“May I?” I hear these words and imagine myself to be at a dance of 19th Century high society here in Kislovodsk, candles enlightening this beautiul decorated ballroom, young soldiers in elegant uniforms, myself in a stunning dress … oh well, you know all this clisché fairy-tale-story and “May I?” actually “May I offer you my hand for a dance?” and we dance and we dance on forever (without any wicked mother-in-law, or any money problems, actually without any problems at all as this fairy-tale-wonderland).
“May I? You stand on my rucksack and I must leave at this station.”
Air bubble exploding.
I’m in a crowded bus in cold winter 2021, we’re in corona-modus so everything f* and a man has turned towards me, his voice not transporting so nice feelings as any of my handsome dream soldiers. I move aside and he gets off.
Did I just miss my personal fairy tale? As these eyes! Why do we need to wear all thesee masks when they hide almost the whole face – I want to see the rest of him.
I see my reflection in the aquarium’s window. If I didn’t know I was tired to the bone, I’d see it now. When did I go to the haidresser’s the last time (for myself, not for my children); and is there ketchup on my worn-out-T-shirt?
When I see my 40-years-old-me, I remember when I visited the Oregon Coast Aquarium the first time. We two hadn’t any time, nor desire looking at the animals, so much we kissed.
The next time I visited there was no one to distract me – we had broke up the day before (for which silly reason did we I’m asking myself now. and where is he now? who does he kiss, or does not?). But I couldn’t look at the sea otters, they had moved to another zoo because of construction.
But now I’m able to see them, and I do.
Who cares that my two little ones play hide and seek in the other room, and that have start screaming? The cute sea otters make me smile; at least I get a smile today.
When all I really want is a deep, long kiss.
To feel as a woman, and not as a tired mum, again.
“look, there’s a hummigüegli. Isn’t it beautiful?” I turn around, half expecting him to point to one of the mountains in the far distance, saying again something in Bernerdeutsch that I can’t understand. But he looks at a lovely flower, takes something in his hands, and what towards me. “Here, look – a hummigüegli.” “Ah, you mean a ladybug.” He smiles. “Yes, doesn’t it match perfectly – the great mountain’s sky and a lovely lady at my side. Am I not the happiest person on Earth?” I have no other answer for him than to kiss him.
Hummigüegli is ladybug in Bernerdeutsch (Switzerland)
himmu for heaven
gueg for bug
güegli for little bug
while i want
under the pure and speechless sky of stars
I got this postcard from John from Georgia with the word “vivacious” as inspiration. And he wrote that “I suspect this decribes you”. This postcard then reminded me of a conversation we had during lunch break at work a while ago. Topic: how do you envision to have your engagement? I don’t remember how we ended up speaking about engagements/weddings (which guy actually sucked it up) (oh well, now I think it was something about the size of the ring) (or was it about the place he choose to ask “the” question of all questions?) Never mind – at one point, I just said that “well, that would be like inviting me to the Eiffel Tour restaurant for a fancy dinner and then ask me if we want to get married, super-luxus all around us, when I probably have my most crappiest but comportable hiking boots on”. What I want to say: Hasn’t everyone ever had the feeling that some people believe to know us while they actually don’t? To sum it up: My writing might be vivacious sometimes or most of the times but I’m not. Not at all. Or maybe I am and don’t know it myself. Well, I’m twins as star signs, maybe that says it all ;-)