Good Bye For Now..

So last night was quiet-several couples from around here, tons of food, and rather serious dinner conversation. I think the Wehlen trio are really and truly tired. I was sitting on a hard bench, slogging away in German about the refugee crisis (the town of Lech is hosting a bunch of Syrian refugees-so much I haven't told you about!)..and it was all I could do not to pass out in my hummus. 

We leave early in the morning; by the afternoon we will be on the Vaimiti surrounded by our bad ass all women crew and our French Captain. Bikini is packed.

This summer has been a good one in the mountains: we are more like jackrabbits physically-unhappier sitting still, more unfazed about running up a hill. But our minds are also quieter, and more prone to reverence over small things. 

I have said it before, but I will again: I have very good friends in these hills. The kind of friends who light up when they see you, and cry a little when you go.  Without meaning to, they always remind me to keep it simple: love unreservedly; laugh freely-but only at very funny things; and when you get sad- take a very, very long walk. 

I have attached a letter I wrote to K and G several summers ago-amazing how it still fits today. (see below)

Bye Bye beloved Lech-you might make a grown up out of me yet. 

(Photos courtesy of Ida S.)

Grown men in Lederhosen

With the chef-he told me to make him look taller...

Austrians in black. Wear black, Be nice to blondes. (on the right is avalanche dynamiter :) 

Heart-breaking caption on the tablecloth made by the Syrian Refugees. This is where I sat.

My Dollings:
Time has come again for my annual, end-of-summer thank you to the Schneiders. As you are aware, tradition dictates it be in writing. Siri says writing is a need, not a choice. She also says (I love this): "I am afraid of writing, because when I write I am always moving toward the unarticulated, the dangerous, the place where the walls don't hold. I don't know what is there, but I'm pulled towards it." 

So here goes:

Thank you for books and wine and pyjamas and listening to my music. Thank you for caring about what we do, where we walk, how much we eat. Thank you for the tender way you fold my son into your son's life. Thank you for Angelina and buying tracing paper and for Harald delivering bicycles in uniform. Thank you for Ibiza salt! Thank you for 3,2073 text messages. Thank you for Boden Alpe and for Elmar jokes. Thank you for that thing I can never quite describe, even to myself.
Thank you especially for that.

In truth, (since we are so truthful now) I did not get what I really craved this summer: I craved rolling down the hill behind the Allmeinde with Katia like we did that first summer, just to see if it was fun (it was not). I craved seeing you reading the paper on the floor in the sunny window. I craved being able to run quickly up a hill.

My zen husband would of course say, craving is the problem- it makes you miss the moments you actually have in front of you. And I did miss some.

So it was tough to leave you and the Voralberg. Those mountains and I are not exactly friends, however: they only tolerate me in my attempts to walk up or ski down. But they watch me endure. They are quiet witnesses to my journey.  And that- with the friendship of four people, in a little house, in the mountains' long shadow, is untold comfort.


Now let's go skiing.
e

PS Katia: don't let any man tell you can or cannot sing. Sing, girl. We don't have much time.

PPS. Oooooooohmm!   Danke...Wir sind eurer nicht wuerdig. T