Daylight Robbery

Some things you hear or read about, but it is not until they actually happen to you or someone close to you, that their (potential) impact hits home. Last week, my parents' (now my only my mother's) house got broken into in broad daylight, while she did a quick run to the supermarket after lunch. Once she realised that she had been burgled, the police kept her out of the house while they investigated the crime scene and took fingerprints or whatever it is they need to do. She had told me that they "had searched everwhere", but I didn't realise just how brutal it looked and how violated this makes you feel unless you see the photos of every room (including my own) with stuff from shelves and drawers flung to the floor and onto beds. In the guest bedroom, my parents' passports, my father's death certificate and the candle I carried at my First Holy Communion built a bizarre still life on the floor as the invaders had taken searched all parts of the all the wardrobes (filled for the most part with bed linen, towels and photo albums). Needless to say, all the heirloom jewellery that I was supposed to get one day is gone. None of it extremely valuable, monetarily, but definitely of sentimental value to the two of us. Well, I've always been a sucker for family stories, soaking them up like a sponge and as long as I won't get demented, I still have those immaterial memories at least. My mother who has suffered so much in the past twelve months, first losing her husband of 54 years, then being involved in a car crash, to name the two big lowlights is remarkably strong and resilient as always. 

Most likely we'll never find out who broke into the house and just as likely we probably won't ever see any of the stolen items again, but I certainly wish a hefty dose of bad karma onto these individuals...

Sign of the Times

There are some adjectives (mainly in German) that I am wary of using and almost allergic to as they are exclusively used for women. There are some nouns, too, like the denglish "Powerfrau" (literally power woman) which is meant as a compliment, but which makes me gag, but let's not go into those now. When you talk about women who act "hysterical", in a business context in particular, you really should stop and check your own biases. What would you call a man in the same situation? See. 

Recently though, my (female) boss and I were in a meeting with two colleagues, who we agreed really acted hysterical...not in the funny meaning of the word, but in the agitated sense. They were also incredibly rude and left us puzzled as to what in our -very calm and professional- attitude had triggered that behaviour. In the end we assumed that it must have been because of the immense pressure and insecurity many people in our company currently feel and which is perhaps particularly evident in the area they work in. Some people just carry on, trying to make the best of the situation and don't let it out on their peers, others quietly burn out and others, like these two, lash out and seen enemies in everyone. An interesting case study, if nothing else...

 

Payback Time

My mum is currently visiting. I suggested she come around Mother's Day, which took place yesterday and which we celebrated partly at the country house, where I duly spoilt her (this picture is from breakfast on Friday morning) and in town, where I had booked opera tickets. She still spoils me when I visit her in Klagenfurt and I will remain an entitled only child forever, but regardless of location, a certain role reversal has been in place for a while now, even more so since my father died with me being the prime "spoiler". She's not too impressed when I actually try to "mother" her and protests to remind me she is neither a child, nor an imbecile, but she does appreciate when I go out of my way to make sure she can chill and enjoy the finer things of life, so it's a win-win.

 

Arcadia

Last weekend I undertook a journey I had been planning to do for quite some time: revisit the happy place of my childhood and show it to Highflyer at the same time. Like many children my generation I was "dropped off" at my grandparents' for part of my summer holidays. Being teachers, my parents had the same long summer holidays I had and they always provided a cool summer programme and went on trips abroad with me. That time at my grandparents was in fact an annual highlight for me and I don't remember missing either my parents or my home. Everything was very "exotic" and different from my usual routine. My paternal grandparents (the other grandparents who lived much closer to us were not retired yet) lived in a small flat without central heating, nor a fridge. Their house was surrounded by mountain ranges on either side and a very noisy stream ran right behind it. Since I was mostly there in summers, I didn't really notice just how cold and badly insulated it was. Instead of in a fridge, granny preferred to leave dairy products, etc. out on the window sill. Instead of the electric stove she preferred to use the wood-fired one that also heated the kitchen at the same. My grandparents lived a humble life and did not waste things, least of all food. Granny had an allotment plot on the hill opposite the house (these still exist as you can see in the photo) where she grew tomatoes, string beans, cauliflower, salad, redcurrants and a gazillion other things. Her tomatoes were a taste explosion. Besides what she grew herself, she loved foraging in the nearby forest, drying, jamming and saucing what she found in large quantities. My grandparents' bedroom (always icy cold) smelled of the sliced mushrooms and copious amounts of yarrow always drying on top of the wardrobes. Granny knew secret spots for blackberries and lingonberries and she produced herbal remedies to cure any ailment you could imagine. I tolerated them all apart from the red elderberry syrup for sore throats which I detested. My days there were rather unspectacular, but I had granny's undivided attention 24/7. She made all my favourite meals, in fact I could order things like a sweet pasta gratin with sour cream and red berries, I would always get a treat when I accompanied her to the supermarket and she patiently let me ask her about her own childhood over and over again when we went for a walk. The stories of how poor her family was and how strict her upbringing were very fascinating to me. I didn't really get to watch a lot of television at home, but at my grandparents' there was a nightly routine of watching TV together in the living room, which was also my bedroom. If there was a popular game show at prime time, we would sit in faux leather armchairs one behind the other, airplane style. I think I got to sit in the middle, not too close to make it "unsafe" for my young eyes, but not at the very back either so I could not see properly (my granddad was rather tall). I could go on and on and seeing the house and familiar scenery brought it all back instantly. I would not have even noticed one bizarre detail if it had not been for Highflyer, who looked at the intercom with all the names of tenants. Even though my grandfather died 40 years ago, in 1986, his name was still there. I assume that it had been covered by a sticker, which must have come off some time ago. Time-travel came full circle.