a lapsed Quaker walking…I’m relatively sure you’ll get what I’m trying to say at some point


Ok, I told you about the dog I met the first day and how I was missing my dogs, so there’s that. The whole dog thing. I’ve even started Dog Spotting pretty obsessively, which is something I always did, yet now I’m taking photos and adding whimsical captions and/or stories. We’ll see what comes of that. 

I deliberated for some time about whether I wanted to go into more detail about walking the Camino de Santiago, and once I’ve gotten over the whole ‘imposter syndrome‘ thing, I think I’ve got some ideas about how I can present it. 

Here’s what I’ve decided: assuming you’ve come here to hear my take on things and you know I’ve been walking on and off across northern Spain the last few years, you just have to expect that at some point I’m going to rattle on about the pilgrimage. 

Now first of all, I can imagine some of you saying, ‘I don’t give a damn about some ridiculous pilgrimage. It’s the 21st century and anyone worth his or her salt, at this point, is either atheist or at the bare minimum agnostic, so why stumble along some ancient path with a bunch of other dogooders?’

For one thing, I’ll get to my affiliation and perspective on all of that in a moment, but I’ll quickly point out that what’s now called The French Way (Camino Francés) is actually a pre Christian pilgrimage, or whatever those heathens called such a thing before they had the word ‘pilgrimage‘. 

It’s something I read at the airport last year, while waiting for my flight home. Starting somewhere in modern day Italy, or perhaps in what we used to call Yugoslavia, there was a path cut across northern Italy, the south of France, the Pyrenees (including St. Jean Pied de Port and Roncesvalles in the foothills), Pamplona and ultimately Santiago

Who cares? Why are you even still reading at this point?

My reasoning is that because you’ve never been on the Camino and likely wouldn’t make such a journey, this is the ultimate travel writing opportunity. I’ll try giving you a feel for walking this thing, while fully aware that you might never entertain the idea of doing so yourself. You’ll go about your daily life and every once in a while, if I’ve done my job right, you sigh and think to yourself, ‘All that’s well and good for that kind of person…’ or perhaps even, ‘Maybe someday…’

If I can give you an impression of taking the pilgrimage without even leaving your armchair, then I’ve done something worthwhile. Let me be your Bilbo Baggins, and taking that analogy to its logical conclusion, go ahead and ask yourself, ‘Who’s his Smog?

Or better yet: 

What Ring is he holding onto and might he eventually hurl into the smoldering abyss?’

Good questions and I’ll get to them in due time. As for my above mentioned affiliation, I’m not walking the Camino for religious reasons. Not per se, anyway. That’s not to say I’m an unbeliever. Far from it. 

Not a Roman Catholic, though. Although I’m in awe of the Church and the beauty that it’s either inspired or sponsored, there’s no part of me that wants to walk to Rome or Canterbury or any such preposterous locale. If that’s your thing, more power to you. Just not for me. 

We humans need labels, so I’ll just put this out there, and you can categorise me as you see fit. I’m a kind of a lapsed Quaker…walking The Way trying to get a better understanding of why we keep doing all of this. 

One of my favourite bumper stickers I saw in Austin years back was:

Don’t believe everything you think.’

I like to think I’ve taken that one to heart. Oh, and if you’re a pilgrim or once we’re and are reading this thinking, ‘What an imposter!‘, just keep walking. I’m relatively sure you’ll get what I’m trying to say at some point. 

Hey ladies: you want to take your relationship to the next level? Have I got a deal for you…

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The world famous, or infamous, Hofbräuhaus

For the second time in the last six months or so one of my Mitbewohner (flatmates) has decided to go shack up with his girlfriend. Move in with his beloved, in other words. All’s well. I wish each of them the best and wonder who’s going to move in next.

Then I strike on a comical thought:

There have got to be women out there who want to take their relationship to the next level, right? Well, my place appears to have some good mojo for just such an objective.

Is your guy hesitant for whatever reason? Will he not communicate his objections?

Have no fear! A few months at mine, and he’ll be raring to go. You’ll have him signing his name on the joint rental lease in no time.

You don’t even live in Munich, you say? No worries. Just send him over, and we’ll sort this out in record time. We might even get him hooked on the local beer in the process.

Just think: you get a new, improved version of your fella. Ready to talk commitment on the one hand, and the makings of an unhealthy relationship with particularly strong beer on the other hand.

I’d consider that a win-win situation, wouldn’t you?

Don’t all of you beat the door down trying to be first in line.

Up in the night staring at the full moon and pondering the melting snow and an Imaginarium

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What’s an Imaginarium anyway?

Suppose I could blame the full moon. Or the pots full of tea I drank before I should’ve gone to bed. Maybe even the fistfuls of chocolate I was shoving in my gob at some point hours ago.

Yet whatever the reason, here I am up in the night not even trying to fall asleep. It’s even past the Witching Hour, whatever that is.

Friends in Australia were just waking up as I sat down and started writing earlier in the evening. They kept me company virtually as I shot off an email to a list of my regular readers, and for the most part they went about their day. A few night owls here in my timezone were up in the night with me, but I’m assuming all of them went off to dreamland long ago.

There are still plenty of my people stateside who’re still awake and have taken turns chatting away while they go about their Saturday evening. Some on the East Coast are holed up for this year’s annual Blizzard of the Century, while others strewn across other parts of the America look on smugly at how mild winter is for them…at least in comparison.

I’m staring at the moon and enjoying the sleepiness that’s finally creeping upon me. There are so many old photos saved on my hard drive that I could easily go through the archives and find plenty of visual content with having to produce anything new for a good long while.

That’s how this blogpost started, incidentally. Not that it’s such surprise, is it? Start with a photo and see where your thoughts take you. There are certainly more creative ways to come up with content. However, for this early morning with an evening of reflection already behind me – this is how it has to be.

Yes, this’ll have to do.

 

Dragged with vim & vigour

Ella and Louis taking Johanna for a walk

Taking the hounds out for a walk takes on a whole new meaning when you’re wearing your roller blades, doesn’t it?

So much holiday preparation going on this last weekend, but we still had time to go out and seize the day. Apparently, aside from decorating Christmas cookies, letting Ella and Louis pull her along was the best part of the weekend.

Can completely understand. I second that emotion, even.

Social media strategies: what NOT to do

 

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source: http://toothpastefordinner.com

Have been doing more freelance work with social media recently, and this cartoon had me chuckling. How many times have you been stumbling round the web, and one of your friends, that you thought wasn’t so bad, made one of these blunders.

No emo status updates people. Truly – it’s just bad form. The Complainer’s Gambit fits into that category, if you ask me.

Want to ruin your chances of being hired for that job you really wanted? Try the second one in the cartoon above. If I scroll through your wall or stream on a given site, and you’re involved in any sort of debauchery, good luck to you and yours.

Now, I know there are exceptions. There are some rock and roll musicians and even a few criminally insane artists in my circle of acquaintances. They get a pass on this one. It’s almost as if they increase their street red by being a bit mental.

I’m not going to name check any of them, though. This isn’t that sort of blogpost.

Now, I’m going to have to make a confession when it comes to the third and final example in the cartoon above. If you know me on social media, you’re already aware that I can go into a sort of fugue state of sharing on occasion.

It’s not something I’m proud of, I assure you. Once I get started, I’m like the people they talk about in those potato crisps advertisements…I simply can’t have just one.

 

 

 

 

Ode to Joy

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Tonight’s the Eurovision Song Contest, and during the voting they’re singing Ode to Joy and climbing ladders. As one does.

I don’t care how camp this thing is, I watch it every year, mock it on twitter and laugh at the voting from the countries that couldn’t get their entry into the Finals.

If you have no idea what this is, I’m not sure you want to research it. My parents were visiting me one year during the weekend when the Grand Prix was on. They watched it with me and were completely baffled by the whole ordeal.

This year? I suppose the bearded lady from Austria. Or the Polish maidens churning butter & washing clothes. Yes, that was a thing.

It’s a bit like an annual World Cup for the Homosexualists. Was that an insensitive comment? I can live with that.

Shake your booty

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Had a great time dancing the night away and was once again reminded how elemental it is to hear a beat and want to sway one’s body to and fro.

The lady in the photo above stands along Leopold Strasse here in Munich, and every time I pass her by, I can’t help but smile. She’s a statue, but she moves better than many of the people bustling by me. To be fair, she moves better than I do when I’m sometimes wrapped up in my thoughts.

Here’s to not only stopping and smelling the flowers, but to a bit of good old fashioned hip shaking. It’s certainly done me a world of good this evening.