"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture
and, if possible, speak a few reasonable words." ~Goethe

~ also, if possible, to dwell in "a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious." ~Yeats

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Travelogue 1: Berlin


from How German Is It
by Walter Abish
What is a thing? he asked rhetorically. Brumhold, it must be pointed out, was not referring to a particular thing. He was not, for instance, referring to a modern apartment house, or a metal frame window, or an English lesson, but the thingliness that is intrinsic to all things, regardless of their merit, their usefulness, and the degree of their perfection. The reference to perfection, however antithetical and invidious it might appear to be to the thinking of Brumhold, was made because the mind is so created that it habitually sets up standards of perfection for everything: for marriage and for driving, for love affairs and for garden furniture, for table tennis and for gas ovens, for faces and for something as petty as the weather. And then, having established these standards, it sets up other standards of comparison, which serve, if nothing else, to confirm in the minds of most people that a great many things are less than perfect. (19 - 20)

In Bavaria as in the rest of Germany everyone is passionately in love with the outdoors, in love with what they refer to as Natur, and the splendid weather is an added inducement for the people to put on their Lederhosen and spend several hours serenely tramping through the woods, studiously looking at trees and birds, haphazardly selecting one path, then another, without exactly knowing where the path might lead. The splendid weather is also an inducement for everyone to breath deeply, to fill their lungs with the fresh country air. Ahhh. It is an inducement as well for many to open wide the windows of their apartments. Everywhere one looks one can see the open windows of Wurtenburg and, walking down one of the narrow and deserted side streets, one can overhear snatches of conversation of people who are preparing to go out for a walk or a drive in the country, or about to receive a visitor, or about to make love, their voices -- their lazy voices, their melodious voices, their shrill impatient voices expressing sentiments, feelings that can e said to t\match the warm summer day. And then, to boot, accompanying the snatches of conversation are the old popular tunes that surprisingly are still performed on the radio, because there still appears to be a great demand for old tunes, old marches . . . military bands, anything that will keep the past, the glorious German past, from being effaced forever' (26)


Gerry at the Pergamon Museum, 2003

Eleven years ago (May 2003), Gerry and I found ourselves in Berlin for a few days. Our trip to Berlin was good, though way too short to do justice to such a wonderfully hopeful and optimistic place. I must say that it was easy to imagine myself living there, something I've never felt in London or Paris. The city resonates with positive energy, and is filled an inspiring juxtaposition of the very old / the brand new / and the rebuilt . . . plus dozens of incredible museums. We didn't make it to the Judisches Museum or Agyptisches Museum (to see the bust of Nefertiti), but we did see all the Greek & Roman antiquities at the Pergamon Museum -- which you may have heard of, though I must confess that I hadn't. For me, the most amazing thing there was the huge Gate of Ishtar and the Babylonian Processional Street, reconstructed from the days of Nebuchadnezzar (605 - 562 BC). No photograph or post card could possibly do it justice (check out the web for many good views)! You just have to stand there in awe, surrounded on both sides by towering walls of brilliant blue & gold glazed tile, decorated with an ongoing parade of sphinx-like lions and dragons. Astounding! High upon the walls in a neighboring room are huge oil paintings showing what the Persian desert looked like when these ruins were discovered (1899 - 1914) -- "Nothing beside remains. Round the decay / Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare / The lone and level sands stretch far away":

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
Then hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822)

The incredible thing is that this wonder of the world was there, buried under all that sand! After seeing the Ishtar Gate, we went to see remnants of the Berlin Wall and spent a couple of hours at the Haus am Checkpoint Charlie, very sobering to read all the testimonials of so much despair. Another somber exhibit of human suffering is the Kathe-Kollwitz Museum, which was just a few doors down from our hotel, the Kempinski Bristol, on Fasenenstrasse. Also on this block is the charming Literaturhaus and Wintergarten outdoor cafe, where we stopped for an afternoon Kartoffelsuppe break.

The gala dinner for Gerry's conference was held at the Museum fur Kommunikation, where we got to descend into the dimly lit archives and see the famous Blue Mauritius stamp (again, great pictures can be found on the web if you want to see). Just for the novelty of it, we also stopped by the Musikinstrumenten Museum when we were in the area of the Philharmonic, just across from the very recently reconstructed Potsdamer Platz. From the outside we saw the Reichstag (didn't go up in the dome) and the Brandenburg Tor and the Martin Gropius Bau, which has fabulous exterior detailing.

In Berlin with my Panama Bag, 2003

Coincidentally, a few months before our trip, Sam's 4th grade class was assigned a travel project, in which math and geography joined hands, as he planned and budgeted the perfect vacation! Conveniently for us, Sam picked Berlin for his research topic! He was very busy using Yahoo and Expedia.com to search out tourist attractions, convenient hotel locations, reasonable airline fares, seasonable family entertainment, and available restaurant choices. We couldn't resist trying out some of the restaurants he had tracked down on the web -- the Dressler Restaurant, for dessert on our first evening in town, and Reinhard's, on our final evening, for a delicious dinner --complete with Berliner Weisse mit Schuss, rot for Gerry and grun pour moi! Gerry indulged in a big plate of German sausages and pork chops and black pudding, while I opted for one of the seasonal white asparagus specials. Yum!

Both places were on Kurfurstendamm, just within a few blocks of our hotel, even though Sam had no way of knowing that at the time of his research! In fact, he had picked an entirely different hotel for his fantasy trip, and our first activity upon arrival was to take a long walk up to the grounds of Schloss Charlottenburg and locate Sam's nearby hotel, the Econtel . . . which appeared very trendy indeed from where we were standing . . . and just happened to be across the street from a Sports Club and a vivid green soccer pitch! The perfect location for Sam! Now, how did he know that?!

I hope that before too many years pass, Sam -- and Ben as well -- will be able to see all of these sights for himself. I can see now that Sam was right -- Berlin is a great and nearly inexhaustible location for a family vacation. Next time, I'd love to stay over long enough for a day trip to Potsdam and Park Sanssouci and Pfaueninsel (all recommended by Sam in his report). Also, Berlin appears to be a wonderful city for students, so who knows, maybe one day when Ben and Sam are in college . . . . I think that covers the highlights of our brief stay -- not forgetting, of course, Gerry's Friday morning presentation, which was well attended despite the early hour of 7:30! We had only a few moments for shopping, but we used them wisely by rushing out to the nearest candy counter to stock up on Ritter Sport chocolate bars, a treat we grew to love back in the years when Peg lived in Frankfurt / Heidelburg and kept us supplied! The only stressful part of the trip was just the routine travelers' exhaustion which seemed to overtake us on the flight home to Philadelphia. But we're over that now and ready to go back again!

One last thing --
the cars there follow all the traffic lights
and yield to bikers and pedestrians . . .
that alone made it seem like heaven!

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, June 14th

Between now and then, read
my shorter, almost daily blog posts

Looking for a good book? Try
my running list of recent reading

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Post Mother's Day

Little Gardens: Framed Plant Art
at the Bellagio Conservatory & Botanical Garden

[See also my recent Mother's Day Post: Picture of Home]


I. Mother ~ Father Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye

Every evening
After dinner,
My mother waters the grass
And the little gardens.
She misses nothing.
The squash plants bloom before her eyes;
Peas rise up and offer their tiny envelopes.
My mother waters along the fence,
Parsley and lettuce in billowing rows;
She lets them drink.
My mother always offers everyone food,
"Have you had dinner?"
She waters the petunias.
Her flowers have never been the kind which
Fill up the whole front yard:
Her flowers are subtle
You have to look to see them.
I am looking at my mother,
Watering the grass and the plants;
The sky darkening,
My mother stands quietly, one hand on her hip

~ everything I ever loved.

My Grandmother Mary Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey
and my mother, Mary Elisabeth Lindsey Carriker


When I feel like I will die before I am ready,
I love everything too much.
"How does anyone ever love anything too much?"
says my father out of his dark bed at midnight.
I bang my head against the door because
I cannot tell him.

both poems by Naomi Shihab Nye (b 1952)
Contemporary Palestinian / American Poet

A few more of my Naomi Shihab Nye favorites
from the mid - 1970s appear in previous posts:

1. "Cold Morning Poems"
2."Intellectual Cup of Lyrics"
3. "Quotidian Cat"
4. "Spiritual Journey"
[see right hand column on Quotidian Kit]


II. Whistler's Mother

Arrangement in Grey and Black: The Artist's Mother, 1871
by American / British artist James Whistler, 1834 – July 1903

Study in Orange & White

I knew that James Whistler was part of the Paris scene,
but I was still surprised when I found the painting
of his mother at the Musée d'Orsay
among all the colored dots and mobile brushstrokes
of the French Impressionists.

And I was surprised to notice
after a few minutes of benign staring,
how that woman, stark in profile
and fixed forever in her chair,
began to resemble my own ancient mother
who was now fixed forever in the stars, the air, the earth.

You can understand why he titled the painting
"Arrangement in Gray and Black"
instead of what everyone naturally calls it,
but afterward, as I walked along the river bank,
I imagined how it might have broken
the woman's heart to be demoted from mother
to a mere composition, a study in colorlessness.

As the summer couples leaned into each other
along the quay and the wide, low-slung boats
full of spectators slid up and down the Seine
between the carved stone bridges
and their watery reflections,
I thought: how ridiculous, how off-base.

It would be like Botticelli calling "The Birth of Venus"
"Composition in Blue, Ochre, Green, and Pink,"
or the other way around
like Rothko titling one of his sandwiches of color
"Fishing Boats Leaving Falmouth Harbor at Dawn."

Or, as I scanned the menu at the cafe
where I now had come to rest,
it would be like painting something laughable,
like a chef turning on a spit
over a blazing fire in front of an audience of ducks
and calling it "Study in Orange and White."

But by that time, a waiter had appeared
with my glass of Pernod and a clear pitcher of water,
and I sat there thinking of nothing
but the women and men passing by—
mothers and sons walking their small fragile dogs—
and about myself,
a kind of composition in blue and khaki,
and, now that I had poured
some water into the glass, milky-green.

by American poet Billy Collins, b. 1941
Poet Laureate of the United States, 2001 - 2003
Click here and scroll down a bit
to read a slightly different version
of "Study in Orange and White"

United States Postage Stamp, 1934

Thanks to my brother, Bruce Carriker
for sharing the following Mother's Day sentiment:

‎"When the real history of mankind is finally written, will it feature the crashing echoes of gunfire across centuries, or the sweet song of mothers' lullabies? The great treaties and treatises of our statesmen and generals, or the simple words and acts of peace of women in their homes and neighborhoods? Will what happened in cradles and kitchens prove to be of far greater importance than what happened in councils and congresses?"

Neal A. Maxwell, 1926 – 2004
American Apostle of the
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints


III. Tina Fey's Prayer for a Daughter

Check out www.coolfreeimages.net

Maybe you've seen this touching new age prayer already. I bet everybody is going to be posting it for Mother's Day. I know it's already cropping up on blogs everywhere, so I'm going to jump on the bandwagon and post it here on my blog too:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.


from Bossypants, a book of smart, funny essays
by American comedian and writer Tina Fey, b. 1970

This prayer also holds true for mothers of sons!
Just like those hot cross buns --
if you have no daughters, give them to your sons!

An old favorite:
England ~ Summer 2000 ~ At the Cricket Club

More Recently:
England ~ Spring Break 2011 ~ In the Pine Forest

See how I always need sunglasses in England?
It is sunny there -- really!

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, May 28th

Between now and then, read
my shorter, almost daily blog posts

Looking for a good book? Try
my running list of recent reading