Confession I

I always used other peoples lives as an inspiration for my fictional characters. I had good reasons for that: I can only write about what I know. I am an artist and I have the freedom to choose my own characters from whatever source I feel is right.
I don’t choose, they choose me. If I have to restrict myself about what I write, because of other peoples feeling, the quality of my writing will suffer.
My freedom as a writer is above everything-else for the sake of art.

I did upset people. Not only people, but friends. People which were very close to me. I had excuses for that too. I wanted them to understand that it is not about them. That they are only actors in this play. I would borrow their looks, habits or character-traits and they will come alive as a fictional character with it’s own life that has as little to do with them as Spider-man with Tobey Maguire.

I still want to believe that, but people became really upset and stopped trusting me and it affected me. It blocked my writing. I knew I could not go on like this because as much I would justify my pure intention I could not deny that it would affect people and therefore myself and my writing .

I started to build characters in my imagination, but it wasn’t fun nor did they inspire me. Suddenly I had lost all purpose of writing. I even stopped reading fiction because it didn’t make sense to me to read about the imaginative lives of imaginative people. What should I gain from that? What can I learn from that?
I don’t know why I still enjoyed movies, maybe because they seemed to be more real than written words.

Finally I decided to end the crisis by exploiting my own life.
I wrote a novel about a woman, from the age of 17 until her 40s. I used events in my life and built the character around it. But I didn’t write in first person and I never revealed any insights of the character. Obviously, she lived parts of my life, but I kept her distant. To me and to the reader. Until now I don’t know who this person really is and I don’t want to know. That was the hardest piece of work ever. It is a very sad story. Because I was struggling writing, my character had to suffer a lot. Or maybe it was the other way round.
I wasn’t able to look at myself as I would look at other people. My vision was clouded by fear to reveal too much, to expose myself, to look ridiculous, to be recognized.

to be continued…

No Lukewarm Way of Living

One of my intention writing this blog was sharing one insight every day. No matter how little or insignificant. For me to remember and for others to laugh.

I started years ago to do this in my diary but I never managed to follow through.
I don’t know whether too few insights or too little discipline. Maybe both of it. But I am sure, no, I am determined, to learn something every day. It is more a matter of discipline and awareness than of opportunities
I also wanted to take one picture a day. Never did that.

What I realized yesterday was that maturity has to do a lot with conscious decision-making and sticking to it. Not letting things – not letting a life – happen to me that I don’t want. Knowing that everything I do has a consequence.
For example, if I want to have an excellent love-relationship, I have to do all I can to maintain it. To respect him, even when I think he is wrong. To focus on his good sides, to love him, even when I don’t feel like it, to make him happy and not nag him. Trying hard at the beginning, it becomes a habit after a while.

If I want to be happy and healthy, I quit smoking, don’t drink too much so that I won’t have a hangover the next morning, don’t watch movies the whole night, get up early, walk every day and only dwell on positive and productive thoughts. If I want good friendships I have to be a good friend. And so on…

There is no lukewarm way of living, I can’t do the wrong things over and over again, expecting good results.
That doesn’t mean that I have got it all together. I mess up a lot but I try every day again. Repent and move on is the right lifestyle.
Because I realized that I have full responsibility of my life with everything I do and every thought I think.

Yes, I am a late and slow developer.

Sticky Rice And Cranberry-Juice

There are three things that Sven and I can’t do together:

#1 is dancing. We tried it at one of the first nights we went out together at the Kumpelnest, my favorite bar in Berlin at that time. He moved double my speed and we fortunately ended up kissing very soon, which we managed much better. I never really gave him a chance, but every time we stand next to each other and he starts moving to music, he is too fast.

#2 is playing cards. I mean serious card games, especially Doppelkopf. In Doppelkopf the two queens of spade play together. You have to find out during the game who is your partner. This is a very serious game and Sven played it for the first time and he didn’t take it serious. He just laughed when we lost after he made a major mistake. I nearly broke up with him. We decided not to take the risk to ever play cards together.

#3 is cooking. We always fight when we cook together. I like to stick to recipes, he is more an adventurous cook. That bares some risks but also leads to a lot of experience and often amazing results. He is the chef in this family, he does 95 percent of the cooking, but I still don’t trust him when I watch him cooking and I still think it is sometimes not a bad choice to follow a recipe.

It became a habit in the last weeks to invite friends for lunch on Sundays. Yesterday we decided (I decided) to cook a green Thai curry which we didn’t have for a long time. I looked up the recipe in the internet and we shopped together. Sven listened to me when I read the recipe to him and we started cooking together. And it actually worked out. We didn’t fight at all. I had some questions but he politely answered them and I was happy. We were so proud of ourselves that we finally had managed to cook together and it was fun!

Only at the end, the rice he cooked turned sticky. I hate sticky rice and if there is anything we both never mess up, it is rice. Very easy. You take the same amount rice and water, (maybe a little bit more water) put the lid on the pot and leave it on, bring the water to boil and switch off the heat, if you have an electric stove. The rice will turn out perfectly.

There was only little rice left in the package. I cooked it and when I opened the lid, the rice was just as sticky as the first lot. I apologized to him and repented and came to the insight that I still have to trust him more. The Rice was mixed with the curry anyway and it was delicious.

Our guests brought a great summer-drink: mix (Stoney) Ginger-beer, Cranberry-juice, (about 2/3 ginger-beer, 1/3 juice), the juice of two limes (on 1 Liter, put the limes also in the bowl), ice and fresh peppermint leaves. It is delicious!

The highlight of our Sunday lunches is a walk along the river. Even it was drizzling yesterday, we went and it was beautiful. We watched the yellow weaverbirds in the reed and the dark clouds moving over the mountain. I love talking while walking. It is always very special.

Unfortunately my laptop is sick again and I can’t upload any photos on this one until Sven has fixed it. He can fix almost everything. The first time he came to my house he fixed the light-bulb in front of my apartment door, so I won’t have to fumble with my key in the dark when I come home late, as I did for weeks before I met him. That was when I decided he is the one.

What All Men Should Know

After 14 years together, we have reached a new level of maturity in our relationship.
No, that is not correct. Sven has reached that level. Not me.
That is, why it is even more important.

It is something I told him for years and now he finally understood. It is very simple but yet hard to do. He doesn’t let upset himself by me anymore. At least not that easily.

When I am grumpy for no obvious reason, distant or controlling, he just laughs it off. He calls it out and he makes a joke and immediately I am relieved.

If he doesn’t take my mood-swings seriously, I don’t have to either. They disappear almost instantly. It is a great relieve, because he brakes the spell. By not taking my bad mood personally, he doesn’t allow it to take control over us and it disappears like fog. Simple like that.

I love him even more for that and I think it is very sexy, knowing that he is in control when I am not, and leading me from weakness to strength. Because most of the time my bad mood resolves of a feeling of weakness, trying to regain control.

The Hero of Curry Road

Sven gave me this book as a present yesterday. He thought I might like it and he was right. It’s called “complete collection of short pieces” and that’s what they are. Short short stories, some only two pages long. Clear, deep and simple.

Alan Paton is a well known South African writer. But not as well known as he should be, they say. I had never heard of him. He lived from 1903-1988.
He wrote about himself: ” I am something more than a writer; I am a member of an imperfect and unjust human society, which has it’s home in a most beautiful country”.
He died shortly before apartheid was abolished. It pierced my heart when I realized that the never saw that the struggle wasn’t in vain.

Isn’t that the coolest cover ever? Alan Paton sitting on a folding chair near Botha’s Hill in the Valley of a Thousand Hills photographed by David Goldblatt in 1988, the year he died.
What I like about this picture is that it is completely unpretentious. It shows an old man with big glasses and a Casio watch on a folding chair. Not trying to make him look like a writer, but at the same time giving him full respect for who he is.
It is, what it is and that is they way his stories are, stripped to the core from any pretension.
I would love to see myself on a cover like this in 40 years.

Smoked Plastic-Nappies

Most South African houses don’t have any heating, except a fireplace. That makes winter so hard, even it is not that cold. You have to get used to wear layers of clothes and wrap yourself into blankets at night to stay warm.

During the day we move with the sun trough the house. Like the cats, we search for the warm spots. The sun is our only heating. In the morning it would be Luzies room. In the afternoon it is our bedroom. I try not to miss any minute of sunshine in my room. Only than I can open the doors into the garden and lay on my bed with the sun shining on me.

Except on Fridays. That is the day when our neighbor burns his twins plasic-nappies. He makes a fire right next to my bedroom-door behind the wall, and when I am lucky the wind doesn’t blow in my direction. The smell is awful. The twins are only a few months old, so this will go on for quite a while.

But he is convinced that this is the most ecological way to get rid of the nappies, because they disintegrate not in 50 000 years. He says.
I don’t know what difference it makes wether they rot at a place where they don’t bother anyone for however long, but I am not so sure about the air-pollution.

Maybe someday it will rain smoked plastic-nappies. Like frogs in the movie Magnolia.

+++++++

I am getting lost in style blogs. Really enjoy looking at the pictures of people in all different places of the world. It is a bit like travelling. Capetown, Munich (love these picts!) and Berlin. Love the Budapest style.

Terribly Awful

Today we met a woman at Spar. She didn’t look happy.
“How are you?” I said, “isn’t this a beautiful day?” to cheer her up.
She looked at me sadly. “It is terrible”, she said. “Terrible.”
“What is terrible?” I asked.
“It is too early, way too early. Two months too early. The leaves are already coming out. The trees didn’t have enough time to rest”. She really looked worried.

I didn’t know what to say. I don’t care about the resting-time of trees. I want sunshine whenever possible. I should have told her about the commandment.
For a split-second I felt guilty, being so selfish and not caring about the trees, but than we carried on with our walk on this beautiful sunny day.

Nature seems confused at this place of the world anyway. Since we moved here in February, the elder-flower was blossoming. I picked them because I tried to make the lecker sirup we used to by from Ikea, but I tried twice and it never turned out right. It was actually awful. Since than I watch the elder-flower and they are still blossoming. 6 months later. Almost unchanged. Only now they start to develop berries. Strange. Maybe terrible.

Do Not Worry

We were reading Matthew the other night, The Sermon on the Mount, and I realized that “do not worry” is an actual commandment. Jesus says, “can all your worries add a single moment to your life?” I know that, but I never took it serious. It is as serious as not to kill and do not to steal. Worry is a sin.

K. says, we have only enough grace for one day. When Moses lead the Israelites out of Egypt through the desert they started to complain because they were hungry and thirsty and even wanted to go back to Egypt into slavery because at least there they had food.
God gave them manna every morning. The morning dew turned into bread and they had enough to eat for the day. They weren’t allowed to keep any of it, and when they kept some it was full of maggots the next day. They had to trust God every day again.

K. says, same thing with grace. We only have enough for one day. When we use it up for worries about times that have not come yet, we will not have enough to take us through the day and enjoy it as we should do.

Monkeyland II

The first two nights we spent in Natures Valley right next to the world highest bungee jump. There is a person hanging at the end of the rope. We watched the people jumping in the morning. All girls, inclusive three Muslim girls in full gear, and one of the guys explained patiently all our questions: How old was the youngest person.. 8 years, but she was a trapeze artist..The oldest person: 80 and he will come back on his 90th birthday.
Can’t you get a heart attack? No, that is impossible because of all the adrenalin pushing the blood trough your veins. This is actually the cure for heart attacks, an adrenalin injection.
That’s what he said. Luzie said, she will come back on her 14th birthday to jump, because that is their official age limit. Unfortunately they didn’t allow us to jump altogether so we went to Monkeyland.

This was the only gibbon and we were very lucky to see him, taking a sunbath in the tree.

Our charming guide

They keep geese and little birds because the monkey love eggs and even kill the birds and eat them. I was quite surprised, believing the sweet monkeys only eat bananas. Actually almost all of them are carnivores.

The wooden hanging bridge

Another hanging bridge in Birdland

Flamingos are only pink because of the pink crabs they eat. I wonder wether they would turn blue if they would feed on blueberries. I suppose Flamingos don’t like blueberries, but it would be worth a try. A Flamingopark with Flamingos in all different colours.

Luzie collected the pretty little red feathers for earrings.

Sven calls this picture the anointed one

Happy

Still struggeling to get the blog going again, since my only one year old MacBook “gave up his soul”. This is the second time since I bought it. It can`t find the hard disk. There is nothing we can do.
The internet seems to be even slower on my old iBook and iPhoto just kacked up. But I don’t care, because it is a beautiful day again and with winter like that I am just happy.

Just as I write this, Sven said, the laptop is working again. A miracle. He switched it on and it just came back as if nothing had happened. I think it wanted to give me a holiday. Or it needed a holiday itself. Apple computers are very sensitive, almost human.

Another reason for my good mood is that I finally bought myself some clothes. We went to Capetown on Saturday and met with wonderful Olga who lead us to the Woodstock Market. I felt like a Ossie (a person from the former East of Germany) coming to the West, when I saw all these foodstalls with the most advanced and fancy snacks I have ever seen. Everything was just nice and tasteful and had style, there was not even one dodgy shop there. A German lady sold giant pieces of appelstrudle, I ate Indian chicken curry, Sven had the most delicious sandwich with Parma ham and lentils and other secret stuff, there were flowers I had never seen before in my life.

I bought a pair of ballet flats from a lovely girl who made them in all different kinds of fabrics. You can even bring your own fabric.

I was so starved of city life, I enjoyed the people, the shops, the sun was shining, people were sitting on see- through-plastic covered straw-bales eating their food under the blue blue Capetown sky. It felt like beeing at home. I enjoyed all the nice shops, just looking at things with style and taste. I haven’t done this for years.

Afterwards we went to the Waterfront. Olga also guided me through the mall, lead me to the right places, picked the right clothes, gave her honest opinion. Just what I needed.
Even Sven enjoyed it and found a perfect pair of Jeans, the best he ever had and bought two of them.

This all could happen, because my dear friend A. my personal stylist, the archangel of the underdressed as she called herself jokingly promised me to send me a parcel of clothes.
Almost everything I wear is coming from her. I feel helpless without her. But knowing she is still there for me had encouraged me to take action, and there I am. Happy! And well dressed.
Thank you A! Thank you Olga!