An old typewriter, for decorations sake, and a sewing machine make up the picture.

New years Eve A dim dim awareness. It is the early morning at the years end. The last awakening in two thousand and fifteen, the beginning of the end of the year.
The son is up, playing with his computer, as far as is to be recognised, alone.
The cat appears to have disappeared again. Presumably it will be back made an hour, needing food and warmth. and now, make breakfast again. coffee only, coffee made of black Arabica beans. The day starts with that, it is important.
 The orchid is still doing well in the low bathroom light, in that slight dampness of the air, typical of such a place. Wear yesterdays trousers, they are good for today, and may last for the rest of this year. An empty wine bottle decorates the table, along with a nearly empty bottle of Top star cola and, a battle of table water. All are left over from the night before, trivia vat worth tidying, trivia for the next day. The yellow roses taught before Christmas., a small pleasure for the wife, are at their place on the piano. Now They are witted, and waiting to be disposed of before the years end. The curious furniture in the main room, the table, the small table, the card player's table, the two pianos, the hundred year old secretary's box, with its big flap and all of its little compartments inside.
There is a couch and a television in the one corner, and a wood stove in the other. A small round table beside the couch and seven chairs.

An old typewriter, for decorations sake, and a sewing machine make up the picture. It is not an old room, it is a very old room. Early nineteenth century, and all is well.
A room that has grown for a long time, the house was standing here in the seventeenth century a.d. and has crooked doors and bent walls. The middle of the last century windows have been replaced with older and better ones. The floor boards are bare and smooth.

It is a room owned by people who have a love for old things. and this is the way in which the year goes to an end.

So far, the highlight of the day.

30 January 2015
Recover from the dazed dregs of sleep slowly, after having identified the beeping noise in the dawn as the bedside clock. Sit up, and the cat is at the end of the bed. Pat the pet's head, and listen to her purring start. She fawns for attention, rubbing her head against the hand that will feed shortly. Brush the teeth and brush the hair These days at the end of the yea rare colder, now that the weather has finally turned seasonal. It has been the warmest December on record. The mobile phone informs of a wedding celebration in Ireland that will need to be attended to. The daughter at an old friend, a family long known, all friends. Where the money is to come from for the long journey, nobody knows yet, but I shall see.The cat, fed now, has it's face in the dish, the mobile telephone has been replaced in the inside pocket. It is time to go; yet on leaving the house, notice that there is one more thing to do. It is the day on which the yellow bags are to be collected. The neighbours bags are out on the pavement, and the others are still inside, back at the end of the yard in the dark. Back into the house, down the corridor and out into the yard. Collect those yellow bags and place them as neatly as time will allow alongside the others in the alley. Awaiting collection, later on on this early wednesday morning. There are more people than usual out on the streets today,maybe ten all together. It is time for the end of year sales, fireworks for new year, and so the shop people are at their business a few minutes earlier than usual. The discount bakery shop women gives am loud 'good morning". The street is full of yellow bags, awaiting collection.Some were burst open in the night, this must have been animals at work. There should be only plastic packaging waste inside these bags, but sometimes there is also something edible.The bus moves in, there is no waiting time. Walk on past the bus stop and step on board. The driver gets his counted money, and parts with a small paper ticket.
Read the CNN news that yet another hopeful has given up on the way to American presidency. Given up in the face of a pretentious clown!
DT-that is the same as the delirium tremens that other customer ahead is suffer­ing from as he garrulously attempts conversation with the Indian gentleman.
The only reply-a curt 'next please'.
So far, the highlight of the day.

fresh out of Passau

29th of December, 2015
check the clock, it is three fifty four. If this is sleep, it is awful Unrest fat doze, a sad imitation of relaxation. The nose is blocked takes half an hour to clear. Then breathing works again.One long hour, and it is time to get up and go.
Wash and shower,the warm water drives away the tiredness. For a while, on the return the cat is there, excited, it seems to want head scratching. The little animal fusses about, it is happy that the night is over too. Gather up the jacket, and the Barbour coat, waxen smell of waterproofing; and it is to early yet for leaving.
Wait, sitting in an old office chair in front of the old school clock. A three quarter second precision pendulum electrically wound wall clock in an oaken case.The cat leaves the room via its own little cat flap, out into the cold attane balcony, to its cat tray, that is the way.Upon leaving the house the nostrils are assailed by an unpleasant smell, the stale tobacco smell emanating from the man who passed just before the door was opened He staggers on up the alley, may be on his way home early on a Tuesday morning.The discount baker is cleaning up his shop ready for the days days business, and an orange-attired bin man is going about his bin business keep the town clean.
Bus comes, different driver, and no radio. No seventies pop to make people wish that they had stayed in bed. Just a few passengers on their way early in this time between Christmas and new year. The Indian qentleman at the cafes, he does his job, but never a smile, perhaps he does not like his customers, may be he is not an early riser. He takes money and gives freshly made coffee in return.
And after leaving the deserted cafe, deserted due to the temporal interstice already mentioned, walk down the dank fluourescent tube lit undertrack railway passages, and on to the train which has come to rest far down the platform.

In a sudden mind change, wait. Wait for the second half of the train to arrive, and board it as it arrives fresh out of Passau

Monday

28th of December, 20.15
It is dark, and Hypnosis out of work, or else he is not doing his job right. Look at the ceiling, it has vanished in the dark. There is the sound of breathing from the other half of the bed, suppressed.The sound of a person being silent, not the sound of relaxed  muscles allowing air to pass to help the body ticking over. And the mind is in a knot, not unravelling the days business to dreams and nightmares. It is revelling in vile thoughts making knots where non knots should be. The horror of felt sleeplessness. After some time of this the Alarm sounds. That meanwhile unfamiliar beeping sound. Silence that! Arise and let the old script run; get up, find pants find socks, shirt,go to bathroom, showered the night before! good morning old World. Piddle, comb the fright in the mirror, the hair is up every way. showered The night before, hair is up every way. The cat awakens, turns on it's purr, puts its head,then it's back, against the legs. It wants attention not so much feeding. Feed it anyhow! It pays polite attention The young cat wants out into what is still night  to enjoy life, to see what the action is.What is? Whats up? who's who? Who is doing what.And wait.And check all the baggages, the ticket, the wallet. The mind. See that it is time, Down the stairs, out into church alley, and so-see that the neighbour in his new house has left his light on in his basement. There is a man in front of the jewellers, on the main street, in sports clothing. He is standing at the corner. In front of the discount cafe, the manager and his mate are smoking too.
The impeccably dressed bus driver takes his money and the given good morning with it. He gives change, and the bus waits at the stop, until it is time to more. The drivers radio is so clearly to be heard.
"staring at the ceiling, wishing I was somewhere else"
"One of us is lying.."-.-. -..
ABBA wisdom.


Yorma's cafe, the glow-in-the dark reality of railway life, if you like to call it that. A young man with a darker skin colouring, creamed black hair and a moustache, is serving at the main counter. He is of slight build, perhaps of Indian descent. His german is perfect. And he is losing his temper, he is alone and the customer's are approaching from all sides simultaneously. ¿Stress! He snaps at one woman, dared to call from a counter at the other side of the cafe. Everyone waits, is friendly now. He has screwed up, just a bit. And even though the situation is understandable, and everyone sees and understands, the poor man has lost the admiration he might otherwise have earned himself.

That is, until they slip back into place, the swelling reduced.

27th of December, 2015
Wake, go and visit the orchid in the window, and return to select a shirt. There are many shirts available now, having been sick for six weeks almost has reduced the quantity of shirts needed for the daily work and has increased the quantity of the same in the wardrobe.Today it was planned to go to the place opposite the old people's home to get a typical local breakfast..A pale sausage and a brezel, a pretzel. A salty bread roll consisting mainly of crust due to the cunning way it is formed, two bows crossing each other making up a shape that could be taken for a bow tie.
 But proceed, proceed.
 Continue now. Empty the coffee machine, make a cup. Carry on, take up This book, say good morning to the wife and to the son,she at her paper and him at his computer. He is chatting away to a friend,,.They both start singing 'what shall we do with the drunken sailor". That song is popular among primary school classes learning English in Germany. It has been popular for the last forty years.



and the ear whistling tinnitus, that is mutating to a whistle in the right hand ear is joined by vile backache, that will make walking painful after having sat on a chair for a while. Any time,this would reduce a person to a three legged being, holding a stick in hand to prop and support the slipped discs at every step.That is, until they slip back into place, the swelling reduced.

And really, winter has just begun.

26 December 2015

Boxing day, a day to put Things into boxes. A year. on since the last boxing day, and a year to go until the next. It is the second day of Christmas, five days before the end of the calendar year.age makes itself felt, not only in the passing of time, but in the inability of the mind and body to cope with changes. That stead;closing down at functions that worked well in youth, and do not function at all well any more. But, but what? 

WHAT.

So what!get up too late to make sense of the day, there is too much inertia to combat. take a cup of coffee for breakfast, that is a start to the day, there are things to be done in the house.Things."yes, what bird of things?"A psychologists question, the man is double-checking, make sure that you are not having him on. He does not care, he is just trying to avoid making a wrong decision. Little Christmas trees, no singular. The little evergreen shrub in the corner of the room, in obeisance to custom. Boxing day, the quiet family German Christmas,No visiting, no meeting anybody, no going for drinks on Christmas day.There is no snow either, it is not even cold. These temperatures are strange for this time of year, it is as if Spring was already here.And really, winter has just begun.

25 December 2015, a day that starts in a fit

25 December 2015,
a day that starts in a fit, early light from the window, as almost every day now. This is better than no light from the window at all. Now the winter solstice has passed, and good riddance. It will be back, when the days start to shorten again in June sometime.
The son is up, playing with the things he had been given for Christmas. He is still trying to make his computer work for himself, an agglomeration of electronic parts. Doing everything at once, playing with the cat, playing the piano,working away at his computers.
One of the cat's eyes has a fully distended pupil today.The eye is almost entirely black, its iris wide open. Still,it appears to be able to see well and appears to be suffer­ing no discomfort. It is resting on the small round piano stool, with the same attitude as a tiger, in a tree. The cat is just smaller, a tawny well-fed animal.
So this is Christmas, and a twenty-four inch christm­as shrub, a plant that will have a chance of surviving, as opposed to one that has been harvested as a decoration for a week Perhaps that tree will,-or that shrub will, be at the same place next year, just a little bit larger.
There is a deep silence over the town today, now that the church bells have stopped. Christmas is a private celebration here, all people are in their homes, indulging in reflection and reminiscence on the past twelve months.

slim hope

24 December 2015 lazy day Christmas eve There is no reason to even get out of bed today and then the postman rings the doorbell. git a strange look from the man with the yellow truck, because of bare feet and sloppy sleeping clothes. But the packet changes hands any way, it does not even need to be signed for. Back up the stairs again, it is a packet for the wife.
The cat in confusion, should it come or should it go. It opts for the warmth of the flat. And return to bed, no shame. Lazy and tired. Awaken to the sound of the son and his friends singing songs to each other over Skype as they play Mine craft. They are both in the choir, and religious songs are part of this season of sentimentality. Wrong! Why, they even sang Jingle Bells, and that is not religious. A sentimental song expressing a longing for a world of innocence and good. It may be innocent enough, but since when does innocence preclude evil? Only in the minds of the overly sentimental The son leaves the house to go to the shops. Last minute Christmas shopping he says. He needs a present for the cat. Hey! What about his father? Christmas egoism!
 And let us hope that no mad men try  putting the fear of their god in the hearts of all men this year, or any other year.

slim hope

and a notebook on the day before christmas Eve

23 December 2015
The last week of this year starting soon. The mornings turmoil with the son eating his breakfast and practicing his song text at the same time. There is to be a church service to mark christmas and the end of the Year in The big Jodoks church later today. And he is happy to be in the choir, he likes dancing too.Song and dance are important, a most important part of life. So are eating and drinking It is just hard to these things all at the same time. Bathroom, brush the teeth. The orchid bought two days ago seems to be doing well, a space in the bathroom window, a filled by it. Orchids are strange plants, pretty parasites growing on dead wood. They are plants that grow in the forest, their intense colours artificial in the shade of the trees. Let us see if this one will grow in the bathroom. It is a white one.
The son off to school, the last day this term. after the christmas holidays things will continue to get tougher there . It is better to have tried, than not to have tried. The wife is back to bed, a luxury, her luxury. The kitchen has been tidied, the coffee made, these things have been done. Her umbrage at the state of the sons room, the mess with the items in use not being put away after this use, are reflected in the daily state of the kitchen, the utensils and ingredients, spices and cutlery lying there were they had last been used. It is done quickly, tidying a bit, sweeping surface.
Sit there with a cup of coffee and a notebook on the day before christmas Eve. 

solstice

22. 12 • 201 5 The longest night of the year is over with, dawn light, and listen to the apparatus beside the bed react to every breath taken. The longest night ends in a dim grey daybreak two days before christmas eve, with the coldest months of the year still ahead. But at least they will be brighter.
The son is up, gathering his items for school, with only one sock on and no shoes. shortly afterwards, now wearing both shoes, and socks as well, he is having his breakfast at the living room table. Making the coffee, and clearing the worktop in the kitchen at the same time, removing all the sticky cutlery over to the sink, replacing spices and salt in their shelf, giving the surface a wipe. Finally have the coffee ground, the machine filled and put on the gas. In the bathroom, there are strange noises coming out of the drains, the workmen are clearing the towns sewers again using pressure or something. A gurgling noise, then a pulsating throb.
The son complains that they have only had two days. to learn four songs for the ecumenical end of year church service He lovwa the choir, but it involves duties as well as pleasures. Four songs for Christmas and now it is half past eight, a third cup of brew is being thought of, there are things to betaken to the post office, there are a great many things to be thought of. The first thing is, as every day now, to get these notes completed, this daily exercise in handwriting, OCR, and publication after correction and revision. 

Let us hope that it remains so.

21.12 2015
A night like a cloak, covering the conscious mind in the late evening and opening it again to the morning day,and the sounds of the wife and the son, him getting ready for school in the morning, breakfast in, shoes on, schoolbags together for the things that need to be done one week before Christmas.get up and wash, then telephone the doctor's practice He has closed for Christmas, so the samples will need to rest for five days.
 Weigh the EBay package on the old kitchen scales, an inaccurate contrivance, a cheap machine with a worn-out spring. It claims that the package is less than two kilos, but is that to be believed?Clean up the kitchen, start the dishwasher, put on the coffee pot. small routines, things to be done at home during sick leave. That sick leave will be past soon, then there will be the return to work, a return to those unpleasant daily items that need to be done to ensure a living...and on the other side of the street, the neighbours are putting up their Christmas decorations, the children have gone to school, The day takes it's regular course.sit in the setting room, and write these notes. It is four days to Christmas, a season of Joy for aluminium, no: all men..Let us hope that it remains so.

Both active at daybreak.

A night of poor sleep, this Saurday night leading to a Sunday morning. The tossing and turning has it's end as finally the cat jumps onto the piano keyboard and plays a catwalk there.
It does that to gain attention, and it succeeds.  The piano lid is now closed, and the cat has been feed, that is, it has recieved the attention it so desired.
Lie down on the couch for a few minutes and then go back to bed, putting on the green brace on the way there. Thus the hand may stop hurting. It will be a while longer yet with this contrivance, the hand is swollen.
One hour later, at twenty two past seven, get up again and take the pen and the notebook to the sitting room. There are strange sounds coming from behind the closed door to the sons room, he must be awake.
He is awake, and has all of his computers running. A massive ancient laptop with an amber screen has been repaired, and he is playing some period game on it. A computer that must be about thirty five years old now, still giving pleasure. No Internet, no advanced protocols, nothing. Just a few matchstick men on a flickery amber screen simulating daily life.

The  neighbours on the other side of the road are awake too, perhaps they have planned to go away today on a family outing, The idea of that is a pleasant one.

And then there is a tinkling noise in the sons room.
One of his friends is online, they exchange their good mornings, and continue at the point they had left of on the day before.

Both active at daybreak.

and another cup of the old coffee.

19 12 2015
Saturday, sleep, sleep long, sleep deep. By the time the little breakfast is made it is three minutes to ten-This is as if half of the day had been spent in bed. still, there is peace in the atmosphere, peace in the way things are to be approached. The Mailman came early with a parcel for the son's Christmas. A book from Amazon on computers.
Wednesday demonstrated the ease with which such communications can be cut, Wednesday with its power failure . Nothing worked at all, even mobile phones were impaired in their serviceability. People wandering around in the darkness, no streetlights to show the way, emergency lighting in the big stores and candles in the small ones. And the town was silent, for whatever reason. Just the sound of people talking and walking, footsteps in the dark. A glass of water in a coffee bar, a bottle of beer. All else is subject to the availability of electricity. The hiss in the ear is here, on the right hand's side, a steady noise, sounding now for the last three years. A steady noise, sometimes to be ignored, always present.
And still sitting at the table drinking the coffee as the son comes out. He has been playing with his friends all morning, they are in his room via computer. Their playrooms are many miles apart, but they share the same experience simultaneously. These are the modern times and we have no real concept as to what the future will bring. And now it is time for the days work, and another cup of the old coffee.

ability, the cat's second nature.

Dec. 18, 2015
Morning turmoil, the cat calls from the foot of the bed,sit up, stroke it's head. The mask caused suffering in the night, dry air for now-inflamed nostrils. The cat willvnot cease purring, she seems agitated. Oh well, femalevfeline agitation.Take off the brace, leave for the bathroom. I n the dim light in the corridor a small dark thing is visible on the floor. Turn on the light to see that the floor is covered in feathers. The dark thing is the body of a small bird.This explains the cat's excitement. Sorry for the death of the small bird, clean up the feathers and dispose of the still-warm corpse. This is a thing that cat's do, and there is nothing to be done about it. Neither cats nor birds can be permanently caged.
A day like any other day, make coffee and somebreakfast. The son is marvelling at the cats' ability, the cat's second nature.

He is in school now. 

one who cannot cope with this much longer.

Decanter 17,2015
the sons concert last night, rather the big school concert, along with the city-wide power outage yesterday, the necessity of going out to eat, confusion: last night was difficult, sleep destroyed and early wakening impossible. The son is off to school, early and fast. His father is still three quarters asleep. And when he has gone to sleep, falls back to sleep completely.An interlude of dreams. get up make coffee, prepare this notebook for the day. The lack of routine has left a lack of time for this work. As one thing will lead to the next., a cascade that leads to an ended day.get up, `n fed the cat, drink coffee, put the books in place, read the messages, make up a cup for the wife. Feed the cat another bit •
And prepare the sample's for the doctor's laboratory, today, tomorrow and the day thereafter. Discreet little envelopes, with discreet little cutouts for those evil little smelly samples that will show blood in the bowels, a situation requiring attention if found. So it is with tests, and the unsavoury exami­nation of the body's waste products.
And now that the son's grandparents have been and gone, the sitting room is reverting to it's habitual order, shoes lying about, stickily empty cups of coffee on the table, school books lying around in disorder, or on the floor, some on the table, disorder, disorder.A scream of frustration from one who cannot cope with this much longer.

Making a poor example.

Wed, 16th of December, 2015
 listen, eyes closed, as the wife and the son go about their morning" getting ready for school" routine. sounds of constant driving / pressure, it is time for him to do all at this, of his own accord, of his own volition. The wooden cross between the window panes, actually two crosses behind each other on account of double windows, clearly outlined before the morning light falling into the room And when it is freed by the son, go to the bathroom enjoy a wash with the warm water supplied by the central heating. Remember the times when all water from taps was generally cold, and the taps froze up in winter Those times are gone for now, but they could come back sooner  than expected. Put on the day's clothing and make up a little breakfast, bread and tomato, cheese and coffee. And now the eyes are heavy again, feel the concentration lapse,  vision is losing focus. This is a moment when the body feels it should be doing nothing, relax and gather strength. The mind sets this differently, is contemptuous  of the body's messages  of languor, and withdraws its support for such unseemly wishes. In a fit of Germanic work ethic this day's work is done, for good or for bad. Because, you mest understand this!, it needs to be done, it is a self imposed duty, a need to get the day moving, so here it is!. This is it. The fit passes, the cat comes in and jumps onto the window sill, looks out at the activity in the alley.
Purra !. Swallow pill for the day, and read the news. See that people seem to believe that their opponents will stop misbehaving if they commence misbehaving themselves.
Making a poor example.

it is just not that kind of a day

The arm brace and the drink taken last night caused the strangest nightmares, strange and now elusive, as dreams are. The wife's alarm dock awakens, but does not wake her A nasty hissing noise, like that of an untuned radio. It is in fact an untuned radio, built into that alarm clock. In fact a' Radiowecker". These started to be popular in Germany at about the same time as the "teas made" devices in England. The one delivered music, or hissing noises and the other  PG--Tipps or some such drink. Son is up, getting ready for school. Arguing about school books and shoelaces, and then he is gone, off on his short journey to school, a pleasant walk in the morning. And so exchange a few words, and then make the mornings coffee, and think about the things that need to be done during the rest of the day.  Last night's entertainment leave a heavy head today, a sore head. And the men at the road works down the street with their machines beating down the sand that they had filled into the holes dug last week to a well- compacted mass, ready to take up the asphalt covering planned, these men are doing their part to dist­urb the morning, Somehow, the living room is a mess again. This is turning obsessive, why? There are not many items there, but they are in disorder And there are no real thoughts here to be collected,  it is just not that kind of a day. Hear the neighbours children, too young for school, complain as their parents pack them into the back seat of their black car. 

Arrive early, write the daily blog.

The controller for that mask says six hours and forty-five minutes sleep. It was sound, quality type, sleep. The kind that absorbs its dreams and calms its nightmares.
There is no recollection of any dream, but there was a dream-"I have a dream". Quoted, sounds good. The only dreams remembered here are the recurring nightmares. The three aggressive nuns of childhood, in concert with the fathers Three Nuns pipe tobacco "Memory Memories, go thee hence. That was more than half a century ago, now gone.

Old car horn alarm sounds from the mobile phone, disgust and umbrage from the wife, a horrible sound. Better than a marimba, good for chasing Hypnos.and get up, make coffee still wearing the sleeping clothes, in the kitchen under the glaring lights. The little container for the coffee grounds is not empty; it is over filled.
So take it out to the altane balcony, and empty it into the big bucket there. The morning is warm, strange for the middle of December. Back, to the voice and bustle of the wife and the son, make the coffee. The coffee and computer at the table, look, see the news. German politics there, no spectacular occurrences, disasters, or anything else for that matter. Not yet, today. Go for a shower as soon as the son is under way, wash off yesterdays grime and the night's sleep. And get fresh day clothes on, so that the mornings jobs may be done.
The coffee is finished, leave the house. Go to the post office,and hand in yet another package, due to go to Augsburg. Walk on up the hill, past the clothes shops, past the old gaol. and on to the hand therapeutic session.
Arrive early, write the daily blog.

That is work, a space of no structure and other's dreams.

13 Dec 2015
 One quarter of an hour after daybreak, subdued grey light coming in through the window by the bed. And that is the crepuscular beginning of another day, the details of the dreams, they are now forgotten, despite the wish to remember them. They are gone again, It was a dream involving the father, now deceased. And this construct of the mind has now receded into the jumble of the mind, grey structures. colour free, stacks of lightness dimming on their way to homogeneity.

 The son is up, singing one of his choir songs, listening to stories on his computer, make up the breakfast, clean up- It is Sunday, a day to be spent collecting a piece of furniture. An item of some beauty and great practical use. Hopefully.
 At least the weather is good, no rain.
Sunday bells to be heard, and there is no cat food to be found. so what, the cat is to go on a diet. The hand is recovering slowly, the smiling wound has healed to a tight lipped livid grin , leaving a skin covering quantity of bumps, a stiff little finger. 
It will be time to return to work, these six weeks at recovery will soon be over.

 Small cheeses and no plan. That is work, a space of no structure and ether's dreams. 

something yellow and red in stripes

12 December 2015

saturday morning.

Trying to remember the dreams that seemed so curious, and are now forgotten. That seems to be the way of dreams. sorting rubbish, a kind of mental reset.

The dreams involved something that fall down, a striped long object, red and yellow. It was important, unforgettably so, during the time between slumber and awakening.

Take of the mask that covers the nose all night, take off the brace that relieves the tendons in the fingers from nocturnal cramps and suchlike. And then the first journey is to the bathroom, to da loo, change into day clothes after, make coffee whilst tidying that kitchen.And when the coffee' is made, the kitchen tidied, the dishwasher filled, emptied all done.
Drink and blog.The son is learning things about html and cascading style sheets. Times were when children would learn about superheroes and motor cars
"these are a few of my favourite things".
Now the thing's are different, english homework, maths.

The cat jumps from the piano, the reddish yellow cat fell to the floor, landing, as cats do; on all fours.something yellow and red in stripes, dropped, and stalked off into the kitchen.

OK.

peaceful weekday in a residential town.

11 December 2015
Relax, there is no work today
Relax,
No.
go to the bathroom, take a shower. The son has destroyed the suspension of the shower doors by closing them too firmly. Well, not entirely destroyed. It has just jammed, and some jiggling to and fro loosens it again.
enjoy water, and wash the hair.
When clothed make coffee in the kitchen. The son has Long gone to school, to his maths and latin, german and computer science. A busy day, for him.
Sit in the sitting room, with the old furniture, the youngest fifty years old, and the oldest from Limerick, from the eighteenth century, a piano, that will need restoring yet again.
The room was tidied and cleaned yesterday, no big deal, just a thing that needed doing.

The luxury of it! A cup of coffee in a room where
every chair, table and whatever could tell the
story of past owners • The house itself could tell the story of pre-columbian goldsmiths, master masons (by appointment to the local majesty, of wine merchants and town officials, of furniture makers and interior decorators.
Whatever and everything that the last five hundred years have to offer. To be read by archeologists now, those who unread the language of stones, wood and mortar.And today is quiet, a peaceful weekday in a residential town.

There is little to say in this world

10 December 2015

Alarms, the young son likes to use a mobile telephone instead of an alarm clock. Hear the hum of the vibrating ring tone and hear him climbing out of his bed. The morning's fuss and bother begins As it is realised that the cat has disappeared. It seems not to be in the flat. This is strange. The animal is normally very keen on it's food, it Is unusual for it to not be present in the morning. Let us hope that it turns up soon. The son is at school, so settle down, make the coffee, and find this notebook and the pen. 

Look out of the window at the life in the alley. There are workmen opposite putting finishing touches to the newly renovated house opposite. A tiny orange truck with a flashing beacon on its roof is stopped at the corner of the street, with two men in orange attire accompanying it.

These must be municipal street cleaners at work: cleaning up the debris of last night, leaving the street's gutters of things left by passers-by on their way home. 

There is little to say, the sound of tinnitus almost drowning the noise from the street. A steady hiss, this has been going on for years. Sometimes not so bad, sometimes worse. Never unbearable, never gone. 

There is little to say in this world that revolves around convalescence. There are many things that can not and should not be done, and the situation after such an accident,such a tiny mishap, is strange. Injuries to the body can take a very long time to heal .In the end, we simply need to get used to a changed situation.

so that their whites are to be seen on either side of the cats-eye pupils

9 December 2016

dimly register that the son has gone to school. Latin today, all the best. Stupld film last night leaves the body tired in the morning. Always find some justification ifor the day's disasters.

Take off the green brace that has kept the hand claw-like all night, take off the white sock padding the arm, this absorbing the perspiration from the skin. Go for a shower, and a shave, better than scratching, get a charge

of underwear.

Replace the brace, over a fresh sock, washed the day before and now drying on the heater. comfortable feeling of fresh cloth on the bare skin of the lower arm. Untill it has

soaked ap enough perspiration, untill it is no longer as comfortable.

Grind coffee beans, Load up the empty machine with the pulverised Lavazza hears, pure Arabica. Two coffee types, Arabica and Robusta. Of the two, Arabica is supposed to be the better, but there are no clear reasons given. Maybe just a matter of taste what else could it he?

And when the machine is finished, deliver one cup to the wife, and drink a small cup too. Have a playful fight with the cat, she rolls on to her back and presents her Tummy for a scratch. She holds the human hand with retracted claws, and her eyes wider with concentration, so that their whites are to be seen on either side of the cats-eye pupils.and then put on the shoes, the jacket and gather the packet prepared last night. The item was sold, but sold at a price too low. somebody in Berlin

made a good deal, so it goes. There is a yellow van parked outside, the neighbours are moving house.

All inspiration dead.

8 December, 2015

Mask pinches the nose, a sore pain under the right nostril. Remove the contrivance of straps and

rubber seals from the face, where it has been for the last seven hours ensuring a steady flow of slightly pressurised air. Put it away. in it's place on the old dumbwaiter beside the bed.

Think and listen.

Thinking does not function yet. It is morning, and the son has risen and gathered his school things. Listen

to the routine of packing books and checking clothing, of eating a small breakfast and of running down the stairs. All sounds in the background, known things reporting for analysis to a slowly emerging consciousness.

A bootstrap situation: given an awareness rising from the unconscious, parameters need to be found and classified to serve as a basis for building the remainder of the day. If the system is given nothing to do, it will sit in it's corner of the world and hum to itself. Input, influence.

is needed from outside, a programme, a request. If nothing is given to build upon, then the system will just tick over, discarding all input as meaningless, a steadily increasing entropy leaving all surroundings grey and colourless, then monotone grey and shapeless, and allows it all to fade towards a monotone blackness of no contour or visible shape, no tactile sensation, no awareness but of the utilitarian background hum. 

All inspiration dead.

it will trickle on until evening

Awaken to the dim light , the grey light, the light outlining the bedroom window. The white paint on the wooden frame, the view of the glass enclosing the balcony on the other side of the yard.

Wonder: Why is it so bright outside, and there is the son's voice already exclaiming that he has overslept. Hear the sound of morning hurry, quiet, concentrated, unusual. The son is in stress now, and he does not dawdle today as he usually does. 

Because it is monday, find a pair of clean fresh trousers in the wardrobe after a short search. Put these and a fresh pair of underpants onto the mostly still sleeping body,

resolve to make a morning coffee to start the day. As the coffee grinds in the noisy little machine the son leaves on his mad rush to school, to be on time for his first lesson. It is early, he will make it, school will not be the worse or the better for it.

In a fit of feline zeal the cat Miriam is trying to recover something from underneath the refrigerator. She is lying on her side trying to reach whatever the item is with her front paws. At times she almost seems to be standing on her head in her attempts to bring her eyes into close proximity with the floor in order to see under the refrigerator.

In time, she gives this sport up

And as the coffee is made, a of slice of bread buttered, this text begun, the day has commenced its run. And things being the way that they are, it will trickle on until evening, with only half at the things planned finally done.

Resolve to do the bit of office work due before the day goes further, listen to the peace and quiet, the ticking of docks marking the passage of time.

The lack of mice is hard for the cat, but good for people.

Dec 6.

awake in an inner darkness, to the sound of the son excite by-. His choir concert is on today, he has his white shirt on already. Full of life and excitement, as young logs should be. Hear him say that he has made breakfast coffee already, and hear a voice in this darkness say that this is fantastic. His fathers voice.

This cup to start the day. Then go up the stairs to the workroom and find the Nikolaus' day present for the wife. Two Santa claws hats, red with white tassels, one to hold the wife's present, and one to hold that of the son.

Put a hat over the present, leave it on the table. And put a hat over the other present.

Son comes out, takes up both hats, and scatters

the presents. 

Says oh! I and he bring' s the wife her thing, a sport's watch, for the woman who has everything and

an old mobile telephone for the son, better than the one he has, but a long way away from the most modern model. He is very happy, starts work at once, reprogramming.

Roll over, steve. That was not the way that it was planned. But so what, the functionality is the same.

The wife is back in bed, she is unwell. And the son makes his breakfast.

The cat goes into a sort of a hunter mode, ambushing passing legs, chasing

imaginary enemies. Hunting, satisfying it's instinct.

The lack of mice is hard for the cat, but good for people.

Now before the son's school concert, christmas music, tidy up things just a little. Write the blog, but this leads to nothing as constant  availability is required by the family at all times in the house. The peace to switch off the surroundings is not here.

And yet this is home, and it is more home than the majority of the world population have.

Taking time to read and write can not be justified anymore.

  Sat,Dec 5

        Awaken, grey zone where acuity should be. Fear of my own confrontation with other people's chores. The disastrous state of the flat, who is going to do this work? Who who who? Fee Fifo firm.

The son is up, a spread of schoolbooks covers every available space in the sitting room. Then he rushes off.

To choir practice. Choir is a good thing. He is gone, chaos remains.

The wife is in bed, sleeping longer. There is no structure to this day.

This is not working, what is wrong? There are so many things lying around, why are they there?  There is no space, no peace. The daily train journey is now missed, it was a time of isolation. That was pleasant. A time that was reserved for reading and writing, observing. This time is no more, with all the housework to be done.

Taking time to read and write can not be justified anymore.

The money to pay for household help is not available, there is no help for the wicked.

The son returns from choir, and complains that his books have not been found..

He is told that he must find them himself, now. Let him learn.

Confusion in the mind today, worse then on other days.

Thu 4 Dec

Stuck. There is no path to move on upon. A dense confusion of thought, of things that are to be done, of thing

need to be done, and of things that are wished for. All mixed up and crashed together, an unpenatralable mass. Thoughts and duties, without structure.

And so sit there in the morning, no idea of what to do.

There is no help for it.

The son is in school, the wife is back in bed, resting.. Things are not working as they should be.

        Start small, move thing's. Clear things up and tidy

them.

        Remove the dust from the window ledges. Tidy the kitchen, clean the surfaces.

        These are chores, they belong to life.

        These things are the small Things, either have someone do them for you.

        Or do them yourself.

        Let the eat in. She is attentive, with her legs a clockwork simile, body rigid, intently headed for her plate of food.

        This day is not a good day, even though the sky shows some blue..

        Confusion in the mind today, worse then on other days. 

Just a different way of life.

Thu 3 Dec

        Resolve to get up with the first sound of the first alarm. And do so, wash and dress before the family has moved. Some satisfaction.

        Read the news from san Bernardino. And remember that there are poets there, the same as painters in Paris. Think about the French man at the clay pigeon shoot years ago, using an American pump action shotgun when all of his colleagues used the more conventional double barrelled apparatus. He shot five times, they twice. There was only a single clay dise for them to destroy. He missed four times and shot down a pigeon every turn. Not a sporting weapon. Not available for private use here.

One must imagine that America's United States are defending the right to murder and that self defences and individual safety are secondary issues.

        Drink the morning coffee, cheese on toast. Butter melted, en the hot bread. Coffee strong and black, yellow light from the electric lamps; blue grey diffusion in the windows from the overcast shy.

        The son's untidiness, the wife's sewing machine. The sitting room cluttered, if it were bigger, or smaller, it would be the same.

        The son is at school, and he is happy to be there.

Take the little package out of the house, along the" pavements grey"dream of places. far away. The streets have many christmas stoppers, the post office is full of people sending parcels. stand in the queue, it moves forward slowly, five people in the office dealing with customers, handing out parcels, accepting registered mail, answering inquiries. And then- hand over the small packet, the item for EBay, where the postage is more Than the content is worth.

So what, as long as the customer is happy.

Wander on through the streets, down a narrow alley. Pass through an old archway, sixteenth century AD,, and turn tight. Go into the cafe, buy a roll, a cup of their good coffee. The young girl behind the till has difficulties, needs to call the manager, he is impatient, he taps in his password, fixes the problem. The young girl is almost in tears, the manager has been known for his bad temper.

But all is well, in the end.

sit down in a corner, and watch people at their coffee. A young Syrian couple, him dressed in an anorak, navy blue, with blue jeans, and she with her traditional headscarves and long coat with its hood, also in blue. They have a young daughter with them, or a son, in a red pocket. They come in, drink their coffee, and leave.

There is no news anymore at the shooting rampage in California. Shooting rampages in the USA are seen as a part of normality, like suicide bombings in Iraq and mayhem in Syria. Just a different way of life. 

goldilocks, oldieloeks.

Wed, December second, 2015

A night of interrupted sleep, a cold infection. Suitable for the time of the year and for the grey cold weather. listen to the son get ready for school, and hear him leave. There is no need to get up and to be in the way of all these activities..

A telephone call from the type salesman. The man wheels are there, and they can he fitted today. This is something to do, something else.

Have a small fight with the house cat. She rolls onto her back and grabs the hand on her tummy with her clawed pans, an intent expression on her feline face, eyes wide.

Happy hunting cat. And after her little game she is hungry. Put food on her plate, let the cat eat. She is a happy young cat. How much longer will she grow?

Make coffee, a large can fall. And write as it bubbles on the gas. Look out of the window, it is nine, and then is the lady from Oldy but Goldy the secondhand shop, hanging out her wares. She is joking with a passersby, a woman and her child approach along the alley, the sound of their greetings are dampened by those double glazed windows. Gold is dressed' in 'browns and has golden hair, yellow locks of it.

        goldilocks, oldieloeks.

Drink coffee, watch trade in the cobbled alley. A beer track stops at the restaurant opposite to deliver it's wares.

        And it is time to go to the tire fitters 

So prepared for the day, and wait for the evening.

 first of December, 2016

                The wish for self-improvement is there, the ability to pass such decisions is also there, but the ability to implement them is not.

                But get up in the morning anyway, take the prescribed pills and listen to the day begin. And try to work out what to do with it in till it ends. Do those things that need to be done, and leave those with lower priorities for another day.

                Make sure that the backlog does not grow too large.

                Take the waste bins out to the street to be collected later by those municipal men in their orange attire.

The sound of bells and the arm in a brace, the little finger held by a spring to take the load away from a repaired tendon.

Until the repairs have healed over, and the hand may be used again.

A season of joy for all men, and the tyres on the car need to be replaced, age has struck the old ones, that and wear and tear.

So prepared for the day, and wait for the evening.