German Tales: Breath of Earth

Germany is dark a lot. Sometimes it seems as if the clouds will never go away, and the people will never shed their unhappy, shades-of-gray coats. In the cities, they dress very chic, layers of winter matching everything just so, and their stylish boots conquering the cobblestones with every step. The villages don't adhere to so strict a dress code: old women wear long, puffy coats from twenty years before, feet tapping the sidewalks clad in shoes rescued from the second World War. Their eyes sit in soft wrinkled flesh but flash with intelligence and impatience. Everything happens on time here, on the dot, and for mistakes, there isn't much room.

On the other hand, I hear them laughing sometimes completely without restraint, and I think to myself that if they did that more, and out of doors, maybe the laughter would punch holes in the dreary clouds, and the sun would show its face again. Of course, I write all of this in winter when it seems the entire universe has never known such a warm and inviting star. Having lived here before, I know that in summer, the foliage is so green it hurts the eyes, the air is fresh and pleasant, and the warmth of the rays caress with promise: if only one can survive the winter. I'd rather inches and inches of snow than this constant, dank dreariness that seeps into my bones.

Other times, I love the fog and the wetness of the leaves on every black sidewalk. The air is a damp, foresty velvet like the breath of Earth itself. Despite the cold, I could swim through it, this cloud that's graced the ground with its visit. It fills my lungs, and life is so solid in that moment I can almost touch it.

German Tales: Garmisch-Partenkirchen

It cracks me up that I walk into a small Backstube (read-bakery) in the Bavarian region of Germany and Kesha is playing on the radio. Among the smell of bread, the heavy wooden accents, and the language floating in the air, that music seems a bit out of place. It doesn't stop me from nodding my head and tapping my foot to the beat, however, while I enjoy my oh so delicious vanilla and chocolate croissant. There's icing on the outside, and Surprise! Gooey chocolate goodness in the middle that's probably getting all over my face. Good thing I'm facing the door so I can smile and greet the locals in mumbly, chocolaty toothed German. "Morgen!"

The weather is drop dead gorgeous and the plan for the day is to go hike an Alp. I wish I could say I've always wanted to say that, that I hiked an Alp, but I haven't always wanted to, just the last couple of days. Ever since I walked out of our hotel and they'd be nonchalantly chilling there, giving me a head-nod and a "What's up? Yeah, that's snow you see. You know you wanna come play in it." Yes, Mr. Alp. Yes I do. And crunch on it in my snow boots. Alpine glory, here I come.

Quote of the Week

"Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past one another. Maybe it was a state of mind... a country you could sculpt out of air and then dance into."
- Paula McClain, The Paris Wife

Whiteout

It snowed all day on Monday. I woke up to three or four inches on the ground, and the sky continued to sputter out sporadic smatterings of flakes until finally letting it all loose again in floating wet tendrils until dark. This is unusual for the South and made all the headlines of the newspaper that arrived a day late and was the top story of the evening news. The upside was playing in it and getting snow up my shirt from making a snow angel and watching the birds hop around in it like they'd been transported to another planet. They were practically looking at each other saying, "We already are south for the winter."

The downside, for those of us no longer in school, was the city and the county shut down. No newspaper, roads covered with re-located slush that completely froze over, and coffee houses whose one employee couldn't make it in to open up meaning that, once again, I was relegated to a world with no internet. The information highway hasn't been open my entire life, but I am at a loss as to how people got anything done in the early days. What did we do for fun before TV shows and movies were streaming at our fingertips? Watched the birds play in the snow, I guess. And made snow cream from the piles of it scooped off my truck hood. YUM. Sure glad the ozone is clean... or wait....

Soda and Eggs

Gramma's asides to herself while flipping through the grocery store advertisments: "Organic peanut butter? Now how good can that be?"

A few minutes later: "'Delicious organic strawberry preserves.' How more organic can you get? They already come from the ground."

It's the little things, folks. She makes me giggle. In addition to getting a laugh from the priceless gems that either of my grandparents utter on any given occasion, by staying with them, I'm also in danger of turning into a toasted deviled egg sandwich that pees Cheerwine; a soda that I'm convinced is the nectar of the gods. For those of you unfamiliar with the glorious south, if Dr. Pepper and Cherry Coke got married and had little soda babies, they'd all be called Cheerwine. This stuff is so addictive that several of Grampa's brothers who no longer inhabit southern North Carolina request/demand through telephone lines that he bring cases of it down with him to the annual family reunion. I'm not much better myself as it's the one staple I require in any care package. I don't think soda is supposed to be shipped through the mail, but I think Gramma and Grampa get a kick out of surrounding the cans with bubble wrap and packets of grits so that the postmaster can't hear the liquid slosh when Grampa hands the package over the counter. They always ask if there's anything liquid or perishable in them. He leans all nonchalant on the counter and lies. I mean, everybody needs a little clandestine spy activity in their life, and in Gaston County, there just isn't much opportunity for that. They take it where they can.

In conclusion, despite the numerous moments of being bored out of my skull here, I am consoled by an unlimited supply of Cheerwine. And deviled egg sandwiches. The world isn't all bad.