My Husband is 30 or How We Met the Alps

Happy super-late birthday to my bear-robot husband. Last month turned 30 years old. Before I talk about our fabulous weekend in AUSTRIA to celebrate, allow me to take a moment for a toast, in haiku form:

Handsome scientist

Implants seeds of love and joy

In my heart: Success

Jake finished writing his dissertation at the end of September, having written and compiled most of it (unbelievably) in a month. His defense is scheduled for our 8th wedding anniversary in December, which we presume is a good omen for the defense — and a bad omen for our anniversary, which Jake will most likely spend (pre-defense) puking and (post-defense) in a coma.

He has worked so hard these last few years, and in particular the last year. It's a gross understatement on my part to say that I'm proud of him. To say that I'm in awe of him is probably more appropriate. As the person closest to him, you'd think I'd have some sort of behind-the-scenes insight into how he's capable of all the things he does, but I'm more amazed and bewildered by him with every passing year. I'm just delighted to ride on his coattails through all of it, and to have such a fantastic view while doing so. (Implication: He has a really nice can.)

But enough with the the talk of my hot scientist lover. I know that's not what you paid to see. (Or is it?) I'll assume/hope you'd rather see pictures of gorgeous Innsbruck. But first a shot of the tasty, traditional Austrian Sachertort provided by our hosts.

Jake's new age was represented by the candles on the cake in binary, which our hosts, longtime friends Ben and Missy, knew to be Jake's love language. True friends, indeed.

 

 My Ames is true.

Now let's talk about the Alps.

I grew up in Idaho and then I lived in Utah, so I'm pretty used to mountains. I'm not that easily impressed by them. That said, the Alps BLEW MY MIND.

The pictures we came home with don't do them justice, so allow me to wax poetical for a moment —

On either side the city of Innsbruck is flanked by sheer walls of rock that jut up out of nowhere. There are no foothills to speak of to provide any warning. They're suddenly just there, shooting up into the sky higher and steeper than you would ever think possible. Standing in the city almost feels like standing in a tunnel. Jake and I were shocked to see commercial airplanes taking off and landing from the city. I wouldn't doubt if the Innsbruck airport were one of the most dreaded for airline pilots the world over. 

I, of course, knew that people skied the Alps, not people like me, but actual human people. But after seeing the ski lodges perched on tiny precipices apparently miles from the level ground where sane people stand and chair lifts that seemed to take almost completely vertical routes that disappeared into the clouds (not fog, mind you, I'm quite sure that at that height they must be considered clouds), I really cannot fathom this. No less remarkable are the medieval castles and fortresses dotting the mountains only slightly closer to Earth. Kudos to peasant labor.

 

 

Innsbruck itself is a beautiful city.

  

And it also has some beautiful residents.

 

Well, technically they live just outside Innsbruck, but whatever.

 

But unfortunately this beautiful place is plagued by sudden powerful gusts of wind ...

Missy and Ben took us up to see Achensee, Austria's largest lake, which is located high enough among the Alps that the car trip required several ear popping episodes on my part.

Apparently while Missy had our camera at the lake those violent winds picked up again ...

But, as it is with any visit we have with these guys, the best part was just hanging around and catching up. Jethro had a particularly good time and was heard to say as we pulled away, "I love Missy."

Watch your back, Ben.

And thus, dear Ameses, till the winds of life reunite us again ...

Merry Christmas from the Michamesons

... may we cherish this pseudo-J. Crew catalog photo of all of us with this nice yellow park bench.

We love you guys. Thanks for all the good times.

JEM