Deep in the sand, a day in Brandenburg

6.04 AM: I wake up. But I don’t want to open my eyes yet. I can’t remember much of last night’s dream but I stood on an empty street and people laughed out loud somewhere near but I couldn’t figure them out and searched for a key that was golden and heavy. Are all my keys where they should be I ask myself and get up to look into my handbag. Of course I forget that I don’t wear my glasses yet and instead of finding my handbag my head finds the door frame and I see the stars I missed yesterday evening beyond all the clouds. At least the keys are where they should be. L. and O. are sleeping, both snoring peacefully and I reach for the glasses and then for a book.

10.15: There is no sun at all, only clouds and wind. I remember why I never liked the landscape of Brandenburg much. Too many pine trees, too much sandy ground and wind, endless wind, sharp and unfriendly like the inhabitants of the villages who wave German flags in their front yards and get drunk in their backyards because of the boredom everywhere around here. But we jump into the lake, the water is cool but still nice and look at the many sailboats with their sails filled proudly racing across the lake. A gray heron passes by, searching for breakfast.

11:00: Breakfast, as we agree with the gray heron would be a nice thing to have and so we carry the table outside to sit on the terrace in the midst of the roaring wind. We have eggs, disgusting cheese which gets even worse when trying to warm it up in the oven, marmalade so old that maybe the Great elector Wilhelm I had tasted it and sand-covered bread, I can’t eat because of my still sore jawbones. O. dreams of strawberries, L. of Stilfser cheese from the market and me of proper tea instead of the sad crumbles left in the tea-tin.

12:15: Heavy rain. L. colors her nails, the nail polish jar tips over, everyone searches for a cloth to clean up, everywhere sticks yellow nail polish. O. reads the obituaries in the newspaper aloud. He estimates when his own death may come and how. O. as we learn as very concrete dates and ways in mind. Better to prepared he mumbles and denies to eat fish, to dangerous he says and looks at us, who have no idea of the deadly horrors coming along with spinier animals.

14:00 M. arrives. M. brings cheese-cake with her but is in a bad mood. Her cousin from Paris came for week-long visit, forcing her to search the perfect backpack. M. describes the horrors of visiting every single available Outdoor gear shop to be found in Berlin and not to buy a backpack. We feel with her deeply and go again for a swim. It starts to rain again but we are wet anyway. We swim till our teeth starts to chatter and M. laughs at my blue lips till she gets stitches in her side.

15:45 O. searches for mushrooms. He finds a whole basket full. But we know only three of them for sure. L., M. and I don’t want to die in Brandenburg. O calls us „sheepish“ but we are three and he is all alone. The pine trees sway in the wind, branches are falling down on the roof. We give up and decide to leave, we get soaked wet while running to the car. O. gets wet twice, he forgot the basket with mushrooms. He makes dark prophecies about his soon ending life. We try not to laugh. We fail.

18:45 Back in Berlin. In the Alt Wien  its cosy and warm. L. and M. are eating Viennese Schnitzel with loud Ah and Oh’s followed by even longer Mhmmms. O. eats prime boiled beef with roast potatoes and Savoy cabbage whereas I go for a Kaiserschmarren. Between two bites O. swears to buy a fungal determination book tomorrow morning and by tomorrow evening we will enjoy the most delicious mushroom dinner ever seen. If not, you may read on in next weeks obituaries.


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