Collecting Berlin's Underground

I might have told you: I am a collector - with my camera. I collect sun dials, balconies, shop window dummies, beautiful cars -- to name a few --- AND photos from impressing undergrounds. 
The first year in Berlin it was a bit difficult for husband: I always jumped up and down and cried: "Wait! Wait just a minute! I have to ..  click...click..." 
It is so utterly fascinating that they are so very, very different! As a true collector knows: one becomes boring offering too many snapshots -- so here only a few... 

Biedermeier Currant Bread

You need an iron constitution to get over so many festivities as in the last four months. So: Happy Easter! 
When I came back from a wonderful weekend in Munich (happy that each time the flights were only one hour late because of the snow), I had to enter the place where in ye olde days a woman had her place: the kitchen.  
Son & DiL had hinted politely but firm that they were longing for the annual "Biedermeier Korinthenbrot" - a speciality that it is so called because it is modest (not too much sugar, not too many currants - though I throw a few more into it :-) and aromatic (by vanilla sugar and  lemon peel, but - you guess it already: not too much). 
The bread as such does not look modest: it is enormous, shockingly voluptuous (no, I didn't mean volumnious, which it is too) : 

I always cut it in two parts - and half of it goes to Munich. 
But I have to plan like a Prussian: on Good Friday (almost) nobody is working. 
And the post nowadays is not as reliable as it - once upon a time - had been. So: if I take the risk and send the Easter-Bread on Thursday it might happen that it will not arrive on Saturday - and then - oops - they will get an After-Easter-Bread; because Sunday and Monday (almost) nobody is working. 
(Crumbly dry cake reminds me of of a typical story fabricated by my sweet grandma - the working(wo)man - : with the best intentions she sent my father a parcel with home-baked cake from Göttingen, Germany, in war-time, to Madagascar, his first POW-station before England. It took some time... :-).  
So I baked on Wednesday. Packed it. Paid extra postage to be sure that it will arrive in time. 
And - after a few difficulties too laborious to tell (here I cut the story, not only the bread) it arrived in good condition.   

Happy Easter! 

Happy Easter!

"It is winter proper; the cold weather, such as it is, has come to stay. I bloom indoors in the winter like forced forsythia; I come in to come out..." 
Annie Dillard 

You can keep your hat on!

Tomorrow I'll fly to Munich - to visit Son and lovely Daughter-in-Law. 
AND to go to Ina Böckler. http://www.huete.de/ 
Ina Böckler is one of the few Grande Dames of milliners in Germany. She made hats for the stars and starlets. And one for me. 
It looks much prettier as in the photo above (and I hope me too - I pout - not very becoming at all, not becoming for the chin). 
But I had a reason. 
There are times when one should try to conform oneself a tiny weeny little bit to one's age. No danger that I will exaggerate that (if - then more into the other direction:-). 
Above I am in the pouts because Son had used an example that convinced even me: 
"Mama", he said, "per se it is a lovely hat. But if I drive a Pontiac Firebird (which he did at that time - the apple never fells far from the tree) I do not paint it pink as an extra." 
Home truth. Now - I think very highly of his advice. So I put the hat in its beautiful blue hatbox. Away. Grinding my teeth. 
And then last summer in Munich I saw that Ina Böckler's hat-atelier was sold to a new milliner. And they do alterations. So yesterday I telephoned. 
And will bring her the hat to change the pink fox ("We'll make a nice collar of it!" she chirped) for a silver-grey fox (my idea). 
I'm really curious if it will work out. 
But I "see it". 
And to be forearmed I will read a book on the flight which arrived yesterday: 
"Going Gray. How To Embrace Your Authentic Self With Grace And Style" by Anne Kreamer. 
Ha - never any problem with that. 
So: the fox will be silver - but the remainder of the hat will stay -
                                             PINK! 

Franz Theodor Türcke - and a bit of luck

I cannot remember the subject :-) , but a few weeks ago I read on someone's blog the comment: "If you have seen one, you have seen them all" - and I thought: "Oh no, you are absolutely wrong - and either you don't have any experience at all but want to appear blasé - or you are going through the world with eyes closed." 
I don't appreciate the one or the other. 
If you open your eyes - and, even better: your heart - you see that the world offers a gorgeous orchestra of choices of apparently (!) the same thing. 
Now people are whining about the snow. 
OK - I would prefer spring too - but: "It is as it is." So on Sunday I put on warm clothes and went outside into frost and snow. And found at a Berlin flea market a little picture which I liked. 
"Many people have looked at it but put it back", said the man behind the table. 
"Maybe because of the subject", I said, "nobody wants a picture with snow now." 
But as I liked it, I asked "How much?", and the sum was so small that you wouldn't have got half a ticket to the Astor Lounge cinema. 
I bought it (and felt a bit silly), because it looked simple, naive, childlike - but I liked the atmosphere. 
A signature was scribbled with pencil beneath it (same writing as the words "Original Drawing") - that was beautiful, but almost unreadable. 
Almost. 
At home I looked with a magnifying glass - I am good at deciphering (and have a sort of eidetic memory) - and after a while I found out: the signature was F. Türcke. 
The Internet informed me: Born 1877 in Dresden, deceased in Berlin 1957. A landcape painter who studied at the Berlin KA at Eugen Bracht. 
Pictures (mostly oil) of him were sold at Christie's, Burchard Galleries Inc, and there are a lot of Americans who collect him. An auction house in Dresden offers to take anything of him to sell it. 
I don't know whether that includes a little drawing like the one I have found. And I will not sell it. 
I just want to look at it and feel happy because I like it - and had my eyes open. 

Spring clean - but the full monty!

In our family we have a special expression for that feeling of being stuck: we call it "to be on a plateau". There are many occassions when one might feel this way: in parenting, in a new city, at your working place... Nothing moves, the air is leaden, something has to change, definitely...

When I feel stuck - and at the moment I do - the first thing I do (after sulking - contemplating to jack it all in - then thinking hard) is: creating order. 
When I am speaking of spring cleaning (the full monty) I am not speaking of household alone. 
As you know I have written a book about That - solely addressing young men, whispering into their ears the secrets of How to Do It). 

No, when I say: the full monty I mean spring-cleaning for home, body, mind and soul. (Not that I do it necessarily in this order). 

Today I stared at the snow on my balcony - ugh! - and howled at the pale sickle moon at night. And then I had enough. 
Enough, Enough, Enough!       Clapboard the third: Action! 

1.) I went to my smashing Turkish hairdresser at the Alexanderplatz (only very young people there, all in black leather, tattoos and interesting haircuts) - and his knowing hands shampooed and massaged and then that wizard took his scissors and performed magic. 
Never change a haircut when angry or sad, said wise Sophia Loren; and I didn't change it utterly (and as all my hairdressers before, especially the maestros, he flatly refused to dye). But I was very content with the result - thank you, Süley!  

2.) I telephoned and now it is official: after the trip to the Chelsea Flower Show I will stay for almost a month in London. I'm looking forward to that (and how I prepare I will tell you soon). 

3) I briefly thought about using house-cleaning method no. 3 from my book - the "Elizabeth-Taylor's-Who-Is-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf-emergency-cleaning", but rejected it - no, I wanted real spring cleaning (the rays of the March sun are merciless, on windows and face). 
So I chose method no.5: I pretended to hire myself. (It helps definitely to watch before the DVD with Lucy Eyelesbarrow (Jill Meager), that paragon of household efficiency  in 4.50 from Paddington (with Jane Hickson in Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, of course!)
When I hire myself I work like an employee - I take a timer after binding my pinny (by the way - did you notice how wide awake a lot of men become when you casually mention your interest in aprons? Really interesting subject, it seems. Try it!)  - well, and then I work, with elbow grease- and when the timer says "pling" I stop. Unbind my apron, leave the house and return tomorrow - at the appointed hour. 
See you! 

Blue Suede Shoes

So it's SNOW again. 

They told me so on the radio, yesterday morning, but I wouldn't listen. 

Put on my Blue Suede Shoes (they are black and really cute boots, made for showing-off, not walking through slush). 

Well, He that will not hear must feel. 

Which I did. 

Though: I don't need much time to adjust. Put my face up to the endless grey sky and love to look into that swirl of snowflakes. Thick, feathery ones, dancing before the eyes, caressing my face, melting oh so softly. 

I went to meet three "old girls" from my school in Bremen, here, in Berlin. One of them is my friend since school days - the other two I hadn't seen for umpteenth years. 

How come, that all of a sudden, these school pals discover the urgent need to meet each other? They hunt through Facebook, search Stayfriends and  whatsoever. 

Before: nada. Once in all that time (exactly: one year after leaving school) we had met. Then never again. 

(Except the 4 real good friends whom I see every year several times, and write, and telephone). 

Class reunions make me think of Franz Joseph Degenhard's song, "Old friends" (here is a very rough translation by me): 

"Sometimes you meet in your home town

somebody who - long time ago - has made baloney with you, 

now he stands still and asks: 

"Have you still...? Are you still...? Do you still remember...?" and "Do you still do...?" 

And though nobody wants it you are suddenly silent. 

Suddenly Time grins between you two, he's laughing out of embarrassment ... 

You count all the years and look for your own true history in the face of the other - 

and you can't find it." 

Well, yesterday it was only a 'mini-reunion', and it was nice. 

Nobody stepped on anybody's suede shoes. Only the snow. 

And in October I will see them all again, in Bremen then. 

The Busy Bees of Berlin

This photo I took last year - sitting on our balcony, watching with all my peace of mind the BBBs (busy Berlin Bees).
As I told you then in my blog 'Gardening in High Heels', a huge lot of hobby beekeepers in Berlin put the beehives on the roofs of hotels or museums, on the Berlin Dome or the house of representatives. You can buy (expensive) Berlin honey - and the bees thrive, because here in town the trees are not sprayed with insecticides, and the air in the city is warmer.
In Germany, I read, there are 94.000 beekeepers with 750.000 bee colonies.
I have a deep affection for bees, because my grandfather H.v.K. (the eccentric one) was a hobby beekeeper. As a child I followed him when he - all in white with his big hat with the net over it, and the enormous pipe in his mouth - attended to the bees. The honey he collected was wonderful - and when sometimes I trod on a bee and cried with pain he consoled me with the promise that by that I would never get rheumatism.
Today my doctor, who had tested my blood to see whether I am allergic to gnats, told me: "No, everything is fine. BUT - they found out you are highly allergic to bees." She recommended an emergency kit - and eventually desensitisation. (When I learned that for this I would have to stay 6 (!!) full night&days in the hospital Charité - and yesterday I read the article in the Guardian how to reach old age, wisely recommending "Stay away from hospitals" - I said "Thank you, but thank you no.").
Now: I am not (utterly) unreasonable: I will buy that kit. Put it into my bag.
But when today - of course it had to be today - the first bee of the year came to my balcony, I said: "Hi, friend, I'm not afraid." I know that bees - other than wasp, which I am not allergic to - only sting when irritated. (OK - one might sit on one and she will find that somewhat irritating).
Taking a spoon full of delicious honey I consider buying a blue balloon instead.

"If you have a blue balloon, they (the bees) might think you were only part of the sky (...)." 
"Wouldn't they notice you underneath the balloon?" you asked. 
"They might or they might not," said Winnie-the-Pooh. "You never can tell with bees." 

I am a Mymla!

I do hope for your very own good that you know the Moomin books of Tove Jansson.  
"What?", I hear you say, "Moomins? Aren't they children books?" 
Yes and no. 
They are the best guide to know people (Tove never drew a character only in black or white). I am convinced everyone of you knows a few Hemulen: 

 "..a great lot of enormous, rollicking, talkative hemulens who went about slapping each other's backs and bursting into gigantic laughs."  "(...) and in their spare time they blew the trombone or threw the hammer, told funny stories and frightened people generally. But they did it all with the best of intentions." 

I am a mymble. A Little My. My mother must have known that from the beginning, look at my hair. 

So Maman did everything to train and tame me. 
But though I became a Lady, I'm a wild one, always preferring Snufkins to Moomintrolls :-)  

"Yes, Moomintroll, always waiting and longing. Moomintroll who sat at home, who waited for him and admired him, and who always told him: Of course you have to feel free. Naturally you must go away. I do understand that you have to be alone at times. 
And all the times his eyes were black with disappointment and no one could help it.  

I was lucky: husband is a hybrid of both, romantic in a very male way. 
I really adored Moomin Mother - that selfless, warm, utterly unselfish broad-hipped creature with the homely apron and always a handbag at her side. But try as I might: I was not her. (And so much homeliness seems to have driven Moomin Papa into this obscure adventure with the Hattifnatts...) 

So: Do you know which of the many little characters of Tove Jansson you are? (Very unlikely that it is "that one, who is living under the sink"). 
Who is fetching his trombone? 

No Gibberish!

At the moment I have a lot of entertainment - and that moment  will develop into a span of at least two years, mildly calculated - because I am writing about entertainment. (So bear with me if I am not always quick on commenting).
It is fun - to a certain degree. It is hard work too.
Sometimes - when my ears finally get used to the Geordie accent of Northumberland that Brenda Blethyn trained for 'Vera' (Blethyn comes from Kent), I have to re-learn: now Dalziel and Pascoe bring me to Yorkshire, or Rebus is waiting for me in Edinburgh.
As long as there are subtitles: no problem. Otherwise: Oh dear! You see this woman with a fountain pen, a pad (without " i-") and a remote control in her hand - STOP! Stop! - what did he mumble?
Thankfully a dialect in TV-series is always more garnish, not the real thing (then I would be lost).
                                                      Ah -watching those beautiful various landscapes I feel my blood tingle: high time to plan my annual GB-Adventure! As always I will visit for 1 month alone a town or city, totally unknown territory, totally unknown people. The last stations were Hastings (want to join the chorus: "Why Hastings?" - it was lovely!), Edinburgh, London. I have to find a flat share again (there daily life is so much more amusing then in a hotel or B&B).
Once a year I test how good I function on my own, how easily I find acquaintences and even friends (and I always did - nobody shall tell me again that the Scots are reserved - luckily they weren't).
Before I find the region that I will go to this year (suggestions are very welcome!), I will make a shorter trip to London: the tickets for the Chelsea Flower Show and the hotel are already booked. My friend Anne and I talked about doing it so often - now it assumes shape.
Maybe we'll collect a small bunch of Rosemary & Thyme  :-) 

Cad (Welsh for fight), mael (Welsh for prince)

Oh no, you're not in Shrewsbury, nor in Budapest - where, as you might know, they built the TV set for 'Cadfael'. These (still) are Britta's letters from Berlin - and as I am writing about a tiny aspect of Cadfael at the moment, I thought: why not take a day off and look what Berlin has to offer from the Middle Ages? 
Above are the ruins of a Franciscan monastry, the building started in 1250, the three aisled basilica in 13th and 14th century, destroyed by bombers in 1945. 
The Fernsehturm (TV Tower) at the Alexanderplatz overtowers everything: also the Marienkirche (St. Mary's Church), built in the Middle Ages when Berlin and Cölln were twin towns. What wasn't destroyed by the war often was razed by the city planners of the GRD - they had not much money for restoring and wanted space and place for cars.

There is ample space now - right in the middle (Mitte) of Berlin (normal rush hour on a working day!): 

Without any hidden agenda about that they try to restore the Dance of Death in the northern tower vestibule of the Marienkirche (St. Mary's Church): 

And if you come to see the Heilig Geist-Kapelle (Holy Spirit Chapel), also nearby, built in 1300 as part of the Holy-Spirit-Hospital, and now surrounded by the Humboldt-University of Berlin, mind that you come on Thursday from 12:00 - 13:00 - otherwise (as I) you have to peep through a little window at the beautiful  'starry sky' of it: 

Very near is also the oldest church of Berlin, the Nikolaikirche (St. Nicholas Church), built between 1220 and 1230, but I was a bit frustrated because today it is only used as a museum. 

Cadfael I haven't met, and, though we have the Berlinale film festival at the moment, I am sorry to say: nor Sir Derek Jacobi (oh would I have loved that, he has such a beautiful voice!). But even that voice couldn't have lured me into the Middle Ages which I see as DARK - I have a very distinct vision what they would have done with a woman like me :-) 

Advice seeking?

"I can't understand him", Husband often grumbled when a colleague had asked him for advice. "He asks - I tell him - and never - never! - he does accordingly." 
I am adviser - so I do understand. Both. No need to follow an advice - for many it is just a way to become surer of their own opinion. Carl Rogers, who didn't give advice, quoted a student, who said (in words to that effect): "I am angry that you don't decide for me. I want an advice. When I follow it, and it doesn't work out, I know whom I can be angry with." And - as any adviser will tell you:  if it works out - it is his own doing...  
In my profession Rogers' was worn thin. I think we have also a duty to deliver information: where you can find it, speak it through, help weighing the pros and cons. Deciding is your job alone. 
But some advices don't become better only because people repeat them. A hundredfold. 
There are books and books and books on "De-Cluttering". 
"Throw out any garment you haven't worn in the last five months!", worse: "Anything that is older then 3 years: give it away!" - worst: "When you buy something new, threw out three other pieces!" 
Why??? 
Above you see a photograph of husband and I on our 10th wedding anniversary. Now: if I had followed that silly adice - and mind: I am only speaking of the second! - and had discarded him after three years -what a pity ...  

In Detention

Last night I had a dream. 
Fräulein Dr. M., my teacher at the Barkhof, a Gymnasium (= academic highschool) in Bremen, visited me. 
Fräulein Dr. M.'s teaching subjects were German and English, and she always has been one of my role models. She was a Lady. Elegant. Kind, but stern. Sophisticated. (She did her Ph.D. in a time when most women weren't even allowed to do their A levels. And paid a price: she wasn't married. Everybody had to call her "Fräulein", a grown-up woman, fortyish. With the arrogance of youth we thought she was "past it" - though we noticed that men adored her. But she kept her private life ladylike to herself. Married later.) 
So, what was she doing at my bedside, sitting  there upright in her absolutely charming cherry red lady's suit? (That dark red suit was one reason why I admired her: it was très chic, it was vivid, not those drab black and grey clothes the other teachers wore. Yes - I was superficial with 16 -- come to think of it: still am). 
"Britta", she said, "your blog..." (in dreams you seldom wonder). 
"Yes?", I said warily.  
"It's off the point", she said. "Look at your heading: If not now, then when? Then look at your last post." 
"I know", I said sulkily, "I wanted to say that when the sun shines but you are too lazy because it is cold outside..." 
"Then say what you mean, for heavens sake! Why did you choose that title, by the way?" 
"Well, I saw so many women giving up because they get older. I wanted to encourage them to accept their age but in spite of it spring into action, make the most of it." 
Fräulein Dr. M. looked deeply amused. "You? You speak of accepting one's age - and never tell anybody how old you are? May I remind you of the incident at ..." 
"No", I interrupted hastily, "don't. Admitted: I am not happy with that title." 
"Ah", said Fräulein Dr. M. "Why?"
"It sounds so - desperate. Like those awful new-age sayings - written in lipstick on a mirror - "Today is the last day of your life" - I always feel as if a gun is pointed at my back. I am a quite happy person, I don't want to be reminded every day of my mortality." 
"Ah", said Fräulein Dr. M. again, rising. "My dear: you are in detention. I give you two hours to think about what you want. Meaning: Keep the header - or toss it away. But stick to the point".  

Delights of Winter

Winter has us in its frosty grip. 

So it is very tempting to sit at home, drink a café au lait and read a book - preferably written by myself - this is a diary from 1989 - a time that seems so far away as summer...  

Well, before I wax sentimental, I fetch my warmest coat and out we go!   

The water of the Spree, which you see above, moves only sluggishly, and the lake of Schloss Charlottenburg is frozen and covered with snow. 

Time to hurry back for a bit of culture: an exhibition about the painter Walter Leistikow - called "The World demands Grunewald of me".  

http://www.broehan-museum.de/pdf/bildliste_leistikow.pdf

Nice, though only a few pictures are really showing the Grunewald. 

But that's OK - today he could hand the Grunewald to me on a silver platter  -  I'd prefer a cappuccino in my favourite café... 

"Too much of a good thing can be wonderful"

As you all know through my (more or less late) blogs - 'You are Witty and Pretty', 'Britta's Happiness of the Day' and 'Gardening in High Heels' - I am not always dishing out light fare.
So - this blog will be substantial, nourishing and yet: sublime.
I'm talking of - yeah, you've guessed it by now: CHOCOLATE.
Last week I emerged from the bottom of my MSP (Monumental Secret Project). (For that moment) I just had enough. So out I went. Took the underground to Gendarmenmarkt. Looked into the shopwindows of http://www.fassbender-rausch.com/manufaktur.html  . Another woman did the same - we grinned at each other, and went inside, talked a bit about fashion. She was from London. And then we looked into the shopwindows again. From inside out.

I am not sure whether you can see on the pictures that here the Gedächtniskirche and the Brandenburger Tor are made entirely from chocolate (and cookies).  Absurd. Monumental. Kitschig.
Like two schoolchildren we looked at each other again, and giggled in helpless mirth. " Eat Art!" I breathed. "Wohahah!", she roared. "Epoch-Making!" .
Before studying at the university in Mainz, after my A-levels in Bremen, I worked for two months in the Hachez chocolate factory in Bremen.
Though normally I chirp in with  Mae West's saying  "Too much of a good thing can be wonderful", I didn't after being allowed to eat as much chocolate as we wanted. After three days we didn't want any more...
Being quick with my hands I was soon allowed to work by the piece (literally: we had to fill boxes of chocolates - every woman at the production line had a special section of the box). Piece work brought more money. And interesting insights into real life. I learned:
1. Age is relative. Being almost 18 was here extremely old - the co-workers were my age, but had left school long ago and  looked at me pityingly as if I were a 'box of chocolate on a shelf' (not married yet!).
2. I learned that "Non vitae, sed scholae discimus" (Seneca - and no: I didn't quote it wrong!) is utterly true - you might also say: a pinch of experience is worth a peck of theory. Fifty Shades of Whatsoever is an innocent Sunday School book - compared to the graphical visual way those girls depicted their Secret Lives on every Monday morning at work.
3. A pearl of wisdom for life: Things in a different box with different print (and price) are not always different - believe me, dear brand-buyer. From that time on I do - with only a few exceptions :-) - the double-blind-test.
4. If you love something dearly - like chocolate - after a short alienation you will like it again. I do!
Though: in modertion. Because: "Too much of a good thing can be ..."

Desperate times call for desperate measures?

Near our house in Hildesheim we had a Waldorf-Kindergarten. The little children, hand in hand, walked through the park, summer, autumn, winter, spring: always with little caps on their heads. 

When I spoke with a kindergartner, she told me: 

"They wear them to collect their thoughts under their caps." 

Oh! 

Since that day we have a family saying if somebody is really absentminded: "You should put your Waldorf-cap on." 

Now I needed one. Had read Tom Stephenson's post, "Through a Glass, Darkly" - and thought: what does it remind me of? It was a bit different - what was it?

The title fascinated singers like the Eurythmics, filmmakers like Ingmar Bergman, authors as Gaardner - and you find not only one title in each category, but lots. 

But I was searching for something else - and you know, maybe, how bothersome it is (dear Georgie of E.F.B. would have called it 'taresome'), when you pick your brain for a name, or a title - it is like an earworm (don't play Rihanna's "Shine bright like a Diamond" for me - I'll go crazy!). 

But I knew it was music. And suddenly I had it. Speeded to husbands recordplayer - yes, he owns one, new - and rummaged through his records - and there it was: 

                                      "THROUGH THE PAST; DARKLY"  

Now I am content. Can put my cap into the wardrobe. Come to think of it: it is freezingly cold outside - I shall keep it. For a day when I feel very self-confident, because even in Berlin you get attention with that hat. Though: Berlin Fashion Week starts in January, and then everything goes. I shall leave it on a hanger, humming "Shine bright like a diamond, shine bright..."
Oops - seems the needle got caught in the record groove...

Back to normal

On Three Kings' Day we had our wedding anniversary. Beautiful, though I had the feeling of living in an endless succession of feasts: Christmas, my birthday, New Year's Eve, wedding anniversary. 
Now every-day-life has us back. 

The Christmas tree had to go: Berlin's binmen are stern about that: on Monday, the day after Three Kings' Day, the Christmas tree has to be out - otherwise they won't collect it and then it might happen as in Heinrich Böll's short story: 'Nicht nur zur Weihnachtszeit' - ("Not only on Christmas' Days") - a satire on Christmas harmony, where a very obstinate little Aunt Milla always gets a screaming fit when anybody tries to touch the Christmas tree to bring it away. All relatives give in and sing every evening of the year with her, 

And on top of the Christmas tree hung a silvery cladded angel with red cheeks, who moved his lips and whispered 'PEACE'."                 

Husband took the tree when it was undecorated, schlepped it to the balcony (as you know we live on the second floor and the flats are high) - he imitated the Swedish shout "Knut!!!" - and down it went, unto the lawn, and then he had to run down and climb over the fence and pick it up, needles and all, and bring it to the curb. 
Now we can quote Rainer Maria Rilke: 

"One feels the splendour of a new page, 
on which yet everything is possible to come."                      (rough translation by me) 

My new Kindle

So now I have a Kindle. 

"Once you've used it for a couple of weeks, I'd *love* to read about your experience with the Kindle. You're such a sensual / careful customer-that-surrounds-herself-with-tasteful-things... Let us know if you enjoy ebooks - or if too much is lost." 

This was written by a Facebook friend, a young promising author, who is the most avid reader I know, (and of course I utterly savoured that beautiful compliment).   
It is not my first try with a Kindle, I love new technical gimmicks - coming from a family where my parents were the first in the street who had a telephone, a TV set, (neighbours visited for football in black-and-white), they had a washing machine ("Idleness!" the other good housewives cried), owned that first VW-Beetle with the split rear window and a blinker that was a little orange finger that came out on the side of the car when you wanted to turn right or left. I could write on and on (my parents had very little money, my mother, being of lower nobility, had married a man untitled and without money - but they had brains and spunk and knew how to save and then spend that in a good way, and they were open-minded - the first in our street to give their girls a higher education instead of a dowry. "Academic highschool? Then university? For a girl??" the neighbours asked increduously, and added "Such a waste!"). 
But I wanted to tell you of my Kindle. The very first one that Amazon offered, some time ago, I sent back - it looked shabby, felt bad in my hand and had a stubborn way to decide instead of me - breaking up chapters, scripture etc. 
Son advised me (of course I was opting for a Kindle Fire) to take the simplest version, not even that with "Inner light" (I have that myself - no: I don't like to stare into strong light). I communicated with Amazon before the purchase: it is not possible for a German Kindle-owner to buy e-books on amazon.co.uk. Oh... But there is - Husband told me - the Project Gutenberg - and here I get all my English treasures for free: Robinson Crusoe and Pamela and Tristram Shandy and Elizabeth's German Garden and, and, and (interesting though that I do not get Winnie-The-Pooh). 
I like my Kindle: 
- it is really a lightweight - and abstaining from buying a leather wrapper (though I liked the pink - but it would have added 127 gram) and taking a beautiful silk book wrapper I already owned instead (30 gram) it is well protected
- I had no difficulties in getting it going and to use it (I hate manuals - and I didn't need one - though I discovered a book - for free - that wants to give me 88 tips to use the Kindle's full potential). 
- Another friend on Facebook, a young promising poet, posted that Amazon gave you each day a book for free on seven days in January. Ha, I used it. So they hooked me. And I found at least a lot of modern English books here too. And am very proud that I found out all by myself how to download the Gutenberg Project. 
- I took it with me on the flight to Munich. And - though writing a blog - I enjoy my privacy: I don't like people to know what I read.  
- I read more. Definitely. I now have downloaded 41 books - and I am a quick reader. 
- I LOVE the possibility to change the scripture, or enlarge it when my eyes are tired from computer working in the evening (some pocket books like my tomes of Trollope have really tiny letters). 
- I can get rid of some books (people in our house are very quick at picking up used books we all put into the entrance hall) that I know I will only read once ('How To'-literature, or some silly books that earned their money by making me laugh out loud) and so I will gain open place in my bookshelves, because:  
- a Kindle is not rival for beautiful books, children's books,  illustrated books, or books with beautiful photos 
- and strange: I become even more attached to those books in paper that I really love - I won't give them up!