{"id":3940,"date":"2016-05-26T11:24:02","date_gmt":"2016-05-26T16:24:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/?p=3940"},"modified":"2016-05-26T11:24:02","modified_gmt":"2016-05-26T16:24:02","slug":"a-bavarian-weekend-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/?p=3940","title":{"rendered":"A Bavarian Weekend Story"},"content":{"rendered":"

“I’ve lost the bride.”<\/p>\n

There may be no words in the English language more terrifying, more fraught with angst than those. (Well, possibly a sign stating “Sorry out of coffee” in a diner window, but that’s a story for another time, and besides, they’re closed.)<\/p>\n

Let’s look at these four words.<\/p>\n

I’ve – It’s personal, and it’s past tense. This is something I did, something I have done and cannot undo.
\nLost – The absence of a thing, the lack, with the understanding that it’s something I had at one point, but have no longer.
\nThe Bride – Sheer. Unadulterated. Terror.<\/p>\n

These are the words SOBUMD and I heard a high-heeled, gown-wrapped woman utter as we walked past her into the Bavarian Inn last weekend for our Anniversary. I, luckily, have never<\/strong> lost the bride. It\u2019s been 25 years since we held hands and jumped over my sword, and while I haven\u2019t misplaced her yet, we decided to get lost for the weekend to celebrate.<\/p>\n

The Bavarian Inn, should you find yourself in Shepherdstown, WVa, has all the amenities you could want from a getaway spot: rooms for sleeping, fireplaces, rooms for formal eating, rooms for less formal eating, swimming pools, and a view of the great Potomac\u00a0River that could inspire poetry, or at least that kind of \u201chuh, wouldja lookit that\u201d sigh that passes for poetry among most folk these days. There was even a decent-sized hedge pig just outside our balcony, rooting among the flowers and the hedge, having a grand old time.<\/p>\n

\"Bavarian<\/a>

Potomac\u00a0River<\/p><\/div>\n

Since we were only there for an overnight, we decided to maximize our time and headed straight for the pool \u2013 despite the 50-degree weather and the on-again off-again drizzling blatter of the rain. It couldn\u2019t really even be called rain, truly \u2013 a heavy cool mist that couldn\u2019t make up its mind to piss down or just piss off and let the sun through. It certainly wasn\u2019t going to prevent us from getting into the mostly heated pool, the infinity edge of which appeared to drop off as a sheer cliff face to the curving bend of the Potomac\u00a0River, 200 feet or more below us.<\/p>\n

The view was wonderful, the water was warmer than the air around us \u2013 albeit not by a wide margin, but warm enough to get in and float around. After all, this was our own private pool! I realized that it wasn\u2019t really our own private pool, but it seemed that way since we had it all to ourselves. We paddled and splashed our way to the edge, enjoying the vertiginous sight of the mighty river below, pondering the story arc of the past 25 years and contemplating the arc of the next 25, dreaming of the stories we will write together.<\/p>\n

Paddling around the pool at the Bavarian Inn recalled for me a different story, one told by David Niven in his autobiography \u201cThe Moon\u2019s a Balloon.\u201d He recounts a chilling tale of Bavarian skiing one day, years ago before modern ski equipment, and mentions that he \u201csuddenly felt coldest where he should have felt warmest,\u201d if you get his drift. He got down the mountain as best as he could, and went straight to his friends and the doctor at the lodge, concerned about frostbite in a place most men should NEVER be concerned about frostbite. The consensus was that he should warm the afflicted appendage in an alcohol solution, and so a (presumably inexpensive) brandy was poured for him in a (presumably large) brandy snifter \u2013 which he then carried gingerly into the men\u2019s room. He stood in front of a urinal, his chilly willy dunked in the drink, thinking about the horrors of amputation and reconsidering his recreational hobbies, when a casual acquaintance entered the room and took up arms at the urinal next to his. He glanced over.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy God! David, what are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

Being David Niven had its advantages. His immediate reply was, \u201cWhy, I\u2019m pissing in a brandy snifter. I always do.\u201d<\/p>\n

So there I was, hand in hand with SOBUMD, watching the river flow under the trees playing hide and seek with the mists and the rain, when David Niven\u2019s story came rushing back to me as a kind of satori of embarrassment. One of the downsides of having a very new bathing suit is that one could forget that this new one might happen to have a zipper.<\/p>\n

No brandy snifters were required, but I was quite glad to have realized my condition before<\/strong> our reverie was interrupted by six\u00a0basic bros, all of whom had brought their beers with them, and most of whom might have been muttering things about lost brides. None of them looked particularly put out, and so I have to assume the erstwhile groom was not among them. (If he was<\/strong> with them, I will assume the wedding hadn\u2019t been entirely his idea.)<\/p>\n

SOBUMD and I headed back to our fireplace and changed for dinner, which was sumptuous, as was breakfast the following morning. The weekend\u00a0was topped off with a stop at a small Shepherdstown Bookstore<\/a>\u00a0that was large enough to hold the secret of a long and happy marriage: \u00a0There, among all the stories on the shelves, you can get lost together or separately \u2013 but tucked in between the poetry, the biographies, the fiction, and the cookbooks, there\u2019s always something for everyone, and your story never ends.<\/p>\n

Just don\u2019t lose the bride!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m pissing in a brandy snifter. I always do.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[22,37,49,48,4,44],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3940"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3940"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3940\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3947,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3940\/revisions\/3947"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3940"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3940"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.biguglymandoll.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3940"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}