Month: October 2009

Back in the routine of making cookies in a town without chocolate chips.

General notes: Austin isn’t gonna happen, kids. Maybe next year. Oh and for the stray remaining locals: Orphan Thanksgiving is cancelled.

I’ll be …. elsewhere.

He is the rare and precious person equally brilliant at high table, primary school fete, and midnight maurading: farewell to Jean! He is off to a new old life in South Africa, and the city will not be the same.

I’ll miss him.

I was asked appear in a documentary involving a stunt that I thought facile.

I declined, expecting to be cancelled, and the producer…. took it well, then reiterated the request for an interview.

How odd.

In the states, telling a producer no is the quickest way to be kicked to the curb. Not that I ever cared when, for instance, the Jerry Springer show wanted me to diss teen moms (or whatever). No is the most powerful word ever.

Hopefully the process won’t be too painful, though I always sound like a crackpot on the radio.

Maybe because I am one? Though I was hoping ‘curmudgeon’ would start to take over in these elderly years.

Sigh.

I’m back in England, where they like to store toilet paper on the floor.

Preferably in a puddle.

Observation – in Germany it is cold outside; in England it is cold inside.

If anyone asks that old scar on my face is from a sword fight. Ja?

Renting a loft in Mitte, picnic lunches next to the remnants of the Berlin wall, hours reading and writing in coffee shops, public transit adventures, squats and ice cream, long walks by the river, dinners at Monsieur Vuong; everything about this city is seductive.

One afternoon I meandered over to Prenzlauer Berg to meet Carolyn to catch up on gossip, chat about work, and debate the merits of various cities.

Another day we hooked up with Holly Chernobyl (last seen at the height of hedonist Seattle adventures) in Kreuzberg for similar purposes, more delicious food, a graffiti tour, extreme hilarity.

It is accurate to say that one week in Berlin involves more fun with friends than I would experience in six months in Cambridge.

If the question is where should I live… next? the answer may well include Berlin.

Why? Because I can.

Shhh.

This morning on the UBahn some random Americans heard me talking to my kid, announced that they are from “near Milwaukee Wisconsin,” then tried to engage us in conversation. Upon hearing that we live in England on purposethey looked baffled; when we indicated our trip to Germany was neither work nor pleasure but rather just the way we roll, they looked offended.

Then the woman accused me (literally – she looked perturbed, and said it in an insulted voice) of being “well dressed.”

Huh? Me? For the purposes of this fact finding mission I am attired in a £8 black skirt from H&M, a £6 black turtleneck from Uniqlo, and a ratty old (and basic) black coat. Yeah, I’m carrying a Comme des Garcons bag, but it is made of PVC and thus cheap, as far as designer kit goes. My uniform is not ambitious, or in any way remarkable. In fact, by European standards, I am defiantly downmarket.

Of course my son is quite elegant, towering over me in his suits, but he has dressed like that since infancy. We have not been converted by this life… we have just drifted toward appropriate mooring.

I stared at the strangers, in their matching brightly colored fleece, and they stared back: an impasse.

After they departed with salutations of fake cheer I was curious: aside from the normative rules of mall fashion, what else has my son missed?

A quick pop qiz revealed he does not know what Costco, Circle K, or Plaid Pantry are. He has never heard of chew (Big League or otherwise). He cannot name Slurpee flavors.

He has no clue what “junior high” means, whether on a conceptual or practical level.

I have failed him.

We’ve celebrated in Portland, Seattle, Denver, NYC, Cambridge, London, Venice, Paris, and now Berlin: happy thirteenth birthday to my brilliant son!

Immediate impressions of Germany:

At last – I have found a place where I look normal, but cannot understand anything whatsoever!

Bookstores, cycling, coffee, cheap housing, dinner & dioramas in Brecht’s basement, graffiti, kebaps in Kreuzberg, music, museums, puppet palaces, scores of friends, a yo-yo emporium. I purchased truly excellent new black tights, and then had a proper hot bath for the first time since moving to Europe. Berlin is a wonderland!

Could a place offer more?

This trip is the first stage of a courtship, and yes, I know that infatuation is always better than reality.

Still – my suitor offers some delicious candy.

Recently a new friend asked if a mutual acquaintance is really, truly, crazy. I shrugged a yes; this is an obvious conclusion based not just on character but also on behavior.

What amazed me was the question – how anyone could be tricked in to believing otherwise, when the facts are so obvious to anyone who cares to look.

I’m not the one to sensitively listen when your love affair with a poet, guru, or rock star goes awry. I’m not the one who can simulate surprise when your suicidal cousin does the deed. I fail, routinely, in all the simple sympathetic tasks, mostly because I expect the worst, and I have never been disappointed.

Hateful people are filled with hate. The delusional are deluded. The sick are sickly. Crazy is as crazy does. Etc. Hiding behind religion, philosophy, a career in the creative arts, science, or whatever does not change these facts.

The only trouble for me is… I like em like that. In fact, I broke off contact with the aforesaid mutual acquaintance not because he was demonstrably crazy, and a liar, but rather because he was boring. And because he wore sandals.

The best part about homeschooling? I have company for all of my museum excursions! Today we ventured forth to the Horniman: