tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41328802644173068892024-03-14T05:08:13.788-06:00montagethis month: a european travelogue!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-63739442971694334412016-01-04T15:38:00.001-07:002016-01-04T15:46:03.492-07:00In Fair Verona <p dir="ltr">Arriving in a new city is always an interesting adventure. Some cities are gorgeous from the start. The small places in Germany, Paris, Rome...these are all pretty, or else impressive, when you arrive. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Then there are the cities that drop you at a bus or train station that seems to be in the middle of Sketchville. Or those that make the city look like it's entirely industrial. Venice was one of those places. If you stop at the Mestre station, part of your brain can't combine the facts of "I'm in Venice" and "This is Venice." It's just not very pretty until you get to the actual island. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Verona's train/bus station lives in an odd place between Sketchville and It's So Pretty I'm Gonna Die. We arrived during a slow time, and most things looked kind of bland. At first I worried that Verona was going to be more like Milan than Venice. But once you go a few bus stops to the Arena, Verona is THE CUTEST. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Everything you need to see in Verona (as in, the big name sites like the duomo and Juliet's balcony/house) is in a couple of miles' radius. We had a room in a tiny B&B just two minutes from the arena--essentially a mini colosseum. It was a fantastic location, and even though we we only a few seconds from the big things, we spent a few hours walking around. </p>
<p dir="ltr">One of the things I love about Italy is the architecture. Even though most of the buildings look like they were designed by the exact same person, there's something eternally charming about iron balconies and red-tiled roofs. I have so many pictures of multicolored streets with iron balconies covered in small gardens. And the shutters! I just don't think you can beat the look of an old town center in Italy or France. When I get home I probably won't be able to separate which city each photo goes to. But I don't really care. I'll keep taking pictures of random buildings until my phone fills up. </p>
<p dir="ltr">If Venice is a magical labyrinth, Verona is the opening scene of a Disney princess movie. I suppose that makes sense, since Shakespeare put Romeo and Juliet there. Cute town = romance, right? And "quaint" doesn't quite cover it, but it gets relatively close. So, how about "quaint romantic"? As if that can't describe every city and town in Europe. Ha. </p>
<p dir="ltr">If you ever get the chance, go to Verona. Just don't spend too much time at Juliet's house...we were there on a Sunday afternoon and it was PACKED. to get inside the courtyard, we simply inserted ourselves in the crowd and let it carry us to the right place. If you pay a few euro you can go in the house and stand on the balcony, but why do that when you can stand in the bustling cortyard and watch people creepily caress a statue of Juliet? Apparently it's good luck to rub her right breast...some people do it comedically. Some do it like pedophiles. </p>
<p dir="ltr">In general, if you see a crowd of people walking toward something, follow them. We ended up at the base of a castle (well, we think it was a castle...or monastery? Something?) with a fantastic view of the entire city. The sun was setting in fog and gathering rainclouds. There are few things better than watching a sunset while surrounded by Italian couples making out. Wait...not that last part. That was just slightly awkward. </p>
<p dir="ltr">For dinner we went to what felt like an Italian Chili's; Bri was starving and our first plan ended up being a bit too expensive, so we stopped at the first place we found. I ate an entire pizza by myself. Because Italian pizza. You need no reason besides that. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The super fun part of Verona happened when we left this morning. We had a 9:40 train from Verona Porta Nuova. The bus + walking inside the station would take 13 minutes. We were walking out the door at 9:10 and the owner Carmelina--for some reason behind me--just couldn't figure out how to add three person's worth of tourist tax to our room price. We stood there for ten minutes while she tried to add random numbers. Steph offered her a calculator, which she refused for five minutes. Carmelina spoke only Italian, and she kept saying things and nodding and mentioning numbers and shaking her head, and Stephanie looked up how to say "Our train leaves at 9:<u>40</u>" and only then did Carmelina think to call someone named Roberto whom it took about 3 seconds to add up our total and get us on our way. </p>
<p dir="ltr">At 9:30, we ran, backpacks and all, to the taxis.<br>
At 9:33, we got in the taxi. <br>
At 9:39, Bri and I ran into the station while Steph essentially threw 7 euros at the taxi driver. <br>
And at 9:40:30, Bri and I arrived on Platform 3 just in time to watch the last few cars disappear down the tracks. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Few things start the day off as well as missing a train first thing in the morning. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Thankfully, there was a train leaving at 10:02 for Turino which would also stop in Milan, where we were meant to change trains for Geneva. We had to buy new tickets for the Verona-Milano leg, but our Milano-Geneva tickets were still fine.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm actually impressed we've only missed that one train so far (if you don't count that one German train that was late--totally not our fault).<br></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7E06hWOYoWsnJUCF6Htb7bnbt1EY4qjzwmdrF48NGsKX8tsHhJ4ex41SuOZOWx4XsRZFoL5f9r1U3hJqX9xofbe3TYHW_QVkYH1NC3oVcGYFodNlrdWE_xh0cl1ywLoi5paxOx9uBjth1/s1600/20160103_152603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7E06hWOYoWsnJUCF6Htb7bnbt1EY4qjzwmdrF48NGsKX8tsHhJ4ex41SuOZOWx4XsRZFoL5f9r1U3hJqX9xofbe3TYHW_QVkYH1NC3oVcGYFodNlrdWE_xh0cl1ywLoi5paxOx9uBjth1/s640/20160103_152603.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-2329557214648059472016-01-02T04:11:00.001-07:002016-01-02T16:22:03.309-07:00Magic (aka Venice)<p dir="ltr">When I was in Italy in 2008, my friends and I spent most of our time with absolutely no idea where we were. We actually had--gasp--paper maps. Paper. Maps. And we used them to get around. It was surprising every time we arrived somewhere we *meant* to visit. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Smartphones changed everything about European travel. My sisters and I have used GPS daily to tell us where we are, where to go, what's nearby....until Venice. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I swear there's something in the air that confuses technology. People spend even amounts of time holding hands and starting dumbfounded at their phone screens. There's no mistaking the "Where the eff am I?" look in every language. The alleyways in Venice are like a sneaky labyrinth. You think you're headed the right direction, then you suddenly are forced to veer right and left, and you end up in a piazza behind where you started. The streets seem to move around you, like a puzzle that gains new levels depending on the steps you take. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But it's beautiful, and romantic, and kind of depressing to be here with sisters and not a significant other. It's been cloudy and since the island is pedestrian only, every sound is hushed. It makes it so easy to imagine you're alone in your own personal city. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Incidentally, we were here for New Year's Eve, and Venice put on the most spectacular fireworks show I've ever seen. Just...wow. Waterfalls of fire and light. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-73539954443224853312016-01-02T03:53:00.001-07:002016-01-02T03:53:53.981-07:00Concerning Busses...I Mean Coaches<p dir="ltr">Instead of "busses", I should probably say "coaches". Steph keeps correcting me on that. Yet, no matter how comfortable your coach is, it's still a big bus. It's nearly impossible to sleep on those things. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Unless you're 4'9" and weigh 3 pounds, in which case you can just curl up on two seats like a cat (I'm lookin' at you, tiny Italian teenager). </p>
<p dir="ltr">I've come to the conclusion that I'm an Amazon living in a world built for midgets. My knees are intimately acquainted with just about every seat back from Venice to London. Turning sideways doesn't create more room for long legs--it simply provides more surface area for the seat in front of you to bruise.</p>
<p dir="ltr">BUT I do have to say it's pretty fantastic to be able to get from Rome to Venice for only €19. It's a six-hour trip, but just short enough that the cheap price keeps it worth it. And when it gets you to your destination half an hour early, that's even better. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0Castello, Venezia-Murano-Burano45.43571 12.352214tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-14153869648353913972016-01-02T02:45:00.001-07:002016-01-02T03:16:40.865-07:00When in Rome...<p dir="ltr">Rome. Is. Awesome. </p>
<p dir="ltr">-the end.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I know every city in Europe is full of history. You can feel it in every cobblestone. But there's something about Rome that is almost overwhelming. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"That's where Julius Caesar stood. That's where Nero lived. That's where gladiators fought. This building has been here in some form for 2000 years." </p>
<p dir="ltr">On our first night in town, we checked into our apartment (a slightly awkward arrangement in which we had one bedroom and a couple had the other room and there was only one bathroom) and then we went straight out for dinner. We've had a problem with forgetting to eat on the days we travel...oops. after a quick calzone meal, we tried to get back into the apartment. Tried. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So I apparently am key-impaired. The door is one of those typical European ones, where the handle doesn't turn--you use the key to unlock and push the door open. Only it wouldn't unlock or open. For half an hour. We asked the owner for help, and she and her awesome husband came over. Of course it took them about 4 seconds to open the dumb thing. Since then, I always practice opening doors, like a small child...</p>
<p dir="ltr">The next day, we slept a little late and went to the colosseum. I love the colosseum. It's way smaller than it used to be, but it's still huge. It had this strange quality that makes it feel only large until you glance across the arena and see how tiny the people are over there are. Standing there and imagining what it would've been like to experience the colosseum during the games. Well, you know, without that whole people killing eachother thing. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We found ourselves a part of a tour group that had some great info, and afterwards they offered a "free" tour of the forum. The guide we had there was a British guy named Alex. If you ever go to Rome, get his info from me, because he's brilliant and knows everything about ancient Rome. He has worked at the Louvre, now he works at the Vatican. No big deal, right? At the end of the forum tour he offered everyone a morning or night walk through the "Secrets of Rome" the next day. It was expensive, but we like learning and Alex was a great guide, so we went reserved spots for the next evening. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The following morning we headed to the Vatican. I'm not Catholic, but I love the museums there. I'm pretty sure I hurt my neck looking at all of the ceilings. It's amazing. The Sistine Chapel, you guys. The rooms filled with statues. We wondered what would happen if all the museums in the world agreed to give the owner countries back all their art...so much art has been stolen or "borrowed" from its home over the centuries. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It takes hours to walk through the museums. I think we did it in about 3 hours, and that's not including the ginormous line out front. </p>
<p dir="ltr">By the time we got out of the museums, checked out the basilica, got pizza for lunch, and headed back to the metro, it was almost 4. The days go by so quickly here. I know it's because we are always headed somewhere, but I wish I could slow time down. I want to be here forever. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The night tour was spectacular. The monuments in Paris and Rome are lit from the bottom at night, so everything is bathed in golden light. It's like a dream. We went in a few churches, stopped in a few stinky alleyways....gazed slack-jawed more than a few times. Glass coffins, false ceilings, illusions. You know, typical awesome things. </p>
<p dir="ltr">And then it was done. No matter what city we go to (well, except for Milan), I wish we could be there/here longer. I could spend months in Paris and Rome. Years. Germany feels like it was so long ago, but I could spend years there, too. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-7453168898451741692016-01-01T17:10:00.001-07:002016-01-01T17:16:42.576-07:00"Meh" is for "Milan"<p dir="ltr">I expected big things from Milan. Fashion, shopping, pizzazz. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Yeahhhh, no. Maybe I caught it on a bad day. Or I caught all the people who live there on a bad day. Or it never actually has good days? If anyone knows, I'm open to ideas. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Milan just wasn't very fun. We visited the Duomo, saw the ginormous line, and decided to save our time and money. The problem is, if you don't go to the top of the Duomo, there really isn't anything to do in the city except wander around like a bum and eat panzerotti at Luini's. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So that's what we did...for several hours. It was a lot of walking. We rode the bus a bit...actually, maybe I should talk about the bus first. Ha. Haha. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So I have this really annoying quality called "honesty". I know, it's weird. Because who pays for public transportation? Well, me. "But its just a bus, who cares?" Um. Me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Which is to say, instead of jumping off the train and sinply jumping into the bus and heading to our "hostel" ("hostel" being a reeeaaaaally generous term), I made my sisters search 45 minutes for a stupid bus ticket machine. Because Italians don't believe in putting them in easy-to-find places or telling you if you can buy them from the driver (nope). This is all information you're just supposed to know. I'll bet it's genetic. </p>
<p dir="ltr">By the time we finally found the ticket machines--down by the metro--and got to the "hostel", it was almost 11 pm. We were exhausted. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The "hostel" was above a dentist and on their Hostelworld profile they said they took cards. You pay a few bucks for the reservation, then pay the rest when you arrive. Easy...until the credit card machine stops working, and you have no cash. I offered the girl my last €15, but she said we could use the card in the morning. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The room was, well, it was a room. It had beds. For color, it had mold in the shower. Which was in the corner of the room. We took one look at it and decided showers could wait until we got to Rome. Seriously, it was so gross. The heating in the room was broken, the walls were paper thin, and the toilet only flushed when you pressed down on the screw they jerry-rigged in the open top of the water tank. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Given that this space was the second step of our introduction to Milan, I'm not surprised that they next day didn't impress us. The card machine wasn't working, so I had to wander around the block looking for an atm. The whole ordeal was so "fun" that after panzerotti, we went and sat in the train station until it was time to go to Rome. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Now. Panzerotti. You guys. EAT THEM. It's like a donut and a calzone had a baby. The best, most delicious baby ever. The dough is slightly sweet, raised, fluffy, and I could eat it forever. They fill it with pizza-type toppings and if you only get one you are cheating yourself out of true happiness. EAT DOZENS OF THEM.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And that's it. Milan was a delicious meal, a pretty cathedral, and a train station. I'm just gonna pretend none of the rest ever happened. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-11902991802092808662015-12-29T01:56:00.001-07:002015-12-29T01:56:56.111-07:00Why I Love Paris and You Should, Too<p dir="ltr">Reasons I love Paris:</p>
<p dir="ltr">1. It's pretty. The mix of old and new makes it look like buildings have popped up looking like that for hundreds of years. </p>
<p dir="ltr">2. The history. Oh, that building? That's where we kept our queen before killing her. That one? That's where <u>a</u> famous thing was made. This old thing? Oh, we used it 300 years ago to symbolize the relationship with so-and-so. No big deal, you guys. </p>
<p dir="ltr">3. The people. Yes, you read that right. Imagine living in one of the most touristy areas on the planet. How would you treat idiot tourists who ruin all the fun things you like to do? I'm actually impressed with Parisians for not being rude. They almost all speak English and one or two other languages, and they're willing to help you figure out where to eat and what to see. What they don't like is when they do something nice for you and you either ignore it or don't say thank you. </p>
<p dir="ltr">4. Pastries.</p>
<p dir="ltr">5. 4€ bottles of wine that taste like heaven. </p>
<p dir="ltr">6. How everyone essentially wears the same outfit every day (especially the women) and no one seems to notice or care. It's so easy to get dressed in the morning. Black skinny jeans, long, black coat, black ankle boots, purse? Check and done. </p>
<p dir="ltr">7. When a guy in France checks you out, if you don't acknowledge him or don't respond when he says something, he doesn't cuss you out or tell you to smile at him (which is what happens in the States). He just shrugs and goes about his business. </p>
<p dir="ltr">8. All the things. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-54724873795654900962015-12-27T09:37:00.001-07:002015-12-27T10:30:32.797-07:00Paris.<p dir="ltr">I kept trying to write my Paris post while we were actually *in* Paris, but writing a blog about it felt too much like saying goodbye. So I waited until we were leaving Paris (about an hour from now; we're  at the airport as I type). That way I can say goodbye while trying to impart my feelings about this city.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Paris is... well, a friend once told me that the entire point of life is to get to Paris, and I absolutely agree with him. 100%. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I grew up in the suburbs and haven't ever really thought of myself as a "city girl". For me, a city girl and a suburbs girl and a country girl are all totally different things. Throw into the mix the fact that I'm ALSO a Colorado girl, which is a crazy, convoluted thing in and of itself...and you may see why enjoying a city, for me, can be kind of a big deal. Denver isn't  a city like New York, and New York is nothing like Paris. They all have different heartbeats and different ways of breathing.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I know that all sounds really floofy, like I'm trying to make it sound like this huge thing, but it's  honestly the only way I can think of to describe it. Paris can be just like any other city. There's graffiti, dirty sidewalks, confusing roads, millions of hair salons, poor sections, and rich sections. But there's something about Paris...I don't even know. It's  Paris. It's beautiful and exciting, and I just want to sit and watch the people walk by. I don't  even care that so many of them are tourists.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We arrived in Paris on Monday afternoon. Our hostess was thrilled to find out I understand french, and I was thrilled that she wanted to speak it to me. I've been a little paranoid that in the years since teaching, I've lost it. Luckily, that wasn't the case. Eve left us to the apartment, an itsy bitsy teeny tiny one-bedroom-one-bathroom-half-of-a-kitchen little thing. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I had planned to go walk around and see a few of the closest sites (our apartment was just inside the 10th quarter, at Porte Saint Martin). But I'd  forgotten that people who've  never traveled abroad before often experience culture shock. Steph has been out and about for several months, but Bri's travel has been confined to the States and a short middle school mission trip to El Salvador. If you've never experienced culture shock, know that it's awful. Everything feels like an emotional, physical, and mental overload. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So while Steph and I were happy to be in Paris, Bri needed to shut down. We let her nap while we walked down to the Seine and did some errand things like groceries and a post office stop. After being in Germany, it was refreshing to understand what was going on around us.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Walking in Paris feels like walking home. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-89002472193464581912015-12-25T04:44:00.001-07:002015-12-25T06:17:25.503-07:00"_______, it's What's for Dinner"<p dir="ltr">This post begins with a mystery. Let's call that mystery "What did we have for dinner in Stuttgart?" </p>
<p dir="ltr">We got on the train leaving Füssen just fine, if you don't count the part where the train wasn't labeled and we spent about ten minutes thinking that maybe, possibly, <i>probably</i> it was the right train, but our paranoia said BUT WHAT IF IT'S NOT, a feeling that should be familiar to anyone who has traveled on European trains. Steph declared it was right, so we stayed. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Everything was going great until our final connection between Buchloe and Stuttgart just....sort of...stopped. This would've been just fine if we'd had any idea <i>why</i> the train was stopped, but all we understood was that there was a delay, they were very sorry, and there was free coffee and tea in the cafe car. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We were supposed to arrive in Stuttgart at 19:56, but we were well past 20:00 when Steph went to the cafe to try to find out what was going on. The two people she talked to couldn't remember the right vocabulary to describe what was going on, so all we found out was that it wasn't an emergency with the train. (It was very reassuring. Ha.) When the train finally started moving, we'd been stopped almost an hour and a half. </p>
<p dir="ltr">About 20 minutes later we passed a massive fire and a half dozen fire trucks on the side of the tracks--obviously the emergency that wasn't as emergency. I had a funny moment when I said, "Weird. It smells like smoke, but not normal smoke. What is it?" Well, duh. Burning German trees would smell different from burning Colorado trees. It smelled nice, which is probably a bad thing to say. True, though. </p>
<p dir="ltr">By the time we got to Stuttgart, it was almost 21:00. We had a bag of soup for an easy dinner, so we bought bread at a bakery in the train station and then headed out. We stood waiting for the bus for five minutes before I realized we were supposed to be getting on the U bahn...which was under us. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The hostel was a chain business, and we'd gotten their cheapest room: a mixed dorm. This is where the amusing part started. So. If you ever want to get the best, travel with my sisters. Apparently everyone just wants to make them happy. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We walked into the dorm room (three bunk beds and two regular twin beds side-by-side) and immediately, Bri and Steph were offered the best beds from the guys inside. Seriously, I've never seen guys move so fast. The guy who was on one of the regular twin beds leapt off it to give it to Bri, and one guy gave me his comforter (not sure where mine had gone...). We struggled through putting sheets on the beds (I'd like to talk to the person who dried those fitted sheets to the size of a baby crib. Jerk). At 22:00, we were so hungry we didn't even care that it was past dinner: Steph and I asked our dorm mates where the kitchen was. </p>
<p dir="ltr">They laughed at us.  "Do you have bowls?" No... "Do you have a pot?" No... "How are you going to make soup?" SHEER DETERMINATION, PEOPLE. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Turns out that sheer determination doesn't work if the kitchen is closed. And the bar wasn't making food. So we headed back up to the room with an even better plan for dinner. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Bread? Check. <br>
Meat? You mean two bags of beef jerky? Oh, so many checks. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I think we worried the other people in the room with how eagerly we ate our awesome dinner. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-79258250926512132702015-12-25T02:34:00.001-07:002015-12-25T03:43:08.166-07:00A Crazy King's Castle<p dir="ltr">Füssen is a small, relatively unknown town so far south in Germany that it's practically in Austria. We got there by flying into itsy bitsy Friedrichshafen airport, then taking trains through Bavaria.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I wish we had known to stay longer in Füssen, or that area at the least. It was beautiful and quaint. Everything looks like it belongs in a fairy tale. The "downtown" area of Füssen looks like Belle's town in Beauty and the Beast. Every building is painted a different pastel color, the streets are well-worn cobblestones, and there are colorful shutters on every window. </p>
<p dir="ltr">My first visit to Germany (in 2008) was to Berlin. I thought I'd "been to Germany". Ha. Berlin has massive streets and felt like a generic city--I wasn't terribly impressed. But Füssen. Ermahgerd, Füssen! The people are generous and nice. If you un-focus your ears (kind of like letting your eyes fall out of focus), German totally sounds like sexy English gibberish. Or Sims-speak, but better. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The nearby castle that Füssen is famous for isn't actually in Füssen. It's in Hohenshwangau, about ten minutes toward the towering Alps if you grab a car or bus. We got packed into a bus with a heck ton of Asian tourists--you know you're going to a popular destination if there's a flood of Asians around you. </p>
<p dir="ltr">In Hohenshwangau, i learned that Germans are really nice about you appealing German to them. And if you happen to, say, form a somewhat logical sentence, they think you speak German. I asked the ticket lady for three tickets for three people, and she started giving all these instructions in German....I know my face looked awesome because once she looked at it, she stopped herself and asked what language I'd prefer. We skipped Schlöss Hohenshwangau and the kings museum, which ended up being a really good thing. You see....there's no supremely easy way to get up to the tour area for Neuschwanstein. Either you climb a mountain, pay 6€ for a horse-drawn carriage, or pay 1,80€ for a shuttle bus. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Our tour wasn't supposed to start for over an hour, so we wandered past the town center to the lake, took pictures, wandered some more, then headed back to the horse carriage line (because CASTLE, people)....and realized that with the line in front of us and the total of one carriage on it's way down the mountain, we were going to miss our tour.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Missing the tour meant buying tickets and waiting all over again, and we didn't really have time for that because we had a 16:06 train to Stuttgart to catch. We walked over to the shuttle bus line...which was packed with about three busloads' worth of tourists and no bus in sight. We had 40 minutes to get to the castle, but the bus would essentially get us there 5 minutes too late. So, we did what any sensible Colorado girl would do: hike the mile up the mountain. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Everyone we had talked to said it takes 30 minutes to hike just to where the horse carriage drops you off (although "hike" is generous...the path is a paved road, really is just that it's super steep). THEN, there's still a 15-minute hike to get to the courtyard where tours begin. With all that in mind, we essentially ran up the mountain. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We arrived in the courtyard with 7 minutes to spare. It almost killed Briele and Steph and I felt gross with sweat, but we made our tour. Of course, the first thing they had us do was walk up a few flights of staircases. It was a good day for exercise. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Neuschwanstein castle was the inspiration for Disney's Sleeping Beauty castle. It's tall and skinny, with all white and gray stone with huge turrets. Everything about the outside screams YOU ARE IN A FAIRY TALE. But what I loved about the inside was that it just felt like a big house. Wood and plush fabrics create a cozy, almost cabin-like feel. It's designed with hallways around the rooms in the center, so as you walk down the hall you can either look out over the valley (gorgeous) or into the rooms of the castle (homey).</p>
<p dir="ltr">King Ludwig, the guy who designed and built the castle, may or may not have been crazy. He actually built a bunch of castles--Neuschwanstein is simply the most famous. Just before he turned 40, the court declared him insane and arrested him. A little while later, he died in really mysterious circumstances. </p>
<p dir="ltr">If there's anything that helps prove he really had lost a few marbles, it's his bed chamber at the castle. Not gonna lie, it was pretty cool. Intense, but cool. Imagine every aspect of Gothic architecture and design shrunk down into a space about 20 feet square. I wish we'd been allowed to take pictures. He literally topped his bed with an itsy bitsy Gothic cathedral (or castle, it was kinda hard to tell). Towers, buttresses, pokey details...the whole thing. He was definitely a nerd. Gothic bed. Gothic chairs. Gothic carvings. Gothic ceiling. AND he had a grotto built just outside his bedroom. That's right. A GROTTO. As in, an actual cave with actual stone walls. Just so he could end a particularly stressful day by saying, "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my grotto."</p>
<p dir="ltr">He had to have been a little off. He wanted to live like "the kings of old", but it's almost like he went for the <i>look</i> of that kind of King and then forget about the rest of it. While visiting another castle, he saw a beautiful singing/performance room that he later replicated in Neuschwanstein. Except he didn't design the acoustics for performances. He just liked the look of the room. Kind of like buying a bottle of wine for the look of the label, but never actually drinking it. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So, that was the awesome castle. We rode the horse-drawn carriage back down the mountain because it was closer than the bus (Bri was nearly dead by then) and only 3€ to go down. We even had time to stop at a restaurant for lunch (mmm bratwurst and fries) before we caught a bus back to Füssen. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3SAmUMaxoyyWW6LmZZ_dTPFjiBmvfnwl9wOIEiBeAnCPSHCYJGnaDOtOR_-jQ0RrCMUi1qh7ArrN6aqbt6NiWYUPSecRWG7JRFCgdN6IwmDZ_ivHRdSe9Ly-Ph8U0g8sxZ0b2PigSiiB/s1600/20151221_081024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3SAmUMaxoyyWW6LmZZ_dTPFjiBmvfnwl9wOIEiBeAnCPSHCYJGnaDOtOR_-jQ0RrCMUi1qh7ArrN6aqbt6NiWYUPSecRWG7JRFCgdN6IwmDZ_ivHRdSe9Ly-Ph8U0g8sxZ0b2PigSiiB/s640/20151221_081024.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-5528520093202398402015-12-24T03:29:00.001-07:002015-12-24T03:29:39.231-07:00Pictures of Füssen and Neuschwanstein <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQJ7-N7jIKbRfnhXef9GB41aIKys7gLwQd-ZAs_9ixNf63ml5inQ1c3X1rnSxKlpwJVsdMzPbfTthyphenhyphenahFfEFP9zxLrGrze2okn1k6kYuyEF_85CT2Z14Z4KtLZW_Ld5sB5J2vU7cnb5pT/s1600/20151220_153504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQJ7-N7jIKbRfnhXef9GB41aIKys7gLwQd-ZAs_9ixNf63ml5inQ1c3X1rnSxKlpwJVsdMzPbfTthyphenhyphenahFfEFP9zxLrGrze2okn1k6kYuyEF_85CT2Z14Z4KtLZW_Ld5sB5J2vU7cnb5pT/s640/20151220_153504.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PDD9GgiTledE4WegQh6zwhFf4PZCzAxGYpDfU6WKzfqQVDdZ09Pklt-_yVUAr8rf-mIwcUM_F9PePx4-XENtf2vR3gq2rP4ZQD8NXNdf70dDlQ1LXub4d5FJPBtq4pJris1U-9o-IHs3/s1600/20151220_153509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PDD9GgiTledE4WegQh6zwhFf4PZCzAxGYpDfU6WKzfqQVDdZ09Pklt-_yVUAr8rf-mIwcUM_F9PePx4-XENtf2vR3gq2rP4ZQD8NXNdf70dDlQ1LXub4d5FJPBtq4pJris1U-9o-IHs3/s640/20151220_153509.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfy-14U02gYfljl_3Z79B-iR9neYfburBpSUxy_8u2mV1zEY8NOhknpsnwlo1DX5wXU1dA6nXbb6zku_yOlPLZ6jdxHRHFhKM9DmxOi3pMUqjq5xKl_WM5oZdj3YU5vZ5ECCwQV1JMOL0/s1600/20151220_153733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfy-14U02gYfljl_3Z79B-iR9neYfburBpSUxy_8u2mV1zEY8NOhknpsnwlo1DX5wXU1dA6nXbb6zku_yOlPLZ6jdxHRHFhKM9DmxOi3pMUqjq5xKl_WM5oZdj3YU5vZ5ECCwQV1JMOL0/s640/20151220_153733.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSsVLmBDUtnLIUcBofiAFIENylwceOn41f806zE2b2ormOsBaQq_Qr0bbZp1Ibvg6UR_s37_keYuWJXdpEQqc7JXUFzTy8CKGbvG3KV0luY1sCicLdzuuC-CM0iF3OEukmcqQZOEeTrEMR/s1600/20151220_175906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSsVLmBDUtnLIUcBofiAFIENylwceOn41f806zE2b2ormOsBaQq_Qr0bbZp1Ibvg6UR_s37_keYuWJXdpEQqc7JXUFzTy8CKGbvG3KV0luY1sCicLdzuuC-CM0iF3OEukmcqQZOEeTrEMR/s640/20151220_175906.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQ5xA0r4EvEIi22h76d34XFJ-4ysLiOU2F3Et_gjj6aSqf8Ov42IP4gbXuNmdMPauEs-AKPYsBU6t3IsMy8otebeDmGRPj69m9T3zWk2z9VM5vw3bcw01ffDLy1eKx-0f2E5AjAjaZfhk/s1600/20151220_175920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQ5xA0r4EvEIi22h76d34XFJ-4ysLiOU2F3Et_gjj6aSqf8Ov42IP4gbXuNmdMPauEs-AKPYsBU6t3IsMy8otebeDmGRPj69m9T3zWk2z9VM5vw3bcw01ffDLy1eKx-0f2E5AjAjaZfhk/s640/20151220_175920.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQWBa1cXe3C5RWyMmBfJbQzroH6hX3SVKNmb1FFTzM1lLjLNh0xagX4R6gVyNFJWcp32N0EM03mQSfyN_iWIl7bd2ZUr-yOhpwcYUnActnNxEXzel8hqdbJohu4Seno5nPaFlRDxG4jX0/s1600/20151221_081010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQWBa1cXe3C5RWyMmBfJbQzroH6hX3SVKNmb1FFTzM1lLjLNh0xagX4R6gVyNFJWcp32N0EM03mQSfyN_iWIl7bd2ZUr-yOhpwcYUnActnNxEXzel8hqdbJohu4Seno5nPaFlRDxG4jX0/s640/20151221_081010.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChGoYpuzY1nG6IgVESTPLgArLTIjDFWN_Mdn701AAxd0S2pRpTHevOkuvl4CYEkQskm44gmiB6O1xHB-v2lkdCifd7F3EdG8n-Y2ybkzoK4FK_dumjHY1cand9QvqzQcllAQUTnqF0CoA/s1600/20151221_081024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChGoYpuzY1nG6IgVESTPLgArLTIjDFWN_Mdn701AAxd0S2pRpTHevOkuvl4CYEkQskm44gmiB6O1xHB-v2lkdCifd7F3EdG8n-Y2ybkzoK4FK_dumjHY1cand9QvqzQcllAQUTnqF0CoA/s640/20151221_081024.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApdkagY4eetEJcthYAyHzzZa-2XPgwNuaNxEy90eKmllkGKmxLj1CD3RNXqikiGU121aNQxFWR_Q3NVM9kVEmukJRZLrfnLXD8MStRob9cPukd7oiCAjUnuXNsMnHLUmzJTYQyonlm1Lr/s1600/20151221_085528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApdkagY4eetEJcthYAyHzzZa-2XPgwNuaNxEy90eKmllkGKmxLj1CD3RNXqikiGU121aNQxFWR_Q3NVM9kVEmukJRZLrfnLXD8MStRob9cPukd7oiCAjUnuXNsMnHLUmzJTYQyonlm1Lr/s640/20151221_085528.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29Ur9UZ_HxAiEv0F7Sb6RaLPSe_x6NUCHjt-RuAxRNDUsSuYvWpBshdEEqs6pZFY2SrBhLNliBNUMmqFvtE7Zew0bgkwFVWa-1P_7vfSUj5jFo1dgKvSP3OHsAXAesIEDadm9M-Z2aX0x/s1600/20151221_085539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29Ur9UZ_HxAiEv0F7Sb6RaLPSe_x6NUCHjt-RuAxRNDUsSuYvWpBshdEEqs6pZFY2SrBhLNliBNUMmqFvtE7Zew0bgkwFVWa-1P_7vfSUj5jFo1dgKvSP3OHsAXAesIEDadm9M-Z2aX0x/s640/20151221_085539.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyW6a9Z5Ep7LTicCL2O1sj1d4KTPsUwzAMlT3P7GWDdUAwUM2fcKHq-V9JKw7EqISgVl3Sz1LmvLv3kThcfWZNk4xu4pA1iYnaOiw6x61IGFro_fO8QdwnCjcl9KZ-KoF4oSVszSF9tZo/s1600/20151221_104412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyW6a9Z5Ep7LTicCL2O1sj1d4KTPsUwzAMlT3P7GWDdUAwUM2fcKHq-V9JKw7EqISgVl3Sz1LmvLv3kThcfWZNk4xu4pA1iYnaOiw6x61IGFro_fO8QdwnCjcl9KZ-KoF4oSVszSF9tZo/s640/20151221_104412.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXlCelqJ1hTXib41lTN9ffgDnYLz9SHBqrdE-NceaswMlbFEunuCKDxt5tJfFanty4BuFQNsUHL0288tWYsokMBQYD6edDEOcYd5xDyWsmY6KKSmo_2R4hA4K0rXoyUThWqFrYiwsThOh/s1600/20151221_104434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXlCelqJ1hTXib41lTN9ffgDnYLz9SHBqrdE-NceaswMlbFEunuCKDxt5tJfFanty4BuFQNsUHL0288tWYsokMBQYD6edDEOcYd5xDyWsmY6KKSmo_2R4hA4K0rXoyUThWqFrYiwsThOh/s640/20151221_104434.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHQ-Ewmw7dLbpd4JO-R2KyuQlFmHa0uEs3VNAjo9vzczpe8T0166Xpja15fIO8c25Yhyzq11QfVyjHJzB5xj8nSlFR-fum0LdgPAZyo32SoPgYN_J-DcxKO3xNahaCzBAp4-_mHyd1H6v/s1600/20151221_104515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHQ-Ewmw7dLbpd4JO-R2KyuQlFmHa0uEs3VNAjo9vzczpe8T0166Xpja15fIO8c25Yhyzq11QfVyjHJzB5xj8nSlFR-fum0LdgPAZyo32SoPgYN_J-DcxKO3xNahaCzBAp4-_mHyd1H6v/s640/20151221_104515.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAHcKOKJ3K9jmxITC3xeVVtJIL0JaRhV7aW6bSI2BBpXzbR_QWiAv34YyrZch4O-GIS4-daV3Y62LHWZh23hbBJvZAa56AkRBZUI2ewgwE5RnnKI3HAnNFxTThvrbS9NEBh4CPLnaSa3L/s1600/20151221_104737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAHcKOKJ3K9jmxITC3xeVVtJIL0JaRhV7aW6bSI2BBpXzbR_QWiAv34YyrZch4O-GIS4-daV3Y62LHWZh23hbBJvZAa56AkRBZUI2ewgwE5RnnKI3HAnNFxTThvrbS9NEBh4CPLnaSa3L/s640/20151221_104737.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhXlpQyR0nRaURThCg1UZYP5DCFq6uC3N682OGf90L1EzQ3SkDuVP8a5PL4iR1Vc0I0LD9JltB_mmORtVlVsmTuaLT_KYE4xD17Zc6z6M6sZ5VJoReoO6C91bGYgJoZNtvrVxfsvrmImp/s1600/20151221_104759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhXlpQyR0nRaURThCg1UZYP5DCFq6uC3N682OGf90L1EzQ3SkDuVP8a5PL4iR1Vc0I0LD9JltB_mmORtVlVsmTuaLT_KYE4xD17Zc6z6M6sZ5VJoReoO6C91bGYgJoZNtvrVxfsvrmImp/s640/20151221_104759.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl2_3St1tfsXvNpbRtBlt3eSnPyOu6SzNpwaohBkIF70atR1hulVzBOZ0yh4poydkjMp_vLW7LTNEfs-DNJ7C0iIMkfbNNMYIHSCqp-Pu250QK9E85vZwP_S-RPSY6CO53LcfEMT4-l8x/s1600/20151221_105045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl2_3St1tfsXvNpbRtBlt3eSnPyOu6SzNpwaohBkIF70atR1hulVzBOZ0yh4poydkjMp_vLW7LTNEfs-DNJ7C0iIMkfbNNMYIHSCqp-Pu250QK9E85vZwP_S-RPSY6CO53LcfEMT4-l8x/s640/20151221_105045.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1R-5R-z25QrrbFU9lr8-vXZk-JH-LDD8hNdzPrIwfP7CD8oiHrhNUjIbMsU3Adld7WpPbHHYxsnjSzqENiOws-8Mvtv-mOcDILlPSSbQkTrpMt5NX4lhbO-9ZXvPLDStRDl806r9nNmk/s1600/20151221_104558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1R-5R-z25QrrbFU9lr8-vXZk-JH-LDD8hNdzPrIwfP7CD8oiHrhNUjIbMsU3Adld7WpPbHHYxsnjSzqENiOws-8Mvtv-mOcDILlPSSbQkTrpMt5NX4lhbO-9ZXvPLDStRDl806r9nNmk/s640/20151221_104558.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0qFLPLl9BKIQ-rzBgSfLyrC2pFyntrR3infltP8Cjq2_ATwAR5_8l0sGDe_kqg0cSvv1cw47BmeZsaJarRPkK1CW2qKAVjAlMT-Gf2_oB1u-ihqbvnJQBCsJ5m1f3rpWFDyAMp3BOdsO/s1600/20151221_104425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0qFLPLl9BKIQ-rzBgSfLyrC2pFyntrR3infltP8Cjq2_ATwAR5_8l0sGDe_kqg0cSvv1cw47BmeZsaJarRPkK1CW2qKAVjAlMT-Gf2_oB1u-ihqbvnJQBCsJ5m1f3rpWFDyAMp3BOdsO/s640/20151221_104425.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIE0AWL-GExLRk1ZeZJ8efiFRaXYQRLyRmQCXRzr6jwn8q6E7eOgpwq6VcQ-XL8rkQXHVgym4xPoKd6hGq3s5qXPke0xTgpcMw8Ok7gSauNcdk6yLpp5rhb4O0qYGOBdKZ0WWEV50UgH5H/s1600/20151221_104448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIE0AWL-GExLRk1ZeZJ8efiFRaXYQRLyRmQCXRzr6jwn8q6E7eOgpwq6VcQ-XL8rkQXHVgym4xPoKd6hGq3s5qXPke0xTgpcMw8Ok7gSauNcdk6yLpp5rhb4O0qYGOBdKZ0WWEV50UgH5H/s640/20151221_104448.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv6LFEeiV-RuNoqZ6PoUucX9w2TGyz4iAQO7izFL2HSv_Djm6p-K4Fnf7aZK1j0l5xBAZy2KSQPDX3sin5gJkdojTu77cp1Hd6x7gvCQXy8VFsbi6gFuQq4RmGlaecYbs1RAaetgnxH9R/s1600/20151221_105116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv6LFEeiV-RuNoqZ6PoUucX9w2TGyz4iAQO7izFL2HSv_Djm6p-K4Fnf7aZK1j0l5xBAZy2KSQPDX3sin5gJkdojTu77cp1Hd6x7gvCQXy8VFsbi6gFuQq4RmGlaecYbs1RAaetgnxH9R/s640/20151221_105116.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB80Z71MbYPV5OnQi0nPYycAngaBXIyRg2i2wOesLikrcQh7SiOfMQWqm2DKXcg3eUV7OC-pSdLOHGrBWLGyu11KqJRb3mfpKTlwpon9_WXn1hYKzPGCH_jm2JFtNArc1JrstUHoSWrTmu/s1600/20151221_105122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB80Z71MbYPV5OnQi0nPYycAngaBXIyRg2i2wOesLikrcQh7SiOfMQWqm2DKXcg3eUV7OC-pSdLOHGrBWLGyu11KqJRb3mfpKTlwpon9_WXn1hYKzPGCH_jm2JFtNArc1JrstUHoSWrTmu/s640/20151221_105122.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBF9yZUBrgB5wyrlVkar-zkhLRb8BVm0NMCfDwa9dhYtC5lId_pWuvT80q5gl8lirN4s4LNw4-W0tZjnOAAOdSlCPqu4q1EYACaC5a3iYjmDd0IV6j_g3c72hdmRz5YYUEJH5mLQfuuHC/s1600/20151221_105207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBF9yZUBrgB5wyrlVkar-zkhLRb8BVm0NMCfDwa9dhYtC5lId_pWuvT80q5gl8lirN4s4LNw4-W0tZjnOAAOdSlCPqu4q1EYACaC5a3iYjmDd0IV6j_g3c72hdmRz5YYUEJH5mLQfuuHC/s640/20151221_105207.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFQz_DqXAOMbyiZRg9jU6AvhD3GoWj0iB78LF_NbwEWuHsuDqQcj_UavXSwo0KlfFQmNFBvrFsWF0LwP2CnWlBvjrvsIPD8XDm0UmG13-j-hFCUzqjIFonrB9Gsx_f0MtWrf8URvXa7Sb/s1600/20151221_105214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFQz_DqXAOMbyiZRg9jU6AvhD3GoWj0iB78LF_NbwEWuHsuDqQcj_UavXSwo0KlfFQmNFBvrFsWF0LwP2CnWlBvjrvsIPD8XDm0UmG13-j-hFCUzqjIFonrB9Gsx_f0MtWrf8URvXa7Sb/s640/20151221_105214.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4FNG_xhqQjwu3jD0Ym5hrwKtfZN3JtbCCJeZBlN-Tx_04SMU2TEmWfN-1SL5v50Ij_RxJsnmcz1DWR2Me9Ifvs28TrIJuxk3pAxE1MMFRcovCVp5U_5PICRh5nFdpv2_86F-b7hAhwF8/s1600/20151221_110128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4FNG_xhqQjwu3jD0Ym5hrwKtfZN3JtbCCJeZBlN-Tx_04SMU2TEmWfN-1SL5v50Ij_RxJsnmcz1DWR2Me9Ifvs28TrIJuxk3pAxE1MMFRcovCVp5U_5PICRh5nFdpv2_86F-b7hAhwF8/s640/20151221_110128.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkf0qpfEIW9O_hYHhyP3egpk3l3vvB2ZoJpbBp9Jw2oDFvTUlG4LvHWzFTGv13oX8N0bM1PsUC8VkiNLis1H_jSSR5vPXt_VvW0E_fc-mjmp353G1lmfvCP673fah80qGUb-ncsZlI-_t9/s1600/20151221_110229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkf0qpfEIW9O_hYHhyP3egpk3l3vvB2ZoJpbBp9Jw2oDFvTUlG4LvHWzFTGv13oX8N0bM1PsUC8VkiNLis1H_jSSR5vPXt_VvW0E_fc-mjmp353G1lmfvCP673fah80qGUb-ncsZlI-_t9/s640/20151221_110229.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bXDqb60lj_M/VnvGOl6x_ZI/AAAAAAAABh8/s1600/20151221_113923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bXDqb60lj_M/VnvGOl6x_ZI/AAAAAAAABh8/s640/20151221_113923.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjva5LACouwuDYN8wTHipZM7BNkOnmDND13R_K0jD2hBvv6j27IZUURczuqRlOWi-Wfa095GhXZ5e7owsv33MUsxNuSnM-ZIcqd7JwQSrRJWHcTvvsxRBu7I8-ushVoamK6D-mTpia5Oy2Z/s1600/20151221_114209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjva5LACouwuDYN8wTHipZM7BNkOnmDND13R_K0jD2hBvv6j27IZUURczuqRlOWi-Wfa095GhXZ5e7owsv33MUsxNuSnM-ZIcqd7JwQSrRJWHcTvvsxRBu7I8-ushVoamK6D-mTpia5Oy2Z/s640/20151221_114209.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyDw8I5wy3rHbWwu4N6DsBzVUGXQVpXqvMmgeKDT2R1Rt04CcUFyZdCNSDJPP6M1zmvQ2WguTjmT1S2xzeErFokURhVuB3DNH-lc6h3SyG8FjmbZOs9LlNJdseiKZoWpR1ui_AWqxvDaQ/s1600/20151221_114433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyDw8I5wy3rHbWwu4N6DsBzVUGXQVpXqvMmgeKDT2R1Rt04CcUFyZdCNSDJPP6M1zmvQ2WguTjmT1S2xzeErFokURhVuB3DNH-lc6h3SyG8FjmbZOs9LlNJdseiKZoWpR1ui_AWqxvDaQ/s640/20151221_114433.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWLn5ifwzD2eadRL0x8ulKf6Qh9IcOeoPFnfVfRkvPpl6Wo4BRCNY1LW64vnVkW3bgdpnoP2vSArn15CRW26tTjH_4j7flJ-2i3LkvQ1NBeD5iYElWbr8o6zF6LzKAWN7c0EGqfyIWqlU/s1600/20151221_114439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWLn5ifwzD2eadRL0x8ulKf6Qh9IcOeoPFnfVfRkvPpl6Wo4BRCNY1LW64vnVkW3bgdpnoP2vSArn15CRW26tTjH_4j7flJ-2i3LkvQ1NBeD5iYElWbr8o6zF6LzKAWN7c0EGqfyIWqlU/s640/20151221_114439.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-jHwom1JoTY7lPEsxz1NG_KDiLnNpO6dnUOLB4wLFgSOyRH07PIRfGZJ5GgPJL8EP8a5sdT6hxDYZt-sbACyqFKh_nYe0f7x36OD04Vw17GU3p3gh3Zv8Ydom4ecHSTn82yD96-y46X_/s1600/20151221_114448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-jHwom1JoTY7lPEsxz1NG_KDiLnNpO6dnUOLB4wLFgSOyRH07PIRfGZJ5GgPJL8EP8a5sdT6hxDYZt-sbACyqFKh_nYe0f7x36OD04Vw17GU3p3gh3Zv8Ydom4ecHSTn82yD96-y46X_/s640/20151221_114448.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gDso-F9fSGFRWPfaNEZBEi4M43UyKqeeVuE94JCVkd9qFjZ7PbcKNa48HNxmHPuFv9z0yJqnxftbnU_oNH7xrieuBJ7nlC08myQJv1SfKAUwO456A-p9WJjH7OaVruzxjuXOB1wxXkES/s1600/20151221_114748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gDso-F9fSGFRWPfaNEZBEi4M43UyKqeeVuE94JCVkd9qFjZ7PbcKNa48HNxmHPuFv9z0yJqnxftbnU_oNH7xrieuBJ7nlC08myQJv1SfKAUwO456A-p9WJjH7OaVruzxjuXOB1wxXkES/s640/20151221_114748.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD9bUnRmMsG4-bRodtB4aIeH36InmsHSh26Poas9UXwCRt7pcx6ZORAvWz4AgjZeaEBLYzYx62qMa5jQcvkmFew_LfHV2Q0AeWDDJOx3zaaCrLudZNpZa2EVPxQvWZCNE8XFGfqz3Uc9v/s1600/20151221_114811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD9bUnRmMsG4-bRodtB4aIeH36InmsHSh26Poas9UXwCRt7pcx6ZORAvWz4AgjZeaEBLYzYx62qMa5jQcvkmFew_LfHV2Q0AeWDDJOx3zaaCrLudZNpZa2EVPxQvWZCNE8XFGfqz3Uc9v/s640/20151221_114811.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCewKFG5t8_7xaEIx5ve80KQMlnAFrgOj5bwxKIFOqvMvRFDeOI4iTCkX42epLrO7kNmCG1CxQ8xOpH45L2tvvu74Mfp4cAzw9tlov-Q645JfkX3YYsdgYb6BLxr73s82BEgZwXL4hcojg/s1600/20151221_124951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCewKFG5t8_7xaEIx5ve80KQMlnAFrgOj5bwxKIFOqvMvRFDeOI4iTCkX42epLrO7kNmCG1CxQ8xOpH45L2tvvu74Mfp4cAzw9tlov-Q645JfkX3YYsdgYb6BLxr73s82BEgZwXL4hcojg/s640/20151221_124951.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCech-94KRbBMBmLrLlDmG_Z2cE8UncjZceKiBVTMfpVPwLAhyuAAksi3QbIA2B4JLM2mImvX9_fA8RK2vbN57ayejeu_6EzNDP-Km7kxj7qXQ0er-V6bo2PunzXjms9BJjmHNxRwvchII/s1600/20151221_124958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCech-94KRbBMBmLrLlDmG_Z2cE8UncjZceKiBVTMfpVPwLAhyuAAksi3QbIA2B4JLM2mImvX9_fA8RK2vbN57ayejeu_6EzNDP-Km7kxj7qXQ0er-V6bo2PunzXjms9BJjmHNxRwvchII/s640/20151221_124958.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLTcJTykSZVSfCdrleiBpdnzbeU1WQdiQQDG7RCLzLLPb8yu1wnQJF3AFksH1VhJvjlAkncw1KHVLks53LXWsZe7aJ8pYuT7XYHYfKuYyPxAXghh4F36n76efBbbnTejTVIXFzXEIrU5U/s1600/20151221_125302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLTcJTykSZVSfCdrleiBpdnzbeU1WQdiQQDG7RCLzLLPb8yu1wnQJF3AFksH1VhJvjlAkncw1KHVLks53LXWsZe7aJ8pYuT7XYHYfKuYyPxAXghh4F36n76efBbbnTejTVIXFzXEIrU5U/s640/20151221_125302.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGo36Ly5Ec8iPNiaUaHnSL0qvjcj2A_RjR_OQLk_1pnFQqhf641oONXnbBXBG_DiXooyjDAJ3vN8vk8GcpFJG7QOKj6oqASoQ_Xoxi-tBr_eIQFHFHEPoZw2ZNL9ukFyu8TlQ1zTYyrAT/s1600/20151221_125651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGo36Ly5Ec8iPNiaUaHnSL0qvjcj2A_RjR_OQLk_1pnFQqhf641oONXnbBXBG_DiXooyjDAJ3vN8vk8GcpFJG7QOKj6oqASoQ_Xoxi-tBr_eIQFHFHEPoZw2ZNL9ukFyu8TlQ1zTYyrAT/s640/20151221_125651.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx8NgRQc-a5ccdWJ7brKV46E0FoohXJoDS1OTLMPUzjmMajx9Va9rlkdCwUlZYH-LHgl8UIEECGhURK8CFzlCGDhfo9PG26YaPfAqf0JipiuQCF8CPw2Hhl1dQYvNIYvqK4dgcmI6eB2OI/s1600/20151221_125703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx8NgRQc-a5ccdWJ7brKV46E0FoohXJoDS1OTLMPUzjmMajx9Va9rlkdCwUlZYH-LHgl8UIEECGhURK8CFzlCGDhfo9PG26YaPfAqf0JipiuQCF8CPw2Hhl1dQYvNIYvqK4dgcmI6eB2OI/s640/20151221_125703.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLKXVOLdmL1eHcuQs-jWjmZSMxTym4g3R-RrYP6OG0bnCK8sUokQC3KmtjXPa0PsATYLrRVfnV_8cI3B5JqSMIxIVrFcxZ8XPbSwHzw12eqMc1G20BpuBvCiamryi_EnxV-m7nLgub2LF/s1600/20151221_125707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLKXVOLdmL1eHcuQs-jWjmZSMxTym4g3R-RrYP6OG0bnCK8sUokQC3KmtjXPa0PsATYLrRVfnV_8cI3B5JqSMIxIVrFcxZ8XPbSwHzw12eqMc1G20BpuBvCiamryi_EnxV-m7nLgub2LF/s640/20151221_125707.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qp2UhdPuToOSM-xXB_KQ3kjA1MsXF2itvLnkxHXuKRWScfdYmww2vs5LgOeb1HLFfg-oDe2EApdrgVcYLx2vKKt7OzUopAIbJE-gPU9TXaZxxyDN_knTRfJyG6C95igHaQDkE5ib4cax/s1600/20151221_125710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qp2UhdPuToOSM-xXB_KQ3kjA1MsXF2itvLnkxHXuKRWScfdYmww2vs5LgOeb1HLFfg-oDe2EApdrgVcYLx2vKKt7OzUopAIbJE-gPU9TXaZxxyDN_knTRfJyG6C95igHaQDkE5ib4cax/s640/20151221_125710.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-14889789386540477842015-12-24T03:09:00.001-07:002015-12-24T03:09:13.923-07:00Pictures of Germany<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVWjdRwwETq3-wZyDNM2wv27ywDjlD4SX59lH3_SOeaX3n2Hospmlk2ZFK70V1XrS79yjq8b8Ad4ZAksNy-p09vw87koyxFOIEJgpFXYUUVBjjPUdsel3_cUqDLG7uylO6H_MbOprLg8h/s1600/20151219_071841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVWjdRwwETq3-wZyDNM2wv27ywDjlD4SX59lH3_SOeaX3n2Hospmlk2ZFK70V1XrS79yjq8b8Ad4ZAksNy-p09vw87koyxFOIEJgpFXYUUVBjjPUdsel3_cUqDLG7uylO6H_MbOprLg8h/s640/20151219_071841.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-M_FKqTd4ZmLsht4fsfAYjjT90PBB_QLT_8vQuJBqE7xWoh29LUI9JvTyE1o3TyeFVKT2TURDeiUJzKhL_bX38dl9wmj8yAqHcXi1hLi5o9hEAt_dZ7WSrm0MHE_f7oPxAW5QKxWbmAc/s1600/20151219_074413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-M_FKqTd4ZmLsht4fsfAYjjT90PBB_QLT_8vQuJBqE7xWoh29LUI9JvTyE1o3TyeFVKT2TURDeiUJzKhL_bX38dl9wmj8yAqHcXi1hLi5o9hEAt_dZ7WSrm0MHE_f7oPxAW5QKxWbmAc/s640/20151219_074413.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7ZI7_01xFsfeVQl1FhfctEETeSeDXFMSlYPcO4TQblPJaNg-wWY26stPs7dxBGWwCWnUY3KB6zzZfK-XnXysnJPpA4aAp3VhpJ_pIK4Du8X24GPmfR234dbq_iqAjWCHAFif9xUHx1LN/s1600/20151219_074817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7ZI7_01xFsfeVQl1FhfctEETeSeDXFMSlYPcO4TQblPJaNg-wWY26stPs7dxBGWwCWnUY3KB6zzZfK-XnXysnJPpA4aAp3VhpJ_pIK4Du8X24GPmfR234dbq_iqAjWCHAFif9xUHx1LN/s640/20151219_074817.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGWrG1tOdACN_EGgqnEAYqU3C2I5qRtIGniWNz4RWhIe5yN1_3hlYcKIRtbmV77r4QppYOzaTIgevus9HIG6jssWbR55poC_IY0pcx6jmZZ3H64BLKYeNsvXpKmle7p8no9XBVvU4-CyO/s1600/20151219_221455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGWrG1tOdACN_EGgqnEAYqU3C2I5qRtIGniWNz4RWhIe5yN1_3hlYcKIRtbmV77r4QppYOzaTIgevus9HIG6jssWbR55poC_IY0pcx6jmZZ3H64BLKYeNsvXpKmle7p8no9XBVvU4-CyO/s640/20151219_221455.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc3Fmw5FV_vVUZEbIjSvrUJFUfUFboF79XKRP2IjGuLpOG3hY95lpZNRTpBENU7YYZx76blV-DG-0rFdN9pKAdk2YbNpGRELQEX0IvZiNqq2jY219bbFxw10-GwBR1MhwdBCrPdKIgOJK/s1600/20151219_221521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc3Fmw5FV_vVUZEbIjSvrUJFUfUFboF79XKRP2IjGuLpOG3hY95lpZNRTpBENU7YYZx76blV-DG-0rFdN9pKAdk2YbNpGRELQEX0IvZiNqq2jY219bbFxw10-GwBR1MhwdBCrPdKIgOJK/s640/20151219_221521.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfybXNrBn3RfFTi4VbuznDGmsgX4D4W9kjblHhyphenhyphenA4Hh0Xe1oIfmMznGzS0RsDa6kSiI2KKQ5_lPLPV4v4QPYQnBbJcPuPDv5ykERQqNozpYLiCgicupMfTCtW9aU2qyiGDTwZJmvEy3c9O/s1600/20151220_033126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfybXNrBn3RfFTi4VbuznDGmsgX4D4W9kjblHhyphenhyphenA4Hh0Xe1oIfmMznGzS0RsDa6kSiI2KKQ5_lPLPV4v4QPYQnBbJcPuPDv5ykERQqNozpYLiCgicupMfTCtW9aU2qyiGDTwZJmvEy3c9O/s640/20151220_033126.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEdEm_PRRlc5uE9B1hu_wTylMxZa2WJJTVz8H6mcF31GhzIck738cgo1ANA_F5W_yWUhDxWpiUWmRNcNYwJN_4RwwLWfJje21Xnxdyo2ol9m6NG56_xpO95wm-5zeNDXKMYQH0w8WFc3Q/s1600/20151220_113300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhEdEm_PRRlc5uE9B1hu_wTylMxZa2WJJTVz8H6mcF31GhzIck738cgo1ANA_F5W_yWUhDxWpiUWmRNcNYwJN_4RwwLWfJje21Xnxdyo2ol9m6NG56_xpO95wm-5zeNDXKMYQH0w8WFc3Q/s640/20151220_113300.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBlpNCutArIxFrAqBSNpAJz2Vqya4hk8R3fXf1kOXfvSSkSYl5TJB40Emn0bmm2t43Lhf6eifnWhiQmh8D6rEjGw0fl0-Xhfk7wYs9r_yGFe3KoliT-5gU8F-wqPkl9yvPIgqO172cKcc/s1600/20151220_113302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBlpNCutArIxFrAqBSNpAJz2Vqya4hk8R3fXf1kOXfvSSkSYl5TJB40Emn0bmm2t43Lhf6eifnWhiQmh8D6rEjGw0fl0-Xhfk7wYs9r_yGFe3KoliT-5gU8F-wqPkl9yvPIgqO172cKcc/s640/20151220_113302.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6n5ew0VBq2Wl7kGGbOzm-UZg6GVJUk6rcK-hsFaX_yPlbFks7F-UK4rl_bynedbrYptQEk0mdP-YVsJy8DhhfL8Hlc71eThW7XGZdQBse8h6fkKUWBXChUsQvIYUrRhi4CKGOvfF6mOG/s1600/20151220_113303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6n5ew0VBq2Wl7kGGbOzm-UZg6GVJUk6rcK-hsFaX_yPlbFks7F-UK4rl_bynedbrYptQEk0mdP-YVsJy8DhhfL8Hlc71eThW7XGZdQBse8h6fkKUWBXChUsQvIYUrRhi4CKGOvfF6mOG/s640/20151220_113303.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYJ6yBNnz2eONZGpvNZXZhvC_EQzuGuA3oh4CnW8VN-Wv0DzDahLStV-bIJ5mPcu03kfo1SC7NUAmQYosJgEEs6LNRQlbp8lrEX0_oTj_qy1haSIu3bW6w0xGoXC28VxUBo9vzN1bI8bQ/s1600/20151220_113305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYJ6yBNnz2eONZGpvNZXZhvC_EQzuGuA3oh4CnW8VN-Wv0DzDahLStV-bIJ5mPcu03kfo1SC7NUAmQYosJgEEs6LNRQlbp8lrEX0_oTj_qy1haSIu3bW6w0xGoXC28VxUBo9vzN1bI8bQ/s640/20151220_113305.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVlgcZB_aNURnUlxCYmd1qs83mLYFDIRqj_2NlEU7F2utZ2myFwMPTx94M1t67Eeu3J0MtodN1ydhyoXvB_8HzPwV8zGJWXyvvnEz9VYVZAA4IGj5InDcspDl2OgX6Cvb-fcfkl8p489-/s1600/20151220_113308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVlgcZB_aNURnUlxCYmd1qs83mLYFDIRqj_2NlEU7F2utZ2myFwMPTx94M1t67Eeu3J0MtodN1ydhyoXvB_8HzPwV8zGJWXyvvnEz9VYVZAA4IGj5InDcspDl2OgX6Cvb-fcfkl8p489-/s640/20151220_113308.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_X28XBTy10nKo9WLgwDHw5gDjSQDZ6cuROrcd04iNIB_oE-IGxY1MLYBlmsFmOMjpE7uVv71P-SYKOmKuCaXvB8zKF987fj5fCCwAJmjY4sDV_AqZ_JYtPrrssGbmB_s3coe0GpBxM_o/s1600/20151220_113814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_X28XBTy10nKo9WLgwDHw5gDjSQDZ6cuROrcd04iNIB_oE-IGxY1MLYBlmsFmOMjpE7uVv71P-SYKOmKuCaXvB8zKF987fj5fCCwAJmjY4sDV_AqZ_JYtPrrssGbmB_s3coe0GpBxM_o/s640/20151220_113814.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-ulMBNBMSJEiWlwYnNHS0hQV-yl9Tf7Ou97Vk3NjawrdvrZxjRPjm8mKjES2N5_RjEGX1s_N2XNEpjS9B8DdVqPiY_nosXvuC1aFDHBey4VhOV88FtEbN4j0kktD4jmRzRTwR4x2YrrM/s1600/20151220_113820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-ulMBNBMSJEiWlwYnNHS0hQV-yl9Tf7Ou97Vk3NjawrdvrZxjRPjm8mKjES2N5_RjEGX1s_N2XNEpjS9B8DdVqPiY_nosXvuC1aFDHBey4VhOV88FtEbN4j0kktD4jmRzRTwR4x2YrrM/s640/20151220_113820.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYToo78tTjs1q-sTC1Skx8l83AnsufPvhJFR8FQdg_B-g-nIx3l_Oh5R6dVNjbQiksoNqRg7_IUm9Z5Cu8Ahq7ENrG3OBNQ6rtGEURKPlNXvWxSZsX-yhMJOkT6Clq3w7FqsgFozQqe3T/s1600/20151220_122938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYToo78tTjs1q-sTC1Skx8l83AnsufPvhJFR8FQdg_B-g-nIx3l_Oh5R6dVNjbQiksoNqRg7_IUm9Z5Cu8Ahq7ENrG3OBNQ6rtGEURKPlNXvWxSZsX-yhMJOkT6Clq3w7FqsgFozQqe3T/s640/20151220_122938.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYn9Dt9YhjPjekiFZJGG4-0MHp9QsYP8yhmwa_ZuyPTfOjbkTP4YV30iK8Lzh6d3OjPafvLbzELPykI5pUT5_NHGXClMSWFA6kCPJt-vWIVEo2VR6XtSVjf7WMdrIwcTMWZ-BAErRf5sdR/s1600/20151220_122946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYn9Dt9YhjPjekiFZJGG4-0MHp9QsYP8yhmwa_ZuyPTfOjbkTP4YV30iK8Lzh6d3OjPafvLbzELPykI5pUT5_NHGXClMSWFA6kCPJt-vWIVEo2VR6XtSVjf7WMdrIwcTMWZ-BAErRf5sdR/s640/20151220_122946.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwm5rMmSDAk7-_mrK1KTdM7O79MHAueRlR-iOwPDEMzEpbU6Yo_q_Sff0VFDkASEac3MvQqzxD_0mV1f16Iw7PdIug6yNWKdxLJBSaQP7e7R-K7SJc1K1iOigwarEqu_Dfv0ndy8vLK0Fw/s1600/20151220_122949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwm5rMmSDAk7-_mrK1KTdM7O79MHAueRlR-iOwPDEMzEpbU6Yo_q_Sff0VFDkASEac3MvQqzxD_0mV1f16Iw7PdIug6yNWKdxLJBSaQP7e7R-K7SJc1K1iOigwarEqu_Dfv0ndy8vLK0Fw/s640/20151220_122949.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJidbOIgRegLX1jvKgAA4cDIXWDXs2XZIWFi8eWnNaeY2NfrWrl-iGqrZsmakfq7cVu-ucGFd4HQXdbmF7w3gdrXo6ghNcMOK7MQQP0jXfKq4nUO1WVGz4AIbMGTfTtuM6VKoIGxtel0H/s1600/20151220_135418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJidbOIgRegLX1jvKgAA4cDIXWDXs2XZIWFi8eWnNaeY2NfrWrl-iGqrZsmakfq7cVu-ucGFd4HQXdbmF7w3gdrXo6ghNcMOK7MQQP0jXfKq4nUO1WVGz4AIbMGTfTtuM6VKoIGxtel0H/s640/20151220_135418.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidWzCfPInF96-boGr4_I9v4LBHJvl5ushjJAsFunSnhVEO2B7RwIEaRKwgLKQgMK3FwECsxhcKvtvNiD-sfk1VXJAwIGY1JojhMhgVFadd1RC3PwKygQV-cvx6WUroacZ5iVTnimftMxF/s1600/20151220_143700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidWzCfPInF96-boGr4_I9v4LBHJvl5ushjJAsFunSnhVEO2B7RwIEaRKwgLKQgMK3FwECsxhcKvtvNiD-sfk1VXJAwIGY1JojhMhgVFadd1RC3PwKygQV-cvx6WUroacZ5iVTnimftMxF/s640/20151220_143700.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBug1SmF-QB1Vk27E4_px3ZI3JQNjy7-QnTHpGVr-aFnOzPDyEQ470AaLwKLSNEPB6MjvYWR-ZLSujNcFZDC_yyu8Lct7cReDURuwOOrjr2bAls2un0KHW8KxVQuLB1-Rt-xy-vlYP19f/s1600/20151220_145203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBug1SmF-QB1Vk27E4_px3ZI3JQNjy7-QnTHpGVr-aFnOzPDyEQ470AaLwKLSNEPB6MjvYWR-ZLSujNcFZDC_yyu8Lct7cReDURuwOOrjr2bAls2un0KHW8KxVQuLB1-Rt-xy-vlYP19f/s640/20151220_145203.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2hqZkXk8vq-1fniKU1K1OQFdimY7o-ujobi1af1V2G3vl46LWaGJnFdHjA9ljOuF_vziaoh4tk7JwvUs8591inKKyivw9Cc7KOcyLWYQ89wMD98fd2wxVzcXTZFgWpRHKzg2DcpcPviz/s1600/20151220_145238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2hqZkXk8vq-1fniKU1K1OQFdimY7o-ujobi1af1V2G3vl46LWaGJnFdHjA9ljOuF_vziaoh4tk7JwvUs8591inKKyivw9Cc7KOcyLWYQ89wMD98fd2wxVzcXTZFgWpRHKzg2DcpcPviz/s640/20151220_145238.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTxmbvoWXLOA18bCfEdwV_veyJcRtzZxFdJSdrOvSvYy-k581BeTeDj5ChQ0iAWqwxTnj4ahFT834QFeXV36miPwwh0eldBSwvXpuQgj0rfX0aWxC4A0eq6XySx_B8h3QJ2l2Yyd2cCqo/s1600/20151220_151942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTxmbvoWXLOA18bCfEdwV_veyJcRtzZxFdJSdrOvSvYy-k581BeTeDj5ChQ0iAWqwxTnj4ahFT834QFeXV36miPwwh0eldBSwvXpuQgj0rfX0aWxC4A0eq6XySx_B8h3QJ2l2Yyd2cCqo/s640/20151220_151942.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIMyvgaBGyT1eNq3Du5B9CiALHeLx4g1ZeWbHwxOznvJqBVe_x0-aoirT4HWklZENX5bTlIRWrNHHBMEiJmWpS4zPQDagxMh9E-2FCh0bw_IkLEkH4hh1dKSGNk5Kytnn3iYTQBcHcy-u/s1600/20151220_151958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIMyvgaBGyT1eNq3Du5B9CiALHeLx4g1ZeWbHwxOznvJqBVe_x0-aoirT4HWklZENX5bTlIRWrNHHBMEiJmWpS4zPQDagxMh9E-2FCh0bw_IkLEkH4hh1dKSGNk5Kytnn3iYTQBcHcy-u/s640/20151220_151958.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuIUgzvGgb6FQYo4AExLfgj_grwBh8OVoY_W2ysBZtOkFiev8Qq3lCIIKMS6knUCtIp1I-vOXZDvVaaE3FfdoDhomCCQZjcYNYKmu9V3TiyBPB9xjd98KvCJ_hTZMdG96u-G3XUL4h_gU/s1600/20151220_153504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuIUgzvGgb6FQYo4AExLfgj_grwBh8OVoY_W2ysBZtOkFiev8Qq3lCIIKMS6knUCtIp1I-vOXZDvVaaE3FfdoDhomCCQZjcYNYKmu9V3TiyBPB9xjd98KvCJ_hTZMdG96u-G3XUL4h_gU/s640/20151220_153504.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1yUxIB1T_9tYUbZ0ykbyt045JTUvzwOvflfxQ8dynLYROfvXQgXyGdcw-mJMS-crue52vHXnp9YsnyoCZ0mjtbgYSfJsvntbrcITCDKGUX-E-3EoZmIDivmPW36hAFTwUM0z-1cBvr_L/s1600/20151220_153509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1yUxIB1T_9tYUbZ0ykbyt045JTUvzwOvflfxQ8dynLYROfvXQgXyGdcw-mJMS-crue52vHXnp9YsnyoCZ0mjtbgYSfJsvntbrcITCDKGUX-E-3EoZmIDivmPW36hAFTwUM0z-1cBvr_L/s640/20151220_153509.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy31ZW5SQOApIQ6tjr3M2jZazIhBp_HtyExf7t-gdN8FJzLm51ReZuAVZuvSHQz-HHtmh2qQ53RzhcLQcMI4Gpa5jgZys9HdVWoC2ohOCNCKsljDOQlV2FKNjBmxYaESN6iJWXphyphenhyphenZc3vi/s1600/20151220_153733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy31ZW5SQOApIQ6tjr3M2jZazIhBp_HtyExf7t-gdN8FJzLm51ReZuAVZuvSHQz-HHtmh2qQ53RzhcLQcMI4Gpa5jgZys9HdVWoC2ohOCNCKsljDOQlV2FKNjBmxYaESN6iJWXphyphenhyphenZc3vi/s640/20151220_153733.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpakrBnd1qoQi847fMwv33gjbgIAgvLclEOVtdJuzV52IjaicIO7obgJWZEr4mcSSxbdYo1_7wW8DKHI4vnYFUI5zq9S7p5yjct2w54pYzV-uEBjEfV9iZ6Q5GtQLw2wMU7XMUDYQe6-B/s1600/20151220_175906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpakrBnd1qoQi847fMwv33gjbgIAgvLclEOVtdJuzV52IjaicIO7obgJWZEr4mcSSxbdYo1_7wW8DKHI4vnYFUI5zq9S7p5yjct2w54pYzV-uEBjEfV9iZ6Q5GtQLw2wMU7XMUDYQe6-B/s640/20151220_175906.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv13h8SwV6n9Ww8guMPcG_CKoY9YJuludb1JpyVS2nR2qc8Lv9E5vcumwh-wb9calJk5JrQtksv2swbui3krTJo-MaCQrve9viTrXx9ZkneABntpxVa2KOd8VM3lE8FBsOM3GXnuGLoAVp/s1600/20151220_175920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv13h8SwV6n9Ww8guMPcG_CKoY9YJuludb1JpyVS2nR2qc8Lv9E5vcumwh-wb9calJk5JrQtksv2swbui3krTJo-MaCQrve9viTrXx9ZkneABntpxVa2KOd8VM3lE8FBsOM3GXnuGLoAVp/s640/20151220_175920.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiA8tac72y6X6pH6CAPsSCjp_127RRXBzwL3ucCaQxD8vKMkd3kk7rBsH2Y1OwJ7bdRDFGzRWXu_WdjRQ7aeQ9Yb61wSZ7Ol0tdN5DK6g1Zo3HfS8Q1h13BU6lVbvIlog2fwmHO9pYygQ/s1600/20151221_081010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiA8tac72y6X6pH6CAPsSCjp_127RRXBzwL3ucCaQxD8vKMkd3kk7rBsH2Y1OwJ7bdRDFGzRWXu_WdjRQ7aeQ9Yb61wSZ7Ol0tdN5DK6g1Zo3HfS8Q1h13BU6lVbvIlog2fwmHO9pYygQ/s640/20151221_081010.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8D923oZlMrS49_JMj2nCQ9BTWYq0A949ir8HVA65779zn70EkdKscxKmI9cmK2SodiuY78U8DLd9B3C4_Y_WTed3WGFFKJ9TLev8Otq-hCFsXdUAUueiJHub-4FPbsRt-74kD5j07giC/s1600/20151221_081024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8D923oZlMrS49_JMj2nCQ9BTWYq0A949ir8HVA65779zn70EkdKscxKmI9cmK2SodiuY78U8DLd9B3C4_Y_WTed3WGFFKJ9TLev8Otq-hCFsXdUAUueiJHub-4FPbsRt-74kD5j07giC/s640/20151221_081024.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGRYHywOluiU8ZuxkmvtXcl3GhO5bK_hFOjDD9hPmHjTUxm7GSGVvmghOU4pKg7Ulk3wZ25UtDccq64bPOa0btrv1XAS14-8kAYguevswtHLT5Ylm1oqGfsCANFphOMO8R15MCSXDkLgE/s1600/20151221_085528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGRYHywOluiU8ZuxkmvtXcl3GhO5bK_hFOjDD9hPmHjTUxm7GSGVvmghOU4pKg7Ulk3wZ25UtDccq64bPOa0btrv1XAS14-8kAYguevswtHLT5Ylm1oqGfsCANFphOMO8R15MCSXDkLgE/s640/20151221_085528.jpg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-MtaN-p2DfuFTsJkpJv-7cu3GdkRJwIIg9gwC7KmrZXDVttzE68lUVuVDyVJPaUCzvUEdPZNC3nQgwMaKzbGbD2TNFWf2JcRbCtqyBZp6yKCG4iE-ebHoCN70XHBYChnrxPKVniSchn7/s1600/20151221_085539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-MtaN-p2DfuFTsJkpJv-7cu3GdkRJwIIg9gwC7KmrZXDVttzE68lUVuVDyVJPaUCzvUEdPZNC3nQgwMaKzbGbD2TNFWf2JcRbCtqyBZp6yKCG4iE-ebHoCN70XHBYChnrxPKVniSchn7/s640/20151221_085539.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-67435391125653728122015-12-24T02:49:00.001-07:002015-12-24T02:49:37.432-07:00German Trains and Punctuality<p dir="ltr">As Stephanie says, "German Trains and Punctuality is an overstatement." They definitely have a...creative way of thinking about transfer times and how 30 seconds is enough time to descend a train, find out which platform you need to be on, run to it, run back to the info board to check it's the right train, run into the train, watch the doors close, freak out that you got on the wrong train, and resign yourself to the fact that this train is possibly not going the direction you want to. </p>
<p dir="ltr">That pretty much sums up the five hours (ish) it took to get from Friedrichshafen to Füssen. And we had to switch trains four times. Once, we got off and thought we had missed our stop because our next train wasn't on the platform in Kaufbeuren, then realized our train had been 70 seconds late...and we'd missed our connection. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Thankfully the direction wasn't an odd one, and another train came a while later.  We arrived in Füssen with a couple of hours of daylight left. </p>
<p dir="ltr">In case you were wondering,  Füssen is THE CUTEST EVER. </p>
<p dir="ltr">EVER.  </p>
<p dir="ltr">(it's so cute it needs its own <u>post</u>)</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-67645506341310014972015-12-24T02:31:00.001-07:002015-12-24T02:31:56.206-07:00Concerning Airports and the People in Them<p dir="ltr">I've always enjoyed flying. I love walking between gates and guessing where everyone is going. I love the feeling of the plane taking off, when the g-forces push you into the chair. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't, however, love babies on planes. Or, for that matter, men who apparently can't sit still and therefore slam themselves back and forth in their chairs. Sir. This is not a rollercoaster. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Briele's and my flight to London, besides the crazed baby and the dude who seemed determined to get my dinner all over my lap, went really well. Our layover in JFK proved that I've been spoiled with DIA. Would it kill New York to have a couple of bathrooms that both have working stall locks AND unclogged toilets? </p>
<p dir="ltr">We were supposed to meet Stephanie in Victoria Station, so after we melted in the sauna that was customs for non-EU passports, I went into business mode to find the Tube entrance. Of course, this meant that I went so much into business mode that I walked right past Steph in the arrivals area. Oops. I promise I missed her. I just didn't *see* her. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We decided to skip a hostel for the night, since it's kind of ridiculous to pay £17 per person when you have a 6:30 flight out of a new airport. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Speaking of new airports, Gatwick is....tiny. we couldn't go through security until 4 a.m., and we got there around 10:30 p.m. Sooooo what do you do when you're at an airport 6+ hours early? You curl up with 40 other people in a waiting area overlooking the lobby. And then you pretend to be able to sleep. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It was kind of like letting a chair put you in an awkward yoga position, then falling asleep because you couldn't do anything else. But you didn't wake up feeling relaxed...you woke up feeling like a year of your life had been sucked out through your spine. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The final airport we arrived in was in Friedrichshafen, Germany. Our flight was half an hour early. If you want to see something amusing, drop a plane-full of people into an airport with about four total check-in desks, then give them no one to pick them up and no trains for an hour. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Hint: even the expression for "Da heck am I supposed to do now?" is pretty much internationally recognized. </p>
<p dir="ltr">And then....we encountered trains. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-22293468086646032302014-01-22T11:04:00.000-07:002014-01-22T11:04:29.731-07:00A Tribute to Kaylee<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Here’s to a girl I only spoke to twice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A girl who was a friend to my sister, a light among her
peers, and an incredible encouragement to anyone experiencing hard times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t remember the first time I met Kaylee McBeth; I just
know that she was one of many little blond girls running around with my sister
on the soccer field. There was a whole throng
of them, always giggling and following the ball like its gravity was pulling
them in. On those sunny spring days,
Kaylee was a bundle of kindergarten energy and grins. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many years later, I had the chance to teach French at my old
high school, where my sister was a senior.
It was surreal to walk the halls, but it was stranger to be surrounded
by my sister’s friends. Some of them
were even in my classes, and that was weirder yet. Kaylee wasn’t one of my students, but not a
week went by that she didn’t affect someone or something at the school. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Here’s to a girl so loved by the people around her, I never
heard anyone speak ill of her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hard to be a teacher and not hear nasty things about
so-and-so or such-and-such. Especially
at such a small school as the one I taught at – gossip spreads like food
poisoning at Casa Bonita. If I ever
heard a word against her, it was that Kaylee was one of the few who was quite
possibly too nice, too sweet, and too kindhearted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The few times I did see her around the school, a glow of joy
followed her wherever she went. Her
family didn’t have the easiest time of it, yet she was constantly smiling. Now that I think of it, I’m certain she had a
smile on her face every time I saw her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Here’s to a girl I barely knew, who will be sorely missed by
every person who knew her </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
– and many who didn’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kaylee lived above and beyond the circumstances of her own
life and problems. She radiated confidence
that can only come through faith, and like a star, she blazed with beautiful
luminosity. Imagining a world without
her is incredibly saddening, yet in a way she is the lucky one. The basketball star and ever-laughing friend
is closer to God than ever, and someday we will finally catch up to her. Tragedy brings tears, but we can also be
encouraged by her example. Our hope is not in our
current lives, it is far above us in the power and love of God. Kaylee knew this, and I daresay this
knowledge is part of what gave her so much joy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the wake of her sudden absence I have seen everything
from news stories to old photos show up on my Facebook feed, but the consensus
can be summed up in just a few words: We will all miss Kaylee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-60180736613982028042013-10-03T15:08:00.001-06:002013-10-03T15:08:29.611-06:00What I Learned From Dinner With Kristin NelsonHi, my name is M, and I'm an introvert who likes to make things up.<br />
<br />
<i>Hi, M, </i>whispers the support team.<br />
<br />
<br />
Large groups of people make me nervous unless I'm showing off in front of them. One-on-one conversations with strangers cause so much sweating and conversation-rehearsing that I'm amazed no one notices that my responses sometimes sound crafted (because they are).<br />
<br />
So picture this. An introvert (*coughcough* me) sits with her writer friends at a banquet. Half of the table is empty, and they have no idea if the seats will be filled with other writers, by editors, or by agents. The writers joke and laugh and talk about the conference and the workshops they've attended, and then all of a sudden they all talk quieter and look surprised and eager and oh-so-nervous. <br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Kristin Nelson, Sally Harding, and Hannah Bowman. Grabbing. Chairs. At. Our. Table.<br />
<br />
I'm fairly certain that my heartbeat, instead of sticking to the regular thump-thunk thump-thunk, went thunka-thonka-thoinka-plunk. Because, let's be honest, if you want one of the best and coolest agents of young adult novels to represent you, you want Kristin Nelson. She is really nice, unfailingly honest, and personable. Oh, and she sells novels to publishers. Lots of them.<br />
<br />
Of course, I was 100% terrified. I managed to break the silence with a very breathy, high-pitched "Ohofcourseyoucansithere."<br />
<br />
Before I go on, perhaps I should mention that Kristin's agency, which is based in Denver, has rejected my manuscript. Twice. Currently I am in denial that these rejections ever happened, and I'll probably query them again with my next project. Anyway... Kristin sat next to me, and the time that followed was fantastic. Sitting next to Kristian was like having an ex you still have feelings for wink at you from across a crowded room (with the added exception that they have absolutely no idea who you are). <br />
<br />
A few minutes of small talk made the wobbly feelings in my stomach subside, and I actually got to have intelligent conversation with Kristin and Sally (Hannah was a bit too far away to join in). After an author appeared out of nowhere to hand Kristin his card and join our table, I felt like I joined the agent club. I viewed the secret aftermath of the author's invasive approach, laughed with them about it, and forgot my nerves so quickly I was able to enjoy the dinner, my friends, and the agents. Even when the new author ruined my chances to pitch to any of them (it's a simple matter of timing and the secret code of When To Pitch And When To Pretend They Don't Represent Your Genre), I didn't feel like a moment had been wasted. <br />
<br />
Other people might look at the night and think, "Well, she should have at least <i>tried</i> to pitch" or "How could it possibly not have been wasted if she didn't talk business with at least one of them?" Good question. The short answer? I'll take any encouragement I can get. And when Kristin Nelson tells me that writers are crazy (duh) and I get to hear about her niece, who is 16 and taller than me (I'm 5'10"), I feel encouraged. I believe that as a crazy person, I have the unique right to try the same thing over and over again, with the electrifying, thrilling confidence that one day I will get a different result. <br />
<br />
I pull magic, heroes, psychopaths, guts, and glory out of my head and hope other people like it. I spend years working on novels that may never sit on a shelf at Barnes and Noble. I send letters to agents and editors, trying to find just one who, like me, is in love with the world in my head. Those letters don't just go out once. They go out over and over and over again. Just try and tell me that the banquet was a waste, or that I'm crazy. Because having dinner with Kristin Nelson taught me that if I can get <i>her</i> to laugh, other agents will read my words, get the jokes, and fall in love with them. And gaining that optimism can't possibly be a waste. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-80717203656885334172013-06-05T13:34:00.001-06:002013-06-05T13:34:45.800-06:00A normal lifeSometimes I like to pretend I live a normal life. When my neighbor's yappy chihuahua wakes me up in the morning (I've decided against the shotgun approach so far), I close my eyes and pretend that the thing's bark is my alarm. I imagine getting out of bed, taking a shower, putting on makeup and heels, and running out the door to beat the traffic.<br />
<br />
<i>Boots laced. Hair in a ponytail.</i> <br />
<br />
I create this whole office world in my mind–a frustrating boss who yells a lot, co-workers who act like high schoolers. An air conditioner that doesn't work blasting lukewarm air into my office. Of course I'd be in an office. My temperament would not agree with a cubicle. <br />
<br />
<i>Jacket from the kitchen, pear from the fridge. Shoulder holster? Check. </i><br />
<br />
But then, I wouldn't get to shoot people as they run away with someone else's stuff. I'd never get away with wearing jeans and leather boots in the world of power suits and lattes. Seriously, those people can't even function without drugging themselves every morning and afternoon. <br />
<br />
<i>"Got the map?"</i><br />
<i>"Yeah, it's in my pocket."</i><br />
<i>A revving engine. The click of seatbelts. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I would listen to books on tape performed by full casts of actors with voices like James Earl Jones and Julie Andrews. When people cut me off in traffic, I'd just smile because it might mean four more seconds of someone else living a life of adventure, while I was in the (relative) safety of my car.<br />
<br />
<i>Scrrreeeeeee!</i><br />
<i>"#*$&! Learn to drive!" </i><br />
<i>"Geez, Méli. Calm down."</i><br />
<i>"Sorry."</i><br />
<i>The target is in the university library. Right turn, left turn, left turn. Wait. </i><br />
<br />
At work, I would gossip by the water cooler with the other girls. If there wasn't a water cooler, I would buy one and put it outside my office door so I could listen. There would be a lot of drama that would make each day feel like the end of the world.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>"Don't do anything stupid.</i>" <i>A linked pair of zip ties tucked into the waistband of my jeans.</i><br />
<i>"You know me, Tiberon. I'll be fine." As wicked a grin as possible. </i><br />
<br />
When I got home after work, I would wind down with a glass of wine. Maybe scotch. I'd watch old TV shows and knit hats for my friends. My cat would curl up next to me and try to bat the knitting needles while I worked, and I'd scratch her ears and smile when she purred.<br />
<br />
<i>The whoosh of automatic doors. Hushed whispers and footsteps. </i><br />
<i>Up, up, up to the stacks. Books. Books. Books.</i><br />
<i>The target.</i><br />
<br />
I would go to bed early, wearing a silky pajama dress. My dreams would be about waterfalls and rainbows and people at work and things I had read in the books I had stacked by my bed.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>A gun clicks. Zip tie around his wrist before he turns around. "You?!" </i><br />
<i>Another wicked grin</i>. <i>"Me. Let's do this quietly, yes?"</i><br />
<i>Down, down, down the stairs. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Saturdays and Sundays would be for sleeping in. I'd have a living garden and green grass. Clean carpet. A fridge full of fresh food I bought at the market. <i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I'm not getting in that car."</i><br />
<i>An elbow crunches into a nose.</i><br />
<i>"I'b gettinb in da ca!"</i><br />
<i>Squealing tires. The drop-off. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My friends wouldn't know what you had to pack to pick up a target hiding out in Sao Paolo or Niamey. At our get-togethers, we'd talk about their children and PTA meetings and remodeling our houses. <br />
<br />
<i>"Six grand</i>." <br />
<i>"Sweet, thanks." </i><br />
<i>The dog's tail physically can't wave any faster. </i><br />
<i>The holster and guns go back in the den.</i><br />
<i>I toss my jacket on a chair; it slides to the floor. </i><br />
<i>Avel is waiting for me in the kitchen. He grins. </i><br />
<br />
I think I would hate having a normal life. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i></i><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-31705868454036404462013-03-22T16:26:00.004-06:002013-03-22T16:26:45.401-06:00A Meet Cute of Sorts<br />
Natalie and I were supposed to be shopping for party supplies, but so far over the course of the day we had only succeeded in purchasing brownie mix, looking at dresses in one of the mall boutiques, eating Chinese food and scarfing two cups' worth of frozen yogurt. <br />
<br />
By the time we got to the store, we had both lost our passion for party supplies. My sister wrinkled her nose when I showed her a prospective box of blank invitations. "Lame," Natalie said, then showed me what she had found. <br />
<br />
"Pathetically lame," I said. I turned to put the invitations back on the shelf, making it one of those smooth movements where you bend over while turning around. Usually a plan for grace works out for me. But I never made it to the shelf–my hand and the box hit someone in the leg. <br />
<br />
"Oh! Sorry," I said. I tossed the box onto the shelf and straightened. The guy was grinning at me. Grinning. Like I had done him a favor. Of course I had to mentally check to make sure I hadn't accidentally touched his, well, you know. And I hadn't. "Can I help you?"<br />
<br />
"You don't work here," he said, giving my entire body a once-over, then grinning at me again. <br />
<br />
I was wearing jeans and a green t-shirt, which was a far-cry from the red and khaki of the store slaves. "Well, no." I expected him to go away then, but he didn't.<br />
<br />
Natalie stepped between us. "I'd thank you to stop checking my sister out. She has a boyfriend already and isn't taking any applications."<br />
<br />
The man, who was really a guy just about my age, smiled again. "Is that so?" He advanced on me, forcing me to step backwards into the shelves. Items clattered behind me and fell to the floor, and one of them even broke. <br />
<br />
I started to kneel to clean up the mess, but he took me by the arm and kept me upright. "Excuse me?" I exclaimed. "Let go of me!"<br />
<br />
"I was hoping I would meet you," he said. <br />
<br />
Natalie grabbed his free arm and tugged. "Come on, dude. Time to go!"<br />
<br />
I threw off his arm and moved into a ready stance, completely prepared to give him a hockey player's nose and a few other broken parts. But he just laughed at me. <br />
<br />
"I'm Avel," he said. Normal people shake your hand when they introduce themselves. Not Avel, whoever the heck he thought he was. No, Avel pressed me back into the shelves, his chest on mine, his nose just touching my nose. His black eyes glittered and I tried to push him away, but for some reason my arms wouldn't move. I don't mean that I was paralyzed with emotion or anything like that. My arms really couldn't move–something was holding them down. Something fuzzy and invisible and intangible, and I felt it all in chills up my spine. <br />
<br />
Natalie started yelling for help. When that didn't work, she screamed. "Rape! Rape!"<br />
<br />
It worked. Avel winked at me and disappeared around the end-cap of the aisle. I stumbled forward, pulling random stuff off the shelves as my hands reached for purchase. Natalie grabbed my elbow and yanked me away from the shelves, making me leave everything scattered on the ground, even though I felt awful not picking it all up. <br />
<br />
On our way to the car, I thought I saw Avel again, but my peripheral vision got fuzzy just when I turned my head to look. As far as I was concerned, he was gone and I would (thankfully) never see him again.<br />
<br />
Funny how life works sometimes. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-29676794354749623602013-03-21T10:45:00.002-06:002013-03-21T10:45:21.619-06:00...but no one looked out the window: Robe Lady<i>Robe Lady is up every morning at the same time, walking around with her
curtains wide open, clad only in a robe. She watches TV while flipping
her head upside down, blow-drying it with fervor. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Chris was supposed to slam his fist into Kate's door any minute, and she was still standing there in her robe, staring through the mirror. Sopping hair, completely oblivious to everything around her, clothes becoming damp from the water dripping from her <br />
<br />
<br />
A month, a week, a day of zoning out. It's all pretty much the same. She heard the door slam against the wall, hearing her brother like you'd hear an elephant trampling the streets of New York. An elephant wouldn't be able to trample quite as well as Chris does, but it'd certainly put on a good show.<br />
<br />
"Kate?" His voice boomed, too, like God wanted to make sure it would match the galumphing and stomping around.<br />
<br />
"Here," Kate said from the bathroom. She opened the door automatically, and Chris stopped in his tracks.<br />
<br />
"What the hell? Why aren't you dressed?" He looked at his phone, the light temporarily glowing on his cheekbones in the dimness of Kate's apartment. "We have to be there in twenty minutes."<br />
<br />
Kate felt herself nodding, but she didn't move.<br />
<br />
Chris sighed and reached past her to grab the hairdryer sitting in the sink. He pushed the ON button and pointed it in her face. "Wake up! Come on!"<br />
<br />
She grabbed the hairdryer back and tried to hit him with it. Chris easily blocked it, squinting when air blew into his eyes. Kate pushed him out of the bathroom and yanked the door shut, rattling the things on her counter. She waited, listening for the moment he went into the kitchen and raided her fridge. There it was. A thump and clinking. He was probably drinking the rest of the orange juice, the jerk.<br />
<br />
Kate turned the hairdryer on and flipped her head over, absentmindedly and partially aiming at her hair. When the front was dry she pulled the rest into a knot at the back of her head. She was standing on top of her clothes, but she picked them up and pulled on the black pants and black sweater. They were slightly wrinkled and dotted with spots of water, but it didn't matter. People didn't care what you looked like at funerals.<br />
<br />
Chris banged on the bathroom door. "Come on! Time to go!"<br />
<br />
She opened the door slowly, but she moved even slower. "I'm ready." With the speed of jello solidifying on a kitchen counter, she watched the world move around her with minute shudders reminiscent of a seizure. An empty stomach reminded her that breakfast was still missing. <br />
<br />
Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows askew. "Seriously?" <br />
<br />
Kate shrugged. "Let's go." She put on the first pair of shoes she found: purple Toms.<br />
<br />
The walk to the funeral home was long and silent. Ten blocks felt like ten miles, and by the time they got to the front door, Kate's lungs closed up and she felt like she was breathing through a straw stuck in mud. "Chris. I can't. I can't go." Her eyes were dry, but her lungs were working so hard to try to breathe that she doubled over, right in the middle of the sidewalk. Her hands on her knees were supposed to help, it was something she had seen runners do after races; but those stupid athletes never said a word about how putting your hands on your knees doesn't help at all. It made it harder to breathe and even see. <br />
<br />
"Here," Chris said. He slid his arm around her waist and guided her to a stone retaining wall. She sat and held her head between her knees. As they sat there, she could hear passers-by tut-tutting and sighing.<br />
<br />
"Poor thing," said one lady as she passed. Kate watched the woman's scuffed black tennis shoes disappear into the funeral home and just about threw up. The bile was there, waiting and ready, but all it did was sit in the back of her throat, maliciously patient. <br />
<br />
Chris sat next to her and put his hand on her back. The warmth was partially comforting. After all, he was just as sad as her. At least, she figured he was, but it wasn't his twin laying in the coffin, hands folded nicely and surrounded by flowers. That's what Kate had ordered the mortician's slaves to do, anyways. That's what would be there. She could already see it.<br />
<br />
Her throat betrayed her and she did vomit, only there wasn't any food in her stomach, so there was mostly heaving and acid burning her mouth. Chris held her and rubbed her back, and Kate realized that she was on her knees with her face in the dirt of the funeral home's front bushes. It smelled like earth worms and plants and every so slightly of the vomit on the sidewalk. Her brother's warmth disappeared for a minute or two and then he was back, shoving a paper cone of water into her hands. Kate sipped, swished, spit. <br />
<br />
A few minutes later he coaxed her into the building, and they turned into the room. A white coffin loomed, and pale, sad faces stared at her. But she didn't stay. Kate took one step backwards, then a second. And then she was out the door, her footsteps following her in the echoes of the buildings on either side. She ran, and Chris didn't even call after her. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-42905704699870224632012-08-08T16:38:00.000-06:002012-08-08T16:38:38.601-06:00...but no one looked out the window: Smoker GuyHis name was Rutherford Alexander Thornswallow the Third, and he hated people who told him that he needed to quit smoking. <br />
<br />
His girlfriend was doing it at that very moment. <br />
<br />
"I just don't understand," she whined. "You promised you'd stop."<br />
<br />
He looked at her with tempered confusion. "I never said that, Lena." His consonants were long and drawn out, the remnants of an accent molded in his childhood. Rutherford never told anyone where it was from, though it was entirely possible that even he didn't remember. He took another, deeper draw on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out over his left shoulder.<br />
<br />
"You did!" Lena exclaimed, her bright pink lips convulsing into a pout.<br />
<br />
Rutherford shrugged. "Whatever." He finished the cigarette, dropped the butt on the ground and stomped on it. "Guess this isn't working. See ya." He turned around and walked away.<br />
<br />
"Ru? Rutherford?" Lena screamed after him. "Are you breaking up with me? Rutherford!"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The Lena Episode was a record ten days, four hours, and a handful of minutes. Rutherford hacked and spit as he kept walking to his apartment, glad that she hadn't tried to follow him. Jane had tried to follow him when they broke up. Zora had stalked him for a month afterwards. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On his way home, he stopped to get an Americano. He sat for a while in the sun, wishing he could afford prescription sunglasses and glaring at anyone who passed by. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A woman with bright auburn hair stopped in front of him and stared. Rutherford tried to ignore her. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Hello," she said.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rutherford looked her over. Long legs, lean arms, straight nose. Nothing that went against his Code of Women. And she had mind-bendingly artistic tattoos covering both arms. Double plus. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"You look like kind of an a**hole," she said. "I'm Roxy." She put her fists on her hips and grinned. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Rutherford the Great," he said. "And I am. Just ask Lena." He nodded toward the corner. Roxy turned, but there was no one there for her to see. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Right. Can I bum a cigarette?" She had ice-blue eyes that seemed to be alive with electricity.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rutherford looked at her sideways, trying to figure her game. He ignored the cigarette line on purpose. "I only date women with four-letter first names," he said, as though that would get her to go away. "Nicknames don't count," he added.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Roxy looked amused. "It's not a nickname, Rutherford Your Greatness. It's the real deal."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Eh. Not interested," Rutherford said. He was lying, and he thought that she knew it. But he had a rule against dating women who came on to him first. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Right. Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Over in that park," Roxy said. She pointed to a spit of green and brown grass surrounded by a cement containment wall. It was covered in dog crap and mangled pigeons. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Uh huh," Rutherford said.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Roxy walked away, her long hair swinging like a pendulum behind her. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rutherford picked up a girl from the bar that night. Her name was Tina. She had beautiful blond hair and was very, very fun when she had loosened up. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the morning, Rutherford sat in his window, his right leg dangling outside, while the left was hooked under a pipe so he didn't fall three floors to his death. Tina came out of the bathroom, hair wet, her day-old outfit clinging to her damp skin. She came up to him and put her arms around him, running her hands along his bare shoulders. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He sucked on his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tina tried to kiss him, but he turned his face away. He was thinking about Roxy, and it bugged him. No woman should be able to get his attention like that. He wouldn't let it happen. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tina pouted. "Baby..." she whined. "Didn't you have fun last night?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rutherford smiled at her, annoyed that she didn't even realize it was a fake smile, and kissed her on the forehead. "Of course. Now, off you go. I have work to do."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Tina bit her lip and smiled, twisted from side to side like a five-year-old and looking ecstatic. When she was gone, Rutherford put out his cigarette and got out his paint.<br />
<br />
"Freaking galleries are idiots," he mumbled to himself as he flung the paint on his canvases. He had set several up in a row, stomping on them with painted bare feet that slipped and slid in the wet medium. The cigarette hanging on his lip nearly fell out a few times, but he caught it before it could damage anything. At noon he stopped painting to sit on top of the back of his couch, staring down at his handiwork.<br />
<br />
The galleries were idiots because they bought his paintings like they were worth something. From atop the couch, though, there was a moment where he could see why they liked them. Frenzied, harried, thrown together...He was distracted. For the tenth time that day, he went back to his spot in the window and sucked on a cigarette, his murderous lollipop stick.<br />
<br />
From his apartment window, he could almost see the "park" Roxy was supposed to meet him in. It occurred to him then that she hadn't given him a time. For all he knew, she could be there right now. <br />
<br />
There! A flash of auburn hair.<br />
<br />
Without thinking, Rutherford yanked his leg inside and tumbled to the floor. His hand landed in wet paint, but he didn't notice. He slipped on a pair of shoes, made sure he was wearing pants, and just barely remembered the lock the door. Roxy was just passing the entrance to the apartment building, and Rutherford caught up to her nonchalantly.<br />
<br />
"Hey," he said. <br />
<br />
Roxy looked at him like she knew he had sprinted over himself to get down to ground level. "Hello."<br />
<br />
"Want a cigarette?" He offered a fresh one, which she took and lit with a match from her pocket.<br />
<br />
Roxy stopped and took a few deep drags, then grinned at him. "I thought you told yourself you weren't going to come meet me."<br />
<br />
Rutherford shifted uncomfortably and almost forgot to blow out his smoke. "I never said that."<br />
<br />
"I know. I just figured. What did you do to your hand?" <br />
<br />
His hand was yellow and gray, and there were stripes of wet paint on his pants. "Sh**," he said, as he took himself in. "I liked these pants."<br />
<br />
Roxy shrugged. "Come on. Park time." <br />
<br />
Forgetting about his painted pants, Rutherford followed her. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-26692710097921466542012-08-07T15:21:00.002-06:002012-08-07T15:21:58.999-06:00...but no one looked out the window<i><span style="color: #38761d;">I'm kicking off a brand-new blog series with this little thought:</span></i><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There is a strange world on the other side of my window. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A really, <i>really</i> strange world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Smoker Guy has a different woman every morning. He sits half out of his red brick sill, sucking at a tiny white cig, a woman standing next to him, kissing his neck. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Creeper Dude's blinds are down right now, but almost every day at 2:30 p.m., he sits on his knees in front of his window, a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Robe Lady is up every morning at the same time, walking around with her curtains wide open, clad only in a robe. She watches TV while flipping her head upside down, blow-drying it with fervor. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Crazy Bathroom Chick snuck up to our floor today and used the restroom, talking on the phone the entire time. A few minutes later, she was screaming and cursing at the person on the other end of the line. The thing is, no one saw her holding a phone or wearing a Bluetooth headset. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's a very, very strange world out there, and so few other people are looking out the window. Who else will tell these people's stories, but me? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Craziness happened, but no one looked out the window...except for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-26789450372725213992012-07-03T19:22:00.001-06:002012-07-03T19:23:31.100-06:00Avel and the Alien, Part 4<span style="color: #274e13;">The story began in Parts 1-3! -mg</span><br />
<br />
After Ezequiel's declaration, Avel and I stared at him. I'm not sure what Avel was thinking, but I was thinking "&*$@#". I don't know if there are actually any curse words with five unspeakable letters, but if there are, I was thinking them all. <br />
<br />
I broke the silence with: "Come again?"<br />
<br />
"Those buggers don't come off, man," said Ezequiel.<br />
<br />
"I'm not sure I believe you," I said. I didn't. I didn't want to, that is.<br />
<br />
Avel was still silent, taking it all in.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel sighed and ran a thick hand through his thinning hair. "I don't know, man. Did you try cutting it off–"<br />
<br />
"It broke my scissors."<br />
<br />
"–with a saw?" Ezequiel finished as he glared at me.<br />
<br />
I hadn't realized he wasn't done with his question. I glared back, sullenly crossing my arms over my chest and giving him my best impression of a bouncer.<br />
<br />
The alien squeaked, and we all jumped.<br />
<br />
"What if it gets hungry?" Ezequiel asked. We all looked at the alien.<br />
<br />
"That would be bad," I said. "Like, really bad."<br />
<br />
Avel poked the alien, then prodded his red and purple-y skin where it met the tentacles. The purple was spreading. I mean, I could literally see it moving, like clouds across the sky on a windy day.<br />
<br />
"Have you eaten anything today?" Ezequiel asked suddenly.<br />
<br />
"Ezequiel! How can you think about food right now? There is an alien poisoning your friend!" I threw both of my hands out, gesturing to Avel.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, so? I'm hungry. You hungry?" he said to Avel. Avel nodded. They left me standing along in the bathroom, open-mouthed and making all sorts of surprised sounds: "Ah...uh...huh...oh."<br />
<br />
After I recovered, I found Avel and Ezequiel eating triple stack roast beef sandwiches in the kitchen. Ezequiel's woman of the week was there, wearing booty shorts and a tank top so small it was probably, in reality, a bikini top. These things are often confused in some people's lives. Not mine, mind you.<br />
<br />
"It's a garage sale," Ezequiel was saying.<br />
<br />
As he spoke, a small group of teenagers walked through the kitchen, all with fumbling grips on a ginormous flat screen TV. We waited for them to go through before speaking.<br />
<br />
"Why...er, why are you having a garage sale?" I asked. "Nothing going?"<br />
<br />
Ezequiel shrugged and then grinned. "I've gone straight." His smile went even wider as the chick in the bikini top slid into his arms, gazed into his heartless eyes and smiled like a kid grabbing cookies out of the cookie jar.<br />
<br />
"Ha!" I said. It came out as half of a snort. Very ladylike, I know. "No, really. Why are you selling all your stuff? And who are they paying?" I turned slowly, my arms open to the clothes, furniture and knickknacks on display.<br />
<br />
"I've got a man in the garage," said Ezequiel.<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes. "Don't we all." I didn't mean anything by it; I just couldn't think of anything more clever to say.<br />
<br />
Avel was still quiet, carefully finishing his sandwich and being busy looking super thoughtful.<br />
<br />
"Avel? You OK?"<br />
<br />
Avel nodded and took the last bite.<br />
<br />
"Do you need anything else?"<br />
<br />
Avel shook his head and swallowed.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel and I didn't know what to do. Usually Avel was the one with the right words or plan for a situation, so we were in completely new territory. I didn't like it. We waited for twenty minutes – TWENTY goshdang minutes of customer after customer walking through with stuff.<br />
<br />
And then finally, finally! Avel cleared his throat. "I'll be right back," he said. And he just got up and left the room.<br />
<br />
"Where's he going?" I asked, appalled.<br />
<br />
"Dunno." Ezequiel turned in his chair and watched Avel for a second. "Out back, I think."<br />
<br />
"Should we go with him?"<br />
<br />
"Nah, I think he's good."<br />
<br />
I took a few steps in the direction Avel had taken, but Ezequiel grabbed my wrist – he had surprisingly soft hands. "Let him alone, Meliora."<br />
<br />
"But..."<br />
<br />
"Alone."<br />
<br />
So I had to actually sit there and wait with him and the other chick, which was awful, let me tell you. Too many sickeningly adorable things happened in the next few minutes. I'm not going to tell you a single one of them, because just thinking about that terrible time makes me want to throw up in my own mouth. <br />
<br />
Finally he came back in, looking a little more refreshed.<br />
<br />
"Well?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"It's gone," Avel said.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel and I exchanged looks, which was a rather uncomfortable bonding moment for me.<br />
<br />
"What?" Ezequiel said.<br />
<br />
Avel shrugged and began to make himself another sandwich. "I just asked it to go away. It was very compliant once I explained the situation."<br />
<br />
I grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up. His skin was only faintly purple, and it was definitely minus one medium-sized shaved alien. I dropped his shirt and looked at the cuts on my arm. They were almost healed, and the purple was fading there, too.<br />
<br />
"Weird," I said. "Do you feel OK?"<br />
<br />
"Sure," Avel said.<br />
<br />
"So, where's the green bugger now?" Ezequiel asked.<br />
<br />
"It crept into the bushes by the trampoline."<br />
<br />
A moment later, we heard a woman scream from the backyard. Avel winced.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel groaned. "&*$@#."<br />
<br />
I closed my eyes, then opened them quickly and grinned. "Time to go!"<br />
<br />
<br />
end. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-23711952907580748562012-06-03T20:36:00.000-06:002012-06-03T20:36:15.620-06:00Avel and the Alien, Part 3<span style="color: #38761d;">I know you want to read Part 1 and Part 2 before you dive in...So go ahead! -m</span><br />
<br />
The thing squeaked a couple of times when the shaver started clearing away fur, but it didn't fight me until I accidentally hit one of the tentacles.<br />
<br />
"Skeeeaww!"<br />
<br />
A free tentacle waved at me, nearly whacking first my arm, then the shaver. I had about a third of the alien shaved and didn't really know what to do with the tentacle. So I hit it back, slamming my hand into the tube. Except...well, maybe I should have thought a bit longer about how to hit a moving object. My hand didn't hit the tentacle, my wrist did. I yanked my arm back, cradling it against my chest.<br />
<br />
"Ow!" There were four tiny scratches on the inside flesh of my arm, right where it's nice and tender, and the skin around them was bright red and tinged with purple.<br />
<br />
Avel twisted to look at me, so I showed him my wounds. He grabbed my wrist and licked the scratches, smacking his lips. "Poison. Interesting."<br />
<br />
"What? Poison?" The purple and red spread up my arm. "Oh, *&$%."<br />
<br />
"What's wrong?"<br />
<br />
I pushed Avel closer to the back of the couch so I could get a good look at Avel's skin. It was purple and red all over, and spreading quickly in the direction of his heart. "I think it's getting into your bloodstream."<br />
<br />
"So that's why this hurts so much," Avel said, trying to laugh. He looked seasick and was covered in a sheen of sweat.<br />
<br />
"You look like crap," I told him.<br />
<br />
"Don't make me throw up on you, Meli."<br />
<br />
"Right. OK. Do you want me to keep going?"<br />
<br />
"Can you see the whole thing?" <br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"Then keep going."<br />
<br />
"Are you sure? If it's poison, maybe we should call someone?" Avel didn't answer, so I resituated myself, ordered my nerves to ignore the burning sensation spreading up my arm, and got to work. Green fur fell in waterfalls, revealing green skin polka-dotted with black freckles.<br />
<br />
"Still hurt?" I asked.<br />
<br />
Avel cleared his throat and swallowed. "Yep."<br />
<br />
I finished shaving and sat back on my heels. "Done." I took the head off the shaver and smacked the entire thing against my thigh, knocking green fur onto the floor. While I did this, Avel very slowly and carefully put his hand on the alien and inspected it.<br />
<br />
"It feels like a dolphin," he said. "I wonder..." He pinched one of the tentacles and tried to pull it off of his skin. The alien squealed and Avel winced. It didn't look like the alien was going to budge.<br />
<br />
"He's like a fuzzy dolphin-porcupine-octopus...thing," I said. I reached out to poke it, but changed my mind when I saw the barbs. I wasn't exactly keen to get nicked again. "Now what?"<br />
<br />
Avel sat up, carefully not touching or otherwise disturbing the formerly fuzzy alien. "We're going to see Ezequiel. Go grab your keys."<br />
<br />
My stomach twisted. I didn't like Ezequiel. He didn't like me, for that matter. Probably something to do with, oh, I don't know, the fact that I shot him in the shoulder once. Twice. In my defense, he was trying to mug me in the middle of a job. In his defense...yeah, he deserved it.<br />
<br />
I dragged my feet to get my keys and purse from my room, resurfacing by the front door just after Avel. He was wearing a huge, ugly hoodie that hid the alien nicely. We drove to Ezequiel's place in the southeast part of the city.<br />
<br />
The neighborhood is all tiny bungalow houses on terrifyingly steep rolling hills. It reminded me of San Francisco on steroids, if that's even possible. Instead of parking by the house, Avel had me park at the bottom of a particularly steep hill, and we walked up. By the time we got to the top, my legs were shaking and I was breathing like an asthmatic in a marathon. Avel, of course, looked as fresh and relaxed as ever. Well, I mean, if you didn't count the fact that he looked like he wanted to die. Alien parasites do that do a person, I've learned. <br />
<br />
Ezequiel's house was usually darker than a seedy bar, and I always had felt like I was supposed to whisper a password to get in. But today the house was surrounded by cars and people, and all of the lights were on.<br />
<br />
"What the heck's going on <i>here</i>?" I asked. A nearby couple heard my comment and gave me a weird look, scowling as they looked me up and down. "Can I help you?" I said to them, returning their scowl. Avel didn't give me a chance to hear any response – he grabbed my arm and pulled me through the open door.<br />
<br />
Everyone inside was crowded around tables piled with stuff. Old stuff, new stuff, stuff in boxes and bags and cellophane wrapping. Avel wove through it, still holding my arm, and got us to the back of the house.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel was standing with his meaty arms crossed over a faded, grease-stained Coors t-shirt. "Brother," he said to Avel as they shook hands and pounded each other on the back. He glanced at me. "Meliora."<br />
<br />
"Ezequiel."<br />
<br />
"What can I do for you?" Ezequiel asked.<br />
<br />
Wordlessly, Avel led him into the bathroom and I followed. It was the one place that wasn't full of people, and it was surprisingly roomy.<br />
<br />
"I need your...expertise," Avel said. He nodded to me and I shut the door, and then he pulled off the hoodie.<br />
<br />
Ezequiel whistled and then cursed in Spanish. At least, I'm pretty sure he cursed. My Spanish isn't so great, but it sure sounded like cursing.<br />
<br />
"That's not comin' off, man," Ezequiel said.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-88262992743854987942012-05-28T20:39:00.003-06:002012-05-28T20:39:45.987-06:00Avel and the Alien, Part 2<span style="color: #38761d;">Check out Part 1 (or any of my other mostly fictional blog series) before you start reading! -m</span><br />
<br />
We went into the house and I made Avel lay on the kitchen counter so Fuzz and I could be on the same level. I grabbed a pair of kitchen shears and found one of the tentacles under the green fur. I placed it between the blades.<br />
<br />
"OK, brace yourself," I said, and squeezed.<br />
<br />
Nothing happened. Well, something happened, of course. There was a ton of screaming from both Avel and the thing. But the scissors didn't do their job. In fact, they snapped in half.<br />
<br />
"Crap," I said.<br />
<br />
Avel was moaning. "That hurt!"<br />
<br />
"Sorry. Want me to try again?" I reached for the tentacle again, even as Avel yelled at me to stop. The green creature made unhappy sounds and dug its barbed tubies deeper into the side of Avel's waist.<br />
<br />
"Stop!" Avel bellowed.<br />
<br />
I let go and the fuzzy thing settled back down. "What's your problem?" I growled, annoyed with his tone. "I'm trying to help."<br />
<br />
"Well, you're hurting more than your helping." He sighed heavily and pulled himself to a sitting position. He was really pale and covered in a shiny sheen of sweat. Avel sat still for a minute, silently inspecting his parasite. <br />
<br />
It was dark green and covered in fur that was thick and coarse. There weren't any eyes, or even an "up" or "down" end. I had no idea where the noises were coming from. The tentacles were about the width of my pinky and edged with sharp barbs, like thorns on a rose. Around the mouth of each tubular tentacle was a ring of those barbs, which was how the thing had attached itself to Avel. <br />
<br />
"Can I ask you what happened, exactly?" I asked warily. I glanced outside, where the rain was beginning to let up.<br />
<br />
Avel didn't look up at me as he continued to carefully prod at the green thing. "There was some sort of box in the middle of the yard. I went to check it out and this thing jumped out and attacked me."<br />
<br />
I grunted and walked away, tossing the broken shears in the trash on my way.<br />
<br />
"Where are you going?" Avel asked, sounding dismayed.<br />
<br />
"I'm gonna check out the box thing," I said. I slid open the door and looked around. There was a black metal box sitting in a small crater in the middle of the formerly pristine lawn. I whistled and went over, inspecting it with my foot. The metal was hot and the whole thing was steaming. I looked up, half expecting to see something else in the sky. Stray raindrops tickled my cheeks. There was nothing but gray clouds in the sky.<br />
<br />
Back inside, Avel was on his feet and waiting for me.<br />
<br />
"I think it's an alien," I declared as I shut the door.<br />
<br />
Avel rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."<br />
<br />
"I'm not being ridiculous. I seriously think it is." He still appeared skeptical. "Well, what do you think it is?"<br />
<br />
We both looked at the thing. It looked like Avel had glued a green, headless stuffed animal to his shirt.<br />
<br />
"Mutant leech?" Avel ventured. I almost laughed, but he shuddered and I held it in.<br />
<br />
"Alien. Leeches don't have tentacles."<br />
<br />
"Fine. Here," he said. He handed me a small bag.<br />
<br />
"Your shaver?" I pulled out Avel's electric shaver and flipped it on, then turned it off again. It took me a second to catch up. "No. That's just nasty," I said. "You seriously want me to shave it?"<br />
<br />
Avel shrugged, then grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled. The tentacles had burned through enough of it that the shirt – which had been one of my favorites, by the way – came right off.<br />
<br />
Even with a fuzzy green alien sticking its barbed tentacles into his skin, I couldn't help but grin at my bare-chested boyfriend. Lord, was he attractive. <i>Is</i> attractive. Anyways.<br />
<br />
"Why are we doing this?" I asked.<br />
<br />
Avel talked to me over his shoulder as he went over to the couch, which he had covered with an old sheet. "I need to see what it looks like," he said matter-of-factly.<br />
<br />
"Oh." Of course. All I could see was fur. Without the fur, we'd be able to see what the thing really was. I tossed the shaver bag onto a chair and tried to grin. "So, are we thinking 'buzz cut' or something a little longer?"<br />
<br />
Avel snorted, which was probably as close to a laugh as I was going to get. "Just use the head that's on there." He beckoned for me to follow as he lay on his side, full-length on the couch, but I was frozen.<br />
<br />
All I could think was that something was going to go wrong, the shaver was going to slip, the alien was going to suck out all his blood, then go after me...I think they were very typical worries for when an alien leeches onto your boyfriend.<br />
<br />
"Meli?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah?" I shook my head, clearing it of the mental image of a half-shaved green monster tearing me and Avel to pieces. It wasn't very pretty.<br />
<br />
"You gonna do it?"<br />
<br />
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." I turned on the shaver and lowered it to the green fur. I was shaking, my heart was pounding like crazy, and I was holding my breath. Oh, yes. This was going to go well.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-76619962336875848822012-05-26T01:00:00.001-06:002012-05-26T01:00:54.262-06:00Avel and the Alien, Part 1Before I split with Avel and went to work for Mr. Oulara, there was about a year when things were good. Great, even. I mean, I wasn't treated like a princess or anything, but he didn't run off when the police were coming and stuff like that.<br />
<br />
The weather was strangely rainy that summer. I should have taken that as a clue that everything else would be strange, too. But, no. I maintained a positive outlook. Silly me.<br />
<br />
So it was a Tuesday, and we didn't have a con going, which was even stranger that the rain wildly pattering on the windows and roof. Avel was reading a book about Nikola Tesla, and I was trying to think of something sweet and clever to write in my sister's birthday card.<br />
<br />
"What was that?" Avel shut his book quickly and sat up straight, head cocked to the side in prime listening mode.<br />
<br />
"I didn't hear anything," I said, the end of my pen clenched between my teeth.<br />
<br />
"It came from the back," he said.<br />
<br />
I grunted. His house was large, and we were in the den near the front of the house. I have no idea how he'd heard anything. But Avel stood up and dropped his book on the couch. "I'll be back. I'm gonna go check on things."<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh," I said, writing <i>You're freaking AWESOME </i>very carefully in the center of the blank space of my sister's card.<br />
<br />
Avel stepped over me and I tried to playfully grab his foot as he did, but he just ignored me. I labeled the envelope, stuck the card in, and licked the nasty adhesive. I was pinching it all together to make sure it stuck when I heard Avel scream.<br />
<br />
"Meliora!"<br />
<br />
I was on my feet and halfway to the back door before he could call my name again. I was moving so fast I almost forgot to slide the glass door open before I barged through it.<br />
<br />
Avel was writhing on the grass, sopping wet. His hands were clawing at something on his left hip, and he was still screaming. <br />
<br />
I blinked in the rain and almost face-planted on the slipperyness of the ground. "What's wrong? What is it?" I had to yell over Avel's screams. I landed on my knees next to him and tried to keep him from writhing. I couldn't see anything in that dang rain, and he just wouldn't stop moving.<br />
<br />
"It's on me! God! Shit! It's on me!"<br />
<br />
"What?" I reached and rolled him over, half sitting on him so he couldn't twist away. I could feel something hot and fuzzy stuck on him, just underneath his ribcage on his left side. "Stop moving!"<br />
<br />
Avel shuddered and held his arms aloft, struggling not to move. The fuzzy thing squeaked when I poked it.<br />
<br />
I breathed deeply, flinging soaked hair out of my eyes. The fuzzy thing was literally attached to Avel. I carefully lifted the fur on the sides and saw that it had tentacles...tentacles that had burned through Avel's t-shirt and were now sinking into his skin. <br />
<br />
"Oh, shhhh...oot," I said, trying to not sound too freaked out.<br />
<br />
"Get it off!" Avel yelled.<br />
<br />
I stuck my fingers under the green fur and pulled. Avel screamed, and the thing screeched. The tentacles stretched to their limit but didn't come free. The thing shivered and pulled itself back down, landing with a THWOP against Avel's ribs.<br />
<br />
"I...uh, I don't think it's going to come off."<br />
<br />
"Try again!"<br />
<br />
So I stood up, got on the same side as the thing, and grabbed it. And pulled. And yanked. And twisted. But that little booger had a death grip on my boyfriend. I gave it one last pull, a pull which was so hard and ill-planned that I ended up on my butt on the ground, thunder and lightning overhead, icy rain pelting my freezing skin.<br />
<br />
Avel stopped writhing and screaming long enough to yank me up and drag me inside, where we would hopefully have better luck detaching the fuzzy green parasite. <br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132880264417306889.post-65091653389767498252012-04-12T21:59:00.000-06:002012-04-12T21:59:57.974-06:00Tristessa's Story, Part 8<div style="color: #274e13;">
This is the final chapter in a series of 8 posts. I hope you've enjoyed the others. -m</div>
<br />
My mother was so weak she couldn't stand on her own, so Ambreel and Ravigie picked her up by the arms and carried her into the house. <br />
<br />
The imaginary children followed me like puppies, their eyes trained on me as though they were afraid I'd leave them. They made me uncomfortable. Such wide, scared eyes. And such blank features. <br />
<br />
<i>I didn't even have enough imagination to give them faces, </i>I thought without much amusement. But even as I thought it, the children's faces grew even more interesting with different sized noses, freckles, acne... any little thing I could think of to distinguish them, I planted it on their faces. When I was satisfied, I pulled away from them, feeling faint.<br />
<br />
Mama was lying on the couch, and Ambreel was brushing the hair away from her forehead in a way that made me feel like an intruder. I wanted to go to her, but I felt suddenly shy. She had not even called
to me, so I stayed where I was, waiting. Ravigie came in then carrying
a tray with a bowl of hot water, a towel, and a glass of goat's milk. I
don't know where she found the water, but I remember feeling very angry
with her for wasting it on a towel. <br />
<br />
"Feliciterra, can you hear me?" Ambreel whispered into her ear.<br />
<br />
Mama's eyes were closed, but she swallowed and nodded her head. Her mouth worked for a little bit, like she was practicing words with her lips still closed. Ravigie set the tray down and began to wet the rag, but my mother didn't look at Ravigie or Ambreel when she opened her eyes. She looked at me.<br />
<br />
"Tristessa," my mother whispered hoarsely. Ambreel turned and beckoned to me, so I went to them. My mother touched my hair and tried to smile.<br />
<br />
"You released me," she said, finally succeeding in her smile.<br />
<br />
I looked at Ambreel, eyebrows raised. <br />
<br />
"It's true," Mama said. "Thank you for putting on the necklace."<br />
<br />
"I'm confused," I said. "What did I do?" I reached up and touched the cool stones of the necklace. They felt like droplets of cold water on my hand. I smirked, wishing I was touching real water, so I could drink it.<br />
<br />
And then, suddenly, I was. <br />
<br />
My hands were wet, the floor was wet, everything was a flood of water. It was coming out of the necklace. My mother smiled at me through the torrent. As every wave of the water hit her, a bruise seemed to be washed away. Soon there was so much water, so many waves of rushing water, that I closed my eyes and turned my head away. <br />
<br />
Ambreel stood strong through the deluge, his arms around Mama, keeping her safe. Ravigie was gone, and I was thrown against the wall, drinking it all in. The water was blue with my electricity, and I didn't want it to stop, but then my mother put out her hand.<br />
<br />
"Fermati!" she yelled. The waters heard her and stopped their throws. Her black hair was like a shining blanket over her shoulders, and her smiling cheeks were pink and wet. No more bruises, no more weakness. She stood on her own and came to me, giving me the biggest hug I'd ever had, and have ever had since then.<br />
<br />
"Oh, Tessa. My girl. Thank you for bringing the water back," she said into my hair. "Thank you."<br />
<br />
Ambreel's hand was on my shoulder, a warm connection to the real world. He knew I didn't understand. He knew I didn't know what was happening. "She is the land, and you are the rain," he said. <br />
<br />
Like that explained anything.<br />
<br />
But then, just as I realized that Ravigie and the children were all gone, I remembered a day when I was flying over everything, and my mother was with me, and the land below us was green with life. I looked around me with new eyes, and I could feel the weight of the necklace my mother had given me as it hung around my neck. I knew in that moment that I had almost killed everyone in the world, depriving them of water while I mourned my missing mother.<br />
<br />
Ambreel squeezed my arm. "I didn't think you'd believe me if I'd told you. You didn't even remember your magic," he said to me. It almost sounded like an excuse, but it was so true that I couldn't deny him. <br />
<br />
"Mama, can we fly again?" I asked. It was the only thing I wanted to do. I didn't want to think about what I had done. I didn't want to think about Ravigie and the children. So my mother and I left Ambreel standing on the green hill around the house, squinting up into the sun at us as we flew over the hills, my mother checking her land, me making sure that the rain fell on everyone and everything.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I think about that day and I wonder: How much of any of my life has been real?<br />
<br />
I suppose I'll never know. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03370529562333255563noreply@blogger.com0