Routines and Let's Hope Not

I'm taking the liberty of blending a couple of days in this posting to relate something of what has become a routine for me. After Linda leaves for work, I keep the tv on in the background as I drink my coffee, read press online, and check email. From 8 to 9 a.m., one of the state-run channels shows scenes, like those from a traffic camera, of different provinces and cities throughout Austria, shifting every moment or so to a new camera and what is usually a new foggy, rainy mountain vista. A graphic on the screen shows the day's predicted high and low along with an outline of Austria, which looks very much like a stomach with part of the small colon attached, and within the outline is a yellow blob to identify the geographic area of the forecast. The scenes are accompanied by an oompah band: an accordion or two or three and a trombone, all making jolly melodies punctuated by the gutteral flatulence of a tuba.

Musically charmed to meet the day, around 9 a.m. I head across the street to shop at Bila, and if I'm alert, I remember to take along my own large bag for a 1-2 day supply of groceries. (If I chose, I could buy a bag each time for about 20 cents.) The amount of shelf space is about the equivalent of what I used to find in a 7-11 at home, but most of the things I need are there. The hard part is the check-out. The same young man is at the lone register each morning, and there are usually 2-3 people in line, and he is always in a hurry to get us through. His eyes are bulged and bloodshot, and he scans the items like someone on crack, flinging them down the counter to a kind of corral, where I pick them up and put them back in my cart, for bagging at a counter further back. His goal is to scan and throw the items more rapidly than I can put them back in the cart, so he can wait impatiently--glaring, hand outstretched--for me to pay him, as his glance shifts rapidly back and forth between me and the customer behind me.

After this chore is done, most mornings I hop the tram for downtown, where I stroll through the wonderful, huge rose garden and make my way to the art museum. Linda and I have annual passes, and I am taking full advantage of mine. Some mornings I spend with the Italians and Spanish, and some with the Dutch. I doubt I shall ever tire of those displays.

Many a time I walk home, about 5 miles, and along the way I stop at specialty stores for items unavailable in the village. I will hope the following experience, however, will not become routine.

Earlier in the week I picked up a variety of electronic cables, cords, and extensions, and, because our air freight arrived on Wednesday afternoon with more of our electronic gear, I planned to spend Thursday afternoon getting our Vonage telephone connected. I set about that task soon after I arrived home Thursday. Because of the different current in Europe, I assembled converters as well as power strips, extension cords, and plug adaptors before tackling the modem, phone, and computer connections. First the power to the entire apartment blew. With flashlight and reading glasses in hand, I finally found the electrical panel and the right breaker. Next I got out a bigger current converter and started over. Things were purring along, and then the screen on the Vonage modem read "Internet connection lost." After another 15 minutes of effort, including multiple rebooting attempts, I gave up. I sat on the hallway floor in a tangled nest of cords, plugs, and wires, feeling like a demented giant condor trying to lay an egg. So...those of you who were expecting a phone call will need to connect via Skype for the time being.