Back when I was merely a babe in the woods (a high school sophomore, to be exact), I traversed throughout Europe with my German teacher, Frau Hoover, and the rest of her pupilage. Our journey took us through German-speaking countries, mainly, and I have many photographs to help me remember our trip. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to help me remember the language, except for this one phrase from a recording we listened to over, and over, and over…again in class:

“Ingo und ich gehen in die stadt.”

Translation: “Ingo and I are going into town.” (I think.)

Usefulness in German-speaking countries? Nicht!

A few things stick out the most for me in my memory of the trip. The first being my hair.

Observe a photo from that era:

Scary how big that hair was! Be ye not frightened anymore; expensive hair products and a diffuser have done wonders for those stuck sitting behind me in a theatre.

Also of note, I was convinced to go to a formal with a foreign exchange student—from Germany. I think his name is Charles?

Also of note: My hair was pretty dark due to my being cast as “Maria” in West Side Story.
Another very strong memory from the sojourn across the pond is of the breakfasts over there and the divine rolls we got to eat each morning. Those of you who’ve been know what I’m talking about, yes? The super-crusty rolls served were the only solace to be found when waking so early in the morning in the midst of a jet-lag fog.

One fateful morning I began choking on said roll—the violent choking where people don’t know whether to laugh or find someone who can actually perform the Heimlich—and could not for the life of my mortified teenage self stop. The next thing I knew, the chef/main cook/main guy came busting out of the kitchen and did perform the aforementioned maneuver on completely and thoroughly humiliated little me.

Here’s what’s really funny though: the chef/main cook/main guy was mad. At me! He looked thoroughly annoyed that I had been so careless as to choke on his precious roll! He had no right to act that way with me, especially since that was only my first time choking on one of his baked goods. That’s right, friends. I don’t scare easy (at least when it comes to food) and so clearly, I was back at it, only to begin retching again. And that’s when he had every right to start in with the attitude. I can just hear him ranting about those stupid American teenagers…

You might think time would make the event less detailed in my brain (it heals all wounds?), but alas, lest I forget the incident entirely, my cousin Ryan, who was along for the trip, made up a parody about the whole thing…to “Ice, Ice Baby”. It went a little something like this:

Stop! Collaborate and listen.
Kara’s back with a choking affliction…

Yep.

Thanks, Ry. Thanks, buddy. And thanks for singing it for the rest of the trip. LOUDLY. Danke.

I sure am (sincerely, really) proud of how you turned out, what with graduating from the Naval Academy and serving as an officer in the Navy. And I sure am proud of how you grew out of the whole crying thing: remember how you cried when I beat you in the elementary school spelling bee? Huh? HUH?

You don’t?

All joking aside, Ryan is currently serving our country in the Middle East. I’m proud of what he’s accomplished and what he’s doing there.

Be safe Ryan, and come home soon to your beautiful wife and daughter.

There are other fond, less embarrassing memories. Strongest of them all is yet another culinary wonder…of the chocolate variety. You know it’s good if it’s worthy of being the subject of my very first Ode. Check it out!