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Last part of family Christmas over, done with, and survived.

personal ramblings )

solitary_summer: (jurassic)
Nice afternoon with my niece yesterday, who's somehow managed to grow up a lot since I last saw her six weeks ago. (She'll be three in a couple of months.) Until now I used to be able to kind of talk over her head a bit (I've no idea if this comes across in writing, but I have this slightly ironic, occasionally self-mocking thing going on in real life that I don't really know how to turn off, because I have no idea how to actually talk to kids...), but now she wants to know everything. 'What?' and 'why?' at every other sentence. We had a discussion about life and death watching a bit of some zoo documentary with dead mice as food and a tiny dead lizard that didn't manage to make it out of its shell.

Dreary evening, though.

Ice Age 3 frankly sucked. I'll watch romantic stuff. I don't hate children even I don't have any. No, seriously. But the whole movie turned around romance and procreation from beginning to end. Ellie is pregnant. Manny fusses. And builds a nursery/playground. Sid adopts three Tyrannosaurus eggs. Even Scrat has a romance plot. Diego wanders off in, well, actually more disappointment at the loss of his 'herd' than disgust, and one shares his feelings. (There's no escaping it, though.) And the rest of the plot is just too far-fetched. Ice Age on the first floor, dinosaurs in the basement? I'm not usually over-nitpicky, especially when something works for me on an emotional level (*cough*Torchwood*cough*), but give me a break.

What I loved about the first part (that I'll still shamelessly squee about) was the chosen family theme, and there's not much more than a formal nod to that at this point.

It's also the first movie I've seen in 3D, and while in some respects the effects were certainly impressive, I mostly found it exhausting to watch, and maybe I'm getting old, cranky and pessimistic, but that looks just like another step towards visuals instead of content.

Then we (G., a couple of his - kind of boring, especially the woman - friends and I) went for a drink, except no drinks for me, because my stomach was still pretty much turning at the mere thought of alcohol (in which case I really don't appreciate to be told that beer, or tea with rum, or whatever, helps, thankyouverymuch), so there wasn't even that to alleviate the general suckitude of the evening. Finally gave up trying to be polite and left at one point around midnight when they were playing their second game of darts, and okay, I guess it's my fault for not joining in, but I've never done it before, was way too tired to learn, frankly generally suck at throwing things at a target, and really, really hate not being good at something and making a fool of myself, especially with people I don't know. So I sat there, tired and bored and wanting to get away, sipping lukewarm apple-juice with mineral water, and at one point my thoughts drifted towards CoE, which seemed suddenly so much... if not more real, than at least more relevant that everything around me, and how I keep sometimes whining that I ought to focus more on Real Life instead of fiction, and I pretty much thought, fuck that. It's all relative. When TW seems more real than my niece, then I'll worry.

At least my stomach is better today. Also, HP6 with B., which is bound to suck less, if only because it's B., and I don't need alcohol to have fun with her.

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+3, because I couldn't decide which to pick )

Sunday with sister & niece, who is being very cute, climbs up to the slide (no steps, just round wooden rungs) all by herself, leaving me open-mouthed and staring, and, noticing a spider-web says 'Spin-nen-netz' with near perfect articulation. Three weeks ago I was blowing soap bubbles for her, now I'm holding the soap water for her to avoid major spillage & she's doing it herself. And catches them again. Clearly the bestest & most intelligent niece ever. *g* She still loves unpacking my bag & wallet, and was fascinated by my Pet Shop Boys Actually CD. Neil Tennant is the funny man ('lustiger Mann'), Chris Lowe isn't so funny ('der nicht lustig'). They're so much more fun when they're growing up, instead of vomiting milk on you.

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Hot and not particularly interesting day in Schloßhof with sister, sister's boyfriend, niece & the boyfriend's extended family; almost all the photos are bad and/or boring, too bright sunlight, everything too picturesque, complete lack of inspiration.

My hair is so short now that I have to put sunscreen on the back of my neck.

Decided I need some kind of photography workshop/course to help me get better technically & inspire me; I feel a bit stuck.

More correspondence with my aunt, who completely misreads what I'm saying while accusing me of having problems with accepting reality (reality = it's all my fault). I wish she'd continued to be just rude, because now I'm starting to feel guilty. And, once again, bad about myself, because maybe she's right and I'm wrong after all? Maybe I was a hypocrite all along, maybe I wanted her out of my life. It's not as if I'm not aware that I have problems with personal relationships... But I'm tired of all this. A mail from her makes my heart race before I even open it, and it took me hours to fall asleep yesterday, turning all this over in my mind. I don't need this. I don't have the energy. I guess I'll just have to live with whatever she thinks about me.

One thing she did achieve, though; she definitely made me grateful for the people in my life who somehow manage to put up with me, maybe even like me, and forgive my occasional slip-ups without all this drama. Parents & work people will get cake next week before I'm off to Salzburg.

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Spent a lot of time browsing through reviews of Nikon lenses today, with indifferent results. I do most of my photographing walking through Vienna, so I need a zoom lens. Or believe I do? I guess a fixed focal length could be an artistic challenge, but it seems so impractical, and I kind of suspect I'd end up getting run over by a car taking a photo standing in the middle of a street. Also, my walks tend to be long and I don't want to be weighed down by a camera bag and different lenses.

My main issue with the 18-135 that I'm currently using is that it goes from barrel distortion straight into pincushion distortion, sometimes doing a kind of wave-thing for variety, making it near-impossible to photograph something with straight lines running across the picture (facades, etc.), unless the lines go more or less through the middle. However, the 18-200 that a lot of people (though not all) are very enthusiastic about seems to have distortion problems as well (although apparently not as bad ones, since they're not singled out in almost every amazon review...), the 55-200 that someone from the Viennese flickr group recommended seems to have little distortion, but other disadvantages. Is the 18-200's alleged sharpness problem that people mention something I'd even notice? Or, OTOH, apart from VR which I'd probably like, but can't say I've missed so far, does it offer enough advantages over the 18-135 for a hobby-photographer like me to justify the cost?

Check out alternatives that aren't Nikon?

Or maybe invest in some decent software to correct the distortion problem, and wait and see? But lazy person that I am I'm not particularly fond of endlessly fiddling with my photos afterwards...

Also, after much writing, deleting and rewriting more or less composed a letter to my aunt (letter, since she's decreed that because she abhorrs e-mails they are henceforth only to be used for communicating brief news, and everything longer than ten lines will be deleted), essentially telling her that while I appreciate her offer, if we're going to meet again, it'll be because we like each other enough to do so, not with all the resentment that radiated from everything she wrote, and not with her elaborate rules and conditions, and 'jokers' grudgingly granted, and to let me know if she should ever want that. I'm a bit concerned that I'm turning this into a power-game myself where I take pride in remaining calm and not rising to her provocation (although admittedly I am a tiny bit proud of myself, because I'm usually not very good in conflict situations), but as far as I can see this is the best I can do, not burning the bridges completely, being honest, but at the same time not sacrificing my self-respect.

ETA: Go him! Also, Tintin? *gg*

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whine, whine, issues, &tc., pleaseignoreme )

solitary_summer: (Default)
That sleep-attack-after-coming-home-and-fixing-myself-something-to-eat-and reading-maybe-ten-pages thing? Is apparently becoming a habit. Then got up, blearily, and watched DW The Voyage Of The Damned, which was maybe not perfect, but better IMO than the reviews on amazon suggested, with some lovely touching moments.

Went to see The Lion in Winter (play, not movie version) yesterday with some people from work because M.'s in Berlin and I got her ticket. I hesitate to compare it to the movie version because I haven't seen that in probably ten years or more, so maybe wouldn't like it as much now as I remember liking it, but it has left a strong impression and this version seemed a bit... bland in comparison; lifeless. They tried to superficially modernise it a bit by transferring it into a contemporary world of finance, making it all about shares, holdings and CEOs, which IMO just didn't have such an impact and sounded a bit forced at times. I'm perfectly aware that these days there's probably more power in finance/economy than in actual politics, but it somehow failed to convey the brutal power struggle and dysfunctional family politics adequately. Frankly, I've seen that done with more conviction on Smallville. If one was already spoiled for familiar with the plot, this version simply added nothing new or exciting, but generally lacked passion and failed to touch, and the applause was appropriately polite, even and very brief.

Also got & read John Barrowman's autobiography this week, which was better than I thought it'd be. Oops, sorry. Did I just type that? But while I fangirl as much as the next fangirl, I've stopped buying celebrity biographies a while ago and honestly didn't have too high expectations about the autobiography of someone only just turned 40, dictated into an iPod in between a very busy work schedule. But it has a very personal voice and they (I've no idea if it was John, Carole, or both of them) found an interesting structure, jumping back and forth a bit, going on tangents, etc., so it was never boring; chatty, full of anecdotes (some of which one has heard in interviews over the years, but a lot that were new at least to me, too) and often quite funny, although maybe I should say at this point that JB's sense of humour doesn't really converge with mine, which is very typically Viennese: dark, macabre and morbid. And while it's not the most profound thing ever written, it's not shallow: sincerely emotional, and serious and passionate when dealing with subjects that demand seriousness and passion. And John's energy and enthusiasm are infective even in print.

Oh, and look at the preface: To be honest, here's what I really hope - that by arranging the book in this way, you'll feel as if you and I are lounging in our pyjamas on the couch in my Cardiff living room, sharing a bottle of champagne or a pot of tea, with music on in the background, having a blether and laugh about my life so far.

*g* How's that for seducing your readers?

On a personal note, what really struck me reading this is that of all the authors, artists, musicians, etc. that I've fangirled have made more than a passing impression on my life, JB is by a long, long, - long: *cough* ex-NIN-fan *cough* - way the most positive, most balanced and apparently genuinely happiest person.

cut for getting a bit personal )

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Marie-Louise von Motesiczky exhibition, another thing to strike off the to do list. Liked it.

Liked it?

And that's another strange thing I've been noticing lately - I don't know if it's because I've been moving away from academia for a while now and am losing the knack of being able to dissect everything mentally & verbally, or if I've found a different way of looking at and enjoying art that simply doesn't fit into the mental categories I used to have, but I've entirely lost the ability to verbalise my appreciation, even in my head. I can stand in front of almost every painting/work of art (withing a certain range, still, but the range is so much wider than it used to be) and, if I let myself, almost fall into it, because there's this power and energy in most good art, regardless of style or subject, but I can't explain it beyond that, at least not in a remotely adequate fashion. Books are still easier, but to translate mediums in my head like this seems impossible.

Sister and boyfriend have found another, more happily willing godmother candidate, which I guess is the best solution for everyone involved, except now that makes me irrationally sad and a bit jealous. Er, no, i don't pretend I'm making sense here, even in my own head.

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Schedules and planned out days are not for me, or I'm not for them. I simply lack the energy. Third day, and I'm absolutely exhausted, and this is supposed to be a holiday.

Monday to today )

In conclusion, tomorrow I'm allowed to sleep as long as I want. And do nothing as much as I want, with the possible exception of buying jogging shoes, since apparently the old ones that I've used for the past few years have shrunk? Or have my feet grown? Strange.

baby, swimming )
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Dilemma. My sister and her boyfriend (he, mostly; she doesn't care much either way) have decided to have their daughter baptised after all, and my sister asked me how I'd feel about being her godmother.

I've been dreading this since she was born, actually. I love my niece, my sister knows she can always depend on me, but I'm not going to go through a religious ceremony and promise I'll help raise the child a good catholic, when I don't have the least intention of doing that. I'm mostly atheist and only nominally catholic myself, but there's enough... catholic guilt, I guess, to make me feel extremely uncomfortable doing that. Or at the very least, when I make promises, it's with the intention of keeping them. I wouldn't marry in church for the same reason.

I had to decline. My sister already knew that it'd be an iffy issue for me, so there are no bad feelings, but I still feel kind of...

Pretty shitty, actually. As if I'd let her (my niece) down in some way.

Is that the residue catholic guilt speaking, or was it a very petty thing to do? Should I just have got over myself and my issues and agreed to do it?
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How is Sunday almost over already? Lunch at the parents, cuddled my niece & gave her the plush feel book I'd bought & which she was absolutely fascinated with, especially since two of the pages had some kind of plastic inside that rustles when you touch them. ::beaming proud aunt mode:: Also realised that I need to memorise some child-appropriate songs, because at the moment when I carry her around when she gets bored and disgruntled I'm mostly singing/humming nin to her, since these are the only songs I know more than 25% of the lyrics to; I do it in a very positive tone of voice, and she did seem to be intrigued by my extremely off-key version of The Great Below but it still feels kind of weird and just can't be ideal, atmosphere-wise...

Finished the Torchwood DVDs in a mini-binge [2008? nine months? ::sigh::], and on the whole really enjoyed seeing the series again - I wasn't entirely sure for the first few episodes, and it's a sad thing that you can never quite recapture that initial burst of fanish enthusiasm, but generally it stood the test of re-watching very well and the emotional intensity of Cyberwoman pulled me right back into it, after which it gets constantly better and starts to run more smoothly.

And I love everything from Random Shoes to End of Days. The tension really starts to build up with Out of Time - I love that episode, the parallel arc of Jack and Owen that starts here and ends with the hug in the finale. Owen's raw vulnerability in the first night with Diane, totally overwhelmed and already very much out of his depths; I think that's the first time we're really seeing the hard mask slip. Jack opening up to John so easily, and again it's like a mask being taken away, only the thing Jack uses as a mask is his charm. The scene in the car is one of the most heart-breaking and surprising (would never have happened on an American show) moments I've seen on any tv show, and Jack's look at the end is awful, the emptiness, the hopelessness. I really like the dark streak in Jack that emerges over those episodes. That's something I hadn't really been fully aware of, because I didn't know Jack's back-story when I first saw the show; how much he doesn't want to be there. Two hundred years, and maybe he's gone native a bit, but he's got a hand in a jar that's probably worth more to him than almost anything at Torchwood and a fondness for standing in high, conspicuous places, waiting to picked up again, to be able to travel through the universe again instead of being marooned on this planet, stuck in an era he doesn't particularly like, picking through the debris of all that is out there, out of his reach. I wonder what they're going to do with this in the second series, what is going to convince Jack to come back/stay, because he obviously is very ready to leave at the drop of the right hat.

[And then there's this half-written, extremely rambling and very much tl;dr post about the Jack/Ianto relationship ... ::sigh::]

[On a side-note, though, what I don't quite understand is the whole OMG!adult!sex!violence! hype. Or the complaints about that. Compared to Dr. Who, which I've only seen a few episodes of so far, maybe, but on a grander scale of things? Not so much. Not that I'm complaining, mind. But If you leave aside the feeding-on-orgasms alien in Day One, which was clearly done with a bit of a wink at the audience and not to be taken deadly serious, pun not intended, there are exactly two a little more explicit sex scenes in one single episode, and they're anything but gratuitous, but crucial to the plot and Owen's character development. Countrycide was gory and a bit extreme, but I've seen as bad, if not worse, on the X-Files or CSI. Either Buffy or Angel had more explicit violence and sex than the average TW episode...]
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[There's some kind of mental block that keeps me from writing, I swear. I keep the update window open, even type a few words here, half a sentence there, I want to write, I believe I should write, but I end up clicking around aimlessly, refreshing my flist, refreshing YouTube in order to check whether a certain kind soul has uploaded another episode of Oz yet (*), looking for decent Torchwood (**) fic... And. Just. Can't. Write. Blockade, avoiding, and I'm not quite sure what exactly it is I am avoiding. My life, most likely.]

personal & boring )

On a lighter note, you know you've watched too many tv shows with fantasy and/or supernatural elements when your first thought on hearing (in the context of an entirely different, more or less reality based show; Oz ) that a woman murdered her daughter because she believed she was possessed by the devil is not 'She is clearly insane and ought to be in a mental institution and not on death row'(***), but that you actually give the idea half a semi-conscious thought until someone else on tv says just that, and you catch yourself and mentally go oops...

(*) Oh dear. And here I'd thought I'd shipped fucked-up couples before. And just when I was mentally complaining that it turned a little soap-opera-esque in S4, they come up with an episode like Cuts Like A Knife, which had me literally gasping and holding my breath for the last ten minutes or so, because. Oh. My. God.

(**) Full fangirl mode. ::sigh:: Scoured the internet & now have a pretty Gwen wallpaper on my desktop and lots of others in my screen-saver folder, which I will happily stare at changing for minutes, oh yes. I can't even pin-point why this show struck such a chord with me - it's not all that original; too Buffy/Angel-esque at times (But hey, if you're going to ste-- be inspired, than at least by the best, and at least they did the 'let's betray our leader in a crisis under the influence of an evil power impersonating dead loved ones and trying to destroy the world' thing after only twelve episodes where relationships, despite some trust building, are still rather brittle and untested, and not after 140 only to give Buffy and Spike that final bonding moment (****)), but it's so charming, I really liked the characters, and I guess everyone already knew I was going to order the dvds anyway, right. ::sigh::

(***) Not that anyone should be, IMO, regardless of the state of their mental health, in case this doesn't go without saying.

(****) Footnote of footnote, JW can convince me of almost anything, but this is one of the two instances where I really feel he is jerking some characters around too hard only to achieve a certain effect/story-line for others. (The other instance would be Gunn, Fred and Cordelia so immediately and wholly turning on Wesley in AtS S3, in order to set off his angsty S3/4 arc and his relationship with Lilah.) And not telling James Marsters that Spike was supposed to get a soul rather than get rid of the chip, that wasn't all that brilliant, either, while we're at it.
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Last week we had 20+ degrees, today winter has caught up with us with a vengeance, temperatures barely above freezing point, icy wind, first snow-flakes; winter coat and scarf, and perhaps I should turn on the heat at home, because I'm wearing three sweaters and huddled into a blanket...

I've taken today and tomorrow off, which makes five free days in a row, the last real breathing space before the Christmas rush, but so far I haven't done much worth reporting. Slept, wasted time on the internet, read (a little), practiced belly dance moves yesterday (with the help of a book and a DVD I bought, which helped clarify the moves a lot; I already practiced with Ch. on Monday since the lesson was canceled due to Herbstferien or some such newfangled thing, and I'm definitely feeling more secure and comfortable -- to the point where I'm actually considering buying a jingly hip scarf. Or not.).

Today I spent two hours with my sister (by now very eager to go home, which she'll do tomorrow) in the hospital, and it's amazing how much more alert the Little Mouse (she's seriously too tiny at the moment for a name like Larissa, and I won't be the first to shorten it to Lara, although I'm pretty sure I will at some point) is now. Tuesday it was sleep, or drink, or wah!, big scary new world (eyes shut, hands over ears), today she was much more awake and looking around, trying out what one can stuff into one's mouth (corner of the blanket; five fingers), and let her aunt stroke and tickle her while her mother was having horrible hospital lunch, and right, I'll stop boring everyone to tears with baby news.... ::cough::

Napped in the afternoon after i came home for a couple of hours, twice, woke up a little disorientated as a result, but still yawning...


eh. cut for excessive navel gazing that shouldn't be done in public anyway  )
solitary_summer: (sezen)

Big news for once, although sort of... second hand? Not so much my big news, anyway. My sister announced at our family Easter dinner thing that she's pregnant. I'm still a little flabbergasted, I can't really get my mind around it that my little baby (alright, 29 years old...) sister is going to be a mother, or that I'm going to have a niece/nephew by November.

And I'm a little bit shaken, somehow. So far when people around me had children, it never really mattered in the sense that it disturbed my perception of my own life, but now... It did upset my fragile balance (illusion?) of contentment at least a little, and I can't help the feeling that I'm passing by my life without doing much of any significance. Some people do have a life, as the saying goes, after all. She has a baby, I post photos on the internet. Yeah. It probably can't be helped that I'll be even more the useless freak of the family, although to be fair I guess they do love me and it's probably only I who sees herself that way.

Oh, I guess I'll snap out of it tomorrow and re-arrange my perspective, but right now I could really do with a glass of wine, but I'd only end up upsetting my stomach again, so better not... ::sigh::
solitary_summer: (geneva (© clive barker))

God. Yesterday, work, an hour at the hospital visiting G., making a birthday cake for my mother; today, birthday, family, nausea & throwing up from lunch (the mushrooms? fucked up eating habits that don't tolerate a soup/main course/dessert warm meal any longer?); and it's evening already and tomorrow's another week with no day off. Oh joy.

Sister brought her laptop so that I could show off my holiday pictures, and it's kind of embarrassing how much it still means to me when my father says that I managed to show him perspectives of the landscape he never saw before - considering he knows the place as long as I do, if not longer, because as a child you don't consciously appreciate landscape, I guess.

Half-read an interview with P. Coelho in the paper, because the headline caught my eye, and apparently he thinks happiness is boring ('like Sunday afternoons', if I remember correctly, or was it Sunday mornings?), and he doesn't look for it. I admit I was kind of baffled... Because personally, while I don't buy what the advertising industry tries to sell you as happiness, after so many years of depression, or at least fighting depression, goddamn it, I do want happiness. I don't really believe any longer it's going to happen just like that & and miraculously fix everything for the rest of my life, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it. If I knew how to look for it, I'd do that, too, but as it is, I'm trying at least to appreciate those moments when you feel at peace with your self and the world, when you're in the right mind-set to appreciate the beauty of things around you...

The statement strikes me as either incredibly arrogant, or very stupid.

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Family silences. It's strange, how you manage to maintain and ignore blind spots... It's not as if I'd been historically disinterested, and especially over the last five years or so I've been reading a lot about the holocaust, the war, the history of national socialism, but it took Eva Menasse's book, specifically the story of her Czech-German grandmother and her Jewish grandfather to remind me of something my mother mentioned once, it must have been years ago. The husband of my great-aunt (who was also my godmother) was Jewish; from what documents my mother had from my great-aunt, both his parents were from Hungary, but lived in Vienna at the time of their marriage. He was born in 1890, married my great-aunt in 1930. There were no children.

He left Vienna in 1940 and moved to Sastin, where he'd been born (and still had family?). She filed for divorce a year later, in 1941. My mother says, which may be the truth, or may be the version that became canonical and accepted in family history, that he insisted on divorce to protect her. I'll never find out, unless there are any letters, everyone from that generation is dead. Was there pressure from her family? Her brother-in-law (my grandfather) was a policeman at that time, he was briefly imprisoned after the war, my mother told me, but apparently there were no serious charges (another thing I need to look into). There is a story about how he warned someone, once, but again that may or may not be family legend. Is it possible to be in the police during this time and keep your hands and conscience clean?

He tried to emigrate to the USA, there's a letter from the embassy informing him that all the European contingents were full; a number on the waiting list.

After the war she tried to find out what happened to him, but only got the information from some Slovakian official source that he'd been deported to Poland.

I found nothing in the DÖW database about Jews in Austria, but he is listed at the Yad Vashem site: according to them he was in the camps in Nitra and Zilina, from where he was deported to Auschwitz on April 24th 1942, where he [died] was killed May 11th 1942.

The source for this information given is a project from the University of Bratislava about Slovakian holocaust victims.

She kept the name, and my mother says she still blamed herself at the time of her death.

So I'm left wondering, why did I not ask further when my mother first mentioned this? Worse, why did I (at least temporarily) forget again? I can only assume I must have been very much younger and had no interest in history at the time, no comprehension of what this really meant.

Perhaps with millions murdered it shouldn't make a difference that it's someone I might have known, someone who would have been family. Somehow it still does; makes it more personal somehow.

No one in my family talked about him, or at least not to me. (Although I keep thinking maybe there was some unspoken tension I picked up, some remarks they thought a child wouldn't understand? Something my great-aunt did tell me, but I forgot? Maybe there's a subconscious reason for my interest in the history of that period - something my younger sister never had -, combined with an undefined sense of guilt... ) No one, apparently, tried to find out more about his fate.

There is little enough I can do; my mother might have a little more information, but she was a child then, apparently this wasn't talked about much. Find out if I can get any documents; get his name included in the database at the DÖW; find out if he had family, and what happened to them.
solitary_summer: (candy 2 (© clive barker))

:: yawn::

But feeling better, after 9-10 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Yesterday when my mother and I were decorating the tree she'd turned on some Christmas-y program on the radio where famous and semi-famous persons talked about what Christmas meant to them, which was all wonderfully profound, religious, spiritual and whatnot... nothing wrong with that, obviously, but personally speaking I define a good Christmas as one that passes without family drama, shouting or someone's bad mood spoiling everything; where (god forbid) I even have a quiet, relaxed conversation with my father (even if it's only about Potsdam and rococo architecture) and everyone likes their presents (which, again, is something of a minor miracle with my father) and no drama. Given these admittedly somewhat minimalist expectations it was a good un-stressful Christmas.

Even better, when I came home there was a package from [ profile] soavezefiretto in the mailbox. ::squee:: Thankyouthankyouthankyou*hugs*!!

[And now I'll be off to the parents again to make a Mohnstrudel and Nussstrudel for when my sister and her boyfriend come over for lunch and when they like their presents and if [ profile] soavezefiretto's gift turns out not to be lost, after all, it'll be all quite perfect...]
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God, I'm so, so tired... I semi-promised Ch. I'd drive bike (*sigh*, still no car) out & do something with the horse, but am in no mood whatsoever for it... I'd much rather crawl back into bed with a book.

Considered a hiking tour for the weekend but doubt I'll do it.

And there's a holiday's worth of lj entries to write and catch up with.

On a grumpy / dissatisfied / self-critical note.

Occasionally it kind of bothers me how this journal (and by implication, my life) with almost masturbatory obsession always turns around me, myself & I, and only that.

Why is it so hard for me to reach out, to connect (or, often enough, even wanting to connect, which seems to be the deeper problem) to someone - on any level, social, friendship-y, sexual -, why do I always seem to come across as distanced and cold? (Probably over-intellectual, too, I'm not sure.) But then, the 'coming across as' is only part of the problem, because, let's face it, often enough I am those things... With a few exceptions I'm not one for the big emotions.

Arrogance, self-protection or sheer incapability? A little of everything?

My sister & I had a discussion driving home, going over our (well, her's mostly) circle of friends/acquaintances, why it is that elder daughters always seem so... tied up with their fathers' personalities, issues, neuroses, whatever. Strange.

This relates to the above because my father is just that kind of person, and while there are some of his faults I think I can avoid, sadly I've no idea whatsoever how I should go about changing what seems to be very much a deeply ingrained personality trait (defect).... not only have my school teachers always remarked that, according to my mother even the kindergarten teacher would tell her that I'd play with children when they came to me, but that I'd never approach anyone.

How do you change a pattern of behaviour that must have developed during a part of your life you barely have any memory of?

Ah well. Between one thing and another it turned 1 pm, I really need to get my ass out of doors...
solitary_summer: (Default)

Hmpf. I'd prefer it if I could at least announce tremendous & wonderful changes in my life to make up for the lack of updates, but that's not the case, either. (Sadly? Not really.) I just seem to lack the energy most of the time to even think coherent thoughts, much less express them.

Also, apologies to everyone on my f/list for being so apathetically antisocial. More so than usual, that is.

Saturday, parents having returned from their holiday in Poland, there was family dinner, and I can't help noticing that recently (since I quit university?) I feel more and more like an outsider on such occasions, unlike my sister with her diss & boyfriend & their garden & whatnot. I'm not jealous, bitter or angry about it (perhaps even the opposite, because it allows me to see myself as an autonomous person), it's just something I notice. So we were looking at photos & listening to stories, and at one point my father got quite passionately angry about what one woman from their group would do, because it reminded him of how his mother treated him. And I sat there, somewhat flabbergasted, thinking, if he found that so traumatising, why did he put me through the same shit?! And then I surprised myself, because what I felt was pity. Now granted, this perhaps isn't the most appropriate emotion towards one's parent, but I couldn't truthfully call it compassion or forgiveness (I'm not that good a person), and it's a step up from the usual rage I invariably feel guilty about later, whether I bite it back or lash out.

There's also a good deal of unwarranted arrogance in the thought that crossed my mind, that I at least would do my best not to repeat those patterns, making the same mistakes, spending my whole life blaming people or circumstances for everything that supposedly or actually went wrong. I will disentangle this and try to leave it behind.

Left when they decided to watch the football match, because my patience & family sense have limits. And I really couldn't care less who wins the championship.

{Got a gorgeous amber pendant, now I only need a shirt/dress to wear it with...}

Sunday, on my half-assed quest to visit at least some of the places that after living in this place for thirty-two years I still managed to avoid/miss/ignore, I biked to Mauer to see the Wotruba church; interesting, and as far as churches go (when I think of them as places of worship, rather than looking at them strictly with an art historian's eye), I liked it because its lack of hierarchical design.

Monday, too much pizza, strange, vivid dreams, in one of which Marilyn Manson made an appearance. My subconscious mind is a weird place...

Lime trees are still flowering... so much scent.


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March 2013

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