Discover Challenges: Risk

head with leaves eyes mouthI could trip over a leaf, if there are more leaves and it has rained, it would not be a trip, but a skid resulting in a fall which could lead to a broken limb and a stay in hospital. dangers lurk everywhere in life.

You are born and placed in a crib and cared for  by your mother, hoping that she does not drop you. As a baby I survived Whooping Cough, at the age of 11 a schoolfriend passed on the chicken pox, as a matrer of fact I think half the school was absent with chicken pox. Somewhere along the way I got scarlet fever. I survived it all. Yes it was a charmed life.

Risks are part of existence and if you survive all the risks in your path, then you no longer consider them as a risk, but a way of life. I suppose getting married could be thought of as a risk. Perhaps your future husband is not what he seems to be. He might be a marriage swindler, wanting your fortune. No, I did not have a fortune when I married and neither did he, so we both started on equal terms. Of course, he could have been one of those compulsive murderers, but perhaps I also had that problem, you never know. We have survived 46 years together up to now.

I overcame life quite risk free actually, my bones were all complete and I could run and catch the bus if it was preparing to go. It all began when I was retired. My body seemed to decided it was now time to put it all to the test. “Does she really think she is the bionic woman, we will prove it otherwise.” There was a rebellion beginning in my body parts. “Who does she think she is, never broke a bone.” One fine day I was in London and took a walk across one of their famous bridges, the Tower Bridge. Body said “let’s fall down here, it is a memorable place to have an accident”. So I fell, protecting my head with my arm. I survived but my arm broke. After 2 days in a british hospital (which was also a risk at the time) I flew back home with a broken arm. I recovered and then it was that the body said “let us break the arm again”. It was the same arm, I tripped and fell in the garden.  I could have hit my head on the concrete floor, but managed to break the fall by rebounding off the garden shed door. I am sure my body planned it that way.

Lunch, HospitalI was even smiling for the photo in my hospital bed where I remained for a week, note the arm support. In the meanwhile I had already had the wire removed from the first breakage, who needs wire when you can break your arm so well that it can only be pieced together again with a metal plate and 16 screws. I was now not only bionic but reinforced with high speed steel.

Somewhere on the way my twin made itself noticeable. Ok it was just a collection of cells, in the Stephen King style where I suddely gave birth to a second me, but this twin that never really got anywhere decided to grow and so a 3 hour operation was necessary. A few years later it decided to grow again and after seven hours they had removed it, along with my appendix which was in the way and another organ, which I actually no longer needed as I decided the risk of becomig mother again was not necessary at the age of 55.

I survived it all, my biggest disappointment being that I never made medical history with my reluctant twin, known as teratom.

My only risk today is that my bank would go bankrupt, my computer(s) would be infected with a virus or I might have a fall. Oh, come on, everyone has falls. It is just that when I fall I generally cannot rise again, unless the arms of a strong man help and Mr. Swiss is also now a golden oldie, so his arms are not what they used to be. Come to think of it, life is one big risk.  It is far too dangerous out there. I could be robbed on the street, trap my hand in the conveyer belt in the supermarket. What if I develop an allergy to milk, oh I forgot, I have already got that one.

I give up, what a depressing title this is becoming. I hope they let me out soon, so that I can tell everyone about it. I hate those padded walls and they keep tying my hands behind my back when I have to wear this special dress. Yes, life is one big risk, so just avoid me if you see me.

Discover Challenges: Risk

Daily Prompt: Fog


The fog always crept up from the river, as if being pushed by an invisible hand. Now that sounds good, one of my inspired writing moments. The sun fought its way through the clouds, but to no avail. A sun cannot fight, and a fog is a fog, so what’s the point.  The trouble with these fogs is they have followed me throughout life. I escaped from the London smog to a country like Switzerland, full of mountains and snow and great scenery. Big deal: I still get fog, although the Swiss prefer perhaps mist which is a sort of lighter digestable type of description. For me fog is fog

In my younger days being a school kid in London, I fought my way through the smog. It was even illustrated with a thick yellow density. I told mum to give me a knife on the way to school. It was not protection from the gangsters of East London, it was to cut a path through the dense yellow pudding that enshrouded everything. Now I am really getting poetical, although there is nothing lyrical or romantic about smog. It came from the factory chimneys, from the coal fires and probably from the hound of the Baskervilles. The neighbour had such a dog, although it did not attack you, it just begged for food, preferably fresh blood soaked meat. Yes the delights of growing up in a rough area where  Ronnie Kray shot a gang member in the local pub, although it was not a foggy night, perhaps it got slightly misty from the gun shot.

To continue on the descriptive side of smog, when you arrived wherever you was feeling your way to, you had an urge to blow your nose. It tickled and felt somewhat clogged. This was OK if you did not mind finding remnants soot mixed in the output of the nose.

Misty morningLiving where I now am on our estate, somewhere in the wilds where the hedghogs walk spine in spine during the night, we also have fog, but the cleaner kind, washed and sieved through the Swiss air, although you still cannot see very far. This always happens towards the end of September, and will last until end of October,if the snow does not arrive. It rises from the River Aar and engulfs everything in its way. Many things rise from the River Aar and I do not trust any of them.  Once they found a ….. no, I will leave that to you imagination, but it was no longer breathing. There is a damp feeling in the air and nothing romantic about it. But it is a clean fog, we are Swiss, and all impurities are only there for the tourists. Somewhere in our country there is probably a fog washing machine, nothing yellow about the Swiss fog.

And now to the highlight of this epic, the local cemetery. If you really want to enjoy fog at its best then take a walk through the mists and haze of the cemetery. It is a real ghouls paradise on a misty day. You hear sounds, but see no-one making the sounds. On a grave somewhere dragging footsteps can be heard and perhaps in the distance you might see the outline of a strange figure, either beckoning to you with a bony finger, or just standing, but with its back to you. It will only turn when you approach it and will then politely ask where the exit gate would be to the cemetery. It is a lost soul like yourself, searching for a way home. There is a smell in the air, something that has decided to transform itself into a liquid or gas. No problem. Even the inhabitants of a cemetery have a right to their fog.

I once made a photo journey through the foggy cemetery, but none of the inhabitants stopped to pose for a photo, although I did sneak up on one. She pointed to a bench and invited me to take a seat. I thanked her and ran home, it was almost tea time and I was hungry. Me, frightened of what you might meet in a cemetery on a foggy day? Never.

St. Kathrinen Cemetery

Daily Prompt: Fog

Good Morning

Back gardenHere we are again. I know I was missing yesterday, but sometimes the day does not seem to have enough hours to deal with everything. The gardener(s) arrived and did all the work that two golden oldies like Mr. Swiss and I no longer can do so well. You can see the gardener weeding out the unwanted arrivals of the Springi  (a Parazzi photo from me). Note the lawn on the left which now resembles a desert, although there is plenty of grass below the earth. Mr. Swiss was worried, as he thought our wonderful Wimbledon lookalike lawn was forever banished. The gardener reassured him that this was not the case. First of all he scarified the lawn. I found this word in my online dictionary, as I only knew the german word, so I hope it is correct. He has a rake that he uses to remove the died off bits and pieces.

Afterwards he scattered some new seeds around and fertiliser, assuring us that there was still a lot of grass beneath the surface. As he was spreading the material, he reminded me of something from the bible where they sort of strew the seeds from a pan he was holding in his hands. I told him it was almost biblical what he was doing. The man has humour as he laughed. In the meanwhile his colleague was pulling out the weeds in the front garden. Luckily it was a nice warm sunny day.

Kerria japonica

In the meanwhile I took advantage of the wonderful sunny day and took a few photos. My Kerria Japonica is now flowering, so I captured the show. It is one of the first bushes that flower in my garden. It disappears after a couple of weeks, so I really wanted to fix its memory this year with the camera.

anemoneIt was a non shopping day yesterday, so Mrs. Angloswiss relaxed on the sun bed in the afternoon. I actually decided not to blog yesterday. I had been busy organising my dad’s transfer to a nursing home in England on the phone and needed a few moments to rest. On the other hand Mr. Swiss had gone for a walk and in the late afternoon I was bored. Sun, fun and nothing to do is not really my thing, so I retired to the computer and caught up on the missing blogs. Unfortunately the good morning blog was not one of them, as it was already approaching evening.

Yes it was a stress day at the Angloswiss manor. No. 2 son paid us a surprise visit in the evening, announcing he did not need to be fed. He was probably just checking up on the old folks, but it made a very nice evening.

And now to come to a close. A quick cleaning tornado will now go through our home and afterwards they will let me out on a safari trip to the local supermarket.  Let us see what the day holds for surprises, you never know. Just a moment a van has just pulled up on the street, with the sign “Pulitzer Prize”. Oh dear, he asked me where the conncecting road to the Zürich motorway was. Another disappointment in my life of spectacular works of literature.