100 or 12 Things I want to do before I die

No more dog food, please.

          Our dog turned 13 last week and I think has decided that life is too short to eat dog food.  I have to agree. I am thinking  the same thing about drinking green tea. But this isn’t about the 100 things that I don’t want to do before I die, it is about the several that come to mind that I do hope to do.

            Of course there are things I want to eat, but those are too numerous to list so I won’t include them. Ditto places to visit. And a million people give or take a couple that I want to see and spend time with. But here is the first shot at my list and hope it inspires you to think of your own.

100 things I want to do before I die

*Drive a red Vespa somewhere in Europe.

*See Scott perform his superman stunts on the Pilates ball.

*Take Julie Jones and Beth Anderson to Regents park in the summer.

Fulfilled the wish to go sailing.

*Take my niece on a history tour of England.

*Spend a weekend with Ben, Becky and my brother and a recorder to record all the funny one-liners.

*See the dance performance of my friend in Boulder.

*See my friend Mr. P in a play.

*See New York City with Dwight and Sue.

*Attend a real ball in a real evening dress with Doug in a real tuxedo, in fact, you can even forget the ball, that part might ruin it, I’ll just take the pretty dress and my man in a tux at a lovely private place.

*Try all the pastries at Café Central, and at Cupcake Wien, that interest me.

*Make Fakhri guacamole.

*Make Laz hot chocolate.

Mattress surfing, low brow, high fun

*Give Ryan a tour of Siberia (no really, not in the gulag sort of way, but because he wants to see it.

*Pass German 1. (third time's a charm I hear)

*Finish my book

*Go mattress surfing with my Stoner family

*Cook Hungarian Goulash over an open fire in my brother’s backyard with my Lewis family

Ok that is what came to mind. And writing this was an enlightening and fun activity. Let me know what you would add and why. Maybe my next list will be a few I don’t want to do, besides not eating dog food.

I can't decide but I think not

Cryptograms

Cryptograms

I think this means we have positive birds and negative birds in Austria from 1950

Don’t you love all the cryptic symbols that are used instead of words?  I need a Google Translate for symbols.

The most memorable experience translating pictures was in a bathroom in some village in Poland. We stumbled into a very small café, only to find out it had been a favorite of Steven Spielberg during the filming of Schindler’s List.  What this meant practically was a small place to eat bursting with customers.  Small wonder it was a favorite, I can’t remember having much to chose from. But the bigger dilemma came when we tried to use the bathroom.

Each restroom was one passenger and unoccupied, the only empty seats in the house.  On one door was a square and on the other a circle. Now I think I would have chosen a triangle for myself, but that wasn’t an option. I searched my intelligence and experience for any help. Anthropology in Mexico! The ancient columns, carved before blue prints and written explanations, were said to represent female soldiers because they were round, not square.  Polish Restroom Anthropology as it turns out, says that the female is a square.  I think.  What I do remember is that I guessed wrong.  No problem going in, but an embarrassing one coming  out.

So, with a history of making guesses as to the cryptograms across Europe, we studied the train map.  This diagram lets you know what type of train you will be taking and which cars are first class.  Or more importantly for me, which cars are for hoi polloi, us plebeians, the unwashed masses, or in the case of Austria, pretty well washed and in Eastern Europe well-oiled by Friday afternoon. 

The train diagram had extra information. The first of the second class cars was without any extra explanation.  The second one had the profile of a person, with three concentric circles coming from their face, and a finger in front of her mouth.  Either it meant, “Be prepared to sing, ‘This little light of mine’,” “Check your breath,” or “No talking. “ All the snorers and shhshh-ers would be in there, not fun!

The next car had a seat with a cross on top, which could mean, Christians, or  disaster victims or handicapped.  Probably either way, no dancing in that car.

The last car had a sign that said kino.  Sounds good on a long train ride, however, although it was a word, a description was in the key.  A kino- cinema in both Slovak and German, for children, three hours listening to Disney in German. 

Needless to say, the normal car was pretty well occupied.  But thankfully, the bathrooms didn’t have a square and a circle on them or any other cryptogram, but instead German, and English, something I can feed into Google Translate if necessary.

This is why I don’t Bungee Jump.

I found this diagram in the ladies bathroom at church.  I attend an international church.  I don’t mean a church full of Americans who are living overseas. I mean International. All continents, yes except Antarctica, pagan penguins, are represented by more than one family. 

Sunday is a thrill. The cultural mix makes for some interesting dynamics, some painful misunderstandings, some great potlucks. And obviously some great signage.

Some in the church want each person to wear a nametag.  I can see the advantage to this, I mean I meet another Patricia, I am good.  A few repeats and I have it.  But I have some friends that I don’t think I will ever get their name right, even if it was staring me in the face. How do you write a click? We don’t have anyone with a name with a click though. I think I would work on getting that name right, just for the linguistic challenge.

Back to the sign.  I don’t use that bathroom usually. There is a main one on another level.  I did some research.  I sent my son in the men’s room and the same sign appears in there.  Apparently it isn’t a female thing. There’s no sign in the main bathroom. 

Which brings me back to Bungee Jumping.  You see, I think it is done for the thrill. But I look at the person in this picture and think, “That is living dangerously,” especially in Europe, because of our toilet issues. (Notice that I didn’t say problem, this is I guess a sign that our generation is more tolerant. We say, “issue” which means, “problem.”)

Toilet Issue Number One. Toilet seats have a larger penchant here to wander.  This means you sit down facing north, and you may end up facing east. Now if you are really lucky, you will still be facing north. But of course there is the chance that you may be facing up.  I don’t know what it is, but there is an inordinately large percentage of toilet seats that can’t seem to be tightened down. This means that even a basic function requires some caution. (My daughter pointed out that American public toilet seats are horse shoe shaped but we can’t figure out why.)

The second cause for pause, is that most commodes in Austria, Hungary, Germany and a few in Slovakia are demonstrative.  Many have tried to describe the phenomena.  Specimen potties, Display Toilets,  How-Healthy-is-your-

Digestive-System Throne.  For those of you who have been blessed with ignorance, let me explain.  American toilets have a bowl full of water.  Other toilets have a bowl without water, just a flusher. And here, instead of a bowl, we have a shelf and the water flushes. I really can’t be more descriptive. Look it up, the internet probably has a picture. I also have speculated as to what makes a culture think this is a good idea but I won’t do it publicly.  Suffice it to say that I wouldn’t adopt the position in the picture over this area’s toilets.

Some people need Bungee Jumping to give them their thrills. Perhaps others take a unique stand doing their business. I just go to church and enjoy that thrill.

 Oddities Abound

Maybe you think because I work with the church that I love all things related. The truth is I have seen enough religious art to, as we say in my family, gag a maggot. The last visit to the Cathedral changed all that. 

Living in Vienna we have guests come through and enjoy taking them to see our lovely city.  One of the main stops is the Cathedral downtown, a building that is both impressive and lovely, a building with history and passion, a building worth seeing.  Even with all those superlatives, a person can get tired saying the same things, pointing out the same objects, so my daughter took along our tour book and read about it again.  That unearthed the big discovery. 

            “Mom,  it says that in the chapel on the left, the Jesus has a beard of human hair and legend has it that the beard is still growing.”  We hoofed it over to the nook and there hung a human sized statue with a black fuzzy beard.  We wrinkled our noses. Creepy. Ick. Who thinks up this stuff?  Do I want to know?

            We ended up at the Cathedral three days in a row and each time I went over to see the bearded Jesus statue.  A tradition is born, when I go to this church, everyone gets to see not only the Lord of our Toothache, at the same Cathedral, but also the Bearded Jesus.  Now creepy art gets its meaning, humorous entertainment for the tour guide.

            Discussing this creepy side show in a lovely garden over pink cupcakes and raspberry cordial, I began to realize that this isn’t the only strange religious artifact.  Oddities abound and I am now on the hunt for them. They are my new selection of  blog fodder.

            In the same Cathedral we found more relics than any saint had on them personally. Many of these are made with bone fragments, decorated with gold. The most unusual, this trip, is a scapula, aka, hip bone, decorated with Jewels around the edge, lots of them.  I am all for bling, but on an old pelvis?

            Catacombs are always a good source for gross. This cathedral has many of the entrails of royalty submerged in alcohol and sealed in urns, large ones for large people, small for small ones.  Since this has been the practice for the past 700 years, and the technology has changed greatly, it is no surprise that occasionally they start leaking. This is not only creepy, but stinky too. Also in the catacombs are rooms just filled floor to ceiling with human bones.

            Bones in their essence must be creepy, just like the word belly button in its essence is funny.  We went to one church in the Czech republic that was completely decorated with human bones, including the chandelier, and the shields of knights on the wall, giving a whole new meaning to the words, “Coat of Arms.”

            Sometimes the stuff in churches isn’t creepy, just strange. One church here sells holy water by vending machine. I mentioned this as we and walked past the bowl of holy water (free) leaving our Cathedral.  At that same moment, a woman dipped her finger in the water and dabbed it behind her ears like perfume.  Maybe she felt a little stinky and unholy from being in the catacombs. Still, I was glad she didn’t bathe in it, THAT would have been creepy.

My Name is Tricia S. and I Like Cars.

I blame my father.  I blame him because it is popular to blame your father. Because he is in heaven I know he doesn't care. And because I think it really is his fault; however, I am an adult and so I now state openly, “My name is Tricia S., and I like cars.”

            Growing up my dad always pointed out the fun, fancy, and unique cars, starting with, “I would give my eye teeth to have that…” Later I realized those cars cost more than eye teeth, which is probably why dad spent most Saturdays in the garage fixing our own “Rolls Can’ardly”, (Rolls down the hill and can 'ardly get up the other.) My brother and I spent our Saturdays banned from the garage because Dad was speaking a language we were forbidden to learn.  Though I didn't learn the language (from dad), I was infected with the love for cars.

            Doug’s father also loved cars but Doug didn't get the bug. He likes a car that will work and get him from point A to point B in the least expensive way.  When I started dating Doug he had brown Chevy Chevette.  Remember the ads for those cars?  "Chevy Chevette, it will drive you happy.”  They really were thinking there, it was a car that could drive you crazy and they must have been trying to subliminally warn people.  We fondly knew it as Dimples, because it survived a Colorado hailstorm - proof that I didn’t marry Doug for his car.

            Understanding our attitudes toward cars you can appreciate Doug's great love for me when he rented for me a red Mustang convertible one beautiful Colorado week.

We had been in Slovakia for four years and returned to the US for a year that can only be described to the general public as the year of torture.  It was the year my dad died, my grandma died, my mom lost her voice for months, Ryan had emergency surgery and 4 bouts with pneumonia, etc. 

We travelled around the States in a car that had to be started by two people - one turning the ignition and one spraying flammable starter fluid directly in the carburetor.  While the first person gunned it, the second person had to reinstall the air filter and close the hood.  This made some interesting opportunities to meet people when I went out with my toddlers.

            The next fall, back in Slovakia in the midst of daily tears, Doug would ask me what I needed.  Since nothing came to mind right away I would often say, a red convertible. I just need to drive one for ONE day-but not here, in the rain.

            The next summer we were back in the States arranging estate work from my dad and grandma and taking the vacation we hadn't had the years before.  That's when Doug decided I should have the car. 

            I can't describe how glorious it was.  We bought some fun CD's, like Beach Boys Greatest Hits.

My niece, then age three, would ask to take a ride with me in my "hot car." I think she really thought we meant heat because in the Colorado sunshine, those in the back seat really did bake. Those in the front were fine; I turned the air conditioner on full and enjoyed the ride.  

            I still have never owned my own car, but I had one more experience that was glorious fun.  One summer in South Carolina we were offered a car to borrow.  They gave us a choice, the Buick or the new Dodge Ram truck.  What could I say, they were already being generous to loan us any car? But as we arrived at the airport, there was the beautiful Dodge Ram and they handed us the keys.  Doug drove home but it was almost the only time he drove it those weeks.

            What is it about cars and music?  For some reason Dan Fogelberg and Classical seemed to go better with the truck, but that is probably just me.

            As we met with the couple for dinner to thank them for the use of the car, our friend asked Doug how he liked it.  Doug said it rode nicely but I had done most of the driving.  The friend burst into laughter, he had just told his class that Doug was getting in touch with his masculine side by driving the Ram.  What he didn't know was that it was really me who was getting in touch... 

            Maybe Dad isn't only to blame, maybe I should also thank my Dad, for the ability to enjoy something as simple as driving a fun vehicle.