All the leaves are brown.

And the sky is gray-

Stormy weather…

Anyway,

Went for a walk on the island yesterday.

We have several of them here in the Rhine.

For some of them, there are bridges,

for one there is an absolutely magical little ferry called the Tamara,

for another, a LONG circular staircase you have to carry your bike down,

which starts in the middle of the main bridge between Hessen and the Rheinland Palatinate.

One or two other islands are private farms-

rights dating back to about 1400.

But the majority, including the biggest,

the Rhine Knee peninsula,

where Charlemagne one camped,

and banqueted,

all winter,

are public access.

Always with a walking path,

or a dog path,

people allowed,

or even a small car park and barbecue pits.

Almost every square inch here in Gutenberg land is used.

I have even heard, quite often, from the locals,

that Americans’ houses are far too large,

for the few people in the family.

(they have normally only seen pictures in magazines or on the tv of the rich and famous)

And it’s because the German building plan,

and city zoning,

are totally different than ours…

Even today, the houses are built vertically, not horizontally.

A street frontage of a few feet is the norm.

And attached on both sides to other houses.

It has its advantages.

Warmer in winter,

less road repair,

better access to public transport,

And a ridiculously low property tax per year.

Plus a small tax to put in a common (one) street light.

At night, the second,

or in some cases, third,

floor living room windows light the street.

And the windows are bigger now, since they invented double-glazing.

A vast improvement over the days when everyone here had tiny windows to fop the tax man,

because each window was a luxury- with  a high tax according to size.

In the old part of the city, along the main street, behind the cathedral,

the houses are small,

with small windows,

but four stories,

and grow together at the top.

In a few places, you would have no trouble going from one maid’s room to another across the street without leaving the house.

Many houses still have the hook and pully system,

left over from the days when the servants pulled the  shopping up into the livingroom, if they weren’t strong enough to carry it.

Monday is the day Gutenberg land does brewing.

You can always tell, since the entire town smells of carrots.

And the day that the farmers and butchers slaughter.

You can tell by the signs in the butchers’ saying “fresh liver, wurst soup Tuesday. Order now.”

Wurst soup is the water they cook the hotdogs and luncheon meat in here.

It contains all the leftover bits.

A bit like coarsely ground hotdog filling floating in it.

And is so highly prized it is served at the first fall meeting of a lot of choirs over here.

And the conductor gets the second prized bowl of it.

Right after the pastor.

Unless the church organist comes,

and the organist isn’t the choir conductor.

At which point, the conductor becomes third.

(Followed by the school teacher, who in the old days WAS the organist)

For which the conductor is expected to conduct choirs at funerals,

and walk behind the pastor as they take the coffin to the the cemetary.

As I learned when I was shoved,

HARD,

into line,

with a sotto voce stage-whispered,

stay right behind the pastor,

at the first funeral of a “choir brother” I conducted.

In a scene, not to be disrespectful, right out of Verdi.

(All the choir brothers in colored jackets with a patch on the pocket with lyre and motto,

As the anglers, of which he also was a member,  stood spalier in anglers’ hats, raised fishing rods and wading boots. And I’m not kidding on this one.)

It took some doing at first, but over the years I have learned ways to keep out of the line of fire.

On wurst night, for example, I usually arrange an appointment I simply (really) can’t get out of,

since it just doesn’t do,

in some choirs,

to be a vegetarian.

(I’m telling you this since I don’t have a “wurst choir” or glee club at the moment)

Although I did hear a funny story from one of the members of one I conducted once,

about how one of the traditional choirs,

which met on Friday,

and thus also met on Good Friday,

ordered the traditional schnitzel at the weekly after-party,

and was admonished by the pastor.

At which point the president of the club rose,

and intoned,

“this pig ate fish this week”

Why didn’t I study to be an English teacher, like my dad wanted?

copyright Dunnasead.co 2015

For a long time, there was a t.v. program over here

in which candidates try to stump a chef by bringing a shopping bag of groceries,

all for under about twenty dollars,

and watch two star chefs tear their hair out

trying to turn a bag of chocolate bars, turnips, and mock turtle soup,

into a three course meal fit for the Savoy,

or the Michelin or Cordon Blue judges.

In twenty minutes, no less.

And, since I like creative anything,

I was always thrilled at what they did.

But a bigger thrill was, of course,

when someone brought in a set meal.

Trout muellerin with fancy new potatoes and fresh peas,

And the chef turned it into:

Potatoe and pea lasagne,

with a fresh green salad,

and a cheese-trout desert cake,

frosted,

topped with fancy ornaments,

and a small carrot carved into a fish,

tail through eye like in Alice in Wonderland.

Or some such thing.

And the sheer audacity of breaking with convention,

and creating something so memorable wierd,

that still manages, somehow or another,

to look like a special section in a Sunday photo spread,

taste elegant and welcoming,

or so say the candidates and audience,

and cost less than ten dollars per person,

is so amazing to me,

I’ve been thinking for quite a while about creating the same thing in other fields.

Like:

Shoes you can unroll, zip together, and wear on your head like an umbrella,

if you don’t mind walking barefoot,

and would prefer wet feet to wet clothes, hair, and body.

Feet can be dried under a restroom dryer,

but clothes, hair, skin, eyelashes,

even eyeballs, if you live in the midwest…

And what about those tent-thingies you are supposed to sleep in

when hubby decides you are all going camping and you don’t want to drag a trailer.

Instead, you could buy, hopefully somewhere, some day,

one of those expansion jack sets they use to lift houses above the flood level.

One room plus bath should do.

Two if you have kids.

Mounted on top of which is one of those plastic springy air-filled blow-up castle things kids jump on at fairs,

inflatable with a pump from the car.

the sewage line goes into a recyclable plastic thing you fold up and take away and empty when you stop somewhere with public restrooms.

run a line for an electric heater into the storage battery built into the base,

here a fake fireplace would be nice,

depending on the size of the car trunk.

And, of course, depending on how close you are to a stream,

you could add a small pool indentation on the outside of the castle,

for swimming, or bathing the next morning.

(soap outside the pool, like the Japanese, and you only recycle a small amount.)

For drinking water, the water purification tablets and container don’t take much room.

(with a plastic sheet and a little rain, you don’t even need them)

Cooking can be done by solar,

or over the heating.

Or eat joghurt and muesli for a while,

and look good while bathing in your pool.

Then, there is the question of entertainment.

You could, of course, do something novel,

(sorry about the pun)

and read.

Or, you could always take along a few musical instruments.

Depending on how good you are, make sure you are FAR from the next campers.

Or you could tell stories…

About people who are being chased by hoards of man-eating mutant soybean plants,

angry that we are eating so much soy joghurt,

or people who go camping in the woods,

and are eaten by a hoard of hungry bears…

Or….

you could leave the kids with his mom,

And go someplace like a small, cheap but romantic weekend bed and breakfast,

in the area of a nice big city,

with lots of nice museums, free concerts, healthy restaurants.

Are you reading this, dear?

copyright Dunnasead.co 2015