At Plaza Santo Sepulcro. She looks a bit young, to be honest, like definitely not whatever her age was when she pushed out sandal boy plus his age when he got crucified.
A trio of tourist information signs for Castillo Alcazaba and Marbella old town I photographed early Friday morning to remember where I’d been.
Some post-surgery wandering through Marbella old town, mostly on early Friday morning (pre-breakfast even) cos my panda eyes / subcutaneous corpse paint / 🐼 / 💀 was scaring locals and tourists alike.
Wandering either to my taxi pickup for pre-op consultation, mid-afternoon on July 12th, or same place, previous day, post ridiculously early flight from Berlin and probably looking for food.
I am sick, a little exhausted and run down and sad at the moment, not that I am ever so personal here, but still…
I haven’t blogged much this month due to… oh I’m not sure, it just slips by sometimes and I think, “oh it’s been a while, I guess…” and carry on with other things.
Other things. I started a normal job. In the day, like regular people do. I get up at 06:30 so I can be there by 8am and leave earlier so then I have the evening to do web design stuff and about once every two days, yoga at 10pm.
I haven’t danced for two months. Till this morning. Awake so early because of my early habits, I took myself to ballett at Marameo, Edwin the delight teaching his usual class that runs on for two hours or more. Lucky for the yoga or I don’t think I’d have survived, nor felt good about myself. My body has changed from this absence, but more importantly…
I realise how much I miss this world, where somehow I feel is home for me. So familiar after this long, and I suspect it is not easy for my body, used to this constant moving, to let go. Hence the unremediable aches and tensions that only from moving with tension and strain from skin to bones can it be alleviated.
In the moment before taking off for a turn when there is too much time to think, and decide upon how many times to go around, usually choosing an ever-lower, ever-more-lacking in confidence number, and in the snap against the floor making against gravity and the downward anticipation becomes the upward torsion, in this instant, and it is a fine slice of time, Edwin says, “Three!”. And so, having had my own inner monologue overrun by his smart timing decide to go around three times. Because it did seem like a good number when he said it.
A lesson in ballett.
Outside I found what I have sensed these last couple of weeks. Irrefutable signs of life. Blurry, I am sorry, but as with the darkest and most short day, schnee und immer bedeckentheit, so should I mark this passing.
When the sign on the door said please clean up the Hof and put your bicycles in the cellar, and mentioned ‘sanierung’, i thought with the delightful morning sun and spring so obviously near this was some spring cleaning about to occur. I didn’t imagine they’d dig up the Hof and expose a marvelous basement of brick pillars. Sure to tumble in one precarious night…
Lina returned. Monday night via Hermannplatz. I remember the M41 does not lead towards me. The last few days have been a return to winter, proper winter even reminding me of Canada, cold and bright clear skies, dazzling sun, almost too luminous with blinding white snow reflecting all light. Perhaps some more snow later in the week.
I read about two scientists who will be spending summer in the Arctic, towing their lives behind, crossing open water in garish orange survival suits, polar bears by night. One described the blankness which at first the senses find overwhelming in its emptiness. Until… The eyes adjust, or rather the brain does, and replacing the white is a landscape almost bereft of this, rich and saturated in pinks and blues, yellows, browns, all colours emerging shyly from the void until it is a cacophony, a riot.
Berlin in winter is grey. Oh but the glorious whirl of greys and… colour.
I borrowed Lina’s camera. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a good camera, one that can zoom and frame what I see, that can do things I simply can’t with a camera phone. It snowed in the night, light at first and then heavier, returning almost to the bleak frozen cold of early January. Today My toes were numb and ears burnt from riding east for half an hour through spectacular East-German high modernist communist architecture. I look out from here again, warm and with my desk in it’s new home I can see my old companion still there, dusted in white that breaks the uncoloured grey.
More of a dusting of water frozen out of the air. Lina arrived from Amsterdam, it rained and the slate roof glistened in the low sun as we did yoga this morning. I moved the desk to the wall of bookshelves beside my bedroom door, now when I look up instead of whiteness, I see a hundred books, and when I look over to my left, plants line the windowsill, in anticipation of the sun and outside I see the edges of my Brauerei once more.