Picture Perfect Swiss Souvenirs

These things caught my eye:

Cupboard carvings.

Lacy linens.

Rustic restaurants.

Breakfast buns.

Funky fountains.

Cozy corners.

Decorative doors.

Gorgeous gastronomy.

Quaint Kitsch.

Ancient architecture.

My main man.

Necking

A little library in the back corner of Steinlechner Hotel was called the Stüberl. Dee and I were "studying" one day when another student came in. "Hi Linda," we both said at once. She backed out quickly, embarrassed to have walked in on us, and rushed to spread the news. "Dee and Marty are in the Stüberl necking." When I heard the gossip, I retorted, "No we weren't. She's blind." It was partly true. Linda was blind.

Does anybody say necking anymore? Or petting? Snogging, making out, canoodling? Locking lips, smooching? When a couple is a couple how do you say it nowadays? We used to say, "They're going together, my mom called it going out together, or you could say, "Sharon's dating Stan." (Now there are no Sharons, no Stans and no dating. I assume there's some kissing involved with hanging out, however.)

What are the modern steps of progression toward, you know, a home run? (I played first-base, with some short stops on occasion.) Back in the day, there were definite rules for when to run the bases, when you were safe to steal, and when you struck out. It was easier to play the game before bucket seats: the first pitch involved "sitting close." (On Monday morning the question was always "Did she sit close?" or "Did she hug the door?")

A movie was where the couple was going. After he opened the car door to let her out, she took his arm (if she wasn't frigid.) While coats came off, there would be an accidental bumping of hips, then the initial brushing of elbows as they arranged the arm-rest. Finally their arms would come together and begin to bond. (Summer time dating was the best—bare naked arms.) When their skin got sticky from perspiration, the guy did the fake stretch, which resulted in his arm across the back of his date's seat. By then, both parties had lost complete track of the movie.

The actual shoulder touch was the next move. A girl could manipulate this by adjusting her sweater, or leaning up to fix her shoe. At the end of this procedure, she'd settle in a little closer and his finger would accidentally drop to her shoulder, caressing it just a little before the palm of his hand settled comfortably on the bone. There was a short period of anticipation. She unclasped her sweaty hands (what a temptress) and let one sit seductively on her lap while she reached up and played with the necklace glinting on her collar bone.

Tickling her neck with his fingers, he reached over and grabbed her damp hand with his equally slick one. At this point subtlety became unnecessary. Her head collapsed on his shoulder and her lips grazed his neck. Full-fledged necking began.

This all took place inside the theater, and was totally acceptable on a Saturday night. (Nobody actually watched The Sand Pebbles or Becket.) The audience was involved with proceeding-towards-necking, necking, or watching-other-couples-necking. Using the phrase made immortal by teenagers ratted out by neighbors, "Everybody was doing it."

And now to our sponsor: Need help in the necking department? Get some glitz. Sarah sent me a beautiful white gold pendant, in a lovely little velvet box. The chain is 18 inches: the perfect length. I've wanted a substantial looking necklace that's easy to wear everyday. This one adds new meaning to the term necking. I think I'll wear it to the movies—or the Stüberl.


*Homework:

~List the words your generation used for dating, mating, and the fun stuff that you did in between.

~Describe a typical date.

~What were the some award-winning movies when you were a teenager?

That's the Write Idea!

From the Archives: George Bailey Award

Something Wonderful

Remember George? He's the hero in It's a Wonderful Life. His life has gone awry and he decides to end it all by jumping off a bridge. Clarence, his guardian angel, dives in to save him and then tries to convince George that he has contributed something valuable to the world. As the angel relates his good deeds, George begins to see that his life has made a difference.

When our kids were still at home we had a Christmas tradition we called the George Bailey Award. Together we decided on someone who had made a big difference in our life during the year. There were always several nominations before we decided on the recipient. Each of us wrote a personal letter to the person, which we delivered along with a copy of the movie. Throughout the year we would comment on how so-and-so should get the award; it helped us recognize and appreciate the great people around us.

One of many people I could give a George Bailey Award to is LaMont Hunt. He was my Sunday School teacher when I was 14. We were an obnoxious, rowdy class, and we enjoyed the reputation of running our teachers out. I think Brother Hunt was our 4th teacher that year.

He came to class the first Sunday fully prepared with a lesson about Jesus. Paper airplanes and spit wads flew past his head as he tried to create a spiritual atmosphere. There was whispering in the front of the room, and shoving and snickering in the back.

Boys tipped back on their folding chairs, and girls reapplied turquoise eye shadow—none of us showed any respect or courtesy towards our new teacher. Halfway through his lesson, he stopped, and tried to get our attention, pleading with us to settle down. And then he started to cry!

It was horrible. He left for a minute and went to get the Sunday School superintendent, who came in and lectured us, and then they both walked out. I remember that much vividly, but I don't remember anything else, except that I could never look at Mr. Hunt again, and I felt ashamed to have been part of something so ugly.

Fast forward to Salzburg, 1969. If you've read any of my courtship posts, you know that I was in love and receiving daily letters from my parents at home, objecting to my romance. (In defense of my parents, they had known me when I was 14, and they weren't quite over it.) I was on a roller coaster of feeling exhilarated or devastated, depending on whether the mail had arrived yet. I was desperate for support and understanding from home but I was getting scoldings.

One Saturday the owner of the Steinlechner Hotel where we lived knocked on my door and said I had a phone call. When I answered, a voice said, "Marty, this is LaMont Hunt. We're here in Salzburg for the day, and we want to come by and say hello." I couldn't believe it.

A few minutes later he and his wife and son pulled up outside. When he got out of the car I flew into his arms and burst out crying. I was so thrilled to see someone from my real world. He was kind and friendly as I introduced them all to Dee. We talked about their trip, and our semester, they asked what our plans were, and congratulated us and we took pictures all around.

The day the Hunts came to visit me.

They went home, called my parents, and reported good things about Dee and me. There began to be a thaw in the icy reception I had received from my folks. Mr. Hunt said we were doing OK, and Mom and Dad started to trust my judgment a little bit more. He didn't seem to remember our former relationship at all. He was a friend from my neighborhood who loved me and wanted the best for me. (Now, there's a lesson about Jesus, no Sunday School classroom needed.)

Is there someone you would give a George Bailey Award to? If so, tell us who and why on your blog, or in my comment section, or write them a letter and thank them personally. If you're posting it here, don't write about anybody that you know reads my blog. This is an exercise in thinking of someone outside your immediate circle who has influenced your life for good. Maybe a guardian angel?

George, you're wonderful!

(It's fun to see the comments you wrote when I first posted this in April, 2007.)

The Poor Writer

Die Arme Poet by Carl Spitzweg

The painting was hanging in the window of a book-binding shop. "That is what I want to be," said Dee. "A writer, living in a cool attic, surrounded by old books." I thought he was kidding.

We were just young students in Europe, dreaming of our future together, exactly forty years ago today. I remember the date, because I wrote it down. I wrote then, as I do now, to clean out my mind and store away precious memories. Dee kept a journal to collect information for stories: facts, images and ephemera (little bits of stuff.) We were well on the way to our future!

Alfred Kazin wrote, "The writer writes in order to teach himself, to understand himself, to satisfy himself; the publishing of his ideas is a curious anticlimax."

Well, maybe for Alfred. I love it when we finish a book!

The prototype is finished!

(Link to Heritage Associates to see how Marta designed this book.)

These are the folks who have been inside my head and computer for two years.

And here is their story.

Writing a book is like reading one. The characters become friends,
and I hate to say good-bye.
Well, sort of.

Semester Abroad Details

Dee and I met in Salzburg, Austria in 1969. I lived in the Steinlechner Hotel which served as our headquarters. Three professors and their families came with us from BYU, and rented homes close by. A graduate student and his new wife lived in the hotel as chaperones. Students had come to study music at the Mozarteum: others had classes at the University of Salzburg. Professors from Salzburg came to the hotel and held classes (auf deutsch) on language, culture, literature, architecture and religion. Twice a week we had lectures on the Reformation. They gave us a background for the politics and history that influenced Europe, and the many cathedrals and religious art we would see.

The whole 6 months, including tuition, travel expenses, room and board cost $2,000! We arrived and spent four days in Paris first. Tours to Munich ($32,) Budapest ($64,) Prague, Berlin, Vienna and Innsbruck happened on weekends plus we explored Italy for two weeks at Easter. Our end-tour was three weeks in Germany, Belgium, and Holland with five days in London before we flew home.

I had saved $1,000 over two summers for this experience, and my parents contributed the other half.

Salzburg Souvenirs

I don't know why we don't wear dirndls. They look innocent and sexy at the same time. The bodice is made with stays that push you in and out in all the right places, and the white petticoats and lacy blouses peak out coyly top and bottom.

Patterned fabrics are mixed like quilt pieces and the color combos can be playful or sophisticated. There's even matching stuff for the guys.
I wish I went places where hats with feathers would look appropriate. Do you think I could wear this outfit to pick up my prescriptions at WalMart?

Salzburg window displays are an art form. Lit up at night even though the shops are closed, they make it fulfilling just to browse.

In the past I've satisfied my lust by writing down color combinations, or drawing some of the displays in my journal. It gives me ownership. This time I acquired everything I wanted with my camera. I feel like I brought these exquisite ensembles home with me, and they didn't cost even a euro!

One accessory always finds it's way into my suitcase, however. I have a collection of elegant silk scarves from Salzburg, with hand-tied fringe. I wear them year round and love to add a new color or pattern.

Shopping for souvenirs can be frustrating when there's not a lot of money to spend. I have discovered that when I'm searching for particular keepsakes that I know I can buy, I have as much fun as when I'm accumulating a suitcase full of random loot.

We travel light so we collect mementos that are cheap (or free) unique, and easy to pack. Dee calls it eclectic collecting. Some ideas are:

1. Matchbooks. These are harder to come by now that restaurants are smoke-free, but they look great framed as a collage.
2. Buttons. Antique stores often have big jars full of unusual old-fashioned buttons. It gives me a reason to go into these quirky places.
   
3. Art postcards. Tonight I worked on a card catalog containing my favorite works of art from museum store postcards. I now have over a hundred. These are also fun to search for in antique stores.
4. Cardboard coasters with colorful insignias of the local brew are sometimes sitting right under your glass. Don't spill, and take them home.
   
5. Napkins are much cheaper than tablecloths, but can be just as beautiful with lace or embroidered details. I buy a variety that I can layer on top of a solid colored tablecloth. It's fun to take notes of how they are displayed in the stores.
6. Local crafts. I can't afford to buy each of my 18 grandkids the darling toys and trinkets I see different places, so I buy something for my Oma Kits. This trip I bought ten tiny wood carvings with magnets on the back. They are each about two inches long, and are made like little marionettes, with dangling arms and legs.
   
7. Coins, stamps, or cool business cards with interesting logos or foreign writing.
   
8. Menus. Some restaurants will give you one if you ask, especially if you offer to pay.
   
9. Toiletries in a different language seem exotic. Toothpaste or even tiny kleenex packages make me smile after I'm home.
10. Books. This is where we splurge. We always ask if the bookstore will send our purchases home. If that isn't possible we take them to the post office where we buy boxes and tape and ship them home. Yesterday we got a package containing colorful maps and antique book plates from a tiny, hidden shop down a winding path where we spent a cozy hour one rainy afternoon.

Although I spend money every chance I get, I can have fun traveling without it. I've realized that the real souvenir isn't a purchase. The memory of dodging horses in a rainstorm, remembering a long forgotten vocabulary, noticing that even the old ladies in Austrian capes and alpine hats are talking on cell phones as they stroll the 12th century streets--those are the things I want to take home. Genuine souvenirs aren't in the shops. They are free for the taking anywhere you make a memory.

What are your tips for eclectic collecting? Do you have some sentimental souvenirs?

Jet Setters

TravelinOma, yearning for Europe.
(Airport at 6:00 am.)

TravelinOpa with a case of jet lag.
(Munich airport at 6:am the next day.)

Almost there!
(Train from Munich to Salzburg.)

Stairs + Suitcases = Heart attack!
(Salzburg.)

The charming Hotel Weisse Taube.
(Right in the heart of the old city, it has large rooms, large bathrooms, and a tiny elevator. We've stayed here many times and it's a gem at $156 a night, taxes and breakfast included.)

Almost directly across the street is the 5-star Hotel Altstadt.
It is $450 a night, breakfast not included.
(The buildings for both hotels are from the 1300's, so deep down they're just the same.)

We settled in, took a 2-hour nap to cancel out jet lag, and went out for a walk in the rain.

Salzburg is our Liebling's Stadt. It is where we came from.
(This is the view from our window.)

Weinerschnitzel with a slice of lemon...

followed by a moonlit stroll...

and some window shopping.
(Exquisite display photos in coming posts.)

Back to the hotel...

where TravelinOpa snuggles up with his feather tick,

and TravelinOma uses her personal night light to read herself to sleep.
(Adventures continue tomorrow.)

Spit and Polish

Waiting for me this a.m., newly shined.

Many years ago when we first started traveling in Europe, there was a quaint custom in even the smallest hotels. If you left your shoes outside the door, they would be polished for you in the morning.

It seems I have a shoe-shine boy in residence, too. Every once in a while I wake up to find my regular old shoes buffed, burnished and dazzling.

This is a photo of Dee I took 38 years ago. The second Saturday after I met him, he offered to polish my shoes! (I took a shine to him right away.)

I lived in this room in the Steinlechner Hotel
when I met Dee in Salzburg, Austria
in 1969.

Advice on In-Law Kids

Cool! Somebody remembered my advice column!

I got this email the other day:

Dear M,
Our daughter is in love. We don't feel good about the guy she wants to marry, but the more we try to advise her, the more she seems to defy us. Should we just stand by while she makes a big mistake? Did you ever have this problem?

From,
Worried Mom

I didn't have this problem; I was this problem!

Last year I wrote a series of blogs about my own experience with love at first sight. (I was just nineteen and my parents were not at all happy about it.) This old post might be a response to Worried Mom:

Losing Control, 1969

After That Tuesday Dee and I both sent letters home describing each other and how we had fallen in love. I was sure my parents would be thrilled that I had found my soul mate. I was very mistaken.

The first letters back arrived March 13th. My dad was extremely upset. He listed every stupid thing I'd ever done, and told me I was incapable of making a decision as important as this one at such a young age. I was crazy to think I knew what love was, and naive and inexperienced to think Dee really loved me. He wanted me to come home.

I was devastated!

My mother's letter was a little softer in tone. She thought I was dazzled by my surroundings, unable to think straight, and I didn't know enough about this boy to make any commitments. She felt it just wouldn't work out in the real world.

Their lack of trust undermined my relationship with them at a very crucial time in my life.
They put me in a position where I had to make a choice: Them, or Dee. I loved my parents, and had always felt close to them, so it was heartbreaking to me. I chose Dee.

Eventually it worked out, but there was a lot of damage done. Dee was fully aware of their pre-judgments and reservations about him. It was not a good way to start a friendship.

I was the oldest, and it was the first time my folks had lost complete control of a child; they didn't like it. I wanted approval and respect, but I didn't feel any. It had a negative impact on me. I felt guilty that I had to make my parents unhappy to choose what would make me happy.

In March, 1970, before we had kids, I wrote this Mission Statement in my journal. I don't know how well we've followed it, but I still think it's sound.

I feel each child should be encouraged and expected to do their best, and then allowed to do it, without criticism, either expressed or implied.

I hope to build my children's self worth by allowing them to be self-sufficient and independent in carrying out assignments and responsibilities. It would rob them of satisfaction if I re-did things or implied that I could have done it better myself.

When they make poor choices, they will learn to accept the consequences, and know they are loved and accepted in spite of their mistakes.

Each child will have gifts and talents, and they will be better able to recognize them than we will be. We need to trust them to receive their own inspiration.

Our children will not be OURS. They will have their own lives and their own mission and purpose, just as we have ours. We will try not to impose our unmet goals on them. They will each be unique individuals. We have no right to take that away from them.

(See how important it is to blog? How would I remember all this if I hadn't written it down? Letters, journals, blogs, advice columns...whatever, record your thoughts!)

Parenting is a lot easier before you're a parent. But it's valuable to back away and remember what we felt, and what we were actually capable of doing when we were young.

So, back to Worried Mom. I think she should trust herself. She's already taught her daughter skills to make choices about her life. And what adult child actually takes their parent's unsolicited advice anyway? If she marries the guy, she'll need her mom's support. If it's a mistake, she'll need to know she still has her mom's support.

I took the easier road. I just fell in love with my in-law kids at the same time my kids did!

(There are some comments from the first time I posted parts of this blog last year. I don't know how to take them off. But you're welcome to comment again!)

My Valentine

Ich bin dein,
Du bist mein.
Das müss du gewiss sein.
Du bist beschlossen im meinem Herzen,
Verloren ist das Schlüssellein.
Drinnen müss du immer sein.

(Jemand verstehen?)

For more of the story see:

Love at First Sight
Valentine's Day, 1969
That Tuesday

Paris, 1969

Sher (left) and Me (right)
Thirty nine years ago today.

"The trip and the story of the trip are always two different things." (Lorrie Moore)

Salt Lake City to Paris, France is a long way for a 19-year-old girl. The plane stopped in Boston and again in Gander, Newfoundland to refuel so I was pretty giddy by the time we landed twenty hours later. Our hotel was an enormous old railway station, (which was later closed and reopened as the Musée d'Orsay.) It took us ten minutes to walk from the lobby to our room!

Even though we were exhausted we took a bus tour to see the highlights of the city. I was overwhelmed and underwhelmed. I was expecting a Disneyland type atmosphere in Europe; Paris was crowded with grimy, narrow streets and buildings all crammed together. I'd only been to cities in the western USA, places where everything is spread out, you can see for miles, and the sky is big. Nothing had prepared me for the claustrophobic feeling of being unknown and unnoticed in a vast city with millions of people.

I ordered an omelet in a cafe because it was the only dish I recognized. The waiter didn't speak English, and we didn't know how to get our bill. When it came, even the numbers were written differently, so I just let the aloof cashier take the unfamiliar coins out of my hand.

Everything smelled funny. Salt Lake City wasn't settled until 1847, so I'd never been inside an authentic antiquated structure of any kind. The ancient, musty Parisian buildings and exotic, unusual aroma of French food gave off a unique scent, inside and outside.

I was used to cold, crisp mountain air, with bright blue sunny skies, even in the winter. Paris was cold and damp and gray and oppressive. I was let down.

Our room was large with a big old bathroom. I didn't realize at the time how deluxe it was for students on a budget. But it wasn't at all like the Travelodge motels I'd stayed in before, and I found that disconcerting. The tub had separate hot and cold water taps, and I couldn't figure out how to wash my hair. The furniture didn't match. There was just one dim light bulb in the fixture that hung from the extremely high ceiling. I wasn't sophisticated enough to realize the moldings and furnishings were ornate and classic. They just seemed old-fashioned to me.

Excitement carried me through the first day's activities, but I was close to collapsing after dinner. My bed was very soft and uncomfortable. I was scared to stretch my feet down to the bottom, under the covers, for fear I'd touch something strange. I don't know why, because the hotel was very clean. It was all just so foreign. After falling asleep about 9:pm I woke up at 6:am, and it was still dark outside. Breakfast wasn't until 7:00, but by then I had fallen back asleep, and jet-lag kicked in. I didn't wake up again 4:30pm and it was already dark again!

By the time I was up and dressed I was starving. This time I had a crepe from a sidewalk stand. The streets were busy with pedestrians going to cafes and jostling for buses and taxis. For a girl from the suburbs, it was fascinating to see so much activity, and frightening to be unable to understand anyone. Young men in groups flirted and teased, and then laughed as they walked past, and I had butterflies in my stomach, wondering what they were saying.

I had planned and saved for my semester abroad for three years. Culture shock was something I hadn't expected. Now that I had arrived, I was exhilarated and eager, but panicky, and fearful that I might not like it. I hadn't yet heard this excellent travel advice: Expect the unexpected, for those who travel rigidly will find much to distress them. I did.

I've been back to Paris seven times since 1969. It is one of my favorite places now; I love the smells, the crazy drivers, the bridges and churches. The sun shines in France and the sky can be blue, but even when it's raining and chilly I think the atmosphere is intoxicating. In spite of my first long day in the dark, I agree that Paris is The City of Light.

Have you ever pinned your hopes on something that didn't turn out the way you planned?
What was your experience the first time you went away from home?

Memory Links

Salzburg in Winter

"Recall it as often as you wish, a happy memory never wears out." Libbie Fudim

"Each of us is the accumulation of our memories." Alan Loy McGinnis

"Keep some souvenirs of your past, or how will you ever prove it wasn't all a dream?"
Ashley Brilliant

"No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories." Louis L'Amour

"One form of loneliness is to have a memory and no one to share it with." Phyllis Rose

Winter in Salt Lake
Photo by Anna

"You never know when you're making a memory." Rickie Lee Jones