I have a bone to pick with Mother Teresa

Four years ago, I memorized it in German, then English because of her. Darn nuns with angelic faces. Darnit! They get me every darn time. I can’t even use appropriate curse words.

The poem is either called “Do it Anyway” in English*or “Trotzdem” in German. Do not write me and say, “She didn’t really write it.” Fine, she probably didn’t. See the little star at the end of this.

NEVERTHELESS, we have to love people, show them our best, surround them with light…even though they are not deserving.

Yadayada. Isn’t that what God is for? Isn’t He supposed to be in charge of doling out grace? I really can’t do it.

Last Sunday, at Mass, “We are called to turn the other cheek not only because we are instructed to, but also because the world needs it from us,” Ruth informed us.

I hate it when Ruth is speaking to me even though she thinks she’s speaking to the entire congregation at Franziskanerkirche in Luzern. It’s so embarrassing. I’m sure they all know I am her favorite.

Moving on, I get the whole “being a good person” and “turning the other cheek” thing. But, here’s the crux – I’ve done that a sold 75% of the time. Here is how it has left me: stressed, broke, disappointed, broken-hearted. Listen up world, it’s 2014. Maybe I’m ready to stop turning the other cheek and start showing humanity the cheek to kiss, know what I’m sayin’? I’m sick of this.

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered; Forgive them anyway.

Whatevs.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway.

La la la la…I can’t hear you…

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway.

Stop that!

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway.

Seriously, that’s enough.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

Augh. Okay, cheek turned.

Why? Not because I’m Catholic. Not because I’m stupid or blonde (it’s probably grey underneath this mess anyway) or because Ruth read the poem a long time ago.

It’s because I’m lucky.

I was born in the United States. I was handed a FREE education by my mother and father. I was handed a FREE spiritual foundation by the men and women who raised me in Dallas. I was given almost 3 decades with my grandparents, sister, and brother in my almost everyday life. In Switzerland, I have struggled…but I have loved this country, been loved by the Csendes family in good times and bad, been loved by friends.

The trick is finding the balance between being a punching bag/ doormat and being an arrogant “I’m an island” jerkface.

As this website says, “woman under construction.”

That I am. BLERG! Thanks a lot, MT. You and your kindness. Augh.

It was never about you and them anyway.

WHATEVER! 🙂

* OR “The Paradoxical Commandments,”  written by Dr. Kent M. Keith – I tend to go with the research, which supports Mother Teresa had it on her wall, but did not write it.

Domestic violence

In 2009, I was the victim of physical assault by the man I loved.

I am a well-educated, kind, charitable, positive person. I come from a wealthy family, I speak multiple languages, I have 5 University degrees. I am a devout Christian, I practice Buddhism, and I am physically fit.

About a year ago, I watched a TV show about domestic violence and felt called to write what I will write now, but I was still too ashamed. Last night, a good friend in the States wrote to me. She knew I’d worked at Genesis, which is a shelter for battered women and children, (genesisshelter.org) since the age of 17 and currently volunteer at a shelter in Luzern. She wrote to me looking for sympathy and help.

I give you sympathy and empathy.

I am someone who has always worked tirelessly with women and children (and some men) who suffer domestic abuse (mental and emotional, as well). I heard countless stories involving frying pans to the head, telephone wires being used to whip and/or bound, hot oil used to scald, knives used to disfigure. You name it, from the years of 1993-2009, I had heard it. I’d been told the signs, I “knew” what to avoid.

The most important thing I can say is that I stand in solidarity with millions of women and men against domestic violence. Black women, white women, single women, married women, CEOs, stay-at-home moms, women from big families, women with no family. Violence does not care who you are.

The second most important thing I can say is how I got out of the flat that night without losing my life.

My hope, in sharing the paragraph below, is that every woman who has never experienced an act of physical violence will read this and take it in. You do not have three seconds to waste with “is this happening to me?” The answer was given when the question was born. The only information you need to know is “how do I get out of this situation?” Here is how I did it.

During the attack, I was dealing with a person in a state of rage. I was immediately immobilized after being pulled out of bed, in a deep sleep, and landing on my left kneecap. I knew my physical mobility was compromised, so I would need to be “allowed to leave” (fully or semi-immobilizing injuries are common). I stayed as calm as possible and I did not speak (also common that your voice will aggravate). After a rather swift blow to the head, he paused. I sensed he might be amenable to hearing my voice. I calmly and quietly asked him if he would ALLOW me leave (giving him the “respect” he deserved). He agreed and I left.

I was lucky.

In 2013, according to the DOJ, there were approximately 960,000 cases of domestic violence. 25% of women in the States suffered an episode of domestic violence last year. Every day, on average, three women were murdered by their partners. The health costs of domestic violence last year averaged 5.8 billion dollars. Over 6 million children witnessed domestic violence last year. Little boys saw “this is how men handle anger.” Little girls saw “men do this when they are angry.”

Only a dozen people, including a medical doctor and a therapist, know the entirety of what I’ve just shared. I do not believe keeping quiet has helped me or allowed me to help others.

I am open to any and all communication regarding this post, if I can be helpful.

In the States:

National Domestic Violence Hotline (in the States)

1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

In Switzerland:

Case of emergency: 117 and say it is domestic violence (remember “haus” and “Gewalt” if you can and ask for someone who speaks English)

http://www.frauenhaus-schweiz.ch (Click the Union Jack to read info on leaving. Next, on the left side of the home screen find your Canton, click on CONTACT TELEPHONE NUMBER)

 ***

Update: I have had four women and one of my guy friends write to me, since I posted this blog 6 hours ago, to ask me about any signs I might have seen before this event. Were there signs? What were they? I isolated these back in 2009 with my therapist.

-extreme and unpredictable responses to mundane, daily occurrences (ex: 5 text message in a row when I didn’t answer my phone ending in some broad statement like, “Clearly, you don’t care about me anymore.” This was showing me he couldn’t control his emotions.)

-my friends and family did not “approve” of him (He would say, “Nobody likes me because of xyz. I am so lucky I have you because you accept me.” This was demonstrating his desire to manipulate and isolate me.)

-“joking” about sexist behavior with our friends and also in front of his work colleagues and speaking badly about past loves (This was showing a fundamental disrespect toward women.)

-drinking excessively (This was demonstrating a lack of self-restraint.)

-“shaming” behavior (Again, lack of respect for me and others.)

-lack of long-term friends and family (He ostracized his own friends and family for a reason.)

***

Update September 12, 2014

Recent events have raised awareness regarding domestic violence (violence from a partner/spouse/loved one).

I was fortunate to have the resources (financial, family, work, therapeutic, medical, etc.) to leave an abusive situation. I was also fortunate to know, thanks to Genesis, no one is allowed to hit me for any reason. I was very clear about that in my head.

Because we have all lost loved ones, we can have compassion for anyone who must severe a relationship with a loved one.

My steadfast prayer is that all women will someday be very clear that abuse is not a way of expressing love. Not under any circumstances. It certainly makes it somewhat easier to let go of an abusive relationship when you realize it was not loving.

I would also urge any woman, as I’ve said above, to seek immediate refuge if she has been the victim of physical assault. Call your local police or contact a trusted friend or family member.

 

 

 

Switzerland’s February 9th vote, one expat’s opinion

I’ve taken a few days to gather my thoughts together.

I take the vote very seriously, I take Switzerland’s future very seriously. I do not mean to offend anyone with my opinions below. I hope I haven’t done so. Okay, I’m fine with offending Sarah Palin, to be fair. I’ll ask forgiveness at Mass on Sunday. In Luzern. Who voted “yes.”

By the way, many of my Swiss friends did vote and they voted emphatically “no.” Monday morning, I received a rose in my mailbox that said, “Kanton Zürich- definitiv NEIN.”

The vote in question was another SVP (basically Switzerland’s version of the Tea Party) initiative to limit the presence in Switzerland of working foreigners. Just to be clear, the SVP is more than pleased to have traveling foreigners (with documented dates of departure) spending tourist money. Swiss people vote on initiatives throughout the year and this was not the first, nor will it be the last, such initiative in the past few years.

Everyone blames Blocher (he’s a smart version of Sarah Palin) and calls this blatant racism. They question why in the hell the more liberally-minded people didn’t vote in Cantons like Bern, Schaffhausen and St. Gallen. Some Swiss think the constant initiatives and anti-foreign/Muslim ads are creating a sort of disgusted apathy amongst liberal voters. It is something I hear over and over again from Swiss people, “There is no way this will happen, I don’t need to get involved.”

Yes. Yes, it will. Yes, it did.

Is it racism? Is it clear-cut xenophobia? Look at the attached poster put forward by the SVP. It was defiled by “no!” and Nazi symbols. Why? It is telling Switzerland to stop the “mass immigration,” the “healthy tree of immigrants” is seen eating our beloved Swiss flag and map, and it is doing so in the colors of red, black, and white. IMG_1412

Last night’s dinner with one of my favorite Germans was difficult. “Racist Nazi propaganda…even the colors,” he said with his big, beautiful head in his hands. I just wanted to give him and all Germans and Austrians working and living here an apology. Wie peinlich und grausam mit diesen Farben zu manipulieren. Mehr als “Schade.”

Swissies and expats say “Sorry LA” because they know how deeply it affects me. These posters and this initiative killed me. There is no one who loves this country more than I do. Every day, I have fought like hell to support it. I am a foreigner and I would never “eat away” at Switzerland. I would do anything for this country and I sacrificed a great deal to do so. The same can be said for the expats I know living and working here.

If I thought Sunday’s vote would make for a stronger Switzerland, I would keep my mouth shut. Switzerland, Blocher, even ME…we all want to protect the culturally-integrity of this land. I am 100% in favor of protecting Switzerland, the Swiss, the industries, etc, which is why Sunday’s vote is difficult for me to stomach because it does not protect Switzerland. As an American, I can say three things without hesitation. Pissing off the EU = not good. Being seen as a racist country = not good. Myopic political agendas blatantly ignoring the economic and social implications of their mandates = toxic.

Al Gore wrote a brilliant book, The Assault on Reason, examining the use of the brain’s emotional response to advance certain political agendas via images.

If you are a devout Catholic farmer in a small village in the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland and you saw this poster…

                                        bald-1-million-muslime-mit-islamophobem-inserat-gegen-eu-einwanderung-127604316

                                                                                                                                                                          …how would you have voted?

I love Switzerland. I like Blocher (I agree with him more often than not). I continue to love, through gritted teeth, all my beloved Swissies that keep telling me “this” isn’t going to happen. Why? Because we all want the same thing: a strong, healthy life for Switzerland and the people living here.

Swissies be clear. “This” is going to happen. There just might be a day when this beautiful, resourceful nation becomes a living version of “The Prince.” The expats you want, ones that will really acclimate and help grow your economy, will be replaced by expats coming with one sole purpose: making millions and getting the hell out of Switzerland. The majority of expats I’ve talked to for the past few days feel personally insulted by this vote. It’s hard, even for me and I can make almost ANYONE love Switzerland after 5 minutes, to speak up in favor of what happened.

Both the US and Switzerland really have enough wealth and resources to manage immigration issues with a bit more humility and acknowledgement of what the foreigners do to make the economy thrive.

A broken perfume bottle, a 60-year old necklace breaks, and “are you freaking serious?!”

When Mimi died, there were only a few things I wanted immediately: a simple gold band (I have worn it every day since she died), a tiny perfume bottle that had her “smell,” a strand of white beads with matching earrings, and one of her paintings I loved.

The morning of Mimi’s funeral we were busily preparing ourselves for both the funeral and the reception, which would be at our house. I have to say, I was a wreck. I was trying really hard to hold it together for Pop (and my dad), but I truly couldn’t believe we’d lost her. Mimi was everything to us. More than a grandmother. Beauty Queen, soft skin, amazing laugh, nurturing, smart…I could go on for days. She was a true “10.”

Anyway, the morning of the funeral, I was at Mom and Dad’s house coming down the stairs with my music in one hand and Mimi’s little perfume bottle in the other…yep. Perfume bottle flew out of my hands and shattered in the middle of the foyer.

Last Monday evening, for the first time ever, I wore Mimi’s beads to a party (Mad Men themed). I arrived at the venue (super cool store called “Urban Bliss” in Zürich), took two pictures, and then without any warning…yep. I felt dozens of beads fall down my dress, scattering all around me.

Mimi would say, “Princess Wawie (or “sweet girl,” she liked both names for me), tell them this is not a grey cloud story!”

I assure you, it is not a grey cloud story. Mimi and I will continue to amaze you.

When the perfume shattered two amazing things happened. First, the shattered perfume had a healing effect because I was covered in it all day (smelling like her) AND the foyer was really covered in it. When we returned from the funeral, it was as if she was there! The scent was so strong and literally greeted every person as he/she walked in the door. Second, when the bottle shattered I really lost it. Momma took me in her bathroom and wiped away my tears. She saw how important it was to me, so she took a small bit of the perfume and shopped around. Unable to find an exact match, which was all she would settle for, she finally went to a perfume manufacturer in New Orleans, I think, and had one made. FOR ME. Two blessings from something broken.

Now, when the necklace broke, this was a serious thing. I have a major back injury. When it broke? I thought, “Are you freaking serious?” because there was no way I could bend down and pick up the beads from my dead grandmother’s necklace. I almost cried. Before I could? My friends all dropped to their knees and recovered every bead. Here’s the other kicker, that necklace didn’t break when I was walking or on the train or on the tram getting to the party. It waited until I had friends around me to help me. Yes, that is what I said. A 60-year old necklace literally appears to have waited to break.

Mimi sent me a reminder. She’s done it before with the perfume. Something very important might look broken and beyond repair. We may want to scream out, “Are you freaking serious?!” Take a breath.

“There is hope even in the break, sweet girl.” Hope for healing, hope for seeing who loves you when something breaks, hope for possibility for a new approach, hope for new packaging, hope.

Always that.

pre-break...
pre-break…
also pre-break
also pre-break

 

Hospice of Grand St. Bernard

1049. Anyone remember what you were doing? The Hospice du Grand St. Bernard was born in 1049.

The printing press was invented ca. 1440. The telephone in 1876 and the light bulb shortly after that. Penicillin in 1944. Apple Macintosh was invented in 1984. Charlie Loh was born in 2002. I mention these things to point out just how many years the Hospice has on most of us.

The Hospice du Grand St. Bernard is a pilgrimage site. It is the meeting place for pilgrims on a physically-exhausting journey (the Via Francigena “Canterbury to Rome”). They have found evidence linking Grand St. Bernard to the Bronze age and the road truly dates back to the Roman Empire. The modern day Hospice du St. Bernard was named for Saint Bernard of Menthon. The original intent, as I understand it, was to protect the treacherous pass from bandits and to provide shelter to those passing through Switzerland into Italy via the Alps (or vice versa).

Why is she writing about this?

Because. In “Before You,” Emily and Daniel don’t go to Simplon. They go to the Hospice du Grand St. Bernard. I was encouraged to change the name and I’m correcting that mistake. There is no reason to hide the name of this amazing, spiritual place. I am proud to say that GSB is one of the many spots in Switzerland I have found where people are accepted as they are to find shelter, warmth, and peace. God bless GSB.

The St. Bernard dogs? They saved countless lives. The canons living at the Hospice would brave horrible conditions with the dogs to save those caught in the snowstorms. These calm, docile creatures have chests bigger than most people I know. I was amazed to see footage of them in snow. They, quite literally, swim through the snow. Saving lives. The Canons serving the congregation and pilgrims at GSB? They save lives, too. They saved mine.

The Canons, the pilgrims, and the volunteers all work together to create a place where God is center stage. Yes, we keep Canonic order at GSB, but the God we pray to is a universal God. A loving God. We sing Taize, we eat together at a communal table. Much to my shock (I literally had to leave), most people eat, sleep, and yes undress in communal rooms. GSB is a place of peace, of reflection, of rest, of humility.

Of service.

On March 2nd in Zürich, I will sing a benefit recital (my collaborative pianist is Dorothy Yeung) to help raise funds for the campaign to keep GSB “serving” for centuries to come. If you feel so inclined, donate to the account below. Donate generously. We are all pilgrims.

We all need saving. Even the place that quietly and humbly serves so many.DSC01829

Hospice du Grand-Saint-Bernard
CH – 1946 Bourg-Saint-Pierre
Tél + 41 27 787 12 36
hospice@gsbernard.net
IBAN: CH50 0026 4264 6946 8001 X
IMG_0804DSC01865DSC01808DSC01838

After death—light. Fuchsli teaches me something important.

My words about suicide might be controversial and I’m okay with that. I don’t believe human life is ours to take. I also do not believe it is my job to be judge and jury.

I learned a lot today at the Fuchsli memorial “party” planning.

I knew that my dear friend was in pain because he’d been in crippling, chronic pain for a year and he was not going to get “better.”

I learned today, he had a few months before he would…well, he would be in his version of Hell.

I also learned today, he’d been listening to a song on his iPod on repeat last Tuesday for, well, we don’t know how long.

“Inside of me is broken, body’s pain that hurts too deep to be fixed with ice or heat, medicine or beauty sleep. Inside of me is uncertain. Images of finish lines just outside of my view line…don’t want to be fine. Don’t want to feel okay…I want to win. I want to fight.”

He was listening to “I Want to Win” from the CD.

I’ve really struggled for the past few days. He was alone and I “wasn’t there” with him? Why? I wouldn’t have questioned his decision—I would have held his hand, smiled at him, put my hand on his cheek. He knew he was going to do it on Christmas day, so why didn’t he tell me?! I would have been there with him.

When Michael told me about the song playing, I healed. You healed my heart. Precious friend, you weren’t alone. We were all with you in that song. All of us that understood…understand still.

I really cannot comment on “winning” for everyone. For you, “winning” meant you were free from the body that was attacking you. I understand that. We all do, “Fox”y.

You were young and now you are free, our Eichhof-drinking, Älpermagroni-hating, outdoor-obsessed, “everyone’s a babe” saying, LA’s Pink coat from the States-loving, Lözarn friend. You are in God’s hands now. Ski tours, soccer games, whatever that gliding plane stuff, all of it…no more fear for tomorrow. You are free.I won’t talk about your death anymore after today. There is far too much greatness to discuss. Requiem aeternam et lux perpetua.

Need a good laugh? Read this.

Running thoughts during a German Certification 6-hour test I know I will fail

(Typed into my computer from 9AM-4PM and transferred directly to this post.)

It’s 9:00AM- ten minutes before the test starts- Q&A time

Girl 1 asks- “Does anyone have a pen I can borrow?” (I think of Rich, who would say, “I do. It’s at my home, which is in Zug. Go get it.”)

Girl 2 asks- “Can I use my dictionary?” (I think of Liv, who would say, “No, but I will throw it at your face.”)

Guy asks moderator a question that has been answered, twice, and is also answered in large letters on the board. (I think of Chris, who would respond as the moderator by writing the following on the board “k”)

Reading part of test (only part I know I will ace)

I finished that part of the test 30 minutes early. There was a section on what will happen to Switzerland in 2030 if there are such tough immigration laws.

I think made around 90% (27/30) on this part. I am exhausted and my eyes hurt from a week of constant crying. I want to check what Marten said about “Recipe” in German because I already forgot. I don’t want to turn on my phone because people b straight trippin in this hood aiight?

This might be a good time to study since I haven’t in one week. Instead of studying? I am writing these notes.

A guy from the test just asked me what I thought of the test. In German, I told him it was a big party in my head. He laughed.

Hearing part of test (hope I don’t zone out) starts now, it’s 11:00 and it feels like it’s only been 45 minutes.

Hearing part is over. I was doing really well until I, of course, totally zoned out in the middle of the part that is only played once. I never have trouble…con…concentra…concen…right. I think I only got 70% right (21/30).

I zoned out because the guy sitting two rows in front of me reminded me of Fuschli which made me remember Fuchsli and think about his death last week. Why did this happen? Before I started to ugly cry, I heard the little bells saying that dialogue was over. Whatever.  “Mach neut.” It doesn’t matter.

**

Break time for 30 minutes. Again, don’t care to study. Can’t focus anyway. Will anyone see if I turned on one of the Essex episodes?

The proctor of the exam just walked past me. She has a cool green skirt on.

The first two parts (reading and hearing) were the easiest. Next? Writing. That’ll be fun.

I should be like the idiot that asked if we can use a dictionary. I’ll ask, “Excuse me, my internet connection isn’t working. How do I use Google Translate?”

Writing part (hell)

**

That was fun. I have two hours to kill so I am hiding in a Starbucks. The weird guy from breaktime asked me if I wanted to go to Kennedys, which is next door. Uh…no.

In section one of writing, I wrote an email to Liv, I wrote a Zeitung opinion about Luzern needing to be named the capital of Switzerland because it was so pretty, and another email this time to my new employer, Dickie Wasserhaus (not kidding) at UBS. I told him that I am looking forward to my new job and thanked him for hiring me even though I speak horrible German.

I thought number one was the most real, number two was the most charming, and three was the most butt-kissing. All three of them were very me. I wish I had a copy of them.

I think I’ll drink a shot of something. The next part is the spoken thing.

AUGH-I TURNED ON MY PHONE TO CHECK MESSAGES, which was a huge International mistake.

Back at the testing place for the spoken part (double hell)

Before the spoken part, I was so shocked at the nonsense going on around me that I ran, head first, into a closed, glass door. With a full cup of Latte Macchiato.

I am sitting on the floor looking at the door, texting Liv, and crying/laughing my ass off.IMG_1451

**

Spoken part was ridiculous. My head was aching because I ran into the door, I talked about the following topic (again, not joking): “Do you think the Internet is a good source for factual information?”

When we walked out of the test room, the moderator looked at the door (still dripping with my coffee) and tsked. “Someone should clean this up, what is this?”

“Stimmt! Wie schrecklich!” I agree, how horrible.

To add a few brownie points I told her I liked her skirt.

Don’t think it worked, we’ll see.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Damen und Herrn, that is how you fail a German test.

“Classy women use their middle fingers for jewelry.” A quote by Laura Anne Ayres & “Emily”

Friday night, a girl put two fingers in my face and said “F— you.” Why? Because someone had “stolen” her coat at a party I was co-hosting.

The coat was found, she went home, and I was left pondering this entire situation on Sunday morning as I tried to edit my new book.

My response at the time had been something about “get out of my face,” but wow. I wondered what “Emily” would have said in my shoes?

“First of all,” Emily would say to me, “I’m wearing boots, not shoes. Second of all, Laura Anne, we all know the only response in that situation. Classy women use their middle fingers for jewelry.”

I’m not Emily, am I? I’m the part of Emily that is a basket case and can’t pull it together. I lost that thing she only temporarily replaced: Texas sass. I don’t ask “yuh-on-to” or say “pert-near” because I’ve just lost my Texas.

When I was 16, Mandy Mudge and I dressed at beatniks for Halloween at ESD and I bought my first pair of cowboy boots (terribly beatnik, I know…bear with me). The soles have been redone 4 times because I used to wear them ALL THE TIME. Just before I came back to Zürich, my aunt bought me my second pair of cowboy boots on South Congress in Austin. Both pair are in my closet right now, just a few feet away.

I am a 6th generation Texan and I am going to wear those boots in the next few weeks to remind me of that. I’m gonna defend myself from these nut jobs around me that are ridiculous. Less crying and more butt-kickin’ because I am a 6th generation Texan, God bless me.

And God bless “Emily.”

One bird searching for a nest

“This is not the right career for you. You are a homebody.”

I heard this a lot when I said I would become an opera singer. It’s true, by the way. I wanted to fight against it. “I love late night parties, fancy dresses, high heels, Champagne. I enjoy singing in front of thousands of people. I like hotels and room service.”

Be careful with your words. They become priorities.

Truth?

I like being asleep at midnight. I prefer jeans and an Old Navy tank top. High heels hurt my entire body. Champagne gives me a hangover. The best song I ever sang was to baby Draper and he didn’t understand one word or even who I was. I love my home. I would rather cook a grilled cheese than eat fois gras.

Since my graduation from MSM in 2006, I have lived in over 50 places. I’ve lived in countless hotel rooms, including one in Italy with bedbugs that scarred my face for about a year.

I have flown from place to place because my career demanded it. Then?

In 2009, I landed in an small village in Switzerland: Uitikon Waldegg. I couldn’t pronounce it, really spell it, or remember it.

Now, people who enter my home or, God bless them, stay here all tell me the same thing. “LA, I don’t get it. I slept like a baby for the first time in years It is so peaceful here.”

Yes, I agree. My home. My nest. I cultivate the peace here. The angel mobile Granddaddy made for me hangs over my front door (though many people, including me, semi bang their heads on it). I have candles, I have some chime things Carol bought me in Austin. I cook, I caretake, I do everything I can to make this a place of relaxation, good food, and love. The bedspread Carol, Momma, and I picked out at Dillards in Dallas is on my bed. There is a mug celebrating Kathrin and Gabriel’s wedding in Komarno, another mug from the time I stayed with Jakey & Curttastic. I am looking at a painting done by Mimi next to a painting done by Wyatt Walter.

And, there is always light. It is never dark.

The only real home I’ve ever had since I left our family home at Peyton in 1993. My peaceful, beautiful, restorative nest.

Lucky was I. So very lucky to have had such a beautiful nest.

2009

DSC00129DSC00135DSC00148

Yet another lovely Swiss tradition- 20*C+M+B+14

I have often seen chalk writing above many doors in Luzern (not so much in other Cantons). It looked like a code of some sort and I wondered what it signified. I found out today.

On the 12th night after Christmas, the house is blessed by marking the outside of the dwelling, just above the door, in chalk, with the year and C+M+B. For example, this year, it will be marked 20 * C + M + B + 14

The letters have a very lovely meaning. Though some whisper the names “Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar, the true meaning is “Christus mansionem benedicat.” Translation? “May Christ bless the house.”

It’s called the “Sternsinger-Gruss.” The “Sternsinger” is a group comprised of the Three Kings and a Star bearer. Below is a picture of the four children from my church service today. They sang a lovely carol, in Luzern dialect, and left the church lead by the star. Lovely tradition.

The carol had a nice reminder in it. Jesus entered the world weak and poor. He left the world as a King.

Sternsinger Gruss. I like that.

Image