About "The Bramble Bush - Pages from Dell's Book of Life"
I believe that most human beings have their own private places, places to hide, places to conceal their most tender feelings, places to dream, cry, nurse wounds and heal, undisturbed by casual public scrutiny, uncaring passersby.
I visualize my private place as a big, leafy-green bramble bush, full of protective thorns. These thorns are long and sharp, to be sure, but they are not poisonous. They are there to protect my private place and keep intruders away - - unless I decide to invite them in - - and they do provide safe, secure perches for visitors. .
. . . like you.
About Time
I have always had trouble making sense out of centuries.
At the time of this writing, we live in the twentieth century, but it is clear to me that I live in the 1900's. So do most of the other people I know, with a few notable exceptions it might be better to ignore. At least we all write 1900 - something on our checks and letters.
I have been told that the year 2000 is right around the corner from where I live; I suppose this accurate, chronologically speaking. In my mind, of course, it is 'chrono' speaking because it doesn't 'logically' follow for me. I always have to make mental calculations to determine the actual year I mean when dealing with those pesky centuries.
Take Eppingen town, Germany, for example. According to their written records, so say their publicity brochures, it was built sometime before the ninth century (the 800's). Every student of Roman history knows it was built much earlier by the Romans, a matter for later discussion.
Anyway, like a proper tourist, I stood in front of the Piping Tower in the center of old Eppingen town. According to the brochure, it whistles when the wind blows, thus its name. I waited and waited and the wind blew and blew, but it didn't make a peep of a 'pipe'. Oh well, at least I have a picture of me standing in front of it.
The Piping Tower was built in the 1200's (thirteenth century), and served various functions including being the town jail in the 1800's, which was, of course the nineteenth century.The tower is just down the narrow, crooked, cobblestone street from an imposing Catholic Church, which was built in the 900's (tenth century) on the ruins of a Roman temple they have dated back to 50 A.D. (first century). Remember the historical accuracy I mentioned before?
The Roman temple was built on the ruins of a Pagan temple or worship site that they think dates back to 4000 years before Christ, a time when Gods were plentiful and people were not.
I must digress here for a minute. Fact: almost without exception, when one European or Middle East religious faction conquered another, which seems to have happened frequently, it was the practice to build a bigger, taller temple to the conquering God on top of the temple of the losing God as a kind of gesture of contemptuous supremacy. I have no idea why this 'gesture' reminds me so much of several male dogs making pissing passes at a post... .
Back to the subject. Let's see, 4000 years is 40 centuries, and you have to count backwards... .
Now, I live in Mauer, which has written records dating back to the 800's, which was, in fact, the ninth century...or was it the seventh century? See, I'm getting very confused, but just wait!
The remains of the famous Heidelbergenesis Man- -and many animals like wooly mammoths, giant bears, boars, and wolves- -were all found about a half mile from where I am presently sitting as I write this. These remains all date back further than 600,000 years. . .six hundred thousand years! Let's see, would that be 6,000 centuries? And... .
You figure it out. I have always had trouble making sense out of centuries.
Mauer, Germany 1997
About Window Boxes and Rebellion
Microcosms and macrocosms...from the smallest to the largest, all are inter-related and all retain their overall place in the scheme of things. The clear, objective observance of even the most seemingly insignificant details in our immediate environment can lead to valid extrapolations not only about that environment itself, but about other larger environments that directly or indirectly impinge upon it. Change a microcosm and the effect ripples outward, eventually causing changes, however small, in macrocosms.
Having delivered that bit of esoteric wisdom, let us talk about window boxes, my window box in particular.
This apartment has one standard window in the northwest end because it is an attic apartment under a very steep roof on the fourth floor of what was once a barn dating back several hundred years. There are four other windows that swing up and out from the steep roof somewhat like large, transparent bat wings. I sometimes entertain the fantasy that given just the right wind conditions, our whole apartment might lift up and glide away, taking me, heavy tile roof and all, to some other place. The other end contains the door that opens on the steep stairs that lead, eventually, down to street level...or, on the other hand, up to our apartment, depending upon which end you begin the trek.
The stairs. That was the first clash in an on-going battle, and it seems to have ended in a draw: when I laboriously climb three steep flights of stairs, I arrive on the fourth floor. It has always been thus in my life, and thus it will always be for me. In Germany, climbing three steep flights of stairs will deliver you to the third floor because the first floor is simply named ground (erde). Thus, for them it is logical that the first floor is the one above it, and they do not find it strange to have to climb stairs to reach the first floor. As I said, this clash of cultures ended in a draw...they see it their way and I see it mine.
Back to my standard window: It is approximately 36 by 40 inches and has two panes that swing inward. It is set in a wall that is nearly a foot thick...they built their houses and barns to withstand assaults and sieges in those days. This does make it nice for window boxes, of which most houses have several, greatly adding to the scenic beauty- -and the sameness- -of the country, no matter where you travel. You see, while it is not exactly mandated by law, it is a rule generally understood and observed that each season of the year must be observed by displaying only certain plants in one's window box.
This seasonal display of "socially correct" plants rules out actually raising the plants in the limited space provided by the usual window box. They must be purchased in season at a stiff price and placed, pots and all, in the window box. The fate of those plants that gave their "socially correct" all in the "socially correct" season is not discussed. However, it is acceptable for those less financially or energetically endowed to display geraniums of various sorts and colors the year around, but in doing so they risk publically displaying their financial, social, and/or physical status to passersby who quickly judge and socially rank them accordingly.
Now here, I have to touch on matters personal, 'relative' matters that deal with family. An older and very distantly related aunt and uncle prepared this apartment for us and our occupancy before our arrival here. It was even furnished. For that, we owe generous and heart-felt thanks. She had placed a clay planter box upon the window sill, and in it were three seasonally "socially correct" blooming plants, still in their pots, but covered with planter soil. However, they were nearly impossible to actually view or reach because she had, in addition, hung lovely, sheer, expensive white curtains that billowed beautifully to the floor in front of that window with the inward-swinging windows.
The month was August. The heat was almost unbearable situated as we are directly under a heavy clay tile roof. Germans have not yet discovered air conditioning, and this apartment was sweltering. Not only that, the sun beat down on that window box for several hours during the hottest part of the afternoon, turning the clay planter into an effective-if-primitive bake oven of the type used by the early Romans. All it lacked was a lid, and, for a time, I seriously considered removing plants and soil and using it as a slow-cooker.
Dilemma! The window must be opened and closed for ventilation or die! The poor plants in the window box must be watered profusely and often. This put continual stress on the beautiful, expensive, artistically-draped curtains; despite my efforts, the plants slowly steamed to death. I felt very sorry for them.
Yes, I asked about bringing the poor plants inside. I also asked about moving certain pieces of furniture to places more convenient and less exposed to the sun and was told that doing so would be an insult to the aunt, somehow implying that she had not made the most intelligent choice in plants, curtains, window treatment, and furniture placement for this particular living environment.
Even worse was daring to imply that she might have overlooked the fact that this was not, as her large home was, a carefully arranged store window designed to display herself to best advantage. It was a very small living environment in which a middle-aged man, his daughter, two elderly cats, and an elderly dog were spending their days, nights, weeks, months, and years. To every intent and apparent purpose, this was her apartment which I was expected to maintain in its pristine purity at all times...her visits were frequent and unannounced and I was a very tired, nervous wreck trying to anticipate which corner, crack or crevice she might inspect.
By now, it was late September and still very hot. I was very unsure of myself, very anxious to please, very anxious to be "accepted", very afraid of accidentally insulting someone, very much the foreigner. Then I made a very big mistake: I apologized for the death of the plants...which was, of course, not my fault.
Rule Number One is never apologize to a German, at least all of them I met, because they consider it an indication that you are weak, inferior, and vulnerable to attack, thus making them strong and superior...even when they are clearly in the wrong.
Sensing an opening, the aunt homed in on it, and immediately examined "her" beautiful, expensive, sheer white curtains very carefully; of course she found several small pulls in the material caused by the necessity of continually opening and closing the wood-framed window panels. Needless to say my father was not as careful as I tried to be in this seemingly endless operation and was just as responsible as I. Then, glaring at me, she went to my father, said something in rapid German, and he turned and also glared at me. Well, I don't know what she said. I don't care what she said. The facial expressions, voice tones, body language, and two-against-one emotional dynamics were quite sufficient and required no translation.
I've been many places, seen many things, and interacted with many different kinds of people. Most important of all, I am extremely sensitive to and observant of the people and things that make up my own small world...my own personal environmental microcosm.
I observe patterns, patterns of light and shadow, patterns of the days and seasons, patterns in voices, patterns in the use of words...patterns of human behavior. I absorb things almost through my pores, finding and understanding the patterns that eventually emerge.
And what does this have to do with window boxes and rebellion? Everything! A war that had to this point been covertly carried on had been overtly declared on me...not my father, just me. I not only accepted the gauntlet, I flung it back with a smile. There is a certain relief in having things out in the open, you know.
My first overt action was to remove her curtains from the window and replace them with one of several pairs of cheap, wash-and-wear curtain panels I had brought with me. They go through the washer often, dry quickly, and look quite presentable. They also stand up to the continual wear-and-tear of window usage. In addition, I hung my most-used kitchen pots and pans up on the wall where I could reach them. There are no overhead or wall-hung cabinets in this apartment, and it makes a rather colorful, charming, and convenient way of doing things in the kitchen.
My second overt action was to rearrange the furniture in the living room and bedrooms, making it more convenient for our particular living style and more visually attractive to me...me, the woman who lived here. We were getting a computer set-up and I wanted it in the corner by the window...that little window box window that was rapidly becoming a symbol to me. At the time, that corner was occupied by a large combination of glass cabinet, shelves, and drawers that just sort of sat there.
No, I was told by the uncle. That cannot be moved. It is too big. It will not fit anyplace else. No, you cannot move the bed. It will not fit. Besides, you do not need a computer. Why do you need a computer? Computers are for business people not for poor foreigners like you was the clear message. You write? You do not need an expensive computer to write a diary. My father and I were insulted to the depths of our American souls, and at that point he shifted his allegiance to my side of what was becoming a strange, almost unbelievable kind of intellectual war of mind-sets, logical thought, and personal freedom.
Well, upon close observance I determined that 'thing' in the corner was not just one awkward piece of furniture, although Germans seem to specialize in large awkward pieces of furniture, but four separate pieces stacked next to and on each other. We moved them, two stacked on one side of the entry room, two stacked on the other side. It worked. We put the computer set up in the corner where I wanted it.
My third overt act was to turn the window box into a rock garden the next spring. I collected things like interesting rocks and bits of bark and wood, and, with carefully selected small, low-growing spreading plants, I created a really beautiful miniature rock garden that easily withstood the summer heat.
And I must confess to having done a forbidden thing: while wandering around the site where the 600,000 year old Heidelbergenesis Man was found, I took a small piece of ivy I found growing there and stuck it in one corner of my window box. Ivy interests me, as do all plants that propagate themselves by sending out runners to root and create new plants. Like the spider plant and several others, all common ivy came from one plant. It has to because it doesn't make seed, it just sends out runners of the original plant. So, the little piece of ivy I took from that site had been there for perhaps a million years- -or more- -covering over the bones of the many different kinds of prehistoric animals they have also found there in that place that was once a graceful, sweeping bend in a mighty river.
It has thrived in my window box, helping cool and deflect the hot summer sun from the clay planter, and pleasing me to the depths of my very soul. You see, it makes me smile....and that is important.
This year, my window box- -two feet long, six inches wide, and eight inches deep- -is a reflection of the whole untidy outdoors. Jack-o-lantern plants stand two feet high, shading the computer corner from the afternoon sun. There are pinto bean plants making bean pods already, two big garlic plants that created themselves from two small cloves that I stuck in because they had put out sprouts in the sack, and two marvelous radishes that are doing things I never imagined radishes could do! Did you know, really know, that if left alone, radishes make a very tall plant that blooms and then makes pods that look like small pea pods? Fascinating! And as a further whimsical statement, two silly, grinning scarecrows with crows perched on their shoulders keep "bad" things away.
And oh, the ivy! It has covered the wire enclosure around the window box, climbed up the strings I put there for it...and it makes me smile. I am enjoying my window box; it makes me forget that I am on the fourth floor of an old barn; it is the outdoor world at my elbow as I sit here and write.
This then is my personal microcosm, the castle I created for myself, defended, and won. My symbolic scarecrow banners fly on the battleground of a small window box.
In its own way, it is my quiet, small statement of my rebellion, my assertion of independence, of individuality, of freedom of thought and expression...inside of me and in my little window box lies the true spirit and essence of the kind of rebellion that has, on many occasions, changed first a microcosm, then the macrocosm...and finally the very history of the world.
Mauer, Germany
October 1995