Signs of Spring

in our corner of the world. Flushing out the season, Krysia grew narcissus bulbs in a bowl of rocks. Garden books replaced winter books of polar bears and snowy Alps. The summer picture of her and Schatzie is a constant.

Hardy red, yellow and white tulips come up in our landscaping. A high school science project inspired me to cross-pollinate my grandmother's tulips. Pollen from a red tulip was tapped onto a knife and sprinkled into the center of white tulips. The next spring they boasted red stripes. It took three seasons for the red to fade out. White remained white and red remained red.

Krysia liked tea and scones for her birthday. Tomorrow I will enjoy them in my mind remembering her.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Leveled at 35,000 feet

It's 4,277 miles from New York to Rome. Minnie and I had the good fortune to fly first class upstairs in a 747. An hour and a half outside of Rome, our pilot woke us, "Good morning, this is your Captain. We have some very bad news." He got the same attention as God.

We raised the shade to see sunlight and snow on the Alps - the same view for all. Our second-floor, extra-wide seats with extra leg room to "recline" didn't give us any leverage. Our previous night's gourmet dinner on linen with "real" dishes, silver and a red carnation had no priority. The caviar, chicken livers with water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, beef chunks, green pepper and pineapple on skewers, mushrooms stuffed with sage dressing, shrimp in shredded coconut, liver pate, lettuce, spinach, artichoke and walnut salad, half a lobster cooked in a cream sauce, twice baked potato, mixed steamed veggies, kiwi fruit and cheesecake had no clout.

I imagine the sky was filled with furious prayers, beggings not to die, anxiety over dieing, meeting the Lord, and not having done what the person came to do, and the rare calm unafraid person radiating peace and light (That wasn't me.). The Captain interrupted our thoughts, "We have no water. We don't know where it went, but it's all gone. It must have leaked out across the Atlantic." Just what the ocean needs, more water.

There was an audible sigh of relief. Distinctions reinstated, I chose a breakfast of peach yogurt, fresh fruit, a sweet roll, and orange juice. A hot lemon-scented washcloth was offered. How they got it wet, we don't know. Maybe we don't want to. Our Pan Am flight attendants handed out souvenirs: emergency toothbrush, etc. so we wouldn't forget our carrier, or the leveling.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Neuchwanstein - New Swan Rock

MSN photo

What would the shy, reclusive, dreamy, fairy-tale, Mad King Ludwig II of Bavaria think if he knew that over 50 million people have visited his hide away since he passed away? He was so far ahead of his time, he's an inspiration to think outside the box. His castle is the inspiration for the Disney logo.


Neuschwanstein is a romantic banquet for the senses: the Alps, lake, carved woodwork ceilings and furniture. Richard Wagner's operas are depicted on the walls and on linen in brilliant colors nourishing the soul and fueling imagination.

Fairy-tale King Ludwig II of Bavaria lived here in the mid 1880's. Not only did he bring fantasy to life in his surroundings, the castle was technologically advanced with hot and cold running water in the kitchen and a swan head faucet (I can just imagine the delicious fragrances of roasting game.), hot air central heating, flush toilets, lifts, and electricity. And plenty of help to keep track of his socks.

Nestled in the Alps, the castle approach is steep. Bundled in our winter coats and fur hats, Audrey and Sophia, we opted to ride the carriage up. The slow pace would give us time to fantasize our own Prince Charming whisking us away to the land of "no problems." But the horse drawing our carriage had a problem that sorely strained our dreaming. It passed more stinky gas than a whole campfire of bean-eating cowboys.
Holding our noses we vowed to not let reality steal our dreams.


verse copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bulls and Onions

We have a working travel system: little sister navigates and I drive. She loves maps and can read them in a moving vehicle - I might upchuck. One Sunday we drove around Lake Como, Italy, over the Alps, and into Germany's Black Forest. When I asked our location she replied, "...north of the Alps and south of the construction."

Tucked into the tall, dense, dark forest, a 600 year-old Black Forest Inn stands long and two-story. At this remote location I doubted speaking English would get us a room. Using my long-ago high school German I asked for a room. The innkeeper looked puzzled, turned to the kitchen, and yelled to his wife, "Honey, come out here, some woman is trying to speak English."

Hungry, I decided to leave a room reservation until later, resorted to just plain English, requested two servings of deep-fried Camembert with cranberry sauce, and got it! It delighted our mouths with crunchy, soft, sweet, and tangy.

The Innkeeper explained the Inn's multi-purposes. Half of the structure houses bulls. When snow blows and piles up, they can get to them easily. The other half of the ground floor is the restaurant with rooms for rent overhead.

We found the upstairs room ample, complete with feather ticks to sleep under, and a tiny bowl of potpourri by the bed - a cover up for bulls or onions?

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series

Swiss Cows Summer Home

Our cows were underprivileged. They never went anywhere. Like the people of the Midwest United States they stayed put and worked. Our black and whites, Holsteins, provided us with plenty of fresh milk. Mom made butter from the cream. Over-whipped cream made "accidental" butter.

Brown Swiss cows summer in the Alps. With a twinkle in his eye, Papa said their legs were shorter on one side from walking the side of the mountain. Our B&B in Wattens (Vattens), Austria had an empty barn. Kati, our hostess, invited us to the "summer home" for their cows near the top of the Alps. Her husband had driven their dozen cows up the ten miles in May, would stay with them all summer, and drive them down in September wearing wreaths of wild flowers and maybe a small Christmas tree on the top of their head. The community will be so glad to have all the cows and keepers home they'll have a celebration.

So few miles up the mountain took thirty minutes. Where the road ran out we parked, gathered the groceries and walked a path through tall, dense, dark woods for ten minutes. The air was clear, clean, thin and quiet except for the rustle of our bags. In the clearing a rooster announced our arrival. Contented Brown Swiss cows chewed their cud lounging in a 1700's barn. The chalet from the same period had been replaced with a new knotty pine Alpine structure.

Ernst was thrilled to see Kati. Summer is lonesome. There are no near neighbors, and it's just mid-June. While our hostess made her promised cottage cheese pastry we visited with her husband, as best we could. German is their language. He showed us their gently sloping pasture and grazing land. We couldn't fall off or roll down here. Going to the mountain top and looking over didn't interest us. It's too high and steep. We'd need a guide, ropes, etc., but maybe some other time we'll do that.

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and warm pastry drew us to their table. The dough was soft, the filling grandmotherly, soothing and delicious. We could see mountain tops for about 100 miles and Innsbruck in the Valley. If our flat-land cows were here, would they feel privileged or scared?

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series