Journal Entries

Haiku for the Winter Season


smiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - holly

Dimpled white blanket
Bright crystal frosting falls from
Brittle tree branches


Such indistinct shapes
Round humps on a smothered lawn
Snowflakes came to rest


Crimson wings flutter
Cardinal can't hide in trees
On a winter's field


Grey bark and white frost
Swishing tails and cascading snow
Squirrels chase limb to limb


Brown warm body stands
Steaming breath escapes, ears twitch
Cautious deer in glade


Icicles dripping
Silent shush of feet in snow
Then a snowball fight


Frost in the treetops
Reflecting midnight starshine
Walking hand-in-hand


Chilled lips part to kiss
Under bare trees flocked in white
Spent breath a delight


Snuggle in blankets
Before a blazing Yule fire
Planning days to come


Sharing all our days
Cuddling to find a warm spot
Before winter leaves

smiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - hollysmiley - holly

Discuss this Journal entry [110]

Latest reply: Jan 3, 2003

Describe a Moment in Your Life...

Dear Fellow Researcher [and Soon-To-Be-Friend],

Would you please share a small chapter of your life? Could you share the sights, sounds, feelings of a particular place or special event? Let the description be the thing that moves you; let your recollection be as precise as you can make it. I'd feel honored if you'd interject even one small scene from your life.

Here's something I'd shared with someone on a separate posting and it struck me it would be wonderful to have others share moments dear to them. What a great way to build a community with a common core of experience!

::From B4::smiley - aliensmile

My Opa, Artur, and my Oma, Elizabeth, were caught up in the upheavals of WWII and made a run for it from Goldap before they could be swallowed up by the troop movements advancing on their home of many years. My Opa evidently got tasked for military duties, while he remanded my Oma and their three girls into the care of the crew of a submarine that took them to safe harbor elsewhere. It was several years before they were reunited on the streets of a town far from their origins. They started a new life in a different home, raising their girls and adapting their foreign surroundings, soon calling it "home". I'm certain their thoughts and dreams often returned to dwell on the forever-unobtainable possibility of "what if" circumstances had not gone that route.

I have a glimmer of that in my life, though it was nominally experienced through the eyes of a child. I grew up in the apartment block on Rennbahnstrasse. There was a tall hedge along the street, with two entrances and walkways passing the buildings on right and left, converging in front of the third building set back beyond the other two. There were trees with paper-thin bark in and around the small playground sheltered in the lee of the three apartment buildings. We occasionally used the inverted "U" of the clotheslines behind the buildings as goals to play football. I remember the dim stairwells leading to each of the landings, and the one that took you down to the even darker basement where we'd get canisters of kerosene for the stove. There resounds in me the memory of the texture and feel of the waxy little strips of paper used to light the stove, the smell of sulfur from the struck match, the sputtering of the wax, the creak of the cast-iron door of the stove. Trinschen, the box turtle would cozy herself close by to stay warm, too. Baths consisted of running water into the claw-foot tub only halfway up, supplemented by a pot of hot water or two from the stove. It bathtub was open to the room as there was no curtain, and the general chill would cool the bath water quickly. I recall the soap we used would turn the water a milky white, swirling and eddying, and form slightly oily patches of scum on top. If one waited the right amount of time, one could scoop it up and it became small globules in the palm of the hand. The bedding was frequently draped over the windowsill to air out and I can still feel the fluffiness of the down beneath my elbows as I propped myself in the framing, gazing out upon the neighborhood I used to call “home”.

Then things changed for me, too. My Mutti married my Dad, I was adopted, and we spent a short time living in a different apartment in Erbenheim, before moving to the US. Gone were the cold winters and banks of snow; we lived in the panhandle of Florida. Pine trees and beach sand replaced the ash [?] and poplar [?] I’d know for so long. All the children around me spoke American, a language I’d only sparsely learned in my few short years. The school system determined to have me wait a full year before enrolling me, so I could grow my vocabulary. In many little ways, I was an outsider to this culture and it took diligent efforts on the part of my parents to groom me for it. The most effective way for me to assimilate the language was to be in the midst of the activities of the rest of the children. I was ready to tackle the school curriculum before the next year arrived. The resilience of youth is phenomenal! Over time, and with each event shared with those young friends, I melded with the society in which I’d found myself transplanted.

::B4::smiley - aliensmile

Discuss this Journal entry [14]

Latest reply: Nov 23, 2002

Describe a Moment in Your Life...


Dear Fellow Reaearcher [and Soon-To-Be-Friend],

Would you please share a small chapter of your life? Could you share the sights, sounds, feelings of a particular place or special event? Let the description be the thing that moves you; let your recollection be as precise as you can make it. I'd feel honored if you'd interject even one small scene from your life.

Here's something I'd shared with someone on a separate posting and it struck me it would be wonderful to have others share moments dear to them. What a great way to build a community with a common core of experience!

::From B4::smiley - aliensmile

My Opa, Artur, and my Oma, Elizabeth, were caught up in the upheavals of WWII and made a run for it from Goldap before they could be swallowed up by the troop movements advancing on their home of many years. My Opa evidently got tasked for military duties, while he remanded my Oma and their three girls into the care of the crew of a submarine that took them to safe harbor elsewhere. It was several years before they were reunited on the streets of a town far from their origins. They started a new life in a different home, raising their girls and adapting their foreign surroundings, soon calling it "home". I'm certain their thoughts and dreams often returned to dwell on the forever-unobtainable possibility of "what if" circumstances had not gone that route.

I have a glimmer of that in my life, though it was nominally experienced through the eyes of a child. I grew up in the apartment block on Rennbahnstrasse. There was a tall hedge along the street, with two entrances and walkways passing the buildings on right and left, converging in front of the third building set back beyond the other two. There were trees with paper-thin bark in and around the small playground sheltered in the lee of the three apartment buildings. We occasionally used the inverted "U" of the clotheslines behind the buildings as goals to play football. I remember the dim stairwells leading to each of the landings, and the one that took you down to the even darker basement where we'd get canisters of kerosene for the stove. There resounds in me the memory of the texture and feel of the waxy little strips of paper used to light the stove, the smell of sulfur from the struck match, the sputtering of the wax, the creak of the cast-iron door of the stove. Trinschen, the box turtle would cozy herself close by to stay warm, too. Baths consisted of running water into the claw-foot tub only halfway up, supplemented by a pot of hot water or two from the stove. It bathtub was open to the room as there was no curtain, and the general chill would cool the bath water quickly. I recall the soap we used would turn the water a milky white, swirling and eddying, and form slightly oily patches of scum on top. If one waited the right amount of time, one could scoop it up and it became small globules in the palm of the hand. The bedding was frequently draped over the windowsill to air out and I can still feel the fluffiness of the down beneath my elbows as I propped myself in the framing, gazing out upon the neighborhood I used to call “home”.

Then things changed for me, too. My Mutti married my Dad, I was adopted, and we spent a short time living in a different apartment in Erbenheim, before moving to the US. Gone were the cold winters and banks of snow; we lived in the panhandle of Florida. Pine trees and beach sand replaced the ash [?] and poplar [?] I’d know for so long. All the children around me spoke American, a language I’d only sparsely learned in my few short years. The school system determined to have me wait a full year before enrolling me, so I could grow my vocabulary. In many little ways, I was an outsider to this culture and it took diligent efforts on the part of my parents to groom me for it. The most effective way for me to assimilate the language was to be in the midst of the activities of the rest of the children. I was ready to tackle the school curriculum before the next year arrived. The resilience of youth is phenomenal! Over time, and with each event shared with those young friends, I melded with the society in which I’d found myself transplanted.

::B4::smiley - aliensmile

Discuss this Journal entry [1]

Latest reply: Nov 22, 2002


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Blue-Eyed BiPedal BookWorm from Betelgeuse (aka B4[insertpunhere])

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