Forum is a lot of rubble and less impressive than the still standing Coliseum but nonetheless amazing when you have a little bit of the history to go with it.

Here we are on the steps of the Roman Senate building – talk about significant history! Notice us squinting in the sunshine!

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Our family with the jumble of ruins and buildings that is the Forum. The square tan building on the right hand side was the Senate building, and above and behind us at the top of the hill stood the Temple of Jupiter – the highest edifice in Rome. The triumphal parades – with captive barbarians, kings in chains, etc --  would have passed right to the right (our left) down the Via Sacra and then up to the Temple to offer sacrifices.

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An interesting fact, that when Julius Caesar was murdered, the Senate happened to be meeting across town, here. Notice two kids are practicing their Brutus-just-stabbed-me looks. Artemis appropriately quoted lines from Julius Caesar, “Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears…”

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It’s a funny ruin, surrounded by busy streets and stores. It’s below street level and archeological work is obviously currently going on. It’s also a refuge for feral cats. In this photo you can see how much Rome was built and rebuilt on the previous layer and how every time they did anywhere they are liable to find old treasures. They’ve been working on a third subway line for years, but it’s taking forever because they keep finding priceless goodies. Speaking of priceless goodies, aren’t my girls lovely in their matching Italian coats?

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This is just for fun: My sweetie and me at the Arch of Titus, which shows the sacking of Jerusalem in 70 AD.

 

The Coliseum. They’ve rebuilt a little of the wooden floor (towards us) so you can picture how it once looked. Underneath the floor was the maze of cells and hallways where gladiators practiced and wild animals paced.IMG_4830

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On our last day in Rome, although the weather wasn’t quite as blue, we went up the Palatine Hill. It certainly gets less press than the Forum and Coliseum but we loved it. One gets to wander in the half overgrown remains of the Imperial Palace, stand where Caesar's throne one sat, and take in the sweeping views  over the Circus Maximus and the Forum.  

View from the ruins of the Imperial Palace. St. Peter’s dome is in the distance. Isn’t that umbrella pine in the middle just fabulous?

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The kids in front of Romulus and Remus’ supposed huts. These are a fairly recent uncover, apparently, and there is a good case that they may be the real thing. (!?) Check out that umbrella pine in the background.

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Looking down into the Forum from atop the Palatine Hill. The Coliseum is in the background to the right.IMG_4882

And finally, let’s not kid ourselves, one of the wonders of Italy, besides the history and the art (and the shopping) is…the food!

Hermes with his anchovy pizza and his drawing of the same.

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Italy has the world’s highest level of celiac disease (people allergic to gluten) in the population and children are routinely tested for it, so consequently, waiters and store clerks are very well-informed and well-stocked. It was very easy to find pasta and pizza senza glutine and on two occasions, even ice cream cones!

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So, sigh,to sum up. I haven’t even begun to capture how much beauty and art there is in that city. If you would like to gaze upon more lovely photographs of Rome, I commend you to my daughter’s blog, In the Far Country, where she posted some really nice shots.

For me, I think beyond the art and the history, one of the highlights was being there long enough to experience some of the everyday stuff. And because I like languages and I had been practicing in the car with the Instant Immersion Italian that I bought at Costco this summer (to the annoyance of many of my passengers), I enjoyed trying to communicate in pigeon Italian.

Too often I get hung up on my perfectionism that my desire to be correct in speech inhibits my desire to communicate. But there was something in Rome that worked well against that. Maybe because as a city it’s obviously imperfect and chaotic but so beautiful anyway. Many people in the tourist industry are quite used to speaking English, but there are plenty that don’t. There was a tiny grocery market across the street from our apartment. Instead of picking things out and then paying for them, you have to ask the man behind the counter for them. He was patient with me and made suggestions when I obviously didn’t have the right word for something. Si si! Carta hygenica!

Another time we had a great taxi driver with whom I had a lengthy philosophical conversation although most of it was in two word phrases of mashed up Italian. That experience of communication, of catching a little glimpse of someone else’s language, and therefore culture, reminds me of why I like languages and I like traveling. I like people and I like their stories. Individually, like the taxi driver, who wasn’t too worried about the lack of tourists today – domani migliore  -- tomorrow will be better – and corporately, historically, as in all the individuals who made up Rome and the Roman Empire, the stories behind the paintings, how Caravaggio painted his own self-portrait into his David and Goliath to apologize for accidentally killing a man, and the bittersweet romantic story behind the painting of Sacred and Profane Love.

The Arch of Titus – Romans carrying off the menorah from the Temple in 70 AD

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The best stories and the best artifacts are the ones that make me realize that the best really old stories are true. In the Vatican Museums there were Sumerian tablets, like Abraham probably wrote on. There was a decorative stone panel commemorating one of Sennacharib’s conquests. The Arch of Titus, shows the Romans carrying off the treasures of the Temple of Jerusalem – fulfilling Jesus’ prophecy that the Temple would be destroyed, and that His sacrifice fulfilled the need for sacrifices once and for all. Seeing all those artifacts, tangible evidence of a history that has been lived on and lived in continuously for thousands of years builds my faith that the Bible is historically true and accurate and worthy of my trust. 

When we left Rome, we were ready to go. I think in the summer, with the heat and the crowds, it must be nearly unbearable. But even for us, with pleasant weather and a minimum of tourists, it was time to go back to the familiar and process everything we’d been blessed to see.

But when I visit a city, I am always hopeful that I will be able to say, “there now, I’ve checked that off my list!” and feel done with it forever. But I never do. I’m afraid I only start dreaming of the next time…

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Apple Cider

Perhaps it is fitting that while my last post (not counting the one by my guest poster) was about cherries, this one is about apples. Our rental house comes with a large orchard of about 15 trees, 6 (or seven?) of which are apple trees. Last year we ate plenty, but the huge rush of ripe apples came when the kids were in the throes of starting school and the combination of that and the lack of a good way to preserve them meant that most of the apples fell to the ground and became yellow jacket and birdie food.

I especially liked to think about the well fed birdies -- it kept me from feeling guilty about not using the apples.


But this year! This year we determined to make use of the communal pressoir - the village cider press. It's something I find absolutely charming, that the community organizes a cider press in the autumn and that you have to call the town hall to make your appointment. More specifically, you call the town hall on Wednesdays and Thursdays between 9 and 10 a.m. It also tells you something about how many apple trees are in the fields and backyards here.

I wish I'd thought to take a photo of all these crates and bins full of apples and crammed into the back of our Mazda! When I called for my appointment and explained that I'd never done this before and how many apples would I need anyway? the nice man told me that 100 kilos of apples would be ideal and would produce 60-70 liters of juice.  I wasn't quite sure how many crates 100 kilos would be, but when I left I was sure we had more than that.

Last Thursday evening was our appointment. We drove them down to the community building next to the bank where a lot of people were milling about. It was hard to tell who was or wasn't in charge. There was one truck with a trailer full of apples and I felt slightly silly with mine all packed into the car with the seats down -- like a real amateur. But then I saw that there was also a very bent old lady who was frail-ly loading up her finished cider into her car with the help of her children.

We loaded our apples into this VERY LOUD room and dumped them into the hopper on the left. HORRIBLE chomping noises came from the machine as it schlurped up the apples and squished them to a pulp. The boys were fascinated. Then it rolled the squished apples on the squishing bands and out squeezed the cider. The hose in the middle of the photo sucked up the fresh juice and pumped it over to...

 
A big blue barrel marked for us!! The nice cider pressing man gave us little cups of the fresh juice -- mmm, good!!

 After a waiting interval, our juice was pumped by hose into the next room where the apparatus for pasturization is set up. A bunch of guys were working non-stop to fill bottle after bottle and carton after carton. We had ours put into cartons and then there were 20 liters left over that we took home to drink fresh in the next couple days. We also shared with friends and neighbors as 20 liters is a lot of fresh cider to drink in 3 days. It was delicious!

 The next morning I had the kids unload the car and stack up our wares. We had 25 cartons of 5 liters each! 125 liters of juice ~ that might last us through the winter!

Since the total amount of liters (before pasturization) was 160 liters, and since we are curious about exactly how many apples I lugged down to the car (with the help of the workers, of course), we can use what the appointment man told us in the following equation:

               60 liters                    =                              160 liters
          100 kilos of apples                       Number of kilos of apples we picked


I tried to get people interested in this equation as in "Real Life Homeschool Math" but no one fell for it and I ended up doing it myself. We picked 267 kilos of apples!! Gracious! And translating to kilos by multiplying by 2.2 we discover that that is 586 pounds.


 Yummy delicous fresh pressed organic apple cider. Wish you could come by and share some!!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Many Happy Returns of the Day

We recently celebrated my mother's (and this blog's writer's) birthday. Here's a couple photos from her special day. 

A walk in the forest in the afternoon 




A present

My mother also got a grain mill for her birthday. In goes the grains, and out comes the flours. I tried to get a picture of the mill itself on here, but unfortuantely was unable to do so. Perhaps it will appear in another post. 
In the evening the grandparents, aunt, uncle, and little cousin came to party with us. Happy Birthday Mama! 


Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Cherry Season

This week I bought my first ever cherry pitter. Here’s why.
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There is this whole tree full, of which the southern half is already ripe. This picture below shows only about a third of the tree. It’s full sized, about 40 feet high. There’s no way we could reach the upper branches without breaking some necks, but I am quite sure there will be enough bounty on the lower branches for us. Especially since there are four more cherry trees in the orchard that will ripen after this one! Goodness! Anyone wanna come cherry pickin’?
I’ll just have to keep telling myself that it’s good to leave lots for the birdies – I’m sure that’s how many folks have injured themselves….if I could juuust reach that juicy bunch over there….
Here is part of the tree with Artemis “doing her math” on the bench and Hermes up the ladder scouting out the goodness.
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Here is what you do with cherries after you pick them off the tree:  Cherry earrings! image
We didn’t have a cherry tree growing up and since my parents weren’t huge fans, we didn’t come across them very often. Cherries became the stuff of children’s literature where children dangle cherries on their ears.
Later on, I realized I really liked cherries. The real ones are even better than cherry flavored lollipops!
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Here is the cherry pitter in action. It’s a Leifheit and you fill the cherries into the hopper on top, press the handle, hear a satisfying cher-CHUNK as the little blade pushes the pit into the box underneath, and the pitted cherry drops out into the waiting bowl. You can get through a lot of cherries fast!

With those particular cherries (after eating a whole bunch and making cherry clafoutis) we made jam. Yum! Sunday afternoon we all went out and picked 10 pounds in about 45 minutes (I weighed them because I wanted to know.) Those have been frozen for winter clafoutis, eaten in a tart and dried to go in homemade granola.
Something I love about eating in season is that when a particular fruit is ripe, you eat and eat it until you are nearly sick of it when the season end. Then it is a treat to look forward to next year. For now we are in the eating and eating stage and not yet to the tired-of-them stage. image
Here is my recipe for Cherry Clafoutis, which I got from Zeus’ mama. It’s a good one to keep handy because it is about as easy and Makin’ It Work as you can get. However, if you like your measurements to be super exact, then you should maybe look away. If you don’t and you like super forgiving recipes, then this one is for you!
You can call it dessert if you want, but we often have it for a small dinner, with a bit of cheese or sausage beforehand to make it nutritionally and socially acceptable. You can whip it up reeeeaally fast which makes it excellent for times when you’ve been doing a craft or being chatty on the phone and then realize that dinner time is bearing down on you like an express freight train. If the table is set and there’s a pretty clafoutis on it, then maybe your husband and kids won’t notice the pile of crafty creativeness all over the table in the next room.
Cherry Clafoutis (Claw-foo-TEE)
Oven to 350 degrees. Or maybe 375 if you feel so inclined. Butter a 9x13” Pyrex pan or if you live in a metric country grab the metric equivalent – something large and rectangular.
Cover the bottom with your pitted cherries. (Or apricots or plum halves – sunny side up.)
Sprinkle the fruit with some sugar.
In a large liquid measuring cup, measure roughly 1 cup of milk. Add three eggs, a touch of vanilla and a tablespoon of flour. Take a fork and mix, mix, mix. If you are feeling fancy, you could use a whisk – but odds are you are in a hurry, so why bother?
Pour your egg mixture over the fruit and put it in the oven to bake. For, oh… maybe 30-40 minutes? Until the custardy bit has set and it’s not jiggly in the center. The kind of fruit you use and whether or not it’s frozen will vary the time. Using frozen cherries that you have diligently stored during cherry season may mean baking it up to an hour.
When it’s done and getting just a little brown on the sides, pull it out and sprinkle a little more sugar on the top. It will sort of melt in. Or, if you want to make it all pretties, wait until your clafoutis has cooled and sprinkle powdered sugar. We eat ours only slightly warmish or at room temperature. Ta-da! All done! The next time I make one, I’ll have to take a photo to post. Bon Appetit!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

French Fashion

On a recent clothes shopping trip to France, you know, France of haute couture and all, I saw this on a t-shirt in the boys' department. ???!!! 

My Dad would be elated -- Arby's is his favorite restaurant. 


Monday, May 23, 2011

how ‘bout some Chickens?

Soon after we got our impulse bunnies, we invested in chickens. It was inevitable! Our garden shed here was already perfectly set up with a large fenced in chicken run, roost, laying boxes, feeding trough, and an adorable little chickeny door. Hey, presto, just add chickens!

So we called the number in the ad in the paper that I’d been eyeing for months advertising “young laying hens.” It was a man at a chicken farm about 30 minutes away. (I should add that I had asked the Bunny Lady about hens because her ad had also mentioned them, but she was fresh out of young chickens that day, wouldn’t I like to come see a bunny instead?)

So on a Tuesday afternoon when the kids didn’t have school, we went to the Chicken Man. I don’t know what I expected, but not quite what we found.  A large building with lots and lots of chickens, chicks on one floor, slightly older pullets in a pen behind, and upstairs on a big, stinky, floor what must have been hundreds and hundreds of chickens. Only we couldn’t see because they were in the dark. I’ve never quite understood why they are kept in the dark, to keep them calm or something? Anyway, we didn’t like it, and while the Chicken Farmer (who seemed nice, despite keeping his chickens in the dark) had his back turned, the kids and I were happy together that we could rescue a few hens out of the darkness and confusion.

He had three colors: white, brown and black, (I don’t even know the breeds – isn’t that ridiculous?), so we asked for two of each, for prettys. So while we waited just outside, Mr. Chicken Man went into the big, dark, fluttery room with a flashlight to, as he put it, “fish you some chickens!”

Then when he had three, his cell phone rang. Calm as anything, he answered with three hens dangling from his left hand. There they dangled upside down, looking quite perplexed with this turn of events while he chatted on and on with someone else who wanted to get some hens. Suddenly they mustered a great squawking and struggle and Mr. Chicken Man had to tell the person on the line, “Ouai, j’ai des poules dans la main.” Yeah, I’ve got some chickens in my hand.

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(I surreptitiously took a photo.)

We brought them home in Bella’s doggy crate and put them in their new home. Since there are six, we each got to christen one. (Mine is called Heidi since she is a Swiss hen.) They seemed rather stunned by the light and air for a bit and afraid to go outside. Soon enough however, their curiosity overcame their fear and they were exploring and pecking about the yard in a fine chickeny way. And to my delight, going in and out of their sweet little door. It’s all just so perfect. They have pretty much gone to chicken paradise.

The whole thing made me feel philosophical. Out of all the hundreds that the Chicken Man had, why these six? Why did he fish out these particular six? While the rest of them would continue to live out their lives in dark smelly confusion or else become someone’s chicken dinner, these six were chosen to come live a life of rapturous natural chickeness: pecking in the morning, sun bath in the afternoon, more pecking, lay an egg, little more pecking and then roosting. I am willing to bet that they were no better or worse than the other chickens. There were plenty of other black, white and brown ones running around there.

It seems to me that there is a deep metaphor there, but I am afraid that I might mess it up. The Chicken Man is not God and as far as I know, the chickens did not get themselves into the smelly room through their own sin, but in clumsy metaphor lies the truth that God does choose some people to draw to Himself, into His glorious light while others remain in darkness and confusion. I have no more intrinsic merit than one brown chicken had more than the next brown chicken.  Yet, here I am, given the gift of His grace and a beautiful new home in His love and care, pecking and sunbathing away while He watches over me and gives me everything I need. Why He does that I cannot say. He has His reasons, and I have to learn to trust Him and let my heart dwell on the gratitude I have to be here. Perhaps the Chicken Man had his reasons too, that I couldn’t see, why this hen and not that one. A mystery.

In the meantime, I am very pleased to have hens about again. Something so domesticated about them. And we’re enjoying the fresh eggs! I dislike waste, and one reason I love chickens is that they are marvelous recyclers: they take our old bread and carrot peels and turn them into fresh eggs. Which reminds me that it’s time to take them this morning’s leftover oatmeal.

IMG_1936  Discovering their new home.

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Hermes with hens and little roosting spot inside the coop.

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Trying out the new door and exploring the outside world for the first time.

IMG_1963 What is that? I think I’ll eat it!IMG_2007  How I love the look of a chicken in the grass.

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chicken heaven (with my $10 thrift store bench for chicken gazing)

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please, oh please, just one little nibble?IMG_1932

chicken gazing, much better than television

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I am a country girl at heart ~ this sight make me very happy. garden boxes, laundry drying on the line and chickens. sigh.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Five year old Hermes

Guest post by Athena

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Hermes turned five! We celebrated the Saturday before his birthday. He invited five of his school friends over.

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Welcome to the party! Apollo was the greeter.

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We played Duck Duck Goose, and the Clothespin Game, which involves dropping a clothespin into a jar while standing on a bench. They were both a hit. 

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Then we blew up some balloon swords.

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Hermes requested a train cake, so we made an engine, and hooked it up with some train cars.

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Apollo and Hermes quickly started putting together all the presents that Hermes received.

That evening we had a little family party, so we reloaded up the train with extra cars.

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Happy Birthday Hermes!