18.6.18

Picking up hundreds of fallen tiny fallen apples before mowing my lawn is my most despised activity in the garden these days.   -   Since the growing cycle is completely off this year, my mum got a bouquet made of dried stuff for her birthday, I even put lettuce seed pods in there.   -   After I gluten freed these already vegan CHOCOLATE WALNUT COOKIES by using buckwheat and oat flour, I have to bake them at least once a week.   -   I got W´s hot shirt at the first Mädchenflohmarkt here a few years ago, he looks so dapper in it - maybe I should become a stylist, just like everybody else. All he ever wanted is a workshop the size of a huge hall and I tell him it looks exactly that way in those pictures. 



It seems unreal now, but exactly a year ago I had a crush on a quite young Dutch guy I met a few times. Once we went to an antique fair, where I showed him a DRIP BLOWL I really liked at the booth of an older couple, selling beautiful things acquired at auctions in England. He suggested this might be something grown up people would own, so instead of saying "But I AM grown up! I AM 34 YEAR OLD!", I bought it. We got some imported peppermint chocolates with it and when I was marvelling at this odd but somehow working combination, his remark was "Does it though?". And even though the painfulness stunned me at that moment, I am amazed by how fast a broken heart can heal - it puts the rest of my broken body to shame.

At first I turn up at my physiotheraphy session with bits of my blueberry smoothie stuck between my teeth and a few splatters on my upper arms. The next time I am covered in scratches made by my evil hop plant, looking like a flagellant. A week later I go all out and show up with arms red with sun allergy, photodermatitis caused by a touch of common rue down my neck and lips bruised painfully with oral herpes. Why can´t I ever be put together looking?

My sisters is currently renovating a little house far, far away from where I live, so sometimes I send her inspirational pictures of kitchens, gardens and kitchen gardens. She doesn´t use Pinterest (neither do I), or Instagram, or blogs, so they have a disturbing effect on her. She asks me in what kind of fairy tales these people are living, if places like that are actually existing. Sometimes I am afraid they do, making everyone without access feel miserable. She then ponders it might also just come down to the camera angle, when even I can make my place look much prettier than it is in reality. Still, lately I am considerably worried that I will never live in my fairy tale and I am pretty sure it is not because I don´t use Lightroom and can´t fix my camera´s lens distortion. I will never be hard at work creating beautiful things, capturing it all even more prettily. There are no impeccably ruffled grounds I might live on, no kitchen door opening to a shady walled garden. I will not appear dressed exquisitly in attire looking like it just sprang from the earth. At 7.50pm at my local supermarket I am just one of the sad creatures in the check out line, cradling three mangoes, a Lion bar and a bag of gummy bears, both of which I will regret a lot later on. I guess it is not only the pain, it is also being lonely. I am good at being lonely, I have worked on this for over 10 years now, so you could call me a professional loner. But sometimes I just want to hop on a bike in the evening light and watch someone eat ice cream or share some fries with. Or just walk by a river, without having to make a date out of it. Or someone to just sit with. Until then I do reverse RETAIL THERAPY, which works even better than the real deal - you can find my stuff HERE (if you are on Instagram) or HERE (if you are not on Instagram).

A thunder storm with heavy rain fall has damaged almost all my grapes, they look split up now, but they don´t seem to care and keep on growing plump and plumper. The next one a few days later kills my internet connection and I bite my nails for the first time in years. It is the only way I know how do deal with unsolvable technical problems. I also finally meet the mouse that has been dragging my cat´s kibble into my shoe rack and shoes for three weeks now, refusing to get trapped with cheese, chocolate or stock cubes. I can think of nothing else but mouse trapping and calling the technical phone support, so the next morning while I prepare breakfast in this preoccupied state, I forget to put the lid on my Vitamix. I shred the pestle into my smoothie and splatter myself and the ceiling with a mixture of fennel, bananas, blueberries and various supplements. I ponder for a minute if I should lie down and cry, but start cleaning frantically instead. The bucket of left over wall paint turns out to be dried up, but since I have to so something about something I get out a bottle of cheap acrylic paint from art school. It takes more than four coats until the blueberry splatters don´t look down at me that accusingly any more. I order the new pestle on my phone even before I throw the broken one in the recycling bin.

For a while now, I have been so impressed by anything I come across from BURROW bakery in NY - the label, the embroidered CURTAINS, all those COOKIE CUTTER SHAPES, the baked SHOP SIGN - I feel almost humiliated by that display of thoughtful genius. Their INSTAGRAM FEED makes me want to cry. I feel like I am just putting stuff out there, mindless and dumb - why can´t I be blessed with IDEAS LIKE THAT? There is a little story about them on BON APPETIT, too.









7.6.18

I wanted a birthday party and I wanted pictures of it - I got both. My sister´s boyfriend took most them, but he was too shy to point the camera at the faces of the guests he didn´t know, which is actually great because of GDPR. My god daughter however always takes the cake or is is the cherry on top of it (depending which saying you like better, as long as it involves cake you´re good, I´d say), so I am really glad her privacy officers let me use hers. Everyone else is looking slightly distressed, just as it should be - it is a birthday party after all.   -   And yes, I did go to the 1€ store and bought myself some highly poisonous looking and smelling candles to put on top of a cake. For safety reasons we made sure to never light them. 





While watching the royal wedding, we make a filled bread for my birthday party. I have been making this one based on an early Jamie Oliver recipe for special occasions for more than a decade now and this time we put in arugula, green asparagus, toasted almonds, dried tomatoes and olives. It says "denocciolate" on the jar, making my sister giggle. They are the bland kind, perfect for a baby´s palate, perfect for us. There is thunder in the air, right up until the first guests arrive, then the weather switches to blarring sunshine.



I tell my sister about an ARTICLE I read on The Cut (a website I really like), about how an income over 75.000$ can´t make you happier money wise. Since this number seems to abstract to us, we break it down to 6.750$ a month. We ponder this for a second and then start to laugh hysterically. There is no way we will ever be happy "money wise", so we decide happiness is overrated anyway. It is probably a myth, possibly made up by CocaCola. Just like Santa or Mother´s Day, an opportunity to make a lot of money. We conclude therefore, we don´t need happiness after all - it´s so capitalistic anyway. We also think that the wavy Ikea mirror is going to be a democratic design icon soon, maybe the hugging heart cushion, too. Not too gross species will score high prices at future auction houses and I am wondering if I should start prising off those mirrors off the hallway and bathroom walls in every student flat share I might come across, before they get too baldy chiped. The income from auctioning these off might increase my happiness in later days. Problem is, I don´t know any students anymore. My sister says she feels misrepresented by this account of our conversation, since I did most of the talking - I just thought you should know.


FREDMINUSERIKA did a post about what not to tell the internet, how she uses English to distance herself from her feelings and how her therapist wants her to use German instead. This might very well be true for her - I have been accused of the same thing. But I on the other hand still insist that this is not what I am doing - it is one of the things I call "therapist´s talk" I had to distance myself with a lot of force. By talking and writing in English I finally found a way to express what I feel, when the words given to me by way of where I live, were always feeling slightly wrong. I am never "wütend", I am "angry" instead and this anger has no stiff and pointy ü-sounds in it. And while it would have been accepted by the medical professionals to use my regional idiom and say "wuadig" instead, just very few people would have understood. And to share your feeling you have to be understood I am told, so I went with the most understood language there is. And how can I give up that significant pause between "a" and "lot" when saying "a lot", when there is only "ganz schön viel" in German? It just really is not "a lot" and sweetly "ganz schön viel" makes me "wütend" in an instant. Telling me I can not use English in my writing and discussing things with my sisters, felt a bit like telling an artist that her/his work is all wrong since the only way to express love is by painting red hearts. I am not an artist, but last year I decided that my whole life is an artistic practice, a decision which made me very happy and my sister - who actually is an artist - very annoyed. I also got advised to not get glasses when I started to get shortsighted - a 20cm distance between your eyes and the workbench can cause these things over the course of a few years, but it was considered a psychosomatic issue instead. When half a year later I couldn´t recognize people in the street anymore and ran around squinting all day, I went to an optician, got glasses anyway and have never looked back ever since. I am shortsighted, that´s it - no mystery reason behind it. And I always wanted glasses anyway. I do however use retail therapy a lot, that is probably why I never talked about that with my therapists. Maybe because I am ashamed of it, but maybe because it really works and I don´t want to give it up.


I have never painted my toe nails sitting in a bus stop. When I see a girl doing so I realize this to be one of the millions and millions of things I have never done, nor will do. I have however returned to my routine of GERANIUM red toe nails, since it has that blueish hint in there, complimenting red feet so well and I really like a geranium.




Even though it is probably hight time to wash it, I like it when my hair starts to smell like my cat.









1.6.18

Listen, I cannot stress this point enough: everyone should have a BIG BONE BARRETTE, preferably the glossy version. Amongst other things it goes very well with vintage Comma, jackets found on flea markets.   -   I figure all my financial troubles are over now, since there is a huge pile of marten shit right next to my front door, which basically means "der Teufel" started shitting "auf den größten Haufen", AKA money makes money. Now I just have to wait and see.   -   Since I am really into sentimental bavarian songs, I inscribed two BUBBLE PENDANTS witch each a line of the "Erzherzog Johann Jodler" and the "Isarmärchen": WO ICH GEH UND STEH TUT MIR MEIN HERZ SO WEH and WENN ICH DICH NUR SEH SCHWINDET LEID UND WEH (these are not listed in the shop, so in case you want one of those, just let me know)   -   You are going to see so many pictures of all that enameling going on in our workshop, soon you will be sick and tiered of it. I know that I posted some of those pictures up there twice, but I am suffering from decision-fatigue and couldn´t decide with combination I liked best.




The linden trees are in bloom over a month too early, their smell makes me most sentimental. It smells like the Summer holidays are about to begin, there is an ease creeping into the days and excitement, too. It also makes me feel slightly lovey-dovey, without knowing for whom or what, maybe in love with light sticky nights and heat induced dozi- and dizziness, having to put my stiffly swollen feet in a bowl of ice cold water to keep me from sticking to the keyboard. Probably I just #lovesummerhateeverythingelse. Now everyone wonders what might be left for August then, July even. 

One Saturday I come across another hen night, as usual during the weekend even in our small town, and I am thinking this one might be different than all the others after all, since all girls are holding up those matte pink menstruation cups. Then I realize those are actually just champagne flutes.

I can´t stop blogging, I can see how anachronistic that is, but who can time their needs to all those current trends. I did go with the begonias, succulents and cacti, and on the food side bee pollen, chia, turmeric and now hemp seeds, all pretty and delicious, but apart from than that I am not very on trend. Something I am really good at by now is that so called "self-care" - I am doing it very much my way however. The term makes me very queasy, since a lot of the advice is just downright selfish, which should be very alluring to me, since I am a really selfish person myself. Maybe it stings a bit because I am indeed feeling guilty because of being that way. For example I am really good at saying "No", saying "No" is basically the story of my life now, I say "No" so often it isn´t even special anymore. I won´t bore with all the things I say "No" to, it would be a long, tedious list. Also basically all the time is "Me Time", there is so much me time, it drives me nuts. Whenever I hear and read about someone taking time to "curl up with a book", my intestines curl up, too - reading is not something special for me, but an escape, a way to kill time until my eyes start to flicker or my neck gets sore. Or this thing about having a cup of "steaming tea" by themselves for a treat, it makes me steam, too, thinking about those endless pots of tea, making me get up at night at least three times to pee, since tea is all I do, all day long. I even vividly dream of having to pee and then peeing for the longest time, all because of all that tea drinking. Also I do not have to "carve out time for myself", I am trapped with myself, always and forever. The way I "provide" for myself is by making sure there is always a good stock of essentials at home, so I never run out of toilet paper, gluten free rolled oats and cat´s favorite food, since there might be times, when it could be a bit complicated to replace it. I also have a cup of GREEN MATCHA TEA every day and on a hot day, or basically all Summer long, I prepare a pot of green or herbal tea in the morning to drink cold when I return home in the afternoon. Later on I do a bit more peeing. There are a lot of double batches of roasted vegetables made in this household to spare me one round of cooking, eaten with spicy peanut butter sauce made with orange juice, pepper flakes, yeast powder and vinegar. Of course I do at least a triple dose, I have been a fan of peanut sauces ever since I found a recipe on 101cookbooks.com (simply can not find the recipe anymore, sorry!) when still a student and have been tweaking my version ever since. And I do a lot of PICNIC BREADS, too, probably because it is just an other opportunity to use mustard. On a quest of using up everything in my drawers before it needs to be thrown out, I am now doing a lot of precooked grains. I have now come to like salads made with millet (and cucumber, paprika, spinach and basil) so much, I had to restock it, so the whole endeavour was in vain. And to feel on top of things: constant obsessive tidying, tidying on the go. It might not look like that, but the heaps found in my flat are there on purpose, for decorative reasons. Everything else gets put away all the time, punctuated by some local deep tidying once in a while. The one thing I am not suffering from, is putting off dealing with little things, those get done in a flash. Bigger stuff deserves a bit of procrastination, but I have realized by now, that some of my projects just need a lot of stewing. It actually does them a lot of good. Like when I looked at those fancy stones for over a year, drawing up version upon versions of ear rings to make with them, starting work on those and deconstructing them again, twice, to turn them into something completely different. So worth it, all the lost gold dust even - you just wait and see (and save money, those are going to be quite pricey). Everything else however just gets churned out at once. Riding my bike home after leaving the workshop, I feel a rush of happy-high flooding through me, it has always been that way, working there makes me just so glad. And despite the fact that I am not able to actually do that much anymore, this still works. I am wondering if it has something to do with the fumes, since working on the computer can never achieve the same results, but I doubt it. One day I almost double over in pain after such a bike ride, but there is still that elating feeling. Work IS my self-care, no matter what anyone says. So, this trend I kind of get, but then it has been around for awhile now. So to cut this long story short: I am still into blogging. Too slow for things like Insta-Stories.


My holistic orthopedic sizes me up for insoles and has me take 50 steps with my eyes closed, hands stretched out in front. When I open my eyes again I have taken a turn by almost 60 degrees during those steps and I feel utterly embarrassed by this. I am so ashamed by this failure he tricked me into displaying. He then tells me a story how, with closed eyes, I would end up at the wrong table at the coffee place if I had been walking up to my boyfriend sitting there - this irks me even more. According to him that boyfriend would also know if I´d snore or grind my teeth at night. Why should I walk up to a boyfriend and why should such a thing lie next to me in bed? So all I say is "Ok, toll." The last time I went there, he chuckled because my legs are so short. I am not sure if I will go again, but he is the only one still willing to try things. Things after his own bible, but still.






I want to read everything on that WHOLE LIST - they had me a the line by Anne Truitt, which sounds so common to me: "All told, I now have available about one hundred dollars in ready money. It´s too low an ebb. Yesterday my heart pounded all day and my left eye is jumping and jerking." And I am very much into those cover designs, too.

On a dark winter night I met RICARDA (auch HIER) on the historical stone bridge for a few very delightful minutes (I was just recovering from a stomach flue and didn´t want to drag her into it, too), she seemed like such a nice sprite, emerging from the misty darkness (and wearing the perfect trousers and jacket). I told everyone how glad I was to have ventured out that night, still feeling sickly to meet such a lovely person. Now I am a GIRL CRUSH and reading her words made me blush quite a bit.








21.5.18

(That iris I am awkwardly holding up in those pictures is not the one I am talking about later on, but a rather lovely variety, unfortunately with stems too weak to hold up the bloom.)




When walking is an option, I often take strolls with W and since the weather is so excellent these days, there is so much to see.  Of course we also prefer the weekend or holidays for maximun entertainment, during the week it might just be plain boring with nobody about. This time around we spot a tiny wiener dog puppy being trained. He is taking such an effort to circle around all these withered narcissus stems in his way when racing back and forth, it is the cutest thing ever. I try to make W write one of his poems about it.


Two weeks before my 35th birthday I buy a bottle of rum to soak some raisins in and get asked to show my ID - this is hilarious. Buying alcohol always makes me feel a bit guilty, even more so when I also buy a bag of sugar and it looks like I am trying to cover up the fact that I am indeed only out getting the rum. Later on I find out they actually do this all the time, probably to promote customer loyalty.


Oh, asparagus smelling pee time! How much do I love you! Since there is so much of that stuff grown in our area, you can get it really cheap now and most times there is an even better deal on the tiny slim green ones, which are my favorite anyway. Since I am quite into smalltalk and any kind of spontaneous banter, I now know that none of my favored asparagus sellers is ever eating any kind themselves, they also despise the strawberries they also have on offer and do not get what the fuss might possibly be about. They are more into cats, cats are huge for them. My cat looses so much fur these days, she is currently walking around in an aura of floating hair.


Getting my hair cut is an ordeal, almost the whole family is like that, which makes us a spectacular too long haired bunch. But by now it had gotten so bad, I just needed to get it over with. So I go to a place just around the corner called "Evelyn´s Friseurstübchen", where there are copper coloured wall stencils, a family of plaster marmots sitting in the window and the hairdressers wear apron dresses and get out their rolls stuffed with ham from a roll shaped Tupper box to snack on, while their ancient client is whiling away under the hood dryer. Every Thursday and Friday you can stop by without an appointment and I will now do so as long as I live here and they keep this establishment going, since I probably got the best dry haircut ever at Evelyn´s and it was so cheap it suited by broke state a lot. I tipped in abundance, I simply could not help myself, being so relieved to have it over with and so happy to have found such a treasure.


Despite he fact that I am in quite a bit of discomfort these days and sometimes in a foul mood, there are so many things I find delight in. First of all the smell - everything is just burning up in flower in such speed right now, the mixture being different every day. Heady with lily of the valley and lilac even - or especially - at night, and the elderflower is just waiting to join the chorus. I also enjoy things like the nerve racking, almost ultrasonic hiss of my recently decalcified tap aerator when the water is running. Also I really like to dress again, to put jewellery on - it never totally stopped, but it always needed to be something that would come off again in a second in case an emergency should arise. Now I like digging up stuff from my closet I got ages ago, things that feel like they have just been waiting for me all that time. I am so glad I never joined the Marie Kondo cult - in case some pieces just do not work anymore, I bring them over to my mum. It turns out she looks quite eclectic in turquoise pants, I just felt ridiculous wearing them. When the pain isn´t too distracting or frustrating, it actually can coexist with delight. This is fairly new to me, for a long time those two thing felt exclusive too me. In a few months I will celebrate a decade of being in massive pain. During these festivities I will not be able to share any wisdom with you, there won´t be slideshows, impressive before and after pictures, no inspirational tale of how I made it to the other side using only my iron willpower. There is no other side and the iron bits are rusty, flakey, crumbling away under the softest touch. I have not overcome a single thing, nor am I stronger than before - I have not risen from the ashes. I did the hospital stay that should have turned my life around and the diet that was supposed to change my existence, now it is probably all down to the fact that I haven´t had a hydrocolontherapy and never take a look at the organ watch. And maybe things just haven´t changed because I am simply not happy enough and not able to do any yoga, also I only meditate while riding my bike. And though I listened closely, I still have no idea what my body might want to tell my so urgently, or what possible use that pain could be for me. The answers making most sense to me so far, are "nothing" and "none" and being asked those questions sets a fire to my fury, has me reeling from hot red (or white, depending on the setting) rage. Also I do not think I am punishing myself with all this, for things that are not supposed to be punished in such a way, in any way. Things like lying to my grandmother about a singing and dancing game in the school yard that never actually happened in third grade or an ill advised hookup, leading to an undetected chlamydia infection that might have turned on my spine. My body does not strike me that vindictive and biblical and even if it would have turned all Old Testament and plage-style on me, you should think I would have atoned for my sins by now, leading a martyr nun life. I might get even beatified, if I wasn´t so pissed and angry, but of glorious endurance instead. 

I am tired and get teary eyed every time I read the obituaries and that line pops up with the way becoming to hard and steep and God seeing this, putting his arm around you, telling you to come home. This God seems so nice and I really like him. Also I really, really want to go there, home. Not dead-home, but pain-free-home. But I will admit that thinking about dead-home also gives me a lot of comfort, which makes this definitely not a saddening thing. Sometimes the sun shining outside is just not "true" for you, because you are in sick- and pain-land and this is not actually life. Life is what everyone else is doing, they own the sun and they also own Sun-days, to enjoy and be free. You do not have those. And every time you wish someone a happy weekend, you are wondering what that might look like. When you do not know where any of this is leading, or if it will indeed ever end and you feel so out of options, no solutions on the horizon and just going on, plain survival is definitely not one - bam - there it is! A new idea, one of those cherished light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments! You realize you can actually always put that end to it all - it is up to you, at last. Oh, that is a cheering thought! So you put on some high-waisted white jeans you will have to unbutton all the way down again when you are trying to sit down for the first time (you will never wear those again), but you do look like a very hot doctor and you meet up with your friends and go to an event in some park that makes everyone attending feel very fancy. Pants undone, looking profesh, thinking happily "I can kill myself any time I want, you fuckers - isn´t that just awesome?!". And let me tell you, that thought is so much more relieving than unbuttoning those pants and allowing that belly to expand in abundance, but just like that there is freedom and deep breathing again. An odd kind of happiness in this turmoil, a tiny bit of ease in distress.


In this neighbourhood the only excuse for an overgrown garden or even worse - lawn, is being gravely ill or indeed dead. But even then you are not totally excused for this disgrace, since what you should have done, when feeling the early onsets of old age, the shadow of death, is pouring concrete all over your place or at least fill it up with deranged zen-style pebble. Better yet, have the common sense and turn the whole thing over to someone young and neat before your decay sets in. The plaster covering my house is crumbling, my paths are covered in ornamental lichen, my fence barely held together by a clematis hard at work. My lawn is always parched and my hedges uncut (who would bother with giving their box woods a trimm, when the box wood moth is just waiting around the corner to take it down?). I (accidentially) breed escargots and tiny pink snails (my favorite) and the little yellow ones with the brown stripes, because my garden walls are made of limestone, which is good for building their shells. Thyme, chives and hollyhocks (and grass, of course, and dandelion) grow in the cracks between the paving stones and I won´t put an end to it. One of my neighbours is desperately offering me moss killers. No plant, not even the hundreds of shrill bright red 50s tulips can be contained to their beds. (Actually I am just about to tear those out every season, only stopping myself knowing they fade within a couple of days anyway. So far I haven´t found a way to tone them down with some kind of plant partners, neither the awful variety of two-toned violet bearded iris appearing a few weeks later.) This is an affront in the country of highly effective weed killers, flame throwers and high-pressure cleaners. Where the young and old can be found hurrying to the nearby cemetery at all times, carrying a watering can, since there is no greater shame then an unkempt and under-watered family grave. I´ll say - with a preachery gesture to match: "Let my grave be a wasteland." And I do not mean that in a poetic give-me-all-the-wildflowers that-will-be-so-good-for-the-bees, this-is-an-excellent-idea-I-am-going-to-be-bee-food-when-I-am-dead way, no, I actually mean wasteland. That nice God has taken me home and I do not feel a fucking thing, so why would I care if I am covered in trash, annoying the hood.

(I have to admit however, that there is indeed one resident who is by far surpassing my tame attempts at garden rioting with a property in such constant disarray, an everlasting construction site. Whenever I spot him taking on a new, and soon to be abandoned, messy and nonsensical project, I mentally applaud him. I am not badass enough to create or tolerate such a display of chaos, so he is definitely the king of suburban pandemonium.)