I Feel Tired

It’s time to clean the balcony and screw together the small table that sits out there. It was the kitchen table in my family’s appartement and I spent a lot of time sitting at it. We never had breakfast together – except on Sundays – father was the first to leave, than mother and I had a last cup of coffee, checked the gas pipe to the oven, windows and lights and went to school. When I returned mother would have prepared something to eat, father would drop by, and leave after eating. I would see him again in the evening. A small simple and cheap table, undestructable with it’s plastic surface. I’ll have to search for the Rohrzange (pic) to fix the four screws of the table legs.
But I do not want to talk about memories (bah whom am I cheating ?), despite the fact that over the last days memories crawl in my consciousness. At the end of  last week I finished a work for a friend – somewhere (some months ago?) I may have remarked that I would be working through some family papers ? – and she happily carried away her family archive neatly sorted, listed and numbered. I also trans-scribed a handful of letters she could not read because of the handwritings’ style. A bit touching, personal, nothing to be told here.
It was not exhausting or emotionally draining. It just made me remember my own family’s history. I think I should do a bit more in this departement – I can not get the picture of a small sack of photographs I once had, out of my head. I had a desk in my Kinderzimmer – thinking about it I realize that I sat at desks for the last … hmpf …  thirty-five years ? – and left side, in the back of the lowest drawer, was a kind of plastic sack with photographs the father of my mother once gave to me. I remember the sack well, because it was one of those  my mother used to put my Pausenbrot in (ein Brot mit Hartwurst und ein Apfel, always the same; I bought a small cacao (pic) in the Große Pause, 10:30-10:45; after some years I learned to love the apple.), clear plastics with red ties to close.
I know that this small sack always came with me, through all moves, and it must be here somewhere, but I can not locate it now. Alfred must have given me these pictures when I was still a schoolboy, maybe thirteen or fourteen.
If I find I’ll let you know.

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26 thoughts on “I Feel Tired

  1. interesting that the memory of the kitchen table triggered the memory of the small sack. Memories are in layers and maybe by following one trail you’ll find another. I hope you find them.

  2. Pictures bring back memories thats for sure. My mother had pictures that are over hundred years old and I look at them but I can’t know who they all are because she had no names on them.

  3. It is amazing how going about the mundane can trigger long forgotten memories. Good luck with the “Treasure Hunt” Mr Mago.
    I find it very frustrating to be able to visualize what it is that I’m looking for but just can’t remember the very “special and safe place” that I put it where I could easily find it when needed.

  4. I also need to be doing this task. Last week I sent a letter to my Great Aunt. The oldest/only surviving member of my dads family. I hope the work of genealogy has mostly been done in some form and I have not set upon her a great burden. I hope her daughter will help. I have not seen them since I was eighteen.
    ~M

  5. I do hope you find those photos. I too am currently looking at my family’s history, my mother and her story mostly. I expect I’ll want to do my father’s afterwards. Is this, do you think, one of those life stages: like acne and falling in love?

    Get some sleep.

  6. i shall petition st anthony for you. finder of lost things.

    ive just come off my moms funeral. the box of old photos are now like a treasure chest of gold, and one of mom at the beach now lives in my wallet. i see her everyday as a young woman, beautiful and with a full life ahead.

    take a nap outside. get a blanket if need be, but rest outside. trust me.

  7. @ Eryl Shields “…like acne and falling in love?” Funny and good lord I hope not! Brooding is best suited for teenagers and even then it gets old fast.
    Brooding is like leeches. Occasionally useful, but tends to drain you with too much use.
    ~M

  8. You are right, Boxer, memories are in layers and remembering works in circles or spirals.

    Get a salami, Schwarzbrot and a Golden Delicious, XL. The Kakaotrunk came out of a small package. When finished pump it up with the straw and jump on it – bang, Pause ist vorbei.

    Yes, Savannah, memories.

    They can, Ponita, they do not need to.

    I did LGS, I slept for 10 hours at least!

    Joyce x 2 – isn’t that a pity! I have pictures with people I know I am related to – but I have no memories of their names, and nobody to ask.
    No, I have not found the pictures, but I had only a very cursory look around. And there are still some trunks in the cellar.

    Oh Scarlet! Yes it’s a niggle – especially when you know absolutely that you had this thing in hands only some days ago and you put it at this special save place where you would be able to find it Anytime again! ARG …

    I bed! Maybe I find one MJ

    Exactly, dear Princess, see my answer to Scarlet!

    You start a genealogical research for your family, Melanie? Some of your forefathers came from Germany I think. Franconia?

    Dear Raine, thank you very much for your visit. Sometimes in the coming days I’ll put up some family pics. ((Raine))

    You mean it’s something like a “middle aged family securation” (I just invented this word, in German: sich seiner selbst versichern durch die Familie, a bit difficult), Eryl? Looking back not only over the own life time but over the next generation to realize the chain in which one is standing? Maybe just a stage, as you say.

    Ah, Chickory, don’t know whether Anton will work for protestants too … It’s decades since I slept outside! Actually we have a very nice rain here, so the outdoor sleep will have to wait a bit. But I’ll keep it in mind for the summer.

    … brood brood …

  9. Hai, “Germans” on both sides, noble riff-raffs, exiled twice, marry for alliances (England,France, Norway) so as not to lose their heads. After the thirty years war they came over and fought in the American civil war. This must explain why I never know when to stop fighting.

  10. My rusty schoolgirl German made a reappearance then and took me back to my own childhood and stories of the Chalet School. Pictures of the past get lost so easily. Once found, they can be a treasure trove and a mystery when you can no longer remember some of the people you see and there is no one left to ask.
    A reminder of youth and also of mortality. I hope you find them 🙂

  11. No, Austere , but I found a picture of me starting school. A very strange person.

    Thank you dear Roses.

    Yes, mortality, Joanna.

    You mean Norman with his sugar-coated pictures – at least they seem a bit too romantic to me, Norma, but I have not really looked at them. He always reminds me a bit of Spitzweg.

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