Saturday, July 2, 2016
PS WE WON
We won we won, the Italians were favored but Deutschland in Elfmeter!! So much excitement, sparkles all over the hair and singing echoing off the walls ❤️⚽️💛⚽️❤️ The city is exhaustedly ecstatic--can't wait for Iceland to hopefully kick the Frenchies out! And this made me so happy:
On Starts and Trains and Escapes and Life
I am sitting in the Waldbahn, staring out at the beautiful green heart that has mine. There are the duckweed and lily pads on the ponds, lime islands my sister and I used to imagine to be lawn chairs for medium bullfrogs and turtle hatchlings. And the trees so dicht and calm and collected and the grassy forests with the bright faces of wild flowers peering out, ruffling in the breeze. Here, I can always run for hours…It is home, one I leave again. Because leaving is more comfortable than staying still. Wanderlust runs in the family and I've got a wicked bad case. In six hours, I will be in München. Six since train windows are captivating and I'm not about to take a taxi for half an hour.
Writing has been niggling at my brain for a bit. I haven't in years and miss the pressure of throwing up thought on paper and wading through organizing elaborating trimming inventing searching punctuating. Now I teach. I love my children. But extraneous time suddenly becomes for shoveling food, watching Friends and reading a few pages to try to bring my dancing mind to rest. I've only half written a blog before, for my Master’s program, where some of the thrill of writing dies with the whole teaching plus taking classes plus living in a house with hooligans who leave doors open in -20 degree weather and no sleep all the coffee and diet Mountain Dew sort of thing.
Summer. I have a semblance of that crazy time thing. So I get unstuck and I experience and I have something I feel like I can share. And let's be real, I've always loved telling stories and sweaty graffitied absurdly butt uncomfortable Waldbahn seats are not great listeners.
For reference, the summer itinerary after escaping the land of Trump and Hillary:
9 days bei Oma, home in Tabarz
7 days Tuna in Munich and as yet unknown mountains
7 days Croatia because we all want vacations from our vacations
2 weeks English immersion counseloring in Switzerland
4 extra days to wander and a return to the USofA, whereupon we promptly continue avoiding reality in the Smoky Mountains
How taking the train in the summer actually works:
You pay 60 euro to sit on the floor. The thought of someone taking the bag you stashed between a wall and some fake wooden box looking contraption does not cross your mind. You are content listening to Halsey or Beyoncé and staring out the oval door window, while contemplating life. It is gray but it doesn't matter because each day has its beauty.
A man stands in front of me with his water in one hand and ciggie ready for ignition in the other. Hops out the door, puff sounds too delicate…slurp slurp. Stub out, back in. Off we go. The equivalent of chugging a smoke at a two minute stop. Things I will never understand, but also the slow and steady process of killing yourself, mit oder ohne Absicht.
Sometimes, as you sit on a bench outside the train station (because who wants to actually be inside when you can not and breathe in city mixed with flower air rather than BO and old cigarettes)), you see a man with just shorts and nothing else on hop out of a graffitied dark green windowless creeper van? I think his hairy chest must keep him warm. Bold wardrobe choice as the wind starts to whip. Oh hey rain sheet, I see you.
AT LAST. A seat. A little girl dangling over the back of the seat in front of me, completely enthralled and smiling.
Writing has been niggling at my brain for a bit. I haven't in years and miss the pressure of throwing up thought on paper and wading through organizing elaborating trimming inventing searching punctuating. Now I teach. I love my children. But extraneous time suddenly becomes for shoveling food, watching Friends and reading a few pages to try to bring my dancing mind to rest. I've only half written a blog before, for my Master’s program, where some of the thrill of writing dies with the whole teaching plus taking classes plus living in a house with hooligans who leave doors open in -20 degree weather and no sleep all the coffee and diet Mountain Dew sort of thing.
Summer. I have a semblance of that crazy time thing. So I get unstuck and I experience and I have something I feel like I can share. And let's be real, I've always loved telling stories and sweaty graffitied absurdly butt uncomfortable Waldbahn seats are not great listeners.
For reference, the summer itinerary after escaping the land of Trump and Hillary:
9 days bei Oma, home in Tabarz
7 days Tuna in Munich and as yet unknown mountains
7 days Croatia because we all want vacations from our vacations
2 weeks English immersion counseloring in Switzerland
4 extra days to wander and a return to the USofA, whereupon we promptly continue avoiding reality in the Smoky Mountains
How taking the train in the summer actually works:
You pay 60 euro to sit on the floor. The thought of someone taking the bag you stashed between a wall and some fake wooden box looking contraption does not cross your mind. You are content listening to Halsey or Beyoncé and staring out the oval door window, while contemplating life. It is gray but it doesn't matter because each day has its beauty.
A man stands in front of me with his water in one hand and ciggie ready for ignition in the other. Hops out the door, puff sounds too delicate…slurp slurp. Stub out, back in. Off we go. The equivalent of chugging a smoke at a two minute stop. Things I will never understand, but also the slow and steady process of killing yourself, mit oder ohne Absicht.
Sometimes, as you sit on a bench outside the train station (because who wants to actually be inside when you can not and breathe in city mixed with flower air rather than BO and old cigarettes)), you see a man with just shorts and nothing else on hop out of a graffitied dark green windowless creeper van? I think his hairy chest must keep him warm. Bold wardrobe choice as the wind starts to whip. Oh hey rain sheet, I see you.
AT LAST. A seat. A little girl dangling over the back of the seat in front of me, completely enthralled and smiling.
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