The Time I Almost Drowned in the Bathtub

For the past three weeks and four days, I have been plagued by some mysterious illness that includes trouble breathing, atrocious coughing, wheezing, fever on and off and feeling like complete horse shit dirt. Two days ago, the adorable team doctor made a house call to see me for the second time. He is a little Lebanese man who speaks German and verrrry little English. The first time we met ended with me in tears at the ER when he tried to explain what he thought I had but I couldn't understand what he was saying. He had prescribed a week of antibiotics and an inhaler, but they had not worked.

This time around, I asked one of the German girls to come over to help translate (side note: please help me think of a nice gift for her- she has helped me TREMENDOUSLY throughout the season), and we all sat around my dimly lit mint green kitchen, surrounded by piles of dirty dishes, dog hair on the floor, and crumbs and stickiness all over the kitchen table. (I've been sick for a long time, ok?)

The doctor checked my lungs again and said he was at a loss for what to do. He referred me to a lung specialist, but in the meantime, he gave me a prescription for codeine to help with the pain.

We had the prescription filled this morning and I carefully put 20 drops in a glass of alkaline water with lemon, and settled in at my desk to begin working on my websites.

Now, Buckles has also been acting extremely strange for the last week or so. Crying all the time, anxiety at an all-time high, pacing back and forth, and begging to go outside. Once we get outside, he's totally normal. The only other time he has acted this way was when Greg was traded towards the end of a hockey season and we were living in a hotel. I started having trouble breathing and Buckles started acting like a rabid animal. Someone on the team told us to check our windows because the hotel had a mold problem. Sure enough, black mold covered the window.

In Germany, many apartments don't have a central ventilating systems, so air flow doesn't really happen unless you open all your windows and let your home "breathe". If you don't do this, mold starts to spread. Everyone of course knows to do this, but we always forget. I mean, who wants to open your windows in the middle of winter? Anyway, because we had suspected mold might be an issue due to how Buckles was acting, how I was feeling, and the fact that Greg had the same illness a few weeks prior, our windows had been open for the last four days. In 40 degree weather.

I sat there at the computer shivering and coughing, coughing and shivering. I decided to take a bath.

Our bath is pretty big, and deep. It sits a few inches off the ground, making it sort of awkward to get in and out when you're barely 5 feet tall and have arthritic knees. I plugged the water stopper, one of those black rubber things attached to a dainty silver chain, and eased myself in, my feet by the stopper and my head on the other side. I prefer super hot water- almost to the point that it hurts, and it was the perfect temperature, bringing instant relief to my aching joints and run down body that I almost cried with gratitude. I laid back, and when the water was up to my ears, I turned the faucet off with my foot.

As I began to relax, I realized I was starting to get tired.

Normal, I thought, seeing as how I only got four pitiful hours of sleep last night.  But I was exhausted, I mean truly so drained, and so, so painfully tired....

The next thing I knew, I was choking. Water was filling my ears and nose. My eyes shot open in a panic and I coughed, spewing water. I had just drifted off for a minute. My body felt heavy and I thought about sitting up, but I couldn't get my body to move. I felt like I was in a tub of molasses.

In the back of my head, I knew this was the codeine making me feel so disoriented.

Cannosleep, I thought.

"Busotired," I might have mumbled out loud to no one. My eyes closed again to search for slumber, and I fought to stay awake. With all my might I lifted my arm like it was a fifty pound weight to get my cell phone on the edge of the tub. I dialed Greg, who was running errands.

"Hello?" he answered.

"CohoIcan'tfeelmybody. Sotire," I slurred.

"What? Ok. Do not fall asleep in the water! I'm almost home."

It took everything I had to concentrate holding onto the phone and lifting my arm to put the phone on the edge of the tub instead of simply dropping it in the water.

It was awful. Somewhere deep inside I was panicked and scared because I hate to feel any kind of disorientation (huge reason why I don't like to drink much). Rationally I knew I had to stay awake, but I couldn't control the overwhelming need to close my eyes and sleep.

In a moment of genius, I wrapped my toes around the silver chain and pulled with all my strength until the stopper popped out and the water began to drain.

I sighed, and let my heavy head turn to my right, my chin resting on my right shoulder and I closed my eyes as the water slowly disappeared.

Greg was home about five minutes later, and obviously I am just fine.

But I hate codeine (and all painkillers) and will never be taking that again.

The Time I Had a Stand-off with a Wolf

I walked out of the house all bundled up, feeling like a snowman. I have this "walking the dog" coat that I wear. It's long, almost to my ankles, and so puffy my arms stick out away from my sides even when resting. Buckles, sporting his new collar that we have appropriately nicknamed his "disco collar" because it pulsates LED lights in various colors (see above), was by my side eager for his walk. It was 7:15pm, far past sunset, and as I gingerly crossed the road leaning forward to avoid falling on the black ice, I noted the silence. As we started down the dark path, no street lamps anywhere, I also noted I had forgotten my flashlight.

I mean I'm not crazy, but I knew it was the 21st, the day the world was supposed to end, blah blah blah. I might have started walking a little faster. Buckles, now off leash, was unaware of my slight anxiety, and was happily peeing hundred meters to let other dogs know he was in town. 

The path forked, and we went to the right. The fresh snow gave the surrounding a bit of a glow, and the faint violet-pink hue from the sky reflected in the snow. There was no one in sight, no lights anywhere, and we just trudged along. My nerves stayed electric, as I really don't like the woods to begin with, never mind the woods at night, with no one around for at least a ten minute sprint. 

Buckles was hunting rabbits. I mean, not really, as I don't let him get too close after he caught one earlier in the year, but I let him chase them to get some energy out. There were rabbits everywhere that night. Little black blobs against the dark purply-pink snow, hundreds of them. We had been warned about wild hogs in this one clearing, so when the path forked again, we went away from the clearing towards a lake. 

All of the sudden, Buckles stopped dead in his tracks. I looked up, and a giant animal ran with grace from the lake, up the small hill, and across the path we were on, and leapt into the woods on the other side. Twenty feet in front of us. A wolf or a coyote. It had a head just like Buckles, long fur, and a long, furry tail that stayed even with its body as it ran. We immediately turned around, and what scared me most, is that Buckles started running, turning back to look behind us every few paces. He never does that.

My heart was racing, and I walked as fast as I could. Buckles, up ahead of me, his disco collar flashing wildly, had sniffed out the rabbits ahead, and the wolf was long forgotten in his mind. He crouched down, in hunting mode, paused, and then flew after them, chasing none in particular, just loving that there were little animals to chase in the fresh snow. I called him back to me. There was a clearing we had to walk by. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a number of rabbits scurry away. I looked up, and there, staring back at us, was another large animal. The exact animal we had just seen. A head like a husky, long fur, it crouched and stayed perfectly still, staring at us.

I started to hyperventilate, all my yogic meditative tricks out the door. I called Buckles back to me. He was too far from the clearing to smell the animal. I put his leash on, and burst into tears. I had no one to call. The other hockey girls were at the rink, where there is no cell service. 

So I called my mom. It rang and rang and went to voice mail. I silently cried, keeping my eyes on the wolf, and glancing down at my phone trying to think who to call who would know what to do. I looked up, catching the wolf slink into the thin set of bushes near the clearing.

Who could I call? My mother-in-law. People from Maine just know these kinds of things.

She answered as I tried to muffle my sobs. "Greg is fine, we are all fine," I blurted out without even saying hi, because in my family, too many people have died tragically and there's a rule we have where you can't just call people crying without telling them right off the bat if everyone is okay or not. 

"Ok," she answered, calmly.

"But I am terrified," I confessed, tears turning to ice as they rolled down my cheeks, "because I am in the woods in the pitch black, and there is a wolf or a coyote or something huge about 50 meters in front of me and I have to walk past it to get home. I am so scared," I breathed.

"Ok, well usually they are more curious than anything. They won't attack you unless they are frightened. So just stay on the phone and walk by. Make some light-hearted noises, like maybe you should sing."

At that moment, I had to kind of laugh because who could sing at a time like this? I was about to be mauled by a wolf and she was asking me to sing?! I laughed, and told her I couldn't sing, but ok, Buckles and I are walking.

As we approached the bushes, Buckles started to pull towards them having smelled the animal. "Relax," I told him in my most sing-song voice. "Come on." I walked as fast as I could. It took maybe thirty seconds to walk by the brush, but it felt like an eternity.

"Ok, we are past it," I sighed, instant relief washing over me. The tears stopped, and I apologized for calling out of the blue in tears. 

"No, no. Never hesitate to call me," she said. 

From that point on, we were near a road, and even though it was covered with a sheet of black ice, I walked on the edge of it because I felt safer there than following the rest of the trail. I'll likely not walk Buckles at night ever again. 

Old College Acquaintances

One of the best parts of college for me was having friends from all over the world. My international circle of friends consisted of people from Turkey, two friends from Spain, a Russian, a Parisian girl, a Senegalese guy, a Swede, a Syrian, a brother/sister duo from Pakistan, a guy from Iraq, an Ecuadorian, two Trinidadians, and a few Americans sprinkled in for good measure.

I gravitated towards them because they were warm, unassuming, and so far from their families that I felt like we grew closer, quicker. Some of us developed the same closeness akin to siblings. We were protective of each other, helped one another out, and shared a love of travel, food and an appreciation of different cultures. 

I remember being there when my Trinidadian friend first saw snow. It was magical, and made me smile. He danced in it like a little kid, laid in it, made a snow angel. When we brought a sled out, he flew down the hill over and over and over again. We laughed til our stomachs hurt.

When I went to Turkey this past week, I sent my Turkish friends a facebook message. They were brothers- E and H. They came for Thanksgiving one year with a bunch of our friends. I was closer to E, as we had a few classes together, and were the same age. E wrote back right away, giving me a long list of places I should visit and some tips about the city. He informed me he was scheduled for knee surgery but that I should keep him posted and call him if I needed any help while in town. His older brother H never got back to me, and I didn't think much of it because we weren't that close, to be honest, and I knew from facebook that his job had him traveling all the time.

Benthe and I got to Istanbul and were enamored. The smell of the city, the call to prayers projected from the mosques throughout the day, the kindness of strangers- we were in awe. But it was tough to escape the fact that we were tourists. Try as I might, I butchered the Turkish language like no other language before. 

H called me on our second day there, apologizing for having forgotten to respond to my message. Would we like to meet for dinner? 

Our circle of friends always did things in a big way, and I knew our dinner would be great, so I said yes. Benthe and I took a taxi and met him in Bebek, a part of Istanbul on the water. He took us to this little old restaurant where we climbed five flights of winding, narrow stairs. When we got to the top, the view was breathtaking. Right on the water, the Bosphorus bridge glittering in the background. 

He had words with the waiter. It was obvious he wanted us to sit on the balcony but the waiter wasn't having it. They continued to talk, and the next thing you know, we were on the balcony, with a bottle of water and a bottle of Raki by our side (local liquor). 

"How hungry are you guys?" he asked.

"Eh, we're a little hungry...not starving," we answered. We weren't so hungry, but we were exhausted. Benthe and I had trekked all over the city during the afternoon, and we hadn't slept well the night before.

When the waiter came over, H ordered food. We never saw a menu. It seemed like the waiter was explaining what they had that day, and H said whether or not we wanted it. 

We shared everything. First, five small plates. Dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), feta slices, an eggplant concoction, fresh sea bass in a light sauce, and bread was brought. We ate and we started to catch up since we last hung out five years ago.

Then a salad and lightly fried calamari came. We ate some more and told Benthe about our circle of friends at school.

"Everyone else was having these bring your own beer parties," H said with a laugh and a furrowed brow. "In my culture, the host buys the drinks so we made parties our way- with lots of food, drinks, music, dancing. When people found out that we bought the alcohol for our parties, everyone wanted to come!"

Next to come was a giant, whole fish. Cut up into thick slices, it still had its skin on, but thankfully the eyes were gone. In Turkish, it was called Palamut, but I can't find the English translation. It was a white fish. Fresh, light, and meaty. 

We talked about weddings- his brother just got married, and we talked about politics in the US, the issue between Syria and Turkey (he is not concerned and said that the Syrian border is so far from Istanbul that it wouldn't affect life in the city), and Germany's prime minister (ok I didn't participate in this discussion because I didn't even know that Germany had a prime minister....). We talked about Turks in Germany (there are many Turkish people in Germany, and they don't have the best reputation).

The waiter came over again, and more words were exchanged. Plates were cleared, and then a big plate of fruit and this typical Turkish dessert showed up. The dessert had ice cream in the middle, and a warm outer shell kind of like a homemade pie crust. It was pretty amazing. We ate it all, and sat back, taking in the scene.

Greek music played in the background, Turkish men smoked cigars nearby, and girl friends chatted at tables around us, sipping wine and laughing. It was cool, but not cold, and the blanket at each chair kept us comfortable. 

At the end of the night, the bill came. We tried to pay, but of course it wasn't allowed. "It's the Turkish way. You are my guests," he said. 

He put us into a cab, told the driver where to go, and sent us off with a smile and a wave. 

Long Overdue

Apologies for the lack of posts. I have no excuses. I think about posting, but then I do other things instead.

Anyway, here's what's been happening in our lives lately:

1. Election time is coming up. In our effort to be good Americans, I had Greg print out our absentee ballot at the rink. He brought them home on team paper riddled with logos and sponsors and the team name.

"Is this a joke?" I asked.

"I thought we could still fill them out and send them."

"Did you not see the giant orange salivating mascot holding a hockey stick or the colorful sponsor logos all over the bottom of the page?"

"Yeah but..."

"........"

2. My best friend Misty came to visit last week! She was only in town for a couple days, but we made the most of it and took a trip to Berlin, explored the VW autostadt and went to the saunas. Perfect few days!

3. I went into TK Maxx (not tee JAY, mind you, tee KAY maxx) mostly to see if they sold the same stuff as TJ Maxx back home. Turns out, they do and also have a wide variety of traditional garb. I bought a dirndl. You may remember these from my Oktoberfest post last year. It's a Bavarian outfit girls wear to any kind of traditional party/wedding/whatever. 

4. As the picture indicates, Oktoberfest was a blur. Here's Greg with some of his old teammates from last year. 

5. I drove up to Hamburg to visit Benthe and watch the game there. Here they are after the game just saying hi before we visited with Greg's agent who had come down from Denmark. Speaking of Benthe, she and I just booked a trip to Turkey next week! Yeah!

Things That Make You Go, "Hmm": The Dentist

Last year while flossing, I chipped a filling. I didn't think much of it. To be honest, I had more important things going on- a few Lyme-related joint issues and an impending 13 hour flight to Thailand. I could feel a small hole where the filling had cracked, but I didn't think anything of it.

Fast forward almost a fully year later, and here I was, in Germany once again, in the most excruciating pain. I realized that sometime this past year I had started chewing on the opposite side of my mouth. I avoided hot and cold drinks like the plague. Something obviously wasn't right.

As luck would have it, Greg had a dentist appointment to have a new mouthguard made. The team appointment guy called the dentist to see if I could come in with Greg and have my tooth looked at.

At this point, I was terrified. Germans aren't exactly known for their pain management- from what I hear, childbirth is mostly done au natural here- i.e. no pain medicine so I figured surely I wouldn't be getting any anesthesia for my dental work. On top of that, one of the players casually mentioned to Greg, "You might want to prepare yourself. This dentist doesn't use gloves."

Greg relayed the message to me.

".........."

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"What do you mean he doesn't wear gloves?" I asked.

"I have no idea, that's just what I'm told," he laughed.

Another fun tidbit about my experience in Germany- they are very conscious of waste they create. When you go to the obgyn, they do not give you a paper gown to wear. Nor is the chair you're on covered in paper. Nor do you get a paper cover to put over you. Instead, you get undressed from the waist down, sit on a towel on a regular chair, and all it a day. The towel you sit on is replaced after each patient.

"Does he not wear gloves to cut down on waste?" I asked.

"I have no idea. They said maybe if we ask him to wear gloves he'll throw some on," Greg answered.

"You've got to be kidding me."

I mean I don't have to explain to you why this grossed me out, do I?

We drive to the dentist in silence, give them our insurance information, and go in to see the gloveless man.

He is average height, a little overweight, with friendly eyes and a warm smile. His English is okay, and Greg goes first.

As you can see, gloves were not worn.

His hands were in Greg's mouth just to check out what was going on. Then, the dentist showed Greg his own mouth guard, putting his hands in his mouth, before putting his hands back in Greg's mouth. Good times.

Then it was my turn. This was about as fun as it looks. I got in the chair and waited to hear some running water in hopes that hands would be washed. Nope. Just a little squirt of hand sanitizer is all you need, apparently.

A quick check up revealed the hole in my filling was deep but very small. It was causing pain because it was close to the root but it just needed to be filled in, as it wasn't bothering any other teeth. We had a lengthy discussion about anesthesia which he injected painlessly into my gum and a little drilling and fifteen minutes later I was outta there.

I'm pain-free now, which is fantastic. And I really did like this dentist- he was funny and kind... but man, I don't know about this whole gloves-free thing.

Quick Getaway to Nice

After a few weeks of being in Germany where it was taking me longer than usual to settle in and feel comfortable, I booked a trip away. Greg was in Switzerland all week for preseason games and I was going stir crazy being at home with Buckles. After extensive research with contenders including Portugal and Crete, I wound up choosing the South of France- mainly for its cheap flight and the fact that my French is better than my non-existant Portugese and Greek.

It still amazes me that I feel so good. I mean, last year I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere. I could barely make it for the full duration of a hockey game, and now I had just booked a trip to France. Alone. I was so excited.

But then I told a couple people (hi, mom!) and they were scared for me. Something about so many dangers of traveling alone. Funny how feelings are contagious. Suddenly I became fearful, too. Why had I done this? Why didn't I just stay home where it was comfortable albeit exceedingly boring and increasingly cold?

I did the yoga thing. I meditated. I read. I stumbled upon this quote: "People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar."

And I realized this: I don't want to live my life in fear.

(Side note: with all the rape talk in politics these days, I read another quote. I don't remember it specifically, but something to the fact that we shouldn't breathe fear into our daughters and tell them not to go out into the night, but that we should teach our sons to be better.)

Anyway, a 3:45am wake up call cut my melatonin induced sleep short. It's that beautiful time after midnight but before dawn- the madrugada, in Spanish, a word we don't really have in English I don't believe. It's peaceful and the sky is this dark navy with glittering stars. It holds a potential for the day to be great.

I grabbed my carry on and headed out the door. I sang in the car the whole way to the airport, which is what I do when I'm nervous. Actually, it's what I do all the time, nervous or not. I love to sing, and the car is the best place because then you know the neighbors can't hear. :)

The long term parking was easier to find than I expected. The shuttle came a few minutes after I sat on the bench. The check in process for Zurich was seamless, as I had checked in on my phone and they didn't even print me a ticket. I almost felt like I was breaking the law though - I mean I had zero documentation besides my phone!

I was seated next to a business man on Swiss air. He reminded me of Liam Neeson from the movie Taken- tall, kind, gentle and protective. He laughed at my glitter iphone case and said his daughter would love that.

"I made it myself," I said proudly, and rubbed the case to prove no glitter would come off.

We made small talk about the trip- he was flying back to Germany tonight after his meeting in Zurich. I told him I was headed to Nice.

"Ah, I love Nice. My daughter was born in France. In wine country. One day I'd like us to move back there," he said with this far off look in his eyes.

It was time for take off and I fell asleep as he worked on his computer.

The landing in Zurich was seamless. I transferred without an issue to my next flight, this time seated next to a mother and her twenty-something daughter. They had straw hats on. They spoke German, but I could tell it wasn't the German I was used to hearing in the north. Maybe they were from Switzerland? I slept a bit more and we landed before I knew it.

My taxi driver was this stereotypical Frenchman complete with a mustache. We carried on a (rudimentary) French conversation. I beamed inside, remembering my French classes in college (I was only something like four credits away from minoring in French, can you believe that?!) He zipped us ten minutes into town, pointing out the major landmarks on our way in. The road with the tram that has all the shopping, the old town, the beach, the best restaurants.

My hotel was a charming little boutique hotel and very French, with tastefully done decor in pastels and French doors and balconies outside of each room.

Map in hand, I wandered the streets fearlessly. Thanks to my taxi driver, I had my bearings and had an idea of where to go. I headed toward the old town.

It was hot, but a slight breeze drifted through the narrow cobblestone roads like a fan on a low setting. I passed a group of Americans wearing neon yellow shirts and bright white visors loudly complaining that one of their own had just been pick-pocketed on the tram. I passed a young sun-kissed couple holding hands, giant cameras slung over their shoulders. I passed an Asian family, the dad holding a large map, their daughter dragging her feet behind them. I passed solo female travelers. We kind of did the slight nod thing that bikers do when they pass each other on the roads.

Despite my map, I got lost. I was trying to find this market I had read about. I wound up in some residential area but it was so beautiful I didn't even care. Wet clothes hung over the wire balconies as the sun soaked up the dampness. A skinny girl with dark hair and last night's make up on smoked out her window as she peered at me from above. An elderly woman sat on the stoop of her apartment watching me go by. I followed the streets that looked the prettiest, and wound up at the market.

A flower section, a fruit section, a crafts section. I bought fresh fruit for three euro and snapped some pictures before wandering to the beach.

The most beautiful turquoise water was the first thing I noticed. Then the people- sun worshipers, laughing, smoking, drinking champagne, splashing in the water. Families on vacation, gay couples, straight couples, friends, solo travelers. I picked a private beach at a hotel, paid for my chair, and nestled in, instant relief for my minor joint pain that had developed in Germany over the past few days.

I read. I slept. I listened to music. I ordered a salad from the beach attendant. I swam, which is something I hate to do when I'm alone at the beach because I'm always nervous about my belongings, but I felt safe here. I left my stuff on my chair and eased my way into the water. It was warm but refreshing. Saltier than the water in Florida where I spent the past summer.

At night, after a shower, I looked up this vegan restaurant I had heard about. It was run by some little lady from California who had come to France to learn to cook and never left. As luck would have it, it was about two blocks from my hotel.

It was a hole in the wall place, truly. The small fan made this outrageous noise, and her dog slept in a ball in the dusty corner. There was junk everywhere like an episode of Hoarders, but the restaurant's three tables were clean with just jugs of water and condiments in the centers. She only served a set list of things which changed daily. I had the millet, cauliflower and peas baked in an almond sauce with a side green salad topped with giant buttery avocados drizzled in just the right amount of balsamic. Another solo female traveler came in, followed by a grandmother/granddaughter combo. We did our own thing after the nod of acknowledgement - I brought my kindle and read, the other girl wrote in a journal, and the grandmother/granddaughter pair spoke in hushed Spanish about their day. The food was delicious, and the woman was lovely- her English now with a slight French accent. She must've been in her seventies, and her long gray hair was worn in a braid and then coiled into a loose updo. I couldn't eat it all, and she gave me a to go box and wished me well.

The following morning, after a solid ten hours sleep I got up and went for a run along the Promenade des Anglais. The promenade was buzzing with runners and walkers and tourists. Joe Cocker came on through my headphones and I was "Feelin' Alright" albeit out of breath and sweaty. :)

After a shower and bowl of cereal and soy milk purchased at the grocery the day before, I headed for the beach. I chose the same private beach as the day before, preferring something familiar as I knew the food and the service were good and the ambiance was relaxing and safe.

I swam, I slept, I daydreamed. I ordered a caprese sandwich and field greens salad.

After a day of it, I headed for this creperie I had heard about. It was a bit of a walk but I didn't mind. Such great people watching, and window shopping along the way.

The creperie was nestled between an oyster place and a cigar shop. There was only outdoor seating. An elderly couple came up to me as I entered and I indicated it was just me dining. The graying woman put her arm around me and lead me to a table in the center. I ordered a pellegrino and a salad with smoked salmon and two baby crepes. I people watched and soaked up the scene- four friends meeting for dinner, greeting each other with air kisses, a pair of girl friends in their 60's smoking and sipping the world's smallest cappucinos, a young family with a baby in the stroller sleeping peacefully. The air was comfortable, the sun setting, and the outdoor lights like glitter. I opened my kindle and read before my food came.

For dessert I indulged in a chocolate and coconut crepe. Coconut is a recent love of mine. The chocolate was homemade, apparently, and it was rich but not too rich, and hot, oozing out of the crepe as I bit into it.

The walk home included a detour down a couple busy streets for more window shopping and working off of the crepe.

The following morning started at 6:45am when I woke up and did yoga on the balcony as the sun rose, warming the tile floor. I double checked that I hadn't left anything and scooted out the door to my waiting driver.

He was silent as we drove, and the airport was busy when I arrived. After a delay, I hopped on the plane, seated next to a German business man in his forties and a solo female German girl in her twenties. We all slept on the flight.

Zurich was sort of a madhouse as I dashed down the corridor to make my next flight. I was the last person on the flight, and we were off.

The landing was bumpy, but still remains my favorite part of flying. You've just landed at your destination and the anticipation of being there kicks in filling me with butterflies.

I found the shuttle without a problem and was in my car on my way home within twenty minutes.

I walked in to a clean apartment around 3pm- I always try to pick up before I leave because how awful is it to walk into a messy place after a trip?- and laid on the bed. It's a harder bed than we're used to, but it felt heavenly after a morning of travel. I laid there for maybe five minutes before my eyes opened in a panic.

It was Saturday. I needed to get to the grocery ASAP since it is closed on Sunday and our fridge was empty.

Ah, back to life as usual.

The Case of the Missing Keys

Yesterday started out just as any other day. I awoke at 5am, as is the norm lately. No real reason, just wide awake, my internal alarm clock's programming clearly dysfunctional. I laid there in bed, the dusty blue color of the morning light feeling almost dreamlike. I scrolled through my twitter feed, erased 23 junk emails, read the two real emails, scrolled through facebook. At some point, I fell back asleep until 5:30am when Greg's phone alarm went off. He was off to Denmark for preseason games.

In a moment of genius the night before, I had convinced him it wasn't necessary for me to drive him to the rink when he could just get a ride with one of his teammates, so as he turned off the alarm I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

My day unfolded in its usual way. I get up and look for Buckles who is usually either a) on the couch or b) on the guest bed. He's not supposed to be in either place, but he is too cute and sleepy in the morning to scold so I just kiss him and tell him what a lovely beast he is (which of course does nothing to teach him where his designated sleep space is). Incidentally, his designated sleep space is a thin blanket on the hard wood floor so a part of me feels like it's animal cruelty to make him sleep down there. I mean, would you? 

Anyway, after our brief cuddle sesh (he has some fierce morning breath), I usually make some eggs. That's a process because our stove takes a solid 8-10 minutes to heat up. I eat it, saving my toast crusts for Buckles, and then begin the mundane upkeep of the house. Laundry, dishes, bed making. The regular. It's a glamorous life, friends. 

Around noon, Buckles and I head out for a run.

Between the poop bag, the leash, the shock collar remote, my apartment keys, and my iphone (an obvious necessity), I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I did the most logical thing a girl would do and tucked the apartment keys safely in my sports bra. A sports bra is fitted, so the chance of the keys falling out was slim to none when compared to a more seemingly logical place like, say, my pocket. 

I tied the poop bag around the leash, nestled my phone in my waistband, and held the leash in one hand and the remote in the other. We were ready to roll. 

It was a hot day, and by our second lap around the lake we were both pretty gassed. And sweaty. Well, I don't know that dogs actually sweat in the sense that humans sweat, but just go with me on this one. The keys were getting, um, uncomfortable, so I took them out and held them in my hand with the leash. We continued to run the rest of the lap. 

A good song came on as we were about to finish, and as every sort-of runner does, I made us keep running until the end of the song. We finished that lap, and started for home.

Despite not providing an appropriate sleep space, I am in fact a good dog owner, and I let Buckles stop and sniff the tree trunks that other dogs had peed on. I even let him sniff a bird carcass and get his paws wet in the stinky lake water. I mean, we kind of took our time getting home since there was nothing to really do back there anyway. 

Finally, we made it home. We approached the entrance to the apartment building, and I looked at my hand and realized with a sinking heart there was no key. I touched my sports bra, which is not the easiest thing to execute in the middle of the day without looking inappropriate. The key was no where. 

Thirsty, frustrated and mostly overtired, I did what most girls would do. I cried.

Buckles and I walked down the stairs and retraced our steps. With each patch of grass we examined I felt more and more discouraged. Naturally, I texted Greg. Well, wait. Not "naturally", actually, since he was out of the country and without cell service. So I tweeted about it, because, you know... yeah I don't know why I did that either. 

Then, just to really add insult to injury, my phone flashed it's 10% battery power warning at me. I wanted to throw my phone in the lake. Instead, I texted my mom.

I didn't text back, not wanting to waste my battery life explaining that I don't know how to get to the police station (especially on foot), and that even if I could get to the police station, I don't know what they would do for me since I don't know enough German to say I lost my damn key! (Side note: I actually do know the word for key and have known it since last year. It is, if you must know, my favorite German word to say. Schlussel. Shloo-sull. I mean, how fun is that to say?!)

I continued to search. 

A man rode by on a bike. I was still crying. We made eye contact. He did not stop. 

I decided to feel my bra again, and didn't even care that two old ladies were walking by me hand in hand by me as I did so. I felt something. Wait! Could it be?! 

Yes. The damn keys were found an hour after I lost them. In my bra.