Sigh!

It's past nine again. I am completely wiped after a day of ripping out shrubs that I planted in the place of flowers that were not to be there to begin with, while at the same time keeping Julian out of trees, reviewing French irregular verbs with Zoe and planning for Lea's first sleep over. It was the topic of the day, of course, and so while I was hauling clumps of roots around the garden, I was also going through a list of things in my mind to remember, in order not to scare Lea's new best friend away. After all, she has horses!

The obvious first one being, of course, not to use the f... word too often. The next one then trying not to launch the juice maker through the window again. Or if it can't be avoided (I hate juice makers) to at least say "Oops." And also, to plan my trip to the bathroom better in order not to emerge, as usual, like venus out of the waves - stark naked. Only Jules finds that mildly entertaining. And the list goes on.

I wonder why she is looking so much forward to the visit. Maybe it is more about me then her friend. Maybe she is getting back at me, maybe she just wants me to be NORMAL for once.

Don't go there

There are certain believes we hold to be true. They form the foundation of our identities and questioning them is tantamount to questioning the very backbone of our societies.
Only few brave minds dare go there. Even though most of it is not completely uncharted territory in this post post-modern era, it nevertheless is rough, unpredictable and inhospitable. Asking too many questions can lead to all kinds of trouble.

I remember being on the way to catch a bus in DC one hot sweltering day in August 1994 while some thoughts were roaming around in my mind when suddenly, just like that, they were gone. But what was special about that time was that I actually noticed those thoughts being erased. And to this day it chills me to remember how I stopped in my tracks, the bus came and went, and I just stared. It was a true epiphany as I realized that I was keeping myself from following the thoughts down to the next level.

I don’t remember what it was that I was thinking about, but I recall that it did produce a certain level of discomfort; and so my subconscious self-protection kicked in and turned it off, only this time luckily not fast enough to go unnoticed.

Amazing! The power of the subconscious. In fact, I am convinced that this powerful mechanism has ensured the survival of our species as we know it today. It is wide-spread and generally benefits those who make ample use of it. After all, ignorance is bliss.

The most unethical and even cruel acts are committed with the perpetrators claiming not to remember or not to be guilty of any wrong doing. And they believe it. It’s one of the truths we like to cling on to. It’s never us...it’s never what’s close to us.

No one Behind the Sofa...yet

I just finished painting my office and I am wiped. It was one of these mad projects that one should probably not attempt and definitely not when operating on a sleep-deficit the size of Indiana. But it had to be done. I had to reclaim my space or people were going to be found behind the sofa, mauled.

I also probably shouldn't be writing this...or write at all, because at all times there are other things that are probably more important: Bloody knees, verb conjugations, food burning... but then, again, those bodies come to my mind and I decide to sit down to type a few lines that connect me to who I am, who I was, who I want to be, who I will be, would be, can be, should be...

Whoever said, life is easy is a lier. I don't think anyone ever did though.

A Mother's Jeans

Have you ever browsed through a magazine at a news stand, then moved on to something else, and later wished you had bought it?

When in Germany the last time, I came across a scientific article published in a popular psychology magazine, and now I wish I had bought it. Instead I put it down, got distracted and carried on with life, to remember it only now. In the meantime, I probably saved Julian from certain death at least thirty-one times and the world from Julian at least twice as often.

It was a promising article, though. The author was presenting a study according to which human intelligence is handed down through the mother’s genes. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to find out more about the study and how the author handled the slippery subject of “intelligence.” Googling key words has gotten me nowhere so far.

But can you imagine what this could mean? All the Bachs and daVincis of the world, their mothers long forgotten, or at least little credited...

These days, the German government is enticing women who hold academic degrees to consider procreation despite the high opportunity costs of motherhood. Maybe I should give the Familienministerium a call. They seem to know something...