Mamma Mia, how can I get the music of this famous musical with all the ABBA songs out of my mind? Sitting in the Chemainus Theatre, I had ear plugs in my purse. We knew, all their musical performances were simply too loud, and, at our advanced age, we don’t want to lose more of those precious hearing cells. Every seat was taken. Extra excitement was added by an elegant group of the ‘Red Hat Society’ ladies coming over from the Mainland. Their heads, crowned with red hats or big red flowers were first dotting the dining room, then the theatre. What a happy group of women!
Back to the music – Oh, ABBA! Who didn’t like the infectious sounds of this pop group about fifty years ago? I had always been wondering how the name ABBA had come about. Now I know; the background story was in the program: Benny Anderson & Bjoern Ulvaeus with their fiance̍es, Agnetha Fältskog and Anni-Frid Lyngstad enjoyed success in Sweden with their first single “People Need Love” in the sixties. Listing all their names was awkward. They randomly put their initials together to ABBA and, a First Prize won in 1974 at an European Song Contest put this group an the map. Only a year after they started recording in English, the whole world listened to their infectious songs. They sold 350 million recordings.
Twenty-five years after they had won the European Song Contest a musical had been written and performed for the first time in London UK. The audience went wild and were dancing and singing in the isles…
That couldn’t happen in Chemainus. Seats are tight, isles are narrow and steep – but, people were singing along with the actors, swinging their arms in unison, tapping their feet, and made themselves part of the performance.
“I Have a Dream,” – “Money-Money-Money,” – “Thank You for the Music,” – “Mamma Mia,” – “Dancing Queen,” – “Super Trouper,” – “Gimme-Gimme-Gimme,” – “The Name of the Game,” – “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” – “Take a Chance on Me,” – “I do, I do, I do,” – and many other hit songs held the audience captive. “Mamma Mia” has been performed all over the world and is to date the longest playing musical in sold-out theatres anywhere.
Tell you a little secret: Many years ago, I was invited to a wedding. The bride asked me not to bring my friend Omar Sharif. Whaaat? Where did that come from?
“Can I bring the ABBA Singers instead?”
“Maybe, because my husband-to-be likes the group. But I’ll have to ask my dad…”
You know what I did? I bought and took along the newest ABBA Album as a gift.
Actually, it’s funny the way “You Young” people see the world today! All those things in the following write up were done by my grandmother, mother and me until I grew up.
We did not know anything about disposable diapers, Kleenex, Tampax or pantie- liners. The women had to buy washable pads with two button holes on either end or make protecting pads out of old panties, and soak and wash them during menstruation. Washing machines or dryers were dream years away. You’d see everything on a clothesline across the yard for drying. Families with more grown-up females had rows of those pads pecked on the line. Even as a ten-year-old kid, I thought it was embarrassing to see them. All the men and boys would know when the women and girls in the village had their period.
Clean white toilet paper? Indoor toilets? It might have been a pail in the kitchen for the younger children. They got their bum washed. For us, it was the ripped-up newspaper that was hanging on a rusty nail in the outhouse. If someone spent a lot of time in there, we knew they were reading the old “news.” During 1945/46 when there were no newspapers, we used grass… and our poor mother had to scrub panties and men’s underpants to get rid of what we called the “schiss.” Yes, we did get our hands dirty and washed them under the pump with the ice-cold water.
We did not have running water in the house. We had to bring it in from the pump outside and also bring the dirty water out. Wash day was a big all-day undertaking.
My mother’s hands were raw from scrubbing on the washboard. I still feel sorry for my mom. I love laundry day – because I don’t even get my hands wet… easy-peasy.
Heating and cooking? Hah! We had to scrape the ash out of the oven and the stove, bring it out and bring in wood and coal and kindling. Sometimes, when the wind came from the wrong direction and got into the chimney, we could not get the fire going. The smoke came back into our faces when we blew on the kindling. Life was simple. We did not know any better – so did not think about all of this being a hardship. We had a potty under the bed for the small job, for the big one we had to go to the outhouse next to the barn. God, I remember how cold that seat was in the winter! A smooth wooden plank with a hole in it, covered with a lid. A big box was underneath which my dad emptied when it was full. There was a small door where he could pull it out. He dumped it onto the manure pile and used a fork to cover it with the dirty straw that came out of the animal stalls, which we had to clean out every day. Mostly my mother did… And in spring or fall, the manure was carted to the fields and plowed under.
Going shopping, Mom took home-made little cotton bags with her. She had stitched “Sugar,” “Flour,” “Salt” and what have you on them. If you didn’t bring your own bags, you could not be served. She had a basket on her bike, and a big bag made out of an old carpet to carry her treasures home. No plastic for anything. I guess it wasn’t even invented yet. We made our own jam, had our own honey bees, but if you wanted to buy those items, even pickles, people had to bring glass containers. Butchers just put any meat on a double newspaper – unless you brought your own packing paper.
Yaaah, we were not “green,” but without knowing anything about any of the present day concerns, we lived a healthy life and ate homegrown food, we had no idea about it being “organic.” We saved our environment. If you would have asked someone about “environment,” they would look at you saying: “Environment? What’s that…?”
Actually, we were “GREENER than GREEN” back then.
When I read this old legend, it made me think. I shook my wise old head and thought, “How true! Who wants to know the naked truth nowadays? People are falling for lies. It is so much easier to believe the lies. And the louder and more often they are told, they more people believe them.”
And that’s why I want to share this little story with you:
Once upon a time, way back in the nineteenth century, Truth and Lie meet on a beautiful sunny day. After a smiling ‘hello’ Lie says to Truth,
“What a gorgeous day it is today! Come on, let’s enjoy a good long walk and get to know each other. We can talk.”
Since Truth never trusted Lie she looks up to the heavens, and yes, it was true, it was a gorgeous day. Ignoring her gut-feeling, she agrees, and off they went. Both felt warm, and sweaty when they arrived at a small pond next to a well. The clear, sparkling water was inviting. Again, the more outspoken Lie took the initiative:
“Aaah, a bath would feel so good. Don’t you think? Come on, let’s have fun, join me for a bath! There is nobody around so we can bathe in the nude. ”
Truth tested the water with her hand, and yes, Lie was right, the water felt good. She didn’t want to hurt Lie’s feelings or ruin a companionable day, so she agreed. They undressed, went into the water, and splashed each other, laughing. All of a sudden Lie left the water, grabbed their clothing, ran away, discarding her own and dressing in Truth’s clothing.
For a few moments Truth was shocked, then she got angry at herself. How could she have ever trusted Lie? She went after the bitch, tried to catch her and get her clothing back.
When the world saw the naked Truth, they did not want to embarrass her, so they turned away. Some people were spiteful and called her names. Poor Truth was so ashamed and upset that she tried to hide and go back to the pond and the well protected by nature.
Lie, dressed in Truth’s clothing, paraded around and pretended to be Truth, and incredibly, more people than not believe her.
By now, Lie is travelling the world, dubbing the societies, and the world has no need and even lost the desire to see the “Naked Truth.”
What is it – superstition, ESP or simply coincidence? Couldn’t be. Do you believe in Guardian Angels? During my whole life (just read my memoir “We Don’t Talk About That”) it seems that I knew before something happened what was coming. Or, if I were desperate for or needed something, I would go to a place I usually wasn’t going to and found it. Or, I think of someone for no good reason, and the person turns up, writes or phones me. Last week I couldn’t get my first boyfriend out of my mind and wondered if he and his wife were still alive. I called my kayak friend Christa in Germany, and during our conversation, I asked her.
“I never see him, I have no contact with them. But it’s weird you should ask. There is an announcement in today’s newspaper that his wife has died. I meant to send it to you.”
A few days ago I wondered where I could go for a pedicure. With my severe back problems, I cannot do it myself anymore. I meant to ask my lady friends. I had something at Tim Hortons, sat down at one of the small tables, ate right there and, instead of turning left after I was finished I wandered around the corner to the right. Why? I don’t know. There is nothing but the rear exit door of the Woodgrove Shopping Center. And what do I see? A modern, colorful, busy manicure and pedicure setup.
I picked up a business card. A few days later, I made an appointment. Nobody spoke much understandable English. The manicure section was full. I was the first-afternoon customer for a pedicure. They placed me in one of what, six? large leather chairs, lined the attached footbath in front of me and added warm water and some salts. A young man treated me, he did not understand me, and I did not understand him. Maybe he was Korean, perhaps from China or Thailand, it didn’t matter. He knew what he was doing, I did not have to tell him what I wanted to be done. He did a superb job. While he was working on my feet, the big chair massaged my back, up and down, pulling, kneading, knocking, stroking, all the way from the head to my bottom. No, I did not want my toenails coloured, it was the only thing I had to convey to him using sign language.
I was thinking back of my own skin care shops in the eighties. My pedicure chairs cost about $1.500.00 each even then, but these modern ones? I guess much more than double. I watched the manicures and picked up a price list. I had no idea you could offer two pages of services, just for nails. All in all, I am impressed, and I will surely go back there and also recommend the place called “Cali Nails” in Nanaimo, Woodgrove Shopping Center.
I must have a guardian angel who knows what I need when I need it, and he guides me there.
I must say I was surprised when I saw this announcement placed by “Book Club Mom.” I couldn’t believe that even a book, written by Margaret Atwood, “The Handmaid’s Tale” had been challenged and banned before it was made into a TV series and a movie. Ms. Atwood had started this book in 1984 when she lived in West Berlin before the fall of the infamous Berlin Wall. Another book I would never have questioned was “Mockingbird” by Kathryn Erskine, a book about a young girl with Asperger’s disease. No, NOT the one written by Lee Harper “To Kill a Mocking Bird.” Maybe I can understand that books about sexual orientation had been banned when they came out. It was probably too early for the topic. Now, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Until last week I never thought that there were books today I couldn’t order or buy. But it happened. I tried to order an Art Book from Amazon.com – a coffee table book with a collection of paintings by an ‘Unknown artist’ – Adolf Hitler. A USA art collector had published only a thousand of it. I had seen a documentary on television about Winston Churchill and was intrigued by his hobby – painting – a hobby he shared with this other artist with an infamous name. It seems that both men, under tremendous stress, could forget the world they lived in when painting. I could read up on both artists through Google/Wikipedia and even see paintings of both artists which sold by auction for 6-figure prizes.
So? I checked Amazon.com. They listed several used books ‘Adolf Hitler, the Unknown Artist.’ Naturally, the thousand that were printed decades ago were long gone, and now people tried to make a buck by offering theirs for sale. The cheapest listed and marked ‘in good condition’ was $168.98 US including shipping. They did have several more for more money. I put it in my shopping basket and proceeded to ‘check-out’ – curious what would happen. I thought, ‘In the end, I don’t have to buy it.’ I found out that Amazon did not own any of those books, private sellers had listed them on their site.
When I proceeded to type in my address I was told: ‘We cannot ship to Canada. Give us a different address.’
What? Not ship to Canada, a multi-cultural country, respecting every religion, color, creed or whatever. Not allowing an ART BOOK to cross the border?
I followed up by contacting ‘chat help’ at Amazon.com. I learned some amazing facts about banned books. But the help person was helpful and connected me with Amazon.ca after he had found out that they had just one copy of the book that I was looking for.
I had a chance to follow a link to look at it and when I saw the price of $1.598.99 Canadian I quickly went back to my chat person and told him:
“Thank you for helping me, but the price for that book is out of my league.”
He apologized, and his final comment was, “It’s not Amazon, they are private sellers, we also cannot buy these books. They are out of print, and a private owner can charge whatever they want.”
Out of print, banned or book burnings I remember from the Nazi time. Are we getting there again?
A few years ago a handful of people ruined my joy and self-confidence, but the worst was that they destroyed my sense of belonging. I have tried hard not to let it affect me, but it did. Many years before that, something happened that had my world crash unexpectedly and made me believe I had wasted twenty of the best years of my life. It hurt, and it still does. I told nobody of my search for a way to end my life that would look like an accident but not hurt other people. I could go on and tell you about specific untrue accusations. My pain and inability to fight back caused anxiety, resentment, grieving, sadness, loss of energy and finally depression. On the surface, I kept on showing the world a smiling face and buried myself in work; I was successful, built a new life, but, nobody needed to know what I felt inside. My inner world was dark gray, sometimes black. With the dogs of a friend, I experienced the only truly happy hours. They made me forget… They made me laugh, they accepted and loved me the way I was. I could be me, I could be myself. A blissful feeling just “to be.”
An overwhelming need to be alone overcame me a few weeks ago. I didn’t really know where I was going to go. I did not want to burden my friends with my feelings of anxiety and my dark mood. After approximately thirty minutes of aimlessly driving around and without much thinking, I found myself on the highway. My car took me to a small, pleasant town about twenty or maybe thirty kilometers away. I knew a small bakery where, once upon a time, I had shared the best cheesecake of my life with dear friends. Pleased to see the only table outside available, I had a coffee, and, you guessed it, a piece of their delicious cheesecake. I sat there, watched the world go by and thought of the present reason for my inner turmoil. I felt despondent and lonely but already a bit better than when I first arrived. Since here in Canada nobody would ever ask to sit at the same table, I cleared my dishes and went on my way, making room for the next people. I was wandering up and down the charming streets until I finally felt the need to find a restroom. I knew just the place, a large grocery store with a café and gift shop upstairs. The ladies room was taken, so I waited. My eyes fell onto a large poster next to it. It was here that I read the following:
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight, and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”
Wow! I did reread it. It was a revelation, a message especially for me. This kind of thing has happened three times before in my life; I was taken to a place, or the people I needed to see. Was my Guardian Angel at work when I most needed him? This story stayed with me ever since I read it, I thought about it every single day. Has it been only three or is it already four weeks? I have thought about it, analyzed it, compared it to my inner demons and realized that I had favored and fed the wrong wolf, for many of the past years.
No more. Not that I had forgotten to feed the other one, but one adverse action or word from people I loved or respected, would push me back into the dark place, and the big bad wolf has been waiting.
I promised myself he won’t be the winner!
For the last few days, I have been contemplating the fact we have an Easter Bunny and not an Easter Chicken? Doesn’t it make more sense in regards to laying the eggs? But now I know it is not about laying the eggs – it’s about delivering them!
The idea of Easter goes back to the Pagan times. A festival about the Spring Equinox was celebrated, long before Christianity, in the Northern Hemisphere. The Spring Equinox is the day when dark and light are identical, in other words, night and day are of the same hours. The festival was about the renewal of life. The word ‘Easter’ is based on the Goddess Eostre, the “Goddess of Spring and Renewal.” Eggs were the symbol of new life; rabbits are the symbol of fertility. Did you know that a rabbit can get pregnant again before the developing babies are even born? I found another interesting tidbit: For their first-time, a rabbit can get pregnant like the Virgin Mary: It can deliver babies and still be virgin.
Another fact I have often wondered about is the changing date of Easter. This was decided by the Nicae Church Council in 325 AD. They determined that the Easter Festival should always be on the Sunday following the full moon after the Spring Equinox. This is a time between March 25th and April 25th. (Explained by Professor Cusack on Wikipedia)
The name for ‘Easter’ derived from the Jewish Passover in most European countries:
It is Pascha for Greece, Pasque for Italy, Paaske for Denmark, Paques for France.
The Anglo-Saxon English speaking countries retained the name Easter based on the Pagan Goddess Eostre, while Germany calls it Ostern. With the advent of Christianity, the ‘old stories’ about the renewal of life, especially the reclaiming of life by Jesus Christ established Easter as we know it today.
The Easter celebration was brought to America by the German and Dutch immigrants to Pennsylvania during the 17th century. The painting of Easter Eggs started in the Middle Ages in the East European countries. They developed the egg-painting to a fine art. During my childhood, we tinted eggs while boiling them with herbs or flowers, or put our pride in painting blown out eggs with pretty little pictures. These decorated eggshells would be hung on pussy willow or forsythia twigs for a table center.
With the advance of commercialization during the 18th and 19th century, the first sugared eggs were produced in Germany, followed by the English Cadbury company offering chocolate eggs and even chocolate bunnies. Hallmark postcards with Easter Greetings appeared at about the same time.
The decoration of the Easter eggs is still practiced in East European countries, especially in Ukraine. The absolute “Top Egg” would be the Fabergè Egg, today worth a mint and mainly kept in Museums and a limited number in private collections. The Royal House of England has three in their possession. The House of Fabergè, during the years between 1885 and 1916 had produced about fifty very intricate eggs for the Tsar of Russia. Two a year were ordered as Easter gifts for his mother and his wife. Fabergè also filled orders by other wealthy families. Many of these eggs had small gifts inside, portraits or, in a few cases, even animals, decorated with precious stones. The last two eggs the Tsar ordered for Easter 1917 could never be delivered because of WWI. The Russian Revolution put an end to the luxury life of the Romano family. The whole family was executed. The Bolsheviks had no use for these treasures and sold them to whoever gave them money. Of the fifty Faberge ̀ eggs in the Tsars possession, only forty-three of the “Imperial Eggs” have survived. So it was believed. One was bought at a flea market by a scrap dealer in the US Midwest in 2014 and was almost melted down for its intrinsic value of about $500.00. Luckily, the man Googled it, found a news item about it, flew to England to a Fabergè specialist and could never believe his luck: It was the third Imperial Egg ever made in 1887 and was estimated to be worth 33 million dollars.
Talk about laying (finding) a “Golden Egg”!
At the beginning of 2017, I still had several books to finish reading. It was an uphill struggle since I had picked books for learning more about history and not for entertainment. Some were really hard to stick with since the authors were not always writing in an easy style.
However, as every year, I will let you know which books filled more cavities in my brain:
- I had to finish “The Kaiser, The Warlord of the Second Reich” by Allan Palmer. A tough read, especially since I had hardly learned anything about German history, growing up in the Eastern part of Germany, where Russian history post 1917 was all that was taught.
- “Peter The Great” by Ian Grey was quite a lengthy book based on incredible research. I often had to go back to previous pages to ‘connect the dots.’ I admit that I got intrigued by the Russian history before the Revolution putting an end to the rule of the Tzars.
- “The Girl with No Name” by Diney Costelloe. A story about the Kindertransports during WWII and how they fared in London during the bombings.
- “On The Street Where You Live” by Mary Higgins Clark. This one not related to history. A mystery novel. Murders were repeated after 100 years.
- “Prague Winter” by Nikolaus Martin. This one was very interesting because I had met the niece of the writer in an airplane. It is a heartwrenching story of the Nazi Invasion of Prague and how people coped with it.
- “Love, Lies and High Heels” by Debby Conrad. It is a light, fluffy love story. It felt as if written by a teenager. Maybe I will read another book by Debby one day to see if she has ‘matured.’
- “The Refugee” by Anna Bruic. The title speaks for itself. No, it does not have anything to do with the present day refugees.
- “The Munich Girl” by Phyllis Edgerly-Ring. A love story of Adolf Hitler and a girl in Munich, their secret life and clandestine meetings and an unexpected end to it all.
- “Lebensborn” by Roberta Kagan. I wanted to know more of the infamous ‘stud farms’ to breed Aryan babies. It wasn’t quite what I had expected.
- “Refugee Road” by Nikki Landers, herself a prolific reader and writer. Part of a series of books.
- “You Are My Sunshine” by Roberta Kagan. After reading “Lebensborn” by her, I wanted to know more. The story she weaves in this one feels not quite real. Unmarried girls, pregnant and with no home to go back to, find a place in one of the Nazi’s clinics, they have to sign a contract to give up their baby.
- “Lucy’s Christmas Miracle” – One of many Frank Rozzany Detective short stories by Alex Mandossian. I have read more of this series and sometimes have held my breath.
- “Threaten to Undo Us” by Rose Seiler-Scott is a well-researched account of families torn apart by the Nazi invasion of Poland and the tragic fare of German people living there.
- “Personal Paparazzi” by Alina Vincent & Christine Whitmarsh. A book about writing, marketing and more. The two writers are very active on social media teaching courses.
- “Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid” by Maureen Discroll. After a lot of heavy reading, a person needs a break. I enjoyed this book.
- “The Fall of The Dynasties: The collapse of the old order 1905 -1922” by Edmund Taylor. It was not new to me how the leading dynasties in the European part of the world were all related, and one could hardly understand how they could make war against each other. History, meticulously researched and well written.
Those are the books I read, most on my Kindle and Kobo. I also checked a lot of books on Amazon where you can click on “Look Inside” and get an idea what they are about. There was quite a number I would have loved to get and read, but as a writer, I only have so much time. I had started to read two books over Christmas but did not finish either yet. Therefore I like to leave them to my report at the end of 2018. God willing I will still live at that time, and no new war has blown our planet to bits!
Now about the book, I published in 2017: A collection of my German language poems; poems I had written over a period of about thirty years. Happy poems! I had a lot of fun putting the book together while I took a ‘sabbatical’ from writing my sequel to “We Don’t Talk About That.” Written in the style of Eugen Roth’s poems, they inevitably bring a smile to the readers face. A terrific gift for all German-speaking friends.
“Ein Mensch von Gestern – Heute” is available on all the known Amazon sites, Kindle, Kobo, Smashwords. Wonderful as a paperback but also available as an ebook.
It is the last day of the year 2017. I am thinking of the 365 days past. I am contemplating what the New Year may bring. I have no crystal ball. Nobody has an answer. If we are a few billion people with a brain on this planet, every single one has different hopes, wishes, and beliefs. I am trying to write a blog that means something, possibly something that touches a nerve in everyone. Everyone? Who am I kidding! I can but try. And try I will.
New Year’s Eve: We celebrate and make a lot of noise. We make New Year’s Resolutions, resolutions that will be broken within the next few weeks or even days because ‘life happens.’ Something always gets into our way to do what we set out to do, want to do or planned to do. We woke up with a thought to write a fantastic blog – someone asked to do something else, and everything changes. The mood, sometimes even the energy is gone. What we really wanted to say changed. The moment, that magic moment, when you felt just right to do this one thing, is gone.
Looking back on 2017, it was a troubled year. Worldwide, politically and for me, even personally. But what is my personal pain compared to the pain of thousands of people fleeing their homes with just the cloth on their back, children starving, soldiers raping helpless women, beheading or killing well-meaning men? The worst is that all of this is done in the name of religion. Did anybody choose to born a Muslim, a Christian or a Jew? Or belonging to any of the many other denominations? How many Gods are there? I always thought there was but ONE, and he is a loving God, not one who spews hate and fire at one particular group that tries to kill another group. Who’s side is HE one when soldiers in war pray for victory? I’m reminded of a little story:
A zebra goes to see God. He asks ‘Lord, am I white with black stripes or am I black with white stripes?’
God looks at the zebra and says: ‘That depends entirely on how you see yourself.’
I like to see it not just depending on color but ‘how we see ourselves.’ Has HE given humanity ‘free choice’? A choice to do what is right? HE doesn’t get involved in humanity’s foolishness. Someone on Facebook asked ‘How can God let this happen?’ and another answered that HE may have turned his back on us because we don’t allow HIS name in schools, and we try to banish him from our lives. It’s troublesome to think about all this. And, maybe it is better not even to write about it. I stepped into a wasp’s nest once when I wrote an article for a newspaper questioning different parts of the bible and mentioned Emmanuel Kant’s Philosophy. It was also a New Year’s write-up, and boy, did I touch many nerves! The Newspaper had a hay-day with all the pro- and contra letters for weeks!
What do I look back to, personally? Problems with my health, physical problems that affected me mentally. I got depressed but tried hard to pretend all was alright. I had a terrible time getting to work on my sequel to my memoir “We Don’t Talk About That.” In that book, I was honest and told how it was, and I couldn’t find a way to tell what happened to me and my life after those first thirty years. I thought of all the things I still had to do, wanted to do and never got around to do. I went through all my files, sorted, destroyed and found papers I didn’t want to go into the wastebasket after I’m gone. I found poems I had written over many years, mostly funny ones, many with double meanings, my goodness, actually a history of human life during the years starting around 1960! Reading these gave me hope and smiles back, and a will to do something with them. My little book “Ein Mensch von Gestern – Heute” was born. It’s in my first language, German, but there are still a lot of people who do speak it. The title means “A Human from Yesterday – Today.” The story of how we people from yesterday cope with life as it has changed since yesteryear. Hahaha, and now we are back to today, the last day of 2017.
Did I have moments when I thought of stopping the time from flying? Yes, there were some. But how do you stop time? With a stopwatch? Heh, buddy, it doesn’t work that way. Every breath you take is part of a second that moves time forward. Did you ever read Goethe’s ‘Faust’? The first two lines inspired me this morning to write about it. Here is part of Dr. Faustus’ conversation with Mephisto about time:
“If to the moment, I shall ever say
‘Oh, linger on, thou art so fair!’
Then may you fetters on me lay.
Then I will perish, then and there!
Then may the death-bell toll recalling,
Then from your service you are free;
The clock may stop, the pointer falling,
And time itself be past for me!”
The answer of the devil, Mephisto, was a warning. Faustus should not be hasty with his wish, but if so, he wanted it in writing, signed with blood. Maybe here we find a base for what we often say nowadays: ‘Be careful what you wish for, you may get it!’
Happy New Year to all of you! I love you, my readers! I love people!
A big hug for all!