Author Mingels about America: A difficult love

I'm eleven years old and on the wedding of my cousin. It takes place in the club house need a on the North shore of Long Island. It is a winter wedding, a Chri

Author Mingels about America: A difficult love

I'm eleven years old and on the wedding of my cousin. It takes place in the club house need a on the North shore of Long Island. It is a winter wedding, a Christmas tree in the club house is so large and dense, as it only American Christmas trees may be, and on the meadows to the stately wooden Villa of the snow is meters high. "Well," I say, of the parents of the groom to my Hobbies in demand and a chore my school English raspy, "I collect matchboxes."

Agreed to this? I can't remember.

The package that arrives a year later with me in Germany, is full: matchboxes from New York, Minnesota, Washington, Wyoming, from a Café in Seattle, a Restaurant in a suburb of San Diego, from New Mexico and Canada. A mistake, I think, a Mistake. A long time later, me, dawn, from whom it came.

My love for America is an old one. It is not unclouded, has scratches and stains. But it is still there.

Extended wild West levels

It's Friday afternoon, in mid-July. Since the Lockdown here in California, exactly one hundred and twenty days have passed, and I have the distinct feeling that time to be alone. To three months of home schooling, the holiday joined seamlessly. When in September the school starts, have the children six months to home. In the past few weeks we have begun again to meet up with friends – preferably outside, at one of the many beaches, in the garden, in the Park. It is only when one sees the children with the other games, one realizes how much they miss each other.

As I roll up the driveway down, after waving to me all three and remember to bring something along. For my trip I chose the best Route. In the next two days I'll be driving through Reno to Salt Lake City, I'm going to landscapes-barren mountain, extended wild West levels, through desert-like areas, I'll be euphoric, because this country is so wide and beautiful, and sometimes I will not be at a loss, because I understand it still.

My first military cemetery

The Plaza Hotel in Reno is as good as empty when I arrive. "Park on the third floor," says the receptionist as she hands over the key to me for the Parking garage. "And you honk at every curve the road goes in both directions." Without Breakfast, I make myself the next Morning, on the way. "We are stronger together" proclaimed brave of a lighting panel in front of the Theater, a veterans ' Association organized a March with flags and without the masks, otherwise, the streets of Reno, people are empty.

Interstate 80 cuts through the landscape, in the distance, the craggy mountain ranges, even in the morning, push past the air in front of heat. In Winnemucca there is a casino, a Motel and a Pizza place that is not so dirty that I cancel just to be polite my order. As I wait in the little cemetery next door to my Pizza, it remains a car directly in front of me. "You know, where the Boyles are, Eric and Belinda Boyle?", and I do not say, no, unfortunately, I know. Between the gray pebbles, on the gray metal plates, are small bouquets of flowers. Leonard E. Wolf stands on one of the metal plates, including, prior to the birth and death data: U.S. Army.

Updated Date: 10 August 2020, 10:20

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