Hark and be of good cheer!
A kind, eccentric writer lives here!
Some serious works, some silly rhymes
Show the passing of life times
Stories therein, some words too
Poetry for the fanciful of you
Read on, good soul, and may you smile
And stay herein for quite a while
- Created By toratiger
Alpsnacht, what?
Okay, so I love Switzerland. The people are a bit cold but, well, it is Europe. WE invaded THEIR space with our rude and obnoxious behavior, but to be fair their main industry IS tourism. Just saying.
So today we went to Luzerne, which is home of an amazing lake and an impressive view, following our morning church service. After two train rides that added up to about three hours we arrived in town, got tickets for something we didn't know much about, and headed off. All we knew was that we had to take a bus, gondola, cable train, and boat. Do you see how many things could go wrong here?! We managed to make it off the bus at the same stop (all 28 of us) and get up the narrow street without getting run over, which was a miracle in and of itself. The gondola, as it turned out, was to go up into the alps, and quite high into those alps I might add. The initial glass cage we were trapped in--I mean invited into fit four people with surrounding windows. The views were marvelous, and I don't think pictures quite did them justice. Let me try to convey the awesomeness of those mountainsides. The trees were taller than our cables in places and thin as a five-year-old, the faces of the mountains were jagged like they'd been sculpted with a razor, and the height climbed into the clouds. We did NOT get off at the first stop because apparently the goal was to get to the top of Pilatus, the mountain we could not see due to clouds. We got off at the second stop where the small gondolas turned around (the bottom was out of the question-- we were going on bravely) and were crammed like sardines into a bigger, standing-room-only car with glass from floor to ceiling. For the record, when that car crests the first ridge in that mountain, it accelerates as well as swings. There was a shriek from inside the car that nearly deafened me. Then we arrived at the top of Pilatus--7,000 feet up.
The visitor center was spacious, and there was an outside viewing area upstairs. It's kind of freaky to watch the clouds roll through a platform, not gonna lie. There was this set up of rings and mats that we guessed (accurately was for a gymnastics show. Soon the whole platform was split in half by caution ropes. First some old yodelers sang (good, but soft-- I don't think I got them yodeling on video, just them mouthing the words). Then some gymnasts warmed up. Finally, they performed. Oh man. They were good and the guys were all hot and worth seeing. Doesn't hurt that they were setting a WORLD RECORD with that show. First gymnastics team to perform at that altitude. They beat the record by a couple of thousand feet.
Next was the cable train down. Good pictures, funny (sleepy) friends, and the gentle rocking of the car made for a wonderful ride. There were several tunnels chiseled out of the mountainside, literally. It was quite impressive and very dark with the occasional rustic window. Four of us Americans ended up sitting next to four German-speaking Europeans. They laughed with us when one of our friends fell asleep on the rolled-down window and inadvertently nodded into the glass. Priceless. Anyway, we eventually did pull up to Alpnacht... Alpennacht... Oh, I don't remember. Something like that.
We got off the train, thanked the attendants, and ran to the boat, making it there about two minutes before cast-off. Apparently the ticket place where we bought the Pilatus tickets didn't think we'd make the boat. Well we did, so, ha! We took lots of pictures and had a grand old time on the second floor until the ticket collector gently reminded us that we had second-class tickets... and therefore did not belong there. Eh, downstairs was crowded, but the water was so wonderfully clear that I did not mind as much as in a muddy-brown lake somewhere in America. It was then that I listened to the Moonlight Sonata, or Bach's Sonata 14 in C# minor, with the lake that gave it its nickname. It was quite stellar, I gotta say. Sure, it was daylight and not moonlight, but what could I do?
We got off the boat after almost an hour and ended up back at the train station in Luzerne where we had started. Our leader showed us this old bridge from like the 15th century (well, it has been rebuilt because wooden bridge plus plethora of smokers = not good for preservation)with beautiful flower-boxes, paintings, and old stone tower included. That was worth the walk. I hope the pictures turn out.
Well, unfortunately our time had run out. After (unsuccessfully) trying to find groceries for the LONG train ride tomorrow, we met up at the rendezvous point and headed back to Bern. Y'know, you'd think we'd be tired after this long day of adventure, and you'd be right. We went straight back to the hotel after finally finding our groceries and started making plans for bed. Then my mom got this bright idea to find apple strudel since this was our last night in Switzerland. She found it near the bear pit (long story as to why this was funny that I might tell at another time) and as she was discussing it with our desk-lady (who furnished us with bus tickets our first day here) the lady called the restaurant and made us reservations. So the clothes went back on and the group headed out for late-night strudel.
It was delicious.
Next Stop Uttigen
So, for those of you unaware, I am currently in Switzerland. Switzerland is not the most jumping place in the world, I mean, it's considered a relaxing holiday spot here in Europe. Their main industry is tourism and adventure sports. So today we went to this place called Interlaken, which is this neat little town squished between two gigantic lakes. From there we decided to splurge on a ticket to a different train into the alps.
The alps were incredible. After my friends took a picture with a carabineer-mug hooked on his ear (don't ask), we decided to get lunch in this cute, I mean uber cute, town called Grindelwald. The place was tiny, and the main event there must have been skiing, as most of the shops we walked by were ski supply shops. We then climbed up the mountain-- and I mean straight up, by the way-- on a cog-wheel train. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L. We then got off at the top of the train route at Jungfrau. The draw for Jungfrau is that the Top of Europe is located on one of the five peaks nearby. You can see the Matterhorn from that place. I unfortunately couldn't stay long because my friends wanted to make it to the next town without waiting a half-hour. It was fine, I just have to find a post card or something with those mountains labeled. I can't spell the next town name, but it's the place with the cable car that goes up to the Schilthorn, or the James Bond mountain. My friend couldn't do that, though, because the car was not running today. We ended up catching the next available train back to Interlaken anyway because the Castle at Thun, which was my treat for the day, closed at five according to our information. It was almost four.
So we time it just right and hop the train to Thun. We get out and start seriously speed-walking (have you ever tried to run with a backpack on in a cobble-stoned area?) towards the castle spires. It was really inspiring. We probably shouldn't have crossed some of the streets in the manner we did, but hey, we're not in Switzerland every day. So we tried to go as straight as we could to the castle, but the streets were not laid out in a way as to make it easy. We ended up passing the castle, going all the way around it, up some stairs, down a few other stairs, up another flight of stairs, and under an archway just to get to the main courtyard, and the ticket desk was inside the wall to our right. Only then did we discover that they had already closed. Something about an event, which may have to do with this being their 750th anniversary. It was on our way down that we found the staircase that led to the street we had walked the length of to find the entrance. Whatever. Then we had one thing on our mind-- finding a place to sit down. We wandered in circles for a bit, and an old petite lady whacked me in the arm because I almost ran over her (she gave me a glare that could toast bread, so I didn't feel as bad as I should have). Soon after the grumpy old-lady thing, we decided to seriously look for some food.
Pizzerias are fairly common in Europe and, let's be honest, Switzerland is close to Italy. We found two pizzerias, and though I had had pizza for lunch, I was very willing to sit down to some good Italian food. Boy did we make the right choice-- it was an excellent location next to the crystal-clear river with a view of scenic town-scape and swans (though I thought the swans wanted to pickpocket my backpack. I had an excellent tomato soup that only cost, like, ten bucks. It was wonderful, and I don't usually like tomato soup.
We were very tired still and had seen most of what we wanted to see, so we decided why not go back to the hotel in Bern. As we were standing in the train station discussing schedules, a train pulled in that said Bern on it. It wasn't the type of train we took from Bern, but we felt that if it was going the same way, who cares? It was only after we were seated in the second level (trains seem to be double-decked a lot) that one of my friends got this weird, panicked look on his face. His eyes got a little wider and he fumbled into his backpack for our Eurail Pass. He muttered to me that it was the wrong train. He got up and found the rest of our group and gave them the heads up-- we were getting off at the next possible stop. He sat down next to me when we heard this tik-tik-tik noise down below. I was pretty sure he'd blow a gasket, especially when I informed him the noise came from downstairs. Hey, he asked. Ticket collectors go down the train to see who has a ticket, and they often carry hole punches, so you know where his mind went. Thankfully we got to the next stop, Uttigen, before he collapsed of fright.
Uttigen, you have to understand, is a tiny station with two tracks running through it and an unmanned station. There was no town that we could see, just a platform with one set of tracks on each side. It was not a place one expected the national railway system to stop. Several of those big trains did pass us, but they didn't slow down. This meant that every train that passed was deafening. My panicked friend soon discovered that he had reacted too quickly to the situation-- the sub-line that we had ridden on was owned by the national railway. It was just a smaller train run by a smaller sub-company. The next train was in 40 minutes, so we had fun waiting by telling jokes and discussing the reactions of the four personality types to this situation: a sanguine would laugh, a choleric would yell, a melancholy would cry, and a phlegmatic wouldn't really care. We got on the next train and rode with no problems to the train station in Bern, though we approached it from a different angle than normal and thus were uneasy about the drop-off location at first. We got back to the hotel and have pretty much crashed after our alpine adventures.
Do you blame us?
Checking in
Hey y'all!
I'm just popping by to see how everything's going. I may not be on in a while, as I leave for Europe in exactly one week (!!) and internet access is not guaranteed. I will try to keep writing, though, and I will hopefully post some of my shorter works on Sunday. I love you all, and thank you for reading and appreciating my writing.
God Bless!
Disney Dreams
“We’re following the leader, the leader, the leader!” Singing at the top of her lungs, Rosey marched gleefully down the middle of the crowded Disney path. Her family was on a vacation dreamed about for months, a time filled with Disneyland and distant relatives native to her hometown of Los Angeles. She had moved when she was five, two whole years ago. That was forever in a seven-year-old mind. Now she was in her favorite place to be: Disneyland.
She was leading her family towards the rafts for Tom Sawyer’s island, having immediately taken up the position of leader. Now she was marching, a general in her own mind. Like General Hathi in Jungle Book, she strode with no thought to who was behind her, or where they went. Something told her to check for them.
As she turned around, she realized she had no idea where they had gone. Her entire family was gone, simply vanished from the crowded park. The noises faded all around her as her heart raced, flying with Peter Pan to Neverland, as terror finally sunk in. She was alone. Alone in Disneyland.
One man stood still among the bustling families jostling around, rushing for lines that were way too full. He had wispy white hair, a kind face, and a ramrod straight back. He smiled at Rosey, putting her at ease immediately. Then his eyes widened as he looked behind her. Without moving his mouth or anything, she heard a voice that was his. Run. She whirled around again. Men were moving in from both sides. She looked at the old man. Run, Rosalind.
Run. She sprinted down the street, too young to wonder who the strange old man was, or why she was being chased. When her father found her at the docks of the Tom Sawyer rafts, she was surprised that he dismissed her story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Who were the men after you, Rosey? What did they look like?” Asked a man across the desk. He was in a grey fitted suit, with rumpled up hair and her daddy’s glasses. He was sitting in a worn-out chair that had stuffing coming out of the arms and holding a notepad and pen, poised to scribble. He scribbled a lot, especially at the randomest times during a meeting. The desk had smudges on the glasstop, her fingers drawing maps and squares in the oily residue. She came in here once a week to talk to the man, and he asked her the same questions each time. She memorized the room, the spot on the ceiling tile that looked like Mickey Mouse, the stain on the wall that looked like Tigger. She didn’t like the striped thing on the wall, the one that was supposed to “put her at ease.” It looked stupid to her, too plain and boring.
“They were bad guys. They looked at me like Shere Khan looked at Mowgli. I think they were pirates.” She said again—always the same answer. She used different villains to make it interesting, but nothing could tell her they weren’t pirates. Hadn’t anybody watched Peter Pan? Pirates take little kids!
Her answer obviously disappointed the man in the suit. He sighed and started picking at the end of the armrest, wearing what little thread was left beyond what it could handle. Little hairs sprouted from them, a few more each visit. Eventually one thread would have more hairs than thread and snap, it would go.
“Okay… And this old man. What did he look like?” He smiled that fake smile adults get when you don’t say what they wanted you to say, like smiling makes a kid more cooperative. Rosey picked at her fingernails; they were far too dirty and grubby for a princess.
“Tall, old, white hair, kind eyes, and I told you his name is Oswald.” She had, of course, seen him since Disneyland. As it turns out, magic isn’t just in California or even in a theme park. Magic is anywhere you believe it, and Rosalind believed more than any other little girl. She was sure she heard Tinker Bell in the night, and Oswald had told her when she got back to Maryland that no one would believe in him. He took her by the hand and led her through recess, explained deeper meanings and life lessons to her, and kept her company during her lonely hours. The other kids denied he existed—they made fun of her. That’s why no one came to her aid that day.
“Oswald… yes… I see…” The grey-suited man scribbled with his over-runny pen with his ink-stained fingers. “So, why do you think these men and… Oswald… Showed up at the same time?” It was her turn to sigh. Twisting her charm bracelet that her father had given her last Christmas with Tinker Bell and Ariel and Belle on it—all the important ones, really—she looked up at him with dull eyes.
“I told you—they’re pirates, so they take kids.” Seriously, no one paid attention during Peter Pan. The man scratched his head and scribbled some more, and continued to pick at the arms of his chair. “Besides, since then there’s been a tiger in my back yard and a pink cat in my tree. I know you won’t believe me—Oswald said you wouldn’t.” The man rubbed his temples, then his eyebrows, then his eyes, and finally drew his hand down his face, which drooped in defeat. The clock ticked too loudly, and he adjusted his tie tighter and matched his fingers up in that reserved adult way that says “I’m about to say something profound.”
“So, does Oswald visit you a lot?”
“Yes. He plays with me and we take walks.” She nodded to herself, bobbing her pigtails and bouncing her feet as she fingered the Aurora charm. “But you don’t believe me, so it don’t matter.” She looked up at him with her blue eyes dulled with boredom.
“Doesn’t,” her mother would say. “It doesn’t matter.” This man never corrected her grammar, but that made it worse. Rosey could hear her mom anyway, correcting her grammar, telling her to get her head out of the clouds, berating her to do her homework. Oswald said that some adults forgot magic long ago. Those adults don’t see the point of dreams. He also said that other adults remember magic, but outgrew it. These adults are worse—they make the dreams seem shallow, like a pretty black and white dress with flowers all around it and a flouncy skirt that one day can’t get over your head and disappears from your closet. You wish you had the dress, you remember it fondly, but as you get older you think to yourself how tight it was and how itchy it could be, and say oh well I don’t care anymore when you really do. At least, that’s how Oswald explained it. It made her smile—her dress was getting rather tight when it disappeared. Maybe Mother had some sense after all. Rosey did know one thing. She knew she never would outgrow magic—it was so wonderful!
“Rosey, you’re getting older. Soon you’ll have to let go of Oswald and the pirates.” He said it. He finally said it. Rosey sighed and kicked her feet. How could you let go of a friend? The stuffy man looked at the clock and his face relaxed. “Our time is up for the week, I’m afraid.” He stood up with a Ken doll smile and opened the door for her. She skipped out of the office, her dress and curls bouncing with her and her little shoes clicking on the tile floor. She hurried to recess, her weekly meeting over at last.
You know he means well. They are trying to explain why Reggie did what he did. Yes, Reggie had shoved her, and yes, something snarled at him. He had screamed that she bit him, but she would remember that, wouldn’t she? No kid in the yard was going to defend her. They didn’t like her.
Sometimes there were whispered conversations in her house. “No friends” “worried” “long enough.” Her parents would argue these statements repeatedly. They obviously had conversations with the suited man. They talked the same way.
The school wanted to make sure she was “safe.” She squirmed at the thought. She was safe—and she wasn’t just a dumb kid!
No, she wasn’t about to tell the school that the tiger in the bushes was her friend, or that Reggie was a mean kid who shoved everybody and deserved to go to the principal’s office crying about how Rosey was a menace. Anyone with common sense knows that Tigger couldn’t hurt anyone.
I want to show you something. Oswald was standing at the edge of the playground. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat. It’s almost time to say goodbye. No, I won’t, she wanted to say. I will never say goodbye. You’re growing up. I will never grow up! I said soon. We still have time. Let’s go exploring, Rosalind. Rosey took Oswald’s strong, weathered hand and walked into the woods once more, wondering what new sights were in store this week. She knew he would always be there. He was going to be her true friend. No one believed her, of course. No one ever would.
Every Time
Every time
Every word
Prepared and crafted with care
Smoothly sailing in sculpted lines
This is what I meant to say
This is what I meant to portray
But dry and dull and drawn
All I have done
Has withered with the time
Has faded into
What I call failure
Can I escape this feeling of guilt?
This ruthless sense of incompetence?
This overwhelming sense of unworthiness?
Am I meant to wallow here, too afraid?
To fail again
To fall again
To cry again
That I won’t even say what needs be said
Smoothly sculpted sailing lines of words
Have scattered in this broken breeze.
{written a while ago. just found it}
