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! 

(They say it's my) Birthday

(Oops! - this pictures was taken five years ago -- and Oops!:  it is the Birthday table of our Son :-) 

Dear You,
thank you for your sweet card! Yes, today, 29th of December, is my Birthday, and I'm happy: I enjoy getting older, though the Jugendwahn/youthmania doesn't make it easy to say "Thank you, but I'm fine" to all these absurd offers from people that have sworn the Hippocratic oath(!) - how much Botox you must have in your brain to believe that this poison will just stay there in the little wrinkle it was injected to and not creep into other parts of your body? The Hiyppocraites shun the correct label botulinum toxin - one of the most dangerous bioweapons, and in Germany under the War Weapon's Control Act; no joke. 
I am glad to be able to say: 
I am happy to be as I am, and I am looking forward to grow (though not around my hips :-). 
I am ready - and willing - for whatever life throws up in the grand mystery, the great adventure of my ongoing life. 
To my 'Facebook friends' who are always asking for my date of birth I quote dear Oscar W.:
 "One should never trust a woman who tells her real age. A woman who would tell one that, would tell you anything." 
So I keep my mouth shut (without an artificial pout), smile, do my sit ups, am happy and grateful and swear to the most convincing formula for staying young: besides caring for oneself as good as possible the best is being really interested in something outside of ones Own Little Self. 
And enjoy life: YES - we're going to a party, party!!! 

Britta 

Christmas Day

Dear You, 
it's really lovely in Berlin at the moment: the streets are empty and still (the weather turned from -6°C + snow en masse two days before to mild 8°C -  - so everybody is a bit languid). 
Christmas Eve is over - presents are unpacked, joy (and astonishment, sometimes) hold on, and on Christmas Day only the Hausfrau bustles around (now: take that with a grain of salt - quite a few men lend a helping hand  in the kitchen nowadays, though  not all of them as Naked Chefs. But my neighbour on the second floor, the artist, is: I cannot ignore him - and why should I, he looks gorgeous - doing a Jamie Oliver. All the year round. Despises curtains and dressing gowns). 
Ah - by the way: did I mention that finally I got those roller-blinds? And high time it was, with all those light shows in the windows over the street - funny to look at for five minutes, unnerving after an hour of 'blink!!!blink!!! flash!!!twinkle!!!' (At this time I always read Charlotte McLeod's "Rest You Merry" again,  with Professor Shandy pressed to decorate his house - and then he showers it with plastic reindeers, flashing lights and an amplifier blaring "All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth" - and then escapes to sea...)
A week ago a craftsman had been here, to measure the very high windows, and when I asked him if he favoured a cup of coffee, he said: "Don't think me impolite - but: what sort of coffee?" "Nespresso". "Well - then I'm glad to accept." We sat on the sofa, and he gave me a lot of tips for the best doner kebab in Berlin - and the second best, quite near, when the row for the first would be too long - and named a very good Thai restaurant (imagine: just one street further afar! And so on). After a week came another craftsman with the roller-blinds and fixed them. When we sat with a cup of coffee on the sofa, he asked apologetically: "How long have you been waiting for the date to fix them?" "Well, I ordered them last week." "WHAT??? Other people wait six weeks, minimum." So I was - very - lucky :-) 
Now: the shops are closed, people are sated, the weather is bleak. 
If I wouldn't know what to do, I could just sit down and study how to use and prepare my new Kindle. 
But we have such a lot to do... for example: just look at the Christmas tree - the Kcandles - and enjoy it. 
Hope you had a beautiful Christmas too! 
Britta 

Dreams

Dear You,

TOO LONG!, you complained. Yes, I'm sorry: the last letter was TOO LONG... Mea culpa. 
And I cannot blame Facebook or Twitter or whatsoever that it reduced the human attention span (TOO quick you get TOO many of Tweets and posts and whatsoever). Imagine your name were Elizabeth von Arnim and you sat somewhere far away in a bare German landscape - you would have jubilated to get a long letter from me, but here? In Blogland? Thank you, but thank you very much. 
Yes: I changed my blog title again - I just wasn't happy with "Britta's Letters from Berlin". Looked for a better one. 
And remembered Son's question when I thought about buying a new car, (my - realistic - dream car is a newer Jag, the car above would demand too much to give up for it). He asked: "If not now, then when?"
To be honest, I was slightly offended at first. But he is absolutely right!
If I have a dream, or you have a dream (as I hope you have!) we should not wait a few decades until we try to fulfill it. They might take away our driver's license then :-)  So: the Jaguar will be bought in spring (though it will not be Morse's MK II, sorry). 
Ah: and I took my Greta Garbo-glasses off again (though I had a very good reason - on Facebook - to put them on, figuratively)  - and returned to use a photo of me, and my real name (though 'Hill' is the utterly correct translation). 
So - that's it (in a nutshell - more walnut than hazelnut, but it takes time to reform). 
Bear with me! 
Yours (snowbound)     Britta 

Lagerfeld's Photo Exhibition 'The Little Black Jacket'

Dear You! 
The Little Black Dress, they say, fits in everywhere (until one summer day in East End you feel slightly overdressed); accentuates the personality of the woman and not of the dress (until someone says: "Oh, you have been there too?"); Black is so practical (until you pick the blonde hairs from it); Black becomes everybody (until someone says: "You look so pale today"). 
Black is beautiful. 
And now we have an exhibition in Berlin, 'The Little Black Jacket', an homage of Karl Lagerfeld to Coco Chanel, who in 1954 also invented the famous black Tweed-jacket. 
It shows brilliantly what fashion is about: while today the Jacket seems almost staid, back then it was daring: cut straight, without collar, rep on tweed - that was a breach of style (it was a time in which fashion rules were still strict and complicated - "no really elegant woman wears an alligator handbag after 5 p.m.", wrote Mme Dariaux even in 1964). 
Almost staidly - except one does something with it. And that works - it is proved by the 113 actors and models who Lagerfeld photographed in this jacket. You can wear it quite virtuously: 

  
but you can also boldly change it with a pair of scissors: 

What does Husband (an expert on exhibitions) say to the formal presentation? 

  
"Sorry - the hanging is unimaginative. It is more a display (as in shop windows) than an exhibition: by stringing together the exhibits these are not related. Exhibits which are put into the room and not only 'along a wall' create corporeity and thus press the spectator to search his own way and so make his own discoveries, instead of - as here - only pace off the given front." (Hans-Otto  Huegel) 
               Looking at the photos one notices that the gaze of the models, though often directed at the spectator, goes through him - it is a 'posing', the model very seldom makes contact with the spectator. (Here I remember a quote of Lagerfeld: "The girl is not selling her private life, but her image.") Most consequently we see this on the photo of Anna Wintour:

(Funny: three students at my side were discussing that a) they immediately had recognized who was in that photo, and b) regardless of how big a crowd there would be, they would be able to recognize - from behind! - the great Anna Wintour everywhere. You bet!) 
Anyhow: ordinary mortals have to bent down deeply if they want to decipher name and profession under the photos. 
Nothing more is given - you might see it as a flaw of the exhibition, but I think I can detect Karl's mocking smile about the 'avarage spectator' in it: as in luxury labels it stresses very subtly that 'one keeps to oneselves' - the connaisseur knows anyhow...  
And: "Package is everything". Choose the deepest subway-tunnel (as they did) - clad it in black, with a few very elegantly dressed body guards at the entrance (why? there hung only prints, not even real photographs) and with a few beautiful lights the 'rather dark' becomes instantly much more distinguished. 

  
Though Mme Dariaux wrote a word of warning in her charming book 'A Guide to Elegance': "A really elegant woman never wears black in the morning." 
Maybe that's why the exhibitions opens at 11 a.m. 

(until 14 December in Berlin, Eventlocation U3 Bahnhof&Tunnel, Potsdamer Platz 1)

Return of the Drama Queen

Dear You, 
Honestly, I had thought that she had disappeared some time ago - of course with a bang, not with a whimper. Oh no: no early retirement for my Drama Queen.
Yes, I'm speaking of my Alter Ego. (You might blot out 'alter').
Like all those old rockbands she gives a revival tour, promising it will be her last (you bet!).
I shall get wary when words rise in my mind like: "Awful! Catastrophe! Core melt accident!"
I heard them, last week, when I discovered that Google on Blogspot (which is the same) flatly refused to print even one more photo of mine. First I thought it only concerned "Britta's Happiness of the Day."
"Awful!", I thought, but then, being of a Pollyanna-nature, I tried to see the hand of the Tao in it (no later than that I should have become Very Wary). "You were thinking about giving it up already", I told myself with what sounded like my grown-up voice. "So what?"
Then I tried to load up a photo on Britta's Letters from Berlin: Red Card. Finish. ("It is so UNFAIR!", howled my Drama Queen, "they didn't even warn you!")
I sat down and wrote a post - here - and DQ dictated the title: "I NEED YOUR HELP!" (she seldom uses other than capital letters). An hour after posting it I had cooled down. I remembered that I am no longer 17. I thought of a quote from adorable Sophia Loren: "For me - and I think for many other women too - the 30th birthday was the most problematic. At this age Youth lies definitely behind you. You can do the most wonderful things, but never again somebody will say about you: "Yes, and yet she is still so young!" 
Oops! So I rushed to my computer and deleted my dramatic message. I told me with a stern parental voice that I can google on my own - and look up myself how to enter Picasa.
And I found two things I had completely overlooked in my dramatic haze:
1. no need to get excited about Google breaking my data protection. Or better: too late - from the moment I used blogger I had given my consent that they might surf through my hardware disk (HOWL!) and - though I still own the copyright - they might give my pictures to others, advertisement and so on.(Only FBI does need a search warrant - Google doesn't. And that is in their terms "irrevocable".).
2. and I had seen everything blurred: when I read that after using up your free 1GB, you have to buy the next 25 GB, I 'saw' that it will cost me about 25 Dollars a month ("Never - I already pay for my website!") - but looking closely there stood: it will cost a little bit over 2 Dollars per month - I think I can manage that :-)
       Drama Queen doesn't give up easily: "Think of the SCANDAL with the shop window mannequins!" (the newspaper wrote that they have now cameras inside to watch the customers). I thought about it - hope I look my best in their pics and wonder into which age-group they will assort me :-)
So DQ left, sulking. Not without giving me a beautiful poetic image (see: Drama Queen is very imaginative, full of ideas, a master of putting things into the spotlight, and of the art of timing - we had the last Sunday before Advent commemorating the dead). So she said:
"Might be a good metaphor for your death."
"WHAT?"
"Well: think of your life as a photo-blog like Happiness. Beautiful. And then, without a forewarning, God says: "You have used up your 1 Gigabyte." And you might howl as you like: Life is over."
She lowered her voice and whispered in the raunchy voice of Mae West:
"Hope you had a lot of  fun before!"

"Dreams in a Bottle"

Dear You,
when I went these days through the KaDeWe (our parallel world to Harrods - and much too near to our flat), I discovered at the beautiful counter of Shiseido an old acquaintance in a new outfit: they put the Shiseido icon "Eudermine" into a 'traditional' dress. "First launched in 1897" - though they changed the formula a bit over the years. 
Apart from Eudermine I still long for the then (! around 1980)  version of the perfume "Zen", in a  milky-black bottle of obscured glass. It disappeared from the European market, and I was deeply disappointed when they throw the new 'Zen' at the market here - not the real thing, a thousand miles away from the original. I love a few of Shiseido's products - but think their massage techniques much more important - I followed them always religiously with good results. 
But though I bought their Vintage Limited Edition of Eudermin -  for me is the other version of the flacon lovelier: clear, elegant and slim.  

A propos perfume: how do you keep it: do you tell others which brand you use? (I had a friend who kept it as an absolute secret). Do you use the same perfume for years, or do you change it? 
How do you find the one perfume you are happy with? Do you still remember your first perfume? 
I send you some lovely-scented greetings (well - ther WAS a time when I did just that -- a few drops on the stationery - heaven...) 

Britta 

Safe in Safes

Dear You, 
of course you were right in your last letter to hint that all these Chinese Teahouse columns and statues are gilded, and not pure gold. If they were, they wouldn't stand there for long - we have a big problem these months with thieves that come and brazenly steal copper wires or tracks of the S-Bahn - and then people stand at the underground station and freeze, waiting for the trains that will not come... 
I grinned at your remark about the political farce concerning the vast amounts of German gold that are stored in foreign countries: at least the Americans allowed the members of the German parliament to enter the vaults of the bank, but denied them their wish to look at it - and the Banque-de-France downright denied even the first step. 
Why is the Christian Democratic Union so distrustful? 109 million ounces of German gold, we are assured, lie safely, I repeat: safely! in the safes (sic) of America and France and Great Britain. Does it matter that the politicians are not allowed to see it? 
Hony soit qui mal y pense - and if you do, my dear, you may join the new public campain "Bring our gold back home!"
Come to think of it: maybe they already have. 
And put it secretly into a very safe place. :-) 

'Earl Grey with a Mandarin'

Dear YOU, 
yes, admittedly: they were a bit over the top with their crush on chinoiserie, Frederick the Great and his court. But you can't deny there is a big element of surprise when you walk through the wonderful parks of Sanssoucis in Potsdam and suddenly you stand in front of the Chinese Teahouse: 

On the roof sits a big Chinese Mandarin with a parasol - both in pure gold! The golden figures of musicians and tea-drinkers in Chinese costumes are as the 18-century artists THOUGHT they might have looked (I was to polite to take pictures of the vast crowd of foreign guests from Asia, who took photos bowing often, I suspect to hide their supressed bouts of laughter...)
Inside you find a beautiful hall with little niches for a cozy tete à tete - or look at the artfully painted walls and ceilings:

And when you come home after a long hearty stroll through the vast old English park, with abundent red and gold colours of its own, and the crispness of the air has tired you out, and you climb into your bed and close your eyes, then, suddenly, you realize the genius of the architects: behind your closed lids you see the uplifting sparkle, the unearthly glitter and shining of this poetical bulwark against grey-bare November-tristesse:

They captured summer - the colours of sunshine and light - something to dream of in chilly ice-cold winter's days...

Berlin's Festival of Light

Dear YOU,
you remember that, coming home from our holidays, I complained about the missing roller blinds in front of the window - and NO, they are still not there (we do have curtains, of course - I am not like the Dutch Puritans - even of today! - who believe that their life is so sinless that it should not be open to God alone but to everybody else marching along their (curtainless) windows, house-owners murmuring defiantly "I have nothing to hide."
I have - but that's what curtains are doing. And these days - to be precise: the last 12 nights - I had every reason to enjoy what I see in all its splendour: for this time Berlin has again its  Festival of Light. The blue rays I see every night from my balcony remind me of Metropolis. The Dome is covered with milles fleurs. A very coulourful Brandenburger Tor, and, and, and...
But do you know what I like most? The 'Eiermannsche Turm', beside the ruin of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche, that was destroyed in World War II , melted down by bombs to only 68m height instead of 113m. When the architect Egon Eiermann 1957 made a proposal for a new church - without the ruin! - Berlin's citizens protested vehemently - with good results: the ruin remained, and West of it Eiermann placed the octagonal church and Foyer, East the hexagonal belltower - both with the characteristic honeycomb facade with coloured glass bricks, each a unique specimen made in Chartres. They inaugurated the church on 17.12.1961 (4 month after the building of the Berlin Wall).
Ha, and a good housewife might shudder: this year they cleaned those beautiful windows for the very first time!!! It was worth it:

And, very special: you can see this 'Light Festival' every evening in the year.
We only have to cross a few streets!

With sparkling  regards
Yours                                  Britta

...a postcard or letter?...

Dear YOU,

thank you for this beautiful postcard!

I grinned when I read your text:

"Dear Britta, 
in the exhibition 'Man Ray, Lee Miller and the Surrealists" I discovered YOU on a photography by M. R. - as proof I send you this postcard with the warmest regards from very sunny California..." 

Oh I love getting "real" post! Of course I am happy that we can correspond via email. But there is a difference: sitting in the parlour, anticipating. The postman only comes once - in Berlin early about 9 o'clock in the morning. We hear a 'clonk!' when the letters (advertisement and bills, mostly) drop through the letter-slot in the door. Yes: we don't have letterboxes here, the poor chap has to run up even to the 5th floor and bring the letters per pedes. Why? Well - the owner of the house doesn't want to disturb the beauty of the marble entrance hall...
Ah: to feel the texture of the envelope! Crisp paper, heavy or not? The choice of a beautiful stamp. The handwriting. You see by the holes on the postcard above that I collect letters from my friends since school days - I have vast amounts by my friend Atie where the envelopes were all decorated with drawings or collages - once she glued the paperthin seeds of lunaria - annual "honesty" - around the sides of the envelope. And the postman was as glad as I when it arrived whole and complete.
In Hamburg a postman once rung my bell and came up, though there we had letterboxes at the groundfloor. He said: "I wanted to see the woman who gets such exciting cards!" (Did he read them? Was he acquainted with the Law of 'secrecy of the post' - and did he believe that it also includes postcards?! A young friend of mine had chosen his favorite cards with - very elaborate :-) - taste).
Yesterday in The Guardian a graphologist had to look at ten letters and guess who was the writer.  His guesses were astonishingly accurate. Title: "Beyoncé, Obama, Lady Gaga - what does their handwriting say about them?" - I loved especially his sentence
"It looks as if this person either hasn't been taught how to write, or has forgotten all about it – maybe someone under 30. " (It was a Royal person - "Someone who is conscious of the distance between them and the rest of the world? The gap between words is larger than usual, a graphologist would note.") 

See: that is the downside of e-mails: we cannot impress others by the gap between words that is larger than usual - though of course it is :-) 

With aloof noble greetings 
your friend                                 Britta