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.

Cheers

Shortly after we returned from Lyon, Highflyer's sisters paid us a visit for a few days. He knew to stock up a whole tray of "Sommerspritzer" from their favourite discounter and sure enough they had several bottles (of this very light and low-alcohol beverage) every night after returning from their shopping trips, joking "you know that we usually don't drink, so it's an exception". I don't mind and I don't judge and they don't try to make me join them, so everyone is happy. I would say that they (10 and 15 years older than us) are typical representatives of their generation: alcohol consumption is deeply ingrained in their daily rituals and a big part of social gatherings. You might even say that it's the very glue of social gatherings. When I see my mother, she almost gets offended if I don't at least join her for a symbolic glass of wine at least on one of our evenings together as "it doesn't taste nice if I have a glass on my own". 

Growing up, I have always been the odd one out who doesn't really enjoy the taste of alcohol that much and most of all, never craves it. I have "trained myself" to have a glass when people want to toast (and when I really don't feel like it I find it more polite to refuse than to let champagne go to waste) and a handful of alcoholic beverages actually has grown on me so that I appreciate the taste, even though I hardly ever would want a refill once I had one glass. I like the experience of having an "original" cocktail in a fancy setting and even celebrated 2 birthday at a cocktail bar, but I'm happy with the virgin version as well (and these are usually overly sweet so one is generally enough, for me, too).

When I was younger, I often had to justify my boring abstinence in social settings and have people tell me that sooner or later I'd learn to appreciate alcohol as if it was a skill I had not mastered yet. Needless to say this often made me the designated driver, a role I wasn't that happy about either as it meant I had to keep myself awake with coffee when the event lasted until the early hours of the morning, but still, better than driving with someone who was the opposite of sober even if they considered themselves perfectly capable of operating a car...

Recently, however, a growing number of people seem to have made the deliberate choice not to drink for a variety of reasons. The good thing is that I don't feel that I need to justify myself anymore when I'd much rather have a "soda zitron" than a glass of wine. The interesting thing is that some of them come across as rather judgemental and preachy and almost make me feel like an alcoholic when I accept a glass of sparkling wine to toast the birthday girl or boy. "Dry January" has become a thing, too, but I feel like I'm mostly "dry 365" anyway so it doesn't resonate with me. 

It's interesting that for the longest time I used to perpetuate the system: thinking I ought to cook a "proper" meal with meat for guests even if I don't each much meat myself anymore, I automatically think what wine would go with the meal because I expect guests to want some and feel disappointed if I didn't chill a bottle in advance. These days I often cook vegetarian dishes and have wine glasses "on standby" as more and more guests actually prefer water. Unless it's the sisters in law, of course.

 

Downtime

There's a saying that good teachers get sick during school breaks. Good employees get sick on weekends, or use them to recover at least. I am definitely one of those and ever since I switched to a four-day (work) week I am even more grateful for those long weekends. Last week I developed a weird cold that didn't introduce itself with the usual sore throat (in fact, I didn't have this symptom at all), but the "star" of the show was a horrible cough of the kind I last remember having as a child. It started when I suddenly felt incredibly weak and tired last Monday at my book club. It was as if a switch had been flipped. I suddenly got shivers, knew I could not finish dessert (for which I usually always find space) no matter what and longed for my hot tub. I dragged myself home and took a bath as well as some flu-relief hot drink. I powered through until Thursday, entertained our visitors (Highflyer's sisters) for 3 days and then felt really grateful I had most of Saturday and all of Sunday to recharge my batteries before next week. Seriously, sometimes I wonder how I managed life with a normal two-day-weekend...

 

Familiar

 

Yesterday I came back from a long weekend in Lyon. It was my third visit in 9 years, this time together with Highflyer, who I gifted this trip to last Christmas. And yes, I stayed at the same hotel again, too. Some people find it a waste of time to re-visit places abroad, even if you liked them in the first place and prefer "collecting" as many new cities as they can while they can. Myself, I truly LOVE coming back to familiar places and will in fact be back in Nice this summer, where I have been more than ten times already. Oh, and we're planning to go back to the same Croatian seaside town for the fourth summer in a row. Even if you have been somewhere before, there's always something new to discover...and if the new thing isn't quite up to par, you have a great excuse to complain and compare it to the "good old times at least ;-)

I particularly enjoy showing places I love to people I love and am hoping to take Highflyer to Sydney one day. This is not to say that I don't like exploring the New as well, I prefer a mix: comfortable "autopilot vacations" alternating with discovering new destinations. 

Silent Approval

I spent the past days in Klagenfurt doing heavy-duty, heavy-lifting garden work. Mum is not the gardening kind and had been waiting for me as she defers to my - perceived at least - expertise in gardening matters. As I was digging, depotting, repotting and -plotting I could almost hear the more or less patient instructions and running commentary by my late father in my head. I could sense his disapproval at certain moves and approval for others. I know that he would have praised me after all the labour I did and funnily enough, Mum did, too. "It's so strange", she told me, when she joined me in the garden, "I catch myself wanting to turn to Dad, saying 'Don't you think she did a great job?' to him, then I realise that he isn't here." Before Easter church service, we lit a candle and left some flowers at his grave and while unlike my mother I don't really feel the urge to visit the cemetery or feel that he really is there, it is certain situations that were his area of expertise (and he was THE undisputed garden king, after all) where I feel his presence most and really feel I am continuing some legacy, even if it is just some mundane gardening task.

Decadence

It was Highflyer's birthday last Saturday and I booked a night at a lovely 5* hotel with spa and luxurious breakfast on the 18th floor...in Vienna. I had always wanted to spend a night in my own city and we both loved the experience. Needless to say, this is an absolute luxury and out of budget for many people and I had also mentally braced myself for justifying this spontaneous gift to my mum. Perhaps only a year ago her reflex would have been to respond with "well, you do you, but I'd much rather have donated the money to charity..." thus giving me a little guilt-trip. Even though she immediately asked me how much I had paid and I automatically rounded the sum down to the next 100, ahem, she didn't scold me, but rather said what she had said quite a few times now that she is widowed: right you are, you have to enjoy life while you can, there's no point in waiting and you never know that will happen. There really has been a shift in her attitude towards money and treating herself and others (even though she has always been generous when it comes to gifts) and I am very happy to see that. Even though I am the child, I sometimes almost want to nod approvingly when she fails to reprimand my extravagance and say something along the lines of "that's my girl!" as this has long been my personal attitude even though I definitely did not get it from my parents.

Mystery Box

It might just be a sign of old age and general dwindling memory, but I like to think that the main factor is just my "split personality" mode of living. Sometimes I come across boxes, binders or folders in my flat in Vienna in particular the contents of which at least partly seem to belong to somebody else in particular. The same thing applies to household appliances, too. During the pandemic years I pretty much bought a country house equivalent of everything I had in Vienna and felt I needed at the house, too, now that I realised I would not just live there temporarily. Such as a salad spinner. The one I bought for the country house comes with a bowl that collects and contains the water. The first time I was back in my flat and used my old salad spinner that I had owned for likely two decades on the kitchen counter I ended up accidentally showering myself, having totally forgotten that this version had slits at the bottom and you therefore needed to use it in the sink. I was shocked that I could have forgotten that in the course of about two years. It was as if my "hard disk" had been overwritten by new impressions, likely because the "lockdown years" were not only among the happiest of my life, but overall so crazy and intense. Since then, I have had a few more such "salad spinner amnesia events" and I am weirded out every single time.