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Tonight, my daughter casually mentions that she is ... in love. She will be half red, very embarrassed smiles and plays it down immediately. The boy, in which it is "crush" according to its own specifications is also a Dreikäsehoch like them. I asked her how feel for it, this be a crush. Think short, then: it felt to easy. Whether because they've already given him a kiss, I will, as curious as I am now even know yet. No, it comes like a shot, certainly not, "it was gruusig" (Swiss German for: disgusting). Aha, I say it, and he knows something because of his good luck? No, certainly not, then she says, or he would tell all yes. And anyway, he was indeed in love with her. Oh, I mean it. And before I speak further, she calls out to me that they now but has yet to do their homework. First, the work before pleasure, it is true, I wanted to say just yet, but I just smile to myself and turn the washing of the pan to.

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love snow

It's snowing. The rest, which is the result is wonderful. The night is full of magic, the snow is flying through the air and announce the winter - finally. The weekend is upon us. I do not expect anything special from him. I am looking mainly my inner peace, wants to play with snowballs and build a snowman at best. Anything else, I accept with thanks.

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Nothing

nothing.

Grey sky, cold.

I have nothing new to report. A new week begins, which supersedes the just past. This week I will spend the evening with B.. Otherwise, I do what I do.

And as if by chance I grab the following lines by Max Frisch on..

"People are signs of themselves, to see if we understand each one calls for fear of being alone in the jungle of ineffability It has not thirst for glory, but for partnership. It reveals itself to make a beginning. "

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I live - unspectacular. The days come and go, I live with them, sometimes better, sometimes worse. Once I'm full of energy, then got me the inertia. Just like tonight. I phone B, chatting with her about God and the world. Then I want to go to bed, but I am undecided, internal unrest makes itself a little noticeable. I look out the window and thus into the night. It is cold, bitter cold. Tomorrow I have an ordinary working day, in the afternoon then I'm out with my daughter. So goes the time she dabbles along.

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day at the cemetery Sunday evening

Today I was with my daughter again in the cemetery, more precisely, the grave of my father. Rituals are important, especially for children. My daughter feels the death (still) as the real scandal. It is common that you die. I try to explain and explain to her that death is inevitable part of life. But she will not understand. I do not insist. Then she goes from one grave to another, reading the dates on the grave stones and each translated, how old the deceased person has become. At the same time I watch an old woman as she is trembling slightly, to a grave. I read on the grave stone: Arthur Flückiger, 1919-2007. Her husband, I think. He has grown old. It touches on several occasions the grave stone, stands before the grave and silent. Then they removed the old flowers, which she had probably taken a few days ago and grave decorated with fresh flowers. What do they think they may well feel? How long they knew each other, 50 years, 60 years? And now she is alone, for three years and regularly visits the grave of her late husband. Who will visit my grave some day?

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I do not know what to do with nostalgia. It falls on me regularly, now she has a firm grip on me again. I drift in the news recently sports, go swimming and jogging. I meet up with B and spend nice moments. Yes, nice moments. The love of my heart, but is far away, geographically and in fact, a chimera of the same. And yet I can not let go because the feeling of longing is stronger than anything else. I have learned to deal with it. Mostly it goes well, but today it hurts a bit, the factual even looking in his eyes. The bitter apple, which I will now eat as part of my dinner is, I taste it in every case.