My Little Pony

My last few days have been nothing short of mellow-awesomeness. I sleep in until seven-thirty in the morning (the time around which Grossvati starts to fumble in the kitchen laying out breakfast), drink a cup of death-coffee (Grossi agrees with me on this one, Grossvati doesn’t pay attention to how much grinds he puts in the filter, and so the coffee is more of an instant diarrhetic then a morning-boost), only to then shower and catch a tram into Basel so I can take my place on the Rhine and write Skipper letters about my plan for the day and how well I am doing. At some point I pickup Chung from her fascinating, and lifesaving work in retail, and I either pull her back to the Rhine, or she drags me to Obi, the Swiss equivalent to Home Depot with the promise of ice cream (if I behave).

My time with Chung these last few days have been great. She has lovingly and patiently put up with my constant ramblings, leg-slaps, walks, judgments, not to mention constant trips to the Rhine, day after day. The more time I have spent with Chung over the years, the more insanely lucky I feel to have met her. Between her new found love for the art of sarcasm, use of American slang, fervor for TV, our shared passion for retail therapy, and her all-around nuttiness, it is hard for me to sometimes look at Chung and not see her for what she is: my Swiss soul mate. Don’t get me wrong, Chung is a handful. She is a lot like a stubborn pony, always needing snacks, nuzzling my neck, and biting my shoulder. She is also always more then willing to stop and engage in a two minute hug, regardless if we are walking down the street or standing in the middle of a department store. My heart clenches at the thought of leaving here without her, and saying good bye to her is one of those thoughts that I try and keep out of my mind. Chung is to my life, what Aromat is to my cooking: a flavor enhancer.