Snow Day

The weather has been drizzly and miserable (umbrellas, fo'drizzle--I saw that on a t-shirt once) and we've had some snow, but it's that shitty kind of snow, the sort that Jewish kids would get for Christmas, the spotty, sloppy and wet snow that makes for stress in traffic with the commuters reacting as if it's first time it has snowed north of the Alps. And maybe that it singles a time to call in favours, like a snowball's chance in Hell... I want blustering, orchestral snow-storms, the sort that bring about an amber or a red level to the road-conditions. The Army are wimps, sot of, in that regard, closing down operations for a blizzard that I am sure any German who is beyond his seasonal-driving amnesia would shrug off, but at least it's color-coded, like Threatcom and the Terror-Threat. We'd all have a jolly old snow day, like the kind that they used to grant for schools. As I recall, though, I always managed to get myself in trouble on snow days.

In Former East Germany, the Government works for You

After a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with my parents at the military dining facility (mess hall) and driving to H's hometown in the East, H made the glib comment that we could now visit all of our parents every weekend. Quite... We had a great time throughout, and though it was not my first trip, H wanted to know my impressions of the place--what thoughts would he have on seeing the Indian reservation where I was born. "Oh--that was my teepee," maybe accounting for why I had moved a grand 33 times--to follow the buffalo and not because my parents were on the lam for a coupon-counterfeiting scheme or some such thing. I'm bedazzled by everything, frankly. Here was the shell of a cathedral being rebuilt after it was dismantled, piecemeal, in 1968 and here an ersatz ruin erected in the 19th century by a masonic grand-master.

festoonery

As I lay in bed, anticipating the jiggly alarm, I was hoping for a snow day. This time of year comes with quite a bit of baggage--subconscious associations. There is the weather, for starters. I am not sure what's bigger in the end than weather. Climate and climate change, maybe... And then there's the holiday crunch, and despite the possibility of bleaker presents and slimmer prospects, absolutely no force of economic nastiness and institutional props can cut back on the audacious displays that is Christmas. Spirits might be temporarily dampened and a lot of things may happen that run a bit counter to the spirit of the season, but the gaudy decorations aren't stopped, though there be a procession creeping earlier and earlier, neither is A Charlie Brown Christmas, the Weihnachtsmarkt, nor Dinner for One. It's an extravaganza. So, and a bit early this year, merry Christmas you wonderful old Building & Loan!

gold bug

Over the weekend, H and I visited the rather remote and unsung ruins of castle. The site was pretty impressive and a grand castle like that in this area must have surely been a site to see. I misread or rather didn't fully comprehend the information board by the entrance, and announced that the castle was destroyed during the War. After asking what war and my answer of World War II, H read the board and told me that that because an American army officer was killed in the surrounding village, friends suggested that

the castle be strafed as part of a larger bombing operation on a nearby city. Behind ambiguous thoughts on the tragedy of that, I was convinced that this was a secret Nazi headquarters and there must have been a hidden gold repository housed there. Treaures. In addition to my occasional forays with my metal detector, I get inspired fairly regularly by either shiny things or stories about treasure hunting. In fact, after viewing National Treaure on TV, I continued my superficial and biased research into the fate of the Knights Templar and their supposed booty. I told H we might find a clue over New Year's holiday when we go to celebrate in Berlin. Where? I thought it was rather obvious--in Tempelhof (I think the Wikipedia article might lend me some credence), of course. A building that large had to be dual-purpose.

Mister S goes to the Fishmongers'

I appreciate the days when I'm home at the right times to keep things local-going, when I can go to the tiny market in my tiny village, walk about to the sort-yard for recycling and the flower shop to look and using the village bookie to play the lottery. It's charming and like something out of a children's story: Mister S goes to the Bakery to buy some buns for breakfast--"My what a fine and varied selection of breads you have today. Good day to you, as well, Frau Blooker." I forget how nice and simple that can be, from time to time.

air kisses

During the day, I tend to stow my Handy in my front pants' pocket--perhaps an unwise and an unfortuneate spot. It vibrates before it rings, though I miss quite a few calls while I'm on the march and there's a hint of ambient noise. I think I'd require a squad of cheerleaders to alert me sometimes to an incoming-call. I've noticed, however, that I occasionally get phantom vibrations, a twitch, along my thigh, and I'll bat my leg until I'm satisfied that there's no one on the other end. It's sort of like the sensations from a phantom limb, these galvanizing disturbances. I wonder if they are electromagnetically-influenced muscle spasms or anticipating to hear from someone. Why aren't phantom sensations ever very nice ones? Not a phoney feeling of an arm that's no longer at my disposal or a missed call, but rather a ghostly brush from H's lips?

reptile farm

Either staying close to home or ranging far and wide, it seems that most weekends were spent exploring and sometimes discovering jewels of castles, churches and ruins. I felt like I had not done that, relaxing and rambling down a tiny road, getting lost, for quite some time, but H and I spent a shortening day doing just that. We hadn't sought out any special sites since we were considering renting this storied-joint but decided against it,after piquing the count's interest, for practical reasons. Also, I could imagine the peasants revolting and coming after us with pitchforks. There is a lot out there to be discovered--heresay is gainsay over a navigation system, which seems to take the fun out of getting lost.