Dang, Another Wasp Just Flew Up My Nose and Other Summer Highlights

Well, I could start this post by saying that I have been really busy these past six weeks, unable to find time to write something because I have been on holiday, or too occupied with work, or something along those lines.  

But that wouldn't be truthful; I am not working currently, and the vacation destinations (at least in Bryan terms, where vacation typically means family visit) are a little bit out of reach for obvious reasons. 

On the other hand, the lack of posts is not due to lack of material, either.  My father remarked the other week that he was starting to get tired of hosting the weekly virtual happy hour with his friends, on account that there was nothing new to talk about.  I understood his point, but also was threw out conversation topics to him, suggesting that there is a TON of stuff to talk about right now. 

Then I realized what the issue was:  motivation was missing.  He simply didn't feel like hosting the gathering.  For the quick language lesson, er hat keinen Bock, er hat keine Lust, el no tiene ganas de charlar...

It's been kind of the same for me.  This is not the first time (and I know it won't be the last) that I have struggled with getting the motivation flowing in sync with the subject material.  For me, I tend to want to have something a little humorous to discuss in the piece.  This is usually pretty easy for me, as there is something always happening that strikes me as funny.  Here, I can use funny as "ha ha funny" or funny, as in "weird as shit."  Both instances provide suitable material, and it can be a little bonus when the incident involves both.  

So, the last six weeks have been filled with little ups and downs, moments of flat out bust a gut laughter, along with a few times of melancholic reflection.  

Fortunately, I do keep a Tagebuch, so am always ready once the urge to write a blogpost resurfaces. 

And this morning, the urge returned, and if anything, it serves as a nice alternative to searching for a job. 

July has always been sort of a so-so month for me.  There is usually no football going on (except for those years when the Euros or World Cup are held), and things are just generally pretty slow.  Despite that, we have a lot of family birthdays in the month.  This year, my brother-in-law celebrated his birthday, then received his gift of my sister returning to Spain a couple of days later.  A week after her return, my nephew turned 18.  

As happy as I am that my sister and her family are finally back together in Spain, I recognize the emotions that are attached to this event.  After five years of living stateside, my sister and family have once again left their Texas home.  The five years passed quickly, and so many things happened during that time.  I was particularly attentive to my father, who, depending on how you count, is going through another empty-nest experience.  Meanwhile, my sister will have a lot of memories and experiences from the past five years that she will be reflecting on.   I find this significant because of my own experience of moving abroad 15 years ago:  I wanted so desperately to go, to get there, but when it came time for the goodbyes, that was tricky.  And, while I know I made the right decision for me to leave the states and relocate, there is not a single day that passes where I don't take a moment to think of all the fantastic friends, family and experiences I have from my home town.  (queue the song by JJ)

In the middle of July, I had to adjust my daily routine.  I still talk to my father almost daily, usually during my early afternoon (his early morning).  However, my sister is suddenly back in the same time zone, and like myself, is unemployed.  Thus, she tends to call me during her morning coffee session (just like my father), which is around 10am.  Suddenly, my days were filling up with conversations lasting several hours.  

I am a big family guy, so this extra chat time is a good thing.  I am very grateful for it, especially since I know that someday I will be working again and less able to have a skype conversation in the middle of the day.  

During the month, I had several friends who were able to visit their families, and even though I was a little envious that they had the opportunity to safely spend time with family, I was more happy that they were actually using that opportunity.  I actually thought deeply about this while I was watering Nadja's plants, which is probably why I almost drowned one of them.  I was thinking how cool it was that she was getting some time to hang out with her own sister. 

As part of my standard routine right now, I do spend several hours a day looking at new job opportunities, applying for positions, and constantly assessing myself on the direction I want to take.  This, too, is proving tricky, especially since summer is not particularly the most active time for the job market.  Throw in a worldwide situation and things can appear a little bleak. 

That being said, I am really pleased that I am sticking to my guns (excuse the expression) and remain on my plan:  to find what is best for ME.  Some days can be busier than others on the job activity front, and I have the good sense to recognize this.  When it's just not "working" on a particular day (ie. no tengo ganas de buscar trabajo, or Ich habe keine Lust auf Arbeitsuchen), I find other ways to keep busy. 

I continue to work on my German skills, finding new sources for various drills, comprehension practice, etc.  This includes a youtube channel where the hosts interview people on the streets of Berlin, asking them various questions about life, society, you name it.  It's quite interesting, and I am really enjoying it.  Sometimes they have guest learners on the channel, non-Germans visiting Berlin, and they get involved in practicing the interviewing of people on the street.  This means that I get a chance to listen to other non-native speakers, and I am recognizing that my accent is not nearly as bad as I thought it was.  And my German is still coming along nicely. (Pause while some of you are thinking, "Hasn't he been there for 14 years now, and he's still talking about the slow progress on language learning?")

The answer is very simple:  Yes, it is that fucking difficult to learn German. 

Take this example.  The other day I heard the expression "auf Wolke sieben," which is pretty close to the English expression "on cloud nine."  However, why is it only cloud seven in German?

No clue. 

Funny (both ha ha and strange) is that I caught the expression in both languages, during some film viewing.  I tend to watch most everything with German subtitles, regardless of the broadcast language. Right in the middle of a dark, violent Scandanavian film, someone uttered the comment (they were trying to find a happy place), and the very next day I was watching, erm, "The Kissing Booth 2" and one of the characters (who obviously was already in their happy place) said the same thing.  

Before we jump on the fact that Bryan keeps watching silly teen coming of age movies, where the characters have vintage cars, hefty allowances, live in houses where they can jump off their bedroom balcony into the swimming pool to play with their friends, get into ivy league colleges without blinking, and basically seem to have a pretty easy life, I would like to point out that  I enjoy these films for their realistic portrayals of fantasy.  It is so realistic. 

The mom in said movie happens to be played by Molly Ringwald, and she is a favorite of mine from several well-known and well-loved films from our own teenage years.  And if you want to make the six degrees of separation comparison (or something like it), watching that movie prompted me to spend the rest of the weekend listening to the Go-Go's.  I had forgotten just how good that band was, and it was even more than just the fact that I was 12 years old when I first heard them, and when I started my crush on the lead singer.  Go figure.

While we are on the topic of sharing dirty laundry, this is probably a good time to talk about the water flosser I purchased last week.  My father, who is the least fortunate in our family when speaking of dental issues, purchased a flosser earlier in the year, and had been talking about how much it was helping him.   I was at the dentist recently, and had an excellent check-up, but they suggested that I consider something similar to my routine. 

Like most of the rest of the planet over the past six months, I, too, have had the urge to go on on-line shopping sprees to buy "stuff." 

Thankfully, I have resisted most of the urges, partly because I am on a budget, and partly because I know I just don't need a lot of the stuff that seems cool.  I was talking to a friend of mine in Köln a few weeks ago, and she mentioned that she was really pleased with her Roomba-type vacuum cleaner.  This prompted me to at least look at the available selections, but in the end, I reminded myself that it would be best to wait until a full salary is coming in to my bank account again, and even then, it might beHOOVE me to really justify the expense, especially since my current hoover works just fine. 

But, last Friday, I received my water flosser (marketed as a "spa experience in the mouth,") which was a treat for myself after the interview I had had the previous day, which went rather well.   I charged it up the required amount of time, then filled the little tank, switched it on, and almost immediately shot myself in the eye with a burst of water. 

My father had already mentioned that "it can be a bit messy," when using the product, but at the time I dismissed that as a generational thing.  I almost selectively "forgot" the experiences I had had back as a teenager when I was using a similar product that I had received one Christmas.  At that time, it was still pretty fun to play around, hosing water in whichever directive suited. 

It took me a few minutes before I found the right way to use this new product, and each day I have been able to reduce the amount of water that gets all over the place (ie...not in mouth), and I believe it to be money well spent. 

Besides looking for work and improving dental hygiene, I continue my routine of getting to know myself better, through music, meditation, study, ready, goofy movies, thought provoking cinema, and constant reflection.  

For social activity, things are still a little limited, for obvious reasons.  I miss getting to play with people with frequency, and it is a bit challenging when there are no colleagues to chat with, for equally obvious reasons. 

Thankfully, things remain mostly under control in Germany, and people (for the most part) are following the rules.  I might question how people are measuring their social distancing, but at least no one is really squawking about wearing a mask.  

I am frequently standing outside the pub, visiting with friends, neighbors, and enjoying the time outdoors.  That is one of the nice things about summer; everyone is happy to gather outside.  For me personally, I have a limit to how many people I want to be around, but I am encouraged to see people out and about.  

The pub scene is a big part of my life, always has been and I was remembering all the places I have considered to be "locals" (local pubs, that is) in various cities, and have wondered how they are coping with the current situation.  

My little place here in Frankfurt is doing pretty well, and (again) for the most part, taking the right precautions.  Maybe it is a little easier right now because no-one wants to be inside; we will worry about what happens come autumn a little later. 

The drawback to spending time outside in the summer is the increase of various insects.  It's funny (both ha-ha and strange) how the number of wasps that make pub visits varies from year to year.  This year seems to have seen a sharp increase, likely related to the comparison to last summer, where there did not seem to be as many.  

Four years ago, Chris and family trekked over for the month, and among all the wonderful experiences from that year, I also got to see how SC handled being harassed by wasps.  SC had way of starting to wail, which would gradually turn into an impressive scream as the mental state went from "calm, cool, collected" to "flip right the hell out."

At the time when I first experienced this, I was reminded of a distant siren that got closer and closer as the vehicle neared.  Then, when all calmness is nowhere to be found and you are in freak out mode, it's simply an explosion of sound and movement. 

I am a huge huge fan of The Far Side, mainly because of my appreciation for absurdity.  There was a cartoon (among thousands) that always made me crack up; the one where the guy who cleaned out the reptile room at the zoo (and had done for the past 40 years) one day realized that snakes gave him the heebie-jeebies.  

The mere thought just makes me smile, and that's interesting especially as I am always having heebie-jeebies about snakes. 

Similarly, Eddie Izzard tells a story of a bee keeper who one day, experiences a very similar feeling, one of freaking out from having all the bees around his head. 

All of these things went through my mind as I was standing outside of the pub with my beer, looking cool in my sunglasses, watching some wasps flying around looking for people to bother.  I was congratulating myself for staying calm when a wasp landed on my arm and stayed for a few more seconds than I would have liked. 

Seconds later, the coolness factor took leave as my eyes opened widely in surprise as a wasp made a crash landing as it tried to go up my nostril.  For a second it was stuck fast, and I decided to skip the "distant siren" portion of the wailing and proceed to flip right the fuck out.  

I don't think any of the passing traffic stopped to appreciate the little dance I did, but I wasn't really concerned about that at the given moment.  I had other things on my mind.   

When I was in elementary school, I decided one day during lunch to put a couple of red hots up my nose, for no other reason than I was simply a stupid seven year old.  For a brief moment, I could not get the piece of candy out of my nose, neither by blowing nor by trying to get my finger inside to remove the foreign object.  (You would have thought that such ridiculous antics would have ceased after the time I stuck my finger in an electrical socket the previous year, but no, that wasn't the case.)

At any rate, before anything dramatic happened, I managed to get the red hot out of my nose, and order in the school cafeteria was restored. 

With the wasp, it took slightly longer, mostly due to the mental distress.  In all my life I have never had such an incident occur, and in my opinion, the only other place where a wasp could go and trigger the same reaction is right up the leg of my shorts into my boxers.  

I felt violated and quite disturbed, until I realized that the wasp was probably just as surprised as I was. 

But, like SC did so well four years ago, I minimized my movement (physical movement that is...my brain watched 2000 horror films in 3 seconds) and the wasp moved on to another victim. 

A friend standing next to me did ask me about the noise I just made, since he had not ever heard me make it before.  I elected not to answer the question, preferring to move on to another topic of conversation.  

A couple of days later when the EXACT same thing happened, I did decide to explain the origin of my little (hey a wasp flew up my nose) noise.  He knows SC, too, and could relate to the explanation. 

In these times, I think it is important to appreciate the experiences, however funny they may seem. 

Sure, I would prefer more experiences like "hey, we just won the FA Cup again!" as opposed to "hey, another wasp wants to see what Bryan's boxers look like" but you know, we have to take it as it comes.  And there is also something waiting to happen, like burping while your mask is on after having consumed 5 beers.  I actually lost consciousness when that happened the other day, if only for a second. 

So despite the blazing heat we are having right now in Frankfurt, there are plenty of reasons to continue to enjoy the summer, even with the wasps. 

keep the faith and stay safe

bryan

Knowing Beans and Other Barista Tricks

The past couple of weeks have been very enlightening for me on the espresso preparation front.

You'd think that in all my barista years that I would have a pretty good grasp of how everything works, and certainly I would be familiar with my machine.

I stand corrected.

Two years ago when I really upgraded myself to a high quality espresso machine, I knew from the get go that I wanted a Siebträger (portafilter), as I prefer to be involved in the whole activity, rather than getting a fully automatic machine.  I did my own research as well as seek guidance from a friend who is particularly enthusiastic about espresso.

I got my machine and have been absolutely thrilled.  My buddy gave me some suggestions on products to clean and backflush my machine, and for the most part I have done my regular maintenance.  And, save for a few minor incidents, my espresso shots have been pretty darn good.

The other week, however, I started noticing some leakage around the brew head, and this was a little concerning.  Normally this means that the espresso machine needs to be serviced, and with products like mine, that service is better performed by an authorized repair center.  At the time I purchased my machine, I elected to purchase online, as my local espresso machine retailer did not offer products from the specific manufacturer that I wanted.  That also meant that they offered no service for that manufacturer.

I checked the official (Italian) website of my manufacturer but was unable to get much information about service in Germany.  A few additional searches also resulted in diddly squat.

"A little concerning" in my definition is pretty simple.  On a scale from "mildly curious" to "holy shit panic," a little concerning slots in at level 2 or 2,5.  In other words, not a big deal.  For clarification, my dishwasher that currently takes 14-15 hours to complete it's wash cycle is at level 3,5 ("damned annoying but manageable - wait til it takes 20 hours")

Of course I mentioned my situation at the kiosk one Monday, and Mono (who not only has an espresso machine but is also capable of taking the thing apart and putting it back together; he knows how stuff works) asked me about the last time that I had descaled (entkalkt) my machine. 

"Nie." 

There is no direct German expression that is equivalent to "you don't know beans," but if there was, Mono would have used it, as it was certainly an appropriate time to do so.  Ironically, beans are a critical part of espresso (for obvious reasons), but I will come back to that in a minute. 

I grew up drinking tap water, and never really thought much about water until just before a family trip to Mexico when I was about 14 years old.  My mother was particularly concerned for us, and for the whole trip made sure that we only drank bottled water.  Bottled water was not really a big thing back in the 80s, at least not in Texas.  It wasn't until my sister moved to Spain (a decade later) that I got more accustomed to buying drinking water, and by habit, I continued purchasing bottled mineral water for the next 15 years. 

Upon my arrival in Germany, I was regularly buying crates of drinking water at the supermarket, and stayed very strict on crunching up the empty plastic containers for recycling.  In fact, I had built up a little stack of empty crates in my kitchen, prompting my German teacher to ask me where the empty plastic bottles were. 

It was during that lesson (which started with her saying, "you don't know beans") that I learned about Pfand in Germany.  I had never lived anywhere that had container-deposit legislation, so in fairness, it was not something I immediately noticed, even when I saw fellow German shoppers lugging empty crates of bottles back to the store.  I somehow assumed that those were glass containers, and since I was using plastic, I just continued putting my empty plastic bottles in the yellow container, just as I had done in Spain. 

My German teacher set me straight, and since that time, I pay attention to the Pfand.  That said, I actually have progressed further, and while I still purchase bottled water (for drinking) from time to time, I tend to re-use the plastic bottles with water from my tap, as the drinking water in Frankfurt is really good (and clean). 

True, I have always been aware of the difference between soft and hard water, and yes, Frankfurt water is considered hard.  But it has taken me a little longer to grap the full significance of what this means for an espresso machine.  Fortunately, Mono patiently took the time to explain how best to entkalk my machine, and that more than likely, I would certainly see an improvement in how my machine would operate after the process. 

The very next day, I went to my local Drogerie and purchased a natural product for descaling machines.  I had hoped for a product specifically designed for espresso machines, but in the end, the process works about the same, even with a standard descaling product.

Such products use citric acid to get the lime off of the components.  (Sorry for stating the obvious)  The process worked really well, and would have been an exceptional experience had it not been for the fact that I did not rinse my machine quite sufficiently, which meant that my next espresso was a bit lemony (not to be confused with orangey from the other week), but that quickly went away as I flushed more water through the brewing filter. 

My espresso machine was working better than before, but I was still noticing a bit of leakage.  During my "here's how you descale your machine, you dipshit," discussion with Mono, he mentioned that he did filter his water for use in his machine, so as to minimize the build up of lime and stuff in the machine.  I had never really considered doing this, but gave it some consideration over the next couple of days.

Since March, I avoided going to a lot of speciality shops, not because I did not want to support the economy, but more in the interest of safety, etc.  So, I have been using some espresso bean purchased from my local supermarkt instead of going to my beloved Rösterei.  But, having a freshly descaled machine prompted me to go out and get proper coffee bean again, so last week I returned to Wacker's, where the friendly woman greeted me excitedly, knowing that I was not the only customer to have gone through a lock-down for the previous months.  Furthermore, she immediately knew which type of bean I wanted (since I buy about 1 kilo every 10 days), and kind of giggled and gushed as she said, "hey, the beans are just freshly roasted and delivered!  They are still warm."

The roasting company is local, and deliver to their little shops, of which there are 3 or 4 around Frankfurt, including the one in my neighborhood. 

It was a nice little experience, and I returned home, eagerly anticipating my next espresso.  Quick pause to state that I am still satisfied with the beans that I purchased from my bio-markt, but as good as those beans are, they just cannot compare to a local roaster. 

During those few days between descaling and new bean buying, I did order a more professional descaling product, which arrived the same day as my trip to my roaster.  I had purchased the product on the reputation of the brand alone; all my other espresso maintenance product comes from the same manufacturer; they know what they are doing.  However, the instructions for the descaling process were a little vague, so (as you do), I did a quick search to see if anyone was using the same product to descale the same espresso machine.  Strangely enough, I only found one video experience, shared only a few days prior.  I found this unusual because the manufacturer of my espresso machine is pretty widely known, and the cleaning products are almost industry standard.  Why only one experience?

Well, I watched the video, and could easily connect with guy who made the video; he did so because he, too, found the instructions a little vague.  His video was informative, and I figured I would know what to do the next time I needed to descale. 

Meanwhile, I realized that as a little "bonus," my espresso machine manufacturer had included a little water filter with the complete unit, indicating it was a really good idea to use to improve the quality of my espressos.  I installed the little filer as instructed, and got ready to use new bean, fresh water, and a freshly descaled machine for a brilliant espresso.

And it was great. 

I almost made a homemade commerical, then wisely reconsidered as I noticed my next shots were all over the place.  Or, perhaps better expressed, not even really coming out of the filter. 

I had forgotten about how my guatemalan beans behave in my grinder, and furthermore, had not recognized just how all the changes I had made to the machine were all factoring together.  On top of that, we have had the warmest temps so far this year, combined with extra high humidity. 

Again, I understand how all these factors come into play, and while I DO know my beans, I know that you have to be prepared to tweak a little during grinding, shot pulling, etc. 

But, I got there in the end, and even with the weather being somewhat uncomfortable, my coffees are quite the delight. 

Filtering my coffee water (in the interest of the machine as well as the flavor of the espresso) seems like a long term plan for me, so I opened up the user's manual to find the product code for their special water filters.  They have one for 35 liters and one for 70 liters, and I really just wanted to do the finanical calculations on how much the water treatment would cost over the course of a year. 

My rating scale momentarily triggered a 7,5 as I read the statement in the user's manual:  do NOT under any circumstances, use a descaling product in your espresso machine.   How the hell I overlooked that sentence when I first bought the machine (or over the past couple of weeks) I do not know, but as I continued to enjoy my espresso and immediately placed an order for some water filters, I took a moment to reflect.  It's not as if my machine was going to suddenly explode, or fall apart, or something really really horrible just because I descaled it. 

I made a mental note to inform my youtube buddy (who clearly did not read his owner's manual, either) then considered the power of public service messages.   Indeed, the manufacturer should know better than anyone else on how their product should perform.  In the interest of marketing, they will throw out the DANGER - PANIC - VERBOTEN kind of messages that immediately capture the attention. 

Consider the messages that the flight attendants said for the better part of 2 decades:  don't use your mobile telephone during the flight, as it could interfere with the aircraft equipment, which hinted strongly that any malfunction of the aircraft could result in a very unfortunate situation. 

I have been a little dismayed over the years to see how casual people adhere to this message during flights, though I do recognize that the message is not nearly as strong as it was 20 years ago.  That being said, I still avoid using my mobile on any flight, full stop.  I see no point in creating further risk just for the hell of it, and to be honest, I still take it as seriously as lighting a cigarette while filling up the gas tank:  why would you do it?

At any rate, I think a one time descale on my machine will be okay, especially if I continue filtering my water in the future.  In the event that my machine craps out or attacks me or something, I will be sure to provide an update via this blog. 

keep the faith
bryan

The Fury and Disappointment Leads to Hope

Earlier in the week, I was dusting off some music that I hadn't played in quite a while, including several pieces by Joe Jackson, who remains my all time favorite pianist.  It has been over a year since I have recorded any arrangements where I play and sing; it seemed like an appropriate time to do so again.

To be clear, I have several JJ things in my repertoire, most of which I have been playing around with for the past thirty years.  I have found Jackson's works always challenging for two main reasons.  First, my voice is somewhat better suited for other stuff; it's not just my face that reminds someone of Tom Waits.  Second, playing and singing at the same time is not that easy.  Jackson's arrangments are pretty technical, probably because he is not merely a pianist, but rather a composer who can incorporate a lot of different genres into a song based on a simple little melody.   Check out his latest album and you will hear what I mean. 

As I did a bit of internet research on various versions of songs, I came across a fair amount of comments.  I couldn't help but take a few moments and read a few of them.  Although many (if not most) were very positive, I still came across statements that riled me.   Okay, I might agree to some exent that he is an underrated performer; such a remark can be considered positive.  I was more irriated when reading comments where Jackson is compared to other artists. 

I never like reading the comment "poor man's xxx," when used to describe something, particularly when it comes to music.  I feel that such statements are rather negative, despite the intention of the person who made the remark.  I seem to be fan of a lot of groups/musicians who get categorized in this way;  the Alarm (poor man's U2), Richard Butler (poor man's David Bowie), or in the case of JJ, a poor man's Elton John.  The self-centered part of me takes offense as I wonder why I like so much music that isn't widely embraced like the super famous artists mentioned, but the realistic part of me quickly remembers that I don't really like music for the masses, anyway.

I have to be careful, here, because I regularly make my own comparisons, as we all do.  Hell, I just acknowledged my resemblance to Tom Waits, and 14 years ago I had to sheepishly explain that I was the one who told my nephew that Actimel is actually Jägermeister for kids.  Making comparisons can quickly lead to expectations that can result in disappointment. (I will come back to this point in a minute.)

On the music front, I think of the band the Smiths.  In school, as I regularly discussed music with anyone and everyone, I found it significant that everyone tended to agree:  the Smiths were just so unique that one couldn't compare them to other groups.  At the time, your music exposure came from a lot of interaction with other listeners, and your horizons could quickly be broadened in a 5 minute conversation.  "If you like this band, then you will love these guys, etc."

The Smiths held a rather wide appeal with lots of different people.  I remember wearing my beloved Queen is Dead t-shirt to school, and was in deep conversation with a guy wearing Ropers and a western shirt (it was Texas, of course) about how much we liked the new album.  A friend of mine who regularly wore his mohawk in liberty spikes walked by in the hallway, pausing just a brief moment to state that he liked Meat is Murder better.   Later that morning in my science class, the cheerleader who sat next to me (alphabetically, not by her choice) turned to me and told me how much she liked the album, also.  Quite cool that so many different people simply could say, "we like the music just because." 

Years later, my friend Erik told me about the popularity of the Smiths with the Spanish speaking communities, particularly Chicanos.  I was fascinated by this, because I wasn't aware that the music was still influencing so many listeners.  It shouldn't have come as such a surprise, as I already had an album by a Spanish  artist (the lead singer of Duncan Dhu) who had done a wonderful cover of a Smith's song.  But, that guy is just a little older than me, so that made sense.  What Erik was explaining had to do with listeners from the next generation, a good 15-20 years younger.  How cool is now? 

Switching topics.  Indeed, how cool is now? 

Well, if you keep up with current events, things are not particularly cool.  There are lot of things going on that I find very distressing, and it's easy to become enraged as I watch yet another viral video of how someone behaves towards another individual or group of individuals.

It's disappointing, and if I allow it, I might become even more cynical.  But thankfully, despite my similarity to Eeyore, I am more like Curious George.  (Sure, why not bring stuffed animals into this post?)

To some extent, I am finding that I am disappointed in myself, particularly when it comes to accepting who I am because of my gender and the color of my skin.  As I think about things and educate myself, I realize that as open as I am, in heart, and mind, and in character, it has not been enough.  So, I read more, I discuss more, and I acknowledge my biases as I seek to understand what I can do as a white male to take more ownership, so I can understand all sides more clearly. 

It's a positive thing, and what's even more encouraging is that during a conversation with my father this past week, I learned that he is doing the exact same thing.  We talked about his time at college in Texas in the early 60s, and likewise his time in the military, where he met and served with people from vastly different backgrounds.  As a child, my sister and I were taught about the importance of equality, diversity, and tolerance.  But, she and I were not really informed about the experiences my parents had during the previous generation. 

That wasn't enough.

I wrote an essay condemning racism during my first year of university, and as I reread that paper this morning (yes, thanks to McKee, a lot of my archived work has survived and is stored in a little box in my German flat) and saw the comments from the professor, who gave me an A for such an "excellent, genuinely felt and expressed work,"

That wasn't enough. 

I don't have all the answers, but I am asking questions.

And learning. 

And hoping.

keep the faith
bryan 

Insanity's Circus Rides Again

It's funny.  As much as I enjoy writing and expressing my thoughts, I do notice that when things get particularly nutty, I seem to sort of dry up and stop posting the latest updates in the life of, erm, Bryan.  Part of it maybe has to do with the "if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all," thought process that I have.  Part of it is also that I do not want to use this blog to write editorials; it's not that I don't have loads of material and opinion, but rather that I prefer to keep some of that stuff a little closer to me, a little more private, despite the front row glimpse I tend to offer about my personal life through my posts over the years.

Furthermore, when things start to get really distressing, the tone of my posts typically tends to become more dark and cynical, and I much prefer to try to bring out the more humorous side of things.  And sometimes that just really isn't possible. 

I think that explains why I have not put up a post in a few weeks. 

But, I woke up this morning thinking about all of this, and once again find myself typing away at the keyboard,

The day after my last post, I met up with the guys for our first Kiosk Abend in almost 10 weeks.  It was a great evening, and we were all delighted (relieved) to be out and about sharing our stories of being cooped up at home the previous weeks.  All of us were cautious, and curious.  It may sound strange that I considered that to be a highlight of the evening, but we were all taking our first steps back out into our new normal society, at least for that week. 

The following Monday, we all met up again, and I noticed immediately that we were all feeling a little more relaxed.  And, it was rather comforting to see more and more people on the street (most of them behaving themselves) as life was starting to "open" back up. 

Outside of Mondays and trips to the store and little walks around the block, I was still keeping close to home.  I had a few things I was trying to get sorted out with my mobile telephone contract, and I was still waiting on some stuff for the Arbeitsamt. 

During that week, I happened to watch a charming little movie about a French woman who won a speed typing contest.  Sure, it was a romantic comedy, and the actress was a little combination of Audrey Hepburn, Audrey Tautou, and Grace Kelly all together.  Just writing that sentence brings a smile to my face. 

Seeing the movie had provided me some blog material, and I took the next couple of days to collect my thoughts.  The film is about a young secretary in the 1950s who starts competing in speed typing competitions, and goes on to (sorry spoiler alert) fall in love with her boss.  I loved the film.  As light and charming as it was, I was thinking about the stereotypes of the roles of women during the 50s (til present day), and how so many of them were secretaries.  My mother was a secretary, herself. 

However, as a guy who learned to type at a really early age, I found myself wondering how I would have fared in the speed typing competition.  From the get go in typing class in 7th grade, I was typing a good 30 words per minute FASTER than my other peers.  On a manual typewriter (like the one the girl used in the film), this was pretty darn good.  At the time, I did not realize that my piano playing was giving me an extra edge.  It wasn't until I got to college that I truly noticed the advantage; I tended to wait until the very last minute before typing up my papers, and can remember multiple times in the computer labs (where our school had computers for students to use) machine gunning away, banging out 10 page papers in a handful of minutes.  Other students were noticeably startled when I would enter the lab and start pounding on the keyboard. 

As most readers are aware, I never went on to win any sort of speed typing competition (I didn't know that they had those), but still, I topped out at about the same speed that most executive secretaries were hitting, and I always thought that was neat.

A nice French romantic comedy is always a big help in keeping the spirits high, but a couple of days later as I read some news reports the world suddenly became a lot more bleak.  I almost felt guilty about my enjoyment of the film, during a time when the world was suddenly boiling over. 

So, my thoughts have been a little dark over the past couple of weeks as I have prayed and cried and reflected on the recent events.  I looked on with distress at the actions and words of so many different people, in various cities in the states, including my hometown.  I became angry as I tried to understand something that is simply not so easy to understand. 

Again, I in no way intend this piece to be a commentary on how things are going in the world, and I do not discount the significance of the impact that this is having on our society, even as I am constantly saying to myself, "what the fuck????"  and not just because my dishwasher takes 14 hours to cycle through a wash. 

I went to the pub the next Saturday afternoon, my first visit back in 3 months, and took a lot of comfort greeting friends and acquaintences, many of whom were also venturing back out for the first time.  As we traded experiences and stories, "wtf" was used regularly, particularly when current events came into the conversation.

Later that evening I had a quick video call with my nephew, who was on a graduation-farewell tour, driving around to visit some family friends before he returns to Spain later this week.  I have been thinking about him a whole lot in recent weeks, as his 5 year experience in the states comes to an end.  When we were on the brink of turning 18, I think most of us were in a constant state of bewilderment, and the words "what the fuck???" seemed to be uttered with great frequence.  At least, that was the way I felt.  My nephew is going through that experience now, with the unfortunate bonus of  living through a worldwide pandemic and racial tensions which are reaching absurd proportions. 

If he hasn't already said it, I am sure within a few days he, too, will be regularly asking "¿qué cojones?" but at least he will be able to do it in multiple languages.

And I think that is what we are all needing right now.  A bit of continued solidarity and understanding in our efforts to find peace in the world, on whatever scale. 

Last evening, I had a pleasant experience at the dentist, partly because the check-up went really well, but more importantly,because my Zahnärtztin was so postive, despite the troubling times.  She went out of her way to ask me about my health, the health of my family, then went on to ask me about my work situation.  As I explained that I was currently looking for new opportunities, she responded with the postive affirmation that she was quite sure that I would be okay.  And this coming from a woman who I've only seen once or twice per year over the past decade.   Yes, she is a very nice person, but despite feeling flattered that she cares about me, I know that she cares about everyone just as much. 

It was a nice reminder that the world isn't a completely shitty place. 

So that experience helped me feel like scribbling a few thoughts down again this morning, and I am happy to report that this piece took me only 8 minutes to type.

We are definitely living in some crazy times, so it's certainly fitting for me to not forget what it's all about. 

keep the faith
bryan

A Week of Smells, Stress, Sleeping Late, and a Little Swedish Humor

This past week started off with me having a catch up chat with one of my former colleagues.  I had wanted to speak with him before my departure from the company, but he got busy with his own work tasks, and it took him until last Monday to give me a ring when he had a spare moment.

He had not picked up on the fact that I had left the company, so was a little surprised and sorry to see me go.  We worked well together over the years, and shared very similar work styles (and frustrations).  During our call he told me about his latest frustrations and challenges, and once again (as if I really needed it), I was reminded that this new adventure is going to be a good one, at the very least because I can leave behind all of the negativity of the not so pleasant elements of my last job.

That night, I slept really really well, and woke up the following morning feeling really refreshed.  I was a little suprised that I had woken later than normal, but quickly noted that normal is kind of fluid right now.  After all, it is not as if I need to be up and at 'em bright and early each morning; there is no place I actually need to be.  Come to think of it, there really isn't anywhere I can be, right now, other than at home.

This does not mean I have nothing to do.  As part of the ranks of the unemployed, I need to spend x hours per week looking for work, and this week, just like last week, I have stayed on track.  Of course, what exactly constitutes "searching for work?"  Is it sitting at a computer reading through various online job boards?  Is it sending out a bunch of emails to various recipients requesting that they review my CV?

Well, those things are part of it, but I am also taking time to quietly think about a variety of things:  the right industry for me, how I want to approach new opportunties, and most importantly, what kind of job is going to help create a better balance for me?

Each day I spend some time sitting in the recliner in my living room and just let my thoughts flow.
It's a pleasant experience, made even more so by the gentle "whssshhhh" sound that my little airwick product that shoots out a little mist of scent every nine minutes.

Several years ago I purchased the product on a whim while I was browsing in the grocery store.  I figured it would help out in my kitchen, where smoking is permitted, so long as the balcony door is open.  It proved effective, and I have continued to buy refills as I need them.  I even bought a second thingy for use in another room in the flat. 

The problem I have encountered, however, is that my favorite flavors are not readily available in my local supermarket.  There are a couple of scents that I really like, and others that are okay, but not fantastic.  Not surprisingly, the scents that I most like are the ones that seem the most natural.  Thus, the ocean spray scent is not really a favorite, nor is the one that "smells like Grandmother baked cookies,"  Both just strike me as a little artificial.    I much prefer something that smells a lot more natural.

Natural scent is not always a good thing, either.  Once I went to the pub immediately after putting some tea tree oil (a scent that I quite like) on a small wound.  True, tea tree is rather pungent, which is why one of the bartenders exclaimed "Aggh! What is that?  That smells like crap!"  soon after I had walked in the door.  I was kind of glad that some other people had walked in with me, so that he never discovered who the offender was.

Then again, I am prepared to make some pretty strong arguments that tea tree is a much more pleasant alternate to some of the odors that tend to linger in the same pub.  All too often, I can recall moments where I have been in the jacks during a full house, including some poor soul in the stall.  Those of us at the Pissoire are all frantically trying to hurry, and I am quite sure we are all thinking the same thing, "Oh my gosh, what happened to that guy?"

One of the few times I have been able to make my friend Mono laugh out loud was when he told me about an odoriferous encounter he had with one of the pub staff, a girl who had some unfortunate body odor.  I happened to experience the eye opening odor a couple of nights later when she was next on shift, and the following day I remarked to Mono, "Let's just hope that it was teen age spirit..."

But I digress.

My most favorite scent happens to be citrus, primarily from orange.  I absolutely love it.  Years ago I happened to be in a Body Shop and came across a shower gel with an orange scent.   I stocked up, and was really really pleased.  Others were, too, it seems.  Once, I got sort of picked up in a bar, which was rather surprising.  Her opening line was "Wow, you smell really good," and I was momentarily taken aback until I glanced at her t-shirt, which had "I love oranges" printed on the front.

Sadly, nothing really else really came from that evening, except for a mental note to myself to stock back up on my mandarin shower stuff.  This actually has become more complicated than I expected, as said shop now only offers that flavor through their online shop, and it costs 3x more than their normal line of products. 

I do tend to peruse the available flavors on the shower gel aisle, always hoping to find another "super orangey" product for use in my shower; one that is in my price range.  Sometimes I can find something that is a bit orangey, but more often than not, usually only lemon or lime are available. 

But that's okay, because I like those scents, also.

During one of those shower gel shopping trips, I found myself in the airwick section, and discovered a new scent:  mandarine and limette.  I won't call it "hoarding," but I did buy two 2packs, and returned home to refill the units in my kitchen and living room. 

It's awesome. 

It just makes thing seem naturally fresh and orangey. 

So, earlier this week while I was on the recliner, my mediation session was quickly heading towards a napping session, but one of those cool nap experiences where you are so deeply relaxed but not completely out of it.  The whole time I lay there, my internal clock was counting the 9 minutes, so that I could hear the little "whssshhhh" when the airwick sent another little burst of citrus into the room. 

It was so comfortable, and my thoughts wandered.  At one point as I enjoyed the Duft, I realized that the smell reminded me of my favorite breakfast cereal, Fruity Pebbles.  Ironically, this is not a cereal known for natural flavors or natural anything, other than the obvious ability to enable a young kid to eat three bowls in a single sitting, then suddenly be able to run 2 miles to the grocery store and back in record time. 

I have not had Fruity Pebbles in many years, but I like the way that this lingering Duft gives me just a little fresh (and citrusy) reminder. 

I won't question how "natural" the scent from my airwick is, but simply enjoy that it seems natural.  I don't think it's toxic; only a few times have I inadvertently gotten too close to the dispenser (while checking to see if it really was dispensing every nine minutes) and gotten a surprising faceful of citrus.  As one could expect, it doesn't taste anywhere near as good as it smells.

Fortunately, the ice cream section of my supermarket has just started offering, yep, you gussed it, "zesty lemon and mandarin."

I must say, sitting in a living room with a little burst of citrus shooting out every 9 minutes and enjoying a little container of a similarly flavored ice cream is a rather nice way to spend an evening, especially if you are watching a modernised German version of "The Love Boat,"

Which is what I did a couple of nights during this eventful week.  In one of the episodes, a recently fired doctor was on the cruise, but during a beach party was called into action to help a woman suffering from a severe stomach problem.  The plot really thickened as they all discovered that they would have to do emergency surgery in the middle of nowhere.  Out came the "portable emergency surgery kit," (which apparently was stored on board the ship in the captain's quarters) and the doctor, along with the captain and the social director (who was not on cocaine) proceeded to find a quiet place in a hut and perform the needed operation.  Meanwhile, the other passengers were entertained by learning to dance salsa a little further down the beach. 

The captain made the executive decision that they would all stay overnight on the beach, as the patient needed a little more time to recover from the op.  So, everyone else drank cocktails, and the next day they all were able to reboard the ship and continue on to their next location.

Upon arriving at that next location, the doctor and his wife parted company with the ship, passengers and patient, so as to meet up with his son, who was living in the region with his family.  The doctor and son went to a building site (where the son worked), during which time a worker had an unspecified accident.

Again, the doctor was called into action, but he quickly realized that he did not have the tools needed to take care of the emergency.  Fortunately, the son's father-in-law was a local physician, and despite the rural location, happened to be in the vicinity.  He quickly assessed the situation, then grabbed a coconut, some tubing from the jeep they were using, and carved a needle out of a plant stalk, then went on to do some sort of coconut milk transfusion on the poor guy lying there in the rubble, and minutes later, order was restored. 

That all seems natural enough, right?

"whssshhhh"

The sweet overload to my senses prompted me to start watching another series, even though the evening was growing late.  I stumbled onto a Scandanavian Noir series, and to help build the complete contrast, I almost made myself some late night nachos, thinking that a little salt would help offset the sweet. 

However, I got caught up in the program and quickly forgot about snacks.  I had expected the program to be just as dark and bleak as all the other great Nordic shows are, but within a few minutes I realized that I was actually watching a sort of spoof of said shows, and a really great spoof at that. 

As much as I like this genre, it really is at the other end of the "hey, lets go on a cruise and find out we want to swap wifes after 15 years of being friends and neighbors" program spectrum.  I personally like the extremes, though sometimes seeing someone get their face melted off in a barrel of boiling water in a little village just outside of Stockholm can be a bit much.

This spoof was incredibly funny, particularly since I am so familiar with other works, most of which received some sort of nod during this program.  For example, the detectives were preparing to sneak into a dark and scary house of the suspect who had just knocked someone's head off (with, ironically, a coconut) and they all agreed to use the code word "Wallander" if any of them got into trouble.

The whole series (8 episodes, 30 minutes each) is filled with little funny suprises like that, all while following a standard police procedural format. 

Of course I stayed up to watch the whole thing and finally went to bed just before dawn, never having known that the Swedish have such wonderful senses of humor. 

I kept all of this in mind later on in the week as I tried to get some documentation together for the Arbeitsamt.  I got very anxious as I struggled to make sense of the complicated German system.  Fortunately a couple of friends came to my support, helping with the language but more importantly, just providing encouragement.  It wasn't quite as easy as performing surgery on a beach with a Planters Punch in my hand, but I still got it done, and am quite prepared to provide a postive report on my productivity to the local civil servants. 

My fresh start is, "whssshhhh," staying fresh. 

see you out there
bryan

Rereading But Not Repeating

This is definitely the year for firsts, as in, "Hey, this is the first time I have ever worn a protective mask to the grocery store," or "Gee, I have never gone 2 months without hugging someone." 

Or, "Gosh, I sure am hearing a lot of people use the words 'absurd' and 'unprecendented' in the same sentence, and they keep repeating the same sentence over and over."

On the subject of firsts, I will add a personal feat:  for the first time in my life, I have read a series of books (15 in total), and then immediately reread them.  Actually, I just finished rereading the 13th book this morning, and helped answer the question that I had been contemplating since I started over with the first book last month. 

Why would I do that?

Sure, I love to read, always have.  My parents would sometimes have to beg me to stop reading and go outside and play.  I always loved going to the library, and it might have been because of me that my local public library put a limit on the number of books that one could check-out at a time. 

True, I am also a fast reader.  I am not talking Evelyn Wood speed, but the phrase "zip through" definitely comes to mind. 

Since I grew up in a family of readers, avid reading seemed normal to me.  Therefore, I was always a little surprised to meet someone who did not read with the same enthusiasm.  As I have grown through the years, I have the fortune of befriending a broad spectrum of people, some of which are equally passionate readers, while others are closer to the "nope, only gonna read as little as possible" end of the scale.  And all of that is just fine. 

I do, of course, recognize when it is appropriate to discuss books, or authors, or the pleasures of reading, and I accept that not everyone is going to have such an interest.  (I'll skip right on to the next point, since I have already touched on my feelings about book clubs in a recent post).

As much as I read, I sometimes struggle for new material, much the way many people are frustrated that during the present climate, there is nothing new on Hulu or Netflix or whatever.  I am actually having a little problem with that, too, but that's for another post. 

Meanwhile, over the years I have identified with several books that are what I call "keepers,"  The books are so great that they have to be held on to; one day they will need to be reread. 
The Hardy Boys series comes to mind, as do all the Ian Rankin and Henning Mankell novels.  And the Harry Potter books, I certainly can't leave those out. 

Excluding the Hardy Boys (though no offense is intended), those other authors created such a lasting impression that I went out of my way to gather the collections, even though I had limited space in my apartment at the time.  Then, years later, I moved to Europe, and what did I do? 

I bought the collections again, so now I have two sets.  The books are that important to me, and yes, I have reread them all through the years.  Sometimes more than once.

Several of my fellow reader friends have always shied away from rereading a book, usually saying something like, "I read that already." 

Fair point, but what's the difference between rereading a book, or watching a movie again, or a rerun of a television show?  Or listening to a great song (She Sells Sanctuary), come to that?

For starters (I almost wrote firsts), I think it has to do with attention span and mindset.  Listening to music comes easy, and -enter your favorite song here-  gets played repeatedly on your stereo.  Okay, maybe you don't listen with the same frequency as you might have done while in college, but normally you went a long time before eventually thinking, "Yep, this song is overplayed." 

And even then, you had no problem hearing the song again a couple of days or weeks later.  And years later, you'd pull the album back out for yet another listen.

Although I am watching a bit more TV than I would normally want to, I will kind of dismiss TV programming from this discussion, particularly sitcoms and long running dramas.  Of course, I rewatched 7 complete series of the Andy Griffith Show last summer, and I also own the complete DVD collections of things like Inspector Morse, Life on Mars, and a few others. 

Movies are a little easier to talk about.  We all know someone who has watched Star Wars several thousand times, and for those folks that grew up in the 80s, just about everbody has a copy of the Breakfast Club, St. Elmo's Fire, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  And, everyone has their seasonal favorites, especially at Christmas. 

It never escaped me that some of my friends who made the comment about rereading books were the same ones that made sure to watch a movie 50 times. 

The answer is very simple.  We love these songs, these movies, and even the shows.  And we want to repeat the experience of how we felt when listening and viewing.  (re-read my last post if you need a reminder. 

This makes perfect sense to me.  I love to re-experience these things, too.

But why reread an entire detective series immediately after finishing it?

Because it is so incredibly great.  And even though the experience is equally strong, it is not identical to the first time. 

This particular series is written by a Candadian woman who is about 10 years older than me.  Her personal story is pretty compelling, and she seems like a really really nice person.   But one who possesses an incredible ability to enrapture the reader with her character development, plot lines, and thought-provoking style.  She subtly includes some pop culture references with such nonchalance that you almost miss it.  More than once in the series, I have actually burst out laughing at a particular sentence or quip or incident. 

As a series of crime stories, her works are right up there with many of the greats, and to be specific, are on par with Agatha Christie. 

But, what I think sets this author apart is her ability to develop characters so intimately that you feel like you know them.  All of them. 

The author, herself, describes the setting, the location, the characters as a "state of mind."

For me, she brings such a distinctive voice.  It's almost overwhelming.

When I was in college, one of my professors invited me to her office for a meeting to discuss one of my papers about a poet we were studying.  During our session, the professor indicated, with great curiousity, that she was surprised that my own voice was coming through my writing, ironically about the author's work and writing style.   The professor went on to say that it was very unusual (unique, perhaps) for someone like me to have such a voice at such a young age.  I initially took offense at her remarks, as I gathered that she was just dismissing me as one of those students who would go back to his dorm room and listen to an album by the Cult, then write a blog post about one of the songs 30 years later. 

But I realized she was right. 

And it left an impression. 

As a result, when I encounter literary works where all the stars align and I find myself totally engaged, I tend to want to hold on.  And relive the experience.  It won't be the same as the first time, but that's precisely what I look for.

My sister gave me the 14th book of the series at Christmas, and after reading it, I immediately bought the first 13 books, then purchased the 15th book (which wasn't available until a couple of months ago).  I zipped through the first 13 books during the first part of this year, managed to get the 15th book, and as I finished it, knew I needed to go back to the beginning, just to see how the new experience would be.

Sure, I know how the books end, but I don't know what is going to happen.

I am missing my mother today, but am also celebrating her life, as I am with my sister and grandmother, and all the other mothers out there.

keep the faith
bryan

She Sells Sanctuary and Other Magical Triggers

So, it's been an interesting week.  I finished up my last days of vacation before becoming officially unemployed as of the 1st of May. 

Neat.

I did not really go through any emotional goodbyes with colleagues or anything, but I did have a few reflective moments.  I was amazed to find that, despite my acceptance of this unplanned situation, I was not quite ready to shut the door; I did not feel quite ready to finish the chapter and go on to the next. 

A friend asked me several weeks ago, "How do you feel?" and I have constantly thought about the question.  There are so many answers that I can give...and to be truthful, the answers are all over the emotional spectrum.  It's easy to go down the doom and gloom path, especially in this current climate, but what kept winning out were the more postive, fresh start kind of thoughts.

And that got me to thinking about a few music triggers.  Songs that immediately grab you and generate such a reaction, such feelings, such emotions, that one quickly gets postively overwhelmed.

For me, I have an incredibly long list of such songs, from various artists.  "Born to Run," for example.  Or "Rio."  The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again," also quickly comes to mind.  Hell, I am particularly fond of "Brand New Lover," namely because the hooks were so great.  Many of the songs are anthem like, but others are just darn good songs with an awesome melody, whether they be dark and brooding, heavy industrial, or even poppy songs (that I almost wouldn't admit to listening to).

Most of these songs I first heard when I was much younger, 30-40 years ago.  I think that is significant, because that's an impressionable age for everyone.  And anyone who says they weren't an agst ridden teenager is most certainly not being truthful.  But it is relative. 

Some teens worried about their looks, their popularity.  Others were stressed out about their grades, doing well in school, meeting their parents expectations, dealing with all the emotionally wrecked people who all behaved in various ways.  The not so cool kids were jealous of the really popular kids, but the super social people were terrified that they'd be found out to be superficial.  People were quick to judge, based on looks, behavior, and attitude.  Everyone wanted to be noticed, but no one wanted to stand out. 

That's tremendous pressure.  It's right up there with being cooped up for 2 months at home without being able to go out and meet friends, go shopping, get a haircut, or do all the stuff that makes you feel okay.  Suddenly, it all becomes too much and you find yourself about to explode. 

And then a song comes into your head, and maybe, just maybe, you get a moment to suddenly stop, take a breath, and reset.  And the memories, the feelings that you had when you first heard that song come flooding back all at once. 

Maybe it was me toweling off after a shower during the week and noticing how my very thin hair had grown so long that it reminded me of circa 1985.  Suddenly the intro to the Cult's classic song came into my head, and I completed the drying off experience by air-guitaring around my apartment. 

I first heard the song as a 15 year old, when the song was released.  To this day, the moment I hear the start of the song, I immediately feel like I did when I originally heard it.  Like magic, all the crap associated with being a teenager is pushed aside, and all the postive stuff comes flooding forward.  You feel giddy, knowing that just by hearing the song, you can do anything and everything: you win Wimbeldon and the World Cup (simultaneously), while receiving a Nobel prize later that afternoon.
Your imagination soars with countless amazing things are all happening at once. 

You feel unstoppable. 

What I like abourt this song is the impact it has on so many diverse groups of music listeners, across various music genres.  True, it was (and is) one of probably 10-15 clubhits that, once the DJ put the record on, prompted EVERY single patron to hit the dance floor, including those folks standing in line outside waiting to get in the club.  I remember driving around the city for the next 10 years, and would notice other drivers who were obviously listening to the same song.  There is something really cool about listening to muisc from the car radio and noticing when someone else is listening to the exact same thing.  It didn't happen all that often, which made it all the more exciting, and probably safer.  (This is why radio stations don't play "Born to Run" very often; that song prompts everyone to start driving at least 40-50 mph faster than they were, regardless if they are on the highway, driving downtown, or in a school zone)

I have been in rock clubs in Portugal, beer festivals in Germany, beach parties in Spain, or just sitting in a half-empty pub.  Queue intro to "She Sells Sanctuary," and everyone goes nuts.  The quiet older man nursing his Guinness at the end of the bar even starts tapping his feet. 

And the smiles are everywhere.  People who never dance start cutting a rug bigger than life.  Mild mannered people who NEVER want to show their "other side" suddenly release their inhibitions. 

Talk about letting go of yourself. 

It's an amazing experience, and after I took another shower after the dance-athon in my flat, I started wondering if it would have made a difference had I first heard the song at a different age.  I personally doubt it, but it is relative.  Impressions are funny things, but they hit you at any age.  The fascination comes from the perspective. That's how the triggers work. 

And the point is not to dismiss or ignore the baggage that we carry, whether it be acne, poor grades in school, arguments with parents, frustrations at the challenges of trying to fit in, or things like being unemployed, feeling isolated, figuring out how to explain to your kids why they can't go outside and play with their friends, or watching your 401k flush down the toilet. 

All of that stuff is still there, but how we deal with it is up to us.

And I'd rather deal with it with a smile on my face, feeling like I am unstoppable. 

That's why, when my boxers ripped down the back (during the dancing), I attributed it to the fact that I have been doing a lot of lunges and squats, building up the muscles in my legs and glutes.  That seems much more plausible than saying that the boxers had been washed thin by too many laundry cycles. 

Queue the song.

bryan

Chuckling at the Calamities of my Cooking

Let me start by saying none of the following events are true disasters, but in the current climate, things tend to exaggerated, and furthermore, I really like alliteration.

This week's topic is about my kitchen experiences of late, particularly some of the things that didn't go quite as planned, for some reason or other.

For the past couple of months, I have sort of modified my weekly shopping planning and trips to the store.  This is obviously influenced by the local lockdowns and social distancing.  Like most everyone else, I reacted to the first notice of "lock down" by quickly preparing a list of all the items I thought I would need from the store, items that would tie me over for 7-10 days, if not a bit longer.  I won't go so far as to say Hamsterkauf (the German word for panic buying/hoarding), but I did select items in larger quantities, knowing that I would not be able to zip off to the store for "1 or 2 things" whenever I felt like it.  At least for the foreseeable future.

In fairness, I tend to manage my Lebensmittel as a regular inventory exercise; I basically purchase certain items each week whether I totally need them or not.  To illustrate this point, I can say that I did NOT have to go buy all the toilet paper off the shelf, since I already was well stocked, proof that my "pick up another 4 pack this week" has been working really well for me over the years.  On the other side, I have had a few moments where I suddenly found my perishable items a little too overstocked, milk being the prime example.  I hate it when I suddenly look at 3 liters of milk all with the same expiration date of the current date. 

At any rate, during March, I did notice with some dismay that several shelves in the supermarket were terribly empty, and it made me a little sad and a little frightened.  However, I also knew (and know) that my own situation is rather comfortable, and I was able to put the irritations and disappointments behind me.  I probably did not really need another can or two of tomatoes in the immediate future.  The three already sitting on the counter at home would last.

Milk, however, was a little bit of concern.  I am a chugger (see one the previous posts from years ago), and I like my milk fresh.  Most of the time, I just need the milk for coffees, but as mentioned, sometimes chugging a liter is the right thing to do, so I need to keep well stocked.

I use two different grocery stores as part of my normal routine.  One is a standard supermarket, with larger selections, along with household cleaning items, paper products, soaps, and the like.  The other market is a little biomarkt, which tends to have smaller quantities and better quality product.  In fact, their flour tortillas are quite good, and I am kind of a fan of their tostada chips.  The majority of my culinary repertoire is Tex-Mex, and while that may sound silly coming from a guy that lives in Germany, one can't forget where I come from and how much the cuisine means to me.  Since such restaurants are few and far between (about 3000km apart), I had to learn how to cook the stuff.  So, thankfully I have shops that can sort of cater to my needs.

Back to milk.  Just before Easter, I made my trip to Denn's, the organic market, and knew that I needed to pick up a few liters of milk, as the dairy shelf had been empty on my previous visit.  As I rounded the corner with my buggy and glanced at the dairy case, I noticed the familiar blue and white carton of....milk!   I almost ran over a lady who was buying wine, but I apologized profusely and wheeled over to the dairy section, where, although somewhat bare, a few liters of milk were waiting for me to put in my cart.

I finished my shopping and returned home with a smile on my face, knowing that I had milk that would get me through at least 10 days, even with a couple of late night chugging sessions.

As I was putting the groceries away in my kitchen, I noticed one of the cartons of milk had an extra little label on it, then I noticed that ALL of the cartons had it.

Lactose free.

This is when I did my little "I am really pissed off at a lot of things" dance.  I do NOT like lactose free products.  It is not as if I am lactose-free intolerant, but I don't enjoy the taste.   But, I figured I would just pretend it was fat-free milk or something, so that the next time I would have proper milk,  I would enjoy it all the more.  It wasn't the end of the world, but annoying all the same.  I would say it is similar to doing something like buying a bunch of AAA batteries, only to find out that your remotes all use AA.  I learned from that experience, too.

Fortunately, it was a one time mishap, and subsequent trips to the store have involved a very alert Bryan carefully reading the milk label and selecting the correct item. 

Now, to other priority staples.  When the first wave of lock downs sent everyone rushing off to buy anything and everything from the shelves of their local markets, I did try to apply some logic and ration to my purchases.  While I wasn't really worried about toilet paper, I was a little uncertain about coffee.  I had purchased a kilo of bean at my local Kaffee-Rösteri, but I had a bad feeling that they would have to close up for some period of time.  Not that I am a total coffee snob, I am particular about my coffee products.  One of my friends in Greece and I have regularly compared notes on the art of being baristas, and as most people know, the bean is extremely important.  True, I have been fortunate to live a few minutes away from one of the better coffee roasters in the city, if not the state.  But, I do have contingency plans for such situations, and that involves product that is mass produced. 

Lavazza and Illy come to mind, and Illy product is usually my plan B.  The problem is, they usually only have ground coffee containers in my supermarket.   And it is a little pricey, especially in comparison to my local roaster, who is also expensive but well worth it.  During one trip to the store, I figured I would just resign myself to buying ground espresso for a while, but as I pulled the container off the shelf, I heard the delightful sound of whole bean inside.  I immediately elected to try and buy as much as could, at least a kilo, which meant 4 containers.  The problem was, the Illy containers all look alike.  They are completely silver, rather stylish, and even though there is some really small print that does indicate grounds instead of whole bean, it is not as clear as you might think. 

So, I ended up touching all of the containers on the shelf and playing them like maracas in order to try and find another container of bean.  This is EXACTLY what irks other shoppers in the store; no one likes to see someone touching everything only to buy one item.  I sheepishly murmured an apology to a few people who weren't so enthused with my impromptu percussion concert, saying something to the effect that it was an emergency.  Gotta have the bean. 

I am not really sure if it was a one time thing or what, but since that trip, Illy bean is no more in the store, only the ground coffee.  Thanks to my plan C, I picked up a kilo of shade grown organic espresso bean in my bio markt the next trip.  And that is where the problem started.  Many times, coffee bean from such stores is older than the "good stuff" my local roaster offers.  And, the age of the bean matters, as I found out when I was grinding and pouring espresso shots a couple of days later. 

My shots were all over the place, I was hardly getting more than 4 bars of pressure. (The sweet spot is more around 8-10 bars).  I thought back to Stergios training, and had to adjust my grind, my quantities and here, a kilo or two later, my coffees are back on track.  Patience and discipline, to quote Frau Merkel.

Now, on the subject of actual cooking, it is not as if EVERYTHING I eat is Tex-Mex.  For a little variety, I did pick up some little sausages one day, and not long after that, I stocked up on some salmon, which is my main source of seafood and omega 3s. 

Salmon is a bit tricky, but in the past year or so I have become one with my skillet, and manage to be pretty consistent with my preparation.  Until this past week.   Two times in a row, I thawed my salmon, did all the right prep work, but minutes later found myself looking at some real grey yuck in the pan.  I did not notice a fishy smell, but it looked like crap, and the result was a far cry from tasty.  True, I did eat about half of it, telling myself it was not that bad, but the more I got to thinking about it, the worse I felt.  It didn't help that I had just watched a move about a big shark the night before, so was a little squeamish when it came to stuff from the sea.  And what was in my pan looked a whole lot like what Meg ate as she swam around terrorizing the people stupid enough to go out on the boat and look for her. 

In all, I had purchased 4 packages of frozen salmon, and the first two had not gone well.  The third came out even worse, which prompted the fourth to simply be thrown out.  Maybe it's my freezer, or maybe it was a bad batch or something. 

Let's just say for now, I am off salmon.  When I was little and learning how to make simple meals for myself, I got hooked on peanut butter and honey sandwiches.  I enjoy both very much, but one day, I overdid the honey.  It actually saturated the bread, and when I pulled my lunch bag out at school, it grossed me out.  

It took me 20 years before I ate another peanut butter and honey sandwich, and I am really hoping that I won't have to wait as long with my next salmon experience.  We shall see.

Discouraged but not hopeless, I emptied the fishy trash and decided to fry up my sausages.   To be fair, I have always struggled to do sausages properly, primarily because I don't want to experience the misadventures of eating undercooked pork. 

Unlike my barista-ing or my abilities with Tex-Mex, I still cannot get my act together with sausages, which is a shame, really, because  I quite enjoy them.  But I cannot cook them to save my soul. 

I actually apologized to my skillet as I was cleaning it, saying that it was entirely my fault and lack of skill that resulted in what looked remarkably similar to blackened salmony yuck. 

If anyone was wondering why my current post is a couple of days late, it's because of  poor cooking experience; all of this happened towards the end of last week.

I returned to basics, and figured it would be best if I did something a little more edible and simple.  Why I used so much gouda cheese on my nachos is anyone's guess, but those really sucked.  Unfortunately, my favorite cheese blends were a little scarce during one of the market trips, so I thought I would be creative.  I am not off of gouda, but got a little closer than I would have liked. 

Now would have been the perfect time to go out for a schnitzel or a pizza or something, but oh, that's right, the restaurants are all closed. 

Back to the biomarkt for the weekly shopping trip, I wheeled through the aisle and was delighted to find that the tortillas were back in stock.  With a little grin, I bought all their packets, then picked up some ground beef and chicken.  Time to do things right.

I am delighted to report that I made beef quesadillas over the weekend, and they were absolutely incredible, especially since my homemade salsa also came out really well. 

And how about the chicken flautas I made for dinner last night? 

Fucking awesome. 

Order is almost restored in my kitchen, and will be even better when I get through this last half liter of lactose free milk. 

keep the faith
bryan

soundtrack -
The Clash - Lost in the Supermarket
Carter USM - Shoppers' Paradise

Counting Squares, Counting Hairs, Grabbing Hold and Letting Go

Yesterday afternoon I had a chance to catch up with my sister; we sat outside with our coffees and just had a long chat.  She sat on the front porch of Navaho, I sat on my balcony half a world away, and we talked through a range of topics, typical brother-sister style. 

Although I talk daily with my father, in the same house as my sister, the call with Lynne did me good. I realized that I was missing a bit of contact with the outside world (I think everyone is).  True, we spoke about a bunch of "what ifs," but most of the conversation involved the ways that we are getting on with things in our unusual times.  Because my sister lives with two other people, her situation is different from my party of one environment. 

The significance here is that when groups of people are cooped up together, emotions start to intensify, and interesting things happen.  How many people recall their dorm room experiences from college where inevitably, no matter how good a friend the roommate was, someone always reached the end of their tether and became agitated by tiny, insignificant things?   I fortunately had a single room for over half of my college life, but I did share a flat for a couple of years with a very close friend a couple of years later.  Even with a two bedroom flat, we found the quarters a little too cramped, and towards the end of the lease, shortly before I relocated to Boston, we were realizing it was probably time to find separate living arrangements.

I have lived on my own for about 25 years, and while I notice that sometimes things get too quiet, I never have any of the feelings of "Gee, I wish I could go somewhere and have some private time."  I have that every day.

And now, obviously, more than ever.

During my chat with my sister, we talked about my grandmother, who is on mandatory lock down in her assisted living community.  In a world that has already shrunk considerably, her situation has become even more limited.  For the right reasons, there are no external visitors allowed, meaning family and loved ones cannot enter the residential community.  But, the few social events that normally occur are on hold:  no meals in the dining room with other people, no card playing, crafts, or anything.  So, everyone has to simply stay in their little apartments. 

Our family has been collectively exploring ways to create activity for Grandmommy, and we are encountering challenges along the way.  She cannot play with a virtual English garden like I am able to, thanks to a recent electronic gift from my father.  Likewise, her audio book club service is currently closed.  Reading print is out of the question, due to her eyesight.  This has been an ongoing challenge for over 10 years, and one that I think about often.  Most of our family are avid readers, not having books is not an option.  I am not quite ready to go down the audiobook path (although I have considered the industry as a future profession), and have several friends who really enjoy the book listening experience.

For my grandmother, it's one of the few external things that she can experience.  Unlike Chris or Pablo or other friends who listen to a book or story while commuting to and from work, then go about the other countless activities of work and family life, my Grandmother really only had audio books for a pastime.  She is not much of a television viewer, unless it a televised sporting event.  Well, sports are on hold, so the alternative would be whatever is available on the cable broadcast from her residence.

Again, the challenge is the hearing.  Due to her age, things process a little more slowly, so listening to dialog can be a bit overwhelming.  And, it is not as if my Grandmother is that interested in the latest Staffel of Outlander, or whatever.  (I dare say she might have enjoyed the series Land Girls, which is what I watched this past week, myself.  Shhh, Don't tell anyone that I watched some soap opera-like show from the BBC, those people might figure out that I watch a lot of romantic made for TV movies on the German broadcasting networks)

My sister reported yesterday that she had arranged to have a new set of wireless headphones sent to my Grandmother.  This potentially will help her, should she have any interest in listening to whatever is on the tube.  But, in the back of my mind, I am thinking that this may not be as successful as we would hope.  Wireless headphones require charging, and you sort of have to treat the phones with a little care (so as not to break the connector or cause any damage).  Again, I speak from experience here.  This is not the first set of headphones that my Grandmother has had.

Before everyone starts getting all upset and sad about the last few paragraphs, let me be clear, it is not all doom and gloom.  It is different, and it is perspective. 

My grandmother is currently knitting (from memory and feel) a headband for herself.  She knows perfectly well that visits to the beauty salon are not happening currently, and while this may be a new experience for her, since she has visited the beauty salon once per week for, hmm, the last 50 or 60 years, she is taking it as it comes.  She plans to use the headband (no matter how it looks once completed) to "change her look."

This coming from a woman, aged 103, who can actually say, "Yes, I remember when I first started using Skype 20 years ago."

You want cutting edge, and I present you my Grandmommy.

On the topic of video conferencing, I am still amazed at how the new Zoom craze is generating both positive and negative things.  It saddens me that people are abusing the application, but thankfully the good outweighs the bad.  My father has rallied and is leading his Sunday School with weekly sessions, and countless other people are using such applications to stay connected.

Last weekend, I participated in a call with some family and friends, and again noted a difference in how people cope with the experience of isolation.  During our video call, a girl suggested that I watch a television series with my brother-in-law in Spain simultaneously, by sharing our screen and our netflix account. 

Fran and I shared a smile; neither of us does that sort of thing.  No offense intended, but we just are not into that.   Back in the 90s when people started having Friends watching parties every Thursday night, I never signed up.  I did watch the show with my friend, but he was my roommate and we shared the same living room. 

Years later, it never even occurs to me to watch some television series with a bunch of other people.  Likewise, I have never been in a book club. 

Sure, I like to talk about what I read or what I saw, but I don't have to be with someone to do so.  That is what the pub or kiosk is for; a place to congregate, socialize, and talk about whatever.  Again, I mean no disrespect, but I do not feel the need to have a party to talk about a book five people just finished reading.  If you want to get together, just get together.  Snacks are optional.

This past week, I tended my virtual garden, enjoying learning more about various plants and flowers that people like Nadja and my aunt Virginia experience day in day out.  Who knows, maybe this will be the kick start for me to start dabbling in potted plants.  Somehow I doubt it.

With a little more time on my hands, I do spend more time on my balcony, particularly since the weather is pretty nice of late.  And, birds are singing, and I am enjoying listening to them.  The birds have always been there, and I am known in the conference call circles as the guy with the nice sounding background.  If only they knew my little set up in the kitchen, espresso machine to my right, oven and range directly behind me, a poster of Siouxsie looking down on me from the wall, and the balcony door wide open, allowing the sounds of the back garden to drift inside.  My microphone in the kitchen (how often do you read that in a sentence) is not quite as professional as the one in my living room, but it's pretty darn good.  Thus, all the outside sounds get picked up.  In recent weeks on various calls, I have had several colleagues comment on how peaceful it sounds from my side, all while the background sounds of very active small children come from their side. 

Hey ho.

As I finished my call with my sister and began to think about dinner preparations, I thought again about my Grandmother, and how she is spending her time.  2 seconds later I was dialing her telephone number, and after 6 rings (sufficient time for her to get up from her chair, walk across the room, and pick up the telephone) she answered, and recognized my voice immediately.

I love that.  I have commented several times in the past couple of years on my frustrations that Grandmommy does not hear me so well.  Face to face, she might catch 2 out of 7 words.  In a group of more than 2 people, even less.

Last Christmas I had received some pointers from an ear specialist, who pointed out two things to me:  one, a deep voice (while helpful in a potential voice-over career) can be a little hard to hear and two, speaking too quickly doesn't allow for an ageing person to process.  They simply don't hear and process communication like someone 20 or 30 or 40 years younger.  Speaking slowly is where I was trying to focus with her during my last days of stateside holiday, with various levels of success.

But, when speaking with her on her landline, with her souped up audio enhancing telephone, it is as if we are chatting together like we did 20 years ago sitting across from each other in a loud Mexican cantina.  (pause while I fondly remember drinking margaritas and eating guacamole with her).  With her telephone, she hears everything seemingly crystal clear.  It's still a little surprising to me, because in person she might behave a little timidly, mainly because she doesn't move or see or hear all that well.  There is nothing wrong with her brain, but the other elements can quickly overwhelm, so when I am suddenly having a call with her on a Saturday afternoon and we are discussing our experiences with the isolation, she is engaged, thoughtful, and curious.  She asked me about my work (I have not yet told her of my imminent departure from the company), wanted to know if I was playing "her songs" on the piano (of course I am) and in general wanted to know how I was passing the time.

I though about telling her how I spent a couple of hours the previous week counting my hairs and wondering when I would be able to visit the barber again, and wondering if that really matters.  I also quickly decided not to tell her that I had been inventorying my toilet paper and was on a personal quest to see how few squares I could consume in a, erm, session.  I will leave those topics for the next time I am at the pub. 

Instead, I reminisced about all the Easters I had spent at my Grandmothers.  Like Thanksgiving, each Easter we would go to her house after services, enjoying a nice meal and an Easter Basket.  Lynne and I did do Easter Egg hunts when we were small, and it was always a little unfair, because the 3 1/2 year split always gave my older sister the advantage; she always found more eggs than I could. 

My Grandmother, agreeing that we had certainly had some great Easter afternoons together, also pointed out the obvious, the significance of the season.  How right she is.  Easter has always been important for me, and here on Easter Sunday as I near the end of this post, I am taking the day to reflect and celebrate. 

As Grandmommy and I finished our telephone call, she shared with me how she had been spending some of her time in recent days.  She has been fretting on how to wish me a happy birthday.  International telephone calling is not something that comes so easily to someone of her age, but that is totally okay. 

I allayed her concerns by telling her that one of the presents I would be giving myself next week would be to call her up on the telephone again.  She enthusiastically exclaimed that she always thought of the Stevie Wonder song when speaking with me on the telephone. 

"I just called to say I love you." 

Happy Easter and keep the faith
bryan

Effortless Madness and Other Ska Tunes

Yes, I would agree that the title of this post makes about as much sense as the current state of the affairs in our world.  But hey, let's just press on.

During a conversation with my father earlier this week, I mentioned that I was thinking this self-isolation experience is a little bit like summer vacation from when I was in elementary school.
Back then, our summer holidays lasted 3 months, which, at the time, sounded like total bliss.
Three whole months to do stuff:  family vacation, summer reading program in the library, swimming lessons, and various other activities to fill up the three months break from school. 

However, I remember relishing the first couple of weeks, if not month, of the break.  No school was the primary reason for joy, followed closely by the simple fact that the routine had changed.  We could stay up a little later, and did not have to be up and out the door and on the way to school the following morning. 

Our family usually took our 2 or 3 week vacation early in the summer, usually late June or early July.  This provided another reason to be really excited at the start of the summer break; we had something to look forward to.

Then, once the family vacation was complete, things started to slow down a little bit, and by the end of the second month of summer holidays, a little bit of boredom was setting in.  I never really felt like I was ready to go back to school, but my actions and my feelings were saying something different.  Many times my mother, who also worked in a school and had the summers off, would rack her brain in effort to come up with activities for my sister and me to do.  We were starting to feel cooped up in the house, and this led to some misbehavior (albeit mild).  Ultimately, we were simply getting on each other's nerves.  We would somehow get through the last couple of weeks of August, then thankfully start back to school.  Back to routine.

For the first couple of weeks of isolation, distancing, whatever you want to call it, it's kind of new, almost exciting, particularly if you don't think about all the scary stuff.   When the experience is fresh and new, people are a lot more enthusiastic and enjoying the "newness" of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, the newness wears off pretty quickly and suddenly everyone is in the latter stage of summer vacation, bored to tears, looking for something to do, and antsy about spending so much time at home.  The shit part is that it still unclear as to when we get to restart our routines, however normal they may be. 

The reason that I was mentioning this to my father was mainly due to his description of how things were going in his neighborhood, in his city.  As the states are several weeks behind Europe with regard to the spread of this virus, many statesiders are still in that "first couple of weeks of summer vacation" phase.  It hasn't yet gotten boring staying the whole day at home, and to some extent, many people stateside have yet to comprehend the severity of the whole situation, so they haven't quite gotten around to distancing themselves. 

As for myself, a home office worker and a bit of a homebody, some of this isolation experience is really not that new.  I am very used to the tools required to work from home, and have actually been a little surprised as I hear people relate their new experiences of working from home.  Some people need a little time to adjust to the situation, to learn how to ignore the distractions of the household environment, etc.  Others have little experience with remote conferencing, and suddenly, all at once people are having to learn something new.  It is an interesting development. 

For sure, the forced cessation of activity has given me a little more free time, and this potentially can be a good thing.  However, it is a little difficult to keep the mind clear of all the uncertainty flying about.  Fortunately, I quickly remember that EVERYONE is going through a very similar situation and this solidarity is comforting in a way. 

Now, I am not about to start making whipped coffees at home, and even if I did I would not feel inclined to post a photo of it, but still, I appreciate that people are getting on with things as best as they can.  If they choose to express themselves in such fashion, fair enough. 

Although I am not spending hours on the internet looking for the next funny photo or video of yet another grocery store shelf empty of toilet paper, I do come across a few humorous bits from time to time, usually shared with me from a friend.  And, for what it worth, I do enjoy the chuckle.  So, thanks Pablo, particularly. 

Meanwhile, as I always have done, I do seek out the humor in the situations, and while it is particularly challenging to do this presently, I make sure to find something each day that helps bring some balance and peace.

Sometimes these things can be very small.  I was watching a program the other night and one of the characters used the word "dip-shittery," and I had to laugh out loud.  The context was perfect, and I actually tried to work that word into a conversation later on in the week. 

A couple of weeks ago, right after my last blog post, I was thinking about how much I was enjoying peaceful sleeping and the dreams that accompanied the sleep.   The very next night, my dream involved me roaming the M Streets late at night.  In my dream, I had a call of nature, and somehow elected to use the facilities at the next house I came to.  I found a backdoor unlocked, slipped inside, and was quietly doing my thing when a couple of young children peeked around the corner of the hallway.  Well, the two kids were Buffy and Jody from "Family Affair," and as unusual as that seemed, I went ahead and pleaded with them to be quiet, as I was just borrowing their house as a rest stop and would continue on my way.

Instead, they both screamed loudly, and their grandfather suddenly appeared, and it was Robert De Niro, understandably wearing a bathrobe and looking none too pleased.  He chased me down the street, encouraged by his cheering grandchildren, and I logically headed for Goliad, thinking it was the safest haven in the vicinity.  

Mr. De Niro was in character, a mix of Taxi Driver and Midnight Run, with an unfortunate extra helping of Cape Fear.  It was this last character that changed my mind; for a couple of blocks as he ran after me, I had been considering stopping to ask for his autograph.  

It was then that I woke up, and actually had to get out of bed and say "holy socks holy socks" for a few minutes, just to try to calm myself down.  It has been a long time since I have dreamt so vividly.

The following morning as I made my coffee, I actually laughed to myself, "Whew, that was close."

A little surreality goes a long way, but a few days later I got a the unfortunate news that my brother in law's mother had passed away from the virus in Valencia.  As I reached out to the family, my sister commented on the fact that it was so surreal, how quickly things developed.   My heart, my thoughts, and prayers go out to my Spanish family, along with my special memories of a woman who welcomed me into her life as a family member.  Comforting to me, in a way, is that she is now probably having a Limon granizado with my own mother. 

The tragedy of all of this is not over, and we will all likely experience more moments of sadness, uncertainty, as well as positive thoughts of how we go forward.  Like everyone, I have friends who have already lost their jobs because this situation, and the future is unclear.  As Joe Strummer said, the future is also unwritten. 

For me, this means that I will continue to have ups and downs.  My latest down came just a couple of days ago on the 1st of April, ironically a fool's day.

The work day had been particularly frustrating and unproductive, and I was in a really lousy mood, and struggling to understand why I still care about the job (as I am already laid off), but when suddenly at 16h on Wednesday afternoon my work laptop accounts were deactivated, I just about flipped out.  It was too much.

It took me a few frantic hours to get things resolved, and I found out that the company IT department had me slated for 1st of April deactivation as opposed to 1st of May, one month too early.   An honest mistake, and considering the current environment, somewhat understandable.

I tried to convince myself of this later that evening as I was still really worked up, overwhelmed by way too much emotion and thoughts of the past weeks.  In college, I borrowed an album title from Carter USM and made it my own Bryan's Smart Circus, a way of venting at the complete madness of life in general.  I don't listen to Carter much anymore, but maybe I should.

Any rate, I lived through a rather unpleasant Wednesday evening wrapped up in my own dark thoughts and that resulted in a horrible sleep, thankfully without nasty dreams but unfortunately without much sleep. 

But I have to take it as it comes, and acknowledge that there will be some days that are not so great. 
Thursday morning, order was slightly restored, and I looked forward to my little trip to the supermarket, where I actually had a rather pleasant experience.  Other shoppers did not look nearly as fearful as they had the previous week, and as a small bonus, I was able to buy some paper towels, which I had been needing. 

I checked my mailbox as I arrived back home, and found that I had a Christmas Card waiting for me.
As I say repeatedly, it is always a delight to get mail, and this particular card was just a few days late, but welcome all the same, and it came at precisely the moment it was most needed. 

And here is a bit of irony for you, to bring this piece to a close.  The whole card is positive energy, from the smiling family on the front with the greeting, "It's a wonderful life," to the inside, where each family member has an update, in great McKee fashion.

And on the back of the card?

Can't wait to see what 2020 has in store!

Stay healthy, stay safe, and find those happy thoughts.

keep the faith
bryan