Hunter and Gatherer

On Saturday night, I went to pick greengages from two trees (one with reddish, one with golden yellow fruit) that grow a little further down the road where we live in suburbia. I seem to be the only person who is interested in taking them, but they are very nostalgic for me. There was a tree near the house where I grew up and my friends and I used to play in and around it. I still prefer the fruit when they are unripe and still a little green, but this stage is admittedly prettier.

I am convinced that this joy in finding things to forage was instilled in my by my paternal grandmother who I loved going on walks with and who NEVER ever returned home from any walk in the country side empty-handed. Whether it was yarrow (her favourite) or chamomile for tea, some apples from the side of the road or blueberries, wild strawberries and mushrooms from the forest, she always found something and knew many "secret spots" on her regular routes. Her passion for hunting for freebies in nature was fuelled by the fact that her own grandmother apparently was a well-known herb woman who passed knowledge about medicinal properties of herbs on to her and also the hard (war and post-war) times she experienced as a child and young adult. Even though I grew up a privileged only child who only knew financial hardship and starvation from books and films, it still gives me a special thrill to find and use things that nature gives me for free and I think of my granny every time.

 

From Rags to Riches

If you're following me on Instagram you have already learnt about my new "hobby" slash side-hustle: decluttering on Vinted. A friend has joked that I'll advertise Highflyer there any time soon and I replied, yep, if he's stationary in the armchair for too long I just might take flattering pictures from all angles and post him. Nah, joking, he's obviously a keeper. And a "vintage classic"!

Amica had sung the praises of Vinted for months, but I could not be bothered to start selling on another platform than my tried-and-tested Austrian one, that I have been on for 20+ years now, not really having sold much there recently. I also could not be bothered printing out labels and going to parcel drop-off points for different services. 

I already had an account already, but never actively used it, but when Highflyer's daughter did not like her Easter gift (a t-shirt from Boden) that I had bought online weeks ago and could not return any more, I posted it and it was pretty much sold immediately. I took some photos of clothes both at the country house and my city flat and slowly, but surely, the algorithm discovered and promoted me and the first Euros started coming in. 

I gradually shifted all my "stock" to Vienna, where I have several parcel drop-off points within walking distance and in the course of 2 months only, I made about 500 Euros already. Not bad at all. I have meanwhile expanded my offerings to accessories, shoes (something I would never buy second hand myself) and other random things such as the charger of my old Macbook and still have SO many things I could sell that are currently in my flat. 

Every time I'm there I idly look into shelves and drawers and discover random items in pristine condition that I don't even remember owning and that somebody else might appreciate more. Win-win. I am gradually decluttering and earning some nice "pocket money" (for upcoming vacations, for example) while I'm at it. I have yet to overcome my own prejudices against second-hand items other than preloved designer handbags, but I'm getting there. Even if something is marked as "new" and "unused" and I would obviously wash everything I think "what if their apartment smells of deep-fried food?" (or worse: cigarette smoke). I don't mind wearing hand-me-downs from people I know, but other than that I have reservations.

 

Big Splash

My mother, who is now in her 80th year, recently decided to make the dream of a pool in her garden into reality and after getting various quotes she chose a vendor and is on the fast-track for a pool that will be finished this summer. I keep getting updates via WhatsApp and will have the chance to inspect progress later this week.

When she asked her pool construction guy if she was his oldest client, he told her that he had a 91-year-old commissioning a pool. This really brought home the difference in attitude: the, um, object of my long non-relationship decided to tear his beautiful and well-maintained pool down after he had just turned fifty, calculating that it would save him a lot of effort in his old days when he might not be physically fit enough to keep it up. I was aghast then, but it was not my decision, nor my place to comment, even. He found his decision completely reasonable and went ahead dismantling it and using it as a landfill. 

Well, I guess it's genetic: I'll always be team seize the day, not team "what if"...

For Posterity

On Monday afternoon, I had a special appointment: an interview with a curator of the photographic collection of the Austrian Museum of Folk Life and Folk Art. The occasion was my donation of an album of (second world) war-time photos my paternal grandfather had taken and painstakingly pasted into an album, with remarks on the reverse side, written in Kurrent handwriting aka "German cursive", therefore difficult to decipher for people nowadays. I had always known that my grandfather had a camera with him when he was a soldier and for decades his old camera was prominently displayed in our living room shelf (my memory actually played tricks on me and I had plans to donate it together with the album,until I remembered that my father had given it to a family friend who collects cameras a while back). I had never seen that album, obviously army-issued with the front page saying "meine Dienstzeit" (my time of service) until my mother showed it to me when she was organising the things (mostly his vast stamp collection) my father had inherited from his father. My grandfather died when I was only fourteen years old and I only knew him as an introverted, rather grumpy, but always friendly to me, old man. I only found out much later that he was a prisoner of war and only returned home years after the war, scarred physically and psychologically. For as long as I can remember I have been  interested in photography and developing black and white photos with my dad is a core childhood memory. I like to think that my grandfather (and possibly someone in the family line before him) laid the foundation for this passion and felt the need to conserve his album for posterity. I have no idea whether any of his photos will ever end up in an actual exhibition at the museum or whether they will just stay in an archive, but it makes me happy to know that I contributed to his legacy not being forgotten.

 

Grudge

I like to think that I am pretty popular at work. Over the years, I have received feedback that people enjoy the fact that I am always in a good mood and they like my sarcastic comments and pragmatic approach to any task at hand. Some people have even told me and others that they are "fans" of my workshops. There is one guy, however, who always averts his eyes when he passes me in the lobby and downright ignores me. He has acted like this since 2017, the year I started at the company. What did I do to him, you wonder? Well, one of my first projects was to design a kind of high potential programme for specific technical roles and colleagues who were interested in joining had to go through a formal application process. This guy whose name I have long forgotten was on the shortlist for one of the roles and got rejected eventually. Instead of just taking the constructive feedback and accepting his fate, he lashed out and tried to convince us that the person whom we eventually chose instead of him was not in fact a good choice, but lacking both in competency and experience. Needless to say this behaviour did not leave the best impression and only confirmed that we had made the right decision. I say "we" as there was a jury and I only happened to be the bearer of bad news and hence the person he came to blame for his - in his view - unfair rejection...forever as it seems.

Every time I see this guy, I am reminded how sad and immature this behaviour is and every time I feel resentment towards someone myself I deliberately conjure up his image as a cautionary example: nope, I definitely don't want to become this person as it's downright ridiculous.

Tar

 

This post is a PSA. Don't smoke. Almost a year ago we got the keys for the house next door that we bought as a rental object and the previous owner was a chain-smoker who smoked indoors. I already knew that the tar in cigarettes could stain walls, blinds, light switches, etc. from my father's studio as they are all tinted in a strange shade of yellow unlike the other parts of the house. This, however, was the only room (that also had a door to the garden) in the house where he ever smoked. 

The previous owner of the house next door, however, would smoke in the house with windows closed and blinds drawn. We have already used copious amounts of heavy-duty cleaning products, but sometimes that slightly oily film of tar surprises you in random places such as the under-the-sink cabinet that I was in the process of wiping in the picture above. Extremely disgusting and shocking at the same time. I'd love to use photos of stained wads of kitchen roll such as this one as shock therapy to stop "aspiring smokers" in their tracks before it has become a habit...

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...