Fanfare! My new Website.

So it is ready: my new website! 

Have a look (yes, we managed to keep the same address as before): 

http://brigittahuegel.de 

But that is almost all we kept. 

Thank you so much, Michael Felix Kijac, for the lot of work and ideas you put into it. 

There is more content now, but it is easier to read: 

a short teaser, and then, if you want to know more, you can cklick and see (and if you wish: download) a detailed Pdf. 

And here comes my plea: 

a professional translator always translates only from the foreign language into his own. 

Here (as in my blogs) I translated from German into English - and am fully aware that you will find a lot of faults: grammar, vocabulary, idioms... 

I would be very, very pleased (yes, really!) when you give me a hint where I have gone wrong. When Michael returns from his journey to Belgrade he will fill in all your corrections. 

Of course I don't expect you to read all those long texts - but if by chance (chance? hahaha) you notice a big blunder, I will be very thankful for your advice. 

Thank you so much! 

Shturmovshchina

I hope that you have missed me a bit! 
The very useful word sturmovshchina I found in the hilarious book: "The Horologicon. A Day's Jaunt Through the Lost Words of the English Language" by Mark Forsyth. And it describes perfectly what I was doing - you just have to look at my last blog post...: 

"It is the practice of working frantically just before a deadline, having not done anything for the last month. (...) Shturmovshchina originated in the Soviet Union. Factories would be given targets and quotas and other such rot by the state, but they often weren't given any raw materials. So they would sit with their feet up and their tools down until the necessaries arrived, and it was only when the deadline was knocking at the door that they would panic, grab whatever was to hand, and do (...)" the job. 

Yes, suddenly I was very busy - translating texts for my new website - a lot of work which I could have started earlier... 
But it was worth it! 
In the photo above you see graphic designer Michael Felix Kijac - http://kolorit-design.de/ - who is my friend since almost seven years, from the time when Hans and I lived in Hamburg till now. Here we are standing in the Baroque garden of the Charlottenburger Schloss (in early spring) - enjoying ourselves as ever. 
(You can imagine how much I like him when you consider that I choose to publish this slightly unbecoming photo of me because he preferred it to the second one we took on that occasion. Well -  looks are not everything - hahaha). 

He is really brilliant, as you will see when - soon! soon! - my new website is ready. 
I think it looks terrific - can't wait to show it to you.  

Summertime

                          Sorry that you didn't hear anything from me - I was just --- bone-idle.
                   Sat on our balcony, drank Berliner Weiße, looking for shadow wherever I go.

                              Enjoying an aristocratic acrobatic show at the Wannsee

                                                  and a beautiful sunset.

                                                           Perfectly happy.

Moonstruck

At this time of the year my garden looks decidedly Wilhelmine.
It is the high evening primroses, Oenothera drummondi, that creates this romantic impression, and she greets me in abundance every morning with her huge, soft sulphur- yellow-coloured flowers. 
Some people amaze me: when I tell them about these mornings they say: “Well – Evening Primrose - is'nt that the weed which always grows on the embankments of the railway?” 
Yes, there they grow too, as lilac does, or the butterfly bush in England.
But weed??
I see only qualities: it is absolutely modest, not prone to pests, and produces seeds like mad. Every evening it gives you filmic live-shows in slow-motion, flowers eternally till deep into autumn, and can be extracted easily where it isn't wanted, because everyone can spot their beautiful leaf-rose, and get the root out with one tug. 
And: it is absolutely beautiful! 
Moonlight in my garden, and the living candles of the evening primrose flower softly in the night, shedding their own shimmering cool moonlight around them. 
At half past ten in the evening I sit on my bench and dream upon my garden. Two bats flutter through the air in strange mystifying circles, the world is quiet. The garden still glows in the light of the full moon, gleams with white lilies whose scent is even stronger as in daytime, and hundreds of tender yellow evening primrose flowers cast their spell on me. A Midsummer Dream. 
Another world.  

Summer!

I am almost well again, though still a bit unusually silent. And when I speak, my voice gives Zarah Leander. 
I love the heat wave we have at the moment - today Berlin simmers in 34°C, tomorrow they predict 38°C. I can enjoy it because I don't have to leave the house (though I do). 
I slept for almost two days in fever, and then had to rest a while in bed, and thus had lots of time to look at my long white curtains of white Swiss muslin swaying in the soft breeze; the vine on the balcony behind them printing hushed grey patterns onto them - beautiful! And while I looked long and dreamily I found out the secret of the long, long summers I spent as a child. 
It was the bulk of time we had - time in which we hadn't much to do. Not much distraction, not much choice, time was very uniform, and so it stretched. 
In the book "Endangered Pleasures" Barbara Holland starts her essay "Spending the Summer" with: 

'I am the resident curator in a small but eloquent museum of the way people used to spend the summer up until, to pick a rough date, 1981.' (...) 'Exhibits include parts of a croquet set, a first-edition Scrabble, the hook in the porch ceiling that used to hold a swing, half-a-dozen decks of cards and a sack of poker chips, three badminton rackets, (...), the complete work of Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, and Charles Schulz, (...) a tin box of dried-up watercolours (...) 
People, even friends and relations who once spent large chunks of their summer here, gaze around in awe. "We must have been bored to death, they say. "I can't believe we stayed here for weeks and weeks. I'd go crazy here in three days." 

Nowadays, Holland says, most people make weekend-trips, not long holidays. But: 

 "Weekending degrades the whole concept of summer. Weekends we can take in any season, summer needs time. (...)
Slow the pulse. Summer is cumulative and needs to pile up, attain a certain mass, at which point the days stop being days and melt together to become a place, a self-contained, motionless country wholly set apart from time and containing within its boundaries all summers past and future. "

She gives quite a few good reasons for the change - and I agree with her analysis that society demands that "now our small available free time should be spent in the most strenuous possible activity (...) We're not sloshing aimlessly around in the swimming pool just because it's cool and pleasant; we're swimming laps, counting as we turn."

I don't, these days. Don't watch TV, don't party, read a bit, take a nap, look at my veiled windows, listen to the birds, water my plants. 
Summer! 

Note to garden lovers:

Revised post: " At the Wayside" on www.gardeninginhighheels.blogspot.com

Feverish Swan Walk, SW 3

The last two days I slept and slept, due to my feverish swan-throat, and in my dreams I walked about the Albert Bridge a hundred times (now you know where I lost the 1000 grams of precious Me :-)
When you walk on after leaving the bridge you come to Swan Walk - and that gave me the idea to pin your attention to Sue's exquisite blog http://prufrocksdilemma.wordpress.com/2013/07/21/invective-against-swanns/ - you'll see (and hear) what I mean.
Though: 'Invective against swans' I am not:

and I would spread my wings to fly as quick as I can to this house, would they offer it to me...