Yesterday I went to work for the morning of Christmas Eve. It was a quiet group of 8 colleagues that I joined, one of them my sister and two of them from the same team, so that was nice. I stayed 20 minutes late because I went out shopping in between — the grocery stores around the office closed by the time I would have gone home otherwise.
When I arrived home, Mama had begun plucking the parsley for our Christmas Eve dinner: radicchio and green lettuce salad with parsley and a vinaigrette à la Toto, green broad beans with olive oil and aceto balsamic and salt and pepper (I find this irresistible), lamb cutlets flavoured with butter and sage and garlic and broiled in the oven, couscous and Turkish flatbread, a bowl each of yoghurt and tzatziki, and our Wedgwood platter of antipasti: humous, artichoke dip, dolmates, sun-dried tomatoes, a tabbouleh of couscous and red pepper (/tomato?) paste and parsley, and three other dips of red pepper or tomato paste heated by varying intensities of spice. We also had a bottle of Spanish red wine and, on my insistence, Turkish delight.
It was not, in other words, too unlike what we've eaten every Christmas Eve for the past 15 years or so, and as delicious as ever.
***
I am not relaxed and indeed tense this year, because Christmas, New Year's and work are not cleanly separated. But at any rate I went for a run-and-walk in the half-deserted streets an hour or so after yesterday's dinner, after wasting time on the internet and never managing to achieve peak idleness. This week and (theoretically) the past one I have been running 50 seconds and walking 20 seconds, and yesterday I had to run for half an hour.
It was funny how buildings that are often shut were open, and places that are often open were closed. It reminded me of the paradox: make low the places that are high, and high the places that are low, from somewhere in the Bible. (In the German hymn "Mit Ernst, o Menschenkinder" it is written rather harshly as: "Bereitet doch fein tüchtig den Weg dem großen Gast; / macht seine Steige richtig, lasst alles, was er hasst; / macht alle Bahnen recht, die Tal lasst sein erhöhet, / macht niedrig, was hoch stehet, was krumm ist, gleich und schlicht." I don't think that crookedness is intrinsically bad, and do think God shouldn't hate; but the phrase 'macht niedrig, was hoch stehet' was what I was thinking of.)
Light shone from the Baroque church (at the kernel of an old town where the Seven Years' War led to death and destruction, and which is encircled now not by fields, trees or townhouses with Dutch façades, but by peaceful yet not very beautiful post-war apartment buildings); and from the police station in its 19th- or early 20th-century villa.
The post office, charity secondhand shop, clothing retailer, rope and pulley, pharmacy and other stores were dark and forlorn. Except a florist that sold flocks of tulips, despite the specks of snow and the frosty air. Turkish or other families gathered in the handful of cafés, restaurants and kebab stands, run by Muslim or agnostic neighbours, that were not closed for the evening.
The buses roamed alongside the sidewalks and gathered up a few lost souls at the stops; stray couples walked along together; and when I went past the barricades and earth heaps at a construction site, I thought that a mouse scuttled past.
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Friday, December 21, 2018
Christmas and Lux Aeterna
It was quiet today (i.e. Friday); the U-Bahn and S-Bahn refreshingly ran as planned, it did not rain (much), and it was not especially cold. At work we went ahead and tried to remain concentrated, as we exchanged the last presents before Christmas and the office was emptier because colleagues had already gone on holiday.
I was so tired at the end of the day that I almost fell asleep, standing in the U-Bahn. Theoretically I was reading more of Aristotle's Politics, i.e. about the easy transition between, or affinity of, an aristocracy and a monarchy. I could admire the hollowness of my own Christmas goodwill, too: when a seller of the street newspaper came by I donated nothing, and when I saw a woman standing at the street corner at the U-Bahn entrance asking for spare change, the same thing happened. Nor have I donated lately to any organizations that provide food, medical assistance, and shelter.
At home I revived again, did a crossword with Mama, helped demolish a gingerbread house, read news, ate a reheated piece of Georgian khatchapuri, chattered about work, and played the piano. ("In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg, the arrangement of "La Vie en rose," and Granados's Spanish Dance No. 5.)
Despite the proximity to Christmas, I feel that there are cards, letters, and even a present or two that I should prepare. Whether or not I will manage to prepare over 50 handmade holiday/New Year's cards with unique motifs by January 6th remains to be seen. I don't know if I have enough material and I certainly need more cardstock.
At least we already have a tree in the Corner Room: small and endearing, if not likely to hold much of our enormous Christmas tree decoration archive.
(In the morning I dreamt about my father — I am thinking of him often. I have a photo of him on my desk in the office, and felt a little worried when, after putting the photo back into a notebook for safekeeping, I felt almost like crying when I'd forgotten and saw a few hours later that it wasn't on the desk as expected. Anyway, almost always in my dreams Papa is quiet and sad or says nothing at all; but in this one he was happy, looked at me with a smile and said, 'I have been here all along.' Then I woke up, comforted by that, my stomach still pleasantly full (to be honest) from visiting a restaurant the day before, warm and snuggly, and fully aware that I needed to get dressed and ready for the work day ahead. So life is still quite good. But lately I've been far more worried about my ability to steer ahead in moral quandaries without him as a guide. Of course Papa often had an unexpected, principled perception of a situation, or a way of reminding one to be true to one's self, that is difficult to replicate. And sometimes I do feel a chilling sense of loneliness that, to be fair, has long pre-dated his death.)
I was so tired at the end of the day that I almost fell asleep, standing in the U-Bahn. Theoretically I was reading more of Aristotle's Politics, i.e. about the easy transition between, or affinity of, an aristocracy and a monarchy. I could admire the hollowness of my own Christmas goodwill, too: when a seller of the street newspaper came by I donated nothing, and when I saw a woman standing at the street corner at the U-Bahn entrance asking for spare change, the same thing happened. Nor have I donated lately to any organizations that provide food, medical assistance, and shelter.
At home I revived again, did a crossword with Mama, helped demolish a gingerbread house, read news, ate a reheated piece of Georgian khatchapuri, chattered about work, and played the piano. ("In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg, the arrangement of "La Vie en rose," and Granados's Spanish Dance No. 5.)
Despite the proximity to Christmas, I feel that there are cards, letters, and even a present or two that I should prepare. Whether or not I will manage to prepare over 50 handmade holiday/New Year's cards with unique motifs by January 6th remains to be seen. I don't know if I have enough material and I certainly need more cardstock.
At least we already have a tree in the Corner Room: small and endearing, if not likely to hold much of our enormous Christmas tree decoration archive.
(In the morning I dreamt about my father — I am thinking of him often. I have a photo of him on my desk in the office, and felt a little worried when, after putting the photo back into a notebook for safekeeping, I felt almost like crying when I'd forgotten and saw a few hours later that it wasn't on the desk as expected. Anyway, almost always in my dreams Papa is quiet and sad or says nothing at all; but in this one he was happy, looked at me with a smile and said, 'I have been here all along.' Then I woke up, comforted by that, my stomach still pleasantly full (to be honest) from visiting a restaurant the day before, warm and snuggly, and fully aware that I needed to get dressed and ready for the work day ahead. So life is still quite good. But lately I've been far more worried about my ability to steer ahead in moral quandaries without him as a guide. Of course Papa often had an unexpected, principled perception of a situation, or a way of reminding one to be true to one's self, that is difficult to replicate. And sometimes I do feel a chilling sense of loneliness that, to be fair, has long pre-dated his death.)
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
An Early Christmas Dinner on the Canal
Since Black Friday came and went, my team has had so much time to do our regular work that it's challenging to adjust to the comfort and lack of pressure. In fact, I think I'm falling back to an old tendency to brood about things once my mind has little other food for thought to chew on.
The cold temperatures of the early Berlin winter have given way to cool rainy days. It's a relief to have some rain because November seemed dry; even before then I've only felt uncomfortable twice or so walking outside without proper rain-gear. The relative drought is likely not good for all the plant and animal life in Berlin and in the countryside surrounding it.
Today my colleagues and I went to our annual Christmas dinner. This time it was held on a freshwater barge on the Spree River, and it started in a dock at the Treptower Park in former Eastern Berlin. It was dark when we arrived.
City lights were glimmering across the water and (if I remember correctly) sparkling in the trees where fairy lights were hung, and stark brown tree branches scoured the sky Wuthering-Heights-esquely against the mottled backdrop of the general light pollution. Large white clouds with apertures and fissures between rushed across the sky. Aside from the docks; a stationary restaurant boat with turquoise keel, beer label flag, mainmast that appeared to contain a ventilation system, two booms that folded down from the masts, and a Christmas tree in the rigging at the bow; and our own boat; there was a tall building that looked vaguely 19th-century-esque remaining from that industrial era of Berlin. Black waves with glassy bright reflections swapped at the concrete shore, carrying schools of fallen tree leaves on their bosom.
We entered the boat down a firm gangway, to find a red-carpeted space with glass windows, pinky-beige curtains, cylindrical lights between the windows, plants and other bric-a-brac, and a round mirror with a white life ring around it at the wall. A white door that swung both ways led to the washrooms and to the deck. Chairs were draped in pale satin-like cloth, and the tables were decked with red napkins, two sets of cutlery (a fork and knife to either side, and a tinier fork and spoon for dessert at the top) per person, and an evergreen branch decoration with a red reindeer tea light as well as pinecones in the centre.
We were handed a bread basket per table, which included a bowl with a dip that looked like a mushy, pale olive green baba ghanoush (I didn't try it). Also, we ordered our drinks: Merlot, white wine, hot chocolate spiked with Baileys, sparkling water, etc. A bottle of Moet et Chandon would have cost 120 €, and none of us were cheeky enough to order it.
I went out on deck, and saw more of the Mitte district especially, and was rather unsettled by the unequal distribution of money for chic buildings, etc. through the city. There was the funnel nose of the Bode Museum, there the tower corners of the Reichsgebäude where the EU and German flags fluttered from the stonework as a maelstrom of little humans spiralled down the walkway in the glass dome, there the Fernsehturm. The Holzmarkt, the Jannowitzbrücke; Zalando building, Ver.di workers' union building and Kanzleramt: dramatic stages that were all lined along the riverbanks.
It was breezy, rain droplets sprinkled, and I wasn't warmly dressed. Yet I was happy to be out on water again — whether it's insalubrious freshwater in a European metropolis or the sea off Canada appears to make little difference. And it was nice to talk to the colleagues.
(And, to finish describing the menu: we ate either a meat 'entrée' of goose drumstick with dumplings and a slice of orange and green cabbage; or a vegetarian course of mixed rotini and tagliatelle with sundried tomatoes, arugula, eggplant, olives, and a balsamic vinaigrette reduction. For dessert, we had a scoop of vanilla ice cream on plum compôte, a half-moon of persimmon for the garnish, and whipped cream.)
It was after 8 p.m. when we had returned to the dock. We disembarked in (I think) a happy frame of mind, split into different groups heading back to the S-Bahn stations Plänterwald or Treptow according to our destinations, and perhaps more conviviality was to be had in a group I didn't join.
The cold temperatures of the early Berlin winter have given way to cool rainy days. It's a relief to have some rain because November seemed dry; even before then I've only felt uncomfortable twice or so walking outside without proper rain-gear. The relative drought is likely not good for all the plant and animal life in Berlin and in the countryside surrounding it.
Today my colleagues and I went to our annual Christmas dinner. This time it was held on a freshwater barge on the Spree River, and it started in a dock at the Treptower Park in former Eastern Berlin. It was dark when we arrived.
City lights were glimmering across the water and (if I remember correctly) sparkling in the trees where fairy lights were hung, and stark brown tree branches scoured the sky Wuthering-Heights-esquely against the mottled backdrop of the general light pollution. Large white clouds with apertures and fissures between rushed across the sky. Aside from the docks; a stationary restaurant boat with turquoise keel, beer label flag, mainmast that appeared to contain a ventilation system, two booms that folded down from the masts, and a Christmas tree in the rigging at the bow; and our own boat; there was a tall building that looked vaguely 19th-century-esque remaining from that industrial era of Berlin. Black waves with glassy bright reflections swapped at the concrete shore, carrying schools of fallen tree leaves on their bosom.
We entered the boat down a firm gangway, to find a red-carpeted space with glass windows, pinky-beige curtains, cylindrical lights between the windows, plants and other bric-a-brac, and a round mirror with a white life ring around it at the wall. A white door that swung both ways led to the washrooms and to the deck. Chairs were draped in pale satin-like cloth, and the tables were decked with red napkins, two sets of cutlery (a fork and knife to either side, and a tinier fork and spoon for dessert at the top) per person, and an evergreen branch decoration with a red reindeer tea light as well as pinecones in the centre.
We were handed a bread basket per table, which included a bowl with a dip that looked like a mushy, pale olive green baba ghanoush (I didn't try it). Also, we ordered our drinks: Merlot, white wine, hot chocolate spiked with Baileys, sparkling water, etc. A bottle of Moet et Chandon would have cost 120 €, and none of us were cheeky enough to order it.
I went out on deck, and saw more of the Mitte district especially, and was rather unsettled by the unequal distribution of money for chic buildings, etc. through the city. There was the funnel nose of the Bode Museum, there the tower corners of the Reichsgebäude where the EU and German flags fluttered from the stonework as a maelstrom of little humans spiralled down the walkway in the glass dome, there the Fernsehturm. The Holzmarkt, the Jannowitzbrücke; Zalando building, Ver.di workers' union building and Kanzleramt: dramatic stages that were all lined along the riverbanks.
It was breezy, rain droplets sprinkled, and I wasn't warmly dressed. Yet I was happy to be out on water again — whether it's insalubrious freshwater in a European metropolis or the sea off Canada appears to make little difference. And it was nice to talk to the colleagues.
(And, to finish describing the menu: we ate either a meat 'entrée' of goose drumstick with dumplings and a slice of orange and green cabbage; or a vegetarian course of mixed rotini and tagliatelle with sundried tomatoes, arugula, eggplant, olives, and a balsamic vinaigrette reduction. For dessert, we had a scoop of vanilla ice cream on plum compôte, a half-moon of persimmon for the garnish, and whipped cream.)
It was after 8 p.m. when we had returned to the dock. We disembarked in (I think) a happy frame of mind, split into different groups heading back to the S-Bahn stations Plänterwald or Treptow according to our destinations, and perhaps more conviviality was to be had in a group I didn't join.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
