Yesterday I was mentally holding a to-do list a mile long. Yesterday I was lighting candles. The figurative ones, I lit on both ends, because it was imperative. The others I lit because they were beautiful and part of the wedding celebration. Just yesterday I was on an airplane, or was that the day I started to feel overwhelmed? I don’t remember. The days were blurring together and the world’s best team was starting to fray. There wasn’t a conflict, per se, I just observed the edges of family coming loose after one thing after another hit against the proverbial wall of shields held closely together, and rolled down to our achy feet.
But today, cobblestones are beneath my feet and with a blue morning sky overhead: I breathe in deeply the smell of fresh bakery goods and Fall. I just missed the traditional morning alpine horn blowing from the hillside, but now leaves are crunching under my boots and yes, accordion music is now drifting my way from what appears to be a gazebo at the center of town. I nearly clumsily trip on a sudden stair, but only because I’m admiring a street of Swiss cream buildings with brown lattice, and swinging little signs in front of small shops. Eclectic collections of pounded copper, jars of tea, and sweet-smelling pastries are in some windows on First Strasse. Others house hats, fine wines, or handmade chocolates. I’ve definitely left pressing matters to the breeze.
Down a flight of stairs I find a cheesemonger’s shop; two young men behind a counter enthusiastically offer me samples of their favorite flavors: a sheep Gouda from Denmark, and something that tastes of raspberry ale. I leave with a small white bag of perfect, 20-month cheddar, my mouth still considering the peppercorn of one of the tens of flavors I tested, my ears hailing the cheery goodbyes of the mongers.
At the back of a store that drew me in with its intricate vases and ancient rugs, is a little enclosure. Under glass lay the most elegant chocolates. And then I tried one. I couldn’t leave until I made certain of ownership of a collection of these via Dad’s wallet, for friends at home. A taste of spiced pear caramel sauce rolled around my mouth until I thought I was in love. But the quaint, smooth European accent of the chocolatier brought me back to the village, “Mmmmhm. I see you truly love experiencing taste. Then you will appreciate this.” My eyes flutter open and his hand and kind blue eyes present me with a fleur-de-lis shaped chocolate. One bite and I’m a goner: lost in the world of a dark chocolate, java truffle.
They call some places “waterfront” because when you stand there, you can’t turn around the view is so spectacular. The Wenatchee River wends its way past me with fall leaves. The sun warms my face and the sand under my feet.
Now I’m stuck waiting outside a little country antique store. I inspected everything inside thoroughly, but Mom and Dad are still considering the egg drawers and pickle servers of yesteryear. I wait at the front step; the town yet livened by an accordion and the trot of a horse and carriage passing by, and now by my sister and I shooting a few photos of each other while we wait.
The plate before me is strictly German food. The brilliant burgundy of the cabbage and the spicy tingle of the Schweinebraten are just as good as my sister’s plate, my dad’s, my mom’s. Our food makes its way around our square table overlooking the bustling street, as we “test” yet again each other’s order. But the plate of varied sausages and mustards at the center of the table, takes most of our attention, courage, and inspection.
Almost pretending its 1890, my family pops into a shop. Donning ancient garb and daintily twisting our parasol (or harbinger), we sit for our photos. We’ve never done this before, and that very thought keeps us laughing at ourselves. Then looking at each other makes us all laugh so hard the entire time that the photographer began to perspire. I am not authorized to show the world my family in this condition, as we yet cannot stop laughing ourselves at what we saw in the end, but I will show you this.
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| I rather like the little gun. Can you tell? |
A moment comes when I realize we are sitting on a park bench. My poppa stares straight ahead for several minutes his hands resting on his crutches, my sister also stares, pop corn traveling from her little bag into her mouth with rhythmic accuracy. Momma is staring blankly, then texting, then popcorn eating. I make a slow video of this, then the entire city square. The defined purpose of this solitary moment in my life is “nothing” and it is indescribably relaxing. One series of frames absentmindedly highlights a garbage can, another, a happy couple dancing to the music. Several minutes later sun stripes down on the street and off of sparkling windows, and I finally swing the video back onto my family. Dad stares straight ahead; the popcorn yet travels upward, the fingers still text. Why do I mention this? Because it has never happened before: this sitting, this staring, and this peaceful “nothingness.”
Can someone really be entranced by tea? Perhaps. I think it happened. There is something intrinsically restoring to pausing to breathe in a wall of varied and mouth-watering tea leaves. My mother watches as the shopkeeper weighs out a little package for a kind friend, and oblivious to the world, I make a new mental list, consisting only of tea flavors.
A factory tour about elegant candy making, complete with sampling, is not to be missed. Our little shopping basket of gifts, our stomaches, and my camera card filled up in the tidy shop. Perhaps you should try an Aplet. Its not a tiny Iphone tablet; it tastes so much better.
In another store I find a palm-sized book of rules for men intriguing, and my mother picks up a pair of texting gloves. My sister finds a little Bavarian outfit perfect for cats and my dad searches a city flower bed for acorns to plant. Dad buys his wife some candy, while my sister and I get lost in another boutique. We giggle together at baby clothes, taste oil and vinegar in a cellar, and climb a few stairs to try some more delights. “We needed this holiday.” I think emphatically to myself as I walk home, my hands shoved deep in my pockets to hide from the biting evening chill. My family walks ahead of me, the best a girl could ever want.
So, off I go. Back to real life. But, there's nothing quite like spending a day in a Bavarian Village in Fall...Perhaps we can all go again sometime soon. I'm so blessed...
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