MABEL

is the name I gave my problem.

Saw my family doctor today, Monday.  He gave me the good news that "the scan found nothing in my head".  It means what it says and also that no Mabel offsprings are present in my brain.

Tomorrow I will have a TEP scan.  I am looking forward to an entire body search.  That's a big area with lots of folds, pockets and minuscule spots where little Mabelinchen can hide.  

Oh yes, I had not told you that my Thorax scan revealed that Mabel is sitting very close to my aorta and can not be operated on.  Other treatments will be suggested after all test results are in.

I still sleep as well as I did prior to Mabel's appearance.

I'm already fed up talking about Mabel.  Sorry.  I promise not to in my next post.
      

On the way back to normal

Yes, loads of snow and  below normal temperatures of -25/-30F and the very occasional -8 in between have been on the menu for too long now.  Actually since early January.

I don't like the cold nor the job of clearing snow off the car early in the morning but I like Québec and what I'm seeing from the spot I am sitting at at the moment.  I see majestic pine trees wearing a thick white coat over a dark green undergarment.  Coat where illuminated by the sun changing into a diamond studded jacket topped with a blue hat.                             I forgot what I don't like.  Good.


Oh, thank you all for your so very kind words on my last post.  I wanted to say much more but could not find words that were precise enough to convey my feelings. 


I thought that knitting exercise would prevent getting cramps in hands.  Well, no cramps when knitting but yes cramps when holding playing cards. Hm...

These are some of my baby's snuggle socks made of leftover yarns.  Now, don't rush off making babies.  

  
   

Today is one of those days

on which my thoughts jump from one thing to another to end up on a theory that maybe needs to be given long and serious serious thought.   

As I am cleaning my Bamboo floor which I supervised the installation of and know that a small space needs to be left  available behind the floor boarding all around allowing the wood to react to temperature and humidity.  It contracts and expands.  If no space left near walls, it will allow the floor planks to open up where they join.                                                                                                                                                                                                     I reach an area where a gap has developed between the planks and my thoughts jump to the spot on my right hand thumb where at the top on each side of the short fingernail the dry skin has popped open.   This reminds me that I need to wear gloves as soon as I start using the heater in the car to prevent this from happening.  My thumb reacts to warm air being blown at it as my hand is busy steering.

Then, as I wonder if there is a word to name this area of my thumb and play with the idea of asking one of my daughters, I think that I should not.  They have no time nor patience for such silly questions of their mother.

From there my thoughts wonder to the question of  what is this thing of 'mothers and daughters'?   Why, after the mother is no longer with us, and I know that it applies to many of us, does one feel guilty of not having  shown more patience, more devotion, more gratefulness, more compassion, more love.  I am saying more because we all have given, some more some less.  Did our mothers display love, self-sufficiency, tolerance and strength in order to give us peace of mind?

If so, it does not seem to work.  Not with me anyway.


Actually, I was going to say that I will stop posting and commenting for a while because it takes more time for me to do so than I can afford to use up for that purpose.

Will I be able to overcome this much enjoyable addiction?
          

A spot

This is the culprit.  A spot in a bathroom tile.

Ever since I moved into this apartment 6 years ago this spot in a faulty bathroom tile causes me to be troubled and not only when I do my house cleaning.  Seeing this is as bad as seeing each dust particle flying in the air through the rays of sunshine inside my apartment.  Nothing I can do about these bothersome things short of putting the blinds down or changing the tile or tell myself how lucky I am to have nothing more to fret about.
Finally today I opted for the last-mentioned after I had proceeded to clean the next room where I banged my head on an open cupboard door.  Whenever I bang my head I question the thoughts I was entertaining at that particular 'bang' moment and always realize that they were thoughts which I needed to stop immediately or as soon as possible.  Thoughts such as in this instance "what will people think when they see this spot?"   
My sister-in-law came out of the bathroom after her first visit to this new dwelling of mine
laughing as she was telling me that she tried to clean that spot.  

Now l look at it and see the sun and ask for more appropriate but soft head bangs.  

???????

What the schnuck happened here?

The only thing that I knowingly did was edit words underneath my name.  All else happened by just looking at what was available.  

Did not succeed fixing it so will leave it alone for now.

So, it was a bat!

 

 

It was a hot summer day.  Their mother told me that my friend R., the girl with long blond      braids as wide as three fingers of my hand, and her brother M., were out in the fields with      their dad.  I did not need to ask where the fields were.  I knew each and every one.  The       one  where the corn grew higher than us, the one were we planted the potatoes, the one where they grew the feed for the cows.  It was corn harvest time.  I walked towards the biggest tree knowing that I would find them sitting underneath it, eating delicious sandwiches of home made bread topped with home-smoked ham or home made sausage.  Father and farm hand drinking cider.                                                                                     On my way to the big tree I passed a small tree and looking at the lower branches saw something dangling there that scarred the schnook out of me. I remember how fast I looked away thinking that I saw Christ on the cross hanging upside down.  The shock of seeing that made the insides of my body tremble.  I remained puzzled for a long time and knowing that what I had seen could not be  what I thought, I never told my friend nor my family about it. 

I can't believe that it had to take 60 years before I finally found out what I had seen.  I had a hard time getting a what I thought was a bird out of my house after moving to the country and was told that it must have been a bat.  I looked bat up and had my answer.

 

I always recognized Die Fledermaus on the radio but that did not help.  

 

Why Christ on the cross which was never talked about in our family?      

 

Greece - walk to a small village

It was a long and hot walk but I only remember bits and pieces about it.  Athens 1940/1941?


I see this young girl dressed in layers of long skirts.  She was employed in our  home but I have no idea in what capacity - cooking, cleaning, babysitting - who to ask now?
What was her name, did we like her, my brother and I?
I see her hiding cognac colored glass plates under her apron and off we go to see her family in a nearby village. The plates were small and I usually saw them appear besides a tall glass of water and a jar of vanilla paste, holding a spoon.  One filled the spoon with this thick sticky paste, placed it in one's glass filled with water and then licked the paste and had a sip of water, put spoon back into glass till next 'lick & sip'.

We are walking along on top of a steep knoll.  We stop to look down.  My brother discovers a dead black dog down there, points it out to the long skirts girl and starts gathering stones. "No, no, no, you can't do that.  If a stone hits the dog a piece of his dead body will fly up and hit you".

A cemetery.  Long line of people walking behind men carrying something on which a female body was lying.  Flowers placed on each side of her head.  Wailing cries frightening me.

A field with grazing sheep and a ram chasing my brother and the long skirts girl waving her arms and making noise.

Plates falling out from under the skirt and braking.


This memory is filed in my auto-analyzation folder.  Why did I not tell mother about the girl stealing? 






                                                                 

What's wrong

with me? Again and again I find excuses for the person who did or said a 'wrong'. Not that I agree with the 'doer' of the wrong but I most of the times, if not always, find an excuse.

This morning I read 'Funffingerplatze' blog and could only think of "maybe someone tripped and fell on it, maybe a big dog did it, maybe this and maybe that". I read the comments of others and decided not to leave mine.  Of course I felt sorry for what happened to the Iris but I just can't believe that it was done on purpose. Yes, I know that one can see the difference - footprints or whatever -  but again!!! my mind refuses to recognize the obvious. 

Don't know why I am so upset with myself. I know that I will reflect on this all day.

I'm off to the library now and know already that I'll be sorry for clicking on publish. So be it.


   
  

Ice on roof

When the ice rolled down in the front of the house it found space to spread out.

The first time it came down in the back I thought an earthquake caused the mountain behind the house to come through the roof. The noise was frightening and the shaking violent. It broke the plate glass of the guestroom window. As I walked into the room the glass shards were strewn all over the bed and the floor and furniture. What luck that my brother was not visiting that weekend. It was his bed. No way to get to the window from the outside so I blocked the opening from the inside. I learn my lessons rather quickly sometimes. The following Fall, $400. later for the new double pane window, I had my brother block it from the outside with a sheet of wood. It was a good idea but was it really necessary? The block of ice that came down did not touch the wall.

All that but, I miss the house sooo much. I was already 60 years old when I bought it and spent 14 years fixing and loving it - my soul was happy there but my body got tired and could no longer keep up with all that came with it, pleasures and work.

I wonder if the woodpecker is missing me and if the trees have room to breath or if the undershrub or whatever it's called is strangling them. One uphill acre full of little areas I built such as 'Amen' where I wanted my ashes to be - a rock that looked like a bicycle seat which I painted and named 'Kat's seat' - another rock that I painted 5 lucky seven's on and spelled 'Nick's outlook' on it. Nick is the very nosy slot machines lover husband of my dear friend and from that area uphill he could sit and observe the comings and goings on my patio and the area around the house. And, I'll stop here - why torture myself? Bad enough that I need to drive by it twice a month and more when I pick Moselito up for his home weekend.

 

 

No bruises as yet but last night I could not sleep on my favorite side.  

Whenever I bang my head on something I ask myself  "what was I thinking at the precise moment it happened- was I having critical or mean or jealous thoughts?"
Yes, sometimes I find a culprit and start thinking negative thoughts about that person and the wheel in my head spins and releases the same thoughts over and over again until some other thought or a hit on my head appears and stops the whirl. Yesterday I was not having any hard thoughts and no negative thinking needed to  be stopped but,  simply asking myself the question  leads me usually, as it did this time, to reflect on my opinions and fixed ideas concerning others in general. I do not want to and try not to pass negative judgement on others.  As I write this I am thinking of  lazy, greedy, untidy, ill-mannered, selfish.

The back door.

I like to use the back door of the building. It's close to my parking space and my shopping bags don't have time to get  to heavy before I reach the door of my apartment.
I don't like to do more than one trip. Today I carried two heavy bags in each hand.
The door is a heavy metal door opening to the left. When I reach the door I had to move two bags from my right hand to the left hand, pull the key out of my pocket, unlock the door but leave the key in it, pull the door open half way, put my left knee inside the door, turn the key to lock position for when it slams shut behind me, pull key out of lock, move my left arm  together with the 4 bags and position it besides my left knee, finally move two bags from left hand to right hand while lifting my right leg to step inside and let the door bang shut. 
Today I did not lift my right leg high enough. I tripped on the edge of the step and tumbled flew inside the hallway, could not find my balance because of those heavy bags, hit my head on the wall opposite me and landed with a big thump on the floor surrounded by my bags. My head was near the door of an apartment and I could hear him whistle as he always does and wondered if he heard me fall. 

To make a long story short - I fell and am ok. 

   

Baking for the Holidays

I am a reformed Jew if this is the proper way of saying what my religion is at this time of my life. I was baptised Greek Orthodox. Such thing did not exist in after war Germany. My friends in Horb all happened to be Catholic so what do you think I did at age 12? I reverted to Catholicism. Der Pfarrer was happy - my parents did not even know about it. Papa was Greek Orthodox and Mutti was Protestant. Hey, I wanted to belong. Could not think of anything better to do at that time and don't regret it. I got very involved in church things. Friday evening Rosary( I think it was Fridays), Vesper, Sunday Mass, pulling the cord and swinging back and forth to bring the church bells into swing early I forget which mornings and of course helping out with this and that and more ( I wanted to be liked|) and of course going to confession which stopped two years later (posting to this effect maybe to follow) and helping out wherever I could.
Doing dishes at the hospital to make it easier for the nuns working there and making friends with them of course.

Today I was looking for Christmas baking recipes and came across this one in my Greek cookbook.

Scripture Cake - Kaiki Agias Graphis 

This is a recipe that has been popular with the ladies of Sts. Constantine and Helen (no surprise my name is Ellena and my brothers is Tino). It encourages Bible reading and if the correct ingredients are chosen from the references given, a delicious fruit cake will be assured. Look at the Old Testament. I did but have not baked it as yet.
                                                                                            Chapter                Verse
41/2 cups                I Kings                                                      4                         22
1 cup                       Judges                                                      5                        25          
2 cups                     Jeremiah                                                   6                        20
2 cups                     I Samuel                                                    30                     12
2 cups                     Nahum                                                       3                       12 
2 cups                     Numbers                                                    17                       8
2 Tbsp.                    I Samuel                                                    14                     25
1 tsp.                       Leviticus                                                     2                      13 
6                              Jeremiah                                                    17                    11
1/2 cup                    Judges                                                        4                      19 
2 tsp.                       Amos                                                          4                        5
2 tsp.                       II Chronicles                                               9                        9 (which ?)

Mix like any basic fruit cake. Bake at 275 C-3 to 4 hours.


I'm off to BB sit = Big Boys sitting (H being age 5 and Sneakasnack being age 7 don't like the other word).

Can't fall asleep thoughts

Sometimes, actually most times, I fall asleep as soon as my left ear hits the pillow.
Last night was one of the nights where such did not happen. That's when I think about my next blog post to write. What is it with thoughts anyway? Do they consist of images only? My stories feel complete. Nothing is missing - the location has a name and so do the people involved, everything has a color, there is sound, there are so many feelings and there is me. I want whatever I write down to reflect who I am. How can I do that if I don't find the words I need?  All that is reflected when I write, is my ignorance of vocabulary and that in such a magnified form that it frightens the schnook out of me.
I know, nobody forces me to write. I want to but question myself as to maybe doing it privately. The intend was and still is to leave a few of my untold memories behind for my children. Because I know that a few more than just my children read here, the process has slowed down and if it continues at such a slow pace I won't have enough time to complete what I set out to do.
Right now, at this very moment, I have decided to no longer do this blog but, I already play with the idea of  and who cares what they think. So, maybe tomorrow.
Just talking to myself.........
 
       

What is 'back home'?

I'm still thinking about this question, or should I call it doubt or my problem, which came to my mind when I commented on dear Rouchswalwe's 'Hennis Lina' post. 

Whenever I travel to a destination on this continent or just visit a neighbour I will eventually say that 'I'm going home'. Home being the apartment  in which I live by myself.  It's not the house I lived in and it's not any other space I occupied before, with parents and siblings or with husbands and children.

When I use the words 'back home' they represent a specific town in Europe where I lived
from age 11 to age 18 - Horb - and not Berlin where I was born and where Mom grew up and where Oma and Opa lived,nor Athens where I had many cousins to play with, nor Hallwangen where Rosa lived nor Haigerloch where I could look into the prison court from the kitchen window of my girlfriend's house, nor Lahr-Dinglingen from where I came to Canada with husband and child.     

(I recently mentioned to B., my niece's husband, that I need a ghost writer, un negre(with accent) as they call them here in Quebec. He kindly offered to be 'it' - the offer is still on - although I asked for it I can't bring myself to accept -it would be cheating. So, here I am struggling - they'll be off for a 3year or more world tour anyway).  

Why is Horb 'back home'?  I have so very few  warm memories of family life. I'm sitting here trying to find the few but it's the not so warm ones that are taking over. Doors slamming, very loud male/female voices, plates hitting the wall, tears, but never never reconciliation. I can't believe, thinking back now, that I never heard  my parents have a conversation with each other, that I can't think of a single outing where the four of us were together. That's not back home. So sad.
To me, 'back home' is an entire small town in a valley with a river flowing through it, a few good friends, three churches, a soccer field, a movie theatre, narrow alleys, path going up hill along the cemetery, High School, chapel on top of mountain, a hospital, train station, Carnival, Christmas Market, Circus in town, tree on roof May 1st, bicycle tours, sport competitions, laughter, sadness, love, kisses, book on knees under tree and and and. So, what exactly is it  that makes  Horb 'back home' for me?  
Everywhere we live we are sprinkled with good and bad memories and I suppose that each of us has a different spot that he calls back home.

I'm going to stop right here.  Thousands of things appear and disappear in my mind without leaving words behind.

Wow, I'm hollering, following RR's advice "Spellcheck only found 2 mistakes. I'll never learn how to spell cemetary."

Mea culpa

Hm - have to recognize that I am not less weird as Hulk of my previous post. I also allow myself to have opinions or make comments on things that I know little or nothing about.



Will now hide under my duvet for the night.

No idea what to name this maybe exhale deep

Bon , I decided to get it out of my system and blow it into the universe once and for all (promise to my daughters). I will not think about punctuation, paragraphs, grammar nothing just make remarks and noises about my 25 pounds weight gain which I am to graciously accept because I was smart enough to finally stop smoking, bravo Madame, and because I was almost as skinny as a twig except for carrying babies ,yes, but I have nothing to wear and don't feel to go shopping for clothes not knowing and not wanting to know what my new size is and when I take a shower I no longer need to bend forward to see my belly button since it looks up and stares me into my eyes and when my hands distribute soap all over my body they notice that the surface is much much greater now and when I brush my teeth and look down to my mouth and make sure that whatever drops out ends up in the sink and not besides it my cheeks block the view and when I wear nylons the crotch no longer comes all the way up to where it belongs and when I step out of the bath towel and walk towards the dresser to get some underwear I can feel my rear-cheeks bounce and my body is covered with dunes from below my breasts to my belly button and I have difficulties lifting myself up from sitting on the ground and more difficulties walking uphill and and and a good thing I have no partner because forget about shower sex.