April 10, 2004
Good Friday was so quiet here. Everyone has fled the city for other places, namely warmer climes or local ski resorts. One of my favorite times of year in Haddonfield was summer when everyone took off for their second homes. The streets were deserted and I felt like I owned the place. Sigh, if only.
We took a ride into the country. The further we drove the closer into focus the Alps became. I am so used to flat living that any sight of mountains gets me overly excited. Chris was meeting a friend for golf and I took Henry for a long walk along a quiet road, looking at the flowering trees, running across people on horses. The fresh air and sun feel good on my face. I walked into a tiny little town with a church called St. Martin which had a stone slab plaque with an iron cross atop it and the dates 1939-1945. It was a list of the war dead from the tiny village and there must have been forty names on it. Most of them had died in Russia or Poland. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. It was such a juxtaposition with the jaunty maypole in traditional Bavarian blue and white not fifty feet from the eerie memorial. You can read a bit about maypoles here http://www.germanworld.com/maypole.htm . It’s impossible to forget what happened here not that long ago. As I stood staring at that monument I tried to think about those dead soldiers as people, sons, brothers, husbands, lovers, anything but Nazis. Many of them went into that brutally cold Russian winter under the spell of a madman and never returned. Did they laugh? Did they love? They must have. They probably all enjoyed their beer and the girls with their breasts spilling out of their dirndls. How did it go so wrong?
We looked for a place to lunch, but alas nothing in the countryside was open due to Good Friday. I am used to pagan Americans who have no reverence for anything, something I actually like in a strange way. Sunday? Who cares? Let’s go run up our credit cards with unnecessary shopping!
We found a beer garden open near us and had a drink and a bite. Henry sat sweetly by my feet while a wild Jack Russell terrier terrorized him.
We talked for a long time last night when we went to bed. I can hardly believe how easy it is to be with Chris, to let it all go and not feel judged. I thought about the person who came before him, how he shunned intimacy in all forms and how I almost felt guilty for craving it. How happy I am that I was able to break the pattern and find someone worthy of me.
Good Friday was so quiet here. Everyone has fled the city for other places, namely warmer climes or local ski resorts. One of my favorite times of year in Haddonfield was summer when everyone took off for their second homes. The streets were deserted and I felt like I owned the place. Sigh, if only.
We took a ride into the country. The further we drove the closer into focus the Alps became. I am so used to flat living that any sight of mountains gets me overly excited. Chris was meeting a friend for golf and I took Henry for a long walk along a quiet road, looking at the flowering trees, running across people on horses. The fresh air and sun feel good on my face. I walked into a tiny little town with a church called St. Martin which had a stone slab plaque with an iron cross atop it and the dates 1939-1945. It was a list of the war dead from the tiny village and there must have been forty names on it. Most of them had died in Russia or Poland. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. It was such a juxtaposition with the jaunty maypole in traditional Bavarian blue and white not fifty feet from the eerie memorial. You can read a bit about maypoles here http://www.germanworld.com/maypole.htm . It’s impossible to forget what happened here not that long ago. As I stood staring at that monument I tried to think about those dead soldiers as people, sons, brothers, husbands, lovers, anything but Nazis. Many of them went into that brutally cold Russian winter under the spell of a madman and never returned. Did they laugh? Did they love? They must have. They probably all enjoyed their beer and the girls with their breasts spilling out of their dirndls. How did it go so wrong?
We looked for a place to lunch, but alas nothing in the countryside was open due to Good Friday. I am used to pagan Americans who have no reverence for anything, something I actually like in a strange way. Sunday? Who cares? Let’s go run up our credit cards with unnecessary shopping!
We found a beer garden open near us and had a drink and a bite. Henry sat sweetly by my feet while a wild Jack Russell terrier terrorized him.
We talked for a long time last night when we went to bed. I can hardly believe how easy it is to be with Chris, to let it all go and not feel judged. I thought about the person who came before him, how he shunned intimacy in all forms and how I almost felt guilty for craving it. How happy I am that I was able to break the pattern and find someone worthy of me.
posted by jane at 3:30 AM
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