Sports-minded (sort of...)

A bicycle helmet is seldom looking "smart casual" - and being vain the only way to console myself is: A head bandage doesn't look neither very elegant  :-)

Once upon a time, I was biking Then, a long time ago, I stopped. (The reasons are too complicated to explain here).

But you might know the old saying:

                                                When in Rome, do as the Romans do! 

So, when you are visiting the Netherlands, you might be well advised to cycle too - they do it from the day they can stand on their own two feet. They call it "fietsen", and they look adorable doing it - often you see two or three meisjes (their girls) in a group, chatting cheerfully while biking, but also quite old people peddle determinedly against the strong wind.

They have enviable bikeways (not as in Berlin, where we had this year alone - from January 2020 to end of May - 7 dead bikers - which is "better" than in 2000, where there were 89! - but then: in the Corona-month there weren't many cars driving, streets empty - and we haven't even spent half of the year). I might sound a bit gloomy, but I thought of them when I started biking again, the day before yesterday.

But: I am courageous. I rented a bike - and bought a helmet. The bike-brand is called "Gazelle" -

though neither the bike nor I on it looked gazelle-like (me running: yes. Me on a bike yesterday: definitely not. When my late father thought that someone did something ungraceful, he murmured: "Like an ape on a grindstone").

I have to admit: I was afraid! For me the big black, heavy bicycle was not easy to ride or direct. To get up: Phew! To go on: Whew! 
But I didn't give up - I practised (4th gear on a long even road :-)

And: Skill comes with practise. 
 
                                                       I hope it will...

PS: Have you tried to enliven an old skill lately? Tell me, please, to cheer me up.

An English Rose

photo Britta

My beautiful lovely scented rose, "Gertrude Jekyll" is blooming on my balcony - I am so happy! 

My young student friend Gvantsa said dreamily: "That way our roses in Georgia (Europe) smell."

This rose needs no explanation. For her it is true what Getrude Stein wrote. 

                                         "Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose." 

photo Britta 

PS:
Did you know that in the genome of a rose exists a gen that decides how many petals the bloom will have?
It is called LG3. If you deactivate this gen the bloom becomes as thick as the bloom of a peony - the absolute record in rose-petals, I read in the German newspaper WamS, reached a rose with deactivated LG3 with 517 petals!
In the EU it is forbidden to use GM technology - even in ornamental-plant-selective breeding.

Good so - Gertrude Jekyll, the stern Victorian gardener, might have said.

Outings for the Soul

photo: Britta 

I bought this charming diary (or do you call it an appointment book?) in another life - before Corona.

We were visiting Erlangen in Bavaria - and in a fabulous bookstore I saw it - well, it was already March and of course I had already a "real" day planner - but this was so different, so lovely: inside were many sketches in Fifties style (you can guess that by the polka-dots) - and the price was reduced.

If you want something, you'll find a reason why you need it. 

Or maybe I should say: if I want something I'll find a reason why I NEED it.

Ratio says: "My, my, my - you are reading books about how to throw away all the clutter, how to become a minimalist - really: you are mad!" 
Body says: "Hey, you already have a lot of luggage, think of your back!" 
But Soul pleads: "It is soooo lovely! Inside that shade of very pale pink, just a hue of pink - and those sketches, and wise sayings... I will use it as a diary for "Outings for my Soul".

If you wonder what I'm speaking of:
I had noticed (before I saw this diary!) that I have a tendency to make long To-Do-Lists and work most points off diligently - but as the list is often very long I seldom reach those points that are "merely amusing". Like drawing, reading that profound article in the Sunday paper - pleasant things which I call "Outings for the Soul" which often have to wait a long time because there are those more important adult things like ironing.   :-)

So it was crystal clear that I needed that diary to put down - for every day - which morsels of fun would nourish my soul: a beautiful picture in a gallery, the glittering water of the Spree in front of the colossal Bode-Museum or a little French tartlet with glistening red strawberries.

Well, Leela laughed (the concept of Leela I will explain another time).
Because when I came back to Berlin and started to fill - with my beautiful pen that you see in the header of my blog - and in lilac ink - all those ravishing little things I wanted to do next week -

                                                        Corona struck the whole world.

                                                    Agendas closed. Nothing. Nada.

Well, I am exaggerating, but that what writers do - of course now I had lots of time to draw, (but strangely no time to read that serious article, how come?    :-)  so: I do not complain.
I picked up other morsels to feed my soul - the flowers on my balcony, the birds that come to it to drink water, and so on.

                       But you might agree: I didn't need a polka-dot diary for that. 

World Wide Web

"You cannot read all day long" says this poster at our "Berliner Festspiele" house, near to my home - in normal times they do literary festivals, theater, comedies and so on.
Here they protest that politicians overlooked the importance of culture, because when Covid-19 was discussed other groups were more important, or louder.

I could not write (or read your articles) for quite a long time: I was - fit as a fiddle - in a sort of "double lockdown" - the first was the lot of everyone - the second a special present of Telecom - they should install a new internet connections ("Quite easy! Don't worry!") and then, when they had eagerly shut down my old net (which became unnervingly slow the last months, but worked...) found out that the new one didn't get electricity or whatsoever... and those days I did not find that funny...

But now it works again (knock on wood) - and I am VERY proud about my surprising technical faculties: I had to connect 3 computers myself, two were easy - but the third: my oh my - but I found a solution when the called computer assistant had given up. Yep!

So: in contact with the World Wide Web again.
And happy.

Cinemas in Berlin in time of Corona

That's how our Cinema Paris greets us these days:

"WE SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN!" says the red line.

And: "STAY HEALTHY!" the blue.

The Cinema Paris at the Ku'damm is one of the lovely old-fashioned cinemas.
Berlin has 97 cinemas - with 288 film-saloons, and  50.959 seats (in 2017).
What will happen in the future? Will they have to reduce their seats to place people in a distance of at least 1,5 meter?
When will they be allowed to open again?
And how many of the cinemas will survive?
I wish so much to see film-titles in red and blue again!

Happy Easter!

photo: Britta 

                         

In this very strange year I suddenly thought of a line in a poem by Karl von Gerok (I believe that nowadays 1 of 500 Germans might (!) know who he was) - a minor poet of church songs, he lived from 1815 - 1890.
But these lines are beautiful:

" a new hope - 

the earth still becomes green; 

this March too brings songs of larks; 

this May too brings roses again, 

this year too lets joys bloom."

Well, well, well, you might mumble with toast in your mouth and the bitter taste of (orange) marmelade on your tongue, which you wash down with a strong black tea, "well, well, well - I just read that there are not so many larks left nowadays - and yes: roses come, but I saw the first ones blossom now, mid of April, not in May - so: I do not feel good looking at Mother Nature..." 

That, my dear blog-companion, might be one of the lessons we have to learn in these StrangeTimes: 

to care for nature too, because if She gets Corona-sick - then it will be much more awful then now. 

But - you know that I'm an optimist : the lines of Karl von Gerok still ring true. Sometimes, as with easter-eggs, you have to search a while to find them (the joys and the eggs). But they are there. 

A new hope - so: Enjoy Easter, and believe that even this year lets joys blossom!  

             

                                     Have a nice Easter - and make the best of it! 

Im neuen Jahr ein neues Hoffen,
die Erde wird noch immer grün;
auch dieser März bringt Lerchenlieder,
auch dieser Mai bringt Rosen wieder,
auch dieses Jahr läßt Freuden blühn.

Karl von Gerok

(1815 - 1890), deutscher evangelischer Theologe und Kirchenliederdichter

The Importance of Being Earnest

photo Britta

I have to confess that I am at a loss:
in these times of Impending Death, I sometimes feel that it might be inappropriate to write about something so frilly as sweet peas.
Same with irony, same with making you laugh about something (I see a lot these days that makes me laugh - but then I think: What if one of you just was hit by fate??)

I am not heartless, but laughing about minor misfortunes makes it easier to cope with stress.
Horace Walpole, 4th Earl of Orford coined this famous phrase:

"The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel" 

which he wrote to Anne, Countess of Ossory in 1776 (quoting himself, he had written it before to Sir Horace Mann, but I do not want to bore you: "I have often said, and oftener think, that this world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those who feel - a solution why Democritus laughed and Heraclitus wept.")

I am somewhere in-between: I laugh a lot (you know me), but of course I weep too, and feel sorry for all those who caught the disease or who are concerned about their beloved ones (as I am too).

But then I think: life was always dangerous.
Life was always something we cannot control (though we sometimes think or wish so).
Mankind was always surprisingly good and surprisingly bad - or downright stupid (studying literature gives you a good insight...).

Maybe I live a "small life" - but it is my life - probably the only one I'll ever have. So I will write about what I see - and sometimes that are sweat peas, even in time of Impending Death.
Some times we see ID more clearly, sometimes we are drunk with the intoxicating scent of sweet peas and don't.
And thus I spare you the story of the Zen monk and the strawberry (though I think it is a wonderful, wonderful story - and if three comments beg me to tell: I might. Tell you...).

I wish you all good health, my friends!

Sweet Peas

Last night, when I lay on my fresh pillow case, I thought: "What is that - it smells so lovely!" 

And then I remembered: three weeks ago my friend Ann had sent me the soap "Sweet Peas" - so moral boosting  in these hard times to get a little surprise, thank you!  

I always put soap before use into my linen cupboard, between sheets or pillowcases. 

Wow! 

I am in love with sweet peas from my earliest youth: my grandmother always had them in her garden - simple ones in white, pink, violets and blue -- and they smelt unforgettable. 

When I see a bouquet on the market with huge, fanciful blossoms, I am utterly disappointed when they have no scent. (Reminds me of plastic surgery..) 

On my garden blog I told that I once met a man whose name was given to a sweat pea. 

That was when Anne and I were in England together: as young students we had promised to each other a garden tour when we were 50 - and then we laughed like mad - even the idea: 50!! 

But then there we were: on an unforgettable "Bed and Breakfast for Garden Lovers" trip that we had planned on our own . First we stayed a few days with Wendy who was a juror to private gardens and lived on a manor (yes: we stayed in a manor! Getting older does have some benefits, sometimes!). Well - and her husband owned a factory (?) in which seeds are produced - and among them was a bright red sweet pea - and that one bore his name! 

(Must look up the name...  Getting older does have some drawbacks, too...    :-) 

Anne Ridler: At Parting

 photo: Britta 

Now we must draw, as plants would,
On tubers stored in a better season,
Our honey and heaven;
Only our love can store such food.
Is this to make a god of absence?
A new-born monster to steal our sustenance? 

(from At Parting )

Thank you, Rosemary and your wonderful blog "Where Five Valleys Meet"! 

You quote a line from one of Anne Ridler's poems, so I asked you who the poet was - and thus found a treasure! Born in London 1912 Ridler worked as a journalist and then at Faber and Faber. She was encouraged by T.S.Eliot when he saw her poems. Very late in her life, in 1995, she released Collected Poems - and was made an OBE in June of 2001, just a few months before her death. 

(All these pearls of wisdom I found on "allpoetry.com", and this part of her poem too.)

And before you tell me: I know that tulips have bulbs, not tubers  :-)  

My dear bloggerfriends: We will not let a new-born monster , Co-vid 19, steal our sustenance! 

How to make yourself comfortable Staying at Home

"Keep calm - first a cup of tea!" is in Germany almost a synonym for British mentality  .
I am a worshipper of tea (if you put it mildly - I am addicted, you might say when you see me rushing into the kitchen first thing in the morning - not very zen-like    :-)

Now I am a bit worried about myself.

Under normal circumstances I use a stylish teapot (you see it at the back of the photo).
But suddenly I felt the urge to look for my cozy brown old teapot (and yes, Tom, I know how the English call it!).
So comforting! So soothing! So confidence-inspiring! 
(Could only be trumped by a tea urn)

So my dear blog-friends: Let's drink a cuppa together! 

And: Even black tea is healthy - so: stay healthy, please!

A Study in Pink

Here you see the result of my planning.
My sewing machine stands up very, very high on a sort of intermediate floor (they used that around 1900 as sleeping places for domestic servants - the rooms are very high and these floors are built into the second hall) so I thought it more possible that I break my leg while trying to fetch it than getting corona (I better knock on wood!)
So I sewed one with my needle - but then I went to my Russian tailoress. She opened the forbidden door in a secretive way - we had telephoned first - it much reminded me of tales my parents told about the black market. I gave her a moon-yellow blanket and ordered 14 masks - 7 for me, seven for someone else.
Next day I was in for a little surprise : look at the photo - that was her extra gift for me - I am so thankful - and isn't it cute?

PS: When I sent the photo via WhatsApp to a friend, she asked surprised: "What - you still make up your eyes - even if nobody else will see them?" 
As a woman who managed to paint her eyes even in the teeny-weeny bathroom of a narrowboat I answered: "But I am not a Nobody - I see it!"

Respiratory protection masks

September 1st, 1939. - Enquire of Robert whether he does not think that, in view of times in which we live, diary of daily events might be of ultimate historical value to posterity. He replies that It Depends.
Explain that I do not mean events of national importance, which may safely be left to the Press, but only chronicle of ordinary English citizen's reaction to war which now appears inevitable.
Robert's only reply - if reply it can be called - is to enquire whether I am really quite certain that Cook takes a medium size in gas-masks. Personally, he should have thought a large, if not out-size, was indicated. Am forced to realise that Cook's gas-mask is intrinsically of greater importance than problematical contribution to literature by myself, but am all the same slightly aggrieved. Better nature fortunately prevails, and I suggest that Cook had better be asked to clear up the point once and for all. (...)
She does come, and Robert selects frightful-looking appliances, each with a snout projecting below a little talc window, from pile which has stood in corner of the study some days.
Cook shows a slight inclination towards coyness when Robert adjusts one on her head with stout crosspiece, and replies from within, when questioned, that It'll do nicely, sir, thank you.
(Voice sounds very hollow and sepulchral).


This, dear blogger friends, is the beginning of E. M. Delafield's "The Diarty of a Provincial Lady".
Part Four: The Provincial Lady in Wartime. I love all four books immensely, have read them oh so often - and still have to laugh.

I could now begin to rant about the slight contradiction that our government says that they "have everything under control" and the fact that from January till now they are not able to provide a little piece of paper with two elastic bands at the side - not even for people who risk their lives in hospitals - the admirable nurses and doctors.
But I am my father's child: he survived 24 days in a lifeboat on the sea - without nourishment and water only from the nightly sky.
Thus I think for myself - and I act (as good as I can) : you might guess what the photo above shows.

I wish all of you: Stay healthy, take care!
Britta XXX