Something I observe so often and have noticed again today while doing my groceries shopping at the supermarket has prompted me to write yet again, even though my last entry on here is not yet 24 hours old.
I am not entirely sure how to call this: laziness? Can't-be-bothered-ness? Something else I have not thought of yet?
Anyway.
What I am actually on about is how people seem to strive more and more for minimal effort, in all areas of life.
The observation at the supermarket is just one tiny example for the type of behaviour I mean:
There are four rows of trolleys at my local Aldi. Usually, one or two rows are still quite well filled with trolleys, while the others are almost empty with only a few left at the far end of the row.
What does the average customer do?
They go and grab, 95 % of the time (my estimate), the first one in one of the full rows.
Getting a trolley from one of the more empty rows does not exactly involve having to walk for miles, and yet, the effort to walk those few steps down the row is apparently too much for the majority.
It is very similar, I think, to what some of my colleagues do - they print something off the printer that is roughly 6 m from their desk and then look around to see if some other colleague has printed something or is going in that direction anyway, so that they do not have to get up from their chairs, make those few paces towards the printer and get whatever they have printed (and I am not talking here about times so stressful that they can not afford to leave their desks for 15 seconds).
Taking the train to work in the mornings, I see most of the other passengers clustering right at the top of the stairs where they wait for the train, making it difficult for others who come up the stairs to get around them, simply because (I think) they can not be bothered to walk a few metres further down the platform - the train is certainly long enough, and has of course more doors than just the one that comes to a stop just in front of the stairs.
So, what is this?
Is it some ancient behavourial pattern, deeply ingrained through tens of thousands of years of evolution, from back when it was essential to any human's survival to conserve as much energy as possible? Is it a laziness that ties in with the "me first" mentality as well as with the "I want it all and I want it now" type? Or a combination of both?
If you know, please tell me.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Seeing Red
Colours affect our mood; we all know it and we have all seen it happening.
Today's picture of the Pink Lady is no coincidence; the past few days have been grey and overcast, with muddy heaps of snow still sitting on every road and pavement, and so I felt the need for some pink.
Going to the gym last night after work, I couldn't help but notice that more than half of the others there - both men and women - were sporting red t-shirts (myself included - more often than not, I wear a boring plain white one).
Yes, it looks like we have all truly had enough of the greys, browns and blacks that feature so prominently in winter outfits.
I will celebrate the day when I can leave the house without that winter coat and not freeze instantly!
Anyone feel like joining the party?
Today's picture of the Pink Lady is no coincidence; the past few days have been grey and overcast, with muddy heaps of snow still sitting on every road and pavement, and so I felt the need for some pink.
Going to the gym last night after work, I couldn't help but notice that more than half of the others there - both men and women - were sporting red t-shirts (myself included - more often than not, I wear a boring plain white one).
Yes, it looks like we have all truly had enough of the greys, browns and blacks that feature so prominently in winter outfits.
I will celebrate the day when I can leave the house without that winter coat and not freeze instantly!
Anyone feel like joining the party?
Monday, 15 February 2010
Why I Do Not Drive
Lately, I have met several new people; some at parties, some business-wise. One thing these new acquaintances have in common: they all look at me in wide-eyed disbelief when the conversation turns to the topic of travel and I mention that I do not drive.
"You mean you don't have a car," is the usual first reaction. No, that is not what I mean. What I mean is that I do not have a driving license, never had one and - in all likelihood - never will have one.
Since this has come up quite a few times recently, I have started to wonder why I actually am so completely not bothered about cars in general and owning my own car in particular.
The total lack of interest may have something to do with the way I grew up.
Grandparents on both sides of the family never owned a car, and to my knowledge, neither of the four had ever learnt how to drive.
My mother took her driving test in the early 1960s, when traffic on the streets of our small town in South Germany was nowhere near what it became only two decades later; she gave up on driving when, after a short stint in the countryside, we returned to live in town.
For my father, driving was essential, as he used to work shifts at the printing press for the local newspaper, and there was no public transport by the time the night shift ended.
But, as I said, it was essential to get from A to B - not something you did for fun, and the money simply wasn't there to own a car just for fun, either.
When I was around 5 years old, my family moved to a small village near the French border, maybe 2 hours' drive from our original town.
People did not have two or three cars to each household back then; the village was mostly home to farmers who had a car and a tractor, plus bikes for everyone in the family.
The place was small enough for me to easily get anywhere I wanted to on my own two stubby little legs, and my tiny bike and my roller skates were not so much seen as means of transport but as ways to have fun (and the occasional accident when I became too daring - which was quite typical for me back then).
By the time I started school, we had already moved back to town. School was only a 5 minute walk from home; all the shops for our daily needs were in the same direction, and it was only on very rare occasions that one took the bus to the other end of town instead of walking there, or even the train to the next small town where some relatives lived.
We still had bikes, and used them often in the summer to get to the public swimming pool. I also still had my roller skates, and my best friend and I spent endless afternoons in working on our "figure skating" routines, imagining ourselves in the pretty costumes we had seen on telly, receiving flower bouquets from our admirers, and smiling beautifully into the cameras.
At 17, almost everybody in my class was taking driving lessons, paid for by generous parents or grandparents.
As much as our parents and grandparents loved us, neither I nor my sister were offered the amounts of money needed for those lessons, and we were too lazy (and too interested in clubbing and music) to try and find after-school jobs or other ways to raise the necessary funds; therefore, we both left school without even one single driving lesson under our belts.
Later, when I started to work at the library, once again I lived close enough to walk; it happened only on particularly awful stormy, cold and wet autumn nights that I took the bus home after work, and every time I hated to spend money on something I still deemed unnecessary in my mind.
Of course by then, several of my friends already had their own cars - and I don't deny that it was comfortable to stick to them for a night of clubbing; so much easier (and probably less dangerous) to go to Stuttgart and back by car than having to make sure you got the last train in and the first train out (which usually meant meeting my dad under the door, when he was leaving for work and I was just coming in to go to bed).
I got married at 22, and my husband had a car. This, for a brief period in my life, did open some new possibilities for holidays and other trips that had not been possible before, or at least not possible without a lot of planning. Soon, though, with the disintegrating of that marriage, the benefits of actually owning (in monetary terms) more of that car than he did, disappeared, and once again, I relied on my own two legs plus public transport for most of the distances I needed to cover.
My second marriage was to a man who, like myself, never had a driving license and never owned a car - two of a kind, it seemed.
We still had some very nice holidays together, got all our shopping done, were able to go to work and managed to keep many other appointments both for business and private purposes.
When I became a widow, many of my friends and acquaintances offered to help in whichever way they could; for some of them, that meant offering lifts or helping me with my groceries shopping and similar. Much as I appreciated all those offers (and still do), so far, they have largely not been necessary.
Yes, there are times when a car is most convenient; take last week, for instance.
I was meeting a friend at the aiport; their plane was cancelled and the next one delayed, so that we ended up meeting hours later than what was originally intended. Had I relied solely on public transport, I would have had to take the last train back, which would have meant to spend a mere two hours together - way too short for someone you meet less than once a year!
So, in that case, I was glad for the taxi taking me back home at a time when no trains were available. But generally, I do not feel I am missing out on anything for not being able to drive.
So far, I always got to where I wanted - and back.
"You mean you don't have a car," is the usual first reaction. No, that is not what I mean. What I mean is that I do not have a driving license, never had one and - in all likelihood - never will have one.
Since this has come up quite a few times recently, I have started to wonder why I actually am so completely not bothered about cars in general and owning my own car in particular.
The total lack of interest may have something to do with the way I grew up.
Grandparents on both sides of the family never owned a car, and to my knowledge, neither of the four had ever learnt how to drive.
My mother took her driving test in the early 1960s, when traffic on the streets of our small town in South Germany was nowhere near what it became only two decades later; she gave up on driving when, after a short stint in the countryside, we returned to live in town.
For my father, driving was essential, as he used to work shifts at the printing press for the local newspaper, and there was no public transport by the time the night shift ended.
But, as I said, it was essential to get from A to B - not something you did for fun, and the money simply wasn't there to own a car just for fun, either.
When I was around 5 years old, my family moved to a small village near the French border, maybe 2 hours' drive from our original town.
People did not have two or three cars to each household back then; the village was mostly home to farmers who had a car and a tractor, plus bikes for everyone in the family.
The place was small enough for me to easily get anywhere I wanted to on my own two stubby little legs, and my tiny bike and my roller skates were not so much seen as means of transport but as ways to have fun (and the occasional accident when I became too daring - which was quite typical for me back then).
By the time I started school, we had already moved back to town. School was only a 5 minute walk from home; all the shops for our daily needs were in the same direction, and it was only on very rare occasions that one took the bus to the other end of town instead of walking there, or even the train to the next small town where some relatives lived.
We still had bikes, and used them often in the summer to get to the public swimming pool. I also still had my roller skates, and my best friend and I spent endless afternoons in working on our "figure skating" routines, imagining ourselves in the pretty costumes we had seen on telly, receiving flower bouquets from our admirers, and smiling beautifully into the cameras.
At 17, almost everybody in my class was taking driving lessons, paid for by generous parents or grandparents.
As much as our parents and grandparents loved us, neither I nor my sister were offered the amounts of money needed for those lessons, and we were too lazy (and too interested in clubbing and music) to try and find after-school jobs or other ways to raise the necessary funds; therefore, we both left school without even one single driving lesson under our belts.
Later, when I started to work at the library, once again I lived close enough to walk; it happened only on particularly awful stormy, cold and wet autumn nights that I took the bus home after work, and every time I hated to spend money on something I still deemed unnecessary in my mind.
Of course by then, several of my friends already had their own cars - and I don't deny that it was comfortable to stick to them for a night of clubbing; so much easier (and probably less dangerous) to go to Stuttgart and back by car than having to make sure you got the last train in and the first train out (which usually meant meeting my dad under the door, when he was leaving for work and I was just coming in to go to bed).
I got married at 22, and my husband had a car. This, for a brief period in my life, did open some new possibilities for holidays and other trips that had not been possible before, or at least not possible without a lot of planning. Soon, though, with the disintegrating of that marriage, the benefits of actually owning (in monetary terms) more of that car than he did, disappeared, and once again, I relied on my own two legs plus public transport for most of the distances I needed to cover.
My second marriage was to a man who, like myself, never had a driving license and never owned a car - two of a kind, it seemed.
We still had some very nice holidays together, got all our shopping done, were able to go to work and managed to keep many other appointments both for business and private purposes.
When I became a widow, many of my friends and acquaintances offered to help in whichever way they could; for some of them, that meant offering lifts or helping me with my groceries shopping and similar. Much as I appreciated all those offers (and still do), so far, they have largely not been necessary.
Yes, there are times when a car is most convenient; take last week, for instance.
I was meeting a friend at the aiport; their plane was cancelled and the next one delayed, so that we ended up meeting hours later than what was originally intended. Had I relied solely on public transport, I would have had to take the last train back, which would have meant to spend a mere two hours together - way too short for someone you meet less than once a year!
So, in that case, I was glad for the taxi taking me back home at a time when no trains were available. But generally, I do not feel I am missing out on anything for not being able to drive.
So far, I always got to where I wanted - and back.
Monday, 1 February 2010
On a Rainy Day...
...or a snowy one for that matter, if it is a weekend and I do not have any appointments, I just stay home...
...in my pajamas all day, with a book that is not too challenging on an intellectual level but still engaging enough to keep me interested, or watching a cosy film, having hot drinks like coffee, tea and sometimes broth;
increasing the enjoyment of the book or the film by adding some delicious chocolates or cookies, with the scent of a home-made potpourri of rose petals,
or by ringing a friend I have not spoken to in a long time.
Alternatively, I can just follow my cat's example and never get out of bed. Utter luxury!
...in my pajamas all day, with a book that is not too challenging on an intellectual level but still engaging enough to keep me interested, or watching a cosy film, having hot drinks like coffee, tea and sometimes broth;
increasing the enjoyment of the book or the film by adding some delicious chocolates or cookies, with the scent of a home-made potpourri of rose petals,
or by ringing a friend I have not spoken to in a long time.
Alternatively, I can just follow my cat's example and never get out of bed. Utter luxury!
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Does anyone know...
...how to shift a blog-entry?
What I mean is, I wrote the draft for this blog entry
already back in July last year but had decided not to publish it yet.
Now I have changed my mind, but it still appears under the July date and not as a new posting.
I have not found a way to set the date.
Can anyone help?
Suggestions welcome and appreciated :-)
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Mothers Know...
...not everything, but a lot.
Mine is no exception.
All of this week, I have been very busy with both work and other things; almost every night after leaving the office, I had some event or other to attend, people to meet and talk to, arrangements to make and visitors to receive. Quite normal for me, really, but all the more I need time and space to myself.
Today, Saturday, was the only day where I did not "have to" go anywhere - or so I thought, until I realized there was no bread left and not much cheese in the fridge (bread and cheese being my staple food, since I rarely feel like cooking just for myself).
This morning, I talked to my mum on the phone and mentioned it briefly before making arrangements for my parents to come over in the afternoon, so that my dad could go through my late husband's things and decide what he likes and can wear.
When my parents arrived, my mum had a bag full of good things for me:
a loaf of bread she had baked for me immediately after our phone call earlier, a jar of home-made jam, some gruyêre (cheese) and two bottles of malt beer (it is not really beer, there is no alcohol in it, we just call it "Kinderbier" in German).
She saved me having to shop for groceries this weekend - I won't need much else, since tomorrow I am at a friend's birthday party, and for breakfast I almost always eat muesli anyway.
The bread was still warm, its lovely scent filling my kitchen, and I just had to cut two slices and eat them with the gruyêre straight away.
A mother's love can hardly be more tangible than that, can it?
I am glad my family live nearby. It does not matter that we do not always see eye to eye, and if they knew some of the things I am up to, they would most likely not approve, but like I said at the beginning of this post, mothers know a lot - just not everything :-)
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Notes To Self - II
Time for the second installment of my recently started "Notes To Self" series!
(Find the first one here: http://librarianwithsecrets.blogspot.com/2010/01/notes-to-self.html)
Again, deciphering my own handwriting becomes quite a challenge several days after the original scribbling down of a name or a term. A true calligraphical masterwork, this one!
Graphologists would probably never guess that, in spite of my handwriting, I am actually quite organized and neat in my daily life (don't ask about what is going on in my mind, though - quite the opposite, really...).
Enough of the preliminaries, and on to what I thought was worth remembering or following up on a while ago:
"Sir Brooke Boothby" says the first line. I read about him in an article in my weekly newspaper and must have found it interesting enough to want to do some research on him later.
Research I did, and the first entry Mr. Google lead me to was a piece about Gothic Romance, published in the Tate's online research journal.
The next line is another name - but I am certain only of "Barry" and find myself unable to decipher the surname. So there goes my intended follow-up on something else I must have found interesting.
And yet another name - more legible this time:
"Marcus Raichle --> Default Network"
Despite his very German sounding surname (his ancestors must have come from somewhere around here; you can't get more Swabian than that!), Mr. Raichle is a professor of Radiology, Neurology, Neurobiology and Biomedical Engineering at Washington University in St Louis. If you want to know what the "Default Network" is about, you can read more here http://boingboing.net/2009/07/10/default-state-of-the.html and of course elsewhere online as well as offline.
The next bit on the note clearly says "Body Image", but what follows could be Hifab, Hilab, Hijab - and none of it makes sense (well, I know what a Hijab is, but in this context...?).
So, with a sigh, I move on to "Giorgione: Tempesta", which is accompanied by a check mark - meaning I have done what I intended to do; in this case, written an article in a forum about the mysterious painting "La Tempesta" by Italian Rennaissance painter Giorgione:
To the right of the check mark, I have written "Edge" and underneath "John Brockman".
The Edge is a website, founded by John Brockman.
I have not had a proper and thorough look at it yet - it looks like this could be quite a time-consuming enterprise - but it certainly appears to be worth it.
See for yourself, if you like: http://www.edge.org/
Finally, there is a shopping list!
It says Hefe, Mehl, Eier, Mandelstifte, which are the ingredients I had to remember buying for a cake I was due to make for my sister's birthday on the 10th of January: yeast, flour, eggs, chopped almonds.
And last but not least, I was reading "The White Tiger" by Aravind Adiga and found a sentence about education on page 52 in the first paragraph: "I've always been a big believer in education - especially my own."
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