Recap of a European Excursion

First stop with sister, brother-in-law, and dad (not pictured): Rome

A trip with my dad to see Martin Luther's Hideout: Wartburg Castle

A fellow sightseer at a German castle: Hohenschwangau

Two of us in a magical place: Neuschwanstein

Freezing our feathers off in the City of Lights: Paris

January Giraffes in Germany!!

Actually the January Giraffes were not able to make it to Germany, but I did!! (And the calendar page was completed before I left - Good thing these lovely Giraffes have some night owl tendencies!!)

Look Who's Coming to Dinner

A dinner theme I could get excited about: Crock Pot Dining. There was very little cooking involved in my pot of choice, but it was heavy on the croc! The easiest way to tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator is not the shape of their noses, but a good look at their salad composition. An alligator salad will be made with fresh fruits, while the crocodile salad leans heavily on vegetables. (A fun fact you can now share at your crocktail parties!)



This croc was a perfect gentleman and stood in nicely for my out of town beau. The picture, of course, does not do him justice; he needed the red-eye reduction setting on my camera.

Sculpture Park

“What do you think the title of this piece is?” I asked Phin. We were staring at what I considered to be giant iron canoes – the first stop on our sculpture park tour. I love this park and was eager to share the experience with this particular guy. He enthusiastically joined in the game with a guess of “Waves”. We were both a little right according to the description; “...suggest tidal waves or profiles of battleships.” Phin took exception to my calling canoes battleships, but admitted arrows may have once been sprung from a paddled canoe. That was enough for me and although appreciating art is not a competition, I secretly gave us each 1 point.

We continued down the gravel path, with satisfying crunches creating musical accompaniment. At each piece we would imagine a title and then compare with the label given by the artists. Some of the monikers were more engineered terms than artistic names such as Two Plane Vertical Horizontal Variation III. I’m sure this is why I quickly recognized the wisdom of enjoying art without keeping score: Phin, an engineer to the core, was a much better guesser than I. The secret challenge was dropped, but perhaps a trifle too soon.

“Log Jam,” I declared thinking the tripod holding three enormous dangling tree trunks was something out of a Paul Bunyon story.

“Security System,” countered Phin. I was not following that thought process and went to read the plaque.


“It’s called Bunyon’s Chess,” I announced excitedly, since I really had been thinking of Paul Bunyon. I glanced at Phin to see how he was reacting to this title, and saw him starring quizzically at the security light, adjacent to the structure. He turned to see what I was laughing at, and that is when the true sculpture, Bunyon’s Chess, caught his eye. He still maintains that “Security Device” was one of his favorite pieces of art in the park.

Our walk led us to a path of unbridled whimsy; Alexander Calder would have approved. We meandered through the grove looking for the hanging hammocks, but only spied two of the supposed three. We got lost in the Stinger, which reminded us both of the Gravitron from our childhood fair days. It did not take us for a spin with centripetal forces, but lured us in by being “deceptively sweet but slyly intoxicating.” The cartoon firecracker set loose on the hill by Wile E. Coyote, surprized me once again by turning out to be Typewriter Eraser, Scale X.
We took a turn at being part of the surroundings when we sat statuesque on what I believe were Eye Benches I, but could have been Eye Benches II or even Eye Benches III.

We ended at my favorite sculpture, and the only one I can ever remember the title of since it is spelled out in plain English, Love & Loss. We arrived on the side of “Loss”. I stood there contemplating how loss is often a part of love. “Is it worth it?” I thought to myself. I was still pondering when Phin took my hand. We walked down the sidewalk steps of the letter “s”, and as we turned, the perspective of the sculpture changed from “Loss” to “Love”. It is too soon to tell if this change is reflected in my own life, but I do have to say- the potential is exciting.

A Poem from the Past

So many twisted feelings, thoughts and perceptions,
Snapped and unraveled to send me reeling.
The mirages of life - denial and depression,
Come to entice with offers of impractical romanticism.
I gratefully accept and tie some more knots,
Before discovering the spiraling has not stopped.

I want to find truth, but not if it means
Landing on that bottom rock of reality.
Now panic sets in as my desires are divided,
Am I searching for true life or only its allusions?
Thoughts of the nebulous haze filled with intangible meaning
Make me insane and I must find something solid.

Stretched out on that rock that was so dreaded and feared
I find peace and true meaning, but not without tears.
Emotions experienced in their purist essence
Are powerful in the extreme and bring painful healing.
Bruised to the core and with no strength left,
I am currently on this Foundation, at rest.

Life as a Contradiction!

A hypochondriac who hates doctors…

A hermit who does not like to be alone…

A person who can’t sleep but can’t wake up…

A habitual time waster, but can’t patiently take 5 minutes to brush the teeth – must multi-task…

A person who gets cheered up by grumpy people (even when that grumpy person is herself)...

A person who loves to be active (tennis, skiing, hiking, etc), but hates to exercize...

A person who loves relationships, but tends to sabotage them...

A person who loves life, but finds it frustratingly difficult...

Yay!!! Yay!!! Yay!!!

Finally - I got the letter we have all been waiting for...

Night Time Lullaby

I am lying in bed at 11:40pm thinking I will get an early start on sleep. Ha!! The polka music outside my window is enough to keep anyone awake. Can I really be hearing polka music? Something does not seem right. Germany is now an ocean away, but I must be dreaming that I’m back at the Hofbrauhaus in Munich. Dreams, especially ones this real, usually indicate a sleep state has been reached – yay! I cautiously open one eye to check my surroundings; small desk, Roman Holiday poster, round bed, and… polka music. No I am not sleeping, but I can’t muster up any disappointment. After all, polka music is always festive and makes one smile even if accompanied by rolling eyes and shaking heads.

Philosophy with a Hermit Crab

Despite his name, Ewan the hermit crab was usually a cheerful sort. He lived close enough to other crabs so that a chat over coffee was not an irregular occurrence, but far enough away to avoid urban claustrophobia. I would sometimes meet him on the beach for a light dinner. He would munch on his tiny seaweed morsel, and I would eat on my salad until my mouth was tired of chewing.

After one such dinner, we sat watching the tide come in. There was never much talking between the two of us, but we enjoyed a comradely time of thinking. I began skipping rocks, but somehow was irritated as the rocks skimmed the water leaving small splashes and ripples of disturbance. These ripples were disturbing the calm glassy water, it was true, but doing it in such a way as to create intricate and symmetrical designs that could seemingly go on forever. I threw in a fat round rock, obviously not the skipping kind, but it made the most satisfactory plunk; causing a commotion in the water that was felt all the way to the sandy bottom. The splash was big and irregular and even came with the sound of “kerplunk” that had no illusions of elegance and was gone in a matter of seconds.

On this particular night, my mind was restless. I was tired of thinking and not coming up with answers, or even worse, just finding new questions. I looked at Ewan who was sitting next to the driftwood, calmly collecting rocks. I knew he had answers, and so I risked a question. “What do you think about life in general?” I asked knowing that this was no skipping stone, but that Ewan was wise enough to get a few hops out of it if he wanted.

“Well, some parts of life are good,” he slowly replied, “and other parts of life are bad.” It was like he deliberately threw a big fat boulder into my mind. The “kerplunk” effectively stopped all further line of questioning. All the subjects he could have touched on with such a wide open question were swallowed up in the splash. We packed up to go and had a lively debate on the merits of claws verses fingers. The questions of life will come up in my mind again, but sometimes it is a relief to enjoy the sand, sun, water and other aspects of life without a full dissection. Incidentally, Ewan is a little sad that he cannot eat olives off the end of his claws as we can with our fingers.

Waiting...

I hated it when she was late. There I was; waiting… waiting… Preparing the lecture I was going to give her when she deigned to show up helped pass the time. It was not fair to be so late; we had plans and a time honored schedule of traditions! Not a minute would be wasted. Yet here I was alternating between the following:

Anger – She should stick to the schedule. It was too late for someone else to fill in! If you were expected on a certain date, you should be there – or at least send the excuses – preferably with a very large bribe attached to it like tickets to Brazil.
Worry – The lateness of her arrival might have some greater cosmic meaning such as the world is off kilter and headed for a disaster beyond our imagination (not just a fallen chandelier, but a crashing of all the stars in our galaxy).
Guilt – It’s my fault that she is late. If only I drove less and rode my bike more, she would feel more comfortable and punctual.
Depression – Was she going to cancel and not come at all? This thought kept me on my couch under a blanket and cuddled up to a hot water bottle for days.

I had resigned myself to life without her when I was woken by dance steps across my face. Even after such a prolonged absence, I knew immediately that it was her tickling my face. Once again I was charmed and in love- all the words of censor, the doubt, and the impatience were gone. I threw open the windows to let her come streaming in. Summer was here and even more beautiful than I remembered her!!!!

A Slow Run

It was odd to find herself in this situation; wearing a crazy lime green skirt over black leggings with sports socks and tennis shoes. Elle was wearing this outlandish costume five blocks from her house, and what was worse… her spastic gestures looked like she was running. Elle hated to run! It was not a passive dislike, but rather a fierce opposition. Sometimes after just contemplating a run, a 20 minute aerobic work-out would have been achieved. She must have used some huge trickery to get herself in this predicament. Elle was huffing and puffing, but the only course was to continue with her run because the quicker she took this skirt inside, the better!!!

Elle kept her eyes on the sidewalk cracks, not wanting to meet anyone. She had made it to the corner, when she saw a man walking his dog across the street. The man and his dog were crossing over to her side, but Elle continued her focus on getting home. “One more step,” she kept chanting to herself, and knew that even though her legs felt like lumbering elephants, they were making progress. Perhaps it was time to begin some type of running regiment – there had been a lot of chocolate consumption lately. It was all coming back to her now, the beginning of what had prompted this exercize adventure.

She heard the dog jingle behind her like a bicycle bell wanting to pass. Elle obligingly moved over to the side, but instead of a passing flurry, the dog just walked around her. The guy followed calmly, also in a walk, and gave Elle a long glance probably wondering who had put her running in slow motion. It was embarrassing for everyone involved. There she was, running her heart out, being out-strolled by a dog walker. Even the dog looked awkward and gave a few prancing steps as if to say, “Don’t worry, we aren’t really walking that slowly, in fact some people might consider this a jog.” It would have been more encouraging if he had not seemed to add as an afterthought, “Of course, those people are statues and such.”

Elle's one day running career was over! The running skirt has been returned to Goodwill, and a pact has been made with her shoes... "For Tennis Only!"

Umbrella Story (Part 1)

The umbrella was Sami’s favorite accessory; she loved taking it for a walk. Sometimes when rain was scarce, the umbrella would look wistfully outside for any sign of a mist. It never complained, however, as it waited patiently in its stand by the door. Sami once got tired of waiting for a downpour and so took the umbrella on a stroll, parasol-style; it was not the same.

As she drove home from work there was just the hint of raindrop splatter on her windshield. Sami dashed inside and stayed only long enough to grab her umbrella for a nice outing. The hint of a shower and turned into a downpour. She walked along the sidewalk to the beat of the falling raindrops. Tonight she was aware of being ensconced in a grey, grim world where it was ok to be sad because the universe was broken. Before the sad volcano deep inside her had time to fully erupt, she caught a glimpse of her yellow umbrella in a puddle reflection. She followed the trail of this dash of color in an otherwise dismal street from puddle to puddle, and before long there was a bounce in its progress matching the spring in her step.

She returned home calmed and refreshed. That was the beauty of her umbrella friend – it took her on walks with permission to be sad but never allowing her to fall victim to complete melancholy. It gave her life a cheerful color of hope.

Postcard Writing

Hey You,

Guten Tag aus Deutschland!!! I am having crazy adventures but so far have managed to find the way back to where I am staying each night! (This is not always easy but has nothing to do with the very generous beer steins that Germany is known for.) The best part of Germany is that it changes me into a morning person. I love being wide awake in the single digits! I would add cheerful to this morning persona, but with the beautiful weather, amazing chocolate, and picturesque countryside, grumpy people are hard to find (grumpy people being the fail proof way of making me chuckle). This all changed when I accidentally led my traveling pal on an unexpected 12 kilometer hike that involved an active guard dog and a swarm of hornets. The cantankerous mood would have done much to make me completely cheerful, but I was a little too tired to enjoy it completely.

I hope you are having fun at home (although not too much fun without me!!!!)
See you soon!!!

A Great Idea??

She always woke up with a feeling of surprize. Sleeping was something she did not do well, and it was always startling (in a good way) to discover that it had been accomplished at all. She turned her head to check the time, but her eyes were confronted by a light bulb lying innocently beside her head. “Oh, I must have had a good idea last night,” she thought to herself and saw that it was 8:45am.

She tried to remember what her good idea was – there was something about creating a tooth cleaning midnight snack. It was never convenient to re-brush the teeth after giving into the milk and cookie craving that was supposed to lure one to sleep. Besides, she was running low on toothpaste and could not afford to brush twice before bed. Surely there should be some sort of tasty morsel that left a tooth cleaning solvent to work its magic for morning fresh breath.

It was an idea alright, but probably not light bulb inspiring. A spark flashed in her brain, “Wait a second – aren’t light bulbs the products of good ideas only in cartoons? In real life, one is not expected to share a pillow with them. Where did it come from???” She carefully picked up the glass bulb and shook it to see if it was still good. The shaking sound of silence indicated it would still illuminate a room. She walked to the bedroom lamp and saw its bulb had gone missing. “At least we know where it came from,” she thought to herself as she screwed it back in to place and flipped the switch. Light filled the room, but she was left in a state of foggy confusion. She had to hope that her next non-supervised nighttime activity would lead to the teddy bear collection, far away from anything electric or breakable.

A lovely sadness

Tonight I miss you with huge waves of loss. As I was drifting off to sleep I was thinking happily of kangaroos. I have always loved kangaroos and of course their pockets. Kangaroo associations began coming fast and furious. You had a tiny perfume bottle kept in the pouch of a kangaroo. You had a blue kangaroo with button joints so the legs could move, and she had a baby roo. You had purple and pink kangaroo shoes where I could hide things for you to find in the pouch. Your whole room came into focus with all your shoes doing a small tap dance, led of course by the kangaroo ones. In the back row were your turquoise suede pumps. I could see your beautiful dressed up feet dancing away in the pumps and I realized that I have never yet mastered the art of walking in any kind of heel. Was this something you were supposed to teach me?

Becoming wide awake, all sorts of other questions that I have wanted to ask you came to mind. I’m sad that you only knew me as a young person, always going through some kind of childhood phase. I’m still going through phases, but their effects may be longer lasting. I’m sad I have to create a vision of you as a woman from my memories when my perspective was skewed by viewing you only as a mom figure. I’m sad that I can’t have you over for a cup of tea and conversation. I’m sad that we can’t start our own book club together. I’m sad that you will never drive on a road that I have designed, or edit a book of short stories I may one day write. Tonight, once again, the loss of you created a painful ache in my lungs – and I treasured it because it showed me how lucky I was to have a mother I so hugely loved!

Thoughts on writing and not writing...

I’d like to write tonight, but I have nothing to say. Where did all the voices go?

I love writing when it comes bubbling out of my fingers… I hate writing when it comes painstakingly out of my head.

I have all the bad habits of a mad genius writer without any of the amazing literary outputs!

I want to write but I cannot. Where are the magical words – the ones that really belong together all bundled up in a sentence? Did the butterflies take them away? I always suspect bold, beautiful creatures that flutter.

Why are giraffes so fun? What if I put some of my favorite things into one sentence? A giraffe wearing yellow galoshes and carrying an umbrella was hopping from lily pad to lily pad, juggling the letters of the alphabet.

A Time For Tulips

A Glimmer of Fun

The Training

I finally got results back from my test (the one that started me on this blogging adventure). The score was as predicted – Test 1; Me 1. If this was a game of soccer all would be fine. We would shake hands and say, “Good game,” while each secretly feeling like we were the ones who had really won. But as much as we feel like we are just running around chasing an elusive ball that always seems to be going in the direction we are not, life is somewhat different than a soccer game. In April, we will meet for Round 2; one test, one point available, and no chance for a tie.

Valentine's Day Cards

I was not planning on making Valentine’s Day cards this year. It’s not that I’m anti Valentine’s Day (although I do admit to not being the biggest fan), but my obstinate nature usually refuses to have a good idea for the making of this particular card. It’s like when someone says, “You’re clever – how about coming up with a good tag-line for such and such…” My mind goes completely blank and I can barely form grammatically correct sentences let alone any associated with wit. There are so many cute things out there for Valentine’s Day, not to mention a barrage of commercial cards that my card making abilities hibernate until St. Patrick’s Day which is a lot less pressure packed (and who isn’t fond of getting pinched by a crab).

All week everyone around me began exuberating Valentine spirit; talking of cards, creating very cute cards, having valentine shaped waffles for breakfast, going to the paper store, etc. It was after spending an afternoon punching out small hearts with a friend’s heart punch that I reluctantly decided to make a card.* It was not amazing, and I once again was ready to abandon the holiday. I went to sleep that night thinking of all the great people in my life who really do deserve a Valentine’s Day card from me and of the paper hearts. The paper hearts, so many punches so far without use, but waiting… ready for something. They could be used for ladybugs (too cliché), spots on a giraffe (too obsessed with giraffes), or heart flowers (already tried and looking mushy). Around 1:35am inspiration struck.

The hearts had aligned themselves into caterpillar conga lines. They were a festive bunch and every so often, one of the caterpillars would be whipped out of formation, fly through the air and become a heart-shaped butterfly. It had all the makings of a great card. Outside with the caterpillar – “All this caterwauling to say…” Inside with butterfly – “You’re sort of ok”. To those who might be offended with the “sort of” I would cross that out and put “more than”. I fell asleep secure in the center of the celebrating caterpillar conga line.

I’m always a little suspicious of my “brilliant” middle of the night ideas, but the next morning the plan still contained possibilities. The first snag was hit when I looked up caterwauling in the dictionary to ensure the spelling. The fun word that vaguely meant loud yelling creating general rumpus and ruckus had a much more defined definition for a sound that should never be associated with a Valentine’s Day card and had much more to do with cats than caterpillars. (There were several howls let loose in the sewing stage of these cards, but these never reached a true caterwaul – at least I hope. I was using my couch as a pin-cushion, and sat down or got poked with the needle more than once.) In the end, I decided to let the caterpillars and butterflies speak for themselves in a much more individualized greeting.

Sadly, you should not expect one of these creatures to appear in a mailbox near you any time soon. I’m afraid they may have to be used for next year. Of course next year all the cute caterpillars will have all hatched into butterflies, but this just makes for easier delivery – right?” In the meantime, Happy Valentine’s Day!!


*I know this seems like a strange way to spend an afternoon, when I had no intention of creating cards requiring small heart punches, but I had my reasons.