Well, this look won me the award of "Naughtiest" at Susanne and Juli's Annual Holiday Cocktail party last night. Look at me--does that look "Naughty" to you?

Maybe it was because I campaigned for that category's vote ("Vote for me--I'll show you Naughty!")

However--

I think it was the story behind the Gothlocks (those sweet little springs on the back of my head) that did it: My friend Ed won those Gothlocks at the recent Fetish Ball here in Seattle for wearing a truly marvelous custom-made, self-designed leather outfit to the occasion.

Did I mention that my friend Ed is 77?

Naughty Gothlocks!

My prize--a necklace made of two lumps of coal--hangs proudly on my vanity...

Courtesy of one of my favorite blogs, Skepitco, I was made aware of this article from the Guardian.

It's interesting-- a call against proffering respect to people and organizations simply because they claim a religious view point. Not focusing on any one religion, he makes a point about how actions, contribution and behavior are what should demand respect, not merely posessing a belief system.

To paraphrase the article writer, the absolutely unprovable claims of any and all religious belief systems shouldn't govern the actions of others, not even the pen of a cartoonist--we would never hold a politician as above the commentaries of political cartoonists merely because of her political beliefs.

Taking the concept further, it's just ridiculous that a consenting gay adult's ability to marry is halted by the unfounded and unproven belief system of our country's dominant religion.

And, the ridiculousness of the situation doesn't stop there.

Did you ever stop to think about how impossible it would be for a secular humanist to be elected president in our country?

Chile, a predominantly Catholic country, elected an atheist, socialist single mother --Michelle Bachelet-- to its highest post of President last January. She was seen as the best person for the job--and her theological beliefs did not stop people from recognizing this.

I think about people like Hillary Clinton or John McCain and wonder if they are truly religious--or just faking it so as not to scare the church types. I would be just as pissed as the Christians if that were the case, but for different reasons.

We give lip service to separation of church and state--but who really believes it?

Requiem

Christine Howe was the best hugger I knew.

She would greet me with with her musical, sing song voice--"Well, hi there Kellie!", slide up to me, wrap her arms around me while kissing me (with a "mmmmm!"), bend her knees so they would touch and grip mine--and then she would wriggle, shaking and rocking me in her embrace.

She knew how to make people feel absolutely loved.

She was the rare soul who would let me know exactly where I stood with her. I never had to guess whether there was anything unsaid--her love and support came complete with clear, unabridged communication. If she wasn't happy with me, I knew it--but it never rankled. She was a straight shooter, with the rare innocence that seems to accompany those with such earnestness.

She was one of the healthiest people I knew--at 52 she put my 35 years to shame. Her toned and vibrant body was maintained with her vegetarian diet, regular cleanses, ample exercise.

Nothing makes one feel one's own mortality more strongly than finding out that someone as healthy and alive as Christine had a cancerous brain tumor.

She was diagnosed July of '05.

With the support of her husband Jon, son Tyler, and a bevy of loved ones in her community, she managed to live a pretty full life in the following year, visiting friends and loved ones in Europe and Mexico, all the while doing what she could do to not give way to the cancerous intruder. For awhile, the lack of growth in her tumor lulled us all into thinking she was beating it.

Before we left for our trip in October, we got word that the tumor had resumed growing; while we were away, Jon's emails brought heavy hearted news that Christine was rapidly declining.

When we returned we were able to spend some time with her, seeing the Christine we loved through the symptoms of the damage that the tumor growth was wreaking on her brain. As the days passed she went from being able to spend some time in a wheel chair, to not leaving her bed. All the while she was cared for at home by Jon and Tyler.

A week later, last Saturday the 18th, we all gathered at Jon and Christine's house. It was unplanned--just a gravitation of loved ones to their place, wanting to witness, support, soak in this hallowed, heart wrenching experience. It was indescribable, these hours--such a combination of love, grief, joy, fellowship that pulsed through rooms among all who were present.

We took turns holding vigil in her bedroom--three of us at a time sitting on the floor or on the bed next to her--holding her when the seizures convulsed her body every ten minutes. Murmuring to her, "Just let go, sweetheart..."

As Taryn noted, it almost felt like being a midwife...every convulsion was like a contraction. We hoped that she would use our strength, our presence to aid her transition. But that blessed woman, that strong, vibrant woman wasn't ready to go quite yet. She seemed so far out of her body, in a persistent slumber, unresponsive to all her gathered around her.

But, the next night, Sunday, when Jon leaned in and whispered to her, "Marry me..."
She replied, "Okay..."

I massaged Jon last Friday--I was so grateful to him for letting me "help". I appreciate Jon so much--both he and Tyler have been so gracious in sharing this deeply personal experience with all of us.

As I worked on him, he mused about the concept of "helping someone die"--what, really, was there to help?

"I think," I mused, thinking about Taryn's analogy of midwifery,"that both birth and death will happen regardless of whether there is help to be had, or not. But isn't it much better to have loved ones nearby to ease the way?"

Christine died last night at 8:51pm.

The email we received from Jon this morning:

just to let you know,
the city was quiet, under a few inches of snow,
tyler and i were with Christine,
so far as we could tell her last breath was as peaceful as anyone's could be.
we filled the room with candle light,
and caught what sleep we could laying next to the bed.

Christine, thank you, I love you, I miss you.

Back home...

Still reeling from jet lag.

The train and plane ride home was largely uneventful. We spent the night before we flew out in Frankfurt. Dinner at an Australian restaurant that night (there's only so much potatoes and sausage one can eat)--passed on the kangaroo burger. Did think about it for a second or two though...

Watching Euro CNN in the hotel that night was like being a kid on Christmas morning--Democrats won??!!! Jubilation now over, let's see if they manage to not be the wishy washy spineless party that I've been frustrated with for so long...

After hours of travel, got in to Seatac and got a ride from friend Gary. Phone call the next morning from American Airlines saying that my money belt had been found (with passport, ID and credit card) on the plane. !!! didn't even know it was lost. Picked it up, no more cash inside :-( Someone was honest enough to turn it in, but just couldn't resist helping themselves to some bene's...

Good to be back home. Great trip. Soooo grateful to our hosts. Hope they come visit us next time...

A lovely walk with Gabi and the kids through the woods until twilight. On the way back to home we stopped in at the church and listened to the organ player practice in the darkness lit only by candles from the altars.

Very gothic and surreal experience.

Afterwards Jeff and I strolled through the cemetery that surrounds the church, red candles on the graves flickering. Jeff had to leave when we came upon one plot too recently created--a little too morbidly real for him. For me, I'm always fascinated and mystified by death and its accoutrements.

For special dinner we had boiled potatoes sauteed in butter (a special request from me), fine slices of roast beef sprinkled with olive oil, parmesan cheese and chives, Austrian bread, and Stiegel beer, naturlich!

Gabi and I had a girls' evening afterwards, revisting the bar we went to three years ago when I was last here. Rum and hot chocolate and good conversation, storing up memories with eachother to last us another several years.

Back home and more conversation with Christoph, a nice farewell to him last night--but then Jeff and I had to get up at 6am to see him off to work as we weren't ready to say goodbye just yet.

Elisabeth came this morning to deliver Stanger schnaps and goodbye hugs--we all have the sense and the knowledge that we will see eachother again in not too many years.

We are packed and waiting to go to the train station in an hour.

The sun gives us a glorious last few vistas of the surrounding area; I try hard to burn them into my brain.

Known and expected endings make now so much more poignant. Without these goodbyes would we appreciate things as much?

Back in Landeck

Saturday we just relaxed, just lollygaggin' and readin'. Christoph had new jokes to try out on us.

The night before we had left for Italy the four of us stayed up late telling joke after joke. Christoph was frustrated that he couldn't translate German jokes he knew into funny English versions. One got us giggling though:

Two chocolates--a caramel and a noisette (nut chocolate) sat on a wall. The noisette sneezed and fell off. The caramel looked down and said, "Are you alright?". The noisette replied, "I think I hurt my nuts."

Most of the time, we would just look at him blankly when the punch line was said to many of his jokes:

God was talking to a rabbi who was dissapointed with his son and his life direction. The Rabbi said to God, "I understand you had son problems too--how did you deal with this?" God:"I made a new testament"

Huh?

will and testament is how you say this?--- oh! funny....!

Most of the laughter was over translation frustration--and from the general joy to be had sitting and being silly with friends.

Sunday we hiked to the little cabin that has been in Gabi's family for decades. It was cold, cold. The hillside, the countryside on this hike, this terrain not 10 minutes from their house, never ceases to overwhelm me with its beauty--and I've done this hike about 6 times in 20 years. Americans have a warm nostalgia for the movie "The Sound of Music", Austrians either don't know this movie, or, if they do, they despise it. Gabi told me when I told her how this walk looked like it came straight from the movie, "I remember when you forced me to watch this AWFUL film!"

As my friend Rachel pointed out in her bloggings on her recent trip to Austria--it's mandatory for every American visitor to this quaint country's hillsides to twirl in the manner of Julie Andrews as Maria Von Trapp, with arms outstretched, head thrown back, and belting "THE HILLS ARE ALIIIIIIIIIIVE WITH THE SOUUUUUUND OF MUUUUUUUUSIIIIIIIIIIC!"

Don't be surprised, however, if locals within hearing vicinity cringe and cover their ears.

When we arrived we made a fire outside and roasted sausages over the coals. The farmer who leases the land around the cabin had recently sprayed the hillsides with a manure slurry. The aroma was so pungent it made my nose itch. Something about the smell mix of smoke, sausage, pine trees, meadow and manure---not something I'll be able to easily duplicate in Seattle...

Back down the hills to home, Jeff and I cooked an Italian meal for the family: Pasta with tomato sauce and bacon, Italian red wine, salad. It was a hit!

Then down to Katharina's and Michal's for tea and dessert--they had wanted to visit with Jeff and I. The table we sat around was the same table and kitchen I sat at the first time I visited in '88. I learned Austrian drinking songs at this table! (at the innocent age of 16). K and M are very involved in Celtic fantasy games where they meet up with other people who all dress and act in character, having grand adventures and epic battles. Kati dresses as an elf, Michal, as a Celtic warrior. I think they are as addicted to this as people I knew in college who were addicted to Dungeons and Dragons...

Yesterday (Monday) we lazed and ate again--G and C took us to a restaurant as this would be the last opportunity for us all to have a grand feast together. Later we went to Elisabeth and Roman's where we spent the night there so that we could have one last session with them of good conversation.

Our last full day in Austria is today. Tomorrow we leave on the train at 11:30am for a 6.5 hour ride back to Frankfurt. We spend the night in a hotel there, then on the plane on the 9th for the long journey home.

The time has passed quickly--but also very slowly. It feels like an age ago that we surprised Gabriele at her party.

I am ready to be home, ready to tackle the projects again, ready to be in my own bed, ready for my familiar routine. Traveling is grand, is educational, is necessary--but home is mandatory.

Not quite done with my adventures, more stories to tell, possibly. Then if you like, you can check in periodically and see how the adventures of mundane, everyday existence, full of predictability, yet rich with possibility, unfold...what could be better?

Seriously.

Venezia

After two nights in Verona, we went to Venice.

 

Well, honestly, I didn't want to go to Venice.  I had been there before, years ago in '88--with Elisabeth actually.  Oh, yes, it's extremely gorgeous, picturesque, unlike any other place in the world.  But, for me, once was enough.

 

Jeff wanted to see it, so we went--with two nights reserved at a little hotel in the Academia district, far from the crowds of San Marco's square.  Our room overlooked a sweet little canal, we could hear the tethered boats bumping in the night.

 

Again, the weather was perfect--gorgeous blue skies, crisp clean air--and this time it was getting chilly!

 

We walked and walked--I think this is one place that you can literally walk your ass off (if we were there for a few more weeks I'm certain I would have been able to fit into a smaller pant size!).  No cars allowed, can't go more than fifty steps without having to climb some stairs to go over another bridge.

 

Let me just say that I think Keens are the perfect pair of travelling shoes.  I have had a problem with my feet for years--any pair of shoes would cramp up my feet after a few hours of wearing.  These Keens are the most comfortable, light weight, durable shoes I've ever worn.  The only drawback being-- they're kinda goofy looking.  Put it this way, they make Birkenstocks look sleek.  But, since my feet ain't hurting, I ain't complaining.

 

I was surrounded again by gorgeous boot stores, and this time I was determined not to let my opportunity to own a pair of Italian boots pass me by.  But, the experience I had every time I went into a shop was the same: 

 

Me:  Excuzee, do you have size 42? (size 11, for those of you not familiar with European sizing)

Salesclerk: (looking in disgust down at my gargantuan feet in my crazy Keens) No!

 

Every place stopped at size 41--and they only had a few pairs in 41 at that.  It's funny how Nordstrom can carry my size in Italian and French shoes, but I can go to these countries and not be able to find them myself.  Oh well!  I didn't need to spend that money anyway.  :-E

 

So Venice was nice, it was fine--but it's truly not my city.  I can appreciate the unique beauty, the history, yadda, yadda, yadda--but it's hard for me to love a place that is so dependent on tourists, the same tourists that it's obvious the locals despise to keep itself afloat.  Most visitors arrive on the morning train and leave on the evening train.  After this last exodus, the city shuts down.  It's crazy--it becomes a ghost town. 

 

Once home to hundreds of thousands of people, Venice only has about 60,000 residents now--and that number is dwindling fast.  As I said, the people here rely on the tourists to keep the city running--and you can see that they really don't like these hoards of people that mob their town every day.  In Verona I felt that I could get swallowed up among the locals; in Venice I felt that I was a necessary evil.

 

Jeff thought it beautiful, however finally understand why I hadn't been enthusiastic about coming back--and was glad we came.  I didn't hate it--it was nice just being with my love in a city that caters to romance.  He assures me I won't have to come again!

 

The perfect Italian meal:  Tartinas.  Little slices of baguette, topped with various delights:  mozzarella with prosciutto, different types of mackerel mixes, green onion jelly (delicious!), any type of Italian smoked meat.  Accompanied by a brisk Italian vino rossi--molto buono!  Like an Italian form of tapas.

 

Checked out of the hotel Friday morning, spent a couple hours on the steps of the train station people and bird watching.  Italian seagulls are funny.  They look just like ours, but they sound completely different.  The closest I can come to describing their cry is like a crow's--but a couple pitches higher and more drawn out.  It sounds like a witch gloating.

 

On the train, headed back to Austria.  Italy is decidedly dirtier and louder than its gentle Tyrolian neighbor.  We are forced into the luxury of first class seats as we Americans can only buy a Eurail pass for 1st class accomodations.  At lake Guarda an attractive woman sat down in our little cabin that we had had mostly to ourselves. 

 

After a few smiles we began to chat and had fabulous converstation for hours on all manner of topics, making the 6 hour ride feel like only 1.  She was a documentary film maker for a Bavarian public television station and had made films on all sorts of topics--from death and dying and various human interest topics, to art-based focuses, such as the film on Titian and (I forget who else) that she had just been wrapping up in Venice.  It was one of the things I had been craving, but hadn't gotten yet until this time--a connection with a stranger in a foreign land.  I remember having so many of these when I visited Europe the first time in '88.

 

Brenner pass was covered with snow and had flurries coming like mad.  When we arrived back in Landeck the temperature was noticeably colder and we were glad for the hats and gloves that we packed for the walk back to our hosts' house.

 

Once back there was warmth and food awaiting us--a fondue meal.  Fondue always forces the participant to eat very slooowwwly. :-)

 

Highlights of Italy:

 

forcing myself to walk on the high ramparts of Ponte Castle Vecchio and face my dizzying fear of heights,

the Osteria Bulgiardi in Verona,

trying on Persol's and letting myself buy a pair,

the free cookie from our waiter,

the lovely old ladies at our Veronese hotel who were more than happy to give us sightseeing and language tutoring,

the funny old man who owned the wine and grappa shop we bought some limon chello from,

the sweet old Italian lady in Venice who thought we were lost when she saw us studying our map and wanted to point the way to San Marcos square (we were actually trying to locate a famous gelateria),

the mad ringing of the bells in San Marcos square for the call to worship,

eating and drinking at the little wine bar not far from our hotel,

people watching and note taking on fashions of the excursion,

great conversation on the train ride home,

and, who can forget,

 

amore,

amore,

amore!

 

 

 

---

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Verona

Up early on Monday to catch the train to Verona, Italy.  More beautiful vistas to soak up traveling through the Dolomites into South Tyrol (the Germanic northern part of Italy), down into Veneto region, arriving in Verona 6 hours after we left Landeck.

 

My friend Mary had told me that if I really wanted to go to a town in Italy that lived up to the images conjured when one thinks of ITALY--then go to Verona.  I have to say she was so right!  Gorgeous buildings, red tile roofs, beautiful plazas, plenty of Roman ruins to make up for the fact that we weren't going to Rome. 

 

We had a great hotel recommendation care of Rick Steves, our local travel guru in the Seattle area--the room was a bit austere, but the sweet women running the place, the care shown to us, and the very convenient location to the center of town made it just perfect.

 

By chance we found our favorite restaurant, favorite local ambience, favorite Italian wine all wrapped up in a great osteria (eatery) on the first day.  3 euros (about $3.60) bought us a glass of fabulous Valpolicella wine, 5 euros bought a gorgeous plate of food.  We went there three times in two days.  Jeff even had a glass of wine every time we went.  For those of you who know him--this is truly remarkable!

 

Lots of walking, sightseeing, and soaking it all in--my big Italian splurge happened there in Verona: I bought mysel a pair of Persol's (very nice Italian sunglasses--and happily I've needed to wear them every day since!).  Mama Mia!  A great conversation with the sales lady--shared puzzlement over what the American government was doing--she said the shock was palpable in Europe when our last presidential election yielded another four years of Bush2.   I told her to check our the most recent RollingStone article written by Michael Kennedy (came out a couple months or more ago).  For those of you not familiar with this article--google it.  It's a most disturbing exploration of what may have really happened in Ohio with those Diebold voting machines....  I told her that I believe the US needs its voting days monitored by an international quorum.  Such a reactionary I am, I know!

 

I think the best soft drink ever is Chino--or Chinotto (depending on the maker).  An Italian soda pop--it's quite bitter, but sweet too--I think it's a tamarind-based flavor, but I'm not certain.  I only know it's very hard to get in the states as it's decidedly NOT an American taste.

 

Almost every woman I saw was wearing gorgeous, knee high boots.  I was surrounded by people in fabulous fashionable clothing.  And, of course, there were many places to buy said articles of fabulosity.  Oh the torture!  I wanted to spend and spend...and just about the time, the day I thought to allow myself to try on some boots (oh just one taste wouldn't hurt!), the day was November 1--All Saints Day-- a holiday among the Catholic countries, and all the dang shops were closed.  Ai!

---

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Innsbruck

Up early the morning after dancing--the plan was to go to the Alpenzoo in Innsbruck.  Christoph's left eye was swollen shut due to an allergic reaction to a mosquito bite in the night.  We were all groggy enough to be tempted not to rally.

 

Ah, what the heck, we went, hopping the 10:30am train for the 45 minute ride into the city.  From the station we walked to the zoo on the outskirts of the city, passing through the old part of town-- a tourist destination.  Flea market on the perimeter, saw a couple things I wanted to get -- a skull cap with small antlers for Jack (a Jack-a-lope!) and an antique doorbell with a pig on top of it.  Alas, we have no room in our small packs for such things.  Sorry, Jack!  It probably would have broken anyway :-(

 

Of course, the Alpenzoo was on the side of the steep foothils of the high mountains just on the outer perimeter of Innsbruck--more hard puffing for these out of shape and mildly sick tourists!  This zoo set-up would never survive in America.  "What?!  we have to exercise to see the animals?"

 

It was a very sweet zoo--reminiscent of the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle in its effort to provide beautiful natural settings for the animals.  There was a great play area for the kids.  We had to make sure the the slide worked properly :-)  Does the Woodland Park Zoo sell beer in its food area?  I had a Radler--half beer, half 7-up.  Our favorite snack here in Austria is Snips--a bag of peanut butter flavored corn puffs. (the bag reads "Authentic American Flavor!")

 

Incidentally, what has the Woodland Park Zoo has done much better than the Alpenzoo?  Odor management.  There were areas that made my eyes water from the smell of general animal earthiness.  Jeff says that Europeans have a better understanding and toleration of funk, that we Americans are too antiseptic.  Mebee so.  Not something I'm thinking I'll train myself out of.

 

A tired trot back to the center of town for a dinner before our ride home.  Fabulous dinner at a restaurant Jeff and I had discovered last time we were here.  I must admit I had a few bites of veal :-O !  It was the children's wiener snitzel--and it was so guht!  My dish was a couple fillets of cold smoked trout accompanied by dry toast and a little bowl of tasy horseradish butter.  Yum!  Jeff had the Grillteller (grilled meat plate) with boiled potatos fried in butter.  No lack of calories in our vacation diet...

 

BTW, the PC movement (not the computer, but the social sensibility) has yet to find its way here.  A couple double takes since we were here:  On the day of Gabi's party the children were playing a game with each other that resembled tag.  One child would yell a singsong chant to a group of kids standing across the way, then they would race past him in a charge, trying not to be tagged by him.  When I asked Kati what the chant was, I was told that he was saying something like, "I am the big Black Man -- who is afraid of me? Come and I will get you!"  When I told Kati that this would never be okay where I was from, she got a quizzical look on her face and said "Wow, I never thought about this chant in this way.  We played it as children, I always assumed that 'Black Man' was refering to a demon!"  hmm, would fly even less with this...  The other "huh?!" moment was at this restaurant in Innsbruck.  Bernhard wanted chocolate cake for dinner--so the plate he ordered had a name which translated to "Negro in a white shirt".  Gabi said that this dish was so well known that the cafe who invented this refused to call it anything else lest people not know how to ask for it.  Not too much of an active African-Austrian population from what I could see. 

 

At home again Christoph treated us to a DVD of "Dick und Dorf"--the German translation of Laurel and Hardy.  It was more fun to watch Christoph convulse in laughter than to watch the film.

 

Schnaps makes a fabulous night cap.

 

Tomorrow we leave for Italy.  Two nights in Verona, two nights in Venice, then we come back to Landeck Friday night.  Don't know if I'll blog from there, but stories to tell when I come back if I don't.

 

Hey!  I don't think I mentioned it, but they liked our cooking!

---

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Radfahren, sprechen und tanzen

We rode bikes on Friday, Jeff and I.  It was glorious, glorious.  Sunny and fresh--the weather has been just spectacular here, only one day of rain so far.  (Three years ago we came in early September and it rained all but about 3 days.  Such a difference a month and a half makes...  And the crazy thing is, things are cheaper now, because the tourist season is over. Better weather, more affordable--a good thing to remember!) We didn't go too far, just to the next small town--Zams.  Although I feel better, I tire quickly and, as this is vacation, I'm not pushing myself. 

 

Biking is a little more challenging here.  Not that it's more dangerous or difficult to do, it's just that they expect the average biker to have exceptional sleuthing abilities.  In Seattle the bike paths are clearly marked, very obvious.  Here, the bike path abruptly ends at odd places -- and then picks up again where it's not necessarily intuitively expected.  No matter, no place to be other than here. Now.

 

When you come upon another person on the path or mountain trail, it is customary to say Grös Gott (pardon the potentially wrong spelling you Deutsch speakers)--which is, "greet God".  The ones of our generation smile, the older ones look dower, usually. Do people take this in at some deep sub-conscious level that they greet God in everyone? 

 

I make due surprisingly well with the 2 1/2 months of German I took 13 years ago (you should be proud of me, Herr Fast, meine Profesor!) at the University of WA.  The crowning glory of my accomplishment here in the practice of German linguistics took place after our bike ride in a little Kebap restaurant back in Landeck.  (Kebap is a Turkish sandwich--like a gyro)  Jeff doesn't like to eat raw onions and wanted them to leave them off his sandwich.  As we didn't know the German word for onion--and the turkish owners of the restaurant didn't know English, this was a communication puzzle.  No readily available pictures of onions to point to, no ingredients in sight to refer to.  Ah well, he could pick them off.

 

After a few minutes of puzzling this to myself, I got back up and approached the counter, the translation of my dazzling language skills follows:

 

Me: Excuse me, but what is the name of the white vegetable?

Owner:  ????

Me:  The white vegetable, he likes no white vegetable.

Owner: (pulls out a drawer with three compartments holding tomato in one, white cabbage in the second, and white onion in the third)

Me:  yes! yes! in the one, two, three-- the three--this!  He wants no this!

Owner:  Oh yes, without onion?

Me: Yes!  But I, I like this onion.

Owner: Okay, one without and one with onion.

Me: Ah yes, thank you, thank you!

Jeff:  (applauds entusiastically)

Owner: (looks bemused)

Me: (very proud)

 

That night we went dancing at a little disco a couple towns away.  Roman and Elisabeth dance very well together--everyone was surprised that he even consented to coming.  Roman is generally a very serious and thoughtful man, not often frequenting pubs and discos.  (He is a massage therapist in St. Anton, the local European Ski Resort destination.  A true audiophile, he gave a demonstration of how amazing a record can sound on the right equipment when we were at his house last week (I hadn't a clue that records did not mandatorily come with the popping and crackling sounds I was accustomed to).  In addition, we were treated to a disturbing demonstration of just how strong a cell phone's (radiation? frequency?  I can't remember what his meter was reading--but it was very strong) is.  Enough to make me wonder if we are all due for brain cancer from cell phone use.  Anyway, he is a thoroughly interesting, sweet and thoughtful man who dances like someone who does it more regularly than he does.)  We all sweated and gyrated, sang and laughed--silly and very uncool in our gleeful bopping.  Just about the time that Jeff and I had to step out to rest our lungs from the smoke--Huber, the babysitter opa, summoned us home with a phone call saying that the kids were up and crying for mama.

 

A rush home, giddy happy kids to greet us, smoky clothes hung on the balcony, bed and reading and sleeping coming not until past 3am.

 

Incidentally,  "Cold Mountain" is not a very cheerful book.

---

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Gute Fahrt mit der Furz Machine

Proof yet again that there is a common sensibility among the different cultures of the world:  fart humor is universal.

 

Being that my husband is a clown, we have been in posession of not one, but two "fart machines" --remote controlled little speakers that make a different fart noise every time the remote button is pressed.  Both were given as gifts to Jeff (our friends and family know him so well).  Wanting to spread the love, we packed one with us--not really knowing if it would be appropriate.  But when has this stopped us before?

 

We started in on Christoph--with Gabi in cahoots--hiding the machine by their sleeping child who had gotten up hours after bedtime to snuggle on the couch between the chatting adults.  Gabi and Jeff and I howled with laughter and tears as Christoph looked confused at the amount of noise emanating from his beautiful little sleeping girl.

 

The next day the toy was a hit with the kids.  Bernhard, the 6 year old eldest, has taken to carrying the remote with him every where.  According to Gabi, she overheard a conversation between him and the next eldest, 4 year old Mirjam, scheming about how they could possibly get this from us for good (not knowing yet that it was a gift):

 

Bernhard:  Oh, I hope they give this fart machine to us, I have been wanting one my whole life!  (funny, as he had never known one had existed until now)

Mirjam:  Well, we will just hide it before they leave so that they can't find it--and then we will keep it!

 

Ahhh, how to lever such gaseous power?

---

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Walk Like a Tiroler

Well, this post was supposed to show up the day after my last one, but it didn't take...

 

We went up into the mountains today.  Of course, Gabi and Christoph would laugh to hear me say this--to them we did an "easy" hike into the foothills.  Easy for them is a very steep, breath catching path--steeper than Mount Si; easy for Seattlites is the gentle rolling trails of Couger Mountain.

 

The road to the trailhead went through the sweetest village--the type of place that proved we ain't in America any more:  narrow streets flanked by classic Tirolian houses, bakeries tucked away, goats and sheep in little fields lining the road. After the "easy" climb we had bread, cheese and salami overlooking the glorious valley.  Even sleeping in the sun had a nice European feel to it :-) 

 

Today was a brilliant sunny day.

 

Tonight we cook for them.  My Indian vegetables are still not ready--they don't quite smell as I am used to when I normally cook them.  We had to improvise with the BBQ sauce for the pulled pork as they don't have this sort of thing here.  We shall see if our hosts pleased--or pained--as they eat.

 

I am starting to talk like a person who speaks English as a second language--simply and with a funny accent. 

 

My love, what you think I am sexy?

 

---

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Ich verstehe

So far, this is vacation:  Sleep until 11 or 12, eat bread and butter, play with the kids (Gabi and Christoph have three), read, take a walk, help with house chores (actually fun as it's not my house), read, eat, play, talk until past midnight, sleep until late morning...

 

Gabriele and her family live upstairs in a duplex made from the family home she grew up in.  Her youngest sister, Katharina lives in the downstairs unit with her husband and two children; Elisabeth, the other, middle sister lives in the next village with her husband and two kids.

 

From the balcony of Gabi's apartment is a breathtaking view of the Tirolian Alps, steep rolling meadows, lush greenery, and the proud, clattering steeple of the aforementioned church.  The quiet which is usual for her neighborhood has been temporarily altered by the buzz of the wood saw in their driveway.  Hubert, their red haired, red nosed, quiet father has been helping cut and store away wood for the winter.  His German Shepherd lays close-by, barking at us when we get too close.  Both Hubert and his dog smell strongly of goat--apparently due to the fact that one lives in the basement of the little house he occupies on a meadow not so far away.

 

Today we went food shopping in anticipation of stores closing for tomorrow's holiday (Austrian Independence Day).  Jeff and I are going to attempt to cook them a couple of our specialties:  pulled BBQ pork and ayurvedic Indian vegetables.  I am reminded how spoiled we are in Seattle--EVERY food item one could possibly dream of is readily available.  Here--we were hard pressed to find any sort of cooking greens, fresh beets--or produce variety in general.  But, no matter--can't expect paradise to be absolutely perfect!

 

In the checkout line the woman at the register apparently knew who I was.  In '88 I went to Austria for the first time--and she remembered me from then.  Elisabeth had been dating a man named Hansjörg many years ago--and this was his sister.  18 years ago she last saw me--and recognized me today.  Wow.  I didn't even remember that Hansjörg had had a sister.

 

Feeling better as the days go by--but I have a nasty cough that shakes my whole body.  Still feel a little weak with exertion--but hey I'm on vacation, who needs to work?

---

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Sick In Paradise

So, I spoke too soon...maybe it was allergies--I did feel better when I took the allergy herbs--but 27 hours of travel took their toll....and I'm nursing a cough as well as swollen lymph nodes in my neck.  Fortunately no one here really seems concerned to have me in their house.  As Gabi explained it, "with kids there is always someone sick in the house, so this is nothing new, nothing worrisome."

 

Too zonked to write more--but for those of you who knew about our visit being a surprise to Gabi--she was very surprised --and very pleased (thank god)--I don't think she could have faked that response.  The look on her face was priceless when we arrived at her surprise party--there was lots of jumping, hugging and crazy laughter.

 

Already some great conversations, some glorious vistas in gorgeous Tirol, and the amazing European butter that I have been dreaming of.  Had a Stiegel (Austrian beer) tonight that is impossible to get in Seattle--and the lymph nodes that were almost fully receded are now fat yet again.  Ah!  a small price to pay...but ask me again tomorrow when I wake up.

 

There is a quaint Catholic church half a block down the road from the house we are staying in....its bells are ringing maddly this very moment as they have done every evening and morning here for many decades to call the faithful of the town and surrounding hills to worship.  Lovely and culturally rich--but, as morning worship is at 6am, we get one hell of a wake up call tomorrow.  Did I mention that those bells are only half a block away?

---

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Well, I'll be darned!

Turns out--I wasn't sick after all! I went to the chiropractor this AM and he muscle tested me for a virus and a bacterial infection. Both negative. Allergies--positive!

Went to the supplement store, got a homeopathic for mold allergies, some herbal allergy medicine--and voila! No more sick feeling. Weird. I could have SWORN I was sick. I'm trained to think that allergies make you all sneezy and itchy. These allergies just made me feel ill.

Yay! I get to enjoy my trip to Europe after all!

Off to Europe....

And I'm sick :-(

In my desperation to not have yesterday's throat tickle and
congestion turn into a full blown cold--I ran around buying every
supplement I could think of to stop what ended up being inevitable.

Anti-infective tincture from Dr. Fernando Vega--tastes horrible.
Gan Mao Ling from Dandelion Botanical.
Chai with cayenne pepper and Lemon from Morning Glory (has astragalus
in it)
Throat spray with propolis and astragalus
Vitamin C
Zinc
water

I dropped some of the Anti Infective tincture in my nose. Bad idea.
Not only did it burn like a mother--but my mucus membranes started
closing up --which made breathing difficult. Fortunately, I
survived--but I honestly wonder if my tingling throat today is more a
function of virus or bad judgement...

I have two days for this to go away. We leave on Friday.

oy--blog posting bog.

We have countertops! And a functional kitchen sink! Does this sound exciting to anyone but me?

BTW, did you know that you can get Mel Gibson's anti-Semitic rant as a ringtone? I think I hear the horsemen of the apocalypse....

Creepy Massage Story #2

So, as many of you know, Hubby is a massage therapist too.

One day, a phone call--"Hi, um, I'm new to town and got your name out of the phone book--is this 'The Ballard Rub'?"
"Well," says Hubby, "That was my wife's business--she has moved to North Seattle where we both practice now."
"Oh."
"If this is a problem I can refer you to some massage therapy places in Ballard?"
"No....that's fine. I'll come to you there."

Dialogue at this point, not so strange. Pretty typical actually. Just...we are trained to screen people with intuition intact--very necessary for this line of work.

A niggling glimmer of creepiness; Hubby was a little intuitively tweaked, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"So," Hubby asked, "You would like to schedule a massage with my wife?"
"You both do it?"
"Yes."
"Oh, do I get you both?"
"No."

Intuition tweaking stepping up a notch, Hubby decided to, er, probe.

"What are you needing massage for?"
"Um...I have some stiffness..."
"Oh, really? Where?"
"Um...in the front..."

Lordy.

Hubby, helpful and ever ready to educate,"Well, we don't do that kind of massage. This a medical massage facility."
"Oh. Where can I find that kind of massage?"
"I really have no idea. But, I guess you could try down by the airport."

Did I mention Hubby was helpful?

"Thanks. And, can I ask you a question?" Creepy guy sounds too familiar at this point.
"Mm hmm."
"How big is your cock?"

Click.

Help, I'm melting....

Maybe if we call it "Global Torching" people might take it more seriously...?

Just went to see "Friends with Money" at the $3 movie theater nearby.

I liked it. Great characters and quirky details. I remember reading a review of it that described Jennifer Anniston's character as overly mopey and pathetic. I didn't think she was anymore pathetic than the other unhappy characters in the film--she just may have seemed so because she didn't have any money to make her socially less so.

Frances McDormand--the best part of the movie.

Nice to see that maybe (?) the movie powers that be are realizing that an actress's career doesn't end at 40?

Anniversary #6.

Mr. and Mrs. Stoogie near Stehikin at Lake Chelan...

I just did the most ridiculous thing.

I wrote Oprah about a show idea.

Does anyone EVER really write Oprah with only the lily-white intention of simply getting the message out to the uninformed public?

Hell no--I wanna meet that woman. And, if I have to bare my soul in front of god and country to do it, I'll damn well strip.

The idea is probably not sexy enough to make it, but with August's issue of the Oprah Magazine focusing on female friendships, I wanted her to address the issue of what happens when a friend dumps you. Just ain't no self-help books for that.

God help me if they actually call.

So, I'm a fan of Kathy Griffin, the comedian. She has gone a couple times to the middle east to perform for the troups over there.

One of the things she talks about is how the muslim women there wear their burkas everywhere. Even swimming.

Well, gang--don't laugh, because here are your "Wholesome Wear"
swimsuit options for the "modest" set. Designed to "direct the attention to the face" and not the body, this swimwear is a delightful alternative to that scandalous one-piece-with-a-skirt option that so many body-conscious types are forced to wear.

This swimwear is so ugly that nobody will think twice about your bod.

Burkas, anyone?

Went to see Al Gore's movie tonight. I had been resisting seeing it because I just didn't want to get depressed about the well, inconvenient truth about global warming.

It's amazing and devastating and so damn frustrating. I kept thinking--if this man had actually been allowed to hold the office that he had been popularily elected to six years ago--how much could be so much different?!

See the movie. Try to get everyone you know to see the movie. Sit through the devastating and terrifying parts to force yourslf to learn what is really happening to our planet--stay for the hope that he imparts at the end.

My my, churches are getting a wee bit cranky these days...


(thanks to Willow)

For those of you looking for a morale boost, check out this
ego inflator.

Don't forget to put your name in the address bar where it says "yournamehere".

I think my brain has decreased by several cells.

I have been mired in a bog of faucet choices, soap and water dispenser inanities. It's amazing to see how micro-focused I can get on the sheer irrelevance of whether the fact that this water dispenser having a flange is going to clash with that faucet I want which doesn't.

And, is there really any difference between brushed stainless steel and brushed nickel???? Not much, except for the price.

Bombs are exploding in India, Israel is attacking Lebanon-- and I am consumed with plumbing fixtures.

I am so lucky.

Really.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of Kissing is your Life.
Now my Loving is running towards my Life, shouting
"What a Bargain! Let's buy it!"
---Rumi

I have no idea what this means...

but,

I

Love

it.....

No longer Publicity Chair for the community club---hoo boy am I bad at that! Who would've thought that contacting publications and writing press releases could be soooo unappealing and easy to forget to do in time...

But, as I am the youngest on the board--and easily the one with the most enthusiasm--they are keeping me around. I don't know, I must be useful for something. Like being the grunt who helps set up for the "ChiliPaloosa" festival tomorrow.

I am constantly wrestling with the feeling that I'm missing my boat somehow.

Isn't that the Buddhist definition of hell on some level?

Being a massage therapist gives me a particularly earthy experience of the body.

All day long I'm touching people--probably more intensively than any spouse or partner (minus the sex stuff--I'm not THAT kind of therapist)--feeling, seeing and smelling a person pretty thoroughly for the hour that they lie on my table.

I remember, as a kid, the hilarious wonder and terror of the fart, of the body sounds that didn't involve the larynx. Even now, most people I know (aside from other body workers) are pained by the reminders of their own, or others', possession of a digestive tract, of secretion glands, and of sphincters that reveal body funk.

After over nine (!) years in this biz, it's pretty hard to phase me--but oh, I've got stories! Tales of funk n' stuff...

...like the man who came to me years ago who reeked of, I didn't know what, until I discovered that, upon his turning over to the prone position,
(Aside: "prone" means lying face down. I've been noticing a lot recently that people have been using the word "prone" when they really mean to use the word "supine", which indicates lying face up. One of my pet peeves. That and the constant using of the word "your" when one really means to use "you're".)
his gluteal cleavage (a trade term-feel free to use it.) was evidently packed with composting human fecal matter.

In other words, the guy obviously didn't know how to wipe his ass.

And, I'm pretty sure that it wasn't just a fluke that day, that he wasn't simply running late and forgot a vital part of his hygiene routine. Because it happened the second time he came--and this time he left skid marks on my sheets. Think about it. Sheets that you lie on are not like the underwear that shimmies up your cleavage and manages to find remnant fecal matter sufficient enough to cause the proverbial skidmarks-No! Sheets stay flat on the table, no creeping, no shimmying! So the stuff had to be pretty thick and far down that aforementioned gluteal chasm to create the mark of the beast. I started to mentally rehearse the conversation I would have to have with him if he were to come a third time: "Uh, John--I'd, um, like to talk with you about your hygiene--er, your bottom hygiene. Can I give you a little lesson on wiping? Uh no, I'm not going to demonstrate." Thank my stars that was the last time I saw him.

I've got more stories, but I'm done for the night. If for some crazy reason you are a body worker reading this blog--tell me one of yours--what's the worst you've got?

I sit in front of this sticky keyboard, crack my knuckles, and wonder what the booming sound is next door. I'm going to go look. Ah, neighbor Connelly dropping big concrete blocks.

So, eyes wander to the plant--guess I haven't killed it, the bugger--the only one that survived the frickin' freezing house this winter. Paisley's plant from college. The one she named Penis. But, truth is, I think every plant she had she named Penis.

Damn, it's hot in here. I'm going to open a window--my dog stinks. Window open. Nice breeze. I used to swear I'd never have a dog because I just couldn't imagine living with this smell. Love ma Roxy.

For the first time since we bought it in the year 2000 (listen up you PC lovers) our iMac has had an incident. Never glitched before like this--lost all of my emails that I had been saving back from, well. 2000.

So unhappy--lost letters that archived my life from then, in some respects. Emails exchanged between myself and my parents during tense times, friendship hashouts, political debates between myself and my conservative aunt, coordinating of happy times.

When it was certain that they were gone, and my husband had said a dejected "I'm so sorry" for the 20th time as he felt he was to blame for the glitch in the first place, I had to cry a little as I made my turkey sandwich.

Sweet and bitter memories, no longer on my computer hard drive, now just a dim flicker in my brain.

This got booted off of Craig's List--me! the rabble rouser!...

"Good luck getting hundreds for your crap dresser"

People! come on--you are not going to get serious money for your "solid built oak" or other ugly dresser that looks like it belongs firmly in the 70's or 80's--you would be lucky if someone hauled it away for free!

And, just because it MAY be an antique, doesn't mean you're going to get good money for it. This is a garage sale, folks--I don't care how much you spent on it originally--ain't no one going to give you near what you think it's worth--especially if you are so cheap that you are trying to sell it on a website that doesn't charge you to advertise it!

I have been trying to find a decent dresser on the Craig's List website for a long time now and I see the same shit over and over again because people are delusional about how much they think they are going to get for their ugly crap. There is a reason your advert expired without any bites! If it didn't sell for $400--it's not going to sell for $350--just drop the price down to $50 and maybe you'll get rid of it--maybe not even then.

God, and don't waste my time by not telling me if there is a major flaw in what you are selling--I drove clear from Seattle to Monroe only to find out the "nice Gentleman's dresser" pictured so prettily on a posting had broken drawers and crappy leg--all for $300! No thanks--mind reimbursing me for the gas I just wasted?

this is in or around everywhere

no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Help! the remodel is eating my brain.

I would write more, but I honestly have no thought cells to rub together.

Must...focus...on...flooring...

So, is this weird? Someone came into our backyard and stole our Buddha statue. Wha???? I mean, wouldn't anyone who wants a Buddha statue enough to steal one understand that this is about the stupidest thing one could do? I mean, Karma, dude. I wonder if I'm going to get a postcard with a picture of it sitting in front of the Louvre or something...

rain rain rain

This remodel isn't fun anymore. Actually, yes it is. The finished product--now that will be kick ass.

Briefly fantasized about submitting my resume for consideration to fill the seat of the city councilman who is leaving. No reasonable experience--but it was fun to even think about it. But, the problem is --I hate politics.