18 Years Ago: Reprise (May 26th)

Hike near Prevorst.

I took four days off after stopping my 18 Years Ago series on Friday. And here are a few things I did, having not done them in a while: watch a movie with my family (About Time, which we all recommend); binge-watch crime/mystery shows on German TV one evening (alone, with my sock-knitting); take a woodland hike with a school friend of Markus' and his two sons; cook for a few hours at a stretch (listening to NPR podcasts); bathe (to relax, I don't mean to suggest I was neglecting myself while serial); take a 16K bike ride with my husband; read (currently: Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn, a recommendation by the same writer who told me about The Two Kinds of Decay; it's a memoir of a tough childhood reminiscent of Tobias Wolff's with an intense dance between memoirist-son and absent father, told in a sporadic way that speaks to the vignette style of my own writing); sleep; pick strawberries with my daughter.

Berry picker.

We've had some extra time because it was a holiday weekend. The holiday was Pfingsten (Pentecost), and I've written a Language & Such entry to ponder the word. Protocol for holidays in Germany is that businesses are closed, and so are all the stores. But there are some exceptions. For example, the farmers are permitted to sell their perishable products, even on the holiday. Miriam and I went out for a walk, planning to buy a container of strawberries at the stand. When we found they were offering U-pick for the first time this season, we went out into the fields to search for ripe berries and carry them home.

Pfingstrose on Pfingstmontag.

In the garden, we're watching the slow arrival of early summer. The German word for peony is Pfingtstrose, i.e. Pentecost rose. We have a massive clump of peonies, nearly as tall as me. I shared photos earlier this month as a metaphor for waiting, and I found I was still waiting for the first blooms on Pfingstsonntag. I rather thought the actual holiday for which the plant is named would do the trick. Yesterday, on Pfingstmontag, I found one blossom just about open, but the temperatures are cool, and I think the plant is holding out for warmer air. I haven't decided which word is stranger: peony or Pfingstrose. (The word "peony" via Latin from Greek: Paiōn, the name of the physician of the gods.)

Clematis.

Meanwhile, the clematis has more than made up for the laggard peonies.

Since it was so much fun to write about happenings in May 1997, I can't resist adding a couple of photos and remembering. By today's date, May 26th, Simon was 9 days old. When he wasn't asleep, he hung out with us. We set him on the boppy pillow on the table next to us during meals. He slept in our arms. He made eye contact. He nursed and nursed. We were off to a good, healthy start. Born well, healthy baby, healthy mom and dad devoting time to his care. Good times.

When Simon was one week old, Markus took his portrait for the birth announcement. Here's another pose.

One week old.

I have to say, Simon rather turned his daddy's head.

My boys.