waste time

 Yesterday was spent trying to repair a chair. Trying to redo a rattan weave, and it is just not as easy as might be thought. The theory is simple enough, but to train the fingers to develop a feeling for the materials, the tensions involved and to have the patience to deal with one row after the next is not really easy at all.

Today is a day for a walk, a long walk on thisTuesday. There is no sense in hanging about at home and watching the tension's increase all day, there is no sense in starting to clean up the mess when all that will happen is that it is created anew. A walk in the country may clear the mind, it may lead to new ideas.

The luxury of living as a pensioner was earned over many years, and there are few enough years to enjoy it in. If a person wants to sit on top of a mountain and watch the sun rise and stay there and to watch it set that is the person's business. Remarks about the lack of productivity in such behaviour are inappropriate.

matinal

 After breakfast, take the pills. That is the wrong order, the pills should be taken before breakfast. Let there be hope that it is of no great consequence, it was just a case of matinal memory dysfunction. Put on a second pot of coffee, that will be enough for another two cups. 

Now there is a fresh cup of coffee beside the computer, a reminder that things unhealthy can be enjoyable. Think of the two people in the park yesterday, both studying their shamanistic circle on the lawn. The first thought was that it was a memorial to some loss in the past, the death of a person or  the end of an era of some sort. But these two bright - eyed older people were believers in shamanism, they took the trouble to explain that this was a belief in all things natural. The circle had been drawn in white with flour, and was filled with offerings of flowers and nuts and sweets, all without packaging of any kind. It was pretty enough to catch the eye. Take a picture of the couple, and promise to send the picture on by email. The reason for the circle appears to have been a kind of prayer for peace.

Yesterdays walk was short, it started to rain and the weather turned colder.

At home again, the wife and the son are loudly discussing the advantages of some computer parts or other. Ignore the discussion, the problem being discussed affects only the son and the wife, there is no need to interfere.

This morning the sun is out and there is a hope that it will not rain.

not here and not now

 Alone in the silence of the morning, alone with the man from the mirror. This is all right, this is all in order. It is ten to seven, and it is Sunday. Even the cat is too lazy to get up and beg for food.

The day is warm already, Summer has just marched in without any fanfare or drums or anything. Europe is looking at another war on her own doorstep, and is scratching her head wondering what to do about it. There is nothing much that can be done that is simple and easily apparent, there are too many nations involved, there is too much personal interest. No real reason for the struggle is there to be understood, unless life on earth is to be reduced to the manoeuvring of pieces on board game.

There is no thought over what needs to be done today, there is nothing there but the angry stares of the family. It is easy to be despondent, this catastrophe is not going anywhere. There is a a thought that a long scream might provide comfort, but there is the sure knowledge that this would simply be dealt with by using a gag, the idea being to silence the scream rather than to deal with the problem. There is no point in running amok, for that kind of behaviour is a problem in itself. There is no real solution visible, not here and not now.

slow

 The roaring song of a group of Friday night revellers echos through the streets at five thirty in the morning, their Friday coming to its end just as Saturday begins . Tay is silenthey sound drunk, and they seem convinced of the artistic value of their vocal offerings.

Breakfast, and look at what news is available. It is not much, but none of it is particularly good. It remains true that no good news is news that is worth reporting. After breakfast, a sudden attack of drowsiness, lie on the sofa intending this to be a few minutes rest and wake up two hours later. 

Now it is a quarter past eight, the church bell rings once for the quarter of the hour.

Saturday is silent, and there appear to be fewer computers on the floor of the sitting room. The son has now got the results of his final examinations in high school and is cleaning up his mess as promised. even if progress is extraordinarily slow.

Storm

 The solitary breakfast is the high point of the day. There is only one egg left in the refrigerator today, but that is not a problem. There is no butter either, but some kind of patent spread based on vegetable oil is there and it will do fine.

A lower cholesterin breakfast.

The thought of the long solitary wanderings in the countryside around here come to mind. It is time to start these again, maybe earlier, who knows. The thought of the sore feet spring to mind, the feet that swell as the distance increases. No matter how much technology goes into the shoes, the problem remains that these items are made to standard sizes and shapes, and for economic reasons no other shapes are said to exist, and greater size than standard just means that shoe types are rare, only the most simple models are available. Weight and the ability of materials to withstand this is not a matter for discourse at all in shoe construction, the structural matter supporting the feet over the soles of the shoes collapses long before the shoes do. This never happens to smaller and therefore lighter people, and there is no understanding for it. There is only the refuge to expensive niche products, and these do not hold well either. Great size and weight are not purely advantageous.

Read the news, Americans are moaning about their own incompetence in dealing with weaponry in the population. Every home an is arsenal, without the discipline and dedication to control and regulate such a militia well. Law-abiding citizenry suffering mental derangement of a temporary and curable nature are left to their own devices, they express themselves by pyrotechnically spitting on their society which then kills them in a portrayal of self defence. The land of the free does not seem to really care.

Read the news, the Ukraine and Russia are fighting, Cain and Abel, like old testament brothers. The world stands and is dismayed, and fears the one that will win the struggle. They are brothers, and nobody will help them take from each other what they believe is their own by rights that they themselves have written. The fury of the winner, whoever that may be is to be seen gathering like distant stormnclouds.

ascensio Iesu

 Father's day in Germany, this used to be a day of male debauchery and the heaviest of alcohol consumption. It is not so bad any more, there are still occasional small groups of men with handcarts full of beer crates to be expected on the streets. It is early yet , they are all probably still asleep. Most of them, there will always be exceptions, there will always be early risers.

The feeling of despondency will not go away, there is no ability to make a functional decision. There is no real function at all. There is just this constant sad feeling, despite the sons joy yesterday at having completed his schooling. He is asleep now, in his room. It will be his decision as to what to do with the rest of his life, soon he will be eighteen years of age. That will be in another five weeks.

The day is sunny, it will be warm later. 

The dishwasher has been filled and started. Perhaps the noise will wake people up. The cat has been fed. The pills will be taken shortly.

this is boring

Why is the german Fathers day celebrated on the Christian feast of  ascensio Iesu?

interference

 There is rain outside now, it is raining, water is dripping from the window ledges and dripping onto the window ledges below. The light outside is grey and flat. Read about fourteen dead in Texas, dead because a teenager was allowed to obtain and use murderous weapons without let or hindrance, no questions asked as to his sanity. That is all only conjecture now, they shot him. Nobody will ever really know why now. 

Read about the death in Ukraine, a situation that will not be over for generations to come. There are so many claims on the past, so much conjecture over what might have happened had something else not taken place. The Russian justification for their actions seem based on decisions made over a century ago, they are demanding compensation for losses incurred then. There seems to be no statute of limitations on belief. 

The sons radio is burbling away in his room. It was started automatically earlier on, and there is just an indistinct chatter from the analogue circuitry barely able to receive the indistinct signals. He prefers this to the crystal clear sound, the sound free of white background noise, that is supplied by modern digital devices. Clarity is a matter of perception, and there is a message to be heard in the disturbances that is lost when those disturbances cease to exist any more.

black

Listen to all the raine drip into the yard outside the window. Listen to the snores of the wife and the sound of the first cars on this Tuesday morning. It is all despondent, personal despondency. The sound of the rain is beautiful, dream of a walk in the worods with the sound of the water on a weatherproof cape. That is only a dream, the depressions are just to great to get up and go, to take the effort necessary to attain even that simple pleasure. Then get up, go upstairs to turn off the alarm on the mobile 'phone which had been left up there for whatever reason last night. 

Make the usual breakfast, read the news. The news is the usual depressing mixture of bloodshed and speculation, the British and the Americans reporting with great interest on the pros and cons of various heavy weapons. It is all in the same language as that used in the description of high society and the comparison of luxury vehicles.

The iron tablets were supposed to increase the zest for life, it was hoped that they would end the anaemic struggle with the day's challenges and lead to a different, more outgoing and generally more happy person.

The frigging things don't lead anywhere but to cause black shit.

rubbish left by residents

Making pictures of people is a great pleasure and a permanent source of surprise. Posing a person for a picture, always with some other past picture of another person in mind, the one before the lens will always be different. If there is going to be honesty, then people will never look the same, they will not even have the imagined appearance. Real people are neither professional models nor actors. They may woodenly do what they are told to do, or they may simply refuse. But the picture will not be a picture of them themselves, it will be an imitation of someone else or of another situation. A dilemna, and it is a question of honesty on the part of the one taking the picture.

The strange pictures of the beautiful people at the party last week. They were a group of people the greater part of which were solely interested in displaying themselves. There was not much to do but to hide behind the camera and let them show their worth to their peers. It was easy. And later on, just the simple work of adjusting the tones to show things as they were  visible to all. Nothing more, there is no complication and no problem.

The skin on the face has become taught with sunburn now. The hat worn on the walk by the river yesterday helped, but the problem remains. The strain of exercising the body makes itself felt, and the steadily increasing age makes itself felt too.

And it is early in the morning, hear the municipal employees outside working to collect the rubbish left outside the door by the residents.

bells

 The Sunday silence of a dormer town whose population is divided between apostasy, unbelief and non christian religeons is almost absolute. Single cars roll by, partly bringing Saturday night revellers home to a long sleep, there is the occasional sound of footsteps outside. A jet aircraft flies by overhead.. But is is silent. The bells will call the believers to empty churches later on, and the churches will not fill well despite this summons. Later on the town will fill with tourists staring at the houses in the narrow streets.

Today will be the day to take a walk up to the shady beer garden. It is only six kilometres away, the walk will hopefully do good. The sun outside, shining out of a clear blue sky makes promises for a hot day. It is rare that the weather is just pleasant, it always seems to vary between being too hot or too cold. Maybe it is just the passage of time making people older that is the problem, older people are less robust with regard to temperature fluctuations.

It is so quiet and warm this morning, that is a delight in itself. The second pot of coffee, probably an unhealthy habit, is made, and todays scribbles come to an end. There are people outside exchanging greetings now, early pedestrians.

7:42

 Yesterday's sunburn is making the skin on the face feel stretched and slightly sore. That is probably a sort of radiation damage, the ultraviolet radiation has burnt the skin. That walk was over a stretch of nearly twenty kilometres. Without any head covering it became a constant search for paths that enjoyed the shade of trees, trees  in full foliage. The water in the lakes is becoming less all the time, and is stagnating. Near the banks the surface is covered in brown matter, the remains of weeds and various scum.

Winter is preferable in many ways.

The son has nearly finished his schooling now, and has achieved a qualification that neither of his parents ever achieved. That is something to be pleased about. He has only been in the world for eighteen years now.

They are all asleep, the cat, the son and the wife.

And today, the sky is covered in grey.

There is not much more to say.

At seven forty two in the morning.

success

 What is to be done with the started day? There must be thousands and thousands of old age pensioners who ask themselves this question, with the strain of having to make a living by going to work gone. This constraint on freedom has now been replaced by the increased difficulty of having to make ends meet. Remember the pleasures of walking, without let or hindrance, but for the sore feet produced by a pair of expensive and nonetheless ill-fitting shoes.

And now take a break from this to read the New York Times, such a well-written paper. The thought occurs whether or not to subscribe, it is a pleasure to read. There is the Guardian too, but it is not the same. And there are all the sensationalist papers, spreading distrust with their stupid capitalisations compensating for the inability to express ideas using the written word.

It is a placid day, that is going to turn hotter than it should be, things are hotter and drier than they ever were in the past, and all of this just due to the success of human endeavour. Evolution may win the struggle by removing humankind and allowing whatever can thrive on the ruins to succeed.

go

It is now the space of time between having had breakfast and going for a haircut. That is one hour. An hour to write this, to wash and shower, and to get dressed. The barber's shop is literally around the corner. 

And now it is eight minutes past seven o'clock.

Read about Erdogan and Orban trying to bully the rest of the world. Such people would be a serious problem if they had more power than they actually do. Still, they have enough to be a problem. Not a serious problem, like Vladimir  who has maddened the population of one of the largest countries in the world into attacking the rest of the world. All of these persons behaviour's would be amusing in a bazaar but such dealings are inappropriate on an international scale. 

And thus another seven minutes pass.

This is too slow.

There will be many pictures to finish later.

It is time to go now

address the day

Sleep is still deep in the morning, it will not go away. The skin on the arms is feeling the influence of yesterday's sun, the skin has darkened to show the outline of the watch on the wrist on the lefthand side. There is still dust in the hair from yesterday.

Go to the bathroom and take a shower. 

That is an improvement.

Make the one-man breakfast.

The news is tepid and dismal as always. Americans still working on having government regulations for personal privacy. It is as if the government has nothing else to do other than to enforce religious dogmatism and the personal preferences of those in power.

Russia still believes that they have sent their soldiers to die to save the world from Nazis. That issue was settled eighty years ago, but it still seems to drive people. Why do people the world over polarise the rich tonality of their surroundings to a single monochrome simplicity of only two tones?

Never mind.

Stop reading.

Get dressed and address the day.

the light of a receding train

 Thoughts of past mistakes pain the mind, errors of judgement leading to the destruction of objects of value. These thoughts are almost instantly followed by suicidal ones, the thought of breaking the neck with a rope. A thought as useless as the regret over the long past mistake.

Most actions lead to results, to some sort of creation. The alternative route taken a long time ago may have had more serious and more unpleasant consequences than the path that was followed that leads to the current result. The current result is not so bad, there are innumerable alternatives that would be far worse.

It is a warm overcast morning, the alarm on the mobile 'phone sounds. The light is grey and flat, a lovely situation for photographs, if there is anything worth making a picture of. But first, get up and make breakfast. And then get the computer from upstairs to read the news. But beforehand, try to set up the communications protocols on the computer so that the internet may be received on the device at all.

And the news is as dismal as always. Two self-important blowhards are making decisions to hold the rest of Europe to ransom. These autocrats cannot tell the difference between their personal wellbeing and the necessities in their countries. They are extortionists, grifters, call them what you like. There are many more, waiting at the sides of the stage, practising their lines, confusing their personal pride with that of the people they wish to rule. Most of them never will, that is the dim light at the end of the tunnel. The tail light of a receding train.

I 

there is noise wherever you go

 Monday morning brings noises from the street, the tradesmen repairing the house opposite are shouting at each other, shouting is the way they talk. They are not actually being unfriendly or anything. It is just a habit, a way to get attention, a way to deal with loud ambient noises. The owner of the shop below has a loud laugh, a laugh that can be heard through the building's walls. Cars and vans rumble up and down the one-way alley outside, delivering things and people to the pedestrian zone in the middle of town. And the police leave their station with loud sirens on their emergency business, whatever that may be.

It is noticeably louder in town on warm days with the windows open. The clamour of the church bells has receded into the middle of the noise spectrum by comparison.

This morning the mess in the living room, and everywhere in the house is especially distressing. 

In a fit of depression slam the bedroom door, eliciting screamed shouts from the therein reposing wife. 

It just goes to show that there is noise wherever you go.

perhaps the beer garden, later

 It is Sunday again, the day that is a reminder of all the things not done in the past week. Looking back on Sundays is just view of things that have been attained, all so much less than  those that had been hoped for.

Make the small breakfast for one, and take the plate and the cup into the living room. The morning pills are not to be forgotten, the iron, and the pills against the high blood pressure.

Pleasant warmth is everywhere, now that summer is finally here. In another month the length of the day will have reached it's zenith, days will get longer until then and after that the nights will get longer. But for now, there is a summer to look forward to. The family is asleep, there is no need for them to waken yet. Even the cat is asleep, it is not begging for food or anything.

Open the windows, let in fresh air and the loud cooing noises of the pigeons.

It is Sunday, and there is nothing really planned. Perhaps a short walk later on this morning up to the country beer garden.

Perhaps.

pilot

Pain is an easy thing to talk about, and this morning walking is difficult. The cause is a very long walk yesterday, a very pleasant walk. 

But very long. At the end of the days adventure the app on the 'phone said that thirty-eight kilometres had been covered, and for a person in a poor state of training that is quite a lot. And  that is the reason for the muscular and  joint pains today. Perhaps age has something to do with it as well.

The mornings are hot now, the weather has turned hot all of a sudden. There is the sound of private aircraft outside, all of the weekend pilots are underway. There is a memorial cross beside the way near Niederaichbach where a French pilot crashed with  his Mirage in 1988. He was certainly no weekend pilot.

Today is a day to get rid of the aches and pains and in the evening to visit a gallery to view an exhibition.

mean times

 The day has started and the light is becoming steadily more grey. The breakfast is finished, and now get up and fetch the remainder of the coffee. 

It starts to rain, the raindrops beat off the skylight and start to drip into the roof drains. Put on a second pot of coffee, there is no point in hurrying up now

Return to the computer, and see that the light is brightening again, the rain is still dripping from the roofs, and there are trails on the windows. It is turning into a grey day, contrary to what was expected, contrary to yesterdays weather forecast.

There is a feeling of weakness, a feeling that age is to blame. Perhaps it is. It is strange to see so many of those whose existence had been taken for granted suddenly vanish, so many seem to be very young, many are somewhat older. Perhaps hearing of the death of erstwhile colleagues, hearing of their sudden illness is having a depressing effect. So many people making assumptions on the years left to them, and so many having faced the tragedy of being utterly wrong.

The weather is brightening again, now that it is fifteen minutes later. A second pot of coffee made, All has been done, and there is still the rest of the day to care for.

The family is asleep, the son, the wife and the cat. None of them are early risers but for the cat, who has gone back to sleep somewhere in the mean time.

turn for the worse

 The day has starte off warm today, it was already warm at six in the morning and it is warmer now, an hour and a half later. Now there is the sound of young voices from the street, as children go to school. 

Cars are no longer as noisy as they used to be. The engines are not really loud, it is the noise of the tyres on the cobblestones that is disturbing. There are hardly any noisy little two-stroke scooters to be heard any more.

The news that the exhibition of the pictures from work will receive a showing in Landshut is good, all the work was not in vain. It is only a show for vanity's sake. But there is no harm in that. It is remarkable how a meeting can take place out of a small suggestion, suddenly there are directors assistants and public relations managers and gallery owners and curators and graphic artists  involved. It is probably a good idea to remain silent. The original pictures are not the first things on the agenda.

The small part to repair the coffee machine has been made by one of the precision engineers at the old institue, and it was good to speak with him for a while. A sad surprise was the news that a friendly colleague had died at the young age of seventy-five years. He had many plans for his retirement, perhaps he managed to realise a few of them. Still, the surprise is there, and it is a reminder of ones own mortality.

Reading of the war in Ukraine today, there is nothing but surprise and horror at all the killing and destruction. Was all of this necessary, is this really the way to solve problems between countries that like to call themselves civilised?

Outside the window a police car rushes past, the sound of the sirens doppler-shifting as it hurries down the main street. Somewhere, somebodies day has taken a turn for the worse.

wednesday., midweek, mittwoch

The noises emanating from the cat sound like a shy request. She wants either food or requires a door to be opened so that she may go about her business in another room of the house.

Meanwhile, the mess has expanded to the bathroom, the son has taken to leaving piles of clothes on the washing machine, washed and unwashed, dried and still damp, all to be dealt with shortly. Still, they lie there for days and days, and possibly will be there until the coming week. 

There does not seem to be any inclination to tidy things away.

Maybe such behaviour is not a matter of inclination, but of training.

Reading the news, Russia has made gains in the Ukraine. This may cause some escalation in the aid for Ukraine, and this will reduce the chances for peace and civilised behaviour. Why Russia felt the necessity to start using military force instead of diplomacy in the first place remains hard to understand. A crude procedure that has had limited success wherever it has been applied within the last few centuries.

Open the windows in the living room, allow the air to come into the dusty room. It is now ten past eight in the morning, and there is the lazy sound of small-town traffic outside. There is the rush sound of young cyclists on their way to school, the sound of voices passing as people wander up the street to their places of work.

how efficient is that?

 Last night the weather announcer said that summer is on the way, that it would be here today. The weather is bright and clear, and the sun is out.

So much for weather reporting, but it is good not to feel the cold all the time.

The upstairs rooms are now comfortable and nicer, slowly they are turning into a comfortable escape zone, away from the mess in the rest of the house. When there is no chance of winning, then run, if possible.

The cat fed, everything has been prepared.

Read news, and shower. Everything may be slower now, now that work has been left behind for a year. Later on today, a visit to the old  place of work for a meeting, and a discussion. It has to do with an exhibition in a gallery and there are pictures to select and decisions to be made. It is strange that the photographs taken over the years should now suddenly be of interest. The whole business is exciting, somehow the work done over the years has retained its value and personality.

It will be a short drive at twelve, and it will be possible to pick up a small part made for the coffee machine. That small part is not available elsewhere any more.

It will be possible to kill two flies with one slap.

how efficient is that?

asleep

 The beer in the beer garden yesterday went down well, but it destroyed the night's repose. Sleep became spotty, and the sleep was filled with nightmares. The end of the day was spent listening to a drunk man ranting about his experiences in foreign countries, his confusion that those living under a dictatorial regime while themselves not in the least unpleasant people may express wholehearted support for their rules. His presumption was that such dictators are not so bad. That people would love their country regardless of who was in power or not is a thing for which he had no understanding. People living under a corrupt government are not necessarily unhappy because their government is not working as it should. Sometimes it is hard to argue.

The nightmares of the night are done, and breakfast has been taken.

The news has been read.

All done for this early morning, it is now time to go to the bathroom with the cold floor tiles for a shower. The cat, the son and the wife are still fast asleep.

Silence before Monday.

 Silence in the flat, and Sunday's enforcéd silence outside, in the alley, in the streets and in the whole town. If it had a taste it would be delicate and varied. But it is just a lack of sound. The only thing there is the hiss in the head and the tick of the clock.

The clock is from France, a precision device that is supposed to keep it's time reliably over many  years. The beauty of it is the simple mechanism, and that a simple battery will last for several years. The instrumet must be ninety years old by now.

The other clock from France is silent, it is hard to tell what is wrong with it. It will become necessary to take it up to the little work room, to check it's functionality there. In the peace and quiet available in the work rooms, of the flat taken over in the corner of the house.

The hissing noise in the perceived as being in the right-hand side of the head was bad in the night and is less now. It is rarely that it goes away entirely, it is just a thing that is annoying and inaudible to others. 

A Signalstörung, a fake sound that sounds like a sound and is inaudible

Tomorrow is Putin's day in Russia, and all newspapers are speculating as to how the event will be displayed to the world and to the Russian people.

photographer only took the pictures

 Yesterday was a day of truths, even though no lie was required. The recollection of a bad deal thirty years ago. A load on a relationship, and a load fallen off the mind.

Today is a day of long sleep to the sound of heavy rain outside.

Still, get up early, and make breakfast and read the news. Ukraine seems to be a country that does not look to the future, but appears to be trying to make new relationships based on current evaluations of historical events. They will get nothing for their trouble and they will damage future prospects. The news does not say this, but it seems to be the case. Russia is demanding a return of things that it gave away. The United Kingdom is being aggressive, but then that is their style. All empires have ended, and are not so easy to build again.

Today is the day to have a talk with the man from the gallery

Now that the talk is over, there are small grey clouds on the horizon. It is all a matter of negotiation, and now is the time to let others negotiate. It is, after all, their industry and their gallery.

The photographer only took the pictures.

wrong eggs..

 The motor mechanic did not manage to repair the car, he has claimed further damage. This is irritating, for his story conflicts with another story, also from a qualified source. There is little opportunity to do anything but to pay, and to put further new parts into the old vehicle. There is nothing else to be done.

The whole business is a waste of a day, waiting for telephone calls, dealing with this ineftficiency. But there is hope that the car will be in order afterwards.

Today, the pains of getting older have receded somewhat, and a plastic bag with quite a lot of money in it is not where it should be. Search the table, still in the dark so as not to switch on the light and to waken the wife. Then look upstairs, because of the bright windows it is light up there. Then, downstairs again, empty the jacket's pockets. There, after half a dozen face masks is the plastic bag with the twenty ten-Euro notes.

That was an early morning warning for worse to come.

Even the poached eggs this morning did not turn out right. Surely it cannot be because they were a special offer, being sold at a silly price. An offer the wife could not refuse, resulting in a surfeit of eggs.

no good

This is the day for car repairs, repairs in the repair shop belonging to the man who sounded quite insane on the telephone, and there is no understanding as to why he is so friendly on the telephone. Outside there is a clear blue sky, it may be possible to enjoy a long walk back home. Then again, the repair may be so quick that this will not work.

Perhaps once the car is repaired and the exhibition has been taken car of and the book has gone to the printers it will be possible to take a holiday with a long drive, maybe to France. Now that the feeling of health is back again, positively, it will bel possible to do something worthwhile like that.

Breakfast today was strange. The eggs that the wife had bought cheaply yesterday boil in a strange sort of way, the yolk separates itself from the white in the hot water. This is one of the things that become visible when making poached eggs.

But the taste is quite good, there is nothing unexpected here.

Now it is time to get up and go, the man in the garage has set his appointment for eight this morning, and being late would be no good.

priority

 The cat is back this morning,it is just that with the warmer weather she is taking a more varied approach to her selection of places of repose. When cats do not wish to be disturbed or are not interested they just sit there hidden and watch. Why should they care if the humans they are stuck with are worried about them?

Yesterday's walk was long, and the feet are still sore. The path over the back roads was so much longer than had been planned. Finally, the only way to return was to take the train from a town called Wörth an der Isar. This small town is incredibly dreary. After seven the shops are all closed and the streets are almost deserted. A few young people on motorbikes and in big cars hurtle past searching for a Tuesday night's amusement. The town is dead.

Remembering the long talk with a hospitable stranger yesterday, consider her account of much of her family having died before they were seventy years old. Cancer and stroke, the youngest at sixty one and the eldest at sixty-six. This is a strange reality. People should not die so young.

Today, grey; and after taking the pills as prescribed drowsiness sets in. Is all of this really neccessary?

It has become hard to say, really. Lie down on the couch and fall asleep, and an hour later drink the remainder of the now-cold coffee. Take a shower, and then start to clear up the kitchen. The son and the wife had had the run of the place yesterday, and things need to be cleared up. There are opened containers of foodstuffs lying about. There are now three opened bottles of tomato ketchup on the kitchen worktop. Place them on the kitchen shelf beside each other in descending order of depletion. Consider bringing the full container of biologically decomposable waste downstairs to the big bucket, but decide to sweep the floor instead.

There are so many small things to do that get in the way of the big things that need to be done.

cat?

 The son will sit for his third examination today. These exams are the end of is schooldays and the beginning of his adult life, where he must decide for himself. It will be his decision to go to university or to learn a trade.

Or he can do both if he wants.

The sound of electronic alarms starts an hour early today. Not realising this, get up and go to the bathroom in the dark. After the finishing of the business there realise that it is five in the morning. This must be a measure of the son's worries, that he set his alarm clock so early.

Stay awake and make breakfast, there is no point in going back to bed.

The cat is missing, wonder where it is.

After breakfast, and the reading of the news, and a short time wondering about the meaning of all this trouble. This trouble with the Russian activities in the Ukraine, the unnecessary loss of life, the brutality of it all. Also, there is concern over the Ukrainian government's attitude to the rest of Europe. The victimhood is not necessarily saintliness, and if it is, perhaps one should ask what religion is involved.

At six, check up on the son, he is awake. He asked for this service, as a safeguard against oversleeping.

Make up a second cup of coffee. In the meantime, realise that the cat has escaped from the house. This is a worry, for it is to be assumed that the cat is not capable of dealing with the outside world, it has no ideas as to the danger of traffic. But there is little choice but to wait for it to come back. Or perhaps one of the neighbours will explain its whereabouts.

dreariness and violence

The grey weekend is gone and now the sun is shining outside. The son is awake, but there are no appointments for him today. He may sleep on, and prepare for tomorrow's examinations later. Remember that today is the day to try and deal with the car's exhaust pipe. The new part was delivered last Friday, and there is no point in delaying the installation. The only problem is finding a repair shop that will have time do the work.

The cat after being loving and friendly this morning rewarded the early breakfast by vomiting on the floor. Why do cats do that? Why does this cat do that? It is important to look upon the brighter side of things. There are memories of cleaning computer keyboards, these memories from a similar episode in the past.

The wife comes into the sitting room and looks at the clock. Without a further word, she returns to the bedroom.

Family life is dreary. Try to remember the brighter side of things, and nothing will materialise but for the sad stories of international politics, now entering their most feared and violent phase.

short

The early morning still has some purpose to it, but experience has shown that it will lead nowhere. There is a fear of the pain that the day will bring, of fruitless endeavour. But these are thoughts that will not lead anywhere either. The coffee pot is on it's second round, for a third and a fourth cup of coffee. It is not healthy, but it is nice.

The rain is falling on the wooden window sill outside, a reminder that many things on the house will not be finished as soon or as quickly as was hoped. That was the trouble with losing faith in an architect.

The thing is, a solution has to be found for this loneliness, and it is strange, because there is no solution apparent. It is better to be alone, but being alone is no answer to the problem in itself. it is just a chance to recuperate from having to deal with the surrounding situation. The strange feeling of knowing that all freedoms exist, and yet there is the feeling of being locked in, and trapped. The alarm clocks that the son has set go off for the third time, and hear him turn them off. He will probably go back to sleep now.

The light today is grey and dim, the internal feeling is much the same.

Perhaps the one has to do with the other.

A car rumbles past the window.

Today, Sunday the first of May