It all started when an American girl met a German boy…
Last week marked the Centennial anniversary of when America officially entered World War One. As I’ve been digging for information on my American relatives from that generation, I’ve also been finding more about Martin’s German family from that time period.
We got a hold of these photos just last year, showing Martin’s great-grandfather Georg. He was a career military man who joined in the late 1800s: he was already a non-commissioned officer by the time German fighting broke out in 1914.
The photo on the left was taken sometime between 1908-1912. The photo on the right is dated 1915. By then, he had five children at home, all under the age of 7. The difference in his appearance is remarkable. He survived the war, living well into his 60s, long enough to see two of his three sons conscripted into the Wehrmacht during WWII and taken as POWs by the Russians.
Only one son (Martin’s grandfather) returned after several years.
I came home from class this evening with only minutes to spare before Jaz’s bedtime.
Not only have I been working later, but when I *do* get home, I go straight to bed. I haven’t really seen or talked to my boy since Sunday. So, I was feeling pretty guilty when Martin sent him to me for a quick hug.
Earlier this week, we heard that Jupiter was going to be super clear and visible, so we spent some time outside on our balcony looking for it.
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