The plane lands into a pathetic little blizzard. It had been 60 when I left Denver, with a week of sun to come. The weather for Germany had shown rain eight out of ten days. It seems to be worse than that. I do a mental checklist going through the warm clothes that I brought. It’s mostly light fare: spring jacket, sweaters, too many V-neck t-shirts. I knew it would be cold, but I hadn’t expected snow. In my memories, it rarely snows in this part of the world. Of all the winters I’ve spent here, I’ve never seen more than a frost on windowpanes. I pull the dollars out …
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