I wish I was brave enough to do the things that I am most afraid to do.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Remarkable Read
"I remember how easily we used to talk, endlessly, making plans, deciding where we'd be in one and two and three years' time, and I don't remember mentioning this."
"We talked about other people, saying do you remember when, and how funny was that, and I wonder what happened to."
"I didn't know what to do, there was a feeling of time running out and a loss of momentum, of opportunities wasted."
"We spent our days on the front doorstep, circling job adverts with optimistic red felt-pens, trying to make plans, talking about traveling, or moving to London, or opening a cafe, each plan sounding definite until the next morning."
"A time of easy certainty had come to an end, and most of us had lost our nerve."
"...there is too much to know and I don't know where to begin but I want to try."
The above sounds frighteningly like the transcription of recent conversations I have had with friends and family.
In actually fact however, these quotations are taken from Jon McGregor's , If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things. I picked it up because of the title while trolling for a good read in my native tongue in a train station bookstore in Zurich in November. It is a remarkable book. It reminds me of my life in the way that Hrabal does with Hanta. It's almost frightening how familiar are McGregor's characters and how beautiful his prose. Each section feed the anticipation for the next, yet it is in truth more poetic than prosaic, so masterfully understated as to keep the audience guessing until the very end.
In a manner borrowed from the great Vic Bobb, I give this novel a grade of A.
I hope you read and I hope you enjoy, for at times when I tried everything, "I blocked my ears with the bedcovers, I breathed slowly and deeply, I counted to a hundred, I counted to five hundred. I gave up eventually, and put the light on, and sat up in bed to read," McGregor's work was close at hand.
But now that I've finished it, what shall I read next, dear readers?
"We talked about other people, saying do you remember when, and how funny was that, and I wonder what happened to."
"I didn't know what to do, there was a feeling of time running out and a loss of momentum, of opportunities wasted."
"We spent our days on the front doorstep, circling job adverts with optimistic red felt-pens, trying to make plans, talking about traveling, or moving to London, or opening a cafe, each plan sounding definite until the next morning."
"A time of easy certainty had come to an end, and most of us had lost our nerve."
"...there is too much to know and I don't know where to begin but I want to try."
The above sounds frighteningly like the transcription of recent conversations I have had with friends and family.
In actually fact however, these quotations are taken from Jon McGregor's , If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things. I picked it up because of the title while trolling for a good read in my native tongue in a train station bookstore in Zurich in November. It is a remarkable book. It reminds me of my life in the way that Hrabal does with Hanta. It's almost frightening how familiar are McGregor's characters and how beautiful his prose. Each section feed the anticipation for the next, yet it is in truth more poetic than prosaic, so masterfully understated as to keep the audience guessing until the very end.
In a manner borrowed from the great Vic Bobb, I give this novel a grade of A.
I hope you read and I hope you enjoy, for at times when I tried everything, "I blocked my ears with the bedcovers, I breathed slowly and deeply, I counted to a hundred, I counted to five hundred. I gave up eventually, and put the light on, and sat up in bed to read," McGregor's work was close at hand.
But now that I've finished it, what shall I read next, dear readers?
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Five W's and the All Important H
There is little doubt in my mind dear reader that you, like every good gumshoe or sixth grade essayist before you, know all too well the importance of a collection of six, simple, all too common English words.
Alas, I myself never knew that these seemingly harmless terms, so vital to every good English major's lexicon, would one day return to haunt my dreams and disturb my waking hours with such subtle yet crippling force.
They are, of course:
Who
What
When
Where
Why
(and)
How
as in:
Who are you?
What are you doing? (with your life/ with your degree/ with your weekend, etc.)
When are you going to grow up and get a life worthy or respect ( and a paycheck?)
Where do you plan to be in six months/ five years/ ten years?
Why are you doing--or not doing, as the case may be--what you should/ were told/ feel you ought?
And of course, the all important...
How are you going to accomplish _______/ pay for _______/ get to _______ achieve ________?
Answer: I Have No Idea.
Good Lord.
How I miss the good old not so distant days when the hardest questions I had to face were:
Who do you admire most?
What good books have you read lately?
When is lunch?
Where did I put my keys?
Why did he buy 16 cases of Easy-Mac?
How did she get on the roof?!
Ah, yes. Simpler times! Who has stolen you from me? What has caused you to abandon my company? When shall I ever see you again? Where have you gone? Why have you forsaken me? How shall I ever survive in this new and infinitely more complicated age in which I find myself?
Oh...I wish I knew!
They are, of course:
Who
What
When
Where
Why
(and)
How
as in:
Who are you?
What are you doing? (with your life/ with your degree/ with your weekend, etc.)
When are you going to grow up and get a life worthy or respect ( and a paycheck?)
Where do you plan to be in six months/ five years/ ten years?
Why are you doing--or not doing, as the case may be--what you should/ were told/ feel you ought?
And of course, the all important...
How are you going to accomplish _______/ pay for _______/ get to _______ achieve ________?
Answer: I Have No Idea.
Good Lord.
How I miss the good old not so distant days when the hardest questions I had to face were:
Who do you admire most?
What good books have you read lately?
When is lunch?
Where did I put my keys?
Why did he buy 16 cases of Easy-Mac?
How did she get on the roof?!
Ah, yes. Simpler times! Who has stolen you from me? What has caused you to abandon my company? When shall I ever see you again? Where have you gone? Why have you forsaken me? How shall I ever survive in this new and infinitely more complicated age in which I find myself?
Oh...I wish I knew!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I Wish I Knew
I find myself saying the above rather a lot lately.
Sometimes it is in answer to the kindly-meant yet oh-so-annoying queries about what my plans are for the future. All the other times it is one of many not-so-helpful phrases that chase each other around the inside of my head until I make the probably rash decision to blog about it. Go me.
I don't have a plan anymore.
I was a student. (Alas, poor Yorick!)
I was a nanny. (That was great, but, again...done for now.)
I try to work. (That doesn't get much farther than the kind-hearted family friends who pity me and thus allow me to watch their dogs for long weekends.)
I read a lot.
I research schools in half a dozen fields until I don't even know why I looked them up in the first place.
I job hunt on every website I've ever heard of until my eyes feel like they'll fall out, only to realize that I am unqualified for 90% of them. All the others would require me to move to Kansas.
(Insert appropriately descriptive yet forceful expletive of your choice here)
Thus, in a effort to distract myself from life for a while and perhaps even gain some perspective on my current situation I did what any self-respecting youth of my generation would do: I popped some popcorn and settled in to watch a classic of the John Hughes persuasion, St. Elmo's Fire, one of my personal favorites in any case and all the more now that I can personally identify with its characters (god help me.) Oh, and if you haven't seen it, shame on you and before you read any further I insist you go rent it and watch it for yourself. If you have a soul and a healthy apprciation for all things 80s I know you'll love it.
During the course of the film a group of post-collegiate friends attempt to navigate the rocky road of adult life and at a key moment near the end Rob Lowe's character describes St. Elmo's Fire as "flashes of light that appear in dark skies out of nowhere. Sailors would guide entire journeys by it, but the joke was on them. There was no fire. There wasn't even a St. Elmo...They made it up because they thought they needed it to keep them going when times got tough."
Well, I won't lie. I wouldn't mind a little flash of St. Elmo's Fire in my life right about now. For like the character of Jules, I too confess to feeling oh so tired. I never thought I'd be so tired at 23. It almost makes me sad, knowing that never again in my life am I going to have the "opportunities" that I do right now. I simple wish they would look a little less like dead ends with caution tape and signs that say DANGER and a little more like friendly fuzzy woodland creatures who have come to help me clean up my life.
Therefore...
Now Hiring:
Life Coach (aka Fairy Godmother, aka Talking Tree, aka Giver of Guidance and Jell-O Shots, aka Rob Lowe circa 1985)
Duties:
(1) Using divine oracle or any other means necessary, provide sound advise and sage counsel in the matter(s) of one's occupational future, geographic settlement options, edification and directional determination thereof, financial stabilization, etc.
(2) Stick around long enough to witness the fruition of one or more of the above.
(3) If applicable, kick one's ass to achieve appropriate outcome.
Qualifications:
(1) Must embrace insomnia, sarcasm, BBC movie marathons, Bob Dylan, and the potential consumption of copious amounts of mint chip ice cream.
(2) Must have experience with procrastination (documentation of successful conquest preferred).
(3) Must have read (and loved to the point of impropriety) Bohumil Hrabal's Too Loud A Solitude.
Compensation:
Ah, there's the rub.
Applications are now being accepted.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sometimes it is in answer to the kindly-meant yet oh-so-annoying queries about what my plans are for the future. All the other times it is one of many not-so-helpful phrases that chase each other around the inside of my head until I make the probably rash decision to blog about it. Go me.
I don't have a plan anymore.
I was a student. (Alas, poor Yorick!)
I was a nanny. (That was great, but, again...done for now.)
I try to work. (That doesn't get much farther than the kind-hearted family friends who pity me and thus allow me to watch their dogs for long weekends.)
I read a lot.
I research schools in half a dozen fields until I don't even know why I looked them up in the first place.
I job hunt on every website I've ever heard of until my eyes feel like they'll fall out, only to realize that I am unqualified for 90% of them. All the others would require me to move to Kansas.
(Insert appropriately descriptive yet forceful expletive of your choice here)
Thus, in a effort to distract myself from life for a while and perhaps even gain some perspective on my current situation I did what any self-respecting youth of my generation would do: I popped some popcorn and settled in to watch a classic of the John Hughes persuasion, St. Elmo's Fire, one of my personal favorites in any case and all the more now that I can personally identify with its characters (god help me.) Oh, and if you haven't seen it, shame on you and before you read any further I insist you go rent it and watch it for yourself. If you have a soul and a healthy apprciation for all things 80s I know you'll love it.
During the course of the film a group of post-collegiate friends attempt to navigate the rocky road of adult life and at a key moment near the end Rob Lowe's character describes St. Elmo's Fire as "flashes of light that appear in dark skies out of nowhere. Sailors would guide entire journeys by it, but the joke was on them. There was no fire. There wasn't even a St. Elmo...They made it up because they thought they needed it to keep them going when times got tough."
Well, I won't lie. I wouldn't mind a little flash of St. Elmo's Fire in my life right about now. For like the character of Jules, I too confess to feeling oh so tired. I never thought I'd be so tired at 23. It almost makes me sad, knowing that never again in my life am I going to have the "opportunities" that I do right now. I simple wish they would look a little less like dead ends with caution tape and signs that say DANGER and a little more like friendly fuzzy woodland creatures who have come to help me clean up my life.
Therefore...
Now Hiring:
Life Coach (aka Fairy Godmother, aka Talking Tree, aka Giver of Guidance and Jell-O Shots, aka Rob Lowe circa 1985)
Duties:
(1) Using divine oracle or any other means necessary, provide sound advise and sage counsel in the matter(s) of one's occupational future, geographic settlement options, edification and directional determination thereof, financial stabilization, etc.
(2) Stick around long enough to witness the fruition of one or more of the above.
(3) If applicable, kick one's ass to achieve appropriate outcome.
Qualifications:
(1) Must embrace insomnia, sarcasm, BBC movie marathons, Bob Dylan, and the potential consumption of copious amounts of mint chip ice cream.
(2) Must have experience with procrastination (documentation of successful conquest preferred).
(3) Must have read (and loved to the point of impropriety) Bohumil Hrabal's Too Loud A Solitude.
Compensation:
Ah, there's the rub.
Applications are now being accepted.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
There and Back Again
"Well, I'm back." - Samwise Gamgee
I recently returned from my latest adventure. I left my temporary post as nanny and cook and driver and housekeeper and teacher and confidant and humble guest of the family Bruesch and made my way home again. I find myself, not unlike Tolkien's gardening Hobbit in many ways, to be changed because of it, yet somewhat unable to articulate just what happened in full detail to each who inquire.
In many ways I am glade to be done as I can now enjoy a few creature comforts that were unavailable to me for a while:
- Liberal amounts of confidence and courage, preferably in equal measure. (Not that there is something intrinsically confident about Europeans...oh, wait... Regardless, I wish merely to provide myself with strength enough to endure whatever lies ahead, for like Tolkein's brave little gardener, I have no aspirations of grandeur save those of a job well done. Now I just have to find said job...)
Overall though, this past year has provided me with a great many adventures and hilarious moments. It is therefore my sincere hope that the coming year brings with it no less than the year before. And to all of you, my dear readers, I thank you for the part you have played in those momentous adventures. As Mr. Frodo would say, "I am glad to be with you."
I recently returned from my latest adventure. I left my temporary post as nanny and cook and driver and housekeeper and teacher and confidant and humble guest of the family Bruesch and made my way home again. I find myself, not unlike Tolkien's gardening Hobbit in many ways, to be changed because of it, yet somewhat unable to articulate just what happened in full detail to each who inquire.
In many ways I am glade to be done as I can now enjoy a few creature comforts that were unavailable to me for a while:
- I no longer have to ration my q-tips, my body wash, or strategically plan when and how to do my laundry.
- I have the constant company and comfort of my cat, as well as the family dog.
- I have unending electricity with which to charge my computer and phone and ipod...all at the same time.
- I have unlimited access to Starbucks Chai tea and Subwich subs.
- I can read menus again and need not consult Google Translate before trying to use a cookbook or packaged instructions!
While I reconnect will all of these wonderful luxuries I also want to be mindful of the benefits of my experience and those of "a simple life" in particular. I know I can't recreate the little life I had in Malix, but at the very least I intend to embrace the advent of the new year and thus send this, my "resolution," out into the great wide web: It is my hope that I will be able to identify and incorporate those aspects of European living that appeal to me into this, my American Life. Specifically I intend to focus on the following:
- A little more order. (No, that's not it...not exactly...I want rhythm. I want a slower feel to my life than that which I knew in college and in all the years before or since.)
- A little less fear. (I don't know if it's just me, but it seems that as Americans we are given far more than our fair dose of suspicion and caution and prejudice and just-enough-knowledge-to-scare-rather-than-inform us. I feel that this fear creates division between those who could learn a lot from and teach a lot to one another, if only we had the patients so to do.)
- A splash of productivity. (Not too much, for fear of being consumed with the desire for money-making or application-sending or blog-writing. Rather, I desire a pursuit that will render me of use to myself and to my fellow man.)
-A touch of "challenge." (Maybe not the kind that requires 72-hour cram sessions or getting ill-tempered children to finish their math homework, but part of me nevertheless desires to have the element of puzzles to be solved and tasks to be completed back in my life.)
-A touch of "challenge." (Maybe not the kind that requires 72-hour cram sessions or getting ill-tempered children to finish their math homework, but part of me nevertheless desires to have the element of puzzles to be solved and tasks to be completed back in my life.)
- Liberal amounts of confidence and courage, preferably in equal measure. (Not that there is something intrinsically confident about Europeans...oh, wait... Regardless, I wish merely to provide myself with strength enough to endure whatever lies ahead, for like Tolkein's brave little gardener, I have no aspirations of grandeur save those of a job well done. Now I just have to find said job...)
Overall though, this past year has provided me with a great many adventures and hilarious moments. It is therefore my sincere hope that the coming year brings with it no less than the year before. And to all of you, my dear readers, I thank you for the part you have played in those momentous adventures. As Mr. Frodo would say, "I am glad to be with you."
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Reckless Abandon
I can't explain it.
I don't know why.
But for some unknown reason I've been acting strangely lately--so strangely that even I've noticed.
I'll be sitting on the ground near the train-yards in Chur and suddenly have the overwhelming desire to jump on a train, regardless of destination.
I'll go hiking and suddenly find myself halfway up a tree or making my way upstream along a creek, intent on reaching the waterfall in the distance, completely unaware of how I got there.
Today, for example, while straddling a log in the middle of a creek about a hundred yards from the actual trail, I thought I heard someone call out to me and after a minute I realized that two mountain-bikers on the trail below were trying to get my attention. They waved and spoke to me and I just shrugged and smiled back and waved in a friendly, "I know I must look stupid but I promise I'll be fine" kind of way, (if only waves could say so much,) and I watched them ride off looking reluctant and skeptical---I imagine they half considered coming after me...that, or calling the authorities to report a crazy American wandering unchecked in the wilderness, endangering the lives of unsuspecting locals and the occasional cow.
Still emboldened though I was, my encounter with the bikers sobered my spontaneous adventure somewhat and I gave up the waterfall in favor of proceeding on my hike as planned. I took a great many "wrong turns" if you want to call them that, for I would get tired of the trail I was on and so turn off onto the tiny little livestock paths and muddy bogs as they arose, just for a change of pace. I fell once or twice coming down some of the impossibly steep paths and more than a few times I thoughts that my knees or ankles were in for an encounter of the dangerous and painful kind, but after three hours I found myself a bench and was pleased to discover that, save a few cuts and a variety of injuries to my palms, I was entirely unhurt.
I took a while to consider the idea of "motivation." Why I chose to take this hike, turn left at that last fork, and so on. In truth, I don't know why I do a lot of things. But I do know that if I had company on this adventure of mine I don't think I'd be anywhere near as reckless or spontaneous or impulsive.
As it stands now, I am free to be reckless and stupid without worrying what a companion might think of my choices. And while it could be argued that I currently have more responsibilities of an obvious nature than ever before---childcare and everything attached to it, coupled with running and maintaining a household being chief among those rather important obligations---somehow, amidst all of that, I feel a freedom, a sense of control to my own life that I don't quite understand, though I am growing more and more fond of it with each passing day. I think it has a lot to do with the lack of people in my life that I sometimes find myself performing for.
Here I have no real audience. Carrie and Chrigl are often so busy with work that we do not see each other for days at a time, and as long as I am willing to play and engage with Jamie and Raina in their daily lives, they, like most children, show no acknowledgment for a life that I might lead separate from theirs.
These kids really do amaze me, each and every day. I wish I could be more like them. Hell, that might just be where my recklessness stems from--watching these kids who are amazingly talented and intelligent and wise and brave...it makes me feel just a little smarter and a little more brave myself.
And I think that's good, as my return home and lack of plans thereafter will inevitably require some bravery. So here's to being bold! May we all get a dash of courage in our stockings this year : )
Monday, December 6, 2010
Adventure in Flims
In the last few days, weeks, and months I have learned a lot about kids and parents. A few hours ago I returned from a three day stint in a town called Flims (about an hour's bus ride from Malix) where I baby-sat four-year-old twins for Carrie's Scottish friend, Eilanne, and her Romanish-Swiss husband, Ricco. It was weird at first, suddenly being in a new house with new kids--new rules, new games, new everything!--and yet it was one of my better weekend adventures...if you don't count Italy, of course.
I had a hard time in the beginning (this being Friday morning,) as I had only met Eilanne twice before, and her children, Angus and Reeve, once. (Now that I think about it, my whole experience in Switzerland has been full of weird introductions...case in point: the first time I met Ricco was on Friday night. He came bursting through his front door, arms clutching a briefcase, several bags of groceries and a bottle wine, only to find a strange American girl setting his kitchen table and spearing boiled potatoes with a cleaver. The poor man took it very well, all things considered.) But, as I had no time to dwell on the awkwardness of it all, (potato-spearing and kid-calming and bottle-opening and fire-starting leaving little room for more than a hello and a handshake) Ricco and I seemed to get on capitally from the start.
After meeting, cooking for, and getting the lay of the land from Ricco, he and Eilanne took off on a holiday in Lugano, leaving their home and their children in the hands of a relative stranger who was more than a little apprehensive. (After being warned about some of the antics the twins sometimes get up to I was beginning to think three days might just kill me.) However, it turned out that I spent a truly wonderful long weekend cooking for two relatively compliant kids with adorable semi-Scottish accents, watching a good deal of BBC--albeit kid's telly, but I'll take what I can get in English--hiking, drinking copious amount of tea, playing football with Angus, having tea parties with Reeve, making snow-angels, navigating a 90-year-old kitchen stove and having a positively grand time all the while.
Indeed, I think Saturday night will be one for the history books, though it was by no means an extraordinary evening. In a quite old house in rural Switzerland, with Angus and Reeve asleep upstairs and my 6th mug of Earl Grey warming my hands, I curled up on the couch near a popping fire and watched To Kill A Mockingbird. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it really felt like renewal to me. In those few hours I unearthed pure bliss. If only such simple pleasures could be distilled and captured like decanted wine. Then would not life be perfect?
Needless to say, I was almost disappointed to leave Flims behind me in the morning, so pleasant was my stay. Yet in addition to the respite afforded me by my weekend away from Jamie and Raina, I also learned a little something. As I have very little experience of my own when it comes to childcare, it was interesting for me to watch and interact with a new family after spending so much time in the company of one set of parents and one group of kids. I'm sure that for most people this next observation will produce a resounding "duh!" but for me it really was a revelation: no matter where you are or who you're with, kids will be kids, and, even more importantly, moms will be moms. And in light of the former, thank god for the latter!
And as I still consider myself rather child-like in many respects, I shall use myself to illustrate, for after having met me only twice before, Elianne met me at the bus stop in Flims on Friday morning, scolded me for my lack of a warm scarf and promptly produced an extra from her magical-Mom bag.
Moms, huh?
Really though, her actions and general openness to me as well as the unending kindness and hospitality of all my Swiss hosts has made all the difference in the world. I feel as though I've discovered a new kind of home here. I shall be sad to leave it behind.
I had a hard time in the beginning (this being Friday morning,) as I had only met Eilanne twice before, and her children, Angus and Reeve, once. (Now that I think about it, my whole experience in Switzerland has been full of weird introductions...case in point: the first time I met Ricco was on Friday night. He came bursting through his front door, arms clutching a briefcase, several bags of groceries and a bottle wine, only to find a strange American girl setting his kitchen table and spearing boiled potatoes with a cleaver. The poor man took it very well, all things considered.) But, as I had no time to dwell on the awkwardness of it all, (potato-spearing and kid-calming and bottle-opening and fire-starting leaving little room for more than a hello and a handshake) Ricco and I seemed to get on capitally from the start.
After meeting, cooking for, and getting the lay of the land from Ricco, he and Eilanne took off on a holiday in Lugano, leaving their home and their children in the hands of a relative stranger who was more than a little apprehensive. (After being warned about some of the antics the twins sometimes get up to I was beginning to think three days might just kill me.) However, it turned out that I spent a truly wonderful long weekend cooking for two relatively compliant kids with adorable semi-Scottish accents, watching a good deal of BBC--albeit kid's telly, but I'll take what I can get in English--hiking, drinking copious amount of tea, playing football with Angus, having tea parties with Reeve, making snow-angels, navigating a 90-year-old kitchen stove and having a positively grand time all the while.
 |
| The aforementioned stove. It took some getting use to :) |
Indeed, I think Saturday night will be one for the history books, though it was by no means an extraordinary evening. In a quite old house in rural Switzerland, with Angus and Reeve asleep upstairs and my 6th mug of Earl Grey warming my hands, I curled up on the couch near a popping fire and watched To Kill A Mockingbird. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it really felt like renewal to me. In those few hours I unearthed pure bliss. If only such simple pleasures could be distilled and captured like decanted wine. Then would not life be perfect?
Needless to say, I was almost disappointed to leave Flims behind me in the morning, so pleasant was my stay. Yet in addition to the respite afforded me by my weekend away from Jamie and Raina, I also learned a little something. As I have very little experience of my own when it comes to childcare, it was interesting for me to watch and interact with a new family after spending so much time in the company of one set of parents and one group of kids. I'm sure that for most people this next observation will produce a resounding "duh!" but for me it really was a revelation: no matter where you are or who you're with, kids will be kids, and, even more importantly, moms will be moms. And in light of the former, thank god for the latter!
And as I still consider myself rather child-like in many respects, I shall use myself to illustrate, for after having met me only twice before, Elianne met me at the bus stop in Flims on Friday morning, scolded me for my lack of a warm scarf and promptly produced an extra from her magical-Mom bag.
Moms, huh?
Really though, her actions and general openness to me as well as the unending kindness and hospitality of all my Swiss hosts has made all the difference in the world. I feel as though I've discovered a new kind of home here. I shall be sad to leave it behind.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Swiss German for Beginners
Despite the fact that I've been here in Malix for three months now, I still speak next to NO German. Serves me right for taking Spanish all those years, I guess. The little I have learned is as follows:
Locations:
"Malix" - pronounce the world "mall" as if you were in Boston, then add "eeeks" to the end.
"Chur" locals drop the "C," but most train station workers say "Coor" (as in the beer without an "s").
"Ish-tal-I-za" - though I have never seen it written as such, this is what locals call Italy.
"Leichtenziner"- a nick-name for people from Liechtenstein (who are apparently the butt of some national joke that I know nothing about...)
"Heidi-lande" - the portion of the Alps just Northwest of Malix that is popular with commercial farmers and tourists. Also the setting of the original novels about Heidi, Girl of the Alps.
Food:
"Spetzli" - pronounced "Sh-spets-ly," it's Swiss-German for picnic of greatness!
"Trokterfleish" one of the first words I was able to sound out (as it is in fact phonetic,) it refers to dried elk meat---kind of like salami or jerky.
"Apfelwein"- translates to apple wine, though I have had a devil of a time remembering to turn my "w"s into "v"s and wisa wersa. (Curse you, Richard Wanger!!!)
"Zokten-Fotzel"- a local twist on French Toast in which stale bread is soaked in egg and milk for up to a few days, then drained and baked over potatoes and cheese.
Conversations:
"Ich Vice Nicht" - my most commonly used phrase. "I. Don't. Know."
"Greutze" -while I have long stuck with a simple "hallo," this mash-up of what sounds to my ears like "curtsy" with a hard "g" in front is the local greeting.
"Guese!" - pronounced somewhere between "juice," "jews," and "chews," it is Swiss-German for goodbye/farewell.
"Danke Shon" - Thanks a lot
"Bitte"- the go-to word. It can mean you're welcome, please, what can I get you, see ya later, and plenty more depending on time, place and inflection.
"Prost!" - This one I got right away, thank goodness. It means "Cheers!"
"Liden-Schwachkopf" - I'm told it is all out of love, but this is Jamie's favorite nick-name for me which translates roughly to "slow-learner" or, more than likely, "idiot."
I am however getting pretty good at reading cooking directions, travel instructions and letters from disgruntled teachers due to absolute necessity. "Hausarbeit?" Check!
And that, save the days of the week, months of the year, and a few names and numbers, is about it for my linguistic education. I knew taking language classes from people called Jones and Bond and Peterson would come back to bite me someday!
Locations:
"Malix" - pronounce the world "mall" as if you were in Boston, then add "eeeks" to the end.
"Chur" locals drop the "C," but most train station workers say "Coor" (as in the beer without an "s").
"Ish-tal-I-za" - though I have never seen it written as such, this is what locals call Italy.
"Leichtenziner"- a nick-name for people from Liechtenstein (who are apparently the butt of some national joke that I know nothing about...)
"Heidi-lande" - the portion of the Alps just Northwest of Malix that is popular with commercial farmers and tourists. Also the setting of the original novels about Heidi, Girl of the Alps.
Food:
"Spetzli" - pronounced "Sh-spets-ly," it's Swiss-German for picnic of greatness!
"Trokterfleish" one of the first words I was able to sound out (as it is in fact phonetic,) it refers to dried elk meat---kind of like salami or jerky.
"Apfelwein"- translates to apple wine, though I have had a devil of a time remembering to turn my "w"s into "v"s and wisa wersa. (Curse you, Richard Wanger!!!)
"Zokten-Fotzel"- a local twist on French Toast in which stale bread is soaked in egg and milk for up to a few days, then drained and baked over potatoes and cheese.
Conversations:
"Ich Vice Nicht" - my most commonly used phrase. "I. Don't. Know."
"Greutze" -while I have long stuck with a simple "hallo," this mash-up of what sounds to my ears like "curtsy" with a hard "g" in front is the local greeting.
"Guese!" - pronounced somewhere between "juice," "jews," and "chews," it is Swiss-German for goodbye/farewell.
"Danke Shon" - Thanks a lot
"Bitte"- the go-to word. It can mean you're welcome, please, what can I get you, see ya later, and plenty more depending on time, place and inflection.
"Prost!" - This one I got right away, thank goodness. It means "Cheers!"
"Liden-Schwachkopf" - I'm told it is all out of love, but this is Jamie's favorite nick-name for me which translates roughly to "slow-learner" or, more than likely, "idiot."
I am however getting pretty good at reading cooking directions, travel instructions and letters from disgruntled teachers due to absolute necessity. "Hausarbeit?" Check!
And that, save the days of the week, months of the year, and a few names and numbers, is about it for my linguistic education. I knew taking language classes from people called Jones and Bond and Peterson would come back to bite me someday!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Untitled
and the stress of school and work
and a life filled with needs unmet
I find myself feeling satisfied.
I like the little life that has unfolded before me
and I feel content in this place.
My mornings are early and long and full.
I happily and strangely embrace my new role
of sudo-adult and friend, provider and peacemaker.
I never have enough time to sit and eat a meal in peace,
let alone finish a book,
but I take comfort in the activity of it all.
I walk each and every day (a foot of snow be damned!)
I brew and consume enough strong tea each day to fill a bathtub.
And I'm not kidding.
My afternoons are consumed
by times tables and games, German grammar and time-outs.
I cook and the smell of cinnamon makes me feel at home.
I crank Axl Rose and jam with Jamie,
dance to Miley Cyrus with Raina and
watch movies with English subtitles with Carrie and Chrigl.
And when the quiet settles in at last
I stand at the kitchen sink in solitude,
finishing the dishes
and humming a bar or two of Pie Jesu,
its gentle familiarity reassures me
that I am ready to begin again tomorrow.
Because I love it here.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Great Day In The Life
I love my life.
Why?
Well, for a great many reasons, but for the purposes of this post and this day in particular I must declare my love for life through the appreciation of friends, family and food. This past weekend was a beautiful one in Malix; not only did the sun shine and the snow begin to melt, but my cultural experiences expanded a thousand fold in the course of 12 hours thanks to Carrie, Chrigl, and lots of food.
The morning began like any other day here, though considering it was a Saturday we all got up earlier than normal (the Swiss are backwards, I know) and had a fantastic breakfast, courtesy of Chrigl. He returned home in the early hours of the morning after a two week stint of training in Austria and instead of getting some much needed sleep the man drank some coffee and then started flipping flapjacks at 5 a.m. Yes sir, Chrigl is climbing the charts of "most awesome human ever;" for in addition to the much loved American pancakes (complete with Nutella and peanut butter, bless him!) he also took the time to prepare the traditional Rosti for me to try. Let me tell you friends, it is fantastic. Somewhere between the boarder of hashbrowns and crepes lies the happy land of Rosti--hot, eggy, potatoy, buttery goodness--not besmirched with such vial American sins as ketchup, but rather lovingly crowned with cinnamon, sugar and hot applesauce. Pure bliss!
Now, I was floored and thankful for the morning's surprise, to say the least, but at the same time I felt kind of caught off guard. This was the first weekend where all three adults were in the house at the same time for more than a few hours and I'll admit I was unsure of what to do. When either Carrie or Chrigl is away I tend to take on all culinary detail simply because I know that each has a million other things to be doing. With breakfast out of my hands I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5:45 with no occupation other than to watch my tea water boil while Chrigl flew around the room like a man possessed. (While a respectable cook and an amazingly involved and domestic father by Swiss standards, Chrigl does tend to have what I lovingly refer to as "The Sam Effect" on a room when he gets into a project. Thus, by the time I retreated to the doorway to lean against the post and repose with my Earl Grey the kitchen looked a lot like a disaster area.)
However, I need not have worried about feeling useless because a moment later, as if on cue, Jamie appeared (clad in nothing but a bathrobe and brandishing a pocket comb as he has done every morning for the past week after I told him he looked like James Dean...I freaking love this kid!) demanding to know where the french toast I promised him could be found. I reddened and tried to explain that Chrigl had made a special breakfast and that I'd make it for him another day, but Chrigl merely smiled and said "ah, yes, this is good. We have all the breakfast at once, America and Swiss together, yes?" and kindly produced a clean pan (from I know not where) and stepped aside to allow breakfast, round two, to begin. (And about five minutes after that Raina arrived demanding Ovomaltine on toast, thus facilitating yet another addition to the breakfast relay.)
I wish I had taken a picture of the havoc-stricken kitchen (how the hell all three of us presided over various cooking projects at once, I will never know) or at least of the carbo-kingdom spread we laid out afterwards, but alas for my lack of forethought! Therefore, I will say only that it was one of the better breakfasts I've had this side of 2005. Carbs and glucose were consumed by all in great abundance before the village clock struck eight, whereupon I cleaned, Chrigl slept, and Carrie took the kids for a walk to their Grandmother's house to put the last of their summer stuff in the storage barn.
By the time we all reconvened I was sure there would be no need for food again for a long time, but when Jamie and Raina's friends from school came over and all showed sighs of being bored I jumped at the chance to distract them with a little culinary adventure. The objective: tarts.
The boys seemed more hungry than excited so I sent them out to the garden to gather the last of the blackberries and raspberries while I scraped together a pie crust recipe from various cookbooks and, with the help of Raina and her friend Joanna, made some respectable muffin-tin sized rounds by the time the boys returned with the vestiges of their berry-picking. It was hard enough trying to sweeten and reduce the meager harvest without prior experience, but doing so in the company of four kids under 10 was nearly impossible---or so I thought. Miraculously, we managed to produce four respectable looking tarts (two having succumbed to the wrath of Jamie and his friend Enzo's over-eagerness to remove them from the muffin tin, and thereby turning them into unrecognizable globs of redish-black jelly flecked with pastry. These, though not beautiful, were no less delicious, or so I'm told.) The surviving pastries were distributed to each child to top as they pleased, resulting in one cream, one shaved chocolate, one sugar, and one with sweetened condensed milk being presented to Mami and Papi as an afternoon surprise. Carrie ate her sugared one with pride while Chrigl manfully endured the condensed milk and pronounced Jamie's creation "a real triumph" while I shook with silent laughter and packed the other two up to be taken home to neighboring mothers and fathers.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent out of doors, with me alternating between throwing a baseball with Chrigl and Jamie, then sketching landscapes with Carrie and Raina. As the sun began to set and the cold stole in around us I figured I should start dinner before it got too dark, but Carrie stopped me and said that as tonight was a celebration of sorts (that of Chrigl's return and Carrie's three-week anniversary of being hospital-free) we were going on a family outing. I became more and more excited and intrigued as heavy winter clothes, flashlights, and matches started to appear. Uninformed but eager, I suited up in my warmest gear, donned a head lamp, found Raina's hand in mine, and the five of us set off into the wilderness.
After about a 25 minute walk up and away from the town of Malix we arrived at a remote farm with a covered out-building, beside which I could see a fire already blazing. Even from a distance the sound of hearty voices carried into our midst and I felt the cold of the night surrender to the powers of warmth and good cheer. Once seated around the fire I was introduced to Paulo, a older farmer and family friend of Chrigl's; his wife Ruth, their son Karl, a man of about 35, and their granddaughter Juliana, who said to me in near-perfect English, " I'm thirteen and I love Nick Jonas. Do you know him?" One of the funnier conversations of my life. Hurrah for being American, I guess?
Introductions were followed by drinks that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, for I could see no chest or cooler from whence they came. Still having little to no knowledge of German food and drink I simply smiled and nodded when Paulo offered me an unknown liquid from a stoneware blue and white jug. Chrigl mumbled the word "Apfelwein" to me and when I was handed an enormous mug of cold, fizzy-looking cider I nodded again and raised my mug to toast with the others before taking a long pull of the most delicious beverage known to man. Seriously. I think Jameson and Malibu have been officially unhorsed by a barrel of Swiss apple juice. Man, do I love Switzerland!
Dinner had been simmering over the fire since before we arrived--another local treat. Now, I had had the pleasure of enjoying Carrie's homemade fondu a few weeks before in the comfort of home, but I can now say that nothing beats the sweet, almost smokey taste of melted raclette, gruyere and whole cloves of garlic over fire-baked potatoes with pan rustica and pears. Between eight of us, we killed two boiling pots of fondu and more than three loaves of bread (all the better to soak up the apfelwein for the walk home, so I was told,) and yet we somehow made room for a brick or two of simple, solid Swiss chocolate for dessert, plus coca for the kids and apple Schnapps for the grown-ups to help us home, though we stayed around the fire for a good hour or more after all the drinks were dry. The three kids talking animatedly about their favorite Jonas Brother's songs, the adults discussing hunting season and tourism and Carrie's recovery, while I sat happily on the sidelines of each group, content to listen and absorb. (Though my speaking is still virtually nonexistent, I can usually pick up enough to understand what is being said around me in German. Usually.)
By the time we rose to return home night had fallen in earnest, yet we opted to take the long way home, meandering here and there through the dense forrest, headlamps bobbing as various members took it in turns to sing German folk songs or old camp classics (I resorted to Ode to Joy when called upon to sing in the local vernacular...obviously I drank to much cider...) The light of the little house was nevertheless a welcome sight by the end of the walk, Raina heavy in my arms and Jamie beginning to snore into Chrigl's shoulder. Laughing soundlessly, the three adults disrobed and put to bed two shockingly acquiescent children before nodding off ourselves.
It was a great day.
Why?
Well, for a great many reasons, but for the purposes of this post and this day in particular I must declare my love for life through the appreciation of friends, family and food. This past weekend was a beautiful one in Malix; not only did the sun shine and the snow begin to melt, but my cultural experiences expanded a thousand fold in the course of 12 hours thanks to Carrie, Chrigl, and lots of food.
The morning began like any other day here, though considering it was a Saturday we all got up earlier than normal (the Swiss are backwards, I know) and had a fantastic breakfast, courtesy of Chrigl. He returned home in the early hours of the morning after a two week stint of training in Austria and instead of getting some much needed sleep the man drank some coffee and then started flipping flapjacks at 5 a.m. Yes sir, Chrigl is climbing the charts of "most awesome human ever;" for in addition to the much loved American pancakes (complete with Nutella and peanut butter, bless him!) he also took the time to prepare the traditional Rosti for me to try. Let me tell you friends, it is fantastic. Somewhere between the boarder of hashbrowns and crepes lies the happy land of Rosti--hot, eggy, potatoy, buttery goodness--not besmirched with such vial American sins as ketchup, but rather lovingly crowned with cinnamon, sugar and hot applesauce. Pure bliss!
Now, I was floored and thankful for the morning's surprise, to say the least, but at the same time I felt kind of caught off guard. This was the first weekend where all three adults were in the house at the same time for more than a few hours and I'll admit I was unsure of what to do. When either Carrie or Chrigl is away I tend to take on all culinary detail simply because I know that each has a million other things to be doing. With breakfast out of my hands I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5:45 with no occupation other than to watch my tea water boil while Chrigl flew around the room like a man possessed. (While a respectable cook and an amazingly involved and domestic father by Swiss standards, Chrigl does tend to have what I lovingly refer to as "The Sam Effect" on a room when he gets into a project. Thus, by the time I retreated to the doorway to lean against the post and repose with my Earl Grey the kitchen looked a lot like a disaster area.)
However, I need not have worried about feeling useless because a moment later, as if on cue, Jamie appeared (clad in nothing but a bathrobe and brandishing a pocket comb as he has done every morning for the past week after I told him he looked like James Dean...I freaking love this kid!) demanding to know where the french toast I promised him could be found. I reddened and tried to explain that Chrigl had made a special breakfast and that I'd make it for him another day, but Chrigl merely smiled and said "ah, yes, this is good. We have all the breakfast at once, America and Swiss together, yes?" and kindly produced a clean pan (from I know not where) and stepped aside to allow breakfast, round two, to begin. (And about five minutes after that Raina arrived demanding Ovomaltine on toast, thus facilitating yet another addition to the breakfast relay.)
I wish I had taken a picture of the havoc-stricken kitchen (how the hell all three of us presided over various cooking projects at once, I will never know) or at least of the carbo-kingdom spread we laid out afterwards, but alas for my lack of forethought! Therefore, I will say only that it was one of the better breakfasts I've had this side of 2005. Carbs and glucose were consumed by all in great abundance before the village clock struck eight, whereupon I cleaned, Chrigl slept, and Carrie took the kids for a walk to their Grandmother's house to put the last of their summer stuff in the storage barn.
By the time we all reconvened I was sure there would be no need for food again for a long time, but when Jamie and Raina's friends from school came over and all showed sighs of being bored I jumped at the chance to distract them with a little culinary adventure. The objective: tarts.
The boys seemed more hungry than excited so I sent them out to the garden to gather the last of the blackberries and raspberries while I scraped together a pie crust recipe from various cookbooks and, with the help of Raina and her friend Joanna, made some respectable muffin-tin sized rounds by the time the boys returned with the vestiges of their berry-picking. It was hard enough trying to sweeten and reduce the meager harvest without prior experience, but doing so in the company of four kids under 10 was nearly impossible---or so I thought. Miraculously, we managed to produce four respectable looking tarts (two having succumbed to the wrath of Jamie and his friend Enzo's over-eagerness to remove them from the muffin tin, and thereby turning them into unrecognizable globs of redish-black jelly flecked with pastry. These, though not beautiful, were no less delicious, or so I'm told.) The surviving pastries were distributed to each child to top as they pleased, resulting in one cream, one shaved chocolate, one sugar, and one with sweetened condensed milk being presented to Mami and Papi as an afternoon surprise. Carrie ate her sugared one with pride while Chrigl manfully endured the condensed milk and pronounced Jamie's creation "a real triumph" while I shook with silent laughter and packed the other two up to be taken home to neighboring mothers and fathers.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent out of doors, with me alternating between throwing a baseball with Chrigl and Jamie, then sketching landscapes with Carrie and Raina. As the sun began to set and the cold stole in around us I figured I should start dinner before it got too dark, but Carrie stopped me and said that as tonight was a celebration of sorts (that of Chrigl's return and Carrie's three-week anniversary of being hospital-free) we were going on a family outing. I became more and more excited and intrigued as heavy winter clothes, flashlights, and matches started to appear. Uninformed but eager, I suited up in my warmest gear, donned a head lamp, found Raina's hand in mine, and the five of us set off into the wilderness.
After about a 25 minute walk up and away from the town of Malix we arrived at a remote farm with a covered out-building, beside which I could see a fire already blazing. Even from a distance the sound of hearty voices carried into our midst and I felt the cold of the night surrender to the powers of warmth and good cheer. Once seated around the fire I was introduced to Paulo, a older farmer and family friend of Chrigl's; his wife Ruth, their son Karl, a man of about 35, and their granddaughter Juliana, who said to me in near-perfect English, " I'm thirteen and I love Nick Jonas. Do you know him?" One of the funnier conversations of my life. Hurrah for being American, I guess?
Introductions were followed by drinks that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, for I could see no chest or cooler from whence they came. Still having little to no knowledge of German food and drink I simply smiled and nodded when Paulo offered me an unknown liquid from a stoneware blue and white jug. Chrigl mumbled the word "Apfelwein" to me and when I was handed an enormous mug of cold, fizzy-looking cider I nodded again and raised my mug to toast with the others before taking a long pull of the most delicious beverage known to man. Seriously. I think Jameson and Malibu have been officially unhorsed by a barrel of Swiss apple juice. Man, do I love Switzerland!
Dinner had been simmering over the fire since before we arrived--another local treat. Now, I had had the pleasure of enjoying Carrie's homemade fondu a few weeks before in the comfort of home, but I can now say that nothing beats the sweet, almost smokey taste of melted raclette, gruyere and whole cloves of garlic over fire-baked potatoes with pan rustica and pears. Between eight of us, we killed two boiling pots of fondu and more than three loaves of bread (all the better to soak up the apfelwein for the walk home, so I was told,) and yet we somehow made room for a brick or two of simple, solid Swiss chocolate for dessert, plus coca for the kids and apple Schnapps for the grown-ups to help us home, though we stayed around the fire for a good hour or more after all the drinks were dry. The three kids talking animatedly about their favorite Jonas Brother's songs, the adults discussing hunting season and tourism and Carrie's recovery, while I sat happily on the sidelines of each group, content to listen and absorb. (Though my speaking is still virtually nonexistent, I can usually pick up enough to understand what is being said around me in German. Usually.)
By the time we rose to return home night had fallen in earnest, yet we opted to take the long way home, meandering here and there through the dense forrest, headlamps bobbing as various members took it in turns to sing German folk songs or old camp classics (I resorted to Ode to Joy when called upon to sing in the local vernacular...obviously I drank to much cider...) The light of the little house was nevertheless a welcome sight by the end of the walk, Raina heavy in my arms and Jamie beginning to snore into Chrigl's shoulder. Laughing soundlessly, the three adults disrobed and put to bed two shockingly acquiescent children before nodding off ourselves.
It was a great day.
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