Porsche Of Quad Cities

An unusual planting campaign in Germany has led Porsche to assemble their brigade for a planting escapade. Trinkerwasserwald has been promoting deciduous growth in their forests that are primarily made up of coniferous woods. Deciduous growth is believed to generate and retain an average of 800,000 more liters of water per hectare than forests composed of coniferous trees. This has been confirmed to be the case generation after generation. Porsche took it upon themselves to plant 5,000 deciduous trees in the forest associated with their community. These trees will be the first step towards rejuvenating their storm-damaged woodland areas and will eventually be capable of supplying an insurmountable amount of drinkable water for the community. Trinkerwasserwald acknowledges Porsche鈥檚 efforts as a partnership in the grand effort of promoting the idea of sustainability on a global scale. Both companies are putting in their efforts not only to do their part in alleviating our crippled environment, but to incite others to help make these necessary efforts.

Strangely my heart desired books, lots of them, some nice cloths but not too much. I had my own TV and record player. It was very important since my room was my Universe. Ever since I can remember, I was mostly in solitude in my room where I could do all and even do most simultaneously: watch TV while reading, writing poetry and painting and tinkering and exercising my set-ups while singing. Well, maybe not all at once but "multi-tasking" was always great fun. At first, I thought it was cool to be in that top dollar school. Within a few days, I was with the rebels, the non-conformists. I wore jeans, a large sweater and a cap with my hair tucked under in sign of protest to the blah looking preppy rich kids. Funny isn't it, how we label it all? I got disappointed with the way those kids acted with their riches.

Nevertheless, I have to admit that the two College years were possibly the most fun ones of my education. Not because I learned a lot. I was a gifted child so retaining information was very easy. Forgetting it later on was as easy. But, just for finally feeling free, having friends to hang out with. I let go of some of my shyness then and that feeling was more than having any kind of money. There were also my darkest years, toughest on an emotional level. My parents divorced that year. Same year as I met my first boy friend. A lot of turmoil and questioning. But we were rich for a while. We had been somewhat poor too, or what we think poor is. In Paris, we had no bathroom. But then, my parents had so many friends. They would come over. I remember the music, the dancing, the holding the furniture so it would not tip over with so much jumping up and down.

I remember the joyful embraces, the difficult parting after a real real good time. I was very young but those memories were burned into my brain. We moved, got rich supposedly but were just the four of us. There were no more parties, no more friends coming over, no more joyful long evenings. Just work, work, work and all the terrible stuff that comes with worries, fatigue and stress. So my parents divorced, and later still worked together in another pastry shop my dad had rented. Could write a book just about that period of my life. Maybe I will. In any case, one day, at age twenty one, I got a call. My parents went bankrupt. They had lost everything. My dad had mismanaged his finances and bailiffs came to pick up everything they could. They were not really bright as they massacred the large gaz oven that could have blown us all to pieces. So my parents were poor.

I felt poor as well. I was anyway, living on my own for three years, struggling to pay for University and food. My mom, tearful, handed the pastries made early that day to strangers walking on the street. One old time client rented a cab that drove back and forth delivering the goodies to different charity organisations, bless her. Another complained that the free cake was vanilla and she preferred chocolate. A TV reporter came so we could appear on sad evening news as one more casualty of recession (not the one we supposedly live now, another from which we learned nothing). I often asked myself when were really the richest, the poorest. I always great memories of my life in France, even with the common toilet. I loved the smell of the old wooden staircase. I loved my friends dearly and it took me numerous years to trust that I could have friends again.