Walking back to the Ford Tourneo Courier Ecoboost 1.0 after the second funeral in as many days, a crow (corvis frugileus, or rook) hollers at me, I throw it the last Frolic brand dog kibble hiding in my pocket, which it then eats (for the sake of clarity, I was walking to the car, the crow was sitting in a tree when it yelled). I catch up with my group, who then go to the restroom, which is where I was returning from; eventually we all reunite and hop into the car and enter the address into the (really irritating) GPS thing and depart for the next station of the day, the Leichenschmaus, or funeral meal.
Earlier, standing in front of the casket prior to the talking, I thought about the woman inside, who had lived to 95, and how she had danced the boogie at her 90th birthday party and, when we were leaving and I kissed her on the cheek, turned her head and had me kiss her other cheek too. She was okay.
I had spare ribs at the funeral meal. They were a bit dry but the sauces were good, as were the french fries. Her 4 year old great-granddaughter ran around serving people items she had cooked up on the toy kitchen in the corner of the restaurant’s dining room — I got “spicy coffee.”
Afterwards, we left. Gamma caught a ride to the subway, I drove the rest of the posse home – Beta to her apartment in Vienna, Alpha to our house, Alpha’s mom Alpha senior back to her place.
I was tired. It was partly, I think, the spare ribs, alcohol and schnapps at the meal (of which I partook judiciously and soberly being the driver), partly all (both) the funerals – at which we were more supporting actors than principals, praise be; partly the usual struggle to be social in social situations, partly constantly worrying about a couple cultural things I may have committed myself to a while back involving public interaction with strangers; also the current state of things and, whatever, other stuff, other stuff, other stuff.
After too many funerals you think, first, “boy I hope i never see another funeral” but then you realize what that means and change it to, “boy I could sure use a wedding or baptism for a change.”
And then you go back to other stuff. Hydrating. Getting proper sleep and exercise. Doing a word puzzle for the brain. Learning something. Plotting your next shenanigan or your next hijink. Hugging somebody.
Tag Archives: grief
Leichenschmaus
Posted in Das Gehirn, Familie, Metamorphosism
Tags: family, grief, hope, leichenschmaus, life, love, putting the fun back into funerals
Ford Tourneo Courier Ecoboost 1.0 Part III
The screen has gone black / failed to come on upon starting, twice. Turning the car off and back on “fixed” it both times.
Now that weather is growing colder, the buttwarming front seats, and the heated steering wheel are nice, as is the heated windshield (at least until a piece of gravel hits it and I have to have it replaced) (nice because one does not have to scrape ice in the morning it just melts right off).
What an embarrassing time to be an old white man.
I have been a bit depressed and a bit grieving since the election and really have to summon extra self-control from somewhere to keep from ranting. But so far so good.
Alpha and I had goose with friends on Wednesday. That is, we went to the best restaurant in the next town with friends of ours, and ate roast goose, 2 kinds of dumplings, and red cabbage. I don’t know if the goose also had friends, possibly. The wine was good, and we also had some schnapps. They all sympathized with me.
The world, or the part I am familiar with, a part of the world that previously had some amount of respect (or even affection) for the United States (they were so happy for us when Obama was elected), is shocked that a legitimate clown and convicted felon made it this far.
Part of me is, too. But part of me knows Americans have always been like this.
Every Republican president during my lifetime was elected by the same people for the same reason – domestic war on the poor, on minorities, on women, on the left. That’s what Nixon’s War on Drugs was all about. The current gang is just a little more openly fascist.
I have some questions: Trump is old, ill and senile. He will die soon. How allegiant is his cult to him personally, and how much to those propping him up? What will a President Vance be like? What happens if Trump dies or is incapacitated before being sworn in? What happens if he is caught traitoring? What happens when those around him start fighting amongst themselves. What happens when those behind him start fighting (billionaires vs Russia vs Saudi Arabia vs China vs whatever)?
Here in Austria, the far-right party won the most votes in the recent election, but currently it looks like the other parties will refuse to form a coalition with them, which means they might not be in the government. Or, the conservative party might just be pretending, and could eventually say “whelp coalition talks failed so we are forced to coalesce with the rightists in the interest of stability in these unstable times.”
Anyway, as the party with the most votes, the president of parliament (Rosenkranz) is from the far-right party, which makes many people unhappy. Today he attempted to lay down a wreath at a memorial for pogrom victims in Vienna but was blocked by a Jewish students group who oppose him etc. He asked the police to move them so he could access the memorial (but they did not). Austria’s (at the moment) best newspaper, “Die Tagespresse” (a satirical newspaper similar to The Onion) then reported, “In memory of the November pogroms, Rosenkranz orders police to move Jews out of the way”.
There is a saying in German, “Die Lage ist hoffnungslos, aber nicht ernst.” (The situation is hopeless, but not serious.) I think, since fascists depend on fear, it is important to maintain a sense of humor and creativity and never stop pointing out what clowns they are.
When possible and you are not going to be murdered for it etc.
Anyway. Did I say the goose was good? It is easy to make goose tough and stringy and dry, but this was perfect.
Posted in Das Gehirn, ferner liefen, Metamorphosism
Tags: depression, fascism, ford tourneo courier, grief, humor, roast goose
Climbing update
For the first time in the past 6 months I was neither injured nor sick so I went bouldering with Gamma for the first time in more than 2 months or more – life kind of segued from various joint injuries and deaths and funerals to viruses to the famous eye lens replacement – and we were careful, especially of me, and I stuck to easy routes, and did not fall, and climbed back down instead of jumping, and stopped when the going got weird, and did not hurt myself, and got some good exercise, and Gamma rewarded me with the house pizza and a bottle of Radler (mix of lemonade and beer) and it was real nice hanging out with her.
My body is feeling wiggly right now, but it is nice to feel my body, and to be active again. I really missed it.
She listened politely while I cursed capitalism and the fairy tale of the free market, and while I babbled about Buddhism or rather the quasi-Buddhist quasi-concept of “let all that shit go” which has been on my mind lately, and although I have given up optimism I have also given up pessimism and worrying (theoretically) and this is an interesting vaccuum, for me, although maybe not for other people who are trying to eat their pizza while I talk about it not sure.
Sunday is Father’s Day here in Austria and I plan to go see an action movie with the kids and get something to eat. When Beta was a child we started a tradition of watching B-movies and criticizing them afterwards, listing all the historical, logical etc. errors and omissions (IIRC The Scorpion King with The Rock may have been the first, and I was real mad bc someone spray-painted my brand-new Doblo while we were in the theater), although I have difficulty finding anything to criticize on Abba-Teapot Peabody or whatever her name is although the prosthetic nose on Whatshisname Thorguy will be easy pickings I figure.
That is all.
For now.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Familie, Feral Living, Metamorphosism
Tags: bouldering, buddhism, children, climbing, fatherhood, grief, illness, injuries, life, memory, movies, parenting
Momentarily
I let the cat in
or out, or both
the air was cold outside
and warm inside
and the moon was bright
the door locked with a loud click
because it’s just a little
out of alignment due to
decades of settling
and i thought
god i haven’t written mom in ages
i should tell her how nice
life is and how great
the kids are and
everything that’s going on
this new place with great breakfasts
how well my scones turned out
but she’s dead
i had forgotten momentarily
i opened the door back up
and took another look at the moon
I just want to say
I just want to say
that it doesn’t hurt much
when a crow pecks you
accidentally
trying to get the doggie treat
you are holding out for it
while sitting on the park bench
surrounded by crows
regarding you like acolytes
waiting for words of enlightenment.
It is scarier feeding a bagel to a juvenile seagull
than a snack to a crow.
This is especially true if you grew up
getting pecked by chickens all the time.
I just want to say
my thing with the crows
is not going unnoticed at the park,
a young family walked by
and referred to me
as “Professor Rabe”.
I just want to say
that I am still sadder
and more broken up by
my mother’s death
than I had expected.
But the crows help.
If someone asks me about them
I will say, “I have to come and feed them,
they know where I work and
come and shit on my balcony otherwise,”
but that is not the reason.
I know it’s just crows and doggie treats,
but it’s a comfort.
Notes on the proper selection of an appropriate amulet
Ask the sun, when you fell upon me, reflected off the orange garbage truck my streetcar was stuck behind on the way to work this morning, filling the streetcar with bright amber light and turning the interior into mysterious silhouettes, was it a judgement or a blessing? Or do you not perceive any of us at all?
Ask the crows, what say the slain? And listen to their answer: they are waiting for you to delineate your sadness over your mom dying, to put a name on it, for you to find a balance for it between heart and head but for that to happen it has to come out of the dark. They are waiting for you to understand something ununderstandable.
Ask the bear, do you feel like I do when I am walking down the stairs at the subway station and faster descenders pass me right and left when you stand in the river and running salmon crowd past you on their way to spawn, or is there a difference bc you are eating them and I am not? And are people right who say a fish does not perceive the water surrounding it, or are fish as aware of it as we are of air and ground, do they even hold swimming contests and do they maybe, crowding into the mouth of a river on their way to spawn, arrange dates when they hit it off, baby that shady spot under the alder tree, lay your eggs there, I have so much milt for you.
Walk in a circle while reading the instructions on the can of blue insulation foam, especially the bit that says ‘only fill the space 1/3 of the way with foam, as it continues to expand after application’ because if not the foam will expand uncontrolled and drip onto the floor and onto the attic ladder/steps, the bookcase, two books, your slippers, your shirt, your glasses and your hair, and if that happens do not try to wash it out of your hair because the instructions also say, For better adhesion dampen target area prior to application, and if you read that after making your hair wet you will feel like a moron, justifiably, and the insulation foam remover you rush to the hardware store for won’t work for you either, although if you make an emergency appointment with your hair stylist she will, together with two colleagues, in the emergency hair salon operating room you didn’t realize they had, using the foam remover and some stuff they use to remove hair extensions, in a dramatic and slightly painful medical-drama-style operation not only successfully remove every last bit of foam (which is, chemically, a close relative of super glue) from your hair, which you had expected would have to be shaved off, they will also laugh while working on you and say, “This is a first, this is one for the books, we have never had anything like this,” and ultimately style your hair and leave you looking nicer than ever, and charge you such a paltry sum you give everyone big tips.
Ask the crows, what say the dead, to which they will answer, nothing today.
Then wander into the junk shop with your eyes closed and hold your hands over the amulets and feel the vibes.
I vaguely remember flowers
I pinched my penis in the woods yesterday, by accident, climbing through a wooden fence to look at a grave.
The fence was made of horizontal slats attached to wooden fence posts. Normally there would have been plenty of space for me to squeeze through, but I was wearing a pack that made it a tighter fit.
I groaned, and my wife asked what the matter was, and I told her.
My pack held a few apples, a thermos full of cold water, and a rain jacket I bought last summer (2019) at REI.
I started out with three apples, then ate one, then fed another to some goats.
The grave stone seemed to be granite. There was a bronze (?) plaque on it with five names, two with one surname, the other three with another. There was a space in front of it the size of a couple shoeboxes, covered with a flat rectangle of metal or stone (I forget), so I assumed they were putting urns in there and not whole bodies.
There was a bench beside the stone where you could sit and look into the distance.
I vaguely remember flowers.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Metamorphosism
Tags: burial customs, fence, grave, grief, hiking, injury, phallic mishap, woods