On embracing discomfort

You might be interested to read my latest interview on ‘living the good life’—embracing discomfort and pursuing meaningful activities while preserving our planet—and it got me thinking about my time in the Swiss Alps.

Looking back at those days, boy, did I enjoy working in the garden to create a haven for bees, butterflies, and for my family. Writing for GstaadLife—with the aim of trying to bridge the gap between the locals and the “chalet guests”—satisfied a purpose of adding value to the community.

Regarding the preserving planet part, however, I used to cringe at the way farming was evolving and what my grandfather Werner would have have said about it were he still alive.

Having grown up on a small farm and being the son of a dairy farmer, Werner was the kind of man who would rise at dawn—before his regular job as a lineman for the electric company—to put in a few hours cutting grass for a friend. A neighbor once told me that ol’ Werner was one of the last of his kind, those traditional farmhands who were able to cut grass expertly using a traditional scythe, and who had the legs, endurance, and balance to do so for hours on steep inclines.

If Werner were still alive, I’m sure he’d shake his head in dismay at the modern factory-type farming, characterized by huge tractors, mechanical hay threshers, blowers, and by the use of weed killer. He’d rage against the large, free stall barns— requiring the cutting of cow horns—that have led to an increase in the number and density of animals sharing space and to the collection and spraying of slurry on the fields.

Rising obesity, hay fever, respiratory problems, and dandelion monoculture, and not to mention carbon emissions, are some of the effects. All of these issues arise out of avoiding discomfort. But who am I to talk? I don’t farm.

Daily meal preparation improved me

Women are primarily responsible for meal preparation in the Swiss alps, and lunch being the main meal of the day, this means one has to take time each morning to shop, prepare, and cook.

Children usually come home around 12:15 as well as husbands, if they are working nearby. At first, I complained at what I believed to be an incredibly sexist and inconvenient tradition. What? There was no school lunch program? 

Eventually, I had no choice but to accept it, and over the years and after trying out new recipes and cooking every single day, my skills improved. 

I arrived in the Swiss Alps a spoiled, academically-minded young mother who knew nothing about cooking (I could barely cook an egg), but I left a resourceful cook and mother who can now prepare healthy meals without too much of a struggle. My experience as a Swiss "Hausfrau" or housewife could have turned out differently. Instead, I could have fed my kids ready-made meals, filled with saturated fat, salt, and chemicals, and outsourced a valuable time of my day to strangers. I don't regret those "Hausfrau" days,

Did I suffer from sexism? Or did I choose to make my experience a positive one? I think I improved. 

The more things change...

My mother used to say: "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" meaning "the more things change, the more they stay the same." She was quoting a 19th century French novelist, journalist, and critic named Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, who was known for his political satire and wit.

The Stoics and the Buddhists refer to the same thing: impermanence.

Our bodies decay, lands erode, lakes silt up, but at the core we are the same.

When I return to places where I used to live, I notice the changes: the new roads and buildings. These places still feel the same though.

They've changed, but they are the same.

The waitress teaches me a lesson

The idea of “god” used to turn me off. After all, how could I trust something that allowed bad things to happen to the innocent?

The problem was that I placed my trust in people I didn’t know well or who reminded me of my abusers, and was disappointed. Then, I tried to fix those people, as if I had the power of god. Over time, I stopped believing I was the director of the universe and that my compulsion to control people and situations was making me sick. What a relief! I could stop wasting my energy trying to fix others.

But I still slip up sometimes, as I did yesterday.

No matter that I knew that Swiss restaurants—especially those catering to tourists on mountain passes—feature horrible customer service; when that waitress spoke disrespectfully and loudly to my daughter and me, I felt shocked, unwanted, and angry. I should have felt some sympathy for the poor woman, who was working on a Sunday and who was juggling complaints from other diners.

My daughter told me to cool it. Instead, I complained to the manager and waited in the car.

In retrospect, I think I was playing director of the universe. Who the hell did I think I was? Yes, she was rude, but who was I to teach her a lesson?

Being boring

The other night, I found myself listening to someone talk about so-and-so, who has a problem with so-and-so, and an unbearable boredom set in.

Judgements entered my mind. That person was being self-centered and smug, I thought, and I wasn't learning anything. Deciding to sit back and not contribute to the conversation, I began to feel resentment grow inside me like rot spreading in a bruised apple. It became impossible to follow what the person was saying.

According to a Psychology Today article, boring people complain a lot, repeat the same stories and jokes over and over again, don't make eye contact and lack enthusiasm, drag conversations on without coming to a point, have little to say, are self-preoccupied and talk about themselves too much; they try to impress people with humor or by being too nice, and they get easily distracted and engage in small talk.

The article went on to say: "Boring people also contribute less to the conversation overall than interesting people do."

That's when I realized; perhaps, it was my decision to not contribute to the conversation that led to my resentment, to my inability to listen, and to my being boring.

Learning a lesson

It was late November and too warm to snow. Brenda* and I were chatting and walking our dogs in the Oberbort, Gstaad's affluent neighborhood. Behind dark green evergreen hedges, mammoth chalets stood vacant, their shutters closed, as they are for most of the year. My dog Bizzi was free to roam and sniff the scents under every tree and bush. Brenda kept her aging and deaf terrier on a leash.

We were deep in conversation about the beauty of life, when we came upon a chalet that stood close to the road. A gardener was trimming the hedge in front. All of a sudden, a woman appeared from behind that hedge. She had immaculately coiffed shoulder length grey hair.

“Do you always walk your dog off the leash,” she asked me in perfect English.

“Uh…” I managed to utter. “Yes, uh… sometimes.”

“Well, I have a very dangerous mean dog,” the woman said. “You're lucky he’s not out today.”

I didn’t know what to say. Brenda and I kept walking.

“Is your dog mean?” the woman asked me, as we passed her.

“No,” I said.

“Well, you should keep your dog on a leash then,” she said.

“You should keep your dog on a leash,” I retorted, my back now towards her.

A door slammed behind me. We walked a few steps in silence.

“We are on a public street,” Brenda said. “She cannot tell us what to do on a public street, and if her dog attacked ours, she would be the guilty one.”

“Yes!” I said. “She was wrong to threaten us.”

We walked in silence a little longer.

“Was Bizzi on her property?” I asked. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yes, he was,” Brenda answered. “Just a little. I think he just went about a meter in.”

“Then, why didn’t she just say say so?” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.

I then realized that the woman had been trying to set a boundary. She had been upset with good reason. My dog had crossed her property line. Had she said: “Please keep your dog off my property,“ I would have apologized and moved on. Instead she had asked me a personal question (which I had answered - mistake #1), and then she had threatened me with her nasty dog (which I had managed to ignore), and then she had given me unsolicited advice, telling me how to walk my dog (which I had copied and thrown back at her - mistake #2).

In the future, I will remember to walk Bizzi on a leash whenever walking through the Oberbort or when I am distracted. Most importantly, I will try to keep my serenity when dealing with angry people.

*name changed to protect privacy

Well-meaning relatives

As I sat down at the "Stammtisch" or local's table at a restaurant to drink a tea while waiting for my son to come out of his drum lesson, I recognized her as the old lady I had given a ride to a week prior. She had been walking past my friend's house on her way to the next town, five kilometers away, while my friend and I had been chatting on the street. I had been struck by her healthy appearance. After exchanging pleasantries, I had offered to give her a ride, and she had accepted even though she had seemed fit. In the car, she had told us how she walked to the neighboring village every day, that she was a grandmother of five, that she lived in a house "up the mountains" and that she had spent her entire life tending cows.

Today, sitting in front of a tall glass of beer, her sparkle was gone.

I asked her how she was, and she said, "Not so good. Today is moving day."

I asked her what she meant. She said that her family and the town powers-that-be had decided she could no longer live alone in her house, the home she had occupied for the past fifty years. This was the place where she had nursed her dying husband and raised her children. Now, she was forced to leave it to move into a one-room studio in the newly-built assisted living center. In a slight wail, she went on the explain that her daughter-in-law did not allow her to bring any of her furniture.

"I ran away," she said. "I couldn't bear to stay in that cold place one minute longer. I will not sleep tonight."

Here was a grandmother getting drunk because of loneliness and sadness for having to spend her first evening alone in a strange place. Although, she was clearly upset, I noticed that the more she spoke, the better she appeared. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly time to pick up my son, but I couldn't leave this woman alone. I had an idea.

"Would you give me a tour of your new home?" I asked.

"Would you really like to?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes, I've heard good things about the new center, and I am curious to see how the studios are," I responded.

So, she finished off her beer, and we both payed our drinks. She got in my car. I picked up my son and drove him home (explaining in English what we were doing). She knew many of my neighbors, including the veterinarian who lives down the hill from me. "I was his assistant for a while," she said.

I liked her new home. It was light, airy, modern and well-heated. For an hour, we tested her new phone, the lights, and the electric curtains. She showed me the furniture that wasn't hers.

"You see this brown coffee table? It's not mine. I have a perfectly good one at home, but they wouldn't let me keep it," she said.

And in her sleeping area, she pointed to her bed.

"I have such wonderful linens, and they gave me these," she said pointing to the wine red sheets. "And MY bed has a footboard on which I can stretch my calves when I have cramps. This bed has no footboard."

Her cell phone rang and one of her friends offered to come over, which was good because I was late for book club. So, I took my leave, leaving her smiling. Her sparkle was back, and I was glad.

While driving away, I thought how amazing life was and how coincidental the two meetings with this old day had been. Why were her relatives so bossy? Why wasn't she allowed to keep her furniture? I vowed never to be so controlling in my life. Were her items antiques and therefore valuable, or were her relatives embarrassed about her stuff? Maybe her furniture was really old and shabby. Nevertheless, I thought she should have been allowed to keep her stuff.

On our walk today...

Despite yesterday's blistery north wind, my son Oliver, our dog Bizzi and I managed to go out for a walk.
Five minutes into our stroll, and while passing a farm, Bizzi yelped.
"Bizzi touched the electric cow fence," Oliver said.
I think Bizzi's eyes are going (he's nine years old after all), because on more than three occasions, I've seen him running after what he thought were cats in the fields only to be chased by a growling farm dog, or only to find a spool of electrical wire or a water bucket.
On the downhill part of our adventure, Oliver decided to test the speed of his bike as well as its braking ability. When I finally caught up with him, he showed off a bloodied knee.
Further down the road, the way was corded off. A herd of cows dawdled on their way back to the barn munching on a luxury chalet's hedge. Two neighbors chatted next to their parked cars, while waiting for the road to reopen. The rosy cheeked farmer, an expectant father, smiled and said hello, as he walked by.
Oliver and I played soccer and the ball went into our oil burner repair man's garage and got stuck under his car. Luckily, the oil burner repair man witnessed this and invited us into his garage.
Just an ordinary walk in the Swiss Alps.

Driving on mountain roads for health

All in all, living in the mountains has its advantages, except when things go wrong and you need to see a specialist. Visiting such a doctor involves a one-hour-plus drive on curvy, sometimes icy, mountain roads.

Recently, I damaged my shoulder by undressing and ended up with adhesive capsulitis or "frozen shoulder". The injury occurred in November but it wasn't until January that I finally went to our family physician. The x-rays showed a four millimeter bone in my joint. Afraid to hurt my shoulder any further, I stopped moving my arm. Big mistake! One week later, I couldn't move my shoulder at all.

To find a reputable orthopedic doctor, I had to leave the Alps. Now, after three trips down the windy road to Bern and an MRI, I know what I must do: three times per week physiotherapy and daily exercises. One problem is that all the physiotherapists in our area can only offer me one appointment per week. Grrr… I guess that's the subject for another post. Do people in the mountains really hurt themselves that much?

Snowman cure for electronic blues

Here's what happens when you take electronic devices away from children: they make a snowman.

Oh what joy I feel when they are outside playing in snow and not sitting inside like zombies staring at screens.

I feel this happiness more and more now that I have placed limits on electronic time.

So we're clear, I've defined electronic devices as: TV, computer, iPod, iPad, Wii or anything with a screen. Unless, you're doing homework, you're on electronic time.

Now, my son is reaching out to his friends more and isolating less. I've spoken to other parents in the neighborhood and they are very strict with electronic time, and have even harsher limits than we do.

The dangers caused by excessive technology use by children have been well documented. The following problems have been associated with excessive early use of technology:

• addictions

• attention deficit

• delayed cognitive development

• obesity

• sleep deprivation

• mental illness

• aggression

• impaired learning

• increased impulsivity

• decreased ability to self-regulate

For more scary facts on this subject read  Zone'in.

Not paying church tax

When I moved to Switzerland in 2002, I filled out a form at the commune, declaring my residency. At the "Religion" line item, I wrote: "Protestant." My religious affiliation has always been complicated to explain. When I was one, I was baptized in the Swiss Reformed Church. Five years later, I was baptized again in the French Roman Catholic Church.

Returning to my Swiss roots, it now made sense to go back to my original religion. Plus "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." I was now living in a Protestant part of Switzerland. I remembered studying Henry IV of France, who was known for changing from Protestant to Roman Catholic in order to avoid further bloodshed and for saying: "Paris is well worth a Mass."

So for years, I paid taxes to the Swiss Reformed Church. Even after getting married, my residency card continued to list me as a Protestant, even though my then-husband, an atheist, was listed as "other." But upon my divorce and name change, I noticed on my newly-arrived residency card, that I had inherited my ex-husband's "other."

So, I am happy to report, I am no longer paying church tax.

A winter avian death

What do you do when your beloved pet parakeet dies, and it's 20 below outside? Answer: Stick him in the freezer.

This is what we did a few Februaries ago when my then seven-year old son found a barely breathing "Blue" on the floor of his cage. Carefully, my son picked him up and held him in his cupped hands. Within an hour, Blue was dead. During the ensuing hours, my son continued to hold him, as he walked around the house. Finally, he placed Blue in a shoebox and stowed it under his bed.

A day passed, and I didn't know what to do. Blue deserved a proper ceremony and grave, but there was at least a meter of snow covering the frozen ground outside. I couldn't bear the idea of handing the box to the town recycling and animal carcass man, like I had done with Peter rabbit.

The next day, I recounted my story to girlfriends over coffee, after which one Canadian joked: "Stick him in the freezer."

So, that's what I did when I got home.

Three months later on one glorious May evening, I made the following announcement: "Today's the perfect day to bury Blue."

The children and I dug the grave, and once Blue's shoebox was in the ground and covered with dirt, I read the pet burial prayers I had found on the internet, and my daughter placed a bouquet of Forget-me-nots on the little mound. She painted a rock with a blue cross and the words "RIP Blue" and used smaller rocks to make a crown around the grave. We then transplanted more wildflowers onto the grave. To complete the ceremony, my son played a song on his trumpet.

As the sun dipped behind the mountains in a golden glow, my children frolicked in the garden. It really felt as if Blue had finally gone to heaven.

Grabbing two hours on a Saturday morning

Last Saturday, after getting up at around 7:30, I ventured outside wearing my IceBugs (running shoes with metal spikes) and jogged 25 minutes with the dog. The sun reflected on the high peaks, and the air felt significantly warmer than it did yesterday, when temps were -18C.

On the road lay a carpet of fresh powder snow, disturbed by a set of tire tracks. While jogging, I was awed at seeing the outlines of a multitude of snow laden pine trees. How distinct each tree appeared!

After a shower and bringing the kids to ski race training, I met friends who live on a sunny, southeastern facing slope. The mood was jovial and there was even a snow ball fight and wrestle to start the day.

The group split up. Most were snowboarders, who went off into the forests to find some jumps and trees to scare, while my new friend Barry and I enjoyed the near-empty and buttery pistes. I practiced some newly-learned carving techniques, and as a stratus layer began to spread in from the west, covering up the cerulean sky, I thanked providence and the privilege of grabbing those two hours of pure bliss.

Dog eats mouse, including tail

The idea crossed my mind to share a video with you of my dog eating a field mouse. I decided against it.

I know it's gross, but you have to understand that mice are a problem in the Swiss Alps, and my dog is being very useful in playing a part in controlling their population. I just wish he had left me the tail, so I could have taken it to the commune and gotten my one franc.

Farmers confirm that this year has been particularly good for mice and bad for farmers. It seems the field mice have taken over and dug up entire fields, leaving their annoying mounds of dirt everywhere.

I am still wondering how my dog can still eat his dog food...

Back at the source

One of the many river sources of the Rhine is located just nine kilometers from my house. It blows my mind to think that waters originating here in my backyard travel through Europe and end up in the North Sea.

And it's gotten me thinking that my move to the Alps can be likened to a return to the source, my early childhood place. And low and behold, I just read that life can be compared to a river, and that it, too, can be divided into three parts:

• the source is our past

• the channel is our present

• the mouth is our future

But these parts can only be divided conceptually, because they must remain in balance.

When I find myself thinking that my life was better in the 'old days', I become blind to the reality of the present. Have I fully understood how the past has affected me? With the right tools and introspection, I learn what the root causes are for my distorted thinking, my fears, and my need for instant gratification and control. Instead, by validating my past, I am free to heal old wounds, and thereby, avoid repeating the same mistakes and behaviors.

I must also face the present, which flows like the uninterrupted current of a river. We just can't stop that clock! And living in the present can be as peaceful as it can be exciting, (my recent skiing experiences in powder snow could be an example). But I must be careful. When I live only for the present, I find that I have little regard for either precedent or consequence. How often have I agreed to do something without really thinking about how this action might fit into my schedule, and then later, to my horror realized that I didn't really have the time for it? The consequence was stress, breaking a promise, or losing credibility. Or, how about the times I said "yes"--when I really meant "no"--forgetting the bad thing that happened the last time I said "yes."

And finally, I must plan for my future. There is nothing more satisfying than to plant the seeds for those trees that will bear fruits later. However, I can't just live for the future. When I live only for some deferred reward, I strain myself too much, denying myself rich and satisfying experiences. And this could lead to burnout and hurt relationships. There needs to be a balance. It's okay to devote some energy each day to building the future, but not at the expense of the present.

“Just as a river can be said to have parts that cannot be clearly divided, so too should we consider the whole of our time when deciding how to spend our lives.”

-Deng Ming-Dao

A land of contrasts

Only in Europe...

In the USA, the eff-word is generally considered obscene and reserved for rated R or PG-13 movies. In Switzerland, where there are rules for everything, none seem to exist to prevent the commercial use of such a word.

And here in the Swiss Alps, the eff-word seems to have passed our local skate park propriety test. We thought the noise emanating form the van's speakers was well paired with the name of the local band "The Fucks." The what? That's right!

Perhaps, we're simply getting outdated... although my children thankfully agreed with me.

Catching mice in the fall

Since our return from the U.S.A., temperatures have been warm, hovering in the mid to high 20's Celsius. We've enjoyed wearing T-shirts and shorts and not having to turn on the heat. Locals tell me that while we were away, it rained incessantly and was quite cold. Although they didn't have much of a summer, the rain refilled water reservoirs and brought ground water levels back to normal.

Yesterday, the weather started changing and the temperatures became more fall-like. I look forward to the disappearance of fruit flies.

Neighborhood children have been setting traps for field mice that have been making mounds of dirt in the meadows. One can see their many little white flags marking the location of their traps. Every evening after school, Ramon, the 14-year old next door, makes his rounds, collecting mouse bodies and cutting off their tails.  Did you know that our commune pays SFr 1 per mouse tail? These children are making a fortune!

Last week, I was excited to meet Jason Donald,  a novelist from South Africa who lives in the same valley as we do. Our book club has chosen his debut novel Choke Chain to be the January book.

I am looking forward to tomorrow's hike up to the Glacier.

Building terraces in the garden

My garden design and labor, complete with stone steps.

The weather this past month has been so glorious that my stone wall/terrace project took most of my attention.  Finding a balance between outdoor and indoor projects is a challenge living in the Swiss Alps.

As you can see, I am more or less finished and just need to find a few more rocks to cap off the tops.

Next, I will plant some sun loving plants. Any suggestions?