A Day of Note

Today has been a lovely, quiet birthday. Perhaps I wouldn't have chosen a gloomy cloud-covered day to herald my twenty-third year of living (counting the first twelve months), but now there are beautiful fluffy peachy clouds pulling across a serene light blue sky, so I can still take the weather as a good omen.

I woke up shortly before noon, which is, sadly, a triumph considering my bohemian sleeping hours of the past weeks. Then I brought order to my room. In the past two days I had crammed out old papers for sorting, and had typed up the most worthwhile portion of my literary oeuvre from my school days, besides which the contents of another moving box had been scattered on the floor, including stamps which I had collected years ago and hadn't been able to fit into my albums. After I had cleaned that up, T. (on the recorder) and I (on the piano) played the usual movements from a Marcello sonata, the entirety of Telemann's Suite in A minor, and three Schubert lieder ("Das Wandern," "Heidenröslein," and "Ave Maria"). Speaking of Ave Maria, I haven't mentioned yet that T. and I recently went through an "Ave Maria" phase, where we listened to many interpretations of both Schubert's and Gounod's songs. T. knew the Gounod "Ave" from her years in the school choir, but both versions were new to me. Now the novelty has worn off, but I do not yet feel violent whenever I hear the tunes, so it's fine.

Then I went for a walk to the St. Matthäus churchyard, with a pearly grey sky above, and dog droppings of the usual brown tints to either side. I still find the sidewalks dirty. Anyway, the Saturday market at the S-Bahnhof Yorckstraße (Großgörschenstraße) was in full roar. This time the cries were "2 Euro!", "Billiger! billiger! billiger!"*, and "Bananen für 79 Cent!" Last time I passed the market, the cries were "1 Euro"; I hope that the change in price doesn't reflect a rise in the consumer price index (at last my Macroeconomics course permits me to show off!). Today there were not only fruits (pineapples, oranges, apples, etc.) and vegetables (from okra through cabbages to corn) for sale, but also bales of cloth, shoes, jewellry, fish, etc. Intermingled with the shopping crowd there were also many small suitcases with long handles and wheels attached, which people pulled behind them. I think this arrangement is abominable; one is liable to trip over the things, especially since the bags are so small anyway that only an invalid could not carry them in his hand.

In the churchyard the trees are beginning to be flecked with yellow leaves, and the chestnut trees have turned rusty. I saw the first chestnut of the year lying on the path, and I was quite excited; horse chestnuts are, I think, some of the most beautiful things in existence. In Canada I pried open the green shells when they had fallen to the ground and kept the chestnuts in my room until I found that they become dull-coloured and wrinkly. But when they are split open, they are supposedly good at keeping away spiders (I seriously doubt that this is true). As for the flowers in the graveyard, there were red begonias, impatiens, one pink hydrangea, fading pink roses, tall Canada goldenrod, black-eyed susans, calendula, and red-flowered kalanchoe (blossfeldiana; it is apparently also known by the charming name of "Flaming Katy"). It is quite comforting to know that so many flowers still bloom at this time of year; our old garden was bright with flowers throughout May and even June, and then came the inevitable decline. And the lawn was moist and green as ever, as was a nightshade-like weed of flamboyantly large growth. The alder or beech hedges had just been trimmed, so they had a small and forlorn appearance similar to that of shorn sheep.

I sat down on a dark green bench facing the church and (in one of my short-lived impulses of wishing to become more knowledgeable) read the first page of the Chanson de Roland, as well as a goodly portion of the glossary in the back of the book. I enjoyed how close the old French is to Spanish, especially since that closeness is appropriate to the story. And I like old English and old French in general; the syntax and spellings are so funny. Take, for instance, "reis" (like the Spanish "rey") for "roi," and "ki" for "qui." And I finally realized that the towncrier's call of "Oyez!" comes from the French. Anyway, small drops of rain, and the promise of more, put an end to the reading session, and I wended my way back home.

Since then, everyone has realized that it's my birthday. There was a phone call from Aunt L., many renditions of "Happy Birthday," and a shopping trip by T. that resulted in a delightfully unhealthy repast of fruit gummies, Chinese rice crackers, and "Wackelpudding" (Jell-O); the birthday cake is in the oven.

* "Cheaper! cheaper! cheaper!"

P.S.: I haven't written a blog entry for so long on the strict but helpful principle that, "If you have nothing to say, keep your mouth shut."