Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. — Nathaniel Hawthorne
This evening, we took a detour to the house where Papa was given birth to and grew up at.
Ich habe Papa vor ein paar Wochen gefragt: “Bist Du zu Hause geboren, Papa?”
Papa hat mir dazu geantwortet: “Ja sicher, damals war das für jeden so. Jedes Dorf hat zwei oder drei Hebammen gehabt (die Leute hatten sie aber als eine Schwester genannt… also Krankenschwester), die mit ein blau und weiß gestreiftenes Kleid und eine weiße Haube/ Häubchen gekleidet waren. Mit einem Fahrrad sind sie unterwegs gefahren. (…) Sie kümmerte sich nicht nur für Babys, sondern auch für kranke, alte Leute.”
Ich freue mich immer, wenn Papa mir etwas von der Zeit vor meinem Geburt erzählt. Es ist als ob ich ein zweites Leben in einem anderen Zeitraum gelebt habe… als ob ich in meinem kurzen 20-jährigen Leben viel viel mehr als 20 Jahren erlebt habe. Das Leben von der Vergangenheit ist ja ganz anders, dachte ich. Nicht ‘schlecht anders’, einfach ‘anders anders’.
The time before my existence; the time Papa grew up in, is the period of history I find myself most interested in. It’s a part of Papa and it almost feels like it’s a part of me, too.
It was a bitter-sweet moment as Papa opened the gates to his home. He remembers it the way his Mama, who has passed on, used to upkeep the state of the house — beautiful blooming flowers everywhere, the non-existence of weeds, clean, moss- and stain-free walls and the constant whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen (she loved cooking). Now it’s all different… weeds, dust, stains, unkempt bushes, unpolished windows… It was heart-breaking to see just how much this once-welcoming abode has deteriorated over the years with a lack of occupancy.
This tree of flowers was about the only redeeming thing I saw around. The warm shades of pink and purple of the Lilac flowers, otherwise known as Syringa vulgaris, were lovely.
Pink is associated with a mother’s love. It represents unconditional love, gentleness, happiness, femininity and innocence. Lavender or violet means grace, refinement and elegance, but they can also symbolise femininity. When paired with pink, they represent the ultimate expression of elegant femininity.
My Grandma, Oma Anna, was pink, lavender and violet. I’ve never met her, but Papa and Mama have told me loads about her and to me, she’s pink, lavender and violet.
Also, I’m not sure why anyone would consider dandelions as weeds. I find them lovely. I find it sweet that dandelions promise a wish come true with a successful blow of all its white floaties, aka the seed parachutes.
A weed is but an unloved flower. ― Ella Wheeler Wilcox
After doing a little check of the place and looking for the few things we were planning to bring over to our house in Austria, we walked about 100m away from Papa’s house to his best friend’s place.
Mama, Papa and I visited them not too long ago and it was then that I exchanged numbers with both of them. They had just gotten WhatsApp and were over the moon about it! They were fascinated that people from all over the world could call, text and even exchange media for free as long as there was an internet connection available. This fascination led to almost-daily WhatsApp exchanges between myself and both of them. We’ve grown so close. :’) It’s almost as if I’ve been blessed with yet another pair of loving godparents. I’m so thankful.
A neighbour had to go overseas for a little while and left his dog to Werner’s and Karin’s care, so they renovated their garden to make it a practical playground for a small cheeky pup. Take my (and the pictures’) word for it, the garden looked like it was taken out of a garden designing company’s product catalog. It was pico bello!
Here was Karin showing Mama around her masterpiece. It truly was one. 🙂
But always, to her, red and green cabbages were to be jade and burgundy, chrysoprase and prophyry. Life has no weapons against a woman like that. — Edna Ferber