1918

On this cold November day, my great grandmother Johanna Unger looked at her little daughter Magdalena, whom she had given birth to just a few hours ago, as she opened her dark eyes. An armistice had just been signed a fortnight ago and spirits were high.

Patchwork

Over the past decades, family structures have become looser than ever before - at least in the Western world.

And at some point, the term “patchwork family” was coined to describe adults and children living together in relationships extending beyond those of the original biological family - usually after that family ceased to exist.

With a history of wars, famine, poverty and disease, the human family has always been under stress. A significant number of children has always been reared by other than their biological parents. Relatives, the state, and strangers often had to step in when plan A didn’t work out.

A reality that can shape a life forever.

Yet, there are quite a few voices who like to downplay the effects this can have on a child. Patchwork is in, it seems.

Patchwork embellishes the harsh and often intangible realities of childhood in the 21st century.

Of course, I distance myself from those who decry the decline of the “traditional family” blaming it on eroding (Christian) values and the “onslaught of feminism”, but I nevertheless wonder how healthy patchwork really is - and also, how unavoidable it is.

By definition, patchwork is created from the left-overs of a carefully designed and crafted original. It describes a more or less haphazardly stitched together pattern made up from the remnants of whatever it was that fell apart. And patchwork families are often exactly that: stitched together parts of the original families that were worn down by heavy use.

Which begs the questions, who is wearing out the families of the 21st centuries? Why are the pressures such that the seams rip even though there are no devastating wars, famines or pandemics?

Or to be more concrete:

Why do families over night have to adapt to the demands of the so-called global economy? Why does a regular work week in a decently salaried position amounts to fifty hours and more? Why, I ask, have real wages not increased since the 1970s, thereby making it often unaffordable to raise a family of four on one income only?

You know the answer. Someone is skimming off the cream while the masses watch and the patchwork is growing.

Jules knows this:

Gravity is green and flat and it sticks.

Do it yourself

For a while there I was baffled. As much as I scoured the aisles of leading grocery stores, I couldn’t find it. Store clerks looked at me quizzically when I inquired into the possibility of locating it on one of the shelves. Alone and a bit forlorn, I ambled between long rows of chutney, delicatessen, canned fruit and pickled everything. But nothing. I couldn’t find
any apple sauce.

In the land of orange marmalade, lemon curd, and mint sauce it seemed hard to believe that such an ordinary item as crushed, canned apples couldn’t be found. Especially, since it appears on every pub’s autumn menu, preferably in combination with pork.

It took me three years to figure out why...

The south of England virtually bursts with apple trees. Everyone has at least one in their back yard. On our way to school there are two houses with wheelbarrows parked outside the gate, filled to the brim with cooking apples to give away. All I have been eating at my friend’s home for the past month is bowls of delicious apple sauce with scrumptious vanilla sauce.

So, there you go...there simply is not enough profit margin in apple sauce, when people whip it up in a matter of minutes...all organic and free trade!

November

On cold branches lingers
the light of my memories

In dark heavy clouds rests
the beauty of your promise

Zero

I have been wondering about what it is that makes fashion so appealing. It would be so much easier to just wear the same old three shirts over and over, and not to worry about the length of skirts, jackets and heels as the seasons go by. Think about all the money that one could safe, and the time!! All those hours wasted in figuring what's in, where to get it, and how to get away with it. Surely purple lipstick is a tough one and long is bad if you are short? Take those low cut jeans, for instance. They were a real pain, I thought, and yet everyone in the last years did their best to stuff their private parts into them (but only just!). But what's that thing about size zero. That's gotta make 99% of women absolutely miserable. A) Who fits into a pair of jeans that their ten year old grew out of several months ago? B) Who likes to lie about fitting into them, and C) Who thinks looking like a victim of starvation is anything else but pathological, unless you really can't help it in which case - go ahead and grab a pair.
But I don't think they had you in mind, when they came up with the design.

Too Many

Gotta Produce
Gotta Make more
Gotta get that new one out

Hit the market
Hit the target
Hit that growth rate and be proud

More is better and better will win
‘Cause more is more and more is in

Gotta feed them
Gotta dress them
Gotta get them into school

Get them ready
Get them going
Get them the right tool

More is better and better will win
‘Cause more is more and more is in

Gotta compete
Gotta be sharp
Gotta make the difference

Not to lose out
Not to go under
Not to let go when the going gets tougher

More is better
Better will win
‘Cause more is more and more is in

Gotta check
Gotta see
Gotta go for the best deal

Too many people
Too many for one job
No need to give just ask for more

Witch Friend?

As we entered the kitchen, there were thick clouds of purple and green smoke suspended at mid level and a slight but undeniable sulphureous stench permeated the air as Peta pulled the third creation of the day from the oven - a dark blue cake. The other slightly more striking variations in aforementioned hues of purple and green were cooling on the countertop next to a bowl of orange icing waiting for its deployment.

Peta tends to be generous with the icing and it is fun watching her sloshing it on, while uttering little mournful sighs and hisses and an occasional curse. All this was fine and rather to be expected, after all it was the night before H’ween and she was trying out a new recipe, but then she turned to us and cheerfully said, “Almost there, why don’t you grab a plate. You are the first ones to try it.”

And for a moment I wondered, whether our friendship had suffered any indiscernible and yet irreparable damage over the past months. Whether we should maybe sit down and talk...and whether that dark spot at the tip of her nose was really a wart and not just a dollop of stray icing.

But already Julian’s little finger dove into the icing at full speed and vanished into his mouth before I could thwart its swift movement. And I knew I would have to follow suit. No turning back now. After all I had gotten us into this mess.

Well done, Gretel, we will GLOW for years to come!