Join me this month for stories of our time here in a small German village where we’re visiting with my mom. I’m experimenting with straight journal-style blogging as a ‘post-a-day’ challenge. Thanks for reading, Bill
December 13, 2017
Mom and I stopped for a cappuccino at the bakery by the Bahnhof. My beard’s getting long enough I can grip it. The sun came out and mom remarked on it to everyone she passed, threw her arms up in disbelief. We couldn’t get tickets to Colmar for reasons no one understood, neither online nor at the ticket machine or Reisebüro. I was fine, though—I like trains once I’m on one, but it can be too much stress beforehand. Something about being in the bubble of my own car, my own schedule.
There are two walks I take, to the fields or the Himmelsleiter. I move in concentric patterns and try not to repeat myself. Today it was the fields for the sunrise, which had the orange/pink aspect of Saturn, or Jupiter. But with the fog and freezing temperatures it made for black ice, and I had to watch myself. The walks don’t hold the same magic as they used to and I wonder if I’ve used up all my charges.
Dawn, my mom and the kids went shopping, leaving me at home alone to look after the neighbor’s dog and write. The sky got moody and I began to pace, had to find a recipe, had to leave the house for a time to buy scallions and carrots. At the Aldi the cashier told me the price and I gave her a two euro piece but then she said something I didn’t understand and sensed that, that I didn’t know, and just gave me my change. Anywhere there’s graffiti it seems they’re into “420” like it’s some newfound code for wisdom akin to peace.
Today we leave for Colmar, on the opposite side of the Black Forest but in France, along the Alsatian Wine Road, as it’s called. A storm just blew through and there’s lightning, I’ll pick out CDs for the drive and clean underwear.