A Happy New Year to all of you. I hope that your 2015 is filled with the happiness that you deserve.
The Hubster and I had a lovely Christmas, filled with too much rich food, movies of both the bad and good varieties, and laziness that would fill a three-toed sloth with jealousy. We received wonderful gifts from each other and our friends and families, as well as a parcel from people we don’t know.
We purchased our house in 2003, the year we got married. Our house is in a cult-de-sac, the charm of which is that this cult-de-sac featured the model homes of our neighborhood as it was being built in 1974. Our neighborhood has the added charm of being filled with long-time residents. We purchased our house from the original owners, in fact. Over the the years, we have received mail — mostly advertisements — for the previous owners, and I generally toss them into the recycle bin. However, last year, we received a parcel from Germany, addressed to the former owners. We have no idea how to contact them, so we opened the parcel to find a short note and a box of those frosted soft spicy cookies. Since we had never received anything from Germany in the previous 10 years in the house, we figured it was a one-time deal, that the couple in Germany was simply going through their address book and decided to get in touch with some old friends. So we forgot about it and enjoyed the cookies, which were quite yummy.
But then we got another box this year, addressed to the previous owners. This time the box held little cakes, covered in that good German chocolate. Again, very yummy, but I decided this time I needed to let the couple know that we weren’t the people they were looking for and that they hadn’t been here for over ten years. I did wish them Gemutlichkeit for the New Year, but I let Google Translate speak my German for me; it’s been too many years since I studied the Hochdeutsch and I was never all that good at conversation anyway.
I took the letter and a couple of parcels down to my local post office, a satellite office in a flooring store, just to make sure I had enough postage on the letter to Germany — which, by the way, is $1.15 — and the kid behind the counter said, “Karlsruhe? You know Karlsruhe?”. So I had to explain the story behind the cookies and everything, which he thought was funny, so I had to ask how he knew Karlsruhe, and he’d actually been there, a smallish city on the edge of the Black Forest.
Just goes to show, that you never can tell, about this tiny little planet of ours. So anyway, I expect we won’t get any more little parcels from Germany that aren’t really ours anyway, but it was nice while it lasted.