Heidschi Bumbeidschi

Heidschi Bumbeidschi

But Heiji Bumbeischi sleep for a long time 

the mother is gone 

she is gone and never returns home 

and leaves her little Büberl so completely alone 

But Heidschi Bumbeidschi bumbum, 

But Heiji Bumbeidschi bumbum.

But Heishi Bumbeidschi, sleep the sweet 

ones let them greet 

you They greet you and ask 

you if you want to walk in heaven 

But Heiji Bumbeidschi bumbum, 

but Heidschi Bumbeidschi bumbum.

Christmas Eve was lovely- a little long on the goose liver, but very pretty as always. I took a video and will try to post, but videos have never worked too well on the ol blog.  One of our favorite carols sung this night is from the 19th century, written originally in Bavarian/Austrian dialect. I never knew until this year that the song is is about mothers losing their children, back when infant mortality was high. Eventually it was turned into more of a lullaby for putting kids to sleep- and less about actual death. But this is why I love spending Christmas here: where else do you find nine course meals with goose liver, accompanied by Christmas Carols about dead babies? It's refreshing not to be coddled. 

We heard the usual speeches- an intellectual one from G about becoming more humane at Christmas, and Frau S. choking back tears as she thanked us. Then the main event- Luis, Frederick and the other two members of the retainer stealing team were appointed to give the Christmas speech. Too funny. None of these kids knows a Christmas outside of this hotel- and they talked about why they loved it. Frederick told about his jello suspended possessions and how this would not happen at another hotel; how this was a place that was safe for people and retainers alike. 

Lighting the tree with live fire; No sissy electric lights here. 

There was a new comer- a very young English boy who brought the house down reading a poem about memories of his youth. It was like Laurence Olivier in short pants. Then there were the usual assortment of little girls in dirndls who read from the bible, one of whom was in a state of panic because she had to read the word circumcision. Apparently the women from the children's play room (who hand out the roles) brook no squeamishness about an occasional Christmas penis reference. Like I said, there is no coddling here. 

Harumi gave me this hat from a company that is called Teton something, after our beloved Jackson Hole, with Japanese writing on the back. Thomas is trying to steal it from me, but I'll kill him first. 

I promise I will get some photos up soon, but now we must go to Church. xx

Wearing my favorite present, post dinner- a hat from Harumi

mini Laurence Olivier with the dirndl girls

Gifts in front of our door from Mrs. S

Jello à La Retainer

Small interim update. Frederick called us from his room in a near panic asking if we had taken his credit cards and I.D. out of his wallet. Um no....? Then he came rushing in explaining that he had gone out for a 45 minute ski and left his door open, wallet on full display. Thomas said Frederick needed to look around his room, because he probably took them out himself. Ok this was silly-one doesn't take out four credit cards and one's I.D. and then forget it an hour later. We scratched our head, and Thomas called the reception, not to accuse them- but to ask if any had been found. The woman said no and reminded him that never in the history of the hotel had anything been stolen from a room. Thomas said yes of course....we know. Then it occurred to me that it was obviously this gang of boys headed by Luis. And indeed, it was. They said they had the cards and the retainer and all were in a safe place; but they could say no more. I asked what their demands were- I mean a hostage retainer gets a pretty good price.
So we laughed and got ready for dinner.

Later four waiters come out with two enormous flaming jellos with credit cards and retainer cooked inside. Luis said the retainer was hard to keep from floating to the surface, so they had to attach it to a banana. Such are the perks of having a patisserie chef at your disposal.

Apparently the boys had come looking for Frederick (who is now resplendent in his own room dear god) and finding it empty and filled with credit cards...took the most natural next step.

So. Game on people. Please submit revenge ideas to my email......keep in mind with my Brigham gene for vicious practical jokes and Thomas' sangfroid at the prospect of emptying the family trust if needed, we have a broad range available. Get on it.

Never Mansplain to a Japanese Pharmacist

Thomas and I have been here a week, and don't feel the zen yet. There have been guests five of the days (Rainer and Peter consecutively). But there is no rest for the weary, because tonight most of the core crowd comes.

T and I were badly jet-lagged, but unlike at other hotels, this becomes news here. Mrs. Schneider appeared before me in the hallways like a specter asking about my night, and the waiters silently brought me shots of ginger.

Harumi is by my side thank god. We had one rather nice day of powder and she was happy with my turns. But on the last run she claims I leaned back and this she can't let go. For the uninitiated, the zen of skiing is to be forward; but not bending at the hip with bum out the back; no. She tried to explain what is clearly obvious to her- how you are supposed to be in this perfect upward position, with bent knees, but since different hills have different slopes. it is something that has to be constantly adjusted. A perfect position on the flat does not work on a very steep hill. Finally she told me that when my "po po" i.e. my bum is too far back, it must be brought back up. This was news. The thing I both love and hate about this sport is that to be safe you have to have faith in the experts, in accepted wisdom, in your Harumi.  Neither your brain nor your gut is of any use.

Today was one of those days that make you worry about the future of the planet, and more immediately of the hotel, because it poured rain. Of course we still went out, but there was such high wind that most things were closed and the hills were both icy and slushy.  At one point we were on a lift for a very small hill - the one where children learn- and we were swinging so badly I thought I was going to die right there on the bunny lift- which is of course such a poor ending for the biography Amy is going to write.

Yesterday we explained to Harumi what mansplaining was. She told us a tale about how she has met men on helicopter trips who won't shake her hand, because they don't want to ski with her. In their defense, it is genuinely dangerous out there and she looks like a pretty Japanese pharmacist.  Lots of times, the men try to ski faster than she does.....even though the whole point of having a guide is so they go first and test for avalanches. Luckily for these idiots, no one skis faster than Harumi-San. To paraphrase the sound of music: It's like trying to catch a moonbeam in your hand. Thomas famously said when she goes into her top gear it is like trying to follow a comet.

Tell me-is there anything more beautiful than the sight of all those tears and training and Japanese mastery forming the massive dust cloud on which those men must now choke?

Po Pos up, girls. Knees bent, but Po Pos up.

England Ahoy

F is leaving tomorrow for his little Cambridge chats. Unlike Feng's son (who also made the cut of course), Frederick will make his way to the Berkeley hotel where E and C will be waiting; tea cups in hand. He says he still has an oyster card and will hop on the tube with his little roller suitcase, like a slightly brainy flight attendant. Then, after a nourishing meal and sleep, his aunt and uncle will pick him up and take him to King's college where he will sleep in new Brooks Brothers pyjamas bought by Nana. What I am trying to say is, he has a lot of support in this adventure.

His uncles told him that it's a pity that the Brigham who can pass the natural sciences entrance exam, is not the one with story telling chops. If one of us were going, the stories would be legendary. He had to sign both a scanned and hard copy of an agreement saying that he wouldn't reveal to anyone what was on the test, or what transpired at the interviews. Ha.
He will be revealing, I tell you- or he is out of what is left of the tattered will. Obviously I will be posting all details here.

I love the severity of the letter above- not a single exclamation point. Thomas is looking at the names of the professors who will meet with F and they look like a fun crowd.

Finally, ya'll should know the two best things in the week as determined by me: Maureen Dowd's article about H.W. Bush, and the "All I want for Christmas" - message from the women of SNL song on Saturday night live. Do not delay availing yourselves of both.

H.W. Bush never wrote a memoir (don't you love that?). He did however compile a book of his letters. It's a bit like this blog, though I like this form better: letters written into thin air.


next update complete with exaggerations and lunacies coming Friday.