Postage Stamps and Travellers (and 1975)

It's been a good weekend, where I'm picking up more of my hobbies again.

The macramé bag I was trying to make to celebrate the 70s in my historical experiment has ended in disaster, as I find that two strings that are needed for the next step are missing. Now I need to undo the knots and figure out what caused it.

Yesterday evening I tidied up my old stamp collection. I'd worked with it intensively as a 13- or 14-year old but not much since. Although my grandfather Opa before he died, my uncle M., my Greek teammate, and my sister's and my French teacher have all contributed stamps at various times. There's a big gap in my stamp albums roughly between New Zealand and Sweden, which means that the two Spanish stamps and one Portuguese stamp are in limbo until I make or buy another album. The Canadian postage stamps are beautiful, so it was a pleasure sorting through the loose ones I haven't put into any book yet. It was funny to get back into practice; certain tricks of how to slip stamps back into the album folds, and memories of the motifs on the stamps, came back to me immediately. I was also surprised how many countries were represented: Ireland, Liechtenstein, Nigeria, and Zimbabwe amongst them.

It was also bittersweet sorting through the British penny stamps with their portraits of Queen Elizabeth II. I've been trying to think how best to pay tribute to her while making clear I didn't know the lady personally. I guess that throughout my Canadian schooling she was a grandmotherly figure of sorts. Besides I've appreciated that she rarely expressed opinions in public, being equally polite to visitors whose politics and personal conduct she liked, and those whose politics and personal conduct she abhorred. If she had been amoral or indifferent, it would have had no merit; but as it is, I think that this neutrality was one of her biggest sacrifices to her role. It is part of the ethos of public service to which former heads of state like David Cameron, Kevin Rudd and others have paid tribute.

Aside from reading another half page or so of Teilhard de Chardin, I barely marked the year 1975 of my historical experiment very much. It feels a little disrespectful to do too much playacting right after the layoffs and I guess I've simply been too exhausted. But next week I intend to pick it up again more fully, as it really should be beneficial for my mental health.

Lately I've also played the piano more than usual: bits of Tchaikovsky's concerto, waltzes and other ragtime by Scott Joplin, an arrangement of 'La vie en rose,' a Rachmaninoff prelude, and even the entirety of the Bach-Busoni chaconne. As usual, going through a harrowing experience lends some richness and depth to musical interpretation, which is one of those uncomfortable artistic trade-offs.

Today my eldest and youngest brothers came back from a journey to our old hometown in Canada. They had gone hiking on hills and through forests, eaten fish and chips, bought cream-of-tartar and gummy worms for me, wandered through an exhibition about the ill-treatment of Japanese-Canadians during World War II, passed a horrible night due to a malfunctioning smoke detector in their hotel, seen a lizard and a 'beware of bear' sign and a rabbit, and so on and so forth. And this morning they landed back at Schönefeld Airport, where Ge. picked them up and ferried them to the family apartment. They looked sunburned and had clearly enjoyed their time.

A few hours later, my American teammate came over with her friend, and my siblings and I had an afternoon tea of sorts in our living room with them. It was lovely to see her in person again, and to chat at length, and to drink coffee and tea and eat pastries and potato chips together. She had brought along a print of Bulgarian folk dancers as a birthday present, which was very thoughtful!

When the guests had left, the siblings ordered in burgers, fries, and ribs, and we ate dinner together.

In the evening I also revisited the allotment gardens, which is where I still go to draw strength. They were very quiet. Apples were piled like green and red balls in a few baskets, and I took along some of them; the plums from yesterday had vanished. It is definitely growing dark earlier these days, brown plane and linden and maple (or sycamore) leaves were drifting along a bridge overpass, and a sense I guess of annual autumn 'saudade' has seized me these past two weeks.

To end on a more frivolous note, I finally tried a slice of the pickles I'd made from three cucumbers last week. Oversalted and a little sour, but altogether I thought they were better than expected!