It was another busy day today.
Last week at work was interesting because the tech industry revenue and layoffs crisis is looming closer and closer. I'm beginning to realize that instant karma is probably going to bop me on the head; feeling safely employed has instilled the 'safe world hypothesis' that everything will turn out for the best, whereas I should be thinking more of people who have been laid off and also not be idling in hubris.
For once I woke up at around 9 a.m. despite its being Saturday. Mama was absorbed in the newspaper in the living room, but soon needed to leave to meet her tandem partner. Ge. was awake, too, and when the French shop nearby opened, he went off to buy the morning baguette and croissants. The baguette was so fresh that it was incredibly soft underneath its crispy shell, the croissants also fresh, and we had coffee to go with them both.
The French shop is also closing for 2 weeks' summer holidays, so they had persuaded Ge. to buy a salami and a little round cheese at a lower price, so that they wouldn't spoil. The salami was well worth it based on the slice I tasted: pork with flavourings and with a taste that I felt was genuine and a little goat-y (not in a bad way).
Before breakfast I typed more exercises from the touch-typewriting booklet. The farther I progress in the booklet, the worse my errors become. Pudel explained when he visited last week that electronic typewriters (which allowed you to correct errors a bit!), and then PCs, were also introduced hoping that they would have a good environmental impact: reams of paper used to be wasted on text that had to be thrown into the garbage due to typos. But I still think it's an ingenious machine. My heart sings whenever I hear the mechanical 'ding!!' when the letters reach the righthand margin.
I also played the first pages of Tchaikovsky's piano concerto again, having recently rediscovered it during cleaning, and am not finding it any easier; swept the floor of the kitchen; darned a sock; very briefly listened to the radio; neatened one or two shelves; and skimmed more pages of Maria Edgeworth's 19th century novel Patronage.
(I've become a big fan of Radio France International, was delighted to find that I do understand a few words of Turkish by listening to a Berlin-based Turkish-language channel, and can access a wide range of music genres from hip-hop through jazz and classical and rock to world, as well as BBC World interviews, on a radio I found amongst all the stuff we have in our apartment. RFI has made me aware, through its great international news coverage, that I mostly only hear the news of 20% of the world's inhabitants. What would a news website look like, I've been ruminating, if it covers mostly Indian and Chinese news, very little American news, and almost no European news, based on percentage of population by nationality? wouldn't it inform us far more? - Besides RFI also has interviews that always leave me with a quirky piece of knowledge that I'd never heard of before and that gives me food for thought for a pleasant interval afterward.)
As my first outing of the day, I cycled in appropriately 70s-ish striped t-shirt and wide-leg trousers to Kreuzberg and bought strawberries, purple plums, chard, green garlic, frilly green lettuce, Turkish delight, instant coffee, filo pastry, and a jar of rose jam from a Turkish grocery store. It was the first time I've ever bought rose jam, which turned out to be very soft and syrupy with orangey ghosts of the flower petals floating in the subtly scented jelly. The strawberries were very aromatic and richly sweet.
One of the things I'm planning to celebrate from the 70s is the macramé craze, rather indifferently I'm afraid to the actual precise year of its ascent to fame. Macramé is of course a trend in the fashion industry again, so it was not entirely a surprise that a shop window of a crafts store was dedicated to it. (It was nice to see the apple shop in the neighbourhood doing a brisk business when I walked by as the fruit is coming in season here: a queue of two people was waiting on the pavement.) At any rate I ended up getting a large spool of 3.5 mm diameter yarn and two bamboo circles for the handles of a beach bag, per instructions I found on YouTube. [After my 1971 time ended in the evening, I started on it with Ge.'s help, and have now probably messed up at least two double half hitch knots.] The thought of making wall hangings frankly drives me up the wall, pun intended; my experiment needs to be something useful.
Besides I brought an appliance to a neighbourhood shop for repairs. The two men there were unexpectedly jovial, likely looking forward to their weekend. It'll likely take a month, but if they can repair it, we should finally be able to listen to the TV and to vinyl records normally again!
Besides I went to two more grocery stores: First, a minimal-packaging shop where I bought mung beans, large rolled oats, olive oil, fusilli pasta, a soap, and baking soda — in a tupperware container, a jar, a bottle, and two bags that I had brought from home. Second, the organic grocery store across the street. It didn't have the mint, dill, extra phyllo pastry and extra parsley I wanted for the spanakopita recipe I'd been planning to make on Sunday. But at least I was able to turn up spinach and feta cheese.
Then I went donating soap etc. again — not so much this time, but the volunteer who accepted the donation did still seem delighted that her shift hadn't been in vain. She said that she hoped the war would be over soon.
Ge. cooked sausages, potatoes, red cabbage, and peas, which we ate with beer and a lettuce salad, and I felt pleasantly full. It's also nice to have Mama back from her walking tour. And I'm pleased it's no longer between 34 and 38°C hot, as it was again earlier last week.
I'm wondering how next week at work will turn out. But until then we have Sunday.
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