“Love peace”

Charlotte and Eberhard made stress balls with balloons and filled them with flour but had an accident and it went everywhere—the cleaning lady had just come, and wouldn’t be back for a week. Eberhard demonstrated how you could get the balloon to puff up by attaching it to the top of a carbonated bottle of water and shaking it, which worked for a time before it just went limp for reasons no one could explain. Then after dinner AC/DC came on, and Eberhard demonstrated the Angus Young way of hop-kicking across the stage while playing air guitar and making a wanton face. Everyone laughed. I cooked a small chicken en cocotte on low heat with just a couple rosemary sprigs, a small onion and garlic: after the first helping Eberhard quickly went back for more and returned to the table with parts of the chicken I wouldn’t have thought to eat, sat in the dark shaking his head it was so good, licking his fingers, eating mostly with his hands. There was an argument between him and my mom about Cat Stevens’ real first name before he went Muslim I stayed out of. In the morning Eberhard only had time for a cup of tea before heading back to his mother’s. The sky went a pale color and I watched it from the sofa, then took a walk back up the Himmelsleiter. The chicken was so good we decided to repeat it with pork, but mom and Dawn weren’t sure about the right cut so I had to get it myself at the butcher (the Metzger). After drying it from the brine I cut a slit in the side that looked like a mouth and put my hand in it like a puppet. It got so dark by 3 I lit some candles and poured a red wine, gathered up Charlotte’s stress balls, and when the door bell rang I ignored it.

Categories: Memoir, travel

Tags: German culture, humor, journal writing, Memoir, No Christmas in Germany, postaday, travel, William Pearse writer