Proof of Life

More in a jiffy. First I must eat "Brust von Wälder Hennele mit Linsen Roter Curry Essiggemüse";  more commonly known as chicken. 

I added a few photos..sun is out and I have slightly over done it....

Day Zwei

My Familiar Dream

I often have some strange and striking dreams
about an unknown girl, of love we share, 
each time the same, each time a different air
about her swirls, who understands it seems.

She loves and understands me, from her beams
a crystal pure dismissing strife and care.
She, only, eases heart-ache and despair, 
soothing pain with tears’ refreshing streams.

She’s blond, brunette, reflecting russet gleams? 
I know not, nor her name and voice though fair
and sounding-soft if feels, far off I swear, 
like loved ones Life has banished from its schemes.

A statue’s sightless stare, the look she gave.
Voice, - still echo of friends in the grave. 

Paul Verlane

Rain has come to our cultural retreat, but not to worry. We have plenty of books to read and pools to visit. The above is the view from my bed...but picture the stunning mountain range of the Wetterstein behind the fog. It's really beautiful. 

Every night there is a poem on our bed; (see last night's above) and a book recommendation for the following day. Today's book is Honoré de Balzac's Lost Illusions. This is what they said about it: 

"Balzac's bitterly angry satire on Mankind's endeavors-one of the most beautiful novels in world literature in a new translation!" Now if tackling that bad boy doesn't sound like a fun summer afternoon, I don't know what will. Oh sure, summer can be about golf and tennis in the sun. But that can lead to subversive thoughts or worse: simple mindedness. A little rain and a little Balzac will do you good. Like losing the Euro Cup, which, according to Thomas' mother, was "good for the German's character". 

The French think so too.

Below is a photo I got of the type of guest I will not be seeing in my "Vegan for fun" seminar this afternoon. He has likely been here for generations, with his pack of children and now their children; none of whom he particularly likes but whom he will leave the widget company because the little darlings don't have the brains to start their own widget company much less study physics like he did. 

And don't even get him started on the collective sins of air conditioning, soft mattresses, miscegenation, or heated toilets. 

Speaking of heated toilets, they have them here and frankly I look froward to going to the loo. It's the highlight of my day. Not so Thomas- he actually calls out a sort of play by play/rant on the unseemliness of warm bums. 

I don't get it-what could be nicer? I have tried vainly to find out what the offense is, but I never get any clarity. 

Deutschland

Greetings from the Vaterland...!

Arrived at one Schloss Elmau: a First World War castle turned five star hotel

outside Munich. The place is huge- with acres and acres of land adgacent to the Wetterstein. In addition to the castle, there is a brand new building that was recently put up to house the G-8 (now G-7) gang. The vibe is a combination new age German (the ones that rebelled against their parents' form of rigid discipline and believe in naked schooling and the Green Party), with black turtlenecked intellectualism. 

There are non stop activities: chess lessons, debating; clay pigeon shooting, stand up paddling, and a soccer camp taught by a Bundesliga coach. And that's just for the children.

For adults there is hiking, obviously; two gyms, several swimming pools of various salt levels and warmth; two gorgeous silent libraries, and of course

"yoga without dogma" which I will check out as soon as I can get off this lounge chair. 

In the evenings there are lectures and concerts -We missed Reinhold Messner and a 15 year old Russian violin prodigy by a day. 

But lurking beneath the granola is the unmistakable whiff of Munich elite:

Large, blond, Catholic clans with oodles of hidden money from family owned companies. Unlike yucky traders and finance companies that provide a service; these companies make things: dishwashers and rivets and tractor seats.

In case you think that list is a figment of my imagination-Ellie's idea of the most boring things she can conjure; think again. All three of those items are made by family businesses whose owners come to Lech at Christmas.

And two of those families are here now.

We are beyond delighted of course because one of them (how I wish I could direct you to the company website!!) Thomas and I gossip about more than any other. We are convinced they are wildly religious closet right wingers; quite possibly an Opus Dei situation. This theory is based on three pieces of irrefutable evidence: they are rumored to go to daily mass, the husband sports a near constant weird little smile; and

a good looking Arab friend once asked me if the husband was gay. 

Case closed.

For some reason Thomas and I are wiped out and have only the vaguest of plans to race up the mountain today- F will shoot pigeons before his Nihilism for Teens class (ok I am making that up). 

There is soo much more to tell! but all

In good time-The FT is calling. Xx

 

Moi, above. Below, Obama and Angie same bench. 

Correction

 Frederick told me I needed to correct the last entry on the moon. He points out that "moon" Is a word that only applies to our moon. The generic term is "satellite". Calling the little thing found circling us "moon" is like me calling any second child of mine Frederick .

This is sobering- "we have a new satellite !"  Just doesn't have the same zing to it...So 

I'm going to call it "Smoon". Moon and little Smoon. 

Password Update

Password Update. DO NOT BE ALARMED (Nana).

-Sincerely,
The E is Away Technology Liaison and Director of Technology Operations; Portugal Division

We Are Not Alone

 1. rub honey into the night's back.

    2. make sure the moon is fed.

    3. bathe the ocean

    4. warm sing the trees

-tend

(nayyirah waheed)


Warning: the following entry will be filled with nothing but good news, without even including the plagiarism in Melania Trump's speech. Which was adorable.

How about this business of us having another moon?! I told a friend about this and he replied: US??? Yes! Earth has our usual moon, AND apparently a tiny (perhaps 300 feet across) other moon. It is not an asteroid (circling the sun), it is circling us.
I find this incredibly romantic. A tiny moon has quietly been circling for a long time; and like all loyal people in our lives, it doesn't go very far, no matter how ridiculous we get.

Also I don't need to point out the obvious: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was probably more intuitive than we even knew. The Little Prince was the first book I read that blew my mind. The first book that I knew was too much for me to handle: so clearly important; so clearly over my head.
I mean the whole draw a box because you can't draw a sheep thing nearly stopped me cold (you can do that???!!).

Apparently the story was a lot about de Saint-Exupéry's own life—"his search for childhood certainties and interior peace, his mysticism, his belief in human courage and brotherhood, and his deep love for his wife Consuelo, but also an allusion to the tortured nature of their relationship."

Which explains a lot: there is no better inspiration for good writing than a tortured relationship: a love that is impossible to fix or end.

In other good news, I read an article about running for president in Iceland...an exercise in restraint and dignity if ever there was one. But the best part was, as it so often is, about coffee. Apparently the Icelanders drink coffee like the French drink vin simple-for something to do with their hands. It gets even better: they are really, really into cake. I read this quote to Thomas because it made me laugh-and because Thomas is nothing if not a coffee/bad weather joke enthusiast, he laughed too.

"Election Day dawned like any good June day in Iceland: overcast and in the forties. Guðni had said that he was going to spend the day relaxing at a football match, and had invited me along. We met for lunch at his headquarters, where cake and coffee had been laid out, with Icelandic zeal. I counted at least twelve kinds of cake and six kinds of cookie, and scarcely a sign of a savory dish. Icelanders feel about eating cake the way New Yorkers feel about not eating cake: it is a sign of their relentless commitment to self-improvement. (The hot coffee, I was assured, kept the cake from being unduly caloric.)"

So to repeat: there is a country on our planet, in our solar system, circled by at least two moons where the people drink coffee at any time of day or night with impunity. Moreover, they maintain that drinking coffee with cake reduces the calories of the cake.
That's like saying mashed potatoes are healthy if you eat them while drinking tequila.  Oh stop tutting! I dare you to find the research that refutes this!

We are winding down here in Portugal, our strange little oasis of pink tourists and fish restaurants. An island of jolly hockey sticks in the middle of a laid back latin country.
I picked up Thomas on our way to tennis and he was by the side of the road in his straw hat, holding a tennis racket and his golf bag. If only I had had a camera....says it all really.

More good news for the bloggies: we are soon going to one Schloss Elmau for Michael's b day. That rare vacation experience that combines excessive exercise with lectures by German nihilists. Frankly, I am atwitter: so many depressed intellectuals to flirt with, so little time.

Finally, in case Andrew and I ever feel we have done little right as parents-I would direct your attention to the sweetest duo of F and Hanna. She says she likes to talk to him because he is funny and he listens. One evening I found them on the floor of the bathroom: he face down on the bath mat "trying to get some sleep" and Hanna prattling on at his side. On her last night, per Wehlen tradition, Frederick gave this toast:

"Here's to Hanna: It is a treat that you even exist; and such a miracle. And it is a treat that you have survived, though that is slightly less of a miracle statistically speaking.
Thanks for coming to Portugal."

Who says two semesters of Exeter Biology don't a romantic make ?

Hanna and Auntie E....

Best kid ever- comes to work out with me; shops with me (clothes or strawberries, doesn't matter); and tonight joined me in first ever attempt at walking 1.5 hours along the beach to our favorite restaurant. 

Last day with her tomorrow 😢

The Band Plays On....

We said a very sad goodbye to cousins and brothers and babies- (horrible). After such a jolly time bouncing the Connolly girls on our laps by day, and cheering soccer by night, our rhythm was way off when they left. Luckily I got the bright idea to keep Hanna (the other kids had plans-) and thank God I did. We now have this tiny tribe of Hanna and Frederick and Luis; and really I don't mean to brag, but I think they are the best teenagers assembled under one roof ever. 

Here's the drill: the morning they eat muesli and fruit and then engage in tennis or jogging or golf until lunch- and all under a blistering sun. Then after a little pool frolic and perhaps an excursion, they do Math. Not making this up... F is trying to skip a math class by taking a test at the end of summer, so he is up to his eyeballs in it. Thomas still remembers how to do it, in case Frederick gets stuck, but now he has to concentrate; he can't yell the explanation from the shower like he used to. Anyway, Hanna does her own math on Kahn Academy; Luis works on his tan. 

Dinner and night ocean swim (our new thing) is followed by baby oil application (dry skin never takes a holiday) and the voluntary relinquishing of the cell phones. You heard me: Thomas and I trade their phones for a book and they read themselves to sleep. Oh I know what you are thinking: they are probably assembling a small hydrogen bomb and tending to marijuana plants behind our backs. In response, I will I quote a friend who has a lot of children:

"I don't care what they are doing, as long as it takes a long time.."

Children fading under a scorching sun on our tour of Tavira.

Thomas Von Wehlen rallying the troops before the offensive.

Beach hide and Seek while waiting for the chicken piripiri....

The above requires a little explaining...Thomas snuck them into an enormous, (really enormous) abandoned hotel....no lights, empty rooms, half finished walls...bats! everything. I had to stay in the get away car. This photo was taken is as they climbed back over. 

Chico nervously holding a skeptical Brooke. Charlie of course has no fear of any girl, no matter how short. 

Last night with the mighty Connolli

Surviving the German loss...

Will write about it in the morning. Above, us in parking lot post game. Xx

More proof of life...

Evenings we assemble at the Connollys pool (the Quinta do lago hotel) to swim, bathe and feed the children before the triumphant arrival of the babysitter Fatima.  This small but hearty group gets the children's tortellini down in two hours flat. Then the elder Connollys are off to a shower and dinner with us. Yay. 

Smallest Kate sleeps in whatever new dress someone just bought her. Pajamas are so 2015...

Few more...

Below the beautiful mathematics of eight adults (and four teenagers) to two babies. 

Free babysitting abounded. The weather was blessedly cool for about an hour and then sun blazed again, just in time for naps. My favorite picture is of the two Kates in pink. Little kate is beside herself playing with the mini goddesses of Hanna and Kate; and the best part of all is one of them shares her name. 

F missing from photos while on tennis court.. Not to worry we haven't misplaced him. X

Quickie photos...

Not Ansel Adams but it's the best I can do; besides I'm sure Mimi is craving photos of the babies. All is well with the flying circus; with the elder Wehlens happily along for the ride. Last night we celebrated the fourth by eating dinner at the beach and then running naked (ok Thomas) or in undergarments into the dark surf. I'll admit this confused Thomas' parents- swimming in natural bodies of water is not their thing; nor apparently is being half naked in public at night while Kate and I wave pashminas screaming USA!!! 

I guess everyone celebrates freedom from tyranny in his own way. 

Arrived Portugal

It's cool to be Canadian now.

Arrived on the flight to Portugal with Charles like we always do: tripping after him with laughter dribbling down our chins. My God he is funny. I told him about JFk Jr. As we were entering the plane. 

"How'd did he die, Auntie?" 

"Plane crash"

"Oh great!! Now I have to find wood.." And off he goes, politely passing people to get two inches from the stewardess' nose to ask her for "some wood". 

After her initial confusion, the BA training kicks in and she hands him a bread basket .

(Straw , wood. What's the difference?)

God I love that kid. There is no one on the earth that makes me laugh that hard. 

Thomas too: even when Thomas sees that Charlie's shoelace is attached to the bag that has the passports and is now dangling out of the cab, he is laughing. 

Charlie told Frederick that he intended to go into business with him: and I say invest.

Really, they are perfect team: without Charlie flirting with the other passengers, they would have been separated on the plane; and without F rationing Charlie's juicy fruit, they would have been gum less.

Ok onward: must discuss the Brexit; the decline of the British empire; the above connection to BA planes; and why we should hug Canadians. 

Actually lets just focus on Canadians shall we? The only non angry not totally f Ed up white men.

First: they have as prime minister a man who looks like something out of a fairy tale; and who even Obama has a crush on. 

They have no gun violence even though they hunt; they take care of the environment, and old people; and they have too many volunteers who want to take in Syrian refugees. That's right you heard me: if you want a refugee, you have to wait. 

Are they sexy? Maybe not... But then again maybe in the right northern light..?

Anyway boring is the new cool, people. That's all I'm saying.

Also- embrace change!  It is the nature of life. Don't fight the flow... That is what the Brits did in this election and it is gonna hurt. 

The people of the world are getting browner; coal is no longer a viable career choice; we have no privacy anymore.  Deal with it. Leaving the EU is like wanting to stick it to the establishment by shooting yourself in the face. 

So this is my plan: remember when I saved Aretha Franklins's life by dancing? And I got rid of a New Year's Eve cold the same way?

Well I propose we do it again. 

Dance away Trump. This summer:  get rid of anyone who doesn't get it, who won't dance or laugh or support your plan to get tipsy on a plane listening to Dire Straights' Tunnel of love.

Get rid of them because they are clinging to your joyful ankles and are now in the way.

Go dance until Trump goes away.

Now I have it go find Charlie who is MIA from the business section of this plane.

Plus Ça Change...

Well this will be a riveting entry...basically we slept walked through London (where Queen Mary where?), visiting the science museum and Imperial College of London (top engineering university, maybe for F) and the Tate modern. As the photos will prove, the boys are goofing around exactly as they always did, just in bigger bodies. 

More soon- flying to Porugal now... Xx

 Boys photo bombing the performance art at the Tate. 

Now... And below: few years back. Same doofuses.