Clothing Dilemma

Is this how my trip to Germany is going to start? Worrying about what to bring and wondering if a shopping trip is in my near future?

My closet:

It’s a bit on the meager side. Especially when it comes to winter, like October and November in Germany. I do black t-shirts very well, and I do own two black long sleeve t-shirts. Do you think anyone minds frayed sleeves and neck on the long-sleeves?

And can you see the plaid shirt? Yes, long sleeve, from our son Toby, he’s ok parting with it.

How about pants? Well, I’m in trouble. One pair, and I don’t even like them. And I’m not sure if i can pull off PJ pants in Germany, too thin. I shouldn’t whine, I get to go to Europe!

And then, how about shoes, let’s change the subject.

Socks, I’m good on socks. As a knitter it would be a shame if I had no socks. And look, not one of them black.

Today is the official day I start on my adventure. Though it really started yesterday when I pulled the suitcase from the garage to let all the spiders escape that might have considered hibernating in it.

Tonight and on the weekend: a trip to a clothing store. Long overdue. I will post my loot soon.

Ancestry Part 2

The Sins of the Mother

My mom modeling a mardi gras costume made by a local taylor.

Most of my adult life I believed that Hans was my father.

One day in 1982 I collected all my courage and contacted him. He agreed to a meeting that would end up lasting hours. So many questions on both sides. Including from his wife he had brought along. We had dinner together I’d made in advance, and when we said goodbye he invited us over for dinner at his house.

Unfortunately, that never happened. Within 2 weeks of that meeting we moved due to a job transfer; but there would be mail, or so I thought.

Over the years I kept in touch with letters and photos. From him I received one vacation postcard that his wife wrote. I was always left wondering if his wife hid my letters. She did say in our meeting that Hans having had a child already was almost a deal-breaker for her.

I called a couple of times, but Hans was never home. After a tragic event in 2007 and before heading to Germany, my mom now dead, I called again. This time he answered and we ended up talking for an hour. Catching up, lots of questions from him. When I asked why the silence to my mail he replied that he wants and wanted no contact with me. I asked why he didn’t just tell me so, his answer: I thought you would get the message.

Wow! Return the letters or say something, but this was cowardly. A child never gives up on their parents without a clear message.

And so ended my barely started relationship with my bio father. Until….

Yes, after DNA results that suggested relatives in the US (see previous post), I wanted to know more and contacted him, or rather his daughter, via Facebook.

I talked a little bit about that in yesterday’s post. But here are the gory details.

The daughter forwards a letter from him to me via Facebook messenger. He asks why I want to know about relatives of his in the US and says there are none; what the purpose of this DNA test is; if it was a paternity test between Mr. Wheeler and me; who is Mr. Wheeler.

He writes that my mother declared him the father in court and that she didn’t have sexual intercourse with anyone else, so he was forced to admit paternity with all its consequences (that would have been around 50 DM monthly for my support).

More questions from him: How is it possible that another man makes an appearance after 63 years? Have I known about it all those years? Is it possible to exclude him as my father without a DNA test between him and me? Does my DNA test prove my relationship to Mr. Wheeler? How can he legally find out that this new situation reverses his paternity he admitted to in 1954? He writes that this is a legal proceeding and a few lines on Facebook will not be enough. And that if my assumptions are right, this would be of great importance to him.

As you can see, many more than one question. And not one showing empathy with me and what I’m going through. Just him, him, him.

What can I answer? Yes, he’s not my bio father, but I have no idea who my father is. I have no information about the law in Germany. Also, as a teenager I was adopted by my mom’s husband, so there is no certificate I own naming Hans as the father. At the time, he had to agree to the adoption.

I reply with: Oh my! and that this is better done through email than Facebook messages through his daughter. I give them my email, and promptly get theirs. It’s “chat-with-marianna@….” I get my own email address to correspond with them. No comment to that.

I’m back trying to figure out the mystery of my bio father and the twists and turns in that journey when I receive another email from Hans’s daughter with a letter attached by him. And again it’s a me, me, me letter: Weeks have passed and I should at least answer the questions I can answer. And it should be clear to me that the answers are important and interesting to him as well as his family.

Does he want to know about Hedwig and Don and all the other little tidbits I know? I decide that it’s none of his business. If he would have accepted me over the years we could have shared in the forthcoming information and cried and laughed together. But he showed no interest and so has no right to this personal detective story that’s unravelling. He will get his answer when I know who my father is, in the meantime I let him know he can be assured it’s not him.

He goes on in his letter to inform me that he finds it hard to imagine that a man would be willing to do a paternity test with me. He asks if it is the law in the US. And if I find out the paternity he has to react and fight his status if there is a document. Oh, I should not worry: he will not ask for the return of the unjustly paid support for me.

This floored me. Is there one case where a child over 63 years later is asked to pay back child support? Are you kidding me? What an insult! How generous of him.

He asks me if I know if Mr. Wheeler was in Germany at the time of my conception and if he was in contact with my mother. He is interested in doing a paternity test with me. And wonders whether we would do this in Germany or the US.

He writes about the difference between ancestry and paternity. And that family court in Mannheim would deal with fighting paternity, because that’s where he admitted it.

He reminds me that he had no contact with my mother after Oct/Nov of 1953 (I was made in September). He didn’t find out about my birth until 3 weeks after I was born. (My grandmother found out about me the day of my birth. My mother refused to name the dad, but social services threatened her and she eventually named Hans. So most likely no one knew he was the father for 3 weeks.)

My mother was quiet about the pregnancy when they ran into each other in May 1954, a month before I was born. He claims my mom stayed overnight with an American family she worked for and there were lots of parties. (All I know is that my grandmother worked for Americans. My mother worked for a publisher as a secretary.)

He continues insisting on his right to find out what I know so far. That he’s 82 already and needs to schedule dates in court and find out what needs doing before he gets too old to act.

I have no idea what my mother knew or didn’t. She must have thought he was the father. Or she was playing a big game. At the time she was 16 and 17. I can only guess. But Hans was her boyfriend for a while and they had sex. The circumstances of my conception, we’ll probably never know. It could have been a one-night stand, a rape, a short relationship with a GI, a drunken escapade….

I did write back to his last letter and informed him that he’s not my bio father and that the rest of the information I know should be of no interest to him since it’s personal information that doesn’t pertain to him.

Let’s hope it’s the end of the story and a relationship that never was. If he ends up seeing me you’ll hear me scream throughout Nevada County.

Ancestry Part 1

Life can be exciting. Mine recently brought changes that make me question reality.

Liana, our daughter, married into a family with an aunt who’s enjoying the adventures of ancestry. No surprise then that Liana was gifted a DNA kit to expand and fill out the family tree.

Her results show many US relatives and she informed me that my father is not my father. Yeah, right. I told her this was impossible. I’m an illegitimate child of a German man who wanted nothing to do with me. Painful? Yes. I carried that pain around for far too long to now accept he isn’t my father.

She insisted. I knew nothing about ancestry or what relationships mean to make any sense of it. Perhaps my father has a brother who emigrated to the US. That would be a simple explanation, Occam’s razor. Or could it be, a mistake was made and I was exchanged at birth? No, remember, Occam’s razor. But she had me intrigued.

After access to this new family tree, I could find no connection to my maternal family, and none to the one I thought of as my father’s family. While some families have many, many children, generation after generation, my family’s forte was keeping it small with one or two children. This new Wheeler (name changed to protect the innocent ;-)) family seemed to focus on many children and as many marriages. It was a labyrinth of a family tree.

I’m not in touch with my father (you know the one I thought was my father), though I have his address and phone number. With a Facebook search I find one of his daughters and since I’m no family secret I ask her in a Facebook message if I can pose a question. Her eventual answer is that she gladly will answer one question but is not available for further information, as her father didn’t wish to have any contact with me.

Oh boy, one question. I’d better make this a good one, and I decide to wait before asking.

That’s when Liana gifts Stephen and me DNA tests. I wasn’t convinced it would show anything beyond what I already knew. OK, I was a little intrigued by some US relatives, but not that much and thought it a waste of money and spit. Spit I didn’t seem to have lots of.

The results arrive via the ancestry web page  where you sign up with your assigned number. And much earlier than expected, I see the emailed results.

No surprise, I’m 97% European. But the 13% Irish is a surprise, so are a few other numbers scattered over Europe, but all too low to be significant.

The other aspect and the most interesting one to me is the DNA matches with others who took the test. To my relief, Liana is our daughter, no mix-up at the Italian hospital where she was born. We had to leave her alone for an hour the first day to do the paperwork at a local government office. Well, you never know, I mean she was the prettiest baby ever.

I learned so much more about ancestry and familial relationships than I ever wanted to know.

Surprise No. 1: I have a first cousin, no, two first-cousin matches. And yes, they are cousins to each other. What does that mean? We have an uncle or aunt in common.

With absolute certainty I can say that my mother was an only child. Unless she was exchanged at birth back in 1937. Nah, not likely. So this uncle or aunt has to be on the paternal side. This is getting interesting.

The Wheeler family has an extensive family tree online, and I fit in there somehow. These new cousins have many aunts and uncles. It has to be that one of their uncles is my father. This is earth-shaking information.

I’m 63 and all of a sudden I find my father? I start feeling lost. Have to let go of the man I thought was my father. But how can I do that before I find another one? I don’t want to be in limbo.

I message the woman I thought was my half-sister and tell her I have no more questions. That I had been interested in any close relatives who had emigrated to the US, but now know that her father is not mine and to pass this information on to him. Greetings and thanks, Marianna.

One of the first moves is to message the first cousin and second cousin. That works through a system on ancestry.com. It takes a while to get an answer, and there is a family story that one of the brothers had a child in Germany they were in touch with. Well, no one was in touch with me, so that must be another child. And it turns out to be so.

There are 4 brothers who could be my father. 3 of them are dead. One of the dead ones we can rule out, as I’m a cousin to his son. That leaves 3. One of them is older and was not in Germany at the time of my conception, that leaves 2. One alive, Jack, one dead, Don. Supposedly both sterile. None of them ever had kids. How can that be?

Jack thinks that both of them were in Germany in my village at the time of my conception. He’s 86 now and it is hard for him to deal with this as I understand from my new cousin, of course he thinks his sterility counts him out as the father. I’m 63 and it’s hard for me, too. He always wanted children but couldn’t have his own, and his wife was against adopting. I decide I want him to be my father, if for no other reason than he’s alive and I could meet him. Perhaps.

The only way to find out if it’s him or his brother Don is through a DNA test. He hasn’t agreed yet. He insists he’s sterile. I believe him, but when did that happen? Through mumps as an adult, perhaps after my conception? My huge imagination is running in all directions at the same time.

I have no direct contact with Jack, everything goes through the first cousin. But she’s not that close to him. My latest idea is contacting him myself.

How about a dead father, Don, as a possibility? And this is where the whole story meanders, and twists, and turns.

Don brought back a wife from Germany named Hede who was my mom’s age and from a neighboring village. They were married a short time before getting divorced. No one has heard from her since.

I contact my mom’s friend from back then who married an American and now lives in Florida. She recognizes the last name but says she only knows a Hedwig Mayer who married a Wheeler, his name was Don and he was a heavy drinker. Hedwig was very unhappy in her family and they were glad to get rid of her and signed the papers for an underage marriage. Hedwig and Don went to the US and she never heard from Hedwig again.

Hedwig is not Hede, but close. Liana eventually finds papers online where Hedwig applies for citizenship. In this paper she also asks to change her first name to Hede. Chills.

She married Don June 1955 in Mannheim (I was born June 1954 in Mannheim). They travel to the US February 1956. In May 1959 she applies for citizenship. We lose track of her after that.

According to my mom’s friend who still has an excellent memory, Hedwig didn’t know my mom and my mom also didn’t know Don. We will see.

I know: he is my father. Or his brother is. Will I ever find out? Is it important?

One change: before I was an illegitimate child, now I’m an illegitimate child of a GI. That makes me a child of the occupation. I’m one of 200,000 to 400,000 children, many of us searching for our father.

Oh To Be Awake

Pee, brush teeth, comb hair, and I’m good to go most mornings. No need for coffee or other brew, perhaps add 30 minutes of ignoring me, but I’ll promise, that’s it, I’ve turned into a more or less pleasant person ready to interact with the world.

Last night I discovered that it takes totally different skills to wake up at night. And here I thought all I had to do is reach for a book or the iPad to make me sleepy again.

The decision was to reach for a book: Justin Cronin’s The City of Mirrors. Fiction, the third in a series. The other option would’ve been Heather Ann Thomson’s Blood in the Water, The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and its Legacy.

City of Mirrors introduced a new character from back in the 1960s and even mentioned Attica which amazed me and reinforced my belief in the synchronicity of life. Justin Cronin also amazed me by the meticulous research he must have done of that period. I kept wondering when the fiction part of the book would kick in, realizing that I didn’t know enough about this history to even notice. I plodded on. But it didn’t keep my interest and that chapter never connected to the plot in a way I could relate.

I closed the book and put it down and that’s when I realized, looking at the cover, that I’ve actually been reading Blood in the Water, about Attica.

My state of awareness in the middle of night might take some hair and teeth brushing, too.

With all these sign of pointing to confusion at my age, there is always the worry of dementia that comes in many versions. But like all the other signs, I’ll ignore this for now. The possibly obvious still rests under a blanket of plausible excuses. Let’s go with that.

There have been tons of health issues that kept me from interacting with my world here. Instead I’ve been working on pussyhats and other knitting. The Trump election has me confused and angry. The coming Saturday’s demonstration or march in Sacramento is therefore very welcome.

 

Hoarding #358

Here is a topic I keep on coming back to: hoarding.

Philosophers and other thinkers have contemplated life and death, ethics, the mind, emotions, historically just about every topic. And in my youth I probably fancied myself a philosopher with great and deep thoughts, especially when enhanced with a mind-altering influence.

So why do I sit here today and all I have are mundane problems and I can’t even come up with mundane solutions?

I’m cleaning out our shed (thanks Stephen for doing the heavy lifting and dirty work), and I look at this huge pile and contemplate. Left to my usual behavior I know the outcome. In no time everything is back in the shed with a little order, all the while feeling good that I’m accomplishing something.

In the end, there will be 2 boxes I recycle and some little stuff to be thrown away. In other words, nothing accomplished but I scared a few black widows for a change .

So I contemplate some more this time. I try the method of holding each object and seeing how I feel about it. Turns out I have feelings for my table saw.

So I contemplate some more. I look at these objects and their uses. I still think the table saw ranks high on that scale, too. But how about the wallpaper books?

What you don’t know: even before I turned 18 I came across this article in a magazine that showed how to make miniature scenes. Dollhouses you could call them, except they were grocery stores, fabric stores, etc. My heart longed to make these miniatures but my life had other ideas.

Many years ago a wallpaper store gave me their old books, including fabric sample books. So for years now I carry these around, or rather stand them in a corner of the shed. Because, one day I will make these miniature scenes. I did copy a whole book from the library, an out of print book, and before the internet, on how to make the structures themselves. I’m hoarding that, too.

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First I waited for the kids to leave the house, check. Then I waited for retirement (I have no idea why I thought that one, having practically been retired all my life).

But since the kids left I immediately filled up every minute of my time with new projects. Never time for the ones I was hoarding saving.

Life is too exciting to limit myself. I get involved in more and more activities, just like the true gemini I am. Of course I might never get to those dollhouses, but can I really be sure, 100%? I won’t and can’t if those wallpaper books are gone, so back into the corner with you, perhaps this winter.

I’ve lost interest in other stuff I saved. Excited about them years ago, yawning now. But who knows, I might be jumping up and down one day rediscovering that stuff. I should let it go for now, but it hasn’t happened yet.

I can still maneuver through our house, so bite me.

What? No More Books?

OK, so here it is. I recommended a book on Facebook to someone and got pounced on.

The story started with a mom writing about creating a chart of chores for her kids involving bribery (her word, not mine). I understand, been there, done that. But then I remembered a pivitol book I read back when our kids were younger that caused me to abandon the gold stars for a while.

The book: Alfie Kohn’s Punished by Rewards. It was eye-opening. All I would get from the kids with the gold star system would be compliance as long as the rewards kept coming. What i should hope for is a kid who wants to show certain behavior, deep down. Hmm.

Made total sense to me at the time. By now I’m probably misrepresenting Kohn’s ideas and have made them my own version, but they are ideas that have followed me through life.

I can pay people to do what I want, I can bribe them with stuff they want, I just have to keep dangling the rewards. I wanted more for my kids. For them to do and want what felt right, regardless of goodies.

So I was happy to point out that some people believe that this gold star or bribery system might have some drawbacks, and I recommended Kohn’s book. Here is the actual post: “re. bribery: perhaps worth looking into what alfie kohn said about this topic in punished by rewards.”

I was not prepared for the backlash. From ‘parenting books make me want to vomit’ to ‘too busy being a good mom to waste time reading books by people who don’t know my kids.’ Really?

Did these folks not read one pregnancy book either? It’s certainly the first thing I turned to when I found out I was pregnant. And not just because we lived a bit isolated in Italy. I wanted to know all the minutiae about pregnancy and delivery. No one’s word was good enough. I had to know it all. Of course we all read books that fit within our framework of beliefs, so it started out with Leboyer, Odent, Spiritual Midwifery, Immaculate Deception, etc. I bet you even recognize some names here.

So what’s with the new moms? No more knowledge from books? Just lore and myth and experience? How does one get from what is to what could be?

We ended up as unschoolers, with many books and newsletters by John Holt at our side and bedside. He was the one who recommended Alfie Kohn and others we read. It all fit so neatly with our beliefs, there was no hesitation: Should we, shouldn’t we?

I’m not talking self-help books, though we grasped for them in later teenage years. Mostly books that opened our minds to new ways of raising kids, believing in our kids. That can be difficult at times when society tries to tell you exactly how they should be, what movies they should watch, what games they should play, what clothes they should wear.

Books I remember: Free at Last – The Sudbury Valley School; Stories They’ll Remember – Frank LordGreenleaf – An Autobiography of a ChildAlfie Kohn’s Punished by Rewards; John Holt’s Learning All the Time and How Children Fail, etc., and on and on. All books that had a profound impact on me as a parent. The most important aspect though was not the question am I doing it right or wrong, but the question is my kid OK.

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Children are all so different that one needs to keep on having faith in them and believing in them and supporting them, no matter how crazy it gets at times. No, I’m not writing my own book here or advising, that’s just what I felt. And at times I was good at it and other times a miserable failure. Then I would pick up a book and recover my faith.

Perhaps parents nowadays are not faced with such doubts as I was. Books are unnecessary because they know it all already or don’t want to know. Strange as this seems to me, I have to accept that the world might be changing and maybe books on children and parents are part of the past.

John Holt et al., I appreciate you took the time to write and open my eyes to a larger world and to my children. You made us part of a bigger movement that is still going strong. And I’m grateful to have been there almost at the beginning and able to contribute.

We learn from each other and we learn from books and we learn from life and our mistakes and successes. We should never shut out any source of information, no matter what aspect of life. A good thing that we get to pick and choose and have our opinions on what we read and hear and see. But quit reading? Never!

Names

I’ve been called many names in my life. My favorite: alien. My least favorite: illegitimate.

When the kids were little and I got to tell them that their mom was an alien and had proof in the form of a government card, it made my day. Let’s hope they let me be an alien for the rest of my life.

But it’s the least favorite that left some scars. Born out of wedlock or illegitimate in a small German village left a stigma with consequences I didn’t realize at the time. Certain kids were not allowed to associate with me, perhaps they thought illegitimacy was contagious.

So when one day a classmate approached and wanted my company and advice I felt flattered. Me? Little wee me? The outcast? Yes.

Since I lived next to a kitchen and knickknack store and she was searching for a present for her mom, she enlisted me to help pick it out. I was exhilarated.

It seemed like hours we were in that store, looking at every single item. Every choice I suggested was met with a: no, not the right thing. Eventually the store closed and we had to leave empty-handed. I felt sad that I failed her.

She left for home, and within minutes the shop owner rang our doorbell. I was dumbstruck when they accused me of theft in front of my grandmother. Yes, of course I had been to the store, duh. But i certainly didn’t steal a thing. It felt so weird, I started laughing and have never forgiven myself for that response as I thought now for sure I’d made myself look guilty. Perhaps I laughed because I didn’t want to cry. Or about the absurdity of the situation.

I had nothing to hide and nowhere to hide anything. I didn’t even have my own room but had to sleep in a room with my grandmother.

I was played. And well. All out of my feelings of inferiority. And perhaps that’s where my sense of justice was born. Thanks for that.

Computers and Denver and Being Back

My first world problem this fall: my computer. Great iMac I had inherited from Stephen, huge screen, fast and shiny, but started having graphic card trouble. A known issue for this particular computer. Sigh, macs are not what they used to be, or did they just fall off my pedestal?

Repair, right?! At the tune of hundreds of dollars, something like $600, it seemed more prudent to invest into a new computer. Did I mention first world problem?

Finally the macbook pro joined our family, loves traveling with us, and has shown to be effective and efficient for me and Stephen working on the road.

So what’s been happening over here? A trip to visit daughter in Denver and my first snow experience of the year. Did it have to be a blizzard that delayed our flight for a day? But a nice walk in her Denver neighborhood (Highlands), getting some food and wine and enjoying and celebrating the extra day. There might have been boardgames involved too, or was that a crossword puzzle? I do remember Stephen ending up on the floor in their fixer upper chair:

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Since Liana is getting married next year they took us to their wedding venue and the restaurant that will do the catering. The restaurant was featured on one of the Man vs. Food episodes, no, this will not be the theme of the wedding.

Here are some pictures of the venue out in the country:

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Yes, it did get a bit silly!

Back home, Daisy was not doing so well. She has slowed down in the last months, but now she was super slow, enough for us to take her to the vet. Turns out she has a collapsed disk in her spine. Pain is what slowed her. She is on meds and doing better, on today’s walk she even felt young enough to dance around a dog she wanted to play with. If you know Daisy you know how extremely rare such a reaction is.

I don’t really want her to run too much. It can’t be that good for the disk. But pain is under control apparently. She also gets to claim as much bed as she wants during the night. This actually has gotten out of hand, Stephen and I combined have less space than Daisy has.

On the knitting front, I’ve ordered some yarn, but you’ll have to wait until it arrives to get a peek at it. No yarn from Denver, not even a yarn store. There used to be one around the corner from Liana, but it moved. This made our vacation much cheaper, of course.

They do have a game store relatively close, and I got them Agricola. Though I love the game I made a fatal mistake that had me in a position with no chance in hell to get caught up. I tried to get out of the game and do something else, but pressure from the other players kept me prisoner. I did random moves with eyes closed, or tried to sabotage others’ moves. I still love the game, but that particular experience was a drag.

In the meantime while in Denver, a game arrived in the mail: Castles of Burgundy. A few weeks later and we haven’t played it yet. Thanksgiving really got in the way. And my old brain power that is not so keen on reading rules anymore, or rather understanding them. What? Turn to page 8 to see details? There is a page 8 in the rules? That used to be fun, not anymore.

Thanksgiving went well with some unpleasant surprises, but we’ll overlook those since most of my life we’ve had great Thanksgivings to look back on. The food was good, and all vegan!

 

 

 

 

 

Am I Back?

This has been the toughest New Year yet. On day three I started what I thought was a cold, but who really knows, and it is still haunting me. Now my bet is on allergies. After the big rain we’ve had here it should get better, right?

There was nothing to do for me as I was sniffling through the day, but knit and listen to Serial the podcast and stream Netflix. If you’re one of the 5 people who have not listened to the podcast, well, do as you like, I’m not going to recommend it, though I’m glad to be in the know.

Netflix just streamed by or through me or past me, I remember nothing. Probably a good thing.

I am obsessed with Asaf Avidan. Sure to get tired of him pretty soon as his songs all seem to derive from the same place, I still recommend a listen. Don’t be frightened by his voice, it can grow on you and he sure knows how to use it. And here it is, I have a weakness for male high voices, and he plays on that. A youtube where you can see and listen to him, a click away.

And if you want more of him, check out the NPR tiny desk concert. If you really want to indulge, do so here.

The knitting has not brought much joy. No excitement, but comfort. A few hats, fingerless mittens, socks, and finishing started projects.

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A photo from a niece in Germany inspired this little cowl. I bet it also could be used by a dog instead of a bandana that some people think makes their dog look super-cool. The pattern called Scallo-Pie is free and from one of my favorite designers: Martina Behm.

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The photos below finally show the finished products. Took me long enough to finish. Some projects have that effect on me. And after a certain amount of time working on such items it should be enough and it should finish itself. Somehow I get no special pleasure or gratification in completion. That gets me into trouble around the house. Every room has a project started and not finished. Don’t ask why but around 10 years ago I thought I could put in my own floors and did. But did I finish the baseboard or the last few boards? Noooooooooo. Yes, there are excuses. I had no saw to cut the boards to size. Now that I do, I’m used to the look and doubt I could master this finishing anyway.

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New Beginnings (or not)

The arbitrary saying goodbye to a whole year last night had me wondering about a lot of stuff. But that’s the idea, right? Reflection?

First reflection: why a year? we could celebrate the end of every month, the end of every week, the end of every day, the end of every hour, the end of every minute, the end of every second, the end of every moment.

Second reflection: Perhaps it makes more sense to celebrate the beginning of every year, the beginning of every month, the beginning of every day, the beginning of every hour, the beginning of every minute, the beginning of every second, the beginning of every moment.

Third reflection: Perhaps we should just celebrate life! I guess I’m not that original.

Yes I do have resolutions, which is kind of stupid because I can decide at any moment to change to a better me. That’s what it’s about, right? To be a better person? Or are there people out there whose resolutions are: this year I’ll flip off every driver that takes my right-of-way; this year I’ll hurt at least one person a week; this year I’ll be greedier….

The shininess of the new year wears off pretty quickly. Just like, despite a new notebook at the beginning of the semester, we may lose our excitement and best intentions and all within days.

So any resolution needs to be supported by higher motives. To stand a chance, resolutions have to be unrelated to time. They can be made at any time of year; they’re their own beginnings.

I’m looking back and feel like the guy at the christmas market who said: same shit as last year. Was last year any different from all the others? There were good and bad times. New friends and losing old ones. You know, same shit….

I expect nothing else from this year. Except for 12 pairs of socks by the December holidays. One a month? I don’t care as long as there will be 12, or enough for presents.

Stitches West is coming up in February. I’m hoping to live long enough to indulge at the marketplace there. And then live long enough to use it all up. But that is fantasy as I’ve achieved sable (stash acquisition beyond life expectancy). But a girl can hope. At least I would like to knit more, if that is even possible.

 

Fourth reflection: I’ve already lost at being who I would like to be in the new year. Go back to bed Marianna, really, or start knitting those socks. I made pancakes this morning, long story, we don’t usually eat those. But I had all the fixings and never made them while visitors were here. So we ate them all. ALL! I feel like it’s Thanksgiving.

Let me share a recipe. Not very original because it started out in a cookbook and then got refined. Take some ricotta cheese and then add some citrus zest; I used oranges. Prepare your favorite pancake recipe or mix and then gently add the ricotta mixture. Fry ’em up. I happened to notice the Kahlua bottle out from truffle-making and added a bit to the mix. A little maple syrup on top, and your new year’s resolution will be totally ruined. And you can go forth and eat whatever you want for the rest of the year, because anything has to be better than that.

Here is what’s important for knitting socks: nice colorful yarn in winter, the signature needles, remote and sound to knit to, a candle or more in winter.

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We’ve had a wonderful holiday season this year. A constant go-go-go. I’ll leave you with the photos.

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