Good morning

It's still raining and quite cloudy in my head. I don't dislike my world all that much anymore though as I am starting to come to grips with our new situation [I will share with you fine people when the time is right to do so].  For days, I find myself listening to a song by Richard Marx over and over again.  The lyrics have nothing to do with what we are dealing with at the moment, yet I can't stop hitting the play button once more.

I find a needed solitude in that song right now, mixed with some old memories and sprinkled with a few thoughts.  At times I tell myself, that it is enough already and to enter reality like a woman.  And I like to say I do just that... until my finger is atop that play button again.

I am not in a sad mood, not even in a depressed mood.  It's more like a mixture of nostalgia and .. well.. i am not sure what it is.   Kind of silly, eh?

Sometimes I really really dislike, [not to say I hate], MY world I live in  ...

What's in a name?

(another re-post, but i was asked to do so)

Liane… nothing too impressive really.   What’s in my name?  Irony, that’s what’s in my name.  Most people have a family history to their names, as they are named after their grandparents or other family members.  Not so in my case.  I can go back in my family line and there is no such name as mine.  Some people receive their name out of a book, because it sounded nice, fits well with a last name or it just caught their attention.  Not so in my case.   Some receive their name as it is a fashionable name at the time, perhaps just has a neat sound to it.  Not so in my case.  My mother wanted to name me “Nancy Angelique”.  Nancy used to be a name her friends called her during her teenage years.  Her real name is Eveline and I can understand why she didn’t want to be called that when she was younger, as it is a rather old name.  Angelique... well, here is the ‘cool sound thing’.    Didn’t happen that way…  instead, I am Liane.

When my mother learned of the accidental pregnancy which resulted of a party night and both being drunk.. yeah.. I have a lot to my ego!,  she was only 16 years young;  he was only 17 years of age.  They didn’t get married and it ended up that my “father”, I am using that term very loosely, became more scarce as the months went by.  However, when I was born, he was right there and the moment of assigning a name was present.  He pressed for the name Liane and fought very hard for it.  Liane is a type of vine… the type of vine Tarzan uses as his transportation device through the jungle.  But no… my father wasn’t a fan of Tarzan, but rather of a different movie entirely.  The movie was called: Liane, das Maedchen aus dem Urwald (Liane, the girl from the jungle).  He fell in love with the main character.  She had long, blond hair.  She possessed a very beautiful body and had a very pretty face.  Her personality was a very sweet one, which made him fall in love with the name.  That’s what he wished for me.  To have all those visual qualities and be as sweet as can be.  Oh the irony!

My mother gave in; let go of the ole Nancy Angelique and instead claimed my name as Liane.  Two years later, he was completely removed from my life and two years after that, a court order officially banned him from my surroundings.  I carried a name that meant so much to someone, just not to me.  I carried a name that was supposed to mean something, just not to me.  I carried a name that was supposed to represent beauty, but nobody was there for verification.   Liane was just a girl, like every other girl and he was not around to change that.  He was not there to look into Liane’s face, seeing if she actually turned out the way he had hoped when giving the name. 

We met for the first time when I turned 18;  two days after my birthday, actually.  We didn’t meet as father and daughter who want to get to know each other, but we met to attend a court appointment where I would let go of all claims against him and he no longer will have to go to jail for not paying child support.  His last day in jail; my 18th birthday.   I did what I was set out to do and signed all papers that removed him even further from me and my name.  He was asking for some time with me, which I granted him, due to my silly ole curiosity.  I heard all the stories of how much he loved my mom and the 800 page version of how I got my name.  For a short moment, he seemed like a proud father, who is still pleased with his name selection for me.  He told me the story several times, and each time, he was a little more drunk.  He told me that he never forgot about me and that he always would have a drink in jail in my honor on my birthdays. Charming!   I saw him all of four times before Jenny was born.  I have asked him, to come to my apartment to get to meet his grandchild.  I was stood up three times with what seemed a lame excuse on his part, while his slurring of words only added to my disappointment.  I told him, that I understand now why my mom didn’t believe in him and left him.  I told him, that I don’t want to see him any longer and there is no need for him to call again.  Two years later, I left for America.

In 2001, my name-giver passed away.    My name is still around… but what does my name mean now?   To me, it spells out : irony. Irony that he fought for something that meant nothing.   But in the end, my name will always remind me of the story of a man who was passionate about a name for a little girl he would never know. 

What’s in your name?

The Effects Of a Simple Drink

Ah, yes…it is getting colder… out comes the scarf, the gloves, the jacket which makes us feel oh so cozy while the cold air is touching our skin. It’s a time of different smells. The air has a crisp clean smell; the dirt has a distinctive fragrance; and the bouquet of different evergreens is carried to our noses by the harsher winds. In my household, this is the time of lots of home baked cakes and hot chocolate (made with real milk!!!) This is how I grew up, and this is how my children will recall a little bit of their childhood through the aroma of hot chocolate.

How one specific smell can trigger all kinds of memories. For me, the smell of hot chocolate triggers memories of going to the little hill across the street where we lived, which was covered in ice and snow with my sled every day, sledding until the entire body was numb and a voice in the distance is calling my sister and me home. Wet clothes stripped off in front of the entrance door, those numb hands put on the radiator (in severe cases, we’d be hopping under the flow of hot water in the shower), feeling the pain of defrosting until my mom would have a cup of hot chocolate ready for us; made the old fashion way, not in a microwave.

The aroma makes me recall a birthday of mine which was not celebrated with my mom, but with my favorite uncle, his fiancé and my sister.  We made a birthday cake together, my very first birthday cake.  I remember the birthday card he gave me after the table was set, the cake placed in the middle and the candle blown out.  It was a card with the picture of Gonzo.  Remember the Muppet's?  Yes, to this day, Gonzo remains my favorite character.  The day ended with a new game, also with the Muppet's theme.  It was a super birthday back then. What I can’t recall though, is, how old I turned; I want to say seven or so; strange why I don’t recall that ;-)

The smell of hot chocolate reminds me of the numerous times I’ve traveled as a kid with a huge group of kids to other cities in Germany for three weeks or so; each year in the summer before our family vacation. Every morning around breakfast time, the aroma of hot chocolate would fill the hallways of our youth hostels and I can still hear the kids’ voices and laughter in the distance of my memories. I recall the winter fires and Easter fires on those trips. I recall the first time I experience an electric shock, when touching the charged wired fence. I remember how good it felt when our room was awarded for cleanliness (you know us Germans and our tick for cleanliness!!). I remember how my sister hit her head really hard on concrete for doing something silly. And I, to this day, can feel how it felt to say good bye each and every time before stepping on the bus that would bring us back home to Berlin.

The smell of hot chocolate reminds me of the times when I was in the hospital. It was time to depart from my dear friend, the appendix. Every morning, I was woken up by the nurse with a cup of hot chocolate. This smell triggers the memory of a certain nun who took care of me after Jenny’s birth. My body decided to invite bacteria (because I am just that nice of a person), this nun would enter my room in the very early morning hour for two weeks to give me an injection to prevent thrombosis.   I could have sworn that she must not have liked me very much by the way she jammed those short needles into my legs without moving a muscle in her face. Hours later, she’d enter the room again to open the curtains and bring me a hot cup of chocolate. Mixed feelings is what I received with that, really. And when I finally, after three weeks in the hospital, was allowed to leave, on Christmas eve, I went up to her and hugged her and I could swear I saw a smile on her face, however short this may have lasted.

For as much as I hate the cold, wintertime sure has some wonderful memories for me, all underlined by a nice cup of hot chocolate. And as I grow older with my own children, the aroma of hot cocoa puts a new smile on my face as I listen to my children asking for this wonderful elixir as the temperatures outside are changing and I am sure that the smell manifests itself into their brain with their own collection of memories.

Oh come on…tell me you don’t have some special memories connected to a certain fragrance in the air. Tell me that, when a certain smell reaches your nose, it doesn’t trigger a moment of closing your eyes, and falling into a nice and comfy place, indulged by wonderful memories…  Share your story, won’t you?

A new week ;-)

Good morning my fine friends...

How are you today?  How was your weekend?  The girls were off for 4 days and somehow, this weekend seemed to be oh soooooo loooooong.   Strange, but we didn't do too much.  The highlight of our weekend really was the trip to the movie theater.  The girls met up with friends; Lewis and I went to see "Couples retreat"...  At the end of the movie, both of us discovered that we, too, are an "ass-couple" ..  Guess it's only funny and with a meaning if you saw the movie as well..lol. 

We've received tons of rain again.  Our rivers, once more, couldn't keep up with the rain fall and spilled over.  It's crazy... we were 3+ years in a drought and now this.  Today, we are supposed to have a full day of rain and should expect 4-6".  I want my summer back!!!  A nice thing to see though, is the lake... it's full!!!  just in time to hand all rights over to Alabama and Florida, eh?  ~ Sigh ~

So tell me of your weekend ;-)    Hugs and kisses and all the fun stuff ;-)

Organically caused,

functionally challenged.

The People wept with insidious guises.

Unlike their commrads,they are not so pliale.

Only tentative caring of stolid dour can cleanse the bereft.

Sightlings adulturate resting dreams.

They sleep while the caused awaits.

**********

Opulent voices ran in semi circles of unison.

Time heals all wounds,

however,

the grimace can augment ones judgment and leave them for jeopardy.

Holocausts of duplicity cried out behind insidious barriers.

Tepid was a dream where icy wonders lay.

***********

 

Gibes of hate and hurt can adulterate the souls of intellects.

Without taunts, the soul thrives.

Power runs wild.

Fortitude is unneeded in this world.

Tentative is strong to this mind.

Adored and treasured; Never hated.

But this guise of being loved crashes quickly when one taunts appears before them.

The grimmace of pain can bend a horrible time.

So fortitude is called upon warrily.

Hopefully it shall respond.

 [And what did the author think of while writing these three excerpts above;  what did the author want to communicate? Give me your thoughts ;-) ]

The Final Touch?

[It's a re-post, but it came to mind this morning]

I opened the shower door and reached for a towel this morning.  I barely open the door to avoid the cold air to enter and I am basically blindly picking an available towel.  My luck, I grabbed my favorite towel.  Yes, I have a favorite towel.  This piece of fabric has touched, wrapped and caressed my body since the age of 10.  This towel has gone with me to oh so many places of this wonderful planet and through a lot of life situations. 

My towel wears my most favorite color blue and displays my name on the bottom side.  It traveled with me eleven times to different places in Spain, touched a tip of Portugal, been thirteen times to France, rushed around a corner of Luxemburg,  seen the Netherlands, been all over Germany, enjoyed the water in Switzerland, gone to Austria, Hungry, Poland, has seen tons of America and the U.S. Virgin Islands as well as the B.V. I.’s.  

One can say, my towel and I are inseparable indeed.   It is not the prettiest towel you have ever seen, and it is not huge, nor fluffy.  Wrapping yourself in it does not make you feel as if you are in a spa.  It does not make you feel like soft hands are running all over your body.  None of these hold true for my towel, yet I don’t enjoy another towel more on my skin than this one.   And today, when unfolding my towel in the shower, I had to see, that my towel is succumbing old age.   A hole has formed in the middle of its body.  I have noticed that it has gone thinner over the years; dismissed it as typical wear and tear…  Seeing this hole makes me rather sad, as it only recalls the obvious.  Nothing is safe from getting old and eventually fading away. 

With this hole, memories are starting to fade away.   Often, I would just stay wrapped in my towel and dwell in memories of where we’ve been together or situation we have faced throughout the years.  This towel survived break-ups in which I would lose important documents, baby pictures and other memorabilia, but never did we get separated.   I never made the notion to make sure to safe this towel, it just always happened that way.  

Thirty years this towel was my loyal companion, my servant, my comfort.  Yet again I face the true nature of time.  The cruel presence of age.  And the realization that nothing is forever.

F R I D A Y

I am wishing you fine people a most wonderful, most eventful,  most enticing, most sensual weekend !!   



Tons of kisses and hugs and all that fun stuff!