A Delightful Day Harvesting White Wine.

A family tradition has set in.

As a scale of reference, Bob's work will harvest white grapes for over a week whereas we harvested the white grapes in just under two hours. All seven of us. But, to us it was still a good day's work and tonight many a back will make itself known.

For me it must have been my eighth white grape harvest ( can't really call it white wine yet ) and by now the routine involved has become familiar and rather fun. It is a time when friends and family come together to help out. A jovial catching up on annual news and a time to have a nice lunch halfway through the day's work. Not often we all sit around a big table!

The weather made an effort to be obliging even going so far as to make us feel cold this morning. Much better than to frizzle and the news must have spread as most of the vineyards were teeming with activity. Picking was on the go, tractors were collecting grapes and odd snippets of conversations were the order of the day. Amazing what one picks up when walking past a busy vineyard.

The miracle of grapes turning into wine never ceases to amaze me. To think that bunches of grapes get picked, de-stemmed, pressed and then stored in a barrel for a year or so before being dolled out like the proverbial happy pills one glass at a time is stunning bordering almost on magical. What the Romans started all those millenniums ago has been repeated harvest after harvest and been perfected vintage after vintage. Long may the wine making continue and more importantly, long may we enjoy the precious wine created.

Biggi

A Cat's Tale.

Cats do make fabulous pets.

Well, I shouldn't say pets as our little mischief is really more our child and most certainly an integral part of our family. Goodness me, she has the run of our house and more beds to sleep in than either of us. Whatever she credits as a comfortable sleeping affair. Books, couches, legs, stomachs, wardrobes, computer desk and of course the actual bed.

Bob has started wine harvesting and with that come long hours. It is an exciting time as now the tiny little shoots and vines that Bob and the team have been mollycoddling, pruning and sweet-talking all year round are now grown up and ready to morph into the good stuff. Vino, of course. Suffice to say that Bob works long hours and both Maus & I miss him.

Most evenings the two of us will sit and idle our time away in front of the telly, her sitting on my shins and me knitting. Window open to get the house to cool down and that is where it gets funny. Cars, tractors and trucks idle, careen or drive past our house on the way to somewhere. Most of those don't even register on her sleeping majesty but as soon as the pitch of engine changes to one she is familiar with, sleep is the last thing on her mind.

Her head comes up turned towards the open window, her breath is held and only when she hears Bob's car actually turn up our driveway does hop with great speed and an air of elation off my shins and onto the window sill. I have never seen a cat so happy as when she knows that Bob is home. Honestly, I think I can see her grin with happiness.

Of course just to be true to type, as soon as Bob steps through the front door she at times turns coy and pretends that it isn't such a big deal and often doesn't even rush to greet him. What an actress...because other times she almost knocks Bob over with her enthusiastic feline greeting. As you can imagine I take second place and Miss Maus gets a nice long cuddle from Bob and if only you could see how cute it is when she burrows her head into the crook of his arm. What a great little cat...

Biggi

And Then The Rain Came.

A touch of drama with our weather.

Oh how nice it was just the other day when I hung up a basket of washing to dry on the line. In bright sunshine, a phenomena that has hidden itself behind massive rain clouds. I suppose we do need the rain even though it is a tad bit wet.

My brother in law and nephew are coming for a visit on Saturday and as he is from colder climes he is looking forward to our sunny bit of Austria. Well, won't he be in for a surprise. Our rain is here for the weekend. Nothing that can't be lived with but I know he would prefer hot sunshine.

Funny enough, each time he has been for a visit at our place, the sunshine norm has changed to rainy delight. A rain maker of sorts! Look, a family visit is about family and not the peripheral weather conditions. Bob has organized a list of places to see and we don't need good weather for it. Anyway, how often have the weather folks been wrong after all? Sunshine could be on the way.

I shouldn't complain about the rain as water is such a vital commodity, one we only realize what it is worth when it is gone. So, let it rain for as long as it wants to...

Biggi

Our Copy Cat.

Part of the family.

As you know we are enslaved by our cat. Our child, really! Lately she has been more clingy than normal resulting in my never being alone in either bathroom, kitchen or lounge. Funny how Mausi can be slumbering next, or to be honest, on me and as soon as I head for the kitchen to stir a pot or cut onions, she follows suit and sits on the floor across from me, watching me slice and dice. Naturally I mention old hand me downs of;

" When you have a family, you'll have to cook as well. "

yes yes, cat owners are a bit on the dilly side!

The last few nights her behaviour has cemented my belief that she sees herself as partly human...when Bob and I head for bed she is never far behind and her footfall on the wooden floor is as accurate as a miaow. Bob has three pillows on his side, the last one more for decoration and reading support which is the one that he puts next to his and my pillow.

It's a big continental pillow and fits in nice and snug. Well, the last few nights her royal highness has taken this as a new location for her to rest her weary body. Yes, she sleeps on this pillow right between us. So comically, there are the three heads in a row...Bob, Mausi and I. Too funny for words how she tends to copy most of what we do. Is that normal or are we just fortunate enough to have reared a genius of a cat...?

Biggi

To Hungary For Lunch And Back Again Within A Few Hours.

The best laid plans...

My elderly neighbour up the road, she who walks with two crutches every single day, said that today the weather would turn and indeed it did, starting with a batch of rain at midday accompanied by slightly colder air. Fair enough, winter is on its way.

Bob and I were helping my folks sort out all the wine pressing equipment, ferrying and carrying three big vats across Eisenberg when the four of us decided at the spur of the moment to have lunch in Hungary. Not just at any place but a restaurant that Bob and I had discovered a few months ago with my parents from America.

Bob offered to chauffeur us as into Hungary as it has a zero tolerance for alcohol ( Hungary is way ahead of the rest of the world in that regard ). The anticipation was building up in our car and we all were mentally salivating at the thought of the hearty lunch ahead.

The driveway up to the restaurant seemed romantic and nice only to end at the car park, a car park filled to the rafters. Lunch, was out of the question. The restaurant was packed and as much as we grumbled at our bad luck, we were pleased at the popularity of the place. Who likes to eat in an empty restaurant?

Nothing for it but to turn around and look for someplace else...Rechnitz was a mere smigeon further and I remembered seeing that Straka Wine Estate had a Buschenschank. Despite the rainy climes it was nice to slowly drive up into the Rechnitz Weinberg and take note of the delightful old Kellerstöckls along it.

The Buschenschank was full but we found a nice table in a comfortable room with a view of Rechnitz Weinberg. Nice. Bob and I have the most wonderful memories of this place because it had been the starting point of our Weinfrühling adventure. Twice we have sampled their wines and each time it was memorable. Today didn't disappoint at all. The Welschriesling was crisp, smooth while leaving a delicious note of gummibears on the palate while their Eisenberg DAC was smooth, spicy, tasty and bold whilst showing the velvety texture of an award winning wine...

Bob and I have eaten far too much and now are playing the nodding game, knowing that we have to stay awake until at least nine o'clock in order to see the American Grand Prix..

Biggi

Wine, Jolly Hard Work.

Appreciating every last sip.

Somehow one could make a case for the white and uhudler harvest just having been a bracing warm up. A few hours of picking, a few kilometers walked and one trailer full of arm-lifts. Well, little did we know how the divine celestial climes have made a difference to the reds.

At short notice seven of us assembled for the ten a.m. start. The sun was making a comeback, the clouds had disappeared and the mood was jubilant in anticipation of this harvest.
Weinlese / wine harvest is always a jolly affair where friends and family meet up for the day.

Honestly, I thought we'd be done and picked by by two but the chief, mum, reminded me of the length of each row and moved the time marker closer to five...Guess what, mums are always right!

Apart from a few dud bunches of grapes, the harvest was a dream due to the abundance and quality of each bunch of red grapes. Our wine is handcrafted, which equates to each of us getting a pair of pruning scissors, two buckets, a shot of Schnapps for good luck and a few rows to harvest. Gosh, I've got to be honest and tell you that it was exhausting work, spending seven hours filling buckets and carrying them up and down the isles between each row of vines, but strangely satisfying as well.

There were so many picture perfect moments to capture with my camera but alas, my hands were sticky from handling the many hundred bunches of grapes. All of us took each filled bucket back to the waiting trailer and when that was filled, a few of us drove to the cellar to start the de-stemming process.

Oh yes, each crate had to be manually lifted off the trailer, carried to the Rebler and lifted up above our heads to be thrown into it. Each crate must have weighed 20 odd kilograms. The grapes had grown with such abundance and vibrancy that we did the trailer run four times. Not surprisingly, after the last run my arms were a tad bit sore.

Taking part in a harvest despite the hard work is a fantastic experience and even more so when one can do a harvest with family. Special moments, precious memories and not to forget, fabulous Blaufränkisch wine not too far in the future.

Biggi

The Uhudler Gets Pressed.

A few hours in the cellar.

We only picked those grapes the other day and already this morning they started on their final step towards turning into delicious wine. Uhudler is a varietal mostly cultivated in our area and either you like or you don't. In light of the vast amount we pressed today, I might have to become a fan of it. You know, once it's nicely chilled, it is very pleasing to the palate especially on a warm summer's eve.

Alone the deep colour of the maische is divine. A mingling of reds and dark blues would make anyone think it is a red wine, were it not for the distinct Uhudler aroma wafting about.

There were five of us doing the pressing and our harvest was so abundant that we had to repeat the process four times. Once you get going the work goes quickly and before one can blink, the last drop is squeezed from the maische. Often the hardest part of pressing, filling or harvesting is the arduous and meticulous cleaning up before and afterwards.
When one makes wine, cleanliness is next to godliness. Water only of course, in order to preserve the wine's purity and authentic flavour.

In our family there's always a treat at the end of any wine making activity...a luncheon at a local Buschenschank and I have to be honest that halfway through today's pressing I was already visualizing my lunch. We settled on Eder's Buschenschank up on the Weinberg and it was nice to sit next to a roaring fireplace, with great company, nice food and dare I say it ( being lunch time ) nice wine.

At the moment I have two favourites meals at Buschenschanks and luckily I could combine them. A nice Kümmelbraten / Bratlfett Brot. Tasty, filling and rather addictive. Saturday will see us harvest the reds and golly gosh, I might just have the same again...

Life in Burgenland, what a treat.

Biggi

A Killer Bratlfett Sandwich.

Meat by proxy.

The weather turned back at the last minute from joining the wintry climes and thus the sun was out en force. Divine, delightful and a great last day for my uncle and aunt on their holiday. Even though Eisenberg provided rain and cold for most of it they were undaunted merely taking it in their stride.

Margit's Heuriger was a great choice to eat in yesterday because whilst sitting there with family I discovered ( or rather re-discovered ) yet another gorgeous side to Eisenberg's vineyards.

Bob was working and at first I didn't want to go without him but like any woman worth her salt, I changed my mind and drove there at four. Yes, early bird specials for my family...it suited me just fine because I had a pot of vegetables to consume and a cat to console. A few hours for a snack, a chat and an Achtl of white wine was just what the doctor ordered.

Funny how life works sometimes. The owner of the Heuriger has driven past me for the last six years while I was on my daily walks. A wave, a hoot and a nod for years but hardly any close-up greetings. Once we met up outside the bookshop at the mall and honestly, I have to admit that I hardly recognized him without his car.

The others ordered big meals, warm meals but I wanted a Grammelschmalz Brot. In fact I had been dreaming of it all afternoon long. All well and good but they were out of it.

" Don't worry, I can highly recommend the Bratlfett Brot. You'll like it. "

Oh, when the meals came all the plates were piled high with food apart from mine. Mine had a long slice of rye bread covered with a thin layer of this Bratlfett and sliced onions. All I can say is that after the first bite my taste buds went rapturous with sheer joy. Oh my, what a fabulous taste indeed. A meal so very simple yet with an abundance of flavour, a flavour that wasn't on track to antagonize the wine's essence but rather it enhanced the wine.

Gosh, I nearly forgot to tell you what a Bratlfett actually is...when you do a roast pork ( one with a layer of fatty skin on it ) a lot of the fats congeal at the bottom of the roasting dish. A melting pot of flavours often thrown out due to weight concerns. Well, this layer of fat is smeared on a slice of freshly baked rye bread and garnished with onions. Try it sometimes, you won't be sorry.

Biggi

Two Peas And A Pear.

The healthy way.

The other day mum came over and gave Mausi one of these cat's treats which are as processed as they come. I keep them handy for visits. The cat loved it but mum told me how she'd seen the neighbour's dogs go crazy over fresh vegetables and fruit. Crazy how, I enquired already having an inkling of what might be in store for our princess, remembering mum's attempts to make us fall in love with vegetables at an age where we only wanted chips, chocolate or anything processed.

At first I scoffed and laughed at the thought of our little one eating a raw carrot or perhaps delicately nibbling an apple. Never, yet the seed was planted in the back of my head and sprouted when I noticed Mausi eating two lone frozen peas that had escaped the freezer compartent. In fact, she was devouring them.

Quickly popping in at the folks just now, mum wanted me to take some fruit home and I told her about the pea effect...well, no stopping mum. If I hadn't mentioned that I have plenty of pears at home, I would have got a whole bag full.

" Mausi is craving fruit and vegetables because all you give her is that processed stuff! "

what is it with the near perfect art of parental guilt? Special courses taken while expecting?

A few moments ago I got home and was greeted warmly by her majesty. Well, I thought, far be it from me to deny her her delights and with big fanfare I cut little tiny slivers of ripe pear. My enthusiastic comments had her running to her feeding table but when she took one whiff or rather didn't get one, she turned to give me a look, a look of

" Gosh mum, really? "

and took herself back to her comfy blanket and slumber state...

Just to have the ability to prove to mum that I left no stone unturned and no carrot uncut, I will try this experiment again with either cucumber or carrot sticks but unless I wrap smokey bacon around it, I see dire results...no turning vegetarian for our Mausi.

Biggi

A Bit Of Calm Before The Wine-Weekend.

Weinfrühling in Eisenberg.

The Bobster and I are a typical couple sans kids. We are used to peace and quiet which only recently has been shattered by the arrival of Miss Mausi, she who rules the roost and has all of us in the palm of her paws.

The last three weeks we've been happy to have Bob's folks visiting us. As nice as it always is one does have to adjust to not being alone yet, once they leave, one has to adjust to being alone again. Strange, isn't it?

Yesterday the house swelled to six people and I must commend our little cat for not flipping out. At night she cuddled as close as she could to me, never leaving my side.

Just after eight this morning everyone left and the hour before had a certain likeness to Home Alone. Don't worry, nobody was left behind and as we speak our house has a calm though rather dejected feel about it... although only for the next few hours!

Friends of ours are taking a long weekend break from the hustle and bustle of London to unwind while sampling the many wines on offer during the Weinfrühling festival. Tomorrow and Sunday the vineyards are going to be teeming with happy wine lovers, proudly carrying a wine glass each and a spring in their step which usually changes into a stumbling gait after the first few stations.

Two days in a row of only meandering from one vineyard to the other while sampling a lot of their wares does remind one of the carefree days of being a student. Naturally then we all were thrilled to taste Bacardi & coke, or Esprit ( what were we thinking ) and wouldn't have stepped foot in a wine tasting festival unless we'd have been working there.

When I asked Bob whether he drank Esprit when he was a student, he regaled me with a funny story. Turns out that Bob and his brother conned their parents into buying lots of Esprit while they were at the beach for a family holiday. His mum thought it was fruit juice and the two naturally didn't correct her...

Both of us are looking forward to the strenuous days ahead....lifting a glass and savouring its contents isn't that easy after all.

Biggi

A New Way To Keep Leftover Cake.

Eh, that is if you have any...

Please, I know that leftover cake is an oxymoron unless the cake is more of a fly-cake or more politically put, a fruit cake. Years ago when I worked in the divine surrounds of the Scottish Highlands the cake of choice rather often was a fruit cake. As you can tell, I am not fond of it and often used to wonder why it was so very popular.

Yesterday afternoon we hosted a coffee and cake do and due to miscommunication, I too made a cake. Pretty sure that mum said I should make one ( obviously as the hostess ) but when they came over, mum sported a divine cake. A homemade apple cake that put my pound cake into the shade ( quite rightly, as mum's cakes are legendary ) and made sure that there would be lots of leftover pound cake.

As I was pondering how to keep this cake, knowing that mum would leave whatever of her cake was left with us, I remembered the cantuccini lot. Or, as they say back home, the rusks. One forgets that a rusk is a dried out cake. Oh, the memories of being at boarding school and dipping an Ouma rusk into a milky cup of coffee!

So, while the table was still having discussions, memories and jokes passed across it, I whipped my cake away and started to slice it. Mum, got up to help me and we did a whole tray of rusks. Well, not perfect yet but on the way.

My pound cake has rather a lot of butter in it ( a whole slab ) and coupled with the 5 farm eggs, the rich fatty substance didn't help in drying it out. Even this morning, they still had a moist texture to them. Tasty though.

At the moment our house is loaded with cakes, biscuits and morsels of interest, so only a saint could withstand the temptation. Isn't it funny how when one gets visitors who quite rightly experiment with all the local fares on offer, we tend to join right in.

" Oh, I have to try this...haven't had it for at least a day. "

Biggi

Back To Basics.

A most important job indeed.

This week the sun and warm(er) weather have felt they needed to come and say hello to us. Glorious and stunning, the way everything takes on a different slant once the sun infuses a black and grey landscape with colour. Apart from nature most villagers blossomed this week. More smiles, more chit chat and much more outside activities.

Wine being the main raison d'etre of our village and villagers, one of the many necessary steps to get the grapes to grow, was and is being done this week.

Pruning of the vines. Sounds very easy but is actually one of those seemingly simple tasks that carries tremendous importance. The way a vine gets pruned, helps determine the quality of the grapes and the quantity although often they are not mutually exclusive.

Bob and I went to help our parents with this task. Equipped with hat, gumboots, gloves, sunblock and pruning sheers we set off. The many weeks of icy weather have transformed the ground into a muddy pit and at the end of the afternoon, my boots were decorated with oodles of sticky mud and my walk was suspiciously like a moonwalk. Very toning for the muscles.

You know, when you stand in front of a vine and need to make a decision to cut away all the shoots and " branches " until you are left with one, possibly two good ones, can be a bit nerve wracking. Remember, the wrong snip and a year of nothing. Bob is good at it and doesn't dilly dally over each snip which means that he was a few meters ahead of us.

Pruning those vines is very therapeutic as all of the focus is on each vine and the task ahead. Standing in the muddy ground tops it all off by earthing one and any small irritations just seem to seep into the ground. At times I did imagine how the grapes would turn out to be or rather how delectable this particular vintage would be.

Bob among the vines...

Biggi

A Weekend Of Advent Events In Our Village.

A weekend of mingling, singing, eating and dare I say drinking.

Deceptively simple yet a powerful proof that our village is alive and happening. The annual advent event, has everything needed for a village to function. Small villages in general aren't often as vibrant as they should be, but our mayor and his council have managed to make our village attractive for families.

Sadly, or perhaps just as well, the world at large hasn't cottoned on to the privilege of living in a small village. All and sundry make the grand tour of a stressed out life in a big city as their mission in life, in the mistaken belief that life in a small village is not livable or enjoyable.

Anyway, as small as we are, we have enough youngens for a kindergarten with two teachers and also a primary school with four classes. Only when you see the kids performing at events, does it sink in how fortunate our village is. Funny how life works, but kids attract kids and quite a few new families have moved into our area.

Just by observing the crowd, I noticed quite a few toddlers, babies and a baby to be. Brilliant, when you consider that the sum total of our village ( actually 5 boroughs or villages ) is about 1100 people.

With kids come of course parents, and there is a strong parent's network. Parents who support the various clubs in the village and by doing so cement their links with each other.

On Saturday the local kindergarten had most of their charges either singing or reciting poems that they've written. The audience was big and parents were vying for a spot to take videos. Two to three generations of each family were there. The Urlies or rather the great grand parents were also there beaming with pride.

Sunday evening saw the lighting of the first advent candle on the village wreath...an electric one. But, in a good village, it is a reason to come out and be there. The local choir sang seasonal songs and evoked a magical Christmas feeling, while one of the local clubs provided a spread and just like that old friends reconnected, new ones made connections and others mingled and caught up on each other's life.

Of course you can attend the lighting of the first advent candle in big cities, but chances are that you won't even know the people standing next to you...

Biggi

The Unwitting And Rather Accidental Wisdom Of Teenagers.

The Bobster and his brother should set a trend...

Like any story worthwhile and hugely amusing, this one only saw the light of day after a few glasses of schnapps and amid other ditties of the same ilk. Personally, I think the Bobster had forgotten this gem of a story until last night.

We had a nice evening at my parents with the addition of a man from Florida who chose to spend a week in our neck of the woods and loved it by the way.

Comparing apples with oranges, we started to talk about the habit of expensive cars. No, not the luxury ones but Audis, BMWs and Edward's favourite, Volvos. Fair enough, good cars but our guest was saying that he would never ever dish out such a lot of money for a vehicle.

That gave a gentle nudge to Bob's memory and he regaled us about the time when he and his brother became motorized. As his brother is older, he was first over the no more bicycle line by having passed his license. If he had been a teenager today, he might have been given a new car by his parents, as so many do. But, he got his license back in the 80's.

Bob was too funny, retelling this story.

" You know, my brother got my mother's car, which already was about twenty years old. But he was so happy to have it. "

A powder blue two door Ford Escort 1100.

Then he revealed a little tidbit; my father in law being a motor mechanic had made sure that this elderly vehicle had a bit of oomph under the hood.

By virtue of association, Bob had a set of wheels now too. A set of wheels that would motor on the whiff of petrol. Very fuel efficient, and just as well...they had to get a part time job to fill it with petrol. As Bob said, there were other priorities and fuel often was an afterthought, resulting in his brother putting in a few Rands worth at a time. Enough to get him home from the disco.

Now to the piece de restistance...Bob, his brother and some friends were at the local agricultural show ( The Royal Show ) and had parked their chariot between two new cars. Fast forward to them going home, and they were perplexed, horrified and sad to see that the two new cars were still there, but their old car had been absconded.

I can just about imagine the to-do with going home and telling their parents, and of course reporting it to the police. Teenagers being teenagers, they might have had a drink or ehem, two.

But, Bob triumphantly told us that as his brother had only put in a few Rands worth of petrol, the car was found by the police a few hours later....it hadn't even made the city limit before the thieves had run out of petrol and had to abandon the car.

Just goes to show, that a full tank of petrol isn't always a good thing...

Biggi

Educating Mausi.

Not such an easy task, considering that we adore her.

Our little kitten is now about a year and a half old and as cute as a button which in itself translates to her being able to get away with murder. Alas, she won't sort out the occasional rodent visitor.

Just like any other parents, we think our little one is the prettiest, cutest and of course cleverest and pets do morph into almost being human to their owners. If nothing else, my running one sided conversation with her feline majesty proves it and her apt antics make me belief that she does understand me.

She has a few questionable habits, one being her constant scratching on our wooden door frames. Door frames that are starting to have that unique carved look. Of course we've already bought two different feline scratching posts, but she uses them once or twice and than returns to one of our door frames.

My mum, when she saw what Mausi was and still is doing to the door frames, instantly suggested that I use a stern voice and forbid our cat to claw her own craving...Ha, if it were only that easy. Cats have a stubborn mind of their own. Doesn't cut muster with a grandparent though and I have a feeling that mum thinks I've missed an education opportunity for our cat and am raising a rascal. By the way, she adores Mausi too!

When mum came to the house yesterday, Mausi in her happiness at seeing Oma, was busy clawing a door in front of Oma...

"No Mausi, DON'T do that. "

fair enough, the lure of a delectable treat which usually accompanies a visit from Oma would have made her do anything and look innocently pretty. When we were younger, a visit from our grandparents often garnered us a few D-Marks if we adopted an angelic demeanor.

Naturally, the minute mum went home, La Princess took up her favourite hobby...carving.

As it is so jolly difficult to control her, I am wondering if her constant carving might make an acceptable portrait, you know something like a religious image, which we could surely sell as a novelty and get new door frames...none of that wooden stuff this time.

Biggi

Did I Or Didn't I Lock The Door?

A rather comical end to a night out.

It was one of those perfect evenings, balmy, warm and full of parties. Two in fact or actually one party with the other one being a sun downer. My American parents are visiting and just for yesterday we went to different parties. Bob and I had been invited to a birthday bash and my folks went to my Burgenland parents for sun downers.

In a reverse sort of way ( didn't they do that to us as teenagers? ) we arranged a hiding place for Le Clef. Did I mention that our birthday bash was at our next door neighbour? The plan was for my folks to walk the 3 kilometers back home ( they wanted to exercise and refused Bob's offer to fetch them. New Yorker's love walking in any case.)

At one stage I walked over to our house to visit the Ladies ( it was closer and no queue ) and thought no more of it. Fast forward to our return home at a decent hour, it hadn't struck eleven yet, and as we were talking and looking for Le Clef, we noticed the door wasn't locked but just leaned to.

" Bob, I think they're home already. "

but as I walked into the house, it felt sort of empty and untouched by the inevitably signs of return; haphazardly discarded shoes, jackets or light still playing chicken with moths and mosquitoes. Were they home and asleep already or did I forget to re-lock the house when I had visited our loo earlier on?

Bob suggested I look into their bedroom, but I was in a conundrum...can't wake them if they are there, can I ? Yet, in the same way that many a parent has done, I wondered if they had crossed paths with a fox, wild pig or some such on their way back? Oh yes, those were the dangers we faced in our youth, didn't we, Bob?

For the next half hour I went through each and every step in my mind, trying to see if I had forgotten to relock our house or if they were home.

' I am sure I locked it again. '

' They wouldn't have gone to bed already '

' The other day I also forgot to lock the door. Should I be worried? '

Oh my, I would never live it down if I locked them out for even a few minutes never mind a whole night. The last time my Dad came to visit ( he was a day early ) I hadn't gone shopping yet and he had to eat the proverbial dry bread for supper. Somehow I've lost count of how often he has recited the " I had to starve " incident ... Being locked out all night, quelle disaster!!

Bob suggested to leave our door unlocked just in case and I was leaning towards it, when all of a sudden I heard my dad slam a bathroom door.

Oh, I was relieved indeed.

Biggi

Getting Ready For Winter, All In A Day's Work!

A fun Friday spent stacking wood for the winter.

At first glance it didn't look like much work, but once you start to put each log into the wheelbarrow, wheel it to the shed ( Bob's part ), stack it neatly, you realize how much work it is. By the way, Bob counted his trips and they amounted to 76 times!!!

A whole range of sizes and shapes makes this real fun to stack...or not! This time around, I was the apprentice to my mum, who is an expert at neatly stacking a pile of wood.

Somehow, the Star Wars t-shirt helped the day go faster. Bob wheeling trolley load #21 or so.

Bob on one of his many many many trips with the wheelbarrow. Slowly but surely the pile grew.

A little bit of proof that I do help out too... A family affair at my parent's house, organizing wood for the winter.

Biggi

The Saucepan Slayer Strikes Again.

A family tradition it seems...

A real who-done-it in our house? Well, I blame the Knödl this time even though it started out so very innocent.

For a month or so, each time I had opened my kitchen cupboard, a packet of bread cubes ( main ingredient for a Knödl ) made itself known to me and only my dread of the rather the messy labour involved in making them in addition to there often being a lack of eggs, has had it banned onto the shelf for ages. Until last Friday, eh, the 13th...

They had a special on mushrooms and that sealed the deal and set off a rather treacherous chain of events leading to the pot meeting its maker...We should have taken heed of the universe's signs because as we were loading the groceries into the back of our car, one item fell through the Bobster's hands and splashed onto the pavement in a rather picturesque way. The sour cream!

Yes, you guessed it...I made a mushroom stew to go with the aforementioned culprits. Those were rather on the tough side in any case and the first batch that we ate was far from fluffy and soft as one expects from a Bavarian Knödl. Yet, I stubbornly did another batch, which we might have had fried for breakfast.

Bob and I sat and ate our supper in front of the T.V. which sealed the deal for the unfortunate pot. Both of us were overtaken by the slumber fairy and I woke up a few hours later to a most awful acrid smell wafting about. It took me a few moments to place it and racing through to the kitchen, I saw a blackened pot with even worse looking Knödls at the bottom of it...

You needn't tell me...I know it was a lucky escape.

As for my own personal fireman, he slumbered through the whole ordeal and only discovered the deed in the morning. Honestly, I was rather glad about that as he would have straightaway had a few choice words for and to me. Weeelll, they wouldn't have been out of place either.

Luckily, I have a slight history of this kind of crime as I have done a similar deed about 15 years ago, which at least takes the notion of old age and forgetfulness off the table. Thank goodness!

The whole of the following day, I had conveniently banned the pot affair from my mind and when mum phoned me in the evening to have a chat, it still wasn't an issue. But, for some reason, mum kept heading to this pot business and was even about to mention making Knödls herself, when I realized she knew!

Bob of course had spilled the beans to his mother-in-law and perhaps with glee or complaint but the guarantee has run our long ago. No return policy for this daughter!

After a few moments of my mum teasing me about the saucepan business, I understood why she was smiling: it seems that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and saucepan slaying seems to be a family tradition...

A real case of the pot calling the kettle black...

Biggi

Family Advice, Oh Dear How Nice...

The lure of a quick cure.

A while ago one of my numerous aunts spent a few days visiting and instantly understood our attraction to this bit of Burgenland's paradise. Wine, sunshine and plenty of time to enjoy it all.

She did have one little thorn in her side and it had to do with the lack of waste bins along the country lanes. Why would she care...well, she has a most delightful and rather amply fed little sausage dog of sorts who of course needs to walk a few times a day to do his business.

But don't be fooled by his cuteness as he did sneak a cooked piece of steak off the grill which made my aunt feel embarrassed to no end. We all thought it was tres funny except for the Bobster, as it was meant to be his piece of meat!

Anyway, it is all very well being conscientious and law abiding. My aunt went for numerous walks and took along tiny plastic bags for the dog's business but alas there was nowhere to put that smelly bag afterwards. An alarming lack of rubbish bins along the numerous paths around the vineyards.

Isn't it rather quaint how pet owners praise their pets for each and every main business accomplished? Even Bob and I sing Mausi's praises ( through our noses mostly ) when she gives us a smelly offering.

The last time another one of my aunts was here, she had to carry a poo bag until we got home. Her dog is rather large and I shouldn't have to paint you a picture...Once I took the lovely Leo for a solo walk and had to carry a large and very smelly bundle for half an hour. Yikes.

Oh, I nearly forgot about my aunts advice. She is an enthusiastic supporter of the idea of having at least a one minute ice cold shower after the usual hot one. In my 20's and 30's I followed a similar routine as I had read about a German woman who lived an extremely long and healthy life which she attributed to these ice cold showers.

Somehow a cold shower is easily done in South Africa though it takes some getting used to in the colder climes. So far, I've almost got a weeks worth of icy showers to my name, and do feel a bit more healthy and vigorous.

Apart from feeling the odd cold shiver I do have to smile when Bob showers after me...he never checks the temperature gauge and screams like a girl when faced with icy cold water...

Biggi

Win Some, Lose One!

A perfect offering to the Gods of Tombola?

Our day was two fold yesterday. First we've had a visit from two firemen and no, not for a professional opinion but they were going around the neighbourhood in order to collect for the yearly tombola. Yes, they were selling raffle tickets.

The last few years, I have been a bit miffed that our raffle ticket didn't step up to the plate or rather step up to the lovely big screen TV that is and was the main prize. Often it is won by someone who already has several walls coated in TV's. Note, ticket in singular...

Well, when they pulled out the leaflet, Bob and I looked at each other and did one of those telepathic looks that married folks tend to acquire after years of trial and error ( not to be confused with a trying look ) and we pulled out our big spender's pants and promptly got five raffle tickets. At an Euro a ticket, we felt it was worth the chance to coat our wall as well. Hold thumbs.

The one fireman ( Bob's colleague ) was laboriously writing out each and every ticket with name & address, when the other one piped up:

" Why don't you just write ' Bob ', there is only one in our village after all! "

Later that same day ( gosh, that sounds like the paragraph before someone gets done in ), saw us driving to have a nice family meal across the way in Hungary. We were a multi cultural group
( Germans, Americans & South Africans ) and somehow our meal choice reflected it: The table was akin to a farmyard with pork, duck, deer, wild boar and some mushrooms. A definite adventure lunch which turned out great.

Driving home, we stopped to get some cake at Lendl's and as I got back into our car, I noticed a missing hub-cap. A strange sight and as we don't know where it decided to part company with us, we can't very well retrace our steps...Never mind, I am sure you've also seen the many hub-caps lingering on the side of the road waiting to be picked up. Surely one will fit onto our car.

But, perhaps this was an offering to the God of Tombola and in two weeks time we'll have traded a hub-cap for a big screen TV...

Biggi