The Upgrade

While Nazy was battling the (deputized) tram police, I was in London talking with the customer. The London trip was fairly simple – until I discovered that I would have to be in New York the following Tuesday and in Frankfurt on Wednesday and Thursday. The company-negotiated fare category (LPP: Lowest Possible Price) was, naturally, not upgradable. Equally naturally, Nazy was not convinced.

“I’ll ask Astrid.” She explained. “I am sure that she will give you an upgrade.”

“I’ve already called Continental Airlines, Nazy,” I explained. “It costs $1493 and 25,000 miles to upgrade. One way! There is nothing that Astrid can do.”

It is a rare pleasure for me to make the following announcement: I was right. Nazy was wrong!

In fairness (and as a result of considerable pressure on the domestic front), I provide a few additional pieces of information:

· After I took my (economy class) seat on the Zurich to Newark leg, Astrid came into the cabin to apologize: “Please tell Nazy that I really tried,” Astrid told me.

· On the Newark to Frankfurt leg, I was upgraded for no miles and no dollars. “Thank you!” I replied hearing the news. “Don’t thank me, sir,” the agent replied. “This is a favour for Astrid.” (And she did it as a favor for Nazy.)

· It is better to be upgraded on the flight from the USA because that flight occurs over night.

The meetings went... [response to additional spousal interrupt: “Yes, my dear, the flight was exceptionally comfortable. Thanks to you!”] ... smoothly.

The Opera

Each summer the city of Bergenz hosts an opera on Lake Constance. The outdoor theatre seats 700o. The set, nestled in the water, is gargantuan. [Disclaimer for Opera buffs: the performance is more spectacle than opera.] Although major operas are chosen, they are edited and rearranged to fit into Bergenz standard: 2 hours, no break. Aida, which normally lasts 4 hours, is this year’s opera. Since we were going to ‘the Opera’, I have to say that I was pleased by Bergenz rules.

I prepared myself with an on-line review. I have found that it’s not easy to follow the ‘plot’ because the singers, especially sopranos and (overweight) tenors, take forever to get to the point. There is also a rule against writing an opera in English – a fact that might explain the popularity difference between Harry Potter and Aida.

The weather was threatening during the drive. Nazy assured me that the ticket could be exchanged in the event of rain. (The performance is outside and the theatre has no roof.) Note: Some cynical readers may assume that I was hoping for rain; in fact, I wanted to see the show. I did hope, in vain, that the Wolford Factory Outlet would be shuttered during the Bregenz Opera Festival.

It rained for the (many) hours that we spent at Wolford, but the weather cleared for the evening performance. We had dinner at lakeside with a nice view of the set.

“You told me that this Opera takes place in ancient Egypt,” Nazy said.

“That’s right. It involves an Ethiopian princess/slave (Adia), the Pharaoh, his daughter (Amneris) and the young captain of the guard (Ramades).”

“Why is the set a giant blue and gold Statue of Liberty?”

“Nazy, my dear,” I replied. “It’s trendy, it’s avant gardé, it’s Opera translated to the 21st century..”

“Weren’t the Pharaohs alive in the, eh, ‘minus 3rd’ century?”

“You are missing the point. When people think of Opera, they think ‘stuffy’. This Opera is edgy. It’s chic. It’s fashionable.” I was eloquent. “It’s stupid,” I thought.

The set, constructed in the water, included not only the blue (and dismantled) Statue of Liberty, it also had two giant cranes and a stage the size of Luxembourg.

Before this trip, I thought that the Opera was essentially like a Broadway Musical with the cast singing in Italian. That wasn’t quite right.

In a Broadway Musical, the characters do not need binoculars to see each other. In this performance, the characters, separated by vast distances, needed the Hubble Space Telescope. For example, Aida might be standing on the stage (and in water 4 inches deep) while singing to Radames. He would be on the other side of the lake in a boat held 80 feet aloft by a construction crane. In short: the distance between them was the same as the distance between the Earth and the (dwarf) planet Pluto. It was difficult sometimes to tell who was singing to whom. In fact, it was sometimes difficult to even see who was singing. (I didn’t bring my space telescope.)

The Race

While Nazy is enjoying Easter in California, Darius and I are relentlessly following the detailed instructions (volumes 1-16) that she left behind:

“Mom says we should pre-heat the oven, Dad.” Darius said.

“Okay.”

“What’s an ‘oven’, Dad?”

“Check the definitions page in Appendix XIV,” I replied.

“And she says that we should prepare a mixed salad. What should we mix?”

“Well, I’ve found a cake mix. Do you think that will suffice?” I asked.

“Mom says we shouldn’t eat too much red meat.”

“No problem for me, Darius. I never eat red meat.”

“Do you want some crackers and peanut butter?” Darius asked.

“Is that on Mom’s list?”

“No, but I think we can figure out how to prepare…”

“Speaking of preparing, Dar,” I interrupted. “Prepare yourself to leave. I think we should eat out tonight.”

In fact, Darius is actually preparing for his forthcoming job interviews in Pakistan, Lebanon and China. Nevertheless, we found time for a few manly activities:

“Would you like to an expedition to the Go-Kart racetrack?” I asked.

“Wow!”

“I think it’s the kind of place that Mom wouldn’t enjoy quite as much as we will.”

The Martin Family Christmas Tree

The Christmas Market is a family tradition, but The Martin Family Christmas Tree is a major tradition. Traditionally, for example, in spite of clear and precise demands, eh, helpful instructions [“No, no, no. The other way. You’re knocking needles onto the carpet. It’s not straight. Can’t you just…"] from my spouse, the first several attempts with the Christmas Tree stand end in wretched, abject failure. In these cases, the tree is never perpendicular to the floor. And, when I am finally able to achieve an orthogonal arrangement, Nazy invariably observes that the floor is not parallel to the horizon.

Thus, when it comes time to select a tree, thoughts of Christmas past flow through my mind:

“You chose this, eh,”

“.. Christmas Tree, Nazy..”

“…thing, Dan? Couldn’t you find one that was bushy and tall?”

Or..

“But, Nazy,” I whined. “It had needles on it when I picked it out.”

“It was chopped down in the Yukon during the July thaw, Dan.”

Or..

“It’s not straight, Dan.”

“That’s because the trunk of the tree that you selected, is not…”

“If you knew how to use a Christmas Tree stand…”

Or..

“It’s going to fall, Dan. It’s not straight.”

“It is perfect… oops.”

This year, Nazy’s friend Erica took us to a nearby farm. We selected a large tree (we have a high ceiling in Casa Carmen). The farmer utilized his chainsaw to trim about a meter from the bottom of the tree. (The sky is even higher than our ceiling.) He delivered – and installed the tree:

“Perfect, Dan.” Nazy intoned. “And on the first try. Give him a nice tip.”

Because I agreed that it was perfect (and because I didn't have to install it), I naturally complied. Nazy and I considered the situation after the farmer left.

“The step ladder has a few steps too few,” I noted as I gazed upward. “I think the top is covered in clouds.”

“You’re exaggerating, Dan,” Nazy replied. “I think that I can use the hook to string the lights.”

“What hook?”

“The one we use to open the skylight.”

“A skyhook, eh? That sounds appropriate.”

Official Family Archive Notification

Several ornaments were destroyed during the operation. Dan was not responsible for any of these miscues.

A Famous Nose

Nazy was in charge of the social diary for every day of the week. [Thus: “It was a day like any other day – filled with those events that alter and illuminate our time.”] On Tuesday we went to the Osswald Parfumerie Boutique. Naturally, I was thrilled.

“Wow.” I said (somewhat) excitedly.

“For your information, Dan, Mark Buxton, one of the world’s most famous noses, will be there.” Nazy was considerably more excited.

“A famous nose?” I asked – just before sneezing. “Do you have a Kleenex?”

“You are hopeless, Dan. Mark’s credo is ‘simplicity is the ultimate degree of luxury’. What do you think about that?”

“Is perfume an ultimate simplicity?”

Nazy was undeterred. “Look at his newest creation: Nameless. Take a sniff. Now, Dan, what do you think about ‘Nameless’?”

“I’m clueless,” I thought. “Priceless,” I replied after scanning the bottom of the bottle.

“Nameless – sitting on a terrace at Lake Como,” Nazy was reading the marketing blurb.

“I like Lake Como.” A pointless thought had sprung into mind.

“… With notes of mandarin, cardamom, orange flower, lavender, cinnamon, coffee, clove, jasmine, amber, ciste, wood, guaia, patchouli, cedarwood and benzoin.” Nazy continued.

“What about chocolate?” I asked.

“What?”

“And, eh, lamb chops, barbequed ribs…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Would you like to go to dinner?”

The Pumpkin Festival

It had been an exciting time, but that wasn't enough for us. It is Pumpkin Season in Switzerland. Moreover, Sunday was uncharacteristically warm and sunny. Accordingly, we drove to the annual Pumpkin festival in Seegraben. I used the heads-up navigation display in the new BMW. It projects information onto the windscreen so the driver doesn’t have to look down to navigate. Unfortunately, my Maui Jim (double polarized) sunglasses filter out the projection.


We have been to the festival many times, but the day was so spectacular that we could see the Alps and the foliage was beautiful. (Not quite as beautiful as New England, but really pretty.)

We had pumpkin soup and pumpkin cake. Nazy bought a pumpkin, several different kinds of squash, a few kilos of apples, pears and plums, some napkins, and a selection of flowers. (I think she was disappointed to discover that they didn’t have any underwear.)