... replaced by the very smug, satisified feeling you get when you have two companies quote an identical project with identical products and identical labor and the second company, without even knowing there was a first company, underbid them by $500.
this calls for ms paint:
... this persistent sadness today. one of those feelings that tries to trick you into paying too much attention to it by writing about it or trying to channel it into some kind of creative expression. but as soon as you give it that little bit of acknowledgment, it expands like fungus, sinking feelers into dark, moist places you never wanted anything to touch.
if you don't do anything with it, it stays put, festers, feeds on itself, and slowly dies.
but it always leaves a spore.
it looks like this: ß
* * *
this picture is a pretty cool way to sum up the trip to germany. a small village stuffed with modernized buildings in traditional architectural styles; contemporary living spaces and fashionable shops; a busy little village overseen by the ruins of a castle on the hill just outside of town; vast stretches of forest and farm land picking up right where the village stops, with no suburbia in between.
there's one aspect of this picture that says it best: cobblestoned streets lined with potted palms.
germany was a constant clash of old and new; classic europe and encroaching multiculturalism; expectations and reality. i know that all of germany isn't like this. but we saw an awful lot of the country in those two weeks and this kind of scene was pretty common.
here's another example: imagine walking through a crowd of german-speaking japanese tourists in the old walled city of rothenburg, when suddenly the clock in the main square begins to chime; doors open up and mechanical figures reenact the legend of the mayor who drank a gallon of wine all at once as part of a deal to save the city from marauding catholic invaders. meanwhile, you've ambled across the cobbledstoned square and absentmindedly stopped in the middle of a street, which--wonder of wonders--is actually open to cars, which -- wonder of wonders -- actually do exist in this place that still looks the way it did in 1450, except for the gigantic christmas store and the lack of livestock roaming the streets. and one of those cars nearly runs you over as it swerves around you, blasting german techno at decibels loud enough to make the bell in the cathedral vibrate a little.
it's going to take a while to digest these two very bewildering weeks. they were the cap of a spring that was pretty bewildering altogether, with my surgery, kara's graduation and career shift, and this long trip. suddenly we're home at the end of it all, trying to figure out how to live our lives now that these things that we've been preparing for for so long have finally come. what was it we used to do before we ever gave this stuff a thought?
