Snapshots With Words

Here is a glimpse into my mental musings of late. To my left on the coffee table sits the sheet music for "Four Hymns for Tenor and Viola" written by Ralph Vaughn Willams. My husband and I are working on the last two hymns for an upcoming concert. Outside the window to my right I can hear the intermittent sounds of a tram or a car passing by. At this hour on a Sunday evening most people are at home relaxing and preparing for the week ahead. The bells at the Graz Herz Jesu Church ring every weekday evening at 7:00, signaling the end of the workday. On Sunday mornings the bells toll at 9:15, just in time to remind you to start making your way to church. Sundays in Graz are quiet; with all of the businesses closed save cafes, restaurants, and one Spar supermarket at the Hauptbahnhof. Klimpt, my faithful viola, reclines on the love seat to my right, and sounds of my husband cooking drift down the hallway from the kitchen to my left. The mood in here is warm and peaceful, now that

Having just passed our one year anniversary of living in Austria, my perspective has been tilting along with the earth's axis, albeit in its own unique rhythm. I'd say we're just coming out of winter and into a warm, lovely spring, as far as my mood is concerned. One thing I have always valued in life is honesty. Nothing gets my goat more than when parents leave out the challenging portions of their youth through the retelling of stories to their children. If human kind suffers from feelings of inadequacy, then only telling people about the sunny days will make them wonder if the world as they know it is coming to an end every time a bit of a storm gathers overhead. I am speaking metaphorically, though my thoughts are drawn to the first images of hurricane Sandy's devastation in the Eastern portion of my country. They should be waking up in a few hours to see what kind of damage occurred during the night. The leaves are gathering in the courtyard behind our apartmen

While traveling by train from Stuttgart, Germany, to Graz, Austria, my husband and I who have been living in Austria for nearly eight months had the privilege of overhearing a fellow American. We were sitting across the isle from a lovely couple who looked like newlyweds. The pair spoke to one another in German as well as a middle-eastern sounding language, and they used English to order coffee and to politely ask if we could take their picture. Here in Europe one has the privilege of intermingling with people who have learned to dedicate time becoming familiar with other cultures and languages. Stuttgart Marktplatz While we enjoyed a beautiful view out of our picture window of the German and Austrian landscapes, our serenity was interrupted momentarily when we heard a man's voice utter in a southern American accent the words, "dumb ass." It was not long before we had confirmation that he was a traveler with little interest in learning about new cultures, when he c

I must clarify one thing before I begin:  The country listed in the title of this post is Austria. A horrifyingly popular belief among American citizens is that this is the land where kangaroos live. Oh wait, I said Austria, not Australia. This country with a rich history including Roman occupation, Napoleon's failed conquest of Graz, the birth of the Viennese coffee tradition, and the truth about Croissants is located in Europe. Austria neighbors Germany, Hungary, Switzerland, Slovenia, Slovakia, Italy and the Czech Republic. Popular belief has named the French as being the inventors of this deliciously delightful pastry filled with tender, melt in your mouth, buttery goodness, but the truth as far as we know it gives "croissant genius" credit to the Austrians. The legend of the croissant is one shrouded in mystery, with references to the Turks as possible originators, and Budapest is also included on the list. It is even said that monks around 1000 AD began makin

I am sitting inside of our old fashioned Graz apartment, with high ceilings and windows that overlook the street where the Stra β enbahns, or street cars, pass by every few minutes.  If I am feeling poetic enough they sound like waves crashing on the sea shore.  I can imagine seagulls flying overhead and a soft blue heaven with delicate clouds accentuating the scenery composed of sand, rocks, and gentle bluffs that embrace the foaming sea.   Our Austrian apartment is on what Americans would call the second floor, but what to a German speaking European is the “Erste Stock,” or first floor.  My favorite room is the living room, where I am sitting now, with its high ceiling, tall windows, and an old wooden floor that is perfect for reflecting the softened light from the sun as it sneaks past the tops of the many storied buildings and comes in through our windows.  The structures are all built together so that they look like one and the same building, or gigantic walls on either s

Winter Musings | Authspot  Follow this link to read my short story.

When I lived in Saraland, Alabama where I attended college at the University of Mobile, I moved off campus the second semester so that I could afford my living expenses. Thankfully, my tuition was covered with scholarships and grants, but I still needed to come up with my basic living expenses. I lived in a three bedroom apartment with two roommates, and with the high humidity levels and less than impressive building methods, the floors creaked and the outdoor wooden stairs leading to our second story apartment, as well as the wooden railing on our balcony were considerably weathered. I remember my early twenties as being the time in life that I was the most inspired to change things. Everything was new, and my optimism was at its highest. Next door to us lived a woman with her husband and young daughter, and I often stopped to chat with her on my way in or out of my apartment. I desperately wanted to spend time with her, as she was a lovely woman, probably not much older than

Here I am at a MacDonald’s restaurant in Mobile, Alabama escaping the deadly humidity and ironically drinking hot coffee in the air conditioning right across the street from L & M automotive where my car is sitting. The shop is now closed, as it is mid afternoon on a blistering hot Saturday, and all of the mechanics have left. Thankfully I brought my laptop, books and bag that doubles as a very full purse slash laptop bag. I knew the possibilities of waiting for a ride where great, as the noise around my tires sounded pretty serious this morning on my way back from volunteer work in Prichard, Alabama, a primarily African American neighborhood known for having the highest crime rates in the state. I had the opportunity to speak with an African American woman who came in with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A woman in her situation with a husband and family to care for, who is trying to make it in society with a professional career has many issues to face because, while thi

Lobby of a music building, Hattiesburg, Mississippi. August 30, 2010. (Written during an assignment for my qualitative research class). Vintage String Quartet The foyer for the music building leads into the auditorium on one end and up to the hallway by a flight of stairs on the other. It has mirrored entrances on either side made of double glass doors that open on one side to a lawn and on the other to stairs that lead down to the university museum. There are two sets of light colored wooden double doors that lead to the auditorium; they are closed and sounds of brass players practicing are coming from inside. In the center of the sunlit room are four sections of circular couches with one move-able round side table sitting too close to one of the sections. The couches are a drab brown in color with a circled pattern. Around the edges of the windowed room are upholstered chairs; some with dark wooden arms covered in striped blue and tan upholstery, while others have no arms a