On our way to Galway in the van, we saw him, black plastic cape flapping wildly, the wings of a monstrous crow caught in a squall. Soaked, he extended a bony thumb and as we passed, I saw he was an old man, maybe in his eighties, his lined face screwed up tightly against the rain. He was an unlikely hitcher but we stopped, brakes squealing in the wet. I shoved up closer to Joe on the bench seat. The man smelt of wet sheep. “Where to ?” I asked him, “Monroe’s bar, a few miles on,” he boomed out, surprising loudly and cheerfully after his drenching “Drop me there and I’ll stand you a drink and a game of cards.” Later, several pints of Guinness and an unfathomable card game later, he trapped me in a dingy corridor on my way to the loo and begged me to marry him. I told him I wasn’t very good at looking after sheep.
Category: Uncategorized
Clarity
“She’s just like you!”
We met Tom and Sally at a small restaurant in Encinitas, California. Tom had picked us up at the airport, but I had yet to meet his wife, son, and sister, who joined us shortly after we had been seated at a large round table. Sally, who had been previously described to me as introverted and awkward, engaged me quite vividly, asking me all kinds of questions about where I was from, what I was doing and the like — the kind of polite scrutiny you would expect upon meeting people for the first time, especially when you’re about to marry their closest friend of thirty years.
After a while I excused myself to go to the restroom — in no small part, to give everyone the opportunity to gossip. My fiancé had been doing this every time we met his friends on this trip: as soon as I left, he would say “So? What do you think? Isn’t she awesome?” I liked that little ritual even though I was slightly embarrassed by the flood of compliments and awe I would receive by proxy when we got home. And this time was no different.
Back in the car, my fiancé told me how Sally — as soon as I was out of earshot — in a moment of clairvoyance had blurted out the one sentence that we keep quoting to each other to this day:
“She’s just like you!”
To this day we are not sure whether she meant it as a compliment or an insult. But whichever it was, she couldn’t have been more right.
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(c) Anett Enzmann 2019
Fifteen minutes to Go
In fifteen minutes I have to go out and I wonder what I can do in those minutes. The laundry is done and drying, the dishes are done and the bed is made. Writing this blog should take five minutes so here we are. Writing, my favourite pastime. It is so satisfying when challenges are reached and overcome. It makes me feel that I have achieved something and can stand tall and say – yes, I have done that. I tried to instil that feeling into my sons as well. I’m happy to say they did grow up with that ethic and are now teaching their own children the same thing. Just look where five minutes of typing has taken me – from laundry to ethics. Editing done, its time for me to post, pick up my bag and depart.
Osten
Mein Herz blutet. Das Leben ist nicht fair, und es ist auch nicht schwarz-weiß. Ich habe mein Land verlassen, damals, als die Mauer weg war. Und wusste nicht, dass ich niemals würde zurückkehren können.
Das Land gibt es nicht mehr, es wurde abgeschafft, auf den Schrotthaufen der Geschichte geworfen. Ein ausgedientes Modell, bankrott, umstellt, ausgelaugt, überaltert, verknöchert. Alternativlos entsorgt.
Die Menschen aber, die gibt es noch. Und sie tragen das Land in sich. Ich auch.
Weit bin ich gegangen in meiner NEUgierde, und habe dadurch so viel mehr über meine Herkunft erfahren.
Was, wenn ich geblieben wäre, so wie andere? Wer wäre ich heute? Was ich in den Medien lese, tut mir in der Seele weh. Das Leben ist nicht schwarz oder weiß, die Menschen auch nicht. Ich würde gerne ein Buch schreiben, die Vielfalt meines Heimatlandes, meiner Mitmenschen und ihrer Schicksale festhalten und sichtbar, verstehbar machen.
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
Memories
Once, when I was 14, I was staying with friends on a farm. There was a very pink, shy, young Englishman, straight out from England and agricultural college, wearing shorts and long socks, trying to fit in and really just looking awkward in neatly pressed, brand new shorts and shirt . I found myself sitting next to him at supper, and made rolling eyes to my friend begging for help, she just giggled.. My friend and I were offered a small glass of wine and we felt very grown up. Not sure if it was the wine or absent-mindedness, but Butch, my friend’s lovely boxer sidled up to me under the table and I put my hand on his body and gave him a good scratch. Suddenly there was a snort from my friend’s father and looking at the very red embarrassed face of the Pom, to my horror I realised I had been giving his hairy leg a good scratch thinking it was Butch. The whole table collapsed into laughter and I wished myself a million miles away.
Waiting and Watching
As I write this I am sitting by a floor to ceiling window watching the road and the shops opposite. Directly opposite is a shop with a signboard proclaiming that it was established in 1940. The fascia board is painted black, lettered in gold in 1940′ s style. Below the name is the word ‘victualler’ which is a good old word later replaced by ‘grocer’, though I’m not sure that the two words mean exactly the same thing any more. This shop appears to be a butcher now, with promotional cards for lamb, and a pretty picture of a soft white lamb in the window, along with a fluffy chick, which is half the size of the lamb, and a green leprechaun or elf, who is a little bigger than the lamb.
Since 07:30 am two people inside the shop have been very busy, cleaning, tidying, arranging, re-arranging and serving and chatting to the seven customers during the past hour and a half. The rain came down harder for a few minutes and sawdust was spread across the floor at the door – very 1940’s.
A good way to have a pleasant break with lots of toast and coffee.
Traum
Ich steige in ein dunkles Kellerloch, getrieben von Angst und Neugier. Beim Umhertasten springt mich plötzlich eine Ratte an und lässt meinen Finger nicht mehr los. In Panik renne ich aus dem Keller, und als ich auf der Straße ankomme, habe ich an meiner Hand statt der Ratte einen Löwen. Er läuft langsam hinter mir her.
Ob der Löwe eine Bedrohung ist oder mich vor meiner Umgebung schützt, kann ich nicht sagen. Er gibt mir nicht zu verstehen, was er will oder denkt.
Ich fange an, wild durch die Gegend zu laufen und allen möglichen Leuten auf der Straße von meinem Problem zu erzählen. Aber sie hören mir entweder gar nicht zu oder verstehen mich nicht – jedenfalls scheint niemand den Löwen zu bemerken.
Immer ungläubiger laufe ich weiter und spreche wahllos Menschen an, um ihnen von dem Löwen zu erzählen, der offensichtlich gar nicht da ist. Aber wann immer ich mich umdrehe, sehe ich ihn deutlich, und er sieht mich an und scheint zu sagen, dass es ihn gibt und ich nichts dagegen tun kann …
Copyright 2019 Andrea Bernard
Noise
Sitting in a clubhouse, or member’s entertainment space, during kids disco hour. The noise in incredible here at the back of the room. The kids, mostly littleys, are up in front of the stage. The DJ is talking with Microphone, above the music. The kids are loving it, but at this decibel level are the kids being deafened? I’m glad that I don’t have children any more. I am happy to be a spoil sport.
Volunteering, Strong on Your Feet
Volunteering takes many forms here in Australia. There are those who volunteer as firies (fire control officers), ambulance officers, in op shops (charity shops), teaching numeracy and literacy, and so on and so forth. At my age I don’t have the horsepower to join the volunteer fire brigade or volunteer sea rescue.
For quite a long time I volunteered on an adult literacy program. Nowadays, I volunteer with a group that works with the Senior Citizens in the community. We hold regular classes in which we teach the Seniors a series of exercises to strengthen their balance and so prevent falls.
As a trained Yoga teacher, I find this rewarding – although the exercises are not yoga asana, they make sense when viewed as appropriate for older people – some in their 90s. The program is put together by two physiotherapists who keep a close eye on the instructors.
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No words
I haven’t written anything in a week. Well, I’ve been working, but my client’s enthusiastic announcement for their new game feature hardly seems significant, considering everything else that’s been going on, now does it?
Usually, I don’t get anxious reading the news. There is nothing I can do about it anyway.* But just looking at the unfathomable footage of the burning Amazon, the events unfolding in the UK, the US, and Germany, reading statements and comments, leaves me stunned, unbelieving, overwhelmed. What has gotten into you people?! When have we, as a species, descended into this kind of madness? Aren’t we supposed to be the smart ones? When have we decided to abandon all reason? And for what? A treacherous illusion of happiness, meaning, fulfillment? So we can live out our days gluttonously, comfortably and in what little comfort we can amass? Just so we can feel good about ourselves — or rather better than everyone else — we blindly believe those who offer easy solutions for complex problems, not realizing — or worse, accepting — that they are just as mad, just as scared as we are?
Seriously, what’s wrong with us?
Five minutes really isn’t a long time, but this had to be said nonetheless…
*Strictly speaking, that’s not even true. Vote. Sign petitions. Protest. Boycott. Donate.
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(c) Anett Enzmann 2019
five stray minutes 