Paris - In a Limited Edition!

Dear You, 

maybe I told you - and maybe not, because I am a cautious woman - that in a time not that far away I will go to Paris.
So I was very happy to find in a Berlin drugstore a "Limited Edition" of -

LAVATORY PAPER! 

Extra dedicated to PARIS! 

Oh là là! 

But was my utterance correct? Am I prepared? 

In genuine concern the loo paper roll asks me, again and again:"Parlez-vous Francais?"  

"Mais oui, mon chéri; bien sur, mon chéri; come tu veux, mon chéri!" 
This last sample of my perfect French is a quote of my friend Christine, who told me of a Lady - I anonymise the nationality intentiously, but it starts with an "R" - who desperately wanted to marry a rich Frenchman.
And she found one.
And the three sentences above are all she ever utters - and, SISTERS: there are quite a lot of men - and not only in France -  (dear male readers excepted, of course)-  who agree instantly that this is all French or whatsoever you need to know!

Hello, It's Me... (Britta, not Adele)

Dear You,

what you see above is - in my eyes - a little wonder.
This geranium - which a professional would call pelargonium, I know that, but using the "common word" is my way of trying to convince you that I really try to give up being perfect :-)  - well, this little "twig" of the geranium on my balcony broke off when I decided to give it more space, meaning: I took the plant out of its little pot and into a window box.
More earth to spread its little roots, more space to unfold its little leaves, more freedom.
In Germany we have a saying: "Where wood is chopped, splinters must fall"
So here I had that "splinter" with two little tight white buds in my hand.
And thought: "We'll see". (As you all know I am quite good in finding meaning and detecting symbols everywhere).
And put it into the turquoise-blue bird bath.
And then it happened - and, oh yes, in my eyes it took quite a long time, felt like two years - but suddenly it opened its little petals, unrolled them, seemed to say: "Well, circumstances are not as I  expected them to be - but hark! (I love to strew in a hark in my blog from time to time!) - they are not bad. So: I decide to flower in my circumstances as they are now." 
(At this moment I might have lost The Last Reader, hearing him mumble: What is that woman talking about?) 
Well, here I sit, "in the world of the ten-thousand things", and adjust to the truism that "life is not all neat and tidy".
I have thought very hard about my blogs - about the way I will write them. For me it is easy to talk about the newest exhibition in the marvelous Barberini Museum in Potsdam, but that is not enough for me. Yet also I do not want to write my Dear Diary into the air (or Cloud, or whatsoever, Howling at the Moon, just to sprinkle in a touch of modernity by a new pop-song) - no, I want a mixture of all Dear Life that surrounds me, filling me up to the brim sometimes, and show you what everyone sees, but filtered through my eyes.

Today promises to become the second really summerly day in Berlin - we had 27 degree yesterday, in May!
And yesterday evening I was sitting on my balcony, had lit a pale blue candle, a tiny glass of red wine in my hand, looking into the sky which was just preparing for the night: still pale blue at the horizon, and darker above - when a voice came from the flat above me: "Britta?"
As I am a very, very northern girl, coming from Bremen, I love my privacy - meaning: for me the balcony, which has a roof (!), is like a chamber to me - absolutely private.
And you could only see a hand of mine, from above, not more.
So I stayed silent.
"Britta? Are you alright?" 
No way to hide. Yes, my dear neighbour, I appreciate that you are caring - I really do, and thank you for that! - I can assure you - and  everyone:

"Yes - I am alright."  

Toodle pip! 

Just Jump!

I always liked the motto of Mr. Disraeli: "Never complain, never explain" -
I will take the secod half of it (never was a complainer).
So: think of Agatha Christie's disappearance for a few days (and honestly: what is a month? These days it flashes past like a few days...)

I found a wonderful little sketch in the great book
           "Drawing for the Artistically Undiscovered"
by (beloved) Quentin Blake and John Cassidy (Klutz.com)

It is so useful - not only for drawing,
no: for our whole life!

You are allowed to fill this space (and the page this drawing is printed on is four times larger!) with comments on my absence.
I will read them diligently. (Though I cannot decipher them :-)

And then Í will start to write another post. As if nothing has happened. (Though it has. All is well).

Yes, I decided to jump right in. (Otherwise I might never start again).

Last Confetti from Venice

Here - to end my report on Venice - a few confetti-like impressions which I especially remember.
(Honestly: you don't really want to see my 720 photos and listen to the description of every church or painting or Guggenheim we visited - at least 13 km walk every day, not included the vaporettos - even after three pictures of the wonderful marble floors that were everywhere you would politely yawn and remember your appointment at eleven, Pooh-bear-way).

because, somehow, they might look all the same to you_ 

I will remember:

- the smell --- water against old buildings, a musky mouldering smell - smell activates the memory of the very first time as a child in Venice
- the glitter on the often surprisingly bright turquoise water, and the very blue sky

- tons and tons of gold - on stucco, on buildings, on paintings
- the beautiful old ladies in their huge furs (it WAS cold), yet wearing thin silk stockings. Venice has a very vivid timeless elegance - both: the (often old) people and this old city do LIVE, thank you very much!

- the almost "fop" elegance of the men - beautiful patterned pencil-case thin cloaks they wore, utterly beautiful shoes (go in rags in Berlin and nobody will care - come as what the Berliner thinks of as "overdressed" - and they will stare).
- the long, long "Lido" where we took a very long walk in bright sunshine along the turquoise sea, crunching shells under our feet - I picking up shells -- just can't resist - which is for the grown-up persons accompaniyng me sometimes a bit trying... shall I keep the bizzare one, the interesting black one or - the pink one? And of course this child woman was utterly convinced to have found a rough piece of jade, which grown-up eyes tried to disenchant into "a piece of old glass formed by the sea" (let them talk... the lump of jade lies on my windowsill now, together with the - of course pink - shell...)
- the Venetian dialect: WONDERFUL! That is the Italian I had wanted to learn! (In Berlin I left after the second Italian course and after having visited Rome -- but now: two days ago I unpacked my Italian school books and will start again - uno, due tre!)
- My unability to laugh with all the other visitors in the Doge's Palace, when we were in the "interrogation" room.

The guide made a little joke, and I, being normally a person who laughs easily, looked at those awfully low cells, the walls breathing out suffering, and icy cold. I looked longingly through the window,

and silently congratulated my brother Casanova, who managed to escape. So close together: utterly horrible conditions - and golden splendour - and how easy it is to fall from the hight of luxurious abundance into this prisonal black, bleak despair.

- If I would live in Venice, I soon would have a problem: not much nature.Two parks, very few trees, a few seagulls. You can give me all the Tintorettos, and the gold, and the theatro Venice: after a few weeks I would heavily cry for a forest, or at least a garden.

- a surprise were the quite low prices in restaurants, and even more in those funny little cafés, were "the typical Italian" hastens in, grabs a tramezzino, washes it down with an espresso - and out he is again - quick, quick!
- And with this beautiful little "discolo" - wind-bag - for only 1 Euro - and so delicious! - I leave you, my Dear You - this should have been more than enough as an appetizer for Venice...

Yours Truly (a humble tourist among others)

You asked for it! (Venice again)

In a comment Rachel wrote: "I was thinking we would have to ask Inspector Brunetti to solve the mystery of the disappearing post for us."

You bet! Il commissario was joy-riding on the Canale Grande, and if you look closely you might detect that in January Venice does not sport so many tourists, and those who come are mostly from China and Japan and master the Art of Canouflage perfectly. . 

Yes: they totally merge in "the real stuff": 

Buy little factories in Italy to be able to use the label... Well - "home-made" seems to be  the new trend :-)  

I could show you now typical photos from typical Venice. In fact: I could use the photos my late fathers had taken when I was just a pre-school child - 

Not changed that much - though: a little colour added nowadays :-) 

No, I will serve you only some snippets from my impressions of Venice.  

First a question that really baffles me: how come, I ask you, that my female friends all rejoyce in visting cemeteries - and ask me to join them - ME, almost a thanatophobic? (I cross myself if I have to walk along a freshly dug empty grave - no, I'm not Catholic, but in this case I am not choosy and grab what might protect me :-) 

So: "Cimitero" it had to be, on my first day in Venice! (Came back hell-bent to "carpe diem" even more). 

Cling to dear life as good as I can - as these spartan and easy to keep Venetian balcony succulents.

Visited the church Madonna dell' Orto - which Jane Hattat (!) personally recommended to me.

So beautiful! Built in the XIVth century - with Tintorettos, (by father and son) and other famous painters. AND a heavily built white Madonna with child - in the 15th century they found her in a garden (= "Orto") near by and think her to own legendary healing powers (I, though I am very glad to say I'm healthy, thought; Assuming that it is right --- it will not hurt -- See: cemetry and cross above. At this point Elvis has left the building - better: my son would have left this post, because he absolutely hates superstition, while I ... well, well, well).
For you, My Dear Enlighted Reader: skip the madonna if you feel like that - but look at this marvelous church - not many of the lazy tourists find it, because it is up in the north, out of the conventional paths. (Though - that is what all tourists think - the oxymoon of secret insider tips...)
When you go there, you are also near to the Ghetto Novo (Sestiere Cannarigio)

which was founded in 1516 - (the time before the Jews got only a temporary resident permission). The word "Ghetto" comes from here, and they had to wear a yellow sign on their clothes when in Venice. Each night the gates of the Ghetto were locked and guarded - and the inhabitants of the Ghetto had to pay for this (sic). Though to be fair: that was a common practice at that time: the German merchants who lived at the Fondaco dei Tedeschi had to endure the same. 

I see: your eyes are shut, your face looks like a bored mask, only politeness keeps you smiling mysteriously. So I'll shut my mouth (for today, that is). 

 

You Might Have Noticed...

... Dear You,

that I have turned my yesterday's post about Venice back to draft-modus.
I just didn't like it - had that nagging feeling when I went to bed that there was just too much "room for a pony", if you know what I mean - Hyacinth Bucket for sure would have been baffled by those morbid feelings.
I mean: the hotel was wonderful - but then: who cares? (Beside me, when I want to sleep there).
I always have the difficulty after a journey that I do not want to write the 3.000.567th travel-guide about Venice (though my 720 photos would come in handy for that).
So many people have been there, at all times.
Only a few years ago, I have been there. In the foreground my little sister, 3 years younger than I:

If you own a magnifying glass, you might even detect me - as always modest in the background (haha), and as always in action. You see an arm, and you see my mother trying to protect me with her bare hands against all the Paparazzi... 

And that is all I can give you tonight - I am tired and will go to sleep soon -- soon more from the Venice I saw again. 

I'm Back from Venice!

Hi . I'm back! Tomorrow more about a marvelous stay in Venice.

Nature's Solo

Dear You, 

this morning - it was still pitch-dark - I opened the door to my balcony - or so I THOUGHT - must have erred -- it was the door of my FRIDGE, wasn't it?
Cold - colder - coldest! WAHHH!
Shivering I did what I do every morning: took my mug with tea, entered the balcony-fridge, greeted Berlin (this time in a slightly hurried and muffled way) - and retreated instantly.
Recovered around noon, and went courageously into the Charlottenberger Schlosspark (only a few hardliners out there).
Free seats everywhere...

And from a very special balustrade ... 

... a very special ballet ... 

A Fresh Start in 2017

Dear You, 

I hope it's still time to send you my best wishes for

                                            A HAPPY NEW YEAR to you all! 

It was almost a déjà vu: me dashing to Bavaria into the lovely Allgäu again!
This time by train (which takes from Berlin, all included, about 8 hours) - but the telephone call from son&DiL came only a few days before New Year's Eve, and then the tickets for a flight were really expensive.
The call was a surprise: they had just decided to give a little party and asked if I would like to join them.
I did! (Thus fulfilling one of my New Year's resolutions: "If something interesting turns up - take it! Don't tell yourself you are too tired - just leave your comfort zone, keeping in mind that soon you will be able to rest for a very long time." Hahaha.
So: Yes, here I am, New Year! Full of energy! 
And thus I celebrated from the early evening and the first minutes of the newborne year and then till two o'clock in the morning among young people (they vigorously danced till 6 o'clock in the morning) -
wonderful! 

And when I went back, I could enjoy something that one cannot see from an aeroplane: having draped myself on the comfortable seat in the train I watched full of admiration and gratefulness the beautiful landscape of Bavaria, covered in hoarfrost. The Great Painter had been very diligent and meticulous: every pine needle and every humble little blade of grass was covered in white. Noone left out, noone overlooked.
As it should be, and as we all wish for.

Merry Christmas!

I WISH YOU ALL A MERRY CHRISTMAS, 

DEAR BLOGGER-FRIENDS!  

(Soon I will write more...) 

BRITTA 

Terror at our Doorstep

You will have heard the news.
Terror, horror, complete bewilderment, compassion, grief.
The city is very silent this early morning.
I live seven minutes away from the Berliner Gedächtniskirche and the Breitscheidplatz, where the attack happened. Yesterday evening walking the nearby Fasanenstraße, I wondered why so much police was around.
I woke up at night - still not knowing what had happened - when the SMS and WhatsApp and Email questions started to drop in, asking if I was safe.

I am - but I am deeply, deeply grieving for all those who have lost their life or their health, and those who have lost their loved ones.

Thank you, Geo. and Tom!

All of a sudden my blogs are there again - I don't know what happened - those quaint signs from Google were not helpful at all - and to think of the time and energy we put into it... good grief...
"With a little help from my friends" - "We can work it out!"
Thank you so much!
(And my old translation was better than the one I started desperately this morning - that will teach me to make copies...)

HELP - My Poem-Blog Vanished!

I'm a bit in a state (to be honest: I'm a nervous wreck -- I have made no copies...): I cannot open my blog "Happiness of the Day" - and I need to!
I remember that other bloggers (Tom, Geo.) had that problem too, and it was only temporary - what did you do to get your other blogs back??
I really, really hope you can give me a clue!
Thanks,
Britta

A Stitch in Time...

At the moment I (re)read a book on the Swedish artist Carl Larsson, who lived with his wife Karin and their six children in Sundborn. The title of the book by Lena Rydin is difficult to translate -  "The Lust for Everyday Life" might do.
The couple created their home, garden, clothes - everything - in a very harmonius, simple yet elaborate way.  It makes you dream:

Well, and as often when I read something about interior design, I start changing my surroundings. Looked into a cupboard and took out an old tablecloth from my grandmother Elise von Kroge - hand-decorated by her in cross-stitch.
"Well - what a huge effort for decoration", I thought. "They must have had a lot of time on their hands."
And then, while rummaging with those patronising thoughts through that armoir, I found an Advent calendar - cross-stitched by ---  me!

I did it when our son was about one year old - I had to count every stitch, because it was empty embroidery canvas without any print! Embroidering was something that allowed me to talk to him while doing something else - I can reassure you that after an embroidery period of half a year I never touched that stuff again (though I was very, very productive in that short time).
Then I looked at the table, decorated with that table cloth, and at my calendar, and I thought:
"Well, I'm not living in Sweden, and my name is not Larsson!"

And put both back into the cupboard.

Beautiful AND Useful

I thought about Cro's post 'using the valuable antique breadknife". I use a few things which haughtily believe that they should be standing cherished in a vitrine :-)
Here is my lovely Sheffield Grapefruit-cutter-set:

The case is made of brown reptile-skin (maybe not allowed to be sold today) - inside beautiful off-white silk and a funny little device in dark-blue velvet to keep the knife in place. The knife has a Faux Bone handle, the slim spoons are Silver Sheffield and of excellent use even if you don't cut the grapefruit before, because they have little 'teeth' on one side.
But I do cut the fruit - always.
I, then being very young, was so impressed when at breakfast they served us the cut grapefruit in Gosford Hall Inn - a beautiful listed hotel in Cumbria (now 350 years old), - we were there in 1976 - coming back from Scotland in our old blue Merc (1969 with tail fin). Coming home (to Mainz then), I cut a grapefruit every day myself.
I don't know when the grapefruit-cutter was made - maybe around 1940 or the beginning fifties?
Anyway: they are beautiful AND useful - thus I use them.
Every morning.

In Olden Times, When Wishing Still Helped...

This morning I woke up (early as usual) and thought about fairy tales.

- Those I liked - the funny ones as "The Town Musicians of Bremen" (and that not only because I come from Bremen - no, even as I child I thought that their motto "You can always find something better than death!" might come useful some day :-)
- Those I disliked - the sad ones as "Little Brother and Little Sister" (even the beginning is heartbreaking!)
- those I had mixed feelings about - as "The Frog King, or Iron Heinrich" - I remember that I utterly detested that blackmailing frog ("..but if you will love me and accept me as a companion and playmate, and let me ... sleep in your bed" - hahaha), but was very much impressed by the fidelity of the Iron Heinrich ("Heinerich, the carriage is breaking apart!" "No, my Lord, the carriage it's not/ But one of the bands surrounding my heart...") and that I thought it just, but very strict of the King to say "What you have promised, you must keep".
I internalised that, (if necessary I forgo of my golden ball, if the price is a disgusting frog in my bed - till today I am unwilling to listen to their croaking that they are beautiful Princes under a spell) - and do only promise what I can keep.
And expect others to do the same.
Which shows that I am still very naively believing in fairy-tales :-) - but, on the other hand, have a streak of pragmatic realism too.

What really interests me: which were your favourite (or disliked) fairy tales? 


If you want to read them again:
- "The Town Musicians of Bremen" http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm027.html (great for old age optimism - after a little shock in the beginning)
- "Little Brother and Little Sister" http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm011.html
- The Frog King, or the Iron Heinrich" http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm001.html

Thank You All, My Blogger-Mates!

I know that this year I was a bit unproductive in the blogger-world (I had a lot of other things on my plate, sorry).
But I want to thank you all for making my life richer: by reading your blogs, smile, getting ideas (thank you Elaine for the tip about the Christmas book - you see: I've got it!), lending an ear.
I hope that at least December will see more input of mine here.

The Agony of Choice, Mr. Karl Lagerfeld

Yesterday I saw this "KARLBOX" presented in the KaDeWe in Berlin. Hundreds of beautiful colour pencils, crayons and pencils. For the astronomically modest price of 2.500 Euro. 
Ridiculous. 
Every real artist - Rachel, Tom and Cro know that of course - needs good 'tools', and they have their price, but even a layman as I know that you mix most of your colour hues yourself - with a lot less pencils than those 72 in my Faber Castell Artists' Watercolour Pencils box. 

When I stand in a drugstore in front of a shelf of 100 cream jars all promising everything under the sun - and we all know that in the end it all comes down to oil & water! - it happens that I walk out of the drugstore without buying anything. 

An overload of choice, scientists found out, stands in no correlation to happiness - it produces - and do I really need a scientist to tell me this? - STRESS. 

So: it is nice to have choice. But not too much. 

Because the most important 'things' you can't buy anyway: creativity and discipline and talent and inclination to work really hard for success. (And a little pinch of luck). 

The funniest thing, Mr. Lagerfeld, is, that YOU prefer BLACK. 

Which reminds me of a passage in a German children's book, König Mauzenberger: eagerly the King (Cat) mixed all the beautiful colours he had in his new paintbox. The result: 

Karl's Black. Single-coloured, monochrome, plaincoloured BROWN. 

Highway to Hell - Bavarian Style

Dear You, 
it's Monday - and Halloween - so here's a little uplift -from Bavaria :-)