Home for a week. 

Sun Umbrella on Virginia Beach 

Virginia Beach, Regent University: Day Three

First, let me just say something more about the Beach scene here. Last night, while watching the fireworks at 10pm--quite the little show they have there--I had a brilliant idea. Next summer, let's all come here and live and get jobs and be beach bums. Dave could be the pyrotechnic that puts on the fireworks shows for all the tourists. Dustin and Misty could set up a little 24 hour evangelism outreach on the beachside, Tim could do magic on the street, Simon and Sarah could set up a little tea house and sell tea and scones, Jill and I could have an internet coffee house-- since they are scarce here--and everyone else could work at the little tourist trap shops and we could all have just a jolly time. After we all got off work, we could play ultimate frisbee on the beach with a glo in the dark frisbee. I am thinking about all this because I just miss you all so much!--Oh oh! and Hope and Pat could make a killing off selling t-shirts down here!

Ok, now onto more serious things...Today was much more of a mellow day than I was expecting. I guess I thought since I was in "Graduate School" that it was going to be super intense and paralyzing. Oh how wrong I was. The professor who is teaching our residency, is a super relational guy. Dr. John Keeler. Brilliant, but very fun and full of stories. We spent most of the day talking. Yes, it was sort-of discussion-ish, but more like just chatting about things that we are all passionate about. I am also very much loving my classmates. They are all super fun, hilarious and interesting. Everyone has a great story and we are all very different people. I think I do get the most points for coming the furthest, but I think some of the other "stories" are more intersting than mine. It is great to meet them in person before we start hashing things out online.

Paul, the one guy in our class, was unanimously voted as a Napoleon Dynamite look-alike, except his hair is brown. He's totally into music, so that was fun to chat a little about Death Cab for Cutie. He lives in Dallas, TX but is originally from Long Island NY.

Leah is a children's teacher. Super fun. We had the best time talking about her recent trip to Switzerland and Austria (she went on the Sound of Music tour--very cool) She's from Pittsburgh and hates Hersey's as much as I do! Her family is in the chocolate business, so she knew at age 4 what good chocolate is. She was quite impressed by Swiss Chocolate.

Iris just got married a couple of weeks ago! We couldn't believe that she was here! She's so smart and knows the Bible inside and out. But she's also a pop culture junkie and can tell you the latest news about anyone. I would definately want to be on her team for trivial pursuit.

Dana is local, and sounds like she's had a very interesting life as both her parents work for CBN. She's a music education major and sings. I hope I get to hear her sing a little while I'm here. I didn't get to talk to her much, but we are in the same group for a project this week, so I will get to know her much better I am sure.

Dyane is a wonderful woman with so much spirit and passion--and a great sense of humor. When she was explaining her paper, she was on such a roll, I almost started to "amen" her. I told here that she has a gift for public speaking and preaching. She is also someone that has had an interesting life and I hope to hear more of her stories. I sat by her a lunch and really enjoyed our conversation. She lives in Maryland, but is originally from British Guyana.

Kellie, a sweet lady, and with a great southern accent and from North Carolina. She owns her own dance studio and used to work for Billy Graham's radio station. She's also done stuff on movie sets. Yet another person with some great background and stories that I want to pull out of her.

Today was more of an orientation day and I met so many other interesting people. There is a lot to think about and I really can't believe that I am here, and doing this! I am really here!

Oh yes, and one more thing. Our 'webmaster' for our program is Swiss! I was listening to him talk and thought, wow, he sounds so Swiss. And I was right! He said he was going to go home to celebrate First August, the Swiss National Holiday. I love how small this world is. Hopefully, I can meet him and give him a swiss greeting.

Virginia Beach, VA: Day One and Two

Arriving on the east coast, yesterday evening, I was disappointed. RAIN was waiting to meet me as I stepped off the plane. Ironic isn't it, that I leave Seattle as some of the most beautiful weather is hitting the Northwest. Ah well, I suppose its a good reminder that there truly is no place like home.

Finding adventure even in the midst of rain, I joined the throngs of vacationeers on Atlanic Avenue in Virginia Beach and wandered through the shops. Yes, Simon, you were correct. Each store has exactly the same thing. All along the strip for miles, selling the same cheesy t-shirts, "free hermit crab with the purchase of a cage!", shot glasses, sun umbrellas and seashells. One unexpected and enjoyable part of the evening was the many live bands and theatrical acts that were stationed at different places along the street, all posting this sign: Entertainment Provided by the City of Virginia Beach. Thank you, Virginia Beach! What fun to hear everything from Sting covers to drumming on trash cans and some good 'ol Lousinana music. Did I also mention that I found a wonderful (covered) beach cafe with fish n chips, Heineken and live music--guitar and electric violin?

This morning, I ventured out into the downpour to explore a little, find my bearings and basically find something to do other than sit on the beach in the rain. I looked for a Starbucks knowing that sometime today I had to work on my papers that are due tomorrow. I found Regent University, (Wow. quite impressive--Jami, I teared up a little! :P--or was that the rain just stinging my eyes?) downtown Norfolk, a large mall, a ghetto library, but no Starbucks. I just want my coffee and internet!!!

I found one, with the help of the aforementioned librarian (sort of) and just by driving around for a long, long time. Ah, home sweet home. It's sad, isn't it when a Seattle-ite feels so at home in a Starbucks! But truly, the east coast is a much different animal than its western counterpart.

Homegroup BBQ

St. Edwards State Park

Imagination

First time around this morning, I saw a dump truck sitting on the track with the driver's door open, no one around. I jumped in, shut the door, hotwired the thing and drove all over the football field.

Second time 'round the track, the gentleman who operated the truck was sitting inside smoking a cigarette. Seeing my opportunity, I grabbed a two by four, opened the door, whacked him on the head, pulled him out and hijacked the truck, and drove happily off to pick up some fill dirt for my parent's garden.

The third time, I was really making my stride, when I saw the dump truck driver leaning against the front wheel.
"Hey baby, what's shakin' "
"Not much," I said.
He pulled out two cigarettes from his carton, put them in his mouth, lit them both, then handed me one. We spent the next ten minutes talking about the Iraq war and the rising price of gasoline.

Last time around the track and as I passed the dump truck, I yelled out, "Hey Dude! Jesus loves you and wants you to surrender your life to Him!"
The driver was instantly knocked out of the cab by the power of God, fell on his knees, crying out to for mercy on his life.

The early morning walk does clear the head. The sun rises and usually there is an interesting cloud formation over Nike Hill. This morning, while listening to my iPod, I wanted a head scrubbing, the kind where all the remaining thoughts from yesterday are erased, violently. Swinging my arms, and pushing my legs to stretch longer, move faster, I felt it all ease off and there I was, just enjoying the moment. Usually, this is when the Almighty Creator of the Universe says something. I don't always know what to do at this point, except stop, listen, smile, take a breath and keep walking.

You know, sometimes it is best to leave it to the master. Good Job, Jack.

When Lightening Strikes

“Q’est ce qu’un tes basiers?...Une langue de feu”
“What is your kiss?...A lick of flame.”
--V. Hugo

It marks the black clouds;
floating on my back in the pool, watching.

The sharpness, the light and I’m breathless,
remembering that you spoke to me,

about groceries and dreaming.
I felt the sweat, sharp and quick,

It shocked me. Unexpected and unsure
of why or how, I knew that marking,

putting my hand in the flame,
sticking my head under water.

Reading On Writing by Stephen King has not only gotten me laughing out loud, but also I am challenged to re-think my method and approach to writing. He stresses that all important aspect of being a writer. The necessity to read. A lot. "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time to write. Simple as that" (147). Voracious reader. That's what I'd love as an epitaph. Yep.

Another quote from King, "...the big question. What are you going to write about? And the equally big answer. Anything you damn well want. Anything at all...as long as you tell the truth" (158)

Brilliant. Whenever I try to write dishonestly, it's never very good.

Thanks, Stephen.

William loves coffee.

Goodbye to an old friend

Hand and Foot Canasta

Seattle Rain

It is always good to be reminded of who you are. Life trolls along just so normally, but it's too easy to get caught up in circumstances. That's when I forget who I really am and fall into this kind of what am I doing with my life, this is mundane and boring, blah blah blah. Then I get into a funk and oh! all I see is my navel. But then. I am reminded by a conversation or an unexpected adventure of who I am and why I live.

And as my Uncle said this morning..."100 years old with 5 bucks in their pocket and not enough skills to put in a thimble."

If you ever want to know what that means, ask me and I'll send you a CD entitiled "1992."

A few days ago, I went on a walk around the area where I work. I found the colors of the basketball court to be very appealing.

The light from candlelight is so elusive, but pretty and elegant. With the light relfecting on the glass, it makes for a beautiful picture.

Candlelight, Rachmaninoff, and wine. There is definately something about atmosphere. When the days seem so long and full of frustration, a little music does so much for the soul. So do the stars. Looking at the stars and realizing how small I am and how big God is---that's overwhelming in that lovely chill up the spine kind of way. And He loves us! Whoah.

Yesterday I was challenged on my writing. Write more. Write everyday. Yes, I know this. But do I do it? No.

I must. I have to get it in my blood. I'm reading a memoir by Stephen King on writing and it is so useful and pratical. Out of my life, no matter what the circumstances, there are poems and stories.

poems and stories.

Wishes
When the little wishes come true, I think that it's more miraculous than when the big wishes do. Can this past weekend be any more perfect? Probably. But I will say that this weekend has been one of the best that I have had in a while. The reasons WHY:
1. The moon tonight is waxing crescent and low to the horizon.
2. I got a new Ryan Adams CD.
3. Friends and family around a bonfire.
4. Chocolate fountains.
5. Drinking wine and eating expensive h'ors d'ouevres.
6. The joy of a new camera. Digital.
7. Sunday Afternoon nap.
8. Receiving lots of flowers.
9. Being asked to dance by a younger man.
10. Seeing two yellow Ferraris on the freeway, one following the other.

Zion

Suddenly copper roses glow on the deadwood.
I am these because I see them and also see
Abolition, the white smock on a girl
Eating an apple, looking down into
The valley, a small train steaming there.
I go to the uplands to join death,
And death welcomes me, shows me a trailhead,
Foot-tracks overfilled with standing water.
Man has never owned another man here.
Aglow in the shade hang apples free for the taking.
I'm saying that death is a little girl. The apple
There in her hand is God Almighty where the skin
Breaks to her teeth and spills my freedom all over
Sunlight turning deadwood coppery rose.

Donald Revell
Pennyweight Windows: New & Selected Poems
Alice James Books

The days grow longer, the older I get. Maybe it's because this is the first time I really haven't had a summer. I want to keep looking for the small adventures that keep me motivated and sane. What will it be today?

There is always wonder.

"We fly forgotten as a dream, certainly, leaving the forgetful world behind us to tample and mar and misplace everything we have ever cared for."---Gilead (191).

...More from Gilead...."Nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense."

Sorrow and pain, two things that we as humans try to avoid most. In Gilead, Reverend Ames is musing on his approaching death and passing into heaven. "Sorrow seems to me to be a great part of the substance of human life" (104). Without experiencing pain, would we be human? Would we grow? Many like to blame God for the pain and suffering in the world, at least in western thought, but should it be otherwise? Perhaps we should be thanking Him.

Moon Passages

"...And this is something I remember very well. At first I thought I saw the sun setting in the east; I knew where east was, because the sun was just over the horizon when we got there that morning. Then I realized that what I saw was a full moon rising just as the sun was going down. Each of them was standing on its edge, with the most wonderful light between them. It seemed as if you could touch it, as if there were palpable currents of light passing back and forth , or as if there were great taut skeins of light suspended between them. I wanted my father to see it, but I knew I'd have to startle him out of his prayer, and I wanted to do it the best way, so I took his hand and kissed it. And then I said, 'Look at the moon.' And he did. We just stood there until the sun was down and the moon was up. They seemed to float on the horizon for quite a long time. I suppose because they were both so bright you couldn't get a clear look at them. And that grave, and my father and I, were exactly between them, which seemed amazing to me at the time...
--Gilead; by Marilynne Robinson (14-15).

Communion

I was reminded a couple of nights ago of the power of simply enjoying the moment. As some friends from Switzerland were visiting during their 'tour' of the US, we had a little get-together. Mr. Bradford made his famous pizza. We sat, 13 of us, around the table, eating, drinking wine, laughing and enjoying each other. It felt so right, so normal. There is that something about eating together. A communion. An old movie called "Babette's Feast" is about that very thing. Its eclectic and odd, but definitely worth sitting through. Watch to the end, just forget the fish.

Top Ten (Fiction Books)

1. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Probably the best book written in the late 20th century.
2. 'Til We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis
Truly his best.
3. Lilith, George MacDonald
Absolute Wonder.
4. Lord of the Rings, J.R.R Tolkien
I've read this way too many times...
5. The Brothers K, David James Duncan
Any book that can make me laugh uncontrollably and cry (that gut-wrenching kind) deserves a spot and when it's also written well--it makes the top five.
6. Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle
Pure Enjoyment.
7. Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
A book of hope. It's more than just a kid's story.
8. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
It's all about grace, and who can resist a story about second chances?
9. Count of Monte Cristo, Alexander Dumas
I fell in love with this at 15 and it's still got me.
10.Life of Pi, Yann Martel
Just read it.

I tend to drag my feet when it comes to technology, especially with photography. I haven't always liked digital cameras, especially camera phones. I have always held that film will always be better than digital. However, when I see what they are up to at the Gigapxl project, I may have to rethink my stance. The photographs are absolutely amazing, especially the amount of detail they are able to capture.

New York City

I have been told lately by two friends of a store in New York City that sells Hershey's Chocolate. I suppose that because of my recent travels to Switzerland, I now have this aversion to the taste of Hershey's, but it still makes good chocolate milk. I do not think New York is the place for chocolate or salsa, but I would do just about anything to visit Manhattan.

Activism

What defines whether or not a person is an activist? Is it political leanings of ideals, passion and zeal about a subject, attending protest rallies, lobbying in the legislature? Activism is usually associated with leftist paradigms. Activists are seen to tie themselves to old growth trees, swim in front of whaler boats, march in gay-rights parades, attend protest rallies against the war in Iraq. Can a person even be an activist with conservative ideals? Can I have passion against the killing of the unborn, stand for the sanctity of marriage between an man and woman, and embrace patriotism while supporting our President and the men and women in military service in Iraq? I don't think the media would portray me that way. From that description of myself, some would call me a fundamentalist Christian. How can a extremist right wing conservative ever be considered an activist?

I'm reading House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. It's a little like Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker. The author puts layer upon layer into the story, so at times you aren't sure which way you are reading, forwards or backwards. A novel written about an editor who is editing a "paper" written by an old man about a movie made by a photographer who filmed his house...complete with Introduction, Footnotes, (including footnotes on footnotes) Appendices and Index. So far its still "got" me, but chapter V is a bit tough--all that latin and quoting on quotes. Thomas told me that it's not his fault if I have a few sleepless nights...

UPDATE:
I paused in my reading of this when the "house" devoured a person...

Simplicity

1 : the state of being simple , uncomplicated, or uncompounded2 a : lack of subtlety or penetration : INNOCENCE, NAIVETé b : SILLINESS 3 : freedom from pretense or guile : CANDOR 4 a : directness of expression : CLARITY b : restraint in ornamentation : AUSTERITY Merriam-Webster Dictionary

When I get flustered or worried about circumstances, it usually comes out of discontentment. Adventure and excitement are two of my favorite things in life, so the everyday can be unappealing. The everyday. How can that be defined? The everyday is different for each person, but there is a common experience with the everyday that we share with other people in our community, society and culture. It suggests repitition and sameness. There are cycles associated with the everyday. Wake up, shower, eat, drink coffee, drive to work, work, drive home, eat, go to sleep. And each day it is the same. We all have our typical stops during our day, the grocery store, the bank, the gas station, and if you live in Seattle, the espresso stand or Starbucks.

I desire simplicity in life. Everyday life is simple. Then why do I dislike it? Why am I discontent with it? I'd rather be uncomplicated than complicated. Complications are always confusing. Adventure is confusing and complicated. There may be some kind of a "rush" connected to Adventure, but I really couldn't sustain that for a long period of time.

Living a simple, peaceful commonplace life must be a choice. A choice to see the adventure in the small things each day. To notice the way the flowers grow toward the sun, to watch the change of light throughout the day, to enjoy the uniqueness of people I meet throughout the day. Contentment is really the opposite of negativity. When I am critical and negative, I cannot find anything enjoyable about my day and the people in it, but when I choose contentment, I find that people are so beautiful and i find wonder.

There is always wonder.

Some days I doubt my love
For you. Love seems the furthest
From all the pieces of my life.
I’d rather pull a book
from the shelf and find comfort
in pages. I wish for solitude and silence.

When I wait for your letters or
A phone call,
The far away part of loving
Is easier than when you’re right
There waiting when I wake up
In the morning.

Somehow I feel closer to you, when
You’re the furthest from me—I dream
Of walking into the stars
On the nights when the clarity of their lights
Confirm your absence.

In the moments of darkness, I find
That knowing that I love you
Without reassurance of a return
Is the most beautiful thing I know.

Sometimes I doubt I even love you. Or ever did.
I run from you, knowing you will catch me.
Will I ever stop and rest and listen and rest?
I’d rather wait for you—than you for me.

Remember, please?

"..As September 11 fades in the memory, too many Americans feel that it is time to let bygones be bygones. Some now consider Islamic fascism and its method of terror a “nuisance” that will go away if we just come home. We are a society where many of our elite believe the killer bin Laden is less of a threat than the elected George Bush. Al Qaeda keeps promising to kill us all; meanwhile Ralph Nader wants the wartime president impeached for misuse of failed intelligence..."
--from Our StrangeWar, by Victor Davis Hanson


I know that i many times forget 9/11. I forget how I felt as i sat, stunned, in traffic listening to the radio. I forget what it was like to come into work and see the images of towers falling and burning on the internet. The prayer meetings, the candle and flag memorials at Seattle Center and Alkai beach are long gone...So quickly do we drop back into Isolationism.

Yet another reason to stop eating Fast Food.

...Different odors affect the way motorists drive, with fast food scents likely to increase road rage potential and other smells -- like peppermint -- deemed to improve concentration...
from "Oddly Enough"

“I guess all's well that ends well." "I don't care, as long as it ends."
- Statler and Waldorf; The Muppet Movie

...one of the strongest motives that lead men to art and science is escape from everyday life with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever-shifting desires. A finely tempered nature longs to escape from the personal life into the world of objective perception and thought.
--Albert Einstein

Even more in real life... 

Annette Lake Trail, near Snoqualmie Pass 

The Hikers. 

You go, Girl! 

Whaaa? 

Look at that vertical! 

Smash it! 

darling. so darling.

Popsicle Tongue 

James! 

Kels and Jim 

"The sight of the huge world put mad ideas into me, as if I could wander away, wander forever, see strange and beautiful things, one after the other to the world's end."

Til We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis

Wanderlust

It seems that when it comes to the issue of human life, America loses touch with reality.

Tomorrow, the House will vote on a bill "that would order federal funding of stem cell research that requires killing human embryos." National Right to Life

"H.R. 810 would require federal funding of research projects on stem cells taken
from human embryos who are alive today, and who would be killed by the very
act of removing their stem cells for the research -- a practice very
different from that of the human being who dies by accident and whose organs
are then donated to others."

This is just the beginning...Not only will embryos be killed in order to use stem cells, but the bill does not define which embryos cannot be used, so in the future clones can be made and then killed in order to use their stem cells.

While "Germany, France, Norway, Canada, Australia, Switzerland" have all banned cloning, it looks like the US has lost its head again and will push the 'right' to mess with human life. In light of recent events like the Teri Schaivo case and the debate on parental notification for abortions, the US continues to walk further and further down the path to where all right to life will be held in question.

Why not do as some labs are and "recycle" umbilical cord-blood to retrieve stem cells? Why do we have to kill embryos? Why do we have to make clones and kills them in order to get these precious cells? Cells that we want to use to "save" life?

It just doesn't make sense.

"Walking"
Culturally, Americans do not understand the art of walking, or what it means to be a pedestrian. When walking is the first choice of transportation, when everything you need is within a mile of your home, when driving a car is considered inefficient and wasteful, then America will become a walking culture. Our wide expanse of country will never allow Americans to truly experience life as a pedestrian. However, in a country such as Switzerland that fits four and a half times into the state of Washington, with most of the land mass being mountains, expanse is not a well-known phenomenon. In fact, every Swiss person I have met when asked what they thought of the States reply with, “It’s so BIG!”

Walking makes sense in Switzerland. It takes too much time to find a parking spot in the parking lot and then usually you have to pay to park, so why not hop on your bike or walk to the local store? Its only 3 blocks away and there is usually a little pharmacy, a bakery and a restaurant right around the corner. There is no need for a big SUV full of food from Costco when all you have is a small hotel room size fridge in your 4 room apartment. Milk and eggs can be delivered right to your door from the local farmer, you bake your own bread, so the only thing that really needs to be stocked up on is wine, and your husband, every time he has a birthday, gets at least 20 bottles to put up in your cellar.

Biel, where I lived in Switzerland, was about 2 hours from Geneva. During my stay in Switzerland, I visited Geneva about 4 times for various reasons. I found that most people I met from Biel had never been to Geneva, and if they had, it was only one time. “It is just too far,” they would say to me. Imagine that mentality in America. You’d never get anything done!

You can see the affect of living in a small country in all parts of Swiss culture. They have 4 different official languages, but this is ok because as a Swiss person, you rarely leave your village, so you only need to be able to communicate with those people around you. Each Canton, like a province or a state, has its own pronounced dialects within the different languages. The mountains, the disinclination to travel, easy access to everything they need right around the corner, keep the Swiss and home and isolated from each other. You would think that in a small country, it would be easier to stay connected with other people, but it is quite the opposite.

But back to walking—the best thing about walking is noticing things. There is so much to see and look at while you are walking. Also, by being outside, the weather becomes so much more a part of your life. It can be enjoyable to experience weather. It becomes refreshing and invigorating. The exercise you get while walking keeps you fit and trim. Rarely do you see obese people in Switzerland. They can eat tons of cheese and chocolate, but the effect is slim because of their active lifestyle.

If walking doesn’t appeal to you, there are other easy choices of transportation that are just as good such as a scooter or a bicycle. The amount of older citizens riding bicycles amazed me. I don’t think I had ever seen a gray haired woman riding a bicycle until I was living in Switzerland!

Oprah Winfrey recently had a show about a a book called French Women Don't Get Fat, by Mireille Guiliano. The basic premise is that French women don't get fat because they enjoy their life by eating small portions of many different wonderful foods and by walking everywhere. I would say that the Swiss people also have a similar mentality. They have a simpler diet than the French, but the lifestyle is similar. One thing Oprah forgot though is the amount of time that French and Swiss women have to spend in the litchen cooking to prepare so much food to enjoy! That's another thing that American's wouldn't like to do, spend a lot of time in the kitchen.

I have noticed since I have been home here in Seattle is that my amount of walking has declined. If I want to walk to the store from my house, it takes me a half an hour. I don't know how yet, but I am determined to figure out a way to put more walking back into my life. Last year where walking was my main form of transportation, I felt more alive and full of energy than I had in a very long time.

“Hockey”

Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement. Drowsily, half asleep, I found this sound, my Saturday morning alarm clock, soothing and welcoming. Through the open window, the breeze brought a chill made me to wrap up tighter in my blanket and the distant sounds of the outdoor inline hockey game slowly put me to sleep again, until the roar of the fans woke me up again. In Switzerland, inline and ice hockey are big. Not as big as football--or as we call it in the States, soccer—but definitely a major pastime.
Coming out of a meeting one night at the church where I was doing an internship, I stopped in surprise. It was about ten o’clock in the evening and there were cars everywhere. Parked and leaving. People were wandering around, looking for their car. The street was full of cars waiting to pull onto the main road where there was another traffic jam. When I had gone into the meeting, the street was fairly empty. As I was riding my bicycle home, I couldn’t figure out why there was a huge amount of traffic so late at night. The most traffic I had ever seen up to that point was a few blocks of cars backed up at the roundabout each morning and afternoon. I was told later that there was an ice hockey rink or a "Eisbahn" about a kilometer from the location of the church.
The Biel ice-hockey team was a “B” team—A smaller team from a smaller city that would play other smaller cities in Switzerland and other places. However, during my year long stay in Switzerland, The Biel team was quite good and was moving up into the A team leagues. It was quite exciting to hear the rumble in grocery stores and in people’s homes about Biel Hockey. Of course, it was nothing compared to the World Cup excitement, but when a home team is doing well, the whole town ends up feeling the excitement--even foreign visitors, such as myself.
Hockey was not always so fun and friendly. Though the Saturday morning games were sweet sounding and a pleasant way to wake up, the hockey rink across the street in the park was not always so pleasant. Sometime early summer there was a week-long tournament. During the day, it wasn’t so bad, though there was less parking on our street and more cars and people around. The food booths in the park were fun to visit to buy a Bratwurst or a stick of cotton candy. The excitement was catching and all the neighborhood boys spent most of their free-time over at the rink watching the games.
After all the games had been played, the beer tent would fill up with folks and the music began blaring. One night about 3am, I had just about enough of it. I was tired of the bass shaking my bed and pounding in my ears. Earplugs and pillows over the head are no defense against the beat of a techno song turned up to the highest decibel. I went down to the living room, hoping that being on the ground floor would help, but no, it wouldn’t work. It was just as pounding and shaking as up in my 3rd story room, maybe even worse. I poured a glass of wine, hoping that the alcohol would lull me to sleep, but though I got pretty drowsy, I ended up still tossing and turning. I just had to lay there and listen, hoping that sometime in the night, the players and the fans would grow tired or pass out. Amazingly, I did fall asleep sometime around 4am, but woke at 6am to the sound of Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement.

“American in Europe”

As an American living in Europe during the Iraq War and post 9/11, a conversation usually began like this…

“Guten Tag, sprechen Sie englisch?”
“A Liddle, arde ‘oo Anglisch?”
“American. Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Ah, Jah, Ids offer dere. Vat do you dink ov yore Preseedaunt?”

Every time.

Somewhere in the conversation, the question would pop up. My collegues and I enjoyed messing with people.
“Oh, we love our President! We think he is wonderful!”
“Rillee?” They would reply in shock.
Usually, they wouldn’t believe us. I mean who would ever believe that George W. Bush, the evil oil monger urging the murdering of innocent people and who only pushed for the war in Iraq, using the now missing chemical weapons as an excuse, so that he can make millions off the oil industry, is a good President. Who would ever believe that the American people had actually voted him into office?

I was asked once during a phone call home how safe I felt as an American in Europe. My friend wanted to know if I was able to "blend-in" over in Europe. What Americans don’t understand is that it is virtually impossible to blend-in. Americans in Europe are very visible, easy to spot. We walk, talk, smell and look American. If I ordered coffee in German, the reply would come in English. If I spoke in English, they would pretend that they couldn’t understand me, though I knew they understood every word I was saying. We stuck out. We didn’t even try to blend-in. Swiss people are closed to outsiders, Not just to Americans. It is really a result of geography, the circle of mountains that protect them. They are suspicious to anyone who is from a different country, different canton, different village, different church, different language, different family. But I felt completely safe.

Switzerland is one of the safest places I have ever been in my life. Children, five years of age, ride their scooters or bikes to school by themselves. Kids take the bus by themselves. I could go almost anywhere anytime of the day as a woman without being bothered or accosted--The advantage of living in a culture that keeps to themselves. If a stranger talked to me, it was usually because I started the conversation or if I was buying something.

One fall afternoon, a group of us young people went into the city of Biel to do a little community service. We passed out free cookies and hot drinks to the shoppers in the middle of the city. In the States, this is usually quite well received. Americans love free things, especially food. In Switzerland, it was just the opposite. Approaching a stranger with a plate of cookies and an offer of hot coffee, usually made them walk quickly away with eyes averted. Usually our presence was completely ignored, and if we really stepped in their way, they would mumble something and get away as quickly as possible. On guy asked us if we were a Mormon group because there were Americans mixed in with the Swiss. Typically, if you are an American trying to talk to Swiss people in public places, this means you are a Mormon.

Though there was a lot of antagonism toward us, it was more political, than real. Once I was officially introduced to a Swiss person and had established enough of a relationship with them, no matter what differences there may be, I was treated as one of the family. They would bend over backwards in their hospitality. I don’t think I have ever met a more hospitable people than the Swiss. The amount of food given during the course of a meal was incredible. The trick was that in Swiss culture, you must eat everything on your plate or you are considered to be rude. How do you eat everything on your plate, when it keeps filling up? That’s a conundrum I don’t think I ever solved. Swiss people will take you to the most amazing beautiful places that no tourist book could ever lead you to and pay for it themselves. They will wine and dine you at the best restaurants. At the end of your stay, when as a visitor it is polite to leave them with a gift, they stuff money in your pockets or load you up with Lindt chocolates.

How can the Swiss be so hostile to Americans in the political arena, but so hospitable and gracious? I could never truly explain this paradox, except to suggest a trip to Switzerland to experience the post-card unreal beauty that you will find in the landscape and in the people.

The door 

Airshaft

Through the narrow opening, she drops it,
waits for the echo. She will wait.
Grime-smudged face, she hears nothing.

Light crawls down, creeps
through mold, rests on webs.

blunt razors, glass shards, menstrual cloths
trapped—garbage bin, tomb, purgatory.
Conversation floats slowly to the bottom.

You know how girls flirt
Lost his job for being
Gas prices have gone up
I promise, I won’t
Beat his wife, the police
Stop it, please, no
You can’t have her, you know
You know I love you
Even the baby, he was

Words settle
among trash, dirt, secrets.

Dishwasher
This is where they wash the newborns like dishes.
—Annie Dillard

Small heads,
oval, round, pear-shaped,
scrubbed clean by wrinkled hands,
lie above

a line of feet, pea toes
multiplied: bundles of flesh,
side by side by side
on the drain board.

These people coming out,
eyes staring,
what can they tell us?
Their cries are rasping—

All That Remains

I.

Night grows cold. My hands,
crammed into pockets,
fingering torn pages.
Music fills the sky.

The crowd around us,
between us, stomps and shivers
while sap crackles on logs
thrown into fire.

The chord progression didn’t stop
me remembering
before midnight. Moon red
with light, slipping

down behind evergreen.
Your voice cuts,
tearing at stillness.
Stars watch.

You were fingering
something else, wood
and string. Your voice cuts;
the sound stops me.

II.

I stand here remembering,
fingering fragments, slipping.
It was a year ago
and today they brought flowers.

I fingered paper and you,
rope. Coarse and brittle,
it cut your skin.
The moon hung low

and snow fell
onto warm ground.
Your grave, I have never
seen, but I remember you.

They broke the window
to find you
and the glass cut.
I don’t want to remember.

III.

Stillness and snow
were watching stars.
We stood
under blinking lights.

A year ago; we went to see
planes land. We fell into snow.
The planes cut at the stillness,
but your voice stopped me.

I stopped running, after
I fell. I didn’t remember then,
but I remember now.
It was cold,

the stars were cold,
but it is still now.
The stars watch
you sing.

Kisses

She lost one
to gravel beach
littered with
shells, glass

and after (the tide gone)
she noticed sailboats.

She gave one for
a coat:
pious, worn
to church

but, winter
a short time

In her pocket,
the last
clenched by
long fingers.