'The Nightingale' ... Remembering a Trip to Mauthausen

My book club just finished the exquisite book, 'The Nightingale', by Kristin Hannah. When we picked the book, it came with high recommendations ... which didn't stop me from wondering if I would enjoy a book set in Nazi-occupied France during World War II. But, I did love it. I highly recommend it. When it ended, I wasn't quite ready to leave. I loved that it was a book about two very different, but equally strong, sisters. I loved that it was a book about resilience ... in particular, that of women trying to survive and protect and, under the most brutal of conditions, make a difference. And, I loved that it felt real. Yes, it is a fictional book, but the non-fiction woven throughout transported me back in time to my visit to Mauthausen Concentration Camp in 1992. At the time, it wasn't a place I wanted to visit ... but, I knew it was a place I needed to see.

The reflection below comes straight from my college photo book, highlighting my time as an exchange student in Austria. While most of the entries and captions are happy and hilarious, this one is devastatingly solemn. When I put the photo book together, this particular entry was the only one that displayed no photos, just words.

Mauthausen Concentration Camp

October 18, 1992

I suppose the weather was what one would call "perfect" for a trip to a concentration camp - cold and damp, with a constant drizzle falling from the cloudy gray sky. For me, the weather added to the heaviness and gloom that I felt as I walked through the buildings and grounds of the camp. Mauthausen was built beginning in 1938, and was listed as a Level 3 camp, i.e. no return to society. Thousands died in this labor camp under the Nazi regime.

As we entered the camp, the first building our group was shown was a bunker. The rooms in the bunker had wooden bunk beds in them - each bunk bed wide enough to fit one normal-sized man laying flat on his back. The "prisoners", however, were forced to sleep three men to a bed. Even at the extremely emaciated state these men and women were in, this would have been extremely difficult. I'm sure, however, that this must have been one of the only ways they were able to stay warm throughout the night.

Next, we were directed towards the museum, where we were also shown a movie about the holocaust. The things I learned from the movie and museum were disgusting, sickening, and fascinating. Thousands of prisoners were forced to carry large boulders up the steps of the "Stairway of Death." If one of these people were to slip or "get pushed", it would turn into an avalanche of people and stones, killing hundreds. Himler, who was in charge of the camps, stated that he didn't "enjoy" his visits to the camps because they made him "sick to his stomach". While Germans and Austrians usually had some chance of survival, Poles, Russians, and Jews had no chance. Prisoners were usually fed every third day, only three spoonfuls. If they ate more they were beaten to death. When it rained, the prisoners had to lay on the ground and form a human carpet for the S.S. men to walk over so their shoes wouldn't get wet and dirty. No matter what the weather, prisoners had to stand outside from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day.

Towards the end of the movie, I could hardly bring myself to keep my eyes on the screen. I kept forcing myself to watch, however, because it's too easy - in our day and age - to forget the tragedies that occurred so many years ago. It's so easy for us to simply turn our eyes away and not watch. The movie showed piles of emaciated dead bodies; bodies being carelessly thrown into carts; close-ups of bodies covered with flies. The pictures were powerful and frightening. How could any human care so much for dictatorship and so little for human life and dignity? After seeing the movie, I didn't want to be at the camp any longer. Many people came out of the movie in tears.

We continued our tour in an amazing silence - there was absolutely nothing that could be said. We walked through rooms with human-size ovens which were used to incinerate dead bodies, then continued into a room resembling a large communal shower area. The prisoners who walked into this room thought they were going to get a shower . . . instead of water, however, they were sprayed with fatally poisonous gases.

We were led through a torture chamber, and into an area resembling a hallway. This hallway, however, had open spaces on either side, and its walls were chipped and worn. A single sign posted on the wall stated something to the effect of "The chambers on your left and right were once used as storage for dead bodies." I could envision the bodies carelessly piled on top of each other as if they were really there. I stood in that one spot for a long time.

Americans are generally taught in school that the Jews were the prisoners in the concentration camps. However, the Jews were only one of a large number of populations, including black people, Poles, Russians, homosexuals, Germans, Viennese, and many more. Prisoners wore I.D.s which identified why they were in the camp. There were even "special" I.D.s for those who fit more than one category.

After touring the buildings, we were encouraged to walk around the grounds of the camp. Several of us decided to go find the "Stairway of Death". It was raining, and the rocky path leading down to the stairs was slippery. From the path, we could see the cliff that the S.S. would push prisoners off of into the lake far below.

I wanted to take a picture to show my family and friends what this place was like, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. A picture couldn't do justice to what really happened. All anybody would be able to see in a picture would be a lake and a cliff, or steep, rocky stairs, or an empty building ... but, that was not what this place was.

Awesomeness .... and, How Vas the Vod-ka?

A HUGE congratulations to my sweet friend and writing club partner, Rachel ... who just finished the first draft of her novel!  Such an incredible milestone!  She has turned a fabulous idea into a future bestseller, I'm sure of it!

I first met Rachel in Vienna, Austria, of all places.  We were exchange students ... she was from Texas; I was from Washington.  I have such fun, fond memories of our adventures there.  In her honor ... I'm re-posting "How Vas the Vod-ka?" below, which recaps an exhilarating and equally hilarious hike we took together in the Alps. 

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How Vas the Vod-ka?

One of my favorite memories of my exchange student days in Austria involved a trip to Innsbruck, Austria.

Admittedly, I’d label the majority of Austrian towns as ‘gorgeous and amazing’, but - oh my - is Innsbruck ever cool. It’s situated right in the midst of the Austrian Alps, which makes for great hiking, especially when you’ve been blessed with stunningly beautiful weather.

We visited the Alpenzoo first. Situated 727 meters above sea level and nestled into the mountain, it is the highest zoo in the world. And, as its name would indicate, it is home to animals that originate from the alpine region, showing them in their natural habitat. The Alpenzoo, in and of itself, could be considered a hike for many.

After visiting the zoo, our group split into two and my dear friend, Rachel, and I decided to hike up into the Alps. It was my absolute favorite day in Europe … exhilarating and incredibly beautiful.

Halfway up the mountain, we were joined by Marco from Germany (I couldn't resist snapping a picture of him during one of our hiking breaks ... he's the one on the left, in the bushes!).

We had no clue who he was, but he stayed with us for the remainder of the hike. He seemed nice enough, as did all our fellow-hikers that day. I guess back then crazy stalkers weren’t as prevalent on our minds. I’m still quite certain he was a bit enamored with Rachel!

We made it above the tree line and, after a few moments of sitting and taking in the beautiful view and brilliant blue sky, decided to commence the joint-pounding trek down the mountain!

Towards the end of our descent, we passed another hiker who was headed up the mountain. As he passed, he greeted us and asked, “How vas the vodka?”

You know how you respond when you don’t really know what someone has said, but you still want to reply in a friendly and jovial way? You kind of do a hearty laugh and throw your head back like you ‘get’ the joke or the funny comment even though you haven’t a clue as to what they actually said?

That’s what we did. And, I think we added something like, “Gut … sehr gut!”

We giggled as we tried to figure out what had possessed him to ask us about vodka. I mean, we knew these particular hills were alive with music, but not vodka-drinking hikers.

It wasn’t until a few laughter-filled minutes later, that it dawned on us what he had really asked.

“How was the walk up?”

To this day, Rachel and I still laugh about that story. And, it just goes to show that the hills are alive … with music, yes … but also with fresh air, exhilarating views, and very friendly German-speaking hikers. No vodka required.

G. Williker's ...

Do you remember the charming, boutique bookstore owned by Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail"?

I loved that bookstore. It made me want to own a bookstore. It was charming and welcoming and successful. Well, until Fox Books showed up! :-)

For my birthday, my family took me on a little weekend trip to Hood River, a charming little town nestled in the shadow of Mt. Hood and situated right on the Columbia River. Gorgeous!

The downtown area is bursting with unique shops and hip restaurants ... including our family favorite - G. Williker's Toy Shoppe!

I've never been so taken with a toy shop. Every inch housed something new to look at ... toys we had never seen before at other stores. It was completely enchanting. It made me want to own a toy store.

We decided we needed to schedule a quarterly drive to Hood River, armed with a list of all upcoming birthdays and holidays, to purchase gifts from this hidden gem!

Have you made any fun discoveries lately?!

Beware the Fleas of Italy

Friday marks my 40th birthday ... and, I must admit that I'm a bit in shock that - in response to the 'What is your age?' question on surveys - the box I'll need to check is in an entirely different decade than before.

Five years ago, my hubby and I each shared what we wanted to do for our 40th birthday. I decided I wanted to celebrate it in Italy. Fast forward five years ... with school and work and extracurricular schedules and a pesky lack of funding for such a trip, it is clear this particular wish is not going to be realized. Maybe we'll aim for 45.

Anyway, I've been feeling a bit wistful for Italy ... and, so, felt the need to remind myself that the last time I was there, it wasn't all glamorous. I posted the story below a couple years ago, and thought this would be the perfect occasion for a re-post.

Thanks to the creative mind of blogger/author/illustrator, Douglas Florian, this time around we'll rename the post, "Flearence"!

*******

Some might find it surprising that I have such an obsession with Italy considering what happened to me while vacationing in the beautiful country a few years back. Hubby and I learned, after our trip, that the weather we thought to be normal for the late May/early June timeframe was very much non-typical. In fact, they had been experiencing a somewhat unusual heat wave. And heat waves can, apparently, bring on infestations of certain pests, namely fleas.

I should note here that I have an allergic reaction to flea bites. There’s a back story to that … I’ll share it at another time.

Our first stop was in Rome. There, I accumulated five or six flea bites. Thinking it to be a fluke, I grinned and beared the bites as they grew into large blisters. I was slightly miserable, but thoroughly enjoying the historic and culinary experience that is Rome.

Florence was the second stop of this dream vacation. In an effort to be frugal, I had found a wonderful Florence apartment on-line, boasting a gorgeous view of the Duomo. The owner was going to be traveling while we were in town, and had made his flat available for a reasonable price to gullible travelers such as myself.

The flat, with its musty stench and jungle-like plant arrangements did – in fact – have a view of the Duomo. Yes it did. If you went into the bathroom, which measured approximately 3 feet by 5 feet, and stood on your tip-toes to look out the 1 foot by 1 foot window, you could see the peak of the Duomo perfectly. (See that little bug, strategically located on the picture above? That's the bathroom window of our flat, as seen from the top of the Duomo! :-))

The bathroom – view or not – brought me to tears. Upon arriving in sizzling Florence, with my ever-so-itchy blisters, all I wanted to do was wash away the itchiness with a shower. After standing on my tip-toes to view the Duomo, I turned my attention to the task at hand. Unfortunately, a shower did not appear to exist in the 3 by 5 foot bathroom space.

Sink? Check.

Toilet? Check (sort of).

Oh, wait … there is a water tank mounted over the toilet; a floor drain in the middle of the room; and a hand shower of sorts propped near the tank.

Super … the bathroom is the shower.

I had exactly four minutes to wash, relax, and get my mind off my growing, itching blisters before the tank of lukewarm water emptied. Certainly, though, things would start looking up soon.

The next morning, I awoke to oodles of new blisters. It was then that we pulled back the covers to find fleas dancing on the sheets.

Day’s Agenda:

1) Visit the Ponte Vecchio and the Piazza della Signoria;

2) Buy hydrocortisone and bulk supply of Band-Aids; and

3) Eat lots of gelato to numb the pain and itching.

That night, in the midst of an Italian heat wave, I went to bed wearing socks, sweats, and a sweatshirt. Certainly they wouldn’t be able to attack me through so much clothing.

They did.

Our dream vacation was quickly becoming a flea-infested nightmare. Second only to my hubby, Lenirit Idrocortisone Acetato became my close and constant companion. My main goal as I dressed each morning had become attempting to disguise the increasing number of Band-Aids and hideous blisters under the diminutive selection of warm-weather clothing I had brought along for the trip. “Certainly, I can make these capris stretch down to my ankles!”

In a heroic effort to keep his bride from going insane from the incessant itching, hubby suggested we ditch our next intended stop – Venice – and head north to the cool, fresh air of Zurich, Switzerland. Forget trying to be a good sport … I jumped on that bandwagon and, with a sigh of relief, concurred with the suggested change in travel plans!

By the time we left Florence in a mad dash to escape the heat-seeking fleas, I had 32 blisters lining my body from neck to foot … most of them concentrated on my legs, some measuring the size of a dime.

At this point, frugality was a distant and silly thought. I found and booked a room at the Zurich Best Western, where - upon arrival - I wept with joy at the beautiful tub and shower, and the gorgeous, fluffy down beds. We emptied the entire contents of our luggage into the bathtub, ensuring no fleas had hitched a ride north with us.

Dream vacation saved, though bite scars still remain as a bittersweet reminder of our time under the hot Italian sun.

We do plan to eventually make it back to Venice …this time, however, we’ll be a bit more mindful of timing, in the hopes that we don’t arrive during an Italian flea-infested heat wave!

At the Coast ...

~ We relax and enjoy ~

~ Hope you are enjoying the last 'official' days of summer ~

(Click on image to view larger!)

Deep Water

It’s a love-hate relationship.

Vast bodies of water are one of my absolute favorite experiences. The power of an endless, roaring ocean; the inspiring sight of a sparkling blue lake; water so still it provides a mirror-perfect reflection of trees and mountains or touched by the wind to create ripples and whitecaps; ferries carrying their precious cargo; boats lining a marina. So much for the senses to take in.

Funny, how I have fear of the very thing I am drawn to. I am interested in looking at it; in being on top of it. I have little desire to be in it or under it.

While my husband snorkeled in Maui; I floated along the top of the water, dipping my head in every so often to take a picture of him. I’ve always considered breathing underwater to be a thing best left for fish! Water skiing was cause for internal struggle. The skiing part was exhilarating; but my delight was tempered by having to begin and end in the deep, dark water.

Thankfully, on numerous occasions, a love for adventure and desire to challenge myself has prevailed over my fear. A trip to picturesque Orcas Island, part of the San Juan Islands of Washington, was host to one such occasion. When visiting Orcas, a popular thing to do is go sea kayaking in the Puget Sound.

Let’s take just a moment to analyze these two words:

Sea = deep, vast water; animals swimming amongst and beneath, including whales.
Kayaking = self-propelled human travel via a narrow, canoe-like, tippable boat, using an oar.

Our trip began with a lesson in how to maneuver the kayak and handle a possible tip. The very mention of which caused a combination of heart palpitations and nervous goosebumps. We were led to believe that, if our kayak were to tip over, we could perform a kayak roll using a swift lift-of-the-torso-hip-flicking-paddle-pushing action. I was fairly certain, though I didn’t share this with the guide or my husband, that – if I were upside down in the sea in a kayak – I would be spending more time figuring out how to get my lower half loose from the skirt attaching me to the kayak, and less time perfecting the roll technique.

Thankfully, neither method was put to the test.

As we floated away from the dock, getting a feel for how to propel and steer the vessel with our paddles and realizing the kayak was more stable than expected, the pounding in my chest slowed.

The sights and sounds surrounding us were stunning: water gently lapping against the kayak, hills of evergreens, snow-capped mountains, and blue sky mottled with cotton-ball clouds. It was peaceful, exhilarating, and the fact that I was playing a part in making the kayak move forward and turn filled me with a sense of strength.

As our group paddled out to the open sea, seals poked their heads out of the water to watch as we paddled through their space. A sea plane descended from the sky, landing effortlessly on the water. And, much larger vessels glided by, causing ripples that created a mini-roller coaster sensation for us kayakers. Unfortunately, though … no Orca whales were spotted. We would see them frolicking in the water at another time and place.

When the day was done, I was filled with energy and passion for the sport. My husband and I even discussed the possibility of purchasing a kayak to use on the river back home. Of course, those dreams were tempered by the reality of an apartment balcony that could not accommodate a large kayak and the realization that our visits to the river would likely be few and far between.

The kayak was not the important thing, though … it was the exhilarating feeling of a fear overcome. It’s still not my preference to be in the deep water. But I learned that, sometimes, the deepest water can bring the greatest joy.

Come With Me to Kauai ...

I've mentioned it often ... my love of travel. Recently, and for various reasons, 'big' travel has not been able to grace our to-do list. When I start feeling antsy, but can't hop on the next flight to some wonderful destination, I look through pictures. This week, I have been enjoying Kauai. We traveled there in late 2007. Please join me on a quick photo-trip through the gorgeous island ... and be sure to play the video at the end!

Rainbow east of Kiahuna Beach ...

Our last night on the island, we were graced with this gorgeous sunset (taken in Po'ipu) ...














Bottle Palm in the National Tropical Botanical Gardens ...



















Oh, to have a tree that looked like this one, located in the parking lot of the Botanical Gardens ...
















A stunning orchid in the Botanical Gardens ...



















A sky flower, also in the Botanical Gardens ...
















Puu HinaHina Lookout in Waimea Canyon ...















Waipo'o Falls in Waimea Canyon State Park ...



















The lush Hanalei Valley ...















Kilauea Point Lighthouse ...















Hubby heading out to snorkel ...















The Spouting Horn, seen from Kukui'ula Harbor ...













Look at that form! :-) Ziplining in Princeville (SO fun!!!) ...

Enjoy the zipline ride (courtesy of my hubby, who was holding the video camera) ...

An Encounter with Gloom

I promise to return with a much happier and light-hearted story next week, but thought this one important to share. It comes straight from my college photo book, highlighting my time as an exchange student in Austria. While most of the entries and captions are happy and hilarious, this one is devastatingly solemn. When I put the photo book together, this particular entry displayed no photos, just words.

Mauthausen Concentration Camp

October 18, 1992

I suppose the weather was what one would call "perfect" for a trip to a concentration camp - cold and damp, with a constant drizzle falling from the cloudy gray sky. For me, the weather added to the heaviness and gloom that I felt as I walked through the buildings and grounds of the camp. Mauthausen was built beginning in 1938, and was listed as a Level 3 camp, i.e. no return to society. Thousands died in this labor camp under the Nazi regime.

As we entered the camp, the first building our group was shown was a bunker. The rooms in the bunker had wooden bunk beds in them - each bunk bed wide enough to fit one normal-sized man laying flat on his back. The "prisoners", however, were forced to sleep three men to a bed. Even at the extremely emaciated state these men and women were in, this would have been extremely difficult. I'm sure, however, that this must have been one of the only ways they were able to stay warm throughout the night.

Next, we were directed towards the museum, where we were also shown a movie about the holocaust. The things I learned from the movie and museum were disgusting, sickening, and fascinating. Thousands of prisoners were forced to carry large boulders up the steps of the "Stairway of Death." If one of these people were to slip or "get pushed", it would turn into an avalanche of people and stones, killing hundreds. Himler, who was in charge of the camps, stated that he didn't "enjoy" his visits to the camps because they made him "sick to his stomach". While Germans and Austrians usually had some chance of survival, Poles, Russians, and Jews had no chance. Prisoners were usually fed every third day, only three spoonfuls. If they ate more they were beaten to death. When it rained, the prisoners had to lay on the ground and form a human carpet for the S.S. men to walk over so their shoes wouldn't get wet and dirty. No matter what the weather, prisoners had to stand outside from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day.

Towards the end of the movie, I could hardly bring myself to keep my eyes on the screen. I kept forcing myself to watch, however, because it's too easy - in our day and age - to forget the tragedies that occurred so many years ago. It's so easy for us to simply turn our eyes away and not watch. The movie showed piles of emaciated dead bodies; bodies being carelessly thrown into carts; close-ups of bodies covered with flies. The pictures were powerful and frightening. How could any human care so much for dictatorship and so little for human life and dignity? After seeing the movie, I didn't want to be at the camp any longer. Many people came out of the movie in tears.

We continued our tour in an amazing silence - there was absolutely nothing that could be said. We walked through rooms with human-size ovens which were used to incinerate dead bodies, then continued into a room resembling a large communal shower area. The prisoners who walked into this room thought they were going to get a shower . . . instead of water, however, they were sprayed with fatally poisonous gases.

We were led through a torture chamber, and into an area resembling a hallway. This hallway, however, had open spaces on either side, and its walls were chipped and worn. A single sign posted on the wall stated something to the effect of "The chambers on your left and right were once used as storage for dead bodies." I could envision the bodies carelessly piled on top of each other as if they were really there. I stood in that one spot for a long time.

Americans are generally taught in school that the Jews were the prisoners in the concentration camps. However, the Jews were only one of a large number of populations, including black people, Poles, Russians, homosexuals, Germans, Viennese, and many more. Prisoners wore I.D.s which identified why they were in the camp. There were even "special" I.D.s for those who fit more than one category.

After touring the buildings, we were encouraged to walk around the grounds of the camp. Several of us decided to go find the "Stairway of Death". It was raining, and the rocky path leading down to the stairs was slippery. From the path, we could see the cliff that the S.S. would push prisoners off of into the lake far below.

I wanted to take a picture to show my family and friends what this place was like, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. A picture couldn't do justice to what really happened. All anybody would be able to see in a picture would be a lake and a cliff, or steep, rocky stairs, or an empty building ... but, that was not what this place was.

How Vas the Vod-Ka?

This is a re-post from about a year ago, with a few minor updates. I've been thinking about Austria lately, and this is one of my favorite memories. And, I'm so thrilled for the upcoming Winter Olympics, I can hardly stand it ... so there's a bit of Olympic trivia at the end of the post. Enjoy! :-)

One of my favorite memories of my exchange student days in Austria involved a trip to Innsbruck, Austria.

Admittedly, I’d label the majority of Austrian towns as ‘gorgeous and amazing’, but - oh my - is Innsbruck ever cool. It’s situated right in the midst of the Austrian Alps, which makes for great hiking, especially when you’ve been blessed with stunningly beautiful weather.

We visited the Alpenzoo first. Situated 727 meters above sea level and nestled into the mountain, it is the highest zoo in the world. And, as its name would indicate, it is home to animals that originate from the alpine region, showing them in their natural habitat. The Alpenzoo, in and of itself, could be considered a hike for many.

After visiting the zoo, our group split into two and my dear friend, Rachel, and I decided to hike up into the Alps. It was my absolute favorite day in Europe … exhilarating and incredibly beautiful.

Halfway up the mountain, we were joined by Marco from Germany. We had no clue who he was, but he stayed with us for the remainder of the hike. He seemed nice enough, as did all our fellow-hikers that day. I guess back then crazy stalkers weren’t as prevalent on our minds. I’m still quite certain he was a bit enamored with Rachel!

We made it above the tree line and, after a few moments of sitting and taking in the beautiful view and brilliant blue sky, decided to commence the joint-pounding trek down the mountain!

Towards the end of our descent, we passed another hiker who was headed up the mountain. As he passed, he greeted us and asked, “How vas the vodka?”

You know how you respond when you don’t really know what someone has said, but you still want to reply in a friendly and jovial way? You kind of do a hearty laugh and throw your head back like you ‘get’ the joke or the funny comment even though you haven’t a clue as to what they actually said?

That’s what we did. And, I think we added something like, “Gut … sehr gut!”

We giggled as we tried to figure out what had possessed him to ask us about vodka. I mean, we knew these particular hills were alive with music, but not vodka-drinking hikers.

It wasn’t until a few laughter-filled minutes later, that it dawned on us what he had really asked.

“How was the walk up?”

To this day, Rachel and I still laugh about that story. And, it just goes to show that the hills are alive … with music, yes … but also with fresh air, exhilarating views, and very friendly German-speaking hikers. No vodka required.

~~~~~~~

Now for the trivia! Just so you can impress your friends and family with your vast knowledge of international Olympic trivia, here are a few interesting tidbits about Innsbruck:

• The Olympic Winter Games were held in Innsbruck twice, first in 1964, then again in 1976. The 1976 Winter Olympics were the last games held in the German-speaking Alps (Austria, Germany, or Switzerland).
• Along with St. Moritz (Switzerland) and Lake Placid, NY, Innsbruck is one of only three places which have hosted the Winter Games twice. (It also hosted the 1984 and 1988 Winter Paralympics.)
• And … this excited me quite a lot … on December 12, 2008, Innsbruck was chosen as host of the first-ever Winter Youth Olympic Games to be held from January 13 to January 22, 2012.

When God Closes a Door ...

It was a very cold, snowy night in December. Our gas-powered fire was pretend-crackling and I had a million things to do before Christmas arrived. I was quickly flipping through the television channels in search of something entertaining to keep me awake while I accomplished my never-ending list of “to-do’s”.

I found "The Sound of Music" and was hopelessly drawn in. I got very little done for the rest of the evening, and went to bed way past the time I had hoped for.

Sure, I've seen it a dozen, maybe more, times (though never from start to finish). Yes, I know the story, but certain details sometimes need refreshing. Yes, the song lyrics have long been ingrained in my brain. Nevertheless, I still had to watch it.

Maybe because it is such a gentle, hopeful movie about the love of family, standing up for what you believe, and holding on to the hope that "when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window..". But, I think it's also because it reminds me of my time as an exchange student in Austria, including a funny little incident involving a certain gazebo in Salzburg.

We traveled to Salzburg in November. My most vivid memory is that of hillsides crowded with trees in every shade of autumn you could possibly imagine, against a brilliant, clear-blue sky. It was like walking into a painting. It was gorgeous.

I also remember our long and comical search for the famed gazebo from 'The Sound of Music'. Just when we were about to give up looking, we found it. Locked! Hours of walking, and it was locked. I could see inside, but it wasn't the same. I wanted to be inside where they had filmed that touching scene between Maria and Captain von Trapp.

So, I did what any reasonable college student would do. I started pulling and yanking on the door. Not that I thought I would get in ... my roommate and I were laughing to the point of tears when she took this picture.

Nonetheless, I still do believe that when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window ... just not the one to 'The Sound of Music' gazebo.

Herman ... A Fish Tale

Last week, hubby and I took the kids to the stunning Bonneville Fish Hatchery in the equally-impressive Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area.

Before actually going there, I would have never guessed I would be referring to a fish hatchery as 'stunning'. But, it is. The grounds are simply gorgeous. I walked around clicking pictures and commenting continuously on how beautiful everything looked.

The main attraction, however, is not the landscaping. It is Herman the Sturgeon. I couldn't help but think how perfect a character Herman would be for a children's picture book.

While myths abound, the true facts about Herman are limited in number, but staggering to the mind:

1. Herman the Sturgeon is over 10 feet long.
2. He weighs in at over 450 pounds.
3. He is over 70 years old.

My son and daughter thought he was a riot. As he nonchalantly swam by, my son waved; while my daughter excitedly showed him her Pet Shop pups ... ya know, just in case he was in to that kind of thing.

As for me ... I'm still wondering about the picture book possibility. Looks like I've got some research in my future!

Happy writing!

The Kindness of Strangers - Part 2

** Story continued from previous post **

My bike pack didn’t fit correctly on the new bike, so I rigged it as best I could to the front frame and set off.

It was exhilarating. The towering pines. The still-cool, fresh air. I had been biking for only 10 minutes, not realizing that my bike pack was working its way loose from the frame.

Without warning, the pavement was approaching at warp speed. I put both hands out to meet it, attempting to break the fall and protect my head. Seconds later, I was flat on the ground, the bicycle partially perched on top of me.

I attempted to get a sense of what had happened. The bike pack was lying on the ground under the front wheel. It had fallen into the front spokes as I whizzed down the path, stopping the bike in an instant and hurtling me to the ground.

A man and his son biked by slowly. The young boy looked concerned and I heard him quietly ask his dad if I was okay. “Are you alright?” the father asked.

“Sure, yes … I’ll be fine,” I automatically responded.

I caught him glancing back at me, apparently not convinced. But, he continued on.

There was a hole in my favorite Nike workout jacket. And, the pavement had clearly won the fight in multiple places along my arms and hands.

I picked up the bike pack, then the bike – it had apparently escaped injury by landing on me. Something wasn’t right. I noticed a horrible pain searing through my wrist and up my arm as I lifted the bike. I put it back down, and attempted to lift it with the other hand. Same result.

I attempted to stay calm, but couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that I had, apparently, injured both of my arms in the fall, was bleeding, and still needed to get home.

No problem. A few turns and I would be back to the house in no time.

The homes of Sun River are laid out in a repeated Circle 8 kind of design. You can easily end up looping around the same neighborhood if you don’t know exactly where to turn. But, I knew where I was going. I wasn’t terribly worried.

Until I realized that I was looping around the same neighborhood … unfortunately not the one occupied by the house I was staying in.

By this time, I wasn’t feeling well. I was steering with the hand and arm that hurt the least. The other, which I couldn’t move at all, was holding the wretched bike pack.

I was feeling light-headed. I noticed two men, maybe 7 houses ahead of me, on their bikes. It looked like they were slowing down, heading for one of the houses at the end of the cul-de-sac.

I stashed away my pride, prayed that they weren’t crazed lunatics, and yelled, “Help … please!”

It came out as a squeak.

I yelled again and kept pedaling. Still not loud enough.

I yelled a third time. They had heard me. They got off their bikes and came toward me. “Are you hurt?” one of them asked, an obvious look of concern on his face as his eyes quickly scanned over torn clothing and bloody patches of skin.

The other simply said, “You need to get to a doctor. Are you staying around here?”

They placed my bike in the trunk of their car as I told them the address. Within a few minutes, we were there. Unfortunately, my friend and her aunt were not.

They decided to try the small, local medical office in Sun River. Our shoulders slumped as we read a sign taped to the door, explaining that the office was closed for Memorial Day weekend. They offered to take me to the hospital in Bend.

I convinced them that my friend and her aunt would be returning from their walk soon. An 8-month pregnant woman couldn’t get too terribly far!

Sure enough, as we drove up the driveway, they walked up to the house – looks of question and concern plastered across their faces as they watched me exit this unfamiliar car as the bike was removed from the trunk.

I shared a measly, but heartfelt, “Thank you so very much” with these two men who had been so kind, so concerned for the well-being of a complete stranger. Did they miss out on exciting plans while shuttling me around? Hard to say … they never uttered one word about their missed opportunities, only words of concern that I find the care I needed.

My friend and her aunt drove me to the hospital in Bend; then proceeded to spend their precious vacation time waiting with me in the emergency room. It was a long day of x-rays and exams, and my very pregnant friend endured hard plastic chairs as she waited. She uttered not a single word of complaint (though, I’m certain she was dreaming of the oh-so-soft and supportive chairs she could be sitting in back at the house!). She helped me with hospital paperwork (my wrists/hands were useless!) and – upon arriving at home – even washed and dried my hair (again with the useless hands).

In the weeks that followed, my husband got to experience washing and drying my hair while my wrists healed to the point of being usable again. I remember no words of complaint from him either (though I do remember a few complaints being uttered by yours truly about hair styling … poor guy!).

An unfortunate turn of events became a personal experience in true kindheartedness, with no strings attached … from strangers, from friends, from family. And for that, I am thankful.

The Kindness of Strangers - Part I

It was early. Dewdrops balanced atop the grass blades, sparkling in the morning sun that would soon be heating up the aptly-named resort town.

“Are you going biking today?” my husband asked, as he quickly took a final inventory of his fishing gear. He and a friend, whom we were vacationing with, were embarking on a remote fly-fishing trip along the Deschutes River. They would be out-of-range and unreachable all day.

“Yes!” I could hardly wait. I was a fairly avid biker and was thrilled to be taking advantage of the 35 miles of paved biking trails weaving in and through Sun River, some of it along the Deschutes.

My dear friend was 8 months pregnant. We were staying in her aunt’s stunning vacation home. They had a relaxing walk planned for their morning.

I grabbed a bottle of water, stuffed my I.D., some cash, and a snack into my small bike pack, and attached them to my bike’s front frame. I was off!

Or, maybe not. I had a flat tire. I pumped it. It immediately went flat. It was the inner tube. Dejected, I returned to the house.

“No problem,” said my friend’s aunt, “just take my bike!”

I was both excited and hesitant to ride her gleaming, new bike. Really, though, why was I worrying? I had never been in a bike accident before.

Odd, the power of suggestion. Not that it was even a suggestion, really. More like a passing thought.

To be continued ...

Eating Sand ... or, The Ups and Downs of the Writing Life :-)

This past weekend, we visited the always-stunning Oregon Coast. The roar of the ocean and the warmth of the velvety sand has the immediate effect of relaxing all the tensed-up muscles in my neck and shoulders. I love it.

And, so does the rest of the family. The kids are as content as can be digging in the sand, constructing sand buildings and bridges, and running alongside the frigid water. Jeff perfected a new sand-building technique I'd just read about in a magazine ... combining water and sand, and letting it drip from your hand into little sculptures. Witness here ... a mountain of sand trees!

What amused me most, however, was our attempt at flying the Blue Angel's jet kite. The wind was just this side of a little too calm and it refused to stay aloft. At one point, as Jeff held the string and Braden tossed the kite up in the air for one last attempt at flight, I grabbed my camera ... and shot this sequence:

Oh, yes ... we've got it ... we're heading up .....

no ... wait ... we're going down ...

oh dear ... yep, we're eating sand.

For some reason, as I watched this all happen over the course of mere seconds, my last rejection popped into my head. Usually, I'm waiting for a response from a children's book publisher. This time, however, I was thrilled to be waiting for a response from a magazine editor. It was the first magazine article I had submitted. I was branching out, expanding my horizon ... and I was quite excited by the prospect.

When the editor e-mailed back, I had the standard, "Do I really want to open this?" feeling in the pit of my stomach. But, of course, I did.

The first line was good ... "this is terrific", it read. I was soaring up, up in the air.

But, then I read the word, "unfortunately" ... oh dear ... I think we're going down.

"We can't find the right place for it in our line-up." And, there I was ... eating sand again!

I actually chuckled as I stood there, in the warm sand, silently connecting my rejection to the failure of the kite to fly on this particular day. Because ... on a different day - when the wind is just right - that kite will soar up in the air (and, yes, it will eat sand again too!!). It was a great reminder to me that someday - when the timing is just right - something I've written will find its place and get its chance to soar. In the mean time, I'll just have to learn to appreciate the sand!

Beware the Fleas of Italy

Some might find it surprising that I have such an obsession with Italy - Tuscany, in particular - considering what happened to me while vacationing in the beautiful country a few years back.

Hubby and I learned, after our trip, that the weather we thought to be normal for the late May/early June timeframe was very much non-typical. In fact, they had been experiencing a somewhat unusual heat wave. And heat waves can, apparently, bring on infestations of certain pests, namely fleas.

I should note here that I have an allergic reaction to flea bites. There’s a back story to that … I’ll share it at another time.

Our first stop was in Rome. There, I accumulated five or six flea bites. Thinking it to be a fluke, I grinned and beared the bites as they grew into large blisters. I was slightly miserable, but thoroughly enjoying the historic and culinary experience that is Rome.

Florence was the second stop of this dream vacation. In an effort to be frugal, I had found a wonderful Florence apartment on-line, boasting a gorgeous view of the Duomo. The owner was going to be traveling while we were in town, and had made his flat available for a reasonable price to gullible travelers such as myself.

The flat, with its musty stench and jungle-like plant arrangements did – in fact – have a view of the Duomo. Yes it did. If you went into the bathroom, which measured approximately 3 feet by 5 feet, and stood on your tip-toes to look out the 1 foot by 1 foot window, you could see the peak of the Duomo perfectly. (See that little bug, strategically located on the picture above? That's the bathroom window of our flat, as seen from the top of the Duomo! :-))

The bathroom – view or not – brought me to tears. Upon arriving in sizzling Florence, with my ever-so-itchy blisters, all I wanted to do was wash away the itchiness with a shower. After standing on my tip-toes to view the Duomo, I turned my attention to the task at hand. Unfortunately, a shower did not appear to exist in the 3 by 5 foot bathroom space.

Sink? Check. Toilet? Check (sort of).

Oh, wait … there is a water tank mounted over the toilet; a floor drain in the middle of the room; and a hand shower of sorts propped near the tank. Super … the bathroom is the shower.

I had exactly four minutes to wash, relax, and get my mind off my growing, itching blisters before the tank of lukewarm water emptied. Certainly, though, things would start looking up soon.

The next morning, I awoke to oodles of new blisters. It was then that we pulled back the covers to find fleas dancing on the sheets.

Day’s agenda: Visit the Ponte Vecchio and the Piazza della Signoria; buy hydrocortisone and bulk supply of Band-Aids; and eat lots of gelato to numb the pain and itching.

That night, in the midst of an Italian heat wave, I went to bed wearing socks, sweats, and a sweatshirt. Certainly they wouldn’t be able to attack me through so much clothing.

They did. Our dream vacation was quickly becoming a flea-infested nightmare. Second only to my hubby, Lenirit Idrocortisone Acetato became my close and constant companion.

My main goal as I dressed each morning had become attempting to disguise the increasing number of Band-Aids and hideous blisters under the diminutive selection of warm-weather clothing I had brought along for the trip. “Certainly, I can make these capris stretch down to my ankles!”

In a heroic effort to keep his bride from going insane from the incessant itching, hubby suggested we ditch our next intended stop – Venice – and head north to the cool, fresh air of Zurich, Switzerland. Forget trying to be a good sport … I jumped on that bandwagon and, with a sigh of relief, concurred with the suggested change in travel plans!

By the time we left Florence in a mad dash to escape the heat-seeking fleas, I had 32 blisters lining my body from neck to foot … most of them concentrated on my legs, some measuring the size of a dime.

At this point, frugality was a distant and silly thought. I found and booked a room at the Zurich Best Western, where - upon arrival - I wept with joy at the beautiful tub and shower, and the gorgeous, fluffy down beds.

We emptied the entire contents of our luggage into the bathtub, ensuring no fleas had hitched a ride north with us. Dream vacation saved, though bite scars still remain as a bittersweet reminder of our time under the hot Italian sun.

We do plan to eventually make it back to Venice …this time, however, we’ll be a bit more mindful of timing, in the hopes that we don’t arrive during an Italian flea-infested heat wave!

Transported to France via "French by Heart"

If I had to choose one word to sum up fellow blogger friend Rebecca Ramsey's memoir, "French by Heart: An American Family's Adventures in La Belle France", it would be ... delightful.

No, wait ... engaging.

And, hilarious.

But, really, truly just delightful.

And touching.

Oh ... and heartwarming.

But ... really, I'm sticking with delightful.

And, very charming.

And real.

And oh so delightful!

Maybe it's because I dream of someday living in Tuscany. I know, I know ... that's not in France, but it's a similar uprooting kind of experience so just go with me!

I lived in Europe once before, as a college student in Austria. But that was different. I took two suitcases; she took an entire house worth of furniture, cars, a cat, and three children!

I attended a college where all the classes were taught in English, save for the intensive German class; she had to send her three children off to a French-speaking grade school.

I lived in a flat with other American students and not once did I lay eyes on our fellow building neighbors; she lived in a house in the middle of a French neighborhood with very curious neighbors!

Reading Rebecca's account of their four years in France was a thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining experience. It was the last thing I read at night before drifting off to sleep. It was like being transported to life in France each night, after a crazy day.

It became my nightly respite. When it ended, I was not pleased. My nightly trip to la belle France was gone. Where was I to go now?!

How about Tuscany via "Under the Tuscan Sun" ... after all, that IS my goal destination!

Thank you, Rebecca, for kick-starting my summer reading travels with your refreshing and witty account of family life in France!

Calming Water

I must admit, when I first packed up my apartment and headed south from Seattle, WA to Portland, OR ten years ago, I was reluctant and a bit teary-eyed. My bonus was going to be living with my hubby ... we'd been commuting between Seattle, where I worked, and Portland, where he worked, for four or five months. The I-5 corridor is lovely, but quickly gets old when you're driving it so very often! My company had an office in Portland ... thus, the reason for me making the move rather than hubby.

Anyone who has experienced the loveliness of Oregon might wonder why I was hesitant to make such a move. Both states are green and beautiful and filled with mountains and valleys and all sorts of natural wonders. And, Oregon is less ... drizzly!

It was the water. And, no ... not the variety of water descending from the sky.

Seattle sits between two major bodies of water ... the stunning Puget Sound to the west, and beautiful Lake Washington to the east. And, in and amongst those major bodies of water are more bays, rivers, lakes, and creeks than you can imagine. I had become accustomed to seeing crisp, blue water everywhere I went ... I biked along Lake Washington, and ran and walked along the Puget Sound. It was not only beautiful ... I found it completely calming.

And, here I was ... headed to a city with a river ... a single, not-always-so-blue river. Secretly, I wasn't pleased. Yes, there were lakes and creeks and all that stuff too ... but it just didn't seem as expansive ... as accessible.

But ... I quickly realized that I had increased my accessibility to the mother of all bodies of water ... the gorgeous Pacific Ocean. This made me quite happy. In under two hours, we could be at the beautiful Oregon Coast, playing on the soft-sand beaches. The roar of the ocean and the warmth of the sand - even when the air is chilly - tops my ultimate relaxation list!

We headed there this past Memorial Day weekend. It was perfect! Technically, the picture at the top of this post isn't from our most recent trip ... it's from last August, when it was a bit warmer and the water a bit sparklier from the sun's rays.

This breezy beach weekend, however, proved to be perfect for kite-flying! So, the stunt kite finally got a good workout!

And, as an added bonus ... we arrived home to find this beautiful first bloom on the clematis ... a perfect ending to a relaxing weekend!

Sprechen sie Englisch?

For some reason, I can't find any of my photos of Liechtenstein. I think this one, taken by Volkmar K. Wentzel, will suffice. Actually, it does much more than that ... it pretty much sums up all you need to know about the Principality of Liechtenstein ... it is stunning!

Have you heard of it? Liechtenstein is tiny ... 15 miles long from north to south. It is the sixth smallest country in the world, tucked right in between Switzerland and Austria. It may be small, but it packs a BIG punch! I'll spare you the general facts, and share with you some of the things I found fascinating.

My trip to Liechtenstein was the most relaxing part of my study abroad experience. I was finished with school, my finals were behind me, my bags were packed, my friends had flown back to the U.S., and it was almost Christmas. I had several days to kill before my flight home, and just happened to know of a family in Liechtenstein (I'd met two of the brothers through my step-sister the previous summer!), who had encouraged me to contact them if I was 'ever in the area'! So ... I summoned up my courage, and did just that. And, I'm so glad I did.

First ... imagine the kindest German family you can ... living in a wonderfully cozy home, eating traditional German food, trying with all their might to make a semi-vegetarian (at the time) foreigner feel like part of the family. The mother greeted me with a joyful hug I can still feel, then led me to my room. (Keep in mind ... I'd been sharing a flat in Austria with three other roommates. And, while the flat was lovely, we all slept in the same room. For a light sleeper, that can make for very long nights!) I can still remember walking through the doorway to my room ... it was like I was being serenaded by angels as a ray of sunlight splashed onto the bed ... a vision in white fluffy down. I was in heaven. Unfortunately for Oliver - who was my primary host and travel guide during my visit - it was his room. Poor thing ... I have no idea where he was banished to during my stay. I felt kind of bad ... but, I still slept like a baby.

At this point, I had been taking intensive German for a semester and had been living in a German-speaking country. So, I was fairly confident in my ability to converse in German. Oliver spoke English ... but his parents only spoke a little. I wasn't worried. But, then we sat down for a meal. And tried to communicate. I was baffled ... I could only make out every few words. Even when they spoke s-l-o-w-l-y ... no clue. Just quick glances at Oliver to indicate a need for him to save me. How in the world had I forgotten all my German over the course of a train ride from Austria to its neighboring country?!

The next day, I was ready for a drive across the country. Yes ... across the country. It took exactly 34 minutes ... with stop lights.

They have an actual lived-in castle ... Vaduz Castle. Liechtenstein is governed by a prince who lives in the castle with his family. Actually, the way I understand it ... he has some power, but he also appoints a Prime Minister who, along with some other ministers, make up the government. And, the castle ... it's actually more like a medieval fortress. Incredible!

We took a chair lift up into the Alps at Malbun ski resort. Breathtaking! OK, I know I mentioned that I would leave out facts ... but I just have to include these because they're about the Olympics ... and I LOVE the Olympics:

• With nine medals overall (all in alpine skiing), Liechtenstein has won more Olympic medals per capita than any other nation.
• It is the smallest nation to win a medal in any Olympics - Winter or Summer.
• Vaduz (the capital of Liechtenstein) is considering a bid for either the 2018 or 2022 Winter Olympics. I am so there!

We even attended a rousing game of bingo. It seemed like the entire town was there, and it was quite fun. I was excited because I thought that, despite my inability to converse with Oliver's family, I could certainly still do my ABC's and 123's. OK ... not so much. I think it went something like this:

Bingo Person: "A-34."

Kelly: "Oliver, did he just say D-45?"

Oliver (with such patience and a very kind smile): "No ... A-34."

And, so went the ENTIRE evening. I felt like a complete idiot.

So, here's the secret. Liechtensteiners speak German ... with an Alemannic dialect. I later learned that this particular dialect is 'highly divergent' from the standard German I'd been taught. For me, that dialect changed the language so much that they might as well have been speaking Italian.

So ... if you ever get to Liechtenstein, drive 'across' the country, take in the Alpine beauty, view a fairy tale castle, and visit with the friendly and hospitable locals ... and most definitely become familiar with the phrase, "Sprechen sie Englisch?"

How Vas the Vod-Ka?!

Last month, I wrote about a funny little incident involving a certain famous gazebo in Salzburg. That, of course, sparked a million other memories of my exchange student days in Austria.

One of my favorites involved a trip to Innsbruck, Austria. Admittedly, I’d label the majority of Austrian towns as ‘gorgeous and amazing’, but … oh my … is Innsbruck ever cool. It’s situated right in the midst of the Austrian Alps, which makes for great hiking, especially when you’ve been blessed with stunningly beautiful weather!

Just so you can impress your friends and family with your vast knowledge of international Olympic trivia, here’s a few interesting tidbits about Innsbruck:

• The Olympic Winter Games were held in Innsbruck twice, first in 1964, then again in 1976. The 1976 Winter Olympics were the last games held in the German-speaking Alps (Austria, Germany, or Switzerland).
• Along with St. Moritz (Switzerland) and Lake Placid, NY, Innsbruck is one of only three places which have hosted the Winter Games twice. (It also hosted the 1984 and 1988 Winter Paralympics.)
• And … this excited me quite a lot … on December 12, 2008, Innsbruck was chosen as host of the first-ever Winter Youth Olympic Games to be held from January 13 to January 22, 2012.

OK …back to the story …

We decided to visit the Alpenzoo first. Situated 727 meters above sea level and nestled into the mountain, it is the highest zoo in the world. And, as its name would indicate, it is home to animals that originate from the alpine region, showing them in their natural habitat. The Alpenzoo, in and of itself, could be considered a hike for many.

After visiting the zoo, our group split into two and my dear friend, Rachel, and I decided to hike up into the Alps. It was my absolute favorite day in Europe … exhilarating and incredibly beautiful. Halfway up the mountain, we were joined by Marco from Germany. We had no clue who he was, but he stayed with us for the remainder of the hike. He seemed nice enough, as did all our fellow-hikers that day … and, I guess back then crazy stalkers weren’t as prevalent on our minds. I’m still quite certain he was a bit enamored with Rachel!

We made it above the tree line and, after a few moments of sitting and taking in the beautiful view and brilliant blue sky, decided to commence the joint-pounding trek down the mountain!

At the end of our descent, we passed another hiker who was headed up the mountain. As he passed, he greeted us and asked, “How vas the vodka?” Well … that’s what we thought he said.

You know how you respond when you don’t really know what someone has said, but you still want to reply in a friendly and jovial way … you kind of do a hearty laugh and throw your head back like you ‘get’ the joke or the funny comment … even though you haven’t a clue as to what they actually said?

That’s what we did. And, I think we added something like, “Gut … sehr gut!” (Good … very good!).

We giggled as we tried to figure out what had possessed him to ask us about vodka. I mean, we knew these particular hills were alive with music, but not vodka-drinking hikers.

It wasn’t until a few laughter-filled minutes later, that it dawned on us what he had really asked.

“How was the walk up?”

Rachel and I still laugh about that story to this day. And, it just goes to show that the hills are alive … with music, yes … but also with fresh air, exhilarating views, and very friendly German-speaking hikers. No vodka required.

When God Closes a Door ...

Last month, on a very cold, snowy night, with the gas-powered fire pretend-crackling and a million things to do before Christmas arrived, I was quickly flipping through the television channels in search of something entertaining to keep me awake while I accomplished ... well, lots of stuff.

I found "The Sound of Music" and was totally drawn in ... I got nothing else done for the rest of the evening, and went to bed way past the time I had hoped for.

Yes, I've seen it a dozen, maybe more, times (though never from start to finish); yes, I know the story (though, for some reason, the details of their escape ... well, escaped me ... so I had to stay up until the very end to refresh my brain on that little, useless detail!); yes, I know the songs ... but I still had to watch it. Maybe because it is such a gentle, hopeful movie about the love of family, standing up for what you believe, and holding on to the hope that "when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window..". But, I think it's also because it reminds me of my time as an exchange student in Austria, including a funny little incident involving a certain gazebo in Salzburg.

We traveled to Salzburg in November. My most vivid memory is that of hillsides jam-packed with trees in every shade of Autumn you could possibly imagine, against a brilliant, clear-blue sky. It was like walking into a painting. It was gorgeous.

I also remember our long and comical search for the famed gazebo from 'The Sound of Music'.

Just when we were about to give up looking, we found it. LOCKED! Hours of walking ... and it was locked. I could see inside, but it wasn't the same. I wanted to be inside ... where they had filmed that touching scene between Maria and Captain von Trapp.

So, as you can see, I did what any reasonable college student would do ... I started pulling and yanking on the door. Not that I thought I would get in ... my roommate and I were laughing to the point of tears when she took this picture.

Nonetheless, I still do believe that when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window ... just not the one to 'The Sound of Music' gazebo.