Leysin - Cloudy Beauty

We are at Residences Chamossaire in Leysin, Switzerland.  Quietude.  In winter this is a ski resort and in summer an attraction for hikers (mostly) and tourists.  At the market (chosen because it is less expensive and local) we encounter mostly students and local residents.  From our balcony we have a fine view of the mountains - more snow-covered today after last evenings precipitation.  Today is an advertisement for clouds - and that is fine.  Cloud beauty!























Yesterday we arose late (9:40 AM) after the long drive from Venice, Italy.  Venice was overcast - sultry looking.  There was a  marathon - a fine counter-point to the city's unique countenance - but also rendering transportation more difficult (more about Venice later). The drive became more dramatic as we left Italy and the M-4.  The route turned to a series of tunnels - some miles long and then climbed and curved, around, up and down, often narrow roads.  It was fun - downshifting and rounding curves in our rental Ford Fiesta.  Downshifting.  Back to yesterday.   We enjoyed a lunch outside at La Farandole in the village.  We drove and hiked to an overview of Lake Geneva.  Fine views!  The day was crystal clear and reasonably warm.  Pristine air!  While there we also saw a local resident (farmer?) selectively harvesting wood for winter.  

















We returned to the village and shopped.  Sheila made a fine hearty salad with our gatherings.  We have enjoyed the cuisine as we traveled but have had much bread and meat.  Read, write, relax, to rest.  The travel so far has been blessedly event filled.  History, people, churches, architecture, wine, and fine art.  





Here we downshift.  


Quietude.  

Musings at the start of a journey - Europe - October 17, 2013

In flight to Munich, we have just left Reykjavik International.  We will visit Dachau later today.  I was asked why by a friend.  That is an interesting question.  For the same reason we would visit Wounded Knee, the site of the Boston Massacre, or the Sudan, except the horrific proportions of the holocaust are searing and unavoidable.  We must remember, then form a resolve and hope to overcome and preclude recurrences of such events.  And it is only a hope - that is clear from recent history.  We are one thin line away from murder and genocide, corporately and individually.  So we will remember the holocaust; and commit to make our globe a better place one person at a time.  It starts with us.  That is the core of it -  work to better our own sphere of influence.

October, 2013

Compound entrance October 17, 2013

Arbeit Macht Frie - Work makes (you) free

Facility built for 6,000 - over 63,000 were held here as the war came to an end.

Liberated by Allied forces 29 Avril 1945

NEVER AGAIN

The journey also is to celebrate and absorb the great cultures of Europe.  Monet's water lilies were in the museum in Zurich when I last visited there, over 40 years ago.  I hope to see them again - with an entirely new perspective.  What has changed these many years?  - technology, travel, borders, family, me . . . . ?  And yet - so much is the same.  The human condition, Maslow's hierarchy, great symphonies, fine literature, the Word.  We seek history, art, fine wine, food, and hiking!   For the moment I am celebrating this iPad and the Verbatim keyboard.  This tin can at 38,000 feet is cramped, confining, and claustrophobic - a phobia I do not have but in small measure - thanks be to God.  Even stretching has short-term effect.  When we land we will rejoice and enjoy.  Solid earth, fatherland and motherland to so many uncounted millions.

Stretch again and break concentration. . . . .  I have airplane funk.  For a well crafted description of this phenomenon consider Salman Rushdie's description of air travel in "The Ground Beneath Her Feet".

Bergen rest stop - enroute to Saltzburg

Saltzburg - oldest bookstore in Austria 1594

Ducks in rows

Mozart statue - Saltzburg

A.E.I.O.U. by Anselm Kiefer

Triangle Restaurant - Saltzburg

More than a game, more than a ball field - (2013 ALDS game 2 - Fenway Park)

We were fortunate enough to obtain tickets to 2013 ALDS game 2.  Sheila and I enjoyed the game (especially the 7-4 win over Tampa Bay).  I could recount the highlights; but that is not my subject. 

I am not a fan of manicured lawns – actually I am not a fan of lawns of any kind.  There is proof enough of this in my back yard where a variety of trees and mosses edge right up to the house footprint.  However, at the intersection of baseball and diamonds lies a significant exception.  Surrounded by Brookline Avenue, Yawkey Way, and Lansdowne, Ipswich, and Van Ness Streets, Fenway Park is a well-established treasure known far beyond Red Sox Nation.  But what always catches your eye no matter where you are seated, is the patterns the groundskeepers create in the grass.  This kinetic art has even been celebrated in sports media.  That is grass that I can love.   

May 5, 2006 - Red Sox 6 Orioles 3

Before the rain delay June 18, 2013 - Sox 4 Padres 1

This day the field is a living billboard carrying a statement of resilience, hope, perseverance, resistance, and today, dare we say, a bit of celebration.  While it is appropriately a reminder of the tragic event at the Boston Marathon, it is simultaneously a statement of character, a challenge, and a reminder of a life skill we are commanded to follow.  B Strong.  B(oston) Strong.  B Strong.  Be strong.  Be strong!  

Fenway Park -  October 5, 2013

Thank you groundskeepers, thank you Red Sox, and thank you people of Red Sox Nation!   “Be strong and courageous . . . . . .”  Deuteronomy 31.6

Weightless day

The hike was not long, but the sharp drop from the pine forest into the valley glen and the slimy, still, forest pond evoked mystery, adventure, and timelessness.  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches wrapped in wax paper had oozed in the 80-degree heat.  It was cooler there.  The dark green shadows of the pine and hemlock trees, interrupted occasionally by a speckle of sunshine, stirred a slight breeze.  Robbie and I had yet to grow apart.  It would be a year or more before pre-teen innocence suddenly faded away.   

Lunch in the piney woods

Broken glass, milk mixed with blood, primitive (but successful) first aid.  We will not go home! 

Play on . . . . . .

Much later, in the distance we faintly hear the Holsteins being called in for milking time.  “Come boss . . .  . , come boss . . .  “  We should go . . . . . . . the adults will be looking for us . . . . . .

Play on . . . . . .    

Sea changes (# one) - North Hampton Beach, NH 1972

The sea entered my life with force when I met my wife. The ocean always had an attraction and in my early youth, trips to the beach were a summer highlight. That was until my parents bought the camp property on Little Sebago Lake. From about age 8 until moving to NH at eighteen we were happily lake-locked each summer, only rarely visiting the ocean. Going to “the lake” remained a periodic family destination for many years; yet the frequency diminished as distance and other distractions intervened. The sea periodically entered my life story – punctuation between events. Occasionally during college we piled into Mike's '57 Chevy and escaped Boston's summer swelter at Plum Island. Padre Island National Seashore became a one time respite from my medical service corps training at Fort Sam Houston. The Pacific coast highway became an exclamation point to a cross country journey. How Sheila and Bob's personal orbits grew congruent is another story; but our first date was to go to the seashore.

California - Highway 1

 Looking back I could say that was an economic decision (the beach is nearly free). Actually that was only one factor in a most fortunate choice. Where else would you take the demure daughter of a sailor, who (I discovered) loved to body surf in the cold Atlantic? We drove past Hampton Beach (too busy) and I headed north, looking for our own patch of salty, sandy real estate. There was no Yelp-internet-guide to beaches – I was totally reliant on instinct and driven by a certain amount of anxiety. What if I chose the wrong beach?  That was only one of the slurry of thoughts in my mind.  So I pulled my powder blue Mercury Montego (that's a story for another time) into the lot at North Hampton Beach.

There must have been heavy seas the day before because I remember we could hardly find the sand among the washed up seaweed and kelp. In retrospect it probably could have been any beach. I was intrigued by this intense, attractive, dark-haired woman. And for some incredible reason(s) there seemed to be a mutual interest. I know we talked, and I think we walked, waded, splashed, and rode the waves. Details elude me. We arrived back in Kingston in the late mid-afternoon. I was expecting to drive to my parents house for supper and (in my introspective way) have time to process this event. Sheila's dad invited me to supper. I discovered that, at least on that day, it was an extended, multi-course event. The menu would fill a paragraph, and the seafood was all harvested by her dad. Hours later I drove to Mom and Dad's house. The waves continued to roll on.

Sheila - Plum Island Early Spring 1974