Perfect Stairs

Yes - they do exist: perfect stairs! You can stride down in a majestic way - just in the middle of the red carpet, without having to look down anxiously or fumbling for the banister. You can hold your head up high and the imaginary train follows you lightly.
You find these stairs in Berlin's castles, or here in the photo in the Bode museum. Some are made from wood, some of marble
The steps are lower than in ordinary stairs - so the knees of old people would not ache, and the beautiful Ladies could make an exciting entrance.
I love to use them, very, very much - and I am angry with modern architects and builders: the knowledge how to do it is there - but greed and avarice hinders them to use such precious craftmanship.

Should I?

You should, articles in my free Facebook version of Psychology Today tell me, you should erase the word "should" from your mind - that would make life so much easier!

And this is the reason why I sit here in front of my computer (I should could do housekeeping instead, or finish my article on "Softly, Softly: Task Force Police" - but without the inner "should" I wouldn't. To me this "should" is at least as forceful as Mr. Barlow - not to speak of Chief Constable Arthur Cullen...) 

I was so happy that the BBC found - after many decades - quite a lot of the episodes and put them on DVD. I was a bit surprised when I saw it again - so very authoritarian, and the only female police constable so "fresh" and "girlish", that it made me wince. 

I was glad that PC Snow  (Terence Rigby) with his dog "Radar" was as gorgeous as I remembered him! 

Now I sit and think about Baden-Powell's quote of "Softly, softly, catchees monkey." 

Meaning: No flurry - it will work out with patience. 

Are they talking about good housekeeping? 

But for that I have to/ should/ must  will get up first! 

Say it with flowers (the Courtesan's Way)

As the weather is still cold and grey, my camellia sits on the balcony and sulks.
She wears cap and gloves, looks prim and tight lipped, and avoids eye-contact.
I say "Well, missus - than I will visit your sisters."
Meaning: I slip into the mollifying warmth of the conservatories of Berlin's Botanical Garden.

The tropical hothouses I shun: too damp and oppressive the heat there - no, I'm definitely not made for a tropic life, no Qui-hi! for me - but the camellias' hothouse is kept at a pleasant temperature.
Of course: Like master, like man (you can confidently use the female form here): my cammellia and I thrive on praise, so I will tell my homely friend neither of the tallness nor the sheer abundance of red, pink or white blossoms there - it might discourage us her.
Did you know that the great botanist Carl von Linné 1753 gave that plant its name after the Czech
Jesuit Georg Joseph Kamel (1661 - 1706)?

 

Camellias don't overpour you with scent - that's why Alexandre Dumas' "Lady of the Camellias" choose them (in real life she was Alphonsine Plessis) - and as most women she was multitasking: she wore a red camellia signaling her lovers: "Bad time - I'm menstruating" or white: "Hurray - the coast is clear!" 
Hope the weather permits my camellia to come out soon - being perfect the way we are, we walk on a confusing wild side.

Just a few glimpses at male fashion...

Dear You, 
At the moment I have a great young man, 23, at my breakfast table: after his BA-exams the brother of our lovely daughter-in-love does a paid internship for 3 months at a highly prestigious corporate consulting firm. I say "breakfast table", because that is (mainly) the time when I see him. His working hours make me shudder - he seldom returns home before two or three o'clock in the morning - from work!!! Sometimes, as a professional career adviser - I discuss with him a thing that's called "A Life". 
We have a lot of fun.
Yesterday I showed him the up-coming fashion (always important for a rapid rise!)
"How do you like this?", I asked.

He didn't.
I mused about male models - these days they are as annorexic as their female counterparts (when I worked as a model, we were very slim, too - but healthy. At least the students among us).
This young man - and I did not change the angle of photography - makes me a bit jittery:
I am sorry to say that I would change the side of the street if I met him at midnight in a not well-lit street of Berlin-Neukölln.

 But then : without any fashion he looks quite nice. Almost vulnarable.

So: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. As always.


PS: All photos are taken from the fashion-catalogue of the KaDeWe, Berlin

Would you eat banana peel?

I read today that nutritionists - at least some of them - recommend to eat the banana with the peel. They argue:
"(The skin) contains high amounts of vitamin B6 and B12, as well as magnesium and potassium. It also contains some fiber and protein," San Diego-based nutritionist Laura Flores told LiveScience. 
Uh-huh.
People in India eat them with peel. Or so the scientist says.
Aha.
I will not. I'll follow the monkeys, which do peel them. I mean: we live in the Chinese Year of The Monkey!
Instead I baked a delicious soufflé as side dish today:
"Cauliflower cheese with Lord Dalrymple's top" - no, not a Daisy Dalrymple mystery, but a real  Edwardian dish that I found in the highly recommendable "Sarah Raven's Garden Cookbook" (a tip from Sue, whom I became friend with at Crete).
Yes - I ate my greens - and who will be over-anxious about that teeny-weeny bit of butter, cream, eggs and cheddar?
As for using banana peel --- well, I might be tempted to follow another tip:
"Add a few sclices of banana peel to a bucket of water and let the mixture sit for a couple of days. Use this to water your plants."
I might - as soon as I've found out how much "a few slices of banana peel" are.

Count Your Blessings.

Dear You, 
Today I made the acquaintance of a very charming and witty Australian poet, just so, in the foyer of the Bode-Museum - we talked for more than an hour - it was so interesting that time flew by. (And as a surplus I learned to pronounce "Melbourne" the right way).
"Count your blessings", I thought (because the start of the day hadn't been that fine, with a bad letter I got) - "just open your eyes: good things and people are everywhere!"
Might even change my blog-title to "Count Your Blessings", I thought - but then, after some thinking and coming from a Holbein-exhibition, I told myself: "Don't!"
I didn't like the word "count" - after a while of counting I might become like The Merchant Georg Gisze, painted by Hans Holbein in 1532 - the merchant's portrait you see above as a big poster at the museum's side.
I will keep the title "Dear You!" - but IF I want to change anything, I might better choose this one:

 
                                                "Genius of Abundance" (by Edme Bouchardon (1698 - 1762).
(Though I'm pretty sure I won't).

Spring-Greed? Spring-Folly!

Almost two weeks ago I suddenly thought: enough nostalgia about how lovely the big river "Elbe"  in Hamburg was - and how I jogged there, and had to go 120 steps down to reach the bank (and up, to reach our flat) - and enough about "more nature in Hamburg".
You know me a bit by now: If I can't get one thing, I shrug and think: "Other mothers have beautiful sons, too" (you say: "There are plenty of fish in the sea") - err...no...I mean: I'll find an alternative in this big beautiful world.
And of course I did.
Not far away from our Berlin flat is the Tiergarten (long time ago the Kings hunted there, now we common mortals are allowed to stroll through it - and a lot of rabbits happily dance in front of us, being sure of their life!) It is huge -here you see about a qurter of it:

OK - the 'river' you see above in the first photo is the Landwehrkanal - but inside the Tiergarten there are many lovely lakes:

And suddenly - I was so surprised and not quick enough to take a photo - a kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) flitted past me!!!
I walked almost an hour. Spring signs everywhere (and today it will be far more advanced).

If you ask: why the "greed" in your header? I have to show you this:

These seeds I grabbed greedily carefully and thoughtfully collected and brought home -
TYPICAL! (my father would say: Your eyes were bigger than your belly! (though only when my garden is concerned).
Come to think of it: I don't have a garden anymore.
I have a (big) BALCONY.
Want some of the hundreds of marigolds when they push through the earth of the boxes???

The present of an extra day

Sweet February Twenty-Nine! 

This is our grace-year, as I live 

Quick now! this foolish heart of mine; 

Seize thy prerogative!  

This lines of Walter De La Mare tell us to enjoy the extra day of the Leap Year.
I wish you a wonderful new week!

Snow - again!

I love the little vase that a famous German potter made - he used copper in the glaze, and it cracks so nicely emerald green on the darker ground. I have two vases by him - a big one and a small one, though I prefer the little one: just right for snowdrops.

These husband brought from our garden in Hildesheim, and I felt a sudden pang of homesickness and nostalgia and burst into tears - though I absolutely don't want to go back. Strange.

Added: Richard Uhlemeyer vases.

Mugaritz, 2 Michelin stars, Nr.6 - World's Best Restaurants 2015

Dear You,
one of the highlights of the Berlinale is the "Culinary Cinema'.
First we saw a documentary about the Mugaritz, a Basque restaurant, and Daniel Brühl, the actor, read the German text, so we could concentrate on the beautiful pictures and witty words.
Then Andoni Luis Aduriz cooked with his crew the menue. It was the first time in my life that I ate a dinner from a cook with 2 Michelin stars, whose restaurant Mugaritz was rated 2015 the 6th best restaurant in the world.
It was delicious, and I might sound philistine when criticizing it as "a bit tame". The Menue:
"Sweet potatoe baked in quick lime, black truffle" as a starter (slightly sweet, and the truffle not overpowering...),
"Threads of king crab with vegetable mucilage, macademia and pink peppercorns (a lovely, slightly sweet shredded mousse),
"Cod fish covered with pine nut cream and fried 'kokotxas' skin" (a white fish cube, a blond cream, and deep-fried fish skin),
"Tuna belly, beetroot and horseraddish" (a bit of colour here, but many people including Yours Truly did not touch the Tuna: coming from Northern Germany I learned in early youth that a fresh fish does not smell. It just doesn't . Full stop)
"Whisky pie" - a lovely dessert.
Conclusion: my palate might not be refined enough to taste the very subtle nuances of the dishes.
I love variety and my teeth are very good - figuratively spoken I don't enjoy white cauliflower with white sauce, white rice and pale chickenbreast (minced :-)
But I learn easily: the Berlinale is a social event - "to see and to be seen" is as important as the movies. The hunt! The endured pains of waiting for hours!!
Not for nothing the opening film was called:  "Hail, Cesar!".

Peace begins with a smile. (Mother Teresa)

"A half dozen recent studies demonstrate the power that a simple positive interaction with a stranger has to make us happier " they write in Psychology Today. 
Well - for this Berlin is the right place. 
I have lived in many towns and cities - and even succeeded to have wonderful conversations with unbeknown Scots in Edinburgh (while English people had warned me that this would be almost impossible). 
I have very interesting conversations in trains. 
And in Berlin people very often smile at you often, quite unexpectedly. At first I was really surprised - 'What did they want?' my Northern soul asked cautiously. 
They smiled because they are (often) happy and content with there life here. 
And I smile back. 

This is NOT a Chinese Takeaway!! (Keeping up Appearances)

"No you cannot have another number 21 with rice instead of noodles!"
"Now will you please get off my slimline white telephone with last number redial?"

Happy Birthday, Patricia Routledge! (She turned 87 yesterday).

Vers(a)e instead of Vice

One is often in for a surprise if you go through life with open eyes and open ears.
Though: that with the ears I'll take back.
OK - I have the hearing of a bat - which is quite annoying sometimes, especially when the person in the flat above your bedroom wears iron-clumps as bedroom slippers, thinks that a carpet on the floor board from 1902 - creak, creak - is utter luxury, and has to visit the loo three times at night. (Remember? We moved our bedroom in this big Berlin flat 4 times - he follows...)
Hearing loss is now mainstream: not a symptom of growing old any longer - the young show it off proudly too. Uni-deafness instead of unisex. (Huh? Eh?) Deaf by disco-music, deaf by in-ear headphones.
You (hopefully) heard me complain about the ghetto blaster tunes at "A Quiet Passion" - yesterday I saw 'Maggie's Plan' - and - in another cinema: the same tornado howl!!!
The silver lining?
This infernal noise overlays all those spectators' crunching through hectoliters of popcorn while dear Emily D. is reciting her poetry.
Bliss - a different "Sound of Silence"...

PS: By the way: absolute silence in case of the Staatsbesuch from Israel - Gwil wrote, he couldn't find information in Austria, and Husband said, even the Hildesheimer Allgemeine (newspaper for a tiny city near Hannover) did not mention it. Strange.

Yes!!! A Breakthrough!

Dear You, 

Thank you for crossing your fingers! It helped me and all those with tickets to cross the street. In the first photo you see only the start of setting up...) The Zoo Palast showed the movie at 12:30 a.m. (in the evening you had to drive -- well: sneak - through half the city to Friedrichstadtpalast).
They even put protection around the groundfloor windows of the Waldorf Astoria. Normally I visit after a film their Romanisches Café (you can eat there too) - but this day was everything except normal. I thought about the guests who had booked their expensive rooms long in advance - strange surroundings for them. President Netanjahu's visit came quite as a surprise. Mrs. Merkel and he will talk about the problems between Israel and Palestine.

Being quite early (to be still able to dash to the Friedrichspalast in case of need) I got a wonderful seat: horizontal and vertical middle - and an aisle in front of me, so I could stretch my long legs during the movie comfortably.
The movie "A Quiet Passion", which depicts the life of Emily Dickinson, was really good (in my opinion - some people left the cinema - maybe the last third was a bit weepy). Beautiful décor (I instantly decided to upholster two armchairs with a fabric they used and which I once had); of course little action, because we all know that Emily was a sort of recluse; wonderful recitations of her poems.
But the cinema operators must have misunderstood the movie's title - "A Quiet Passion" - they ghetto blastered the sound to my threshold of pain.
Well: the very young are often aurally handicapped nowadays, "thanks to" headphones and discos.
I hope I remember to take my earplugs for todays movie with me!

Berlinale and the Protection of Mr. Netanjahu

While I was painting my Amy-Winehouse-eyeline this morning thoroughly, the radio announced: the Israeli Prime Minister Netanjahu visits Mrs. Merkel today. For his protection they ordered the Highest Security Level around the Waldorf Astoria - which is OK (2012 there were up to 2.400 policemebn protecting him).
But I (and not only I) have a problem: the Zoo Palast, a big cinema and very important for the Berlinale, is on the other side of the Waldorf Astoria.
Meaning: the movie tonight is transferred to another cinema.
But there is no information for todays movie "A Quiet Passion" which I have a ticket for - in the Zoo Palast, at 12:30 a.m.
Dear reader - cross your fingers for me, please - that I manage to get in - in time - and: at all....

Nobody hurt

Yesterday I had a little explosion in my kitchen.
Before that I saw that the light in the fridge was extinct (as you might know the light in the fridge is a symbol for the last sign of hope in a cold world :-). and I mused about the deeper meaning of that.
But even more I worried (very deep down I'm a realist) about the freezer compartments of the fridge...
Then I saw that the red key of the plugbar looked - somehow, don't ask me why - strange.
As Paul in "Yellow Submarine" I thought: 'I'm a borne button-presser' -  and pressed.
A 10 centimeter darting flame sprang up - (well: might have been 7 cm, or even 5) - and I sprang back, without thinking - while the plugbar playfully threw the red button-cap after me...
All's well that ends well: I bought a new plugbar - the caretaker's son was happy to earn a few quid for pushing the fridge so that we could plug in the new plugbar - and now he (this fridge is definitely male) hums again.
(W)Hole-istic.
Sounds like "Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds to me.

Orphaned: Rose Aphrodite

See? Evidently I have a problem with two things: writing a short post, and writing more often.
(The second is a form of politeness: I fear that I might bore you stiff).
But you are grown-ups and  know if you want to read or not. So from now on I will scatter little notes between 'real' posts.
Today a rose strayed to me; Rose aphrodite. Sometimes someone in our house, with a balcony but lacking the heart of a gardener, not wanting to feel like a murderer, impatiently maroons a rose (or other plants) in our Hinterhof (a back yard). This one survived winter in a small pot. The photos in the Internet show a glorious rose.
I adopted her, of course, fed her, and dream with her of summer.

Waiting For - no, not Godot - but: The Berlinale 2016

Dear You, 

at the moment you could see me with "Thermacare provides patented heat relief for back, hip...and  so on"; a nice hot cherry pit pillow on my stomach and one under my feet, after a deep warm-up of an infrarot lamp on my forehead and a nice, hot tea inside me.
"Oh, poor you - are you sick?" you might ask me caringly.
No, not yet.
But I feel like an icicle because I did something I would not have done for myself.
I promised an acquaitance (she stood herself in another queue in another part of Berlin) to go and manage to grab two Berlinale tickets for us. Easy-peasy, I thought - I will be there on time, at 9 o'clock in the morning (as my acquaintance had told me), and presto!
Hupp- haff, or: hahaha.
When I arrived I wondered, why very young people sat there - in a very long queue - on little camping chairs. Oh boy, was I naive!
The selling started at 10 - to arrive at 9 was only lax prudence, because The Initiated (most of the others in front of me), had arrived at 6 or 7 o'clock. In the morning! Only to get cinema tickets!!!
I would never... but well: I promised...and being Prussian, I stay to my word of honour. Ever.
So I stood.
2 long hours in the cold.
The young woman, sponsered by Audi, kindly served a non-alcoholic glogg - thank you, thank you!
Not being excessively shy, I had long conversations with two women in the queue, one a judge, the other a barrister  - for one I bought a third ticket - because you are only allowed to buy two... and only three days in advance - really: you have to be very pernickety to read and understand the very difficult order-management for the Berlinale! (Make things rare, and people will buy).
Thank God it didn't rain. Nor snow.
Should not complain: I even managed to get those two tickets (not taken for grantedness - often tickets are sold-out after 10 minutes!)
For one evening George Clooney is announced - well: you could serve him on a silver platter to me, with a little ribbon around him: I will never stand there again for two hours!
Promised. 

Starfish politics

I was always fascinated by this little story by an unknown author which I found in an anthology of Celia Haddon.

An old man walking the beach at dawn noticed a young man ahead of him picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. Catching up with the youth he asked what he was doing. 
'The starfish will die if they are still on the beach when the sun roasts them with its mid-morning heat,' came the answer. 
'But the beach goes on for miles, and there are millions of starfish,' countered the old man. 'How can your effort make any difference?' 
The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and then threw it to safety in the waves. 
'It makes a difference to this one', he said. 

That is a good answer, I think (regardless of whether it is biological truth or not).
So many people want to save the whole world. They have big words of scorn for what is going on.
And then they are not even able to keep peace in blogland, mistrusting and misunderstanding almost deliberately to find a cause of 'not getting involved'.
I am not a dreamer - I don't think that the world is all harmony - it never was.
I believe in helping a bit - and if many do that, the world will become a bit better.
Not perfect - but better.

London in 1927 & 2013

Dear You, 
I just found this - in an article from the Londonist - and share it with you - so beautiful!
They restored a film made by Claude Friese-Greene.
Have to see London very soon...
(Query: can you be homesick when you weren't born there?)

Lost for words... (almost)

Today I read in BBC News that a Darlington head teacher has asked parents to 'wash and get dressed'. 
She
 "made the appeal after she noticed more and more adults wearing pyjamas at the school gates as well as at meetings and assemblies." 

and:

"Ms Chisholm said the final straw came when parents wore pyjamas to the Christmas show and to recent parents' evenings." 

She even has to explain herself:

""I'm not trying to tell people what to do with their lives, but I just think having a really good role model first thing in the morning, getting yourself up, getting yourself dressed, ready for business, out to school is a really good example to set." 

I am aghast.
Can you imagine how it must be for those children to go with their parents in pyjamas to a Christmas Show?

Cheers!

Dear You, 
the funny thing is, that since almost 3 months I don't drink any alcoholic beverages - (except one glass of champagne at my birthday and a few more on New Year's Eve).
No, I haven't become a teetotaller - it is just that at the moment I don't like to.
Now one of Lennart and Alina's wonderful birthday presents was a cocktail shaker and all other equipments that an amateur barkeeper needs. And the re-issued German cult book by Charles Schumann - yes, yes, he is the beautiful model for Baldessarini -'Separates the men from the boys' - "Schumann's Bar". (His bar in Munich was opened in 1982 - a time where in Europe it was difficult to find a classic Bar.)
When I visit L&A, I always look at their chic trolley-table from the Fifties, filled with bottles.
Wonderful - I want to have it! - but then I thought of the effect of films with Humphrey Bogart or Myrna Loy - these actors drink like a fish, and the audience is parched and longs for a cigarette, (though one had given up that vice more than twenty years ago).
I have no fears for L&A, because they always manage to survive the 40 days of Lent not tempted.
Now these days I was invited to the Botschaft des Königreichs der Niederlande, created by Rem Koolhaas and Ellen van Loon - a beautiful modern building!

I was also invited into one private apartment. And there I saw it: in the typical male furnishing stood a white glass cabinet - with wonderful old Scotch(es) and other whisky - splendid! A real eye-catcher!
And so I determined to change our parlours a bit to the Yang-side, give it a slightly more male touch. Away, away with those ultra-thin little porcelain cups - in stamped Mr. Laphroaig, Mr. Glenmorangie, Mr. Tanqueray & Co.
Looks very good - and till now they haven't seduced me.
Though: cocktail names like "Ward Eight", "Knockout Cocktail" or "Hurricane" make me a bit mistrustful (not to speak of 'Fallen Angel', 'Zombie' or 'Kamikaze') - when I start to shake I will begin genteel with Claridge, work up (or down - as you see it) to 'Bronx Medium', until I dare to touch the 'Dirty White Mother'.
Cheers! 

Gratitude

Dear You, 
I thought for a while before chosing this photo to illustrate "gratitude".
It shows that being grateful is like being a mirror: you notice what is around you, you reflect it - and don't take it just for granted. (Well - the image is a bit wobbly...)
Which we often do instead of being thankful.
When we feel down we sometimes narrow our vision and become unfair: we see only the half-empty glass, only 'poor-little-me'.
Actually I wanted to show here a video with the song of Ralph Mctell, "Streets of London" - but both versions on youtube were - so I think - exploiting and preying on private misfortune, so I choose another video instead, which even as a child I thought of as "pure envy" - the contrary of gratefulness: Peter Sarstedt's song "Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)?" Our 'captain' on the narrowboat on the Leeds-Liverpool-Canal, Matti, a musician, could perform it very well - the highlight was the little bitter laugh - ahahaha - in between. But hear yourself - what is the singer accusing the girl of? That she got what they both(!) aimed for - "with burning ambition"?
I hate it when people claim "I can look into your head" - (though nowadays, with all those people shouting their thoughts into their cellphone, we almost can - for a moment).

Back to gratitude: yes,  I write (almost every day) into a Gratitude Journal. I do it in the morning (being a morning person) and recall the blessings of the day before. At least five items.
I always find more.
Sometimes very trivial things - "first little violet opened her eyes - thanks she survived the hard winter!" (I am on good footing with it - so I am allowed to say "her") - or very important things.
The small things predominate - but that is just the trick, the charm: by being able to see that so much beauty and good surrounds you in everyday life one recognises that one must be a very dull person not to notice it.
A French proverb says:
                                          "Gratitude is the heart's memory." 
                                                                                                         So it is.

A Toothless Tiger In My Cabinet

This morning I read Gwil's poem "That Fruit May Grow Upon Your Trees" on http://poet-in-residence.blogspot.de/. So I took a photo of the little Kumquat on my windowsill - I admire its strength: 10 bulging little fruits, and still 9 to come. 

In the warmer season it is on the balcony - otherwise you might be overpowered by the scent of neroli. 

This morning I woke up incredibly late (for my schedule): 8 o'clock - can't remember that in the last ten years I ever managed to wake up that late. 

And what did I do with my exuberant energy? 

I polished the old silver fruit basket, the silver candle holder (five arms), and a beautiful little blue enamel bowl on a silver foot. 

Ah, and not to forget the little Lady Pistol from the French armourer 'Le Page à Paris' (official armourer of the Dukes of Orléans)  - founded at the beginning of the 18th century.

Don't fear,  I used up my energy in polishing - and: it has a pyrite lock (a bit broken), the cock is artfully recessed into the walnut and ebony wood and needs a whole lock to come out. 

It is just a very beautiful useless antique - and that is good, as I love peace.  

And oranges. 

(...that come all the way from China...)

What to Do With Heaps of Diaries?

Dear You, 

I started diary writing when I was almost twelve years old. I wrote a lot, and draw for a long time: family life, friends, and school were important (the drawings a bit pale): 

Here you see me with my (then) best friend Atie:

and little misfortunes as The Curious Incident of the Dog, who mistook our sledge for a tree were described meticulously in word and picture:

Atie and I wanted to stay together for all our life, thus I, then 13, was willing to marry her brother, so we would be relatives, Michael was five years older than I and allowed to drive the Merc of his father - here you see an interested young man with a tall, but very young girl:

Sorry to say that my family did a lot to sabotage my plans. Long walking tours (with my little sister),

Lots of sport:

And then Atie's father was called to Karlsruhe to become a Federal Public Prosecutor, so we wrote each other volumes of letters (with drawings, of course).
I wrote (almost) all my life. So: the question is what to do with all those diaries? Of course I will keep the childhood diaries - and the many ones that I wrote (with lots of quotations) during the time when our son lived at home.
But the others? Even now I still write. And as you see: I have always the intention to "Make it short!", but...  By now there are over 150 diaries. I will think quite a while what I will do with them.
I still remember that I was utterly downcast when my family told me that my great grandmother Anne-Marie von Kroge had written some diaries and that one had fulfilled her last will and put them with her into her coffin. (In my case I would need a mausoleum...)

As I promised, Rachel

A few days ago I told Rachel, who had published some of her drawings on a wall of her house that it reminded me of a wallpaper I had seen in Kensington Palace.
I had to look through some photos... (glad: the visual brain still works - I took the photograph in 2013 - thought: I do a lot to avoid learning Italian -just kidding, will start in a few minutes, diligently).
This part I absolutely love:

The Brand New Testament

Dear You, 
I started this year with fine resolutions, and so I packed many, many photos (2011 - 2014) onto a HDD - to make my computer run quicker. Well - and now I would have to search for a while to find a picture of the "Zoo-Palast" as illustration for 'cinema'. ..
Berlin is snowed in - or do you say: under?  We have two-figure minus Celsius degrees - together with what the BILD-Zeitung (the German equivalent of the SUN) calls "the Russian whip" - ice-cold wind, that makes us all grab our scarves after 10 minutes walk and put them in front of our faces - water running from our eyes... One feels a deep desire to hibernate. And on the radio they tell people who live in villages outside to start two (2!!) hours earlier to get here...
Why I go outside at all?
Well, I had a beautiful birthday present: a cinema card that allows me to visit 12 cinemas (some of them with 4 different cinema halls - and very good films) as often as I want for a whole year!
Yours Truly is in Heaven!
(Guess what I saw today?) 

Are You With Me? Always On My Mind...

You might know this song "Are You With Me?" from the 'Lost Frequencies' - and then you might wish you didn't - in it there is a simple little sound sequence with a catchy tone that won't leave you for days...
Why I ask?
Well, I think of you, my dear bloggers, 'Wherever you go, whatever you do'.
So while visiting Schloss Neuschwanstein.
When we walked I thought instantly of Joanne Noragon.
Look!

"A Birdhouse for Winter Bird Feeding" - with "voltage LED" - www.schreinerei-mair-pfronten.com    
And the advertising text ends with some well-known words:
                                      "yes we can! - build your dreams! 

Royal Christmas / Königliche Weihnachten

Dear You, 
this was the view from our hotel room at the Hopfensee (Allgäu), where we spent Christmas. A very new experience for me, not to celebrate at home - but you drive 8 hours and a half by train - we didn't want to ask that from our 'children', who live in Kempten now, and have to work on Monday again.
It was utterly beautiful - sun as in May.
On the trip to the Hopfensee I thought for a moment that I was in the wrong film: a red little train passed us, coming from Füssen - and it was filled up to the last place with dark-haired young Asians. Japanese mostly, but also Chinese.
I wondered. Then, of course, the penny dropped.
Allgäu - Füssen - der Kini - König Ludwig II. - and: Schloß Neuschwanstein.

Which we saw for the very first time. To understand its bizzare architecture one look at the face of Ludwig might help:

Pfiat di! 
Britta  xxx