So it begins.

Crailsheim was destroyed in the last week of the Second World War.  It had survived intact until that time, but on February 23rd, 1945, Allied bombers leveled the town and killed 200 of its inhabitants.  As a result it's not a town with typically old architecture or historic landmarks, rather most of the buildings date to the late 1940s or after - charming to me because it still feels so different from any American town I've seen from that era, and unexpectedly poignant to me because I've heard the story of its rebuilding my whole life. Perhaps it's seeing the reception given my mother by the townspeople we've met since this morning. And hearing stories over dinner of our host's roles in developing Crailsheim's reputation as a cultural center for the region, and the ways the sister city relationship with Worthington has gone from rebuilding from nothing to true reciprocity between the towns. Having had absolutely nothing to do with the process of raising Crailsheim from the ashes, or experiencing either hosting a German student or being an exchange student in Crailsheim, I feel a bit of an imposter even in the reflected glory of my mother.  But it's undeniably moving to witness the effects of the relationship she inspired, and her mother acted on, and the very genuine regard and appreciation she's showed here.  They saw a need, and they acted.  And it generated the sustained commitment of two towns to improve themselves and each other, and to learn all they can from each other, and ultimately to build bridges between them whose strength diminishes the possibility of facing each other across enemy lines again.

Ok, that, and there's a freaking amazing yarn store two doors down from our hotel on the platz that's having a half off sale.  I'm going to try to upload a picture of it just because in addition to being shockingly inexpensive, it's also freakishly perfect: all the yarn is laid out in neat, orderly shelves, and not a single ball is out of place or, god forbid, slightly unwound from being handled.  I want it.  I want it all.  I'm regretting the choice of such a small suitcase already.

Naps helped earlier this afternoon, and Peter and I took a long walk after dinner and watched the sun set, but neither is balancing the effects of excellent lagers and hefe, plates of caprese salads that instantly erased the guilt of steaming bowls of spaetzle, and in Peter's case, a haunch of what our server described in sticky English as "Bambi."  Very tasty apparently, but I can't get much else out of
him at this point besides snoring.