We stole away for the weekend, just the two of us. The last two years of work travels and graduate school and general Swiss confusion falling away with every turn of the train wheels. Before we left, I told him I had a good, long think. I pulled up the covers on every quiet corner of my heart and made sure there wasn't anything lurking there, anything that might rise to the surface and ruin an otherwise lovely day. He replied with an 'Oh, good', bearing just a hint of sarcasm. There have been a few unfortunate incidents in which my husband believes he is taking me away for rest and relaxation, and I view it as more of a therapy session. Minus the level headed therapist and unbiased opinions.

He asked me if I had any expectations; what I needed out of our time together. I didn't hesitate saying, 'I just want you'. And so we had each other, hand in hand, by the lake, in the sun. We sat on a green metal bench and stared across at the mountains reflecting in the water. I squinted my eyes really tight and imagined I could see our future.


We could be here or there. With a lake and some handholding. The details were fuzzy, but I could see the shape of the future. Him and me, sitting on a bench, dreaming together through gray hair and knotty hands and grown children and grand babies. Maybe there will even be a room with a view.


It was altogether wonderful. As we sat across from each other on the way home, the soft rumble of train wheels underneath and the shadow of white capped peaks above, I knew that I'd gotten exactly what I asked for, and then some.

No therapist required.

This weekend I celebrated my thirty-seventh birthday. Birthdays that fall on the weekend are the best kind of wonderful. Children make homemade gifts and do their best to behave, and husbands clean kitchens and bake knock-off Starbucks peppermint brownies. It so beats having a birthday on a Tuesday.

We crammed heaps of my favorite things into three days, one of which was a hike in the nearby forest. We started out under a cotton ball sky and walked down to a creek bed filled with ice and moss draped stones.

Yesterday I put on my Hot Chilly's, packed the car with three snowboards, one pair of skis, and three reluctant passengers, and drove up a mountain. It was snowing, and the police were pulling some cars over half-way up the mountain and forcing them to park. To say that I was concerned when they allowed me to pass and continue the drive up is an understatement. However, we arrived at the top safely with a few of my nerves still intact. The snow and wind picked up as the four of us fought to get into our gear and to the slopes for our lessons. If you've ever tried to put ski boots on a fussy six year old in a tempest, then perhaps you can understand how close to the edge of sanity I was inching.

A long story short:

Gear on. Instructors located. Brave face, the kids are watching.

Blizzard. Ski lift. Big mountain. A fear of falling.

Falling now. Repeatedly. Instructors laugh.

Oops. Wrong turn. Instructors stop laughing. A walk back up.

Feels familiar.

White out. Can't see. Worried. Kids continue. Mama doesn't.

Day over. Snow swirling. Slippery, slow drive down.

Brave face, the kids are watching.

The moral of this short story? Fear it. Face it. Know when to order a hot chocolate and call it a day.

Even if the kids are watching.

We recently spent a weekend in the mountains, Interlaken to be exact, and I kind of, a little bit, lost my mind and allowed my husband to convince me to go paragliding. I have a confirmed, long standing fear of heights, as well as an aversion to anything that might make me vomit. You can see how this was a difficult decision for me. However, upon learning that my nine and eleven year old children were fearless enough to do it, I signed up. There was no way I was going to let a kid who still likes being tucked in at night out-brave me.



It was glorious, just a wee bit scary, and definitely nausea inducing, but worth every moment. I nearly cried on the way up the mountain when the pilot informed me he had only been flying since May. E turned to me with wild eyes, as I silently devised a way to fling us from the vehicle while not falling off the cliff. After a very awkward pause, he said 'May of 1996'.

Never let it be said the Swiss don't have a sense of humor.



We reached the launch site, and after a running start down the mountain, the wind lifted us above Interlaken for breathtaking views. The currents blew us above alpine forests, lakes and the town below. Just above us, two eagles circled and we followed the pattern of their flight for a true bird's eye view.


I don't know that I would do it again, as it took me about 45 minutes on land to gain a sense of equilibrium back. But to drift to the current of the wind beneath eagles wings was the chance of a lifetime. I'm glad I took it.

Kimberly

PS Photos from the air were taken by husband. I would not have had the presence of mind to do so, nor was I about to release my death grip on the safety handles.

for some photographs. I have been terribly remiss in keeping up with things here. It can be difficult to come up with new ways of saying 'Today I bagged two lunches, ran three loads of laundry, pondered a new way to make chicken appear appetizing, and spent two hours shuttling my kids back and forth'. Rinse and repeat, every dang week. That sounds ungrateful, which it isn't. Just real. I know you understand.

So let's add a little beauty to an otherwise ordinary day shall we? A few weeks ago we took a cogwheel train up to the very top of Mt Rigi, also known as the 'Queen of the Mountains'.



Rigi Kulm is the point from which all of the other mountains in Switzerland are measured. From below the mountain everything was obscured by gray cloud cover, but the beautiful thing about Switzerland is that the sun is always shining further up.

A few weeks ago, when trees still held their leaves and skies did not threaten snow, we spent an afternoon in Zurich.  We were, as always, too loud and too American.  Zurich was, as always, neat and tidy and quiet.  

This trip was a hoot.  Mainly because we sat in a car eating pain au chocolat and baguettes as well as one dodgy meal from a KFC (shame on you France) for twelve hours.  We waited in countless lines for the pleasure of being scared out of our wits.  We were pushed and shoved by lots of Europeans (why can't anyone but the Brits queue properly?), and we got caught in a rainstorm to end all rainstorms.  And we lost a child.  In Disneyland.  With a ridiculous amount of non-English speaking people.  For over twenty minutes.  Yes, my friends, it was a real hoot.

However, in spite of all that, we had such fun.  The proof is in the photos....