That Thing Called Hope

I remember it very cleary. I know for sure that they said, hope never dies.
I hope I'm not wrong. (Get it?)

What if I simply misheard that. What if we all did...?!

I thought it would be fun to ponder for a minute - on the last day of the year, naturally - what if nothing really changed or changes AT ALL. (I am now starting to think in the direction of 'bad idea' and 'Fun... not so much!')

What if what I thought was change was just a minor glitch, a minor de-tour in my hum-drum life to trick me into thinking I have what they call glitz and glamour in my life. Alright, not so much that but rather direction and purpose?

Remember:   http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2011/11/coming-through.html

How come then that I feel rather deflated and - I know I should not say it - frustrated.
How come that what was good a mere 3 and a half weeks ago now seems jaded pleasures?

Sorry, I am out of answers, out of silly things to write, out of neuroticisms and dizzy tales.
And I certainly do not want to spread gloom.

So, here's to hoping and wishing!

Happy New Year to all and sundry

Channelling Lauren

So, guess what. The roses were not from Bradley.

What a shocker (yeah, tell me about it!)!

Who's the Mystery Man you ask? Heck, if I knew.

Still no clue.

"Am I bovvered, though?!"

Dilemma

No more roses. No cards.

So far. Pheww! Thank God!

It's not that I am TRYING to be ungrateful. Or weird.

It's just... it freaks me out, being sent stuff by strangers.

Stalkers? Ring any bells?

Not that I think myself of as a potential victim. But then who does BEFORE they are being stalked.

Over-reacting, me?

I just find it a weird thing to do - sending someone roses.
WITHOUT a note.
And clearly not knowing me at all. Because if they did, they'd known I am not that big on roses.
I mean are we women supposed to swoon over a bunch of roses?

I find the whole idea a little  - forgive me - tacky. And creepy. After all, I do not know by whom they were sent. Clearly, whoever that was has got something to hide.

Oh, so I am the callous one now? I am an ungrateful bitch? I do not appreciate this kind gesture?
And if not that then at least enjoy the pretty roses, woman!
Right? Is that what I should be doing?
And why is that, may I ask?
Because I've been given a bunch of roses I did not even ask for?

Now, hang on a minute - what is happening right now, right this minute in almost any city on the planet (o.k. spoilt first world)?
I tell you what: a majority of those who have received Christmas gifts are RETURNING them. Shock horror! Simply because they did not like them, they did not fit into them, they were simply WRONG. And I don't hear them apologising for their honesty and candour.

So why the Dickens can I not apply the same reasoning to those stupid roses?
I mean, it's not like I am actually returning them. (Now, that would be weird.)
I simply want to be able to say, I DID NOT LIKE WHAT WAS GIVEN TO ME!

Also: let me rephrase my earlier statement.
It looks very much like I am being purposely ungrateful. The reason for that is that I probably am. Being ungrateful.
Hm, I thought those days of having to say thank you to your smelly aunt for some silly jumper she sent you for your birthday were over. Clearly not. They haunt me to this day - and whatever I am given, my upbringing and social etiquette demand that I smile sweetly and show gratitude. (Ah, here we go again - Bradley and his gratitude. His comes in the shape of a list, did I tell you? http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2011/12/being-bradley-cooper.html
I bet he never got ANYTHING he hated. Well, not in the last 7 years, I suppose.)

But be that as it may, I am simply trying to ask the unaskable - why do I have to be delighted by something just because everyone else would be and just because it's NICE. I cannot agree to that. At all.
And I am sorry if my behaviour is hurting someone's feelings.

However, I do believe that in order to send a woman a gift, whatever it may be, which she may appreciate and which may show her the sender's admiration or AT LEAST attention to detail, you need to know her a little.
Random flowers are not going to do the trick. Just saying.

Plus I nearly poked my eye out with the greenery in the bouquet.
So there!

P.S. Maybe they are from Bradley Cooper. Hm, now that would explain a lot. He is clearly too busy compiling his gratitude list for properly paying any attention. The only thing he is paying is taxes. If that.

Wowzers

Guess what, I got a bouqet of roses. Actual long-stemmed, dark red roses. No card.

Secret admirer?
Super early Valentine's gift?

I have not the faintest.

Oh, and I nearly poked my eye out with a piece of decorative greenery just as I thought 'I am going to poke myself in the eye with one of these things, I will' and there....

Anyway, I lived.
And now I have a vase full of roses.

To be honest, I am not a fan of roses, especially not dark red ones, especially not the ones that do not smell.

But hey, it's a kind of gift-horse, right? So I won't. Look it in the mouth and all that.


Then again, it might just be one of my girl friends playing a joke on me.


So, no one's holding their breath in this flat, believe me.

Fa la la, la la la -freakin' la

Nothing feels more like Yule Tide Treasure than a flat after the builders have been. Believe me.
Joy To The World sort of sprang to mind but I could not quite get my nervous system to get over the urge to simply scream.

And as for decking the halls etc etc - well, there ain't much of a hall left, to be perfectly honest.

So I get home after work, the builders had left hours earlier and, well - the flat looks butchered like a body after open heart surgery. Read OPEN. It's a miracle my neighbours cannot wave to me through the ceiling. And the walls I am afraid to touch for fear the slightest impact sees them tumbling down.
Of course, people will say I exaggerate.

FYI - I have to live here and I feel like I have been permanently locked in a cellar that was once used as a bomb shelter in WW 2 - because that is what it bloody looks and smells like in my flat these days.



Not to mention the dust and the debris. AND the plaster that rains down as soon as somebody above me moves so much as an inch. Alright, my upstairs neighbour never really just moves an inch, he stomps around and is known to throw fits or tantrums or both on occasion. But that is another story. Anyway, there is a lot of plaster raining down in my flat.

But I digress . . . because the REALLY fabulous and thrilling news this week so far were this:

the work cannot be finished. Because there would be no point in drying up the walls and covering them up again and making everything look like sort of back to the way it was, since - wait for it - the leak in the upstairs drain is not fixed yet. It would be a waste of everybody's time and money, really, to fix the walls withouth having fixed the underlying problem, as it were.
Uh hm... I know. Me speechless, too...
My landlord, the DRIP, knew about having to change all the drains in this house for MONTHS. Why he decided to go about the whole thing backwards, I really cannot fathom.
Arrgh, it does not bear thinking about the whole sorry affair.

Basically my life looks like this right now: I work at a place that is still pretty much a building site. And BONUS! I come home to a building site. It's on a much smaller scale, of course. But that is beside the point really. Because everyone who has ever had work done in their appartment or house knows what it feels like when you are not "at home" at home.

Am I miffed? Of course.
Especially since this did not happen because I could not get the right people to fix this or did not want to spend the money for the work to be done ASAP. This happened because the person whose job it was to get this organised and done simply cannot be bothered.

Am I ranting? You betcha!!! Naturally I am ranting. If it did any good I'd be raving, too.
But really - what is the point?! I know this is not going to be fixed. No one's in a hurry, especially not before Christmas. ESPECIALLY not before New Year's. So what am I getting my knickers in a twist for?
It is indeed pointLESS.
Yet every single time I stand there and have to look at the walls open like that, the wallpaper ripped to shreds, the beams exposed, the traces of mould that have eaten into the building, I get upset.

And yes, I feel sorry for myself, too. Why does it have to be my flat? Why does it have to be Christmas?
Is somebody trying to tell me something?

IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A LESSON?!

Well, if nothing else, at least I know what to put on my Resolution List for the new year - not that I did not know where to start in the first place OR needed any help finding resolutions:
Be prudent!
Find a new place to live!
Also: MAKE LANDLORD'S LIFE HELL. Alright, fine - IGNORE landlord. Concentrate on things I can change. Concentrate on points 1 and 2, that is.

Ich war auf dem Nachhauseweg nach einem Termin und ging die mir wohl bekannten Straßen im Westend Richtung Opernplatz. Man kommt natürlich unweigerlich an den Hochhäusern vorbei. Und natürlich haben sie irgendetwas an sich, das einen verweilen läßt. Es ist ihre Größe. Es sind die Lichter, die einem suggerieren, da drin wird nie geschlafen; einer ist immer wach, um irgend etwas zu tun. Und das muss ja dann bedeuten, dass es was Mordwichtiges ist, das "da drinnen" gemacht wird. Gut, das ist sicherlich Ansichtssache.
Aber ich spreche aus Erfahrung, wenn ich sage, dass man in manchen Situationen vom angeblich so Wichtigen, das (ebenso angeblich) noch unbedingt erledigt werden muss, fast verschlungen wird, weil man sich nicht wehrt, weil man manchmal sogar freiwillig mitmacht bei der eigenen Versklavung und entscheidend daran Anteil hat, dass die Lichter nie ausgehen.

Ich stand also vor diesen Hochhäusern und legte meinen Kopf in den Nacken, um mir ihre Größe bewusst zu machen. Mir wurde nicht schwindlig, ich war auch nicht berührt von Ehrfurcht oder Staunen, ob dieser menschlichen Leistung. Nichts von dem spürte ich.
Ich fühlte nämlich gar nichts. Keine Wehmut. Keine Bitterkeit. Keinen Ärger über die verschenkten Jahre.

Ich war nur erstaunt, dass ich jemals in diese "Welt" eingetaucht war. Dass ich wider besseren Wissens gehandelt hatte.
Zugegeben, hinterher ist einem ja immer alles glasklar und man fragt sich gerne mal, warum man das mitgemacht hat, oder mit sich hat machen lassen.
Im tiefsten Innern seines eigenen Herzens weiß man aber, dass niemand sonst seine Finger im Spiel hatte als man selbst.
Ich habe also zu dieser Situation beigetragen, an ihr gestrickt wie an einem Weihnachtsschal.
Ich habe sie herbeigeführt, ermöglicht und ausgehalten.

Und ich fragte mich, ob ich in Zukunft anders handeln und früher die Notbremse ziehen, den Absprung wagen würde/werde.

Das kann ich nicht sagen, das wären nur Spekulationen.
Ich kenne mich, glaube ich, ganz gut. Und daher ist da ein wenig Sorge - aber auch Hoffnung.

Man geht schließlich nicht umsonst durch die Täler, oder?

ODER?!?!

Done! I'm done!

Totally finished first! That's how Dr. Cristina Yang put in 2.22 when successfully completing the first round of the skills lab.

And yes - I totally finished  - whether first or 346th - I do not really care. I repeat - I DO NOT CARE.
Because all that matters is I AM DONE with wrapping gifts, writing cards, carrying parcels to the post office and queueing for what seems like days.

My mission for the days to come (and boy, will I accept it): eat sweets and candied apples, drink egg nogg and mulled wine until I feel sick, have Bratwurst and pancakes and nuts and tarte flambée and mince pies.
I shall over-eat, be carefree and just enjoy December with all its high street Christmas madness.
I shall hum carols for no good reason whatsoever, I shall be jolly and though I will not deck the halls with holly, my heart will be light and my yule-tide gay. Yessir.

Now all I need is five gold rings and oh, yes that partridge in a pear tree.

Anyone?


Einen fröhlichen 3. Advent

Some Newsflash!

Not sure whether I should feel excited, ecstatic even or just freaked out and a little scared.

I have had the news that after over 3 MONTHS of waiting something will finally be done. 

Waiting for what?

Done about what? 

Well, listen closely - at the end of August, water began to mysteriously run down my wall in the toilet. On and off I should say. But really - it's never a good thing when water flows outside of pipes and drains, especially in houses and flats. My landlord is of the Let's wait and see-variety which is always helpful, but especially so in situations like these. 

A pipe had burst in the flat above me and at some point the leak was found and covered. However, it turned out that it was the wrong leak apparently. Because I was still experiencing some weird feng-shui-like water garden show in my loo and oh, yes - boy, the wild swirling patterns of mould forming on the ceiling and walls of my bathroom and in the corridor. Kinda made me feel like I was in a continuous Rorschach test.
So the water-people returned and then fixed the RIGHT leak. (Makes you wonder how they test for leaks in the first place. IF they test. These guys, it seems, just kind of took a random guess the first time they were here.)
Praise the lord! The water stopped. Not to be blasphemous but that's what Noah must have felt like. 

Seriously, I am sooo over this whole thing. 

Anyway - cut a long story short (plus, I have been living this nightmare now for, wait, that's right, too flippin' long and I simply cannot recount all the silly details, excuses, heartache, and sheer and utter, tearing-out-one's hair-kind of frustration) coming MONDAY (12th December) builders will come to open up the walls and ceiling in the corridor, bathroom, loo, kitchen. 

Yup, that is right - I will be living in a war zone. Just when I am sort of settling in at work and the building site is slowly turning into a nice working environment, I shall be returning home every night to utter mayhem. At least that's what it already feels like to me. 

Don't get me wrong - I am not complaining.
I could just KILL my landlord for doing this NOW and not having done anything earlier. 

I just hope the whole house is rotting from the inside out and costs him all his money. Because that seems to be the only place where it hurts him.

I am not sure how I could possibly be zen about this. I am all worked up and I feel knots forming in my neck muscles already. And I will get an ulcer from this, too. I just know it. 

But seriously, though... I mean, I cannot avoid this right now. I shall carry on regardless. Right!
Right?

I just have the sneaking suspicion that my landlord wants to get rid of me and that therefore he does not really give a flying fig whether the work starts now or in the new year or never. Kinda like he is testing my "patience" or should I say stamina.
"Let's make the living situation the worst possible there is and she'll eventually leave" 

That is not a very Christmassy thought to have, I believe. 

But you get the picture. What we have here is a kind of a Scrooge. 

And really, I am not that much of a Tiny Tim to still think good of him, to still go all "peace on earth and good will to men". 

I really REALLY resent this fellow. 

Odious man. 

Insufferable creature. 

(And I am turning into a Jane Austen character as I am writing this. Dear!)

But what is one to do?

I feel like the fates have dealt me a bit of a shit hand here. 

So now what, I go and make lemo-freakin'-nade?
(Hm, it IS the season - so it should be mulled wine really, I guess - but that is beside the point.)

How do you make lemonade out of mildew and crumbling walls and no proper heating in your flat? 

Thoughts anyone?

(Moving springs to mind. Yeah, I have thought of that one already. Now THAT is daunting, indeed. Why is that, I wonder... Hm, maybe because I could end up with another super-jerk for landlord... But I also think: anything is better than THIS right here.) 

Watch this space, as the kids have it. 

I feel a project a-growing. 

The Super Cooper List

How hard can it be, right? Make a list once a day - you don't even have to write it down. You just do it in your head. Before you get ready for the day, or at night, before you go to bed - you get to chose.

So why in hell have I NOT managed to do this?!

It is odd to see myself come up with all sorts of excuses just because I do not want to list the things I am grateful for. As if that makes them more important, more real. As if I could accidentally jinx something. It's absurd, I know.
But I have been thinking about it and here's what I came up with.
Actually listing things, possibly even writing them down if you are so inclined, makes them indeed more real. Even the process of simply thinking about them, seems to pull them out of that big bag of unconscious every-day patterns of behaviour, of thoughts and highlights them. It almost seems like you are - in that precise moment of writing them down, of naming them out loud - consciously taking responsibility. You become accountable. That is even more true for listing things that you want. And I am not talking fame and fast cars and riches beyond whatever...
The things you may want to be, to become, to achieve. They grow the minute you put them onto a piece of paper, or simply out into the universe, but not just so on a whim but consciously. Like you actually mean it.
And THAT is what freaks me out. The meaning-it part.
Why?

Because we live in a world of make-believe and lies and insincerity and sugar-coating and sweet-nothings and what have you. So you don't necessarily get a lot of practice in actually meaning something. At least that is how I feel sometimes. It starts with "Have a nice day now" and ends with "Phantastic offer..." and there is A LOT that goes in the middle of those two.
I am not the kind of person that goes around telling fibs all the time. Not at all and that is not really the point I am making. I am just saying that sincerity is rare these days and one is often taken by surprise when it suddenly shows up.

So what, I am a bit of a coward and an indecisive woman. I get taken aback by sincerety because all the bullshit gets to me sometimes and I forget that there are nice people out there. (May I remind you of my landlord who definitely does not belong in the aforementioned nice-people category, so excuse me for being jaded. 'course he is not the only one, but who am I telling this.. we have all been there.)

How did I get here? Oh yes, the list. Well, I am none the wiser. I still have not really made one yet, let alone the list of all my intentions.

Hm, perhaps that would be something to do on New Year's Eve.

Being Bradley Cooper

Occasionally I do listen to BBC Radio 1 - the other day, lo and behold, I am witness to Bradley Cooper's musings on the Chris Moyles Show. Well, he was not so much musing, he was in fact being a bit boring, seemingly bored and generally not too chatty or, come to think of it, not THAT bloody glamorous, nice, zany, outgoing, or whatever the hell it is you're supposed to become when you're a Hollywood A-lister. So - bummer and for the life of me, I still cannot find it in me to swoon over him. And I do not understand my fellow females who do.
Sorry, ladies. But then again, all the more for you, eh?

BUT! One thing stuck in my head and I was actually pricking up my ears at that precise moment in the interview - which let's face it was not much of an interview at all - that was when Mr Cooper mentioned his gratitude list. Everyone in the studio was like WHAT? Yeah, me too.
So he goes into explaining what it is and why he does it and when. Well, we all pretty much get the idea, I believe.
Mr. Cooper of course finds ten things EVERY DAY to put on this list of gratitude. Hm, I wonder whether I can do that? I wonder if 5 is ok, too? I am sure they can be little things, too.
Though in Coop's world they are sure to be slightly bigger.

Today I wish to explain gratitude for my extended contract with 20th Century Fox.
I would also like to thank my agent for sealing the deal, etc etc. 
I am grateful for getting paid quite large sums of money. 
Oh, and of course, I am thankful for my looks, er my parents and ... err, wait, uhh, oh yeah - the on-going work of UNICEF, Greenpeace . . . 

I am kidding, of course!

He's never going to mention UNICEF in that list.

No, what I  am beginning to wonder though is whether this is not simply some kind of daily practice run for his Oscar acceptance speech (or Globe or whatever) - I can picture him/his agent sorting through all these old gratitude lists shortly before the big moment comes and he is asked to appear to accept his award and then the invitation also mentions that it'd be nice to utter a few words of dedication, thankfulness, jollyness and fun - well, whatever the hell your level of intoxication at that stage allows for, really.

Yes, I am being awful. I know.

And I shall stop and actually admit that the idea of such a list is rather beautiful.

When DO we take time to look at the things we might be grateful for, much less name them and show proper gratitude in whatever way we may wish to do so. There is, after all, no rule book. Which is a good thing, come to think of it. But it also means that we (as in mankind) are always and forever getting away with being ungrateful or too busy or too fabulous to actually consider being thankful for a change.
It takes no time.
Instead - much more importantly, it takes humility, humbleness. Things some of us never learn or never seem to be able to show. And it takes awareness to recognise that even though the good things in life may be free, they still should be truly and deeply appreciated from time to time.

Hell, if Bradley can do it, why not any other person on this planet?!
OKAY! Always start with yourself.
So, why not I?!

Nothing . . .

. . . makes me happy like a little piece of what the lovely ladies at
Bitter & Zart produce all day - chocolate at its finest.

They are old-fashioned and modern at once. They blend the old with the new and come up with quite mouth-watering creations.

And today I was fortunate enough - having been rained on TWICE, having ruined the heels of my boots, having not had enough caffeine today, having had been stuck in a very drafty and very chilly entrance area for 8 hours - to be able to indullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllge (you really must pronounce it like this, stressing the letter l, because that is what it feels like when you taste their tiny chocolate miracles) in a fabulous chocolate mousse pralinè and a peace of nougat to die for.

I don't normally go for nougat - it's too rich and too bland at the same time, I always feel. Nougat always makes me think of "too much of a good thing" - and that is exactly what it is for me. But Bitter & Zart's variety came with a coating of caramelised almond shavings and added the perfect bit of crunchiness to the nougat's smooth texture. Ah, heaven!!!
It really makes you want to burst into song.

So, indeed - today was a GOOD DAY, despite all the bloody hail and rain and storm.

It's so easy to make girls happy. Really.

Work - let me say this, we are beginning to get the hang of people, we are not yet too familiar with the new building, but neither is the rest of the staff - that is the added bonus when you start at a new place right around the time the whole company moves into new buildings.
We are enjoying it.

I believe this all falls into the PDG - category. And I believe also that I like it that way.
In fact, I know. So there.

First day.
Not that exciting, actually.
Was able to leave early as there was literally nothing to do.

For future reference, here's a random list of things you may need in order to actually work at work, as it were:

• a desk
• a computer
• a chair
• A FLOOR
• lights

oh and a minor thing - running water. Usually helps when you use the bathroom.

But the funny thing was, I did not mind. And no, not because I got to go home early but because I got to meet people I believe I am going to enjoy working with.

And truth be told, I AM looking forward to tomorrow. It will be more of the same - improv at its best - but the good thing about it: we are ALL trying to find our feet, there is a lot of new things to get used to for all of us.


So I headed home, walking in the sunshine, sipping a coffee, looking at all the Christmas Shoppers. The many, MANY Christmas Shoppers.

And I smiled. All the way home.
And then a bit more.

If today had a face, I would give it a really big fat kiss right on the smacker, I would.

The Tree-Elfs of Frankfurt

Clearly, they do exist...  Those fun-and tree-loving creatures. 

By cover of night they rush around town, knitting furiosly for the trees of Frankfurt. Unfortunately, by the time these pictures were taken, they had already gone. 

And they do feel that there are not many things a bit of wool and a few tiny bells can't make better.











The common tree-elf relishes colour and it is their mission and pleasure to bring a little vibrancy during the dark and cold months of Winter.

If you should happen to come about them late at night, busy at work, please refrain from talking to them or taking them with you. They are quite in their natural habitat when they are outside in the cold and dark.
Kindly leave them be!
They are not playthings or knitting slaves!
If you want a nice jumper, go buy one.

Speaking of which. Woollen Christmas gifts?

Any thoughts?

Ooooh

It is the first weekend in December.  

It's the weekend of the Second Advent. 

 It's three more weeks to go to CHRISTMAS. 

Whhheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

I personally will be indulging in mulled wine, chocolates and maroni and I believe a little bit of sparkling wine to celebrate the fact that I am back to work on Monday. 

Celebrate? 

Yes.

 Yes, indeed! 

This IS something to celebrate. 

I am looking forward to this new part of my life. 

I feel like I am starting afresh, like I'm being given a second chance at trying the whole "actually enjoying the job you do" thing. 

And whilst I am not skipping and jumping down the streets, hugging strangers, believe me when I say I am happy, very happy indeed. Quietly, though. 

Ok, every now and then I make this excited little squeak.  

I believe no Christmas present this year can top my finding a job and getting my life a little bit back to normal. 

Of course, there's still plenty other things to be improved. Isn't it always the way...?! 

Well, there's always next year.

Fingers Crossed

signed the contract . . . it seems I am back in the working world . . .

let's see whether the past months have taught me anything at all . . .




God, I hope so!

Coming Through

I got a call this morning.

At precisely 9.02. And it was good news, indeed.  Such news that mean change. Good change.

Since then I have talked to friends who have reminded me how far I have come in the past months and how this makes for a wonderful ending of the old year.

Only now I begin to think back what has gone before, what evidently needed to happen to allow for this.

It sounds banal. People often say that things happen for a reason, that all will work out in the end. While being in the middle of it one seldom believes such utterings and disregards them as just that: “what people say”, when nothing else can be done, when all (else) has failed.

But in retrospect it makes sense, as everything tends to do with hindsight. They don’t say hindsight was 20:20 for nothing.

Once you have a result, the way you got there seems blatantly obvious. And you even argue that you could not have done it without the hardship. But growth apparently is only ever achieved within the vicinity of shit. And shit happens all the time, so no worries about shortages there. It’s a bit like with plants, I guess. Without manure, no harvest.

That certainly was true for this year. Manure galore. In a steady stream.

However, the end justifies the means.

Along the way, things shifted, the world has seemingly changed. Or have I?

I believe it’s a bit of both. 

Der Weg des Zen-Hundes oder Ob Peter Hahne wohl gegen Tetanus geimpft ist?

Ich ging an diesem Lampenladen vorbei und wurde vom linken der beiden so richtig gemustert mit diesem langsamen, gelangweilten Blick, der von Kopf bis Fuss geht, und der einen ganz schnell wissen lässt, "Du gehörst nicht dazu".

Zugegeben, ich kann ja gar nicht dazugehören, ich bin ja kein Hund. Will ich auch gar nicht. Den ganzen Tag an der Tür eines muffigen Antiquitätenladens hocken? Echt Mädels, ihr habt's geschafft...

Lustig auch, dass der Rothaarige offensichtlich das Sagen hatte - wo seine Blicke hingingen, da schaute auch sein Kumpel hin. Es war wie abgesprochen.

Gänzlich ungerührt von allem, was da an ihrer Tür entlang kommt, warten sie vielleicht einfach nur, dass der Tag zu Ende geht. Das Gefühl kennt man, wenn nichts verlockender scheint als die eigene Couch, und man fast schon mit den Füssen scharrt vor Ungeduld, endlich wegzukönnen aus dem Büro oder eben Laden.
Zugegeben, die beiden scharrten weniger, sie waren eher ein stummes Bild des Ausharrens, in dem Wissen, ihr Schicksal nicht ändern zu können und auf Herrchen oder Frauchen angewiesen zu sein. Gut, sie schienen mir jetzt nicht vom Schicksal gebeutelt und ich gehe mal davon aus, dass sie ein recht komfortables Leben führen, was Hundestandards angeht. Was zählt ist: sie kläfften nicht jeden an und führten sich nicht auf wie wildgewordene Handfeger. Sie liefen auch nicht ständig in den gleichen Kreisbahnen, wie manche Tiere das in manchen Zoos tun. Ich sah das als gutes Zeichen an. Auch wenn sie vielleicht doch ein wenig schicksalsergeben und melancholisch dreinblickten. Katzen zum Beispiel sagt man nach, sie hätten das "Durch-jemand-hindurchschauen" perfektioniert, scheinen tatsächlich von allem eher gelangweilt, bekommen jedoch trotzdem alles mit. Das ist die hohe Zen-Kunst der ruhenden Kraft und der Gelassenheit, die sich aus Wissen und meisterhaftem Können ergibt.

Was mich zum nächsten Thema bringt.

Heute bei Hugendubels. Ich unten in der "Erklär"-Abteilung und was seh ich: Peter Hahne "Was wirklich zählt". Wirklich, Peter? (Nun, wenn er seine eigenen Publikationen etwas genauer verfolgte, dann würde er merken, dass laut ihm "Nur die Wahrheit zählt" und er uns daher diesmal getrost hätte verschonen können.)
Der ehemalige logo-Info-Onkel sagt uns was über Werte - gesammelte Werte, äh Werke aus seiner Bild-Kolumne, nehm ich an - nennt man das eine Wertstoffsammlung?
Danke, Herr Hahne. Das hat die Welt gebraucht.
Es ist natürlich nicht genug, dass man ihn in der Bild lesen kann. Nein, mit Hilfe des Ullsteinverlags holt Peter nun zum Rundumschlag aus und macht es auch demjenigen, der die Bild nicht liest, einfach, seinen so wertvollen Gedanken in gebundener Form nachzuhängen. Es gibt, wie ich heute dank des glorreichen Internets lernen durfte, diverse Hahnewerke. Die Titel scheinen mir etwas monoton, "Worauf es ankommt" liegt meiner Meinung nach denn doch ein wenig nah an dem jetzigen, aber das ist Geschmacksache wie uns Peter bestimmt super erklären könnte. Es gibt dann tatsächlich auch noch "Was wirklich wichtig ist". Ich nehme an, demnächst dann: "Worauf es WIRKLICH ankommt".
Oh, Peter hat auch ein Weihnachtsbuch auf dem Markt. Und ein Geburtstagsbuch. UND eins mit seinen klugen Worten für jeden Tag.
Der Salbader der Nation sagt einem dann nicht nur Sonntags, worauf es jetzt aber mal total und in echt ankommt.

Ich war sprachlos und musste die Peter Hahnes und die ganze literarische Heilsbrigade hinter mir lassen.
Dankeschön, aber lasst mal eure Aufklärungstaschenlampe schön stecken und euren magischen Wertekompass auch.

Ich versuch's mal, auf "Hundeart" gelassen zu sein und visualisiere.
Ich bin ein Dobermann und sitze hinter einer groooßen Glasscheibe. Peter Hahne kommt vorbei . . .

Ha, angeschmiert, da is' gar keine Glasscheibe!

A Good Day In My Book

Watched the fog sneak up on the world today, creeping up houses, silently sliding around trees, skulking around.
Hovering, hovering.

Exhaling before nestling down to sleep.

Translate You

When you re-read things you wrote, be it diary entries, poetry, stories, essays, you travel back in time.
You visit a younger you.
A you that you immediately recognise. An unspoilt version of you.
Innocence and beauty lost.
But loss makes way for the new. Brings in the change.

Words written in another time, meant for only you perhaps, have a very clear meaning to you, they make perfect sense, they bring back perfect memories of your story, of your past. They are code just for you. You may have written them with the utmost sincerety, they come from the heart - and sometimes that translates and is recognised by others who read your words. Pieces of the mosaic human experience.
Sometimes however, meaning simply does not travel. You are not heard. You cannot be. Because you speak code. You speak the dialect of you no one else may understand.

I just realised that for the first time, first hand.
It is odd. It may even have been blatantly obvious to others yet - what do they say - I was the last to know.
It is odd I say and by that I mean a strange understanding is taking over and changes my perceptions, filters everything, renders pieces of me inaccessible, incommunicable.

My language, my dialect does not suffice. It does not speak to others It does not touch. It is not spoken. It is not heard.

Zu viel?

Schmücken in der Adventszeit? Unerlässlich, sag ich!
Gleichzeitig soll die Wohnung natürlich nicht aussehen, als hätte sich der Nikolaus darin übergeben. Ebenfalls sollte man vermeiden, den Nachbarn durch Fensterbeleuchtung das Gefühl zu geben, sie seien in's Rotlichtviertel oder auf den Jahrmarkt gezogen.

Es hängt sicherlich von jedermanns Schmerzgrenze ab, was geht und was nicht. Für den einen wird nach strikten Farbcodes geschmückt, aufgestellt, behängt. Was man in der Deko-Redaktion bei Living At Home gerade so für verkaufenswert hält. Anderen kann es nicht genug glitzern und funkeln und alles muss knallbunt sein und am liebsten hätten die auch bitte drei Plastik-Weihnachtsmänner, die die Hauswand hochklettern.

Ich persönlich mag den Kitsch und die kostenintensiven Lichtinstallationen auf Dächern und an Häuserfassaden - also zum Angucken. Bei den anderen. Abends, wenn alles glimmert und strahlt.
Aber natürlich freue ich mich auch über 'nen Mistelzweig (ha, wer tut das nicht) und eine Vase mit Tannengrün.
Nun gibt es ja immer welche, denen das alles entweder viel zu bunt oder eben viel zu grün ist. Man kann's nicht allen Recht machen. Vielleicht mögen die sich ja am 04. Dezember lieber ein paar Barbarazweige schneiden gehen und sich die in die gute Stube stellen. Mit ein wenig Wärme und Wasser blühen die an Weihnachten. Und Glück für's neue Jahr sollen sie auch noch bringen - also, wenn sie denn aufblühen. UND, wer den Winter so furchtbar findet, kann sich so ein bisschen Vor-Vorfrühling in's Haus holen.

Ob nun Exzess oder Purismus, das Schönste am Weihnachtsschmuck ist doch, dass es zu jedem kleinen Stückchen eine Geschichte gibt oder eine besonders liebe Erinnerung. Und die stellen wir in der Wohnung auf oder hängen sie an den Weihnachtsbaum. Vielleicht behängen wir den Baum ja nicht nur, damit er nicht mehr so verdammt grün aussieht. Vielleicht hängen wir mit jedem Wägelchen, Strohstern, Englein, und was auch immer sonst man so an die Tanne wirft, ein bisschen von uns selbst und den Unseren an die Zweige.

Wer natürlich alles made in Taiwan kurz vor Heilig Abend kauft, hat da vielleicht schlechte Karten, aber ich glaube die meisten verstauen in ihren Weihnachtskisten unter all den Dingen, die man so zum Schmücken braucht u.a. die ersten Bastelversuche der Kinder, Baumschmuck von den Eltern und Großeltern vielleicht, Ungewöhnliches, vielleicht sogar ausgesprochen Hässliches, Selbstgemachtes, Selbstgebackenes möglicherweise, heutzutage gern auch Selbstgestricktes.

Das ist's, was mir Spass macht an der Sache und was ich mir nicht nehmen lasse, auch wenn alle anderen scheinbar nicht so auf Weihnachten fliegen.