1 January 2010

There is something exhilarating about the first day of a new year, an opportunity to begin anew, fresh and clean. I began my day and year with a 45 minute walk in the woods, concentrating on the smells and visual delights along the way, being mindful of the present. There is a buddhist chant I said every morning for 5 years as I walked to the bus-stop when I lived and worked in Seattle: I breathe in, I am aware of my heart. I breathe out, I smile to my heart. I vow to eat, work and play in ways that will be beneficial to my health and well-being.

I found it interesting that this thought returned to me this morning. I prefer the positive approach for change over the negative list of I won't do this or that in the coming year. If I can truly eat, work and play in ways that are beneficial to my health and well-being, I think that just about sums it up.

My sister wrote on her blog this morning that January is named after the Roman God Janus who has 2 faces. One looking ahead, and the other looking back. A perfect symbol for January as we reflect on the past year and look forward to the new. The past six months have been an intense reflection period for me and I am now choosing to look forward, hopefully with clarity and forever being mindful of today.

A very Happy New Year to each and every one of you!

A new do for the holidays

 

I went to the hair dresser yesterday for some help in letting my hair grow out and also asked for highlights. I was quite taken back when I got home and realized I had blonde hair. She also straightened it for me and I looked like a completely different person. Of course when I got up this morning, the waves had returned. It actually looks better than this picture, but its really hard to take a picture of yourself.

Just wanted to share my new do!

Bbrrrrrrr

I awoke this morning to naked trees covered with snow and even though there was still high grass peeping through, snow was covering most of the ground. It wasn't beautiful but still, it was quiet and there was a rush of excitement. It wasn't cold enough to freeze the lake, although I understand Lake Seewoog is a popular place for ice-skating among the Germans in the village. I stepped out on the balcony just as the church bells were ringing, resonating and echoing. Sounds are always magnified when snow is falling.

I thought of the book "Snow Falling on Cedars" and wanted to re-read it. I need a book with history, intrigue and romance. But, I didn't bring too many books with me and I have only one that I haven't read, recently picked up at the only used book store on base. It seems books are a paucity here, at least ones written in English, so I started "The Memory Keeper's Daughter."

I was recently obsessed with the Amanda Knox trial and then the last 2 weeks have been consumed with the Tiger Woods scandal. I'm glad to report that today I discovered I am done with both of them. None of the stories concerning either of them on MSN, CNN or CBS news intrigued me enough to "click" and continue. I am a serial learner, delve into a story, an author, an idea and it overtakes me completely and just as surely as I was hooked, I am saturated. Don't talk to me about Tiger.

So, it's been a quiet day and a wonderful day really. I did venture out to do laundry and was quite pleased with how the little cooper handles in the snow. I have lentil soup on the stove, a bottle of wine, coffee for the morning and still have quite a lot of pages to read in the Memory book.

Temperatures are just below freezing and I'm wondering how the roads will be in the morning at o dark thirty. I don't think anything can be as scary as driving in the ice in Oklahoma so I think I'll be fine.

Hope everyone is keeping warm.

Please, tell me. What would you have done?

I understand I am violating a "promise" to give you details of Day 3,4 of cooking class, but frankly, I am tired of that posting. I am taking a break. I want to talk about this weekend, the Christmas Market at Wiesbaden and events that identified it for me. And please, comment. I would love your impression and "feedback."

Tuesday past, I made the comment to a co-worker that I might drive to Wiesbaden for the Christmas Market, an hour and a half away, only because the Christmas Markets in Germany are supposedly phenomenal and I had not yet experienced one. OH! she responded enthusiastically and said she would like to go with me. Fine. We talked about logistics, time, meeting place, etc. and the plan was put to motion.

My friend lives in Kaiserslautern, an easy drive on the autobahn, but not so easy once you take the exit to her apartment. It is a 20 minute drive through the city on one-way streets, congested and confusing even with a GPS, and I prefer not to add additional time to a day trip, so we have agreed (on more than one occasion) that she meet me at a Parkplatz just off A-6. I also prefer to start early and return home by 6-7pm. That gives me time to be home, have a cocktail and dinner, and then off to bed I go. It's not that I wouldn't like to stay out late, but the laws in Germany are VERY strict and I don't dare have even one beer or glass of wine if I am driving. It is automatic return to the states if you are an American, and I don't believe it is worth the risk.

Agreed upon. I would leave the apartment at 10am and meet her at the Parkplatz at 10:30 and drive to Wiesbaden. We would be there no later than 12:00, walk the market, have lunch, shop, enjoy. Plan on leaving around 5:30 or so.

Our friend Tom heard of our plans and indicated that he might like to go as well. Fine. Great actually, because he is familiar with Wiesbaden and can show us around a bit. But, he is not sure that he will be returning to K-town that night because he will be close to Frankfurt, parents and girlfriend. Maybe he will drive his own car, meet us there, and go on his own. What are the plans exactly? Parkplatz 10:30.

From the time it is mentioned that Tom may join us, I notice that Cindy is fixating on riding with Tom..."oh, maybe I just ride with Tom...oh but he may not be coming back and then I'd be stuck at the Parkplatz" this continued Wed., Thurs, Fri., with Tom consistently saying he wasn't sure of his "return" date.

Saturday morning I call Cindy at 9am, confirming our plan. She has decided to go over to Tom's to "Chant" from 10-10:30 and could we meet at 10:45 instead? OK. I'l leave the apt. at 10:15.

I get a call from Cindy at 10, she's at Tom's preparing to chant, but he really wants to go with us but he won't be ready to go until about 12. Is that OK? You know, it's really not OK with me. I'm ready to go and if Tom is going to drive his own car ANYWAY, let him find us there. OK says Cindy. But, can we change the time to 11?

I'm walking out the door at 10:30 when the phone rings. "Jennifer, it's Tom. Listen, there has been a change in plans. Come here to my apartment (gives his address) and we'll all leave from here. I have to take a quick shower, but it will just take a few minutes." OK! So, I have to drive into the city of K-town but, if Tom has now decided we are all going together and I don't have to drive, I can make this detour.

I arrive at Toms at 11:20 and he answers the door in his pajama's, not showered and not shaved and shuffles me off to his kitchen and last night's party. Have a seat, take off your coat, the tea is almost ready. Relax, chill. We're almost done with our chanting. "Tom. You decided to return home tonight?" "No. That hasn't been determined yet. Cindy will ride with you, I'll follow and then I'll show you around Wiesbaden."

Cindy is sitting in the room, at the alter, dazed and unaware (not uncommon) along with another woman. She asks "whats going on" but never comes into the hallway herself.

And now. I ask you. What would you have done, at this moment? I know what I did but I want to know what YOUR take on the situation is and then I can best evaluate my own behavior. Please, indulge me. Comment!

Day #2

After a shower, breakfast buffet and time to spare, I went outside to see what I had missed and imagined in my body and mind drenched state the night before. It is truly beautiful here. I can't see Lake Garda (the largest lake in all of Italy, 30 miles long) but I see the cliffs surrounding her. It is no longer raining, but there is the smell that follows a heavy rain and the air is not clean and crisp and the clouds linger.

Off to cooking class. I forgot my notebook (recipe book) and apron and have to return to my room. TARDY!!! Carol is the translator and is married to Larry Pisoni, the mastermind behind the "Cooking School" and producer of Gourmet-Italia Pasta which is sold in the Commissary. Carol is tall and trim, somewhat stern, an American who married this crazy Italian 50 years ago and gives the appearance and air of one who is from old money and has received a "proper education." She sits on a high stool, wears reading glasses, holds a book and pencil,and is donning pearls and spiked knee-high boots.

I wish my suitcase really had been high-jacked. A perfect excuse for not looking like Donna Reed or Mrs Cleaver.

We learned how to make Pasta but I will never make pasta, not when it is so readily available in any store in the world. Carol even said that no-one makes pasta anymore, that this was something done when there were "house-wives" who had the entire day and nothing more to do. But, pasta we made and pasta we ate. Also, we learned secrets of sauce's and spices and the history of the Mediteranian cusine.

Olive oil. No butter. Rosemary and Sage in bouquets with occasionally Bay Laurel and basil. Garlic, onions. Delicate flavors with robust outcome...

After lunch, a 3 course meal that takes at least 2 hours, we all went to tour the Pisoni Winery. These are distant relatives of Larry's but the winery has remained in the "family" for hundred's of years and now is run by brother's and cousins. All of the families live in this incredible compound of grape vineyards, playground equipment, showrooms, old Italian Villa's divided and remodeled to accommodate the lifestyle of the young families who live and work there.

The old tasting room is unchanged, and there we tasted the 2009 European Award Winner of Sect. They are not allowed to call it Champagne (exclusive to France) and an awesome chocolate liquor that was served in tiny edible ice cream cups. I brought 2 bottles of Sect and one of the liqour's home and will try really hard to keep it until you visit.

A woman in our group, Jo Anne, wanted to buy a copper pot. This woman deserves a Blog of her own (this will or will not happen, depending on whether or not I can be assured she will never discover the blog:-) Larry made a phone call and then took us to a small family operation that makes their own copper goods in an extension of their home. I didn't buy anything because I never liked cooking with copper, but the group made this family who makes cooper pots DAY. So many sales in such a short period of time! Smiles all around.

Another stop at yet another family workshop, this one being a wood carver. Again, I didn't buy anything although I wanted to support this artisan, nothing cried out to me.

Ah, an unexpected turn down an old Medieval Road. This once had been a viable village of trade but it is no longer because of the narrow and steep roads. It seems today's automobiles don't quite have the "horse-power" of yesterdays "horses" or feet. Unfortunately, it was too dark for really good photographs, but I stood aghast and amazed at the close resemblance of the street to my favorite oil painting that I carry with me. I very well could have been looking at the very spot in which this painting was painted.

Back to Piccoli Mondo and a 4 course meal. I should have brought the menu's with me but alas...I did not.

I vowed to be on time to class and have my notebook and apron with me for tomorrows cooking class. Goodnight.

Thanksgiving in Trobole, Italy 2009

Ah! To be Thankful! My friend Zenobia and I were picked up at our respective apartments at 5 a.m. Thanksgiving morning and driven to Frankfurt Hahn airport to begin our journey to Trobole, Italy for our Gourmet-Italia cooking school. By air, it was a short trip of 65 minutes. To continue on to Trobole by bus, train, train, train, bus, it was a much longer journey but filled with memories, fear, laughter, joy, hiliarity, and finally, exhaustion.

 

 

In pouring down rain, we caught the bus to the train station in Bergamo, Italy (the first picture) and we were both a little taken back at the absolute filth we were exposed to at the Bergamo Train Station. Z kept saying "I miss Germany, you know, the swept sidewalks and stuff." There was no lobby to speak of, but the sidewalks outside were crammed full of people peddling their wares like umbrellas, "used" camera's and phones and I-pods. I actually bought an umbrella for 5e and it worked just fine. We quickly moved our BACKpacks to FRONTpacks and neither of us felt safe. We waited anxiously for the next train to Bressia.

This train was what we now affectionately call "the ghetto train." You can see the graffiti on the side, and the inside was just as ghetto.

 

 

I think we were the only women, but the train was standing room only by many of the peddlers we saw on the sidewalk, illegal immigrants from Nigeria, Romania and Russia. I know this, because we had quite an in-depth conversation with one of the same on our short journey to Bressia. It seems that it is no problem getting into Italy without the proper paperwork, and they live basically together somewhere, selling what they can, work on english and legal paper work. I didn't take pictures because I wanted to keep my camera.

When we got off the ghetto train, all I wanted was a shower. And I may have been dreaming about this a bit because in a flash, some young dark skinned man grabbed my suitcase saying "oh, an American." In a flash he fled down 45 stairs, across the tunnel of tracks and up another 45 stairs. Goodbye suitcase. Goodbye clean clothes. Goodbye make-up. Oh well. Maybe I could buy my suitcase at the next stop.

I am very embarrassed to say that when I made it down, across and up the stairs, my suitcase was waiting on the platform to Verona. There was the young, dark skinned man, grinning, saying "Goodbye, America." I reached into my pocket and offered a couple of euro's and said "Hello, Nigeria." And in his hesitation, I sensed that he was not expecting gratuity but rather, he was simply a kind young man who wanted to help an "elder."

The train from Verona to Roverto was clean, quiet, and we celebrated our successful journey with a bottle of wine in the club car.

The last leg of the journey was a bus ride (short, the web-site assured us) but it was a 45 minute wait, again in pouring rain. After 2 busses passed us by because of no room, a third one stopped just for a moment to let a young boy off. I was not to be denied, and forced Z into the back door of the bus (2 back-packs, 2 suitcases) knocking down a few individuals in the process. I told her to stay there and went out and around the bus to the front to buy our tickets. "NO. There is no room." "We are already ON this bus. We have seats in the back. I just never paid the fare." "NO. You may not board this bus. This is a SCHOOL bus." "And, WE are CHAPERONES!" He took my 5e and somehow I made it to the back to my friend.

45 minutes later we were let off within 500km of our beloved Piccilo-Mondo Hotel, a 5* Hotel, looking like drowned rats who may have not even been allowed to work the night shift. It was 6pm and Thanksgiving dinner was to be served at 7:30.

Ah. Thanksgiving. 2009. I sat at the beautifully appointed table for 15 and quietly gave thanks. For arriving safely at the Piccolo-Mondo, and as our host remembered Pets who had blessed us in the past, I remembered Mickey and Xena. And I was filled with such warmth and love as I gave thanks to my family who is with me on this journey. I feel so grateful that my "children" Megan and Austen are strong, settled and secure enough to allow me this time of exploration and not only allow me, but to encourage me to continue. That, in and of itself is enough Thanksgiving for one day.

So, this was Day 1. Look forward to Day 2, 3, 4. And, please know. I gave thanks to each one of you reading this blog, who is with me on this incredible journey...and who are kind enough to forgive me for my misspellings:-) Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh dear! What have I done

 

oh dear, what have I done

When I am in town, I spend Saturday morning's at the Ramstein flea market, an old brick building that has maybe 10-15 vendors. It has cement floors and regardless the weather it is chilly but it is enclosed (a plus for rainy days) and there is an air of community, friendship, familiarity and a really outstanding cafe. I go with my friend Z, and we always stay long enough so we can enjoy an early lunch of rot-wurst, pomme frittes and cola. We have our favorite "room" where we eat, furnished with a traditional German wrap-around wood boothe and colorful table cloth. There is a wood stove, old dolls, wash boards, bright tins from the early 1900's, ashtrays. The woman who runs the cafe ( I need to learn her name ) thinks I understand German, and looks to me for translation whenever Z says anything. I frankly don't know what either one of them are saying half of the time (Z slips into ebonics) but it always works out. We order, go to our room, and the food appears. A beautiful Saturday morning.

Today was no different. Except that I made an impulsive purchase. Keep in mind, I have not even unpacked my recently purchase Cuckoo Clock in case I need to ship it to the states, should I not have a job in 6 weeks. But, I saw this table and I absolutely loved it. It is 150 years old, 44x34 inches, one drawer on the end, and it has leaves that pull out for additional space. There are no nails, just a beautifully constructed piece of furniture.

I have a table and I have chairs...from Denmark, which I bought on the virtual flea market, Ramstein Yard Sales. It is fine. A little modern but it works. I don't need a table!

Somehow, we got the new table home. Z may have broken a finger in the process and I most certainly had cardiac issues carrying this beautiful table up 2 flights of stairs but here it is.

 

I immediately took picture of my existing table so I could post it on Ramstien Yard Sales before carrying it down to the my storage room in the basement.

 

A friend dropped by after Z left and we were admiring the "new" table. I pulled up the chairs and discovered that this is not a table at all. Legs do not fit under the table while sitting in chairs. One would have to sit 12-18 inches from the table in order to reach the plate. I bought an old "preparation" table, one that would be used for kneading bread dough, building pies, cutting corn from husk, I don't know. All I know is that it is not intended for "dining."

Still, it is a beautiful table altho' it sits in my LIVING room and it cannot stay. I can either move it into the third bedroom and use it as a utilitarian desk for "projects" such as mosaics etc., or I can list it on ramstein yard sales. What a total bummer! AND, I still don't know how long I am "enlisted."

Oh dear. What have I done? Impulse shopping is never a good idea :-(

The Harvest..of Grapes (dedicated to Chris P. and Clay)

There are two friends back in Tulsa who appreciate the pictures more than the words of this blog, so I am backtracking a few weeks to share the (?) joy, and photos of grape harvesting I experienced with a few friends.

Herr Falklay had several large vineyards in the Mosel River Valley and supported his family for 40 years being a Wine Maetsro. When he retired several years ago, he sold all but a small vineyard which he kept for himself as his hobby. Growing the grapes is pretty much done by nature once the earth is cultivated and the fences are in place, but the harvesting is hard work and expensive. Herr Falklay and his daughters are modernized enough to know that you can entice Americans to come and have the experience in a lifetime, harvest the fields and offer them a hearty German meal at the end of the day. What an opportunity!!!

I went with a few American friends for this once in a lifetime opportunity, not realizing the hard work that was required nor the chain-gain mentality I was to experience. I went for the experience and the photo-ops, and within the first 5 minuets of "harvesting" I was reprimanded. I had my bucket, my shears, my hat, my good disposition and had listened carefully to the instructions of how to cut the cluster of grapes. I also had my cigarettes and camera.

I hadn't even begun to sweat when this woman came and confiscated my cigarettes and camera, saying "You won't be needing these." I intended to work my 6 hours I signed up for, but I also thought that as a volunteer, I could take a smoke break and take pictures as I thought fit. Woops. I forgot I was in Germany...

We worked in pairs, and my friend Z was on the other side of the fence. We got into a nice pattern, clip, clip, clip "you missed this cluster, can I reach it more easily?" "Thanks, I can get it." And, that was pretty much the conversation you heard on the hills of the Mosel River, in this eight lane slope of white grapes.

We worked for 4 hours without a break and then were summoned to the road where there were sandwiches, wine, water and coffee, and for some, a cigarette. Exactly 30 minutes later we were driven to another vineyard. We were tired, hot but..we were Americans who were driven to complete their committed task without complaint, and to do the best job possible. I for one NEVER tasted a grape, thinking somehow I would be cheating Herr Falklay out of profit.

Ah. A small vineyard with only 4 lanes. We could work together and have this baby done. Complete. On to the German meal we so looked forward to. Everyone worked fast, hard and without words in order to complete our mission. And we did so with such speed, we finished in exactly 5 hours 30 minutes. Then our hearts sank. We still had 30 minutes to work and didn't Helga know it! We were driven back to the family house with yet another vineyard, and told to fill 2 buckets each.

Our enthusiasm waned and so did our "professionalism". So meticulous I had been early in the day, not eating grapes and also making sure that not one grape stayed behind, I found myself (sorry GrapeGod) throwing in branches, rotten grapes, anything that would fill my bucket. I only wanted to eat, smoke, sit down, say something other than "you missed one." And, so. It finally came to pass. The buckets were full.

We were treated to a sit down dinner in the family dining room of German Goulash, boiled patatoes, delicious red cabbage, and a salad. And, of course, bottles and bottles of wine. Work was done! And this was the celebration! and then, the announcement.

Our hours were tallied, we were given a voucher of time worked and we would be paid in bottles of wine. Our choice, as long as we didn't go over our allotted price. I came home with a case of wine plus one bottle Schnapps. Not too bad for a days work.

How bad was it? I ended up really liking the daughter who confiscated my cigarettes and camera (who is my age and a nurse practitioner)and went next door to her apartment connected to her parents home, and talked about aging health problems in Germany, had a smoke and glass of schnapps, and signed up for next year's "volunteer harvest."

I love how the expected turns into the unexpected turns into appreciation. And, also I have learned a new appreciation for my mother who picked cotton and didn't get bottles of wine at the end of the day. Sorry, mom. It would have made your day better.

Baden-Baden and Triberg

 

Baden-Baden and Triberg

The road trip to Baden-Baden and Triberg was everything I had hoped for. A beautiful drive on country roads under a canopy of yellow, red, orange and magenta leaves, an occasional farm house with smoke coming from a chimney, soft but steady rain added to the quietness and peacefulness. I really can't describe the beauty or the feeling that it evoked, but at times it seemed surreal.

We got to our first destination, Friedrichsbad, the Roman-Irish Bath in just 2 hours. I thought the building resembled an Embassy or something, very large, ornate. The bath opened in 1877 and has been maintained in its original beauty and is considered to be one of the most beautiful bath houses in Europe. When you enter, you immediately get a sense of the history, culture and atmosphere of over 130 years of bathing tradition. You are guided through by numbers posted by doorways and it's important that you follow the sequence exactly (we were reminded on more than one occasion) because the temperature change is deliberately coordinated to be beneficial. The Soap Brush Massage was station 5 (there were 17 altogether)and it was an amazing experience having all of your old dead skin scrubbed away. The motto of the bath is "The most beautiful way to oneself." You leave the bath with a feeling of complete relaxation but also reinvigorated. If anyone who reads this comes to visit, this is an absolute MUST experience.

Baden-Baden, a village of 50,000 has absolutely incredible architecture and we probably could have just stayed there for the weekend, but we were on a "journey." We got to Triberg about 2 hours later and found the Hotel, unpacked and went Cuckoo Shopping.

The internet posting for our hotel advertised "two rooms available". I guess theoretically that was true, but we a little taken back to realize that we were the only 2 guests. Still, our service was superb and the dinner fantastic. It was very quiet despite the busy decor and Zenobia was spooked by all the dolls.

The hike at the waterfall wasn't treacherous at all but it was a long way to the top. I had forgotten how loud water is, especially roaring water, and how powerful it can seem. The waterfall is the largest in Germany, 700-1000 meters, and at Christmas, there is a market at each landing and it is all lit up with white lights. I probably won't go this year, but it would be worth the trip at some point in time. Our time at the waterfall was just incredible. Again, the beauty indescribable.

The GPS took us through France on the way home, a completely different route with different terrain and visual delights. It was simply a wonderful weekend. I loved driving the little Cooper through all the back roads that winded this way and that and we had not a single mishap. I didn't think about my contract or lack there-of one time. Not once.

RoadTrip

This is a first for me in Germany. I'm driving the little Cooper into the Black Forrest tomorrow, stopping in Baden-Baden which is known for it's rich history of Roman Emperiors taking their baths there in 1000. And after a 3 hour experience in this rich Roman Bath and traditional scrubbing, I proceed to Triberg, the town of "Cuckoo Clocks." My friend Zenobia will shop for a cuckoo clock and we will climb the highest waterfall in all of Germany! The weather calls for rain in Triberg so I will take my famous green rain jacket (that my family endorses either framing or burning) and perhaps my red Wellington's. I want to do this hike and have the appropriate (if not fashionable) clothing.

We have rooms reserved at a Hotel that has been serving guests since 1790, 6 generations of the Faulkner family, which is known for it's service and exceptional cuisine. It's considered "remote" since it is 2.3km outside the city proper, on a farm that is 100% organic, thus it's reputation for exceptional food. I'll let you know if the hype is genuine but at 41e a night, please!

So, the weekend bag is packed, I have the German Dictionary and mapquest directions printed out, and Ollie, the GPS guide, is loaded. I'm so excited. This may mean the end to my USO tours, I don't know. But I will keep you informed.

Wish me safe driving!

Authenticity

I am so stricken with deep emotion that I'm not even sure what it is I intend to write.

My friend Joyce, of Tulsa, OK, recently died of a glioblastoma, and she and her husband decided to return to the "family farm" in Michigan to spend her last weeks. The picture of her Memorial was posted on a blogspot, along with beautiful poetry and words of remembrance and gratitude written by Rod, her husband. But, it was the picture that made me cry.

The Memorial was in a field and those old family friends were sitting on bales of hay wearing overalls and boots on a beautiful October day in Michigan. It doesn't get more real than this. Roots, family, history, love.

I cried because I feel as though I have no roots.

Joyce was adventurous, creative, successful, spiritual and happy, driven and worried mostly about how the brain tumor was going to effect her creative self. It was hard for her to come to peace that her wonderful like was ending but she always had Michigan, and the family farm.

My life is not ending (that I know of ) but tonight, living in Germany, so far from USA soil I wonder...where would I like to return for my last weeks? and, I don't know the answer.

Maybe that's why I cried.

HALLELUJAH CHORUS is not just for Christmas anymore

It was so cold Saturday morning when I awoke, even with my my silk long underwear, flannel monkey pajamas and a top robe, REI wool socks and slippers, I had a really hard time sitting on my balcony trying to smoke my first cigarette of the day. Of course I persevered, but it was not without sacrifice I want you to know. And, my coffee was still brewing!

I putzed around the apartment organizing some business paper's, divided my trash (what an ordeal it is in Germany, dividing all of the trash...compost, paper, plastic, bottles into colors. I swear, it has become a Saturday morning chore!) Had a nice 3 minute egg, left over roasted potatoes and a V8. Music in the background was a nice mixture of alternative pop..Allison Krauss, Bob Dylan, Christy Carlyle. It made me smile and feel content. I dared remove the long johns and take a shower and get on with my day.

I could have control of my music but I have decided it is more adventurous to listen to what is selected and go with it. I didn't bring my CD's, just my IPod (loaded with all of my CD's) and leave it on shuffle, plugged into my IPod station. This is my music. Sometimes, it seems so appropriate and just what I need, and at other times it is startling.

I was in the shower when the Morman Tabernacle Choir came bursting out of the confines of my apartment walls singing Hallelujah Chorus. My first reaction was to jump out of the shower and change the setting but I didn't. I stood naked under a shower of hot water and sang along with the choir, reveling in the beauty of the song. Next came O Holy Night (my daughter's favorite) and more..more Christmas Carols..music only, no words. As I dried myself off to the music of Go Tell it on the Mountain, I thought how silly we are that we listen to "Christmas Music" only during advent. The music is SOOO beautiful and yet, we limit ourselves to listening to it only during a certain season. What a shame, really.

So tonight, once again I am freezing, and I am listening to Bueno Vista Social Club, cuban music, trying to pretend it is 110' outside and I'm smoking a cuban cigar on the porch of a run down warehouse. Really, I need to learn how to turn on my heat because it is friggin cold and I am in reality sitting at my kitchen table wearing long john's, sweat pants, sweater and my fleece jacket. Maybe I'll search for Frank Sinatra singing white christmas...buuurrrrrr

A new love...

I went to the Deutsche Radio Philharmonie yesterday evening in Kaiserslautern expecting to hear a maybe 2nd class, hopefully 1st class Symphony Orchestra in a beautifully ornate 1800 concert hall. What I experienced instead was the most glorious orchestrated sound in a rather ordinary music hall built in around 1850. The building was not ornate but it was big, with a capacity of 1,000 patrons, and the ceilings were ordinary, the pillars huge, the floors tile and the seats mobile. Accoustics were fantastic. The foyer was almost as big as the music hall, and the bar was the most ornate fixture in the entire building.

The music however was more than heavenly. Pieces of 5 different composers, 3 of whom I was familiar and 2 I was not, were Overtures of Opera's so each piece was sung as well as played. I have never been an Opera fan and I know nothing about it, but last night I left the un-ornate music hall in love.

When the Mezzo-soprano came on stage to sing the lyrics of the music the orchestra was playing, I looked at her slim fit body in a skin tight long red gown and thought "this is no opera singer." I was wrong. Which, by the way, seems to be a common theme in my life these days. What I presume to be true, what I declare to be true, what I KNOW to be true, is simply NOT true. This woman opened her mouth, her diaphram and her heart and gave me goose bumps that I had never had before. And when the Tenor joined her for song, I thought I was going to loose it. The beauty was almost to much to enjoy.

The Conductor would tell the story of each piece before it was performed, but I don't understand German, so I was "lost in translation." It mattered not. I didn't need to know what was being said, because I saw the emotion and heard it with every piece of hearing I have. I left thinking I would prefer to loose my sight than my hearing, because I don't believe I could ever see what I heard in that simple concert hall that evening .

After the concert it was a walk across the city square to find a place for dinner. A traditional German resturant was selected and filled with patrons of the Art. The meal was excellent but the patrons were exquisite, with some refusing to let go of the experience they had had and stood spontaneously to imitate the actions of the Conductor. I refrained but I swear, I had his moves memorized and could set them to motion with the least bit of encouragement.

What a wonderful event, experience, evening. I just love the symphony, music in general and I especially love being in the company of those who truly appreciate what they are experiencing. I want more. I think I may enjoy studying opera and becoming a regular attendant who knows what is being sung. But, I think truly it doesn't matter if you understand the language...but then again, I am living in a place where I have not understood what was being said for 4 months! One learns to look at eyes, hand motions, body language. And when that is accompanied with a full 60 piece orchestra there is an understanding that is not denied.

QUEENS FOR A DAY

I just got home from the most wonderful experience. A 7 hour Wellness Spa treatment with 6 other women in some village called Wiesberg. The spa was a large house, completely renovated with thick stucco walls that were rounded and of various heights, beautiful tile floors and state of the art sauna's, steam rooms, group shower room, quiet lounging rooms where talking is verboten as well as chatty lounging rooms.

The day began with a champagne brunch, various cheeses and meats, breads, fruit, and chocolate delicacies. Each of us had 3 individual appointments which included a massage, a facial, and either a head or foot massage. Group experiences included the Steam Sauna with lemon grass water poured ceremoniously over hot rocks, a foot bath with each of us having our own personal ceramic foot sink, and a steam scrub of oils and poppy seeds. In between treatments you could sip champagne, water or wine in the beautifully appointed, albeit sparsely appointed dining room or one of the lounges waiting for an attendant to come and greet you, and take you to your next treatment.

Lunch was divine. Organic greens topped with lox and hot spiced scampi. There were other choices but this was mine and I loved every bite. The husband and wife team who own and run this are in their 40's and would not divulge their dressing recipe :-(

7 middle aged women, 3 of whom are German but with good English ranging in age from 39 to 62, sitting around in bathrobes, sometimes towels, sometimes nothing, becoming friends on a new and different level. Intimate talks, silly behavior, everything real. This is something I would recommend for every woman. We deserve our Queen for a Day!

Life of a Contractor

It has been a roller coaster ride, fast and furious, exhilarating and scary for the past 10 days. I knew when I accepted this contract it was short as I was completing the contract of a person who left prematurely. Not to worry, I was told..we have had that contract for years and even tho' there is no guarantee, we expect it will be renewed. My contract expired September 30, 2009 and there was no signature on the new proposal.

I was in the parking lot ready to leave base, not knowing when or if I would ever enter again when Col. Snyder came running and screaming "the contract has been signed." I was escorted to systems for a new ID card and was told everything was good to go until 12.31.09. Not really "good to go" because I had already lost all of my security clearances and when I returned to work 10.1.09, my computer was locked. It is absolute hell gaining security within the US Military system.

I sat on my balcony early in the week, contemplating my fate. I am not ready to leave Europe. That was my conclusion after heavy thinking, no thinking, over sleeping, no sleeping, over eating, no eating. But now, I have until 12.31.09 before I have to repeat this scenario again.

To relieve stress, I participated in a 5K walk for breast cancer awareness, I went to the gym and worked out on the eliptical for 45 minutes, I enrolled in a cooking class in Italy over Thanksgiving holiday and I booked my flight to Ireland for Christmas. This will pretty much put me up to 12.31.09.

I have options. I can apply for a GS position (good chance I would secure a job) or I can expect that my present company will be awarded the contract in January, which is a new 5 year contract, or hope that if a new company is awarded the contract they will want to retain me. Another possibility is none of these happen and I leave. I don't want to leave and I don't think it will happen. If it does, hey...I'll know how to cook really good Italian food and you can all come to dinner.

Ciao!

Addendum to Mourning a Loss

My sister Connie wrote a beautiful tribute to our sister Kym on her blog. I encourage you to read not only this latest entry but to follow her regularly.

Mourning a loss

My sister passed away Saturday, September 19, 2009. She was 49 years old.

I was notified of her death by email and sat here stunned and detached. It took time for the sadness and sorrow to resonate deep within, and I am filled with indescribable emotion that seeps out of my pores and I wish there could be a flooding of tears instead, an expulsion if you will, that would be quick and complete and I could go on with my day.

I remember the morning she was born. 12:43am February 16, 1960. Kymberly Dawn McAlister. It was an unexpected pregnancy and initially it was thought to be some sort of abdominal tumor, but mom knew differently and refused work-up for such, insisting instead on "the rabbit test." She was a beautiful baby who was a living doll for her older sisters, age 10 and 12.

Kym was diagnosed with Huntington's Chorea 10 years ago after 5 or more years of symptoms that no one understood. She fought the disease like she fought everything her entire life, refusing to have reality interfere with what she wished. Her goal in life was to be on Opra as a living example of one who beat Huntingtons. One doesn't beat a genetic disease, one is consumed by gradual decay and loss of function, muscles loose elasticity and the ability to walk and even swallow is replaced by the memory of it having once been possible.

Kym's life was eventually limited to what she could observe from her bed, unable to be a participant, but she resisted and refused compassionate termination. When she was able to write she would begin the day with listing her "blessings." When she could talk, she would whisper disciplines to her 3 small children and when she could walk she would insist on being carried to her son's baseball game. Her fiery temper and outbursts were replaced with darting looks from expressive eyes.

Yes, I am experiencing profound sadness but more because of her life rather than death. And, I am in Germany, unable to get book a flight. I said good-bye to my sister a long time ago and I expressed my love, but today I feel the need to repeat myself.

Kym's legacy: Kate Elizabeth, 25; Anna 19; John 17; Emily 15.

A Different Kind of Labor Day

Ah, the last days of summer!! Labor Day has always been a favorite holiday of mine, the end of summer and the beginning of fall; back to school shopping and an air of excitement and new beginnings. This year I did something different. The smell of cork replaced the smell of unsharpened No. 2 pencils as I went on a wine tasting cruise on the Rhine river in Germany.

The landscape was simply breath taking and I will let the pictures speak for themselves. The 2 women you will meet are my new friends from work, Cyndy and Z. It was a good time of shared appreciation of wine and culture, and at times uncontrollable laughter and silly behavior.

The iron basket you see hanging is not one for plants. It actually is a torture instrument, where one would have to stand in the basket hanging some 400 feet in the air, and think about what they had done wrong. I climbed the stairwell in order to get a better picture and leaning out the window, I thought Holy Cow! If I had ever been ordered to stand in that thing with the spear coming up from the bottom in the middle of the basket, I think I would have leaped and been done with it.

Enjoy your trip on the Rhine.