“Misfits Abroad” tells us “Adventures in Love, Language, and Foreign Lands.” it is a delightful read for anyone who has ever traveled to Europe and wondered. In a collection of essays spiced with humor and insights, Martine tells us her unique perspective of learning by immersion. It’s an enriching, amusing story.
All-American girl Martine takes an Army crash course in German. Coming from Fort Huachuca, she dives into the foreign land. Mind you, her Volkswagen rabbit is transferred to its home country as well. The first action in Bremerhaven is to push start the groggy yellow rabbit. No push-pull-engage-the-clutch gets it going. Rabbit needs mechanical help.
Settling in with Zwetschgenkuchen
And so the adventures of discovery continue. The new apartment has no ceiling lamps or appliances, but everywhere there is a “Schrank” (wardrobe). And how exactly do you behead a boiled egg? It takes a perfect swipe with a knife. Finally, the neighbors bring Zwetschgenkuchen, only to demand perfect quiet time in the afternoons.
Life in Germany shines a new light on Martine’s American upbringing. She learns the Army wife privileges of clearance and PX, appreciates the discounted souvenirs at the base, but also ventures out to Wertkauf. She has stories to tell about German men doing “Kegel exercises,” confused Army brats coming to America at age 22 for the first time, and managing her involuntary “alone time” by going to Disney movies or surviving the Autobahn.
Martine (left) and AnnElise at the Tucson Festival of Books
Martine has a different and elucidating take on the then sparse German TV programs, the desperate attempt to make sense of the dubbed over American movies, and the mechanics of the German language, where Spiel-zeug is a play thing and Werk-zeug is a work thing. But be careful of your English such as “fix it.” It could be heard as a four-letter expression in German.
Language Troubles No More
The intricacies of the German language provide Martine a wide playing field of pitfalls, errors, and humor in this delightful book. No wonder she wanted everybody to speak at least correct English. Aside from a mass communications professor, formerly with the Idaho State University, she is also a certified instructor of English as a second language.
Martine is not the only misfit within Army reach. A whole set of misfitted characters gave her material for sometimes tender, sometimes ironic, but always insightful behavioral studies of people blown over to Europe by the US Forces. She introduces a microcosm of assembled players that could make a Robert Altman movie.
Final word, the unique perspective that Martine takes on a number of things that we are familiar with makes her book valuable. She reflects back on the end of the Wall and Ossies pouring across Checkpoint Charlie. She bites, against mother’s advice, the bullet to give hitchhikers a ride and discovers a whole new explorer self. And she also analyzes the underlying ideology of the world famous Oberammergau Passion Plays.
Altogether an enlightening and fabulous read for anyone ever lost in another culture. When in Germany, do as the Germans do. Martine tried her best and lived to tell her stories. You can order “Misfits Abroad” here at Amazon:
Dear Mr. Bezos, bringer of all things possible and impossible, maybe TikTok as well, please do another good thing: Deliver us from the beverage drudgery. Yes, hauling our daily bottled water or soda or juice or beer or Red Bull all by ourselves from the store to the car is hard.
Dear Mr. Bezos, the beverages are heavy! Help us out here, these are modern times. Wouldn’t you want to make a buck or two with ultramodern beverage service vans? Do you remember when milk was delivered in glass bottles all across the US of A? I believe Schwan’s is still carting around frozen foods. And, no lie, in Germany they are doing such a truly beneficial beverage service. They drop your crate of beer or soda right at your doorstep. And they take back and refill the bottles too.
Here Is How to Set Up Your Delivery Service
Dear Mr. Bezos, please realize there is a beverage delivery market gap. You can fix this easily. How?
Step: online ordering like we always do from Amazon. Piece a cake!
Step: fill up your beverage warehouses a little taller than Total Wine and Beer.
Step: I will be the first one to purchase a cooler box with a hinky-dinky digital key and put it by my garage.
Step: just dump my drinks into the box and pick up the empties. Yeah, the bottles have a deposit on them.
Get it? Mr. Bezos, your beverage delivery system will be the best in the world because it creates zero trash. Have you heard that bottles can be washed? Even sometimes the plastic ones. Did you know that aluminum cans are a valuable resource? Aluminum recycles easily.
Spare Us the Garbage
Your beverage delivery system will create a real cycle, not a “recycle”—because why should our municipalities pay for disposing of the trash that vendors make money on in the first place? The garbage mountains are growing, as you know. So, I am hoping that you can fix this situation. I know you can. But I am not sure you are too busy or nice enough.
This is how the rest of it works: you (Amazon) return the empty bottles and containers (perhaps in crates or sixpacks) to the producer (brewery, manufacturer) for refilling. If the bottles are damaged, the producer sends them back to the glass (can) factories. And those either melt the glass/metal or dispose of the materials in a responsible way.
Please give us our daily beverages, Mr. Bezos. I promise, it won’t be much more trouble than your minimalistic cardboard recycling at the moment. You have brought us so much, Papa Amazon. But don’t only bring bring bring! You should also take take take the burden of beverages and trash away.
Oh, Papa Amazon, do a good thing and bless us with a beverage delivery system. And also deliver us from unnecessary garbage. Amen
Its rustic charm was irresistible. The Crofting Inn put forth a Hallmark lumberjack façade. The bed and breakfast in Cloudcroft, New Mexico, offers 7 quaint, old-fashioned rooms. Just what my friend, Bandanaland Princess Edda, had been looking for. She was planning to get away from the Texas heat for a summer outing to this ski resort village with her Prince Helmut.
Hostess Gail at your service
“The price was right for that amount of ambience,” Edda said. “The old house, built in 1919, appealed to me because I like historic locations.”
But they couldn’t decide on the exact days because a mouse had chewed up a wiring cable and this car problem had to be fixed for the road. “It was wonderful that the landlady was so accommodating about our back and forth with the dates,” Edda recalled. What joy, the last-minute deal worked out.
When they arrived, the door was locked. “Just type in the code and go up to your room,” the woman in charge, Gail, instructed them on the phone.
The house was decorated with an abundance of old-fashioned trinkets and antiques. The room offered plain accommodations with a bed and bedside tables, no wardrobe or storage for clothes. No TV or air-conditioning either, but the little balcony let plenty of clean mountain air in. It would have been perfect enough, except the tub looked whacky.
“No problem!” the hostess said. “We will move you into another unit.” Those showers were totally up to date.
“I also chose this Inn because it advertised a gourmet breakfast,” Edda said. She likes fancy fare in the mornings. “After a home-baked blueberry muffin and a bowl of fruit, I asked myself, what’s next.” But nothing came forth. So, the hostess served additional toast and extra hot milk to thin Edda’s coffee. On top of that, she offered advice on outings to the famous train trestle, the beer brewing company, and the elegant Lodge with its resident ghost.
Gail minded every minute request with unaffected hospitality. “She was a little like me,” Edda said. “She liked to cook but it had to go fast.” The conversation in the dining room between the different guests flowed merrily from one to the other, a fact that Prince Helmut really liked.
A couple from Kerrville, Texas, shared their discovery of mega croissants from the best bakery in the 950-souls-strong little western town of Cloudcroft. They talked with an astoundingly sprite 90-year-old woman who celebrated her birthday with a family reunion. And a good-looking couple was planning a flashy wedding.
Why flashy? Another interesting fact surfaced at this point. Innkeeper Gail and her husband, math professor Scott, got married on their lunch break, just like Edda and Helmut did. No flash at all, but the bond lasted.
Crofting Inn had many cozy corners. Coming from Bandanaland, Edda felt right at home with the rustic paisley patterns all around. The whole house was decorated with bandanas: as table cloths, as fireplace décor, and dangling from the ceiling as garlands.
“We get many guests from Texas up here,” Gail explained. “They are very fond of Western themes, in which the bandana plays a pig part.” So, she made her place extra comfy and welcoming for cowboys and cowgirls. This goes to show again that there is creativity in bandanas to no end. The sky hangs full with bandanas at the Cloudcroft Inn.
Thank you, Bandanaland Princess Edda, for the lovely photos and story
Contribute to the Bandana Book III
“Sung and Unsung Heroes” Stories deadline: December 1st
Everybody knows a hero. Could be your parents, neighbor, school mate etc. Send in your hero story, regardless of a Bandana! Heroes don’t necessarily wear bandanas, but they might suit them well.
This is archaic, I know. I should have done this on Instagram or Snapchat or at least Facebook. But here is a collection of snaps, match ups of regular people with famous people. These images from US Magazine (I am kidding) are no selfies either.
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I remember how cranked up I was about meeting Alice Cooper in person. As a teenager in Germany, I had his Bravo poster up on the wall, blackened eyes and all. On that day, Alice was promoting a friend’s sandwich shop. Alice Cooper, bad boy rock’n roller, is now a celebrity for saving the youth with his program Solid Rock. He has a music studio each for budding musicians in Phoenix and Mesa.He gets the youngsters engaged and off the street. I have visited Solid Roch with my student groups. A neat place!
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
Kurt Warner & Susmita
And on the story goes. I am not a sports crack, but I could pick out Kurt Warner (Arizona quarterback, 2005-2009) on our flight back from Omaha to Phoenix. We had attended a country music festival in Le Mars, Iowa. The football legend agreed to a photo with the cutest of us, Susmita. She didn’t know who we snapped her with, but it made me happy. Old reporter soul. Can’t ever switch off my scanning mode in an airport.
There are many more incidents of brushes with fame. Sometimes we don’t even realize when a celebrity passes by. I missed my chance to take a selfie with Max Raabe from the Palast Orchester. Oh, well. Better luck next time.
AnnElise arrested by TV cops Hubert & Staller (Christian Tramitz, Helmfried von Lüttichau)
Arduino co-founder Tom Igoe, remote controlled man Josh, and Priyanka Makin
AnnElise, AZ Attorney General Kris Mayes, Jeanne Devine, Randy Miller (SRP Board)
AnnElise, Kate Earley, and painter Jack Earley on Valentine’s Day in Loveland
Social media are sometimes full of surprises! I am not a frequent player, but somehow I got on Align. In the process of many notifications flitting by, I almost overlooked Kris Keppeler’s message. She offered to read and record a Bandana story for me–and here it is. Now you can listen to my bandana berry experience.
Kris Keppeler is a much requested narrator and voice over talent. You can contact her at her website
Once upon a time . . . or let’s say yesterday, Princess Edda, who lives in a faraway land in the remotest castle’s tallest tower . . . no, sorry, in Bandana Land on Bat Cave Road, took repose in her crystal castle. Maybe it wasn’t a crystal castle, maybe it was rather a tea house. Right, she wanted to test out her itty-bitty barn, or tree house—or did she say tea house?—for a sleepover. She was looking for adventure. It was in the air. Heavy clouds were billowing, the wind howling, heavy drops splashing, thunder rolling, and rain drumming on the metal roof. The storm roared like a lion.
And yet Princess Edda left the safety of her Rainy Castle for the tea house, cozied in her covers, pulled the blanket up to her nose, and admired the strength of the swaying trees outside. This was such a noble fortress, with Saltillo tiles and stained-glass windows and a bed. But it rattled like a mousetrap. The pelting rain noise felt like being inside a drum.
Princess Edda rolled her eyes. Why did this thunderstorm have to happen on her first sleepover in the tea house? She wouldn’t get any shut eye here.
So, she said, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Angels watch me through the night, and wake me with the morning light.”
But the morning was still far away and the wind howling with no mercy. She decided to read herself to sleep. It got later and later. It got so late that it was almost early again. Yet the lightning kept flashing through the glass door, and the wind howled even worse. No use trying. So, Princess Edda decided to admire the power of God’s nature instead. This was better than a movie.
Kaboom, caramba, catastrophe! Something crashed outside. The rain still drumming on the roof. Princess Edda pulled the blanket higher. Was there a creek or river running by her side? The tea house was shaking something awful. Dorothy in Kansas? No, only Little Edda in Texas. She didn’t have visions of sugar plums in her head, but saw witches flying by on a broomstick. She thumbed her nose at them. And finally, the dawn, not the window, broke. Sigh, what a relief! Princess Edda stepped out into the sunrise, inhaling the fresh, cleansed air.
And she was still alive. A tree had crashed only a foot from her tea house. Oh, miracle and wonder! Not quite. Prince Helmut had sent his Bandana Gang to the rescue. Who else could have heaved the tree away from its fateful destiny? And so Princess Edda escaped the storm unscathed. The Bandana Guard kept watch all night.
Princess Edda looked around: Sea Shell Covid, Two-Face Janus, Old Man Woodhead, Spanish Moss Guy, Hippie Girlfriend, Hippie Boyfriend, an eclectic bunch. Princess Edda bowed to her protectors. No knight in shining armor on a noble steed could have accomplished this: distract the lightning. He would have been roast inside his armor. But Prince Helmut’s wooden guard withstood the storm and saved the princess.
Helm_TurbanGuy_small
Helm_SpanishMoss_small
Helm_MidEast_sm
Helm_girldfirend_small
Helm_boyfriend_small
Helm_Covid_sm
Helm_WorkerDude_small
Helm_JanusOther_small
Helm_bird_sm
Helm_KamaSutra_small
See, I told you so, there is still nobility in sacrifice. The Bandana Gang kept watch for Princess Edda.
What sparks an idea? I used to think that inspirations would strike me with thunder and lightning. But, no, sparks can be quite slow at times. Think about the ketchup bottle. It’s been around for a hundred years, but only since the last twenty it’s also standing on its head. Duh! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?
Bandana Book I
The Bandana spark, which has now become a book (CLICK ON RIGHT), came with a slow glimmer too. I never go out on a hike without a neckerchief. Since my old Texas days, I have become protective of my neck. Sunburns sting! Yep, that’s why I my collection of bandanas keeps growing.
One of them was a gift from my daughter, with a Native American design. Once I went into the gas station at Star Valley, says someone behind me, “I like your bandana.” This Native American had recognized the Hopi pattern on it. It was nice to be noticed. A bandana can carry a strong message. Since then, I have also acquired a Navajo design on top of many other colorful patterns.
Bandana Stories
The older a bandana, the better the tale. Master mask maker Zarco Guerrero, here portraying a Cholo, knows all about the mysteries of Dia de los Muertos, plus the Central American bandana. When you Google for bandanas you certainly come around many Boy Scout uses, such as for a bandage, splint, tourniquet, wash cloth, trail marker, carry bag, and what not. And then, as you might imagine, all these incidents have circumstances. And the circumstances make for suspense. You can spin a gazillion yarns off of one small bandana.
Bandana Origin
Even the origin of the almighty, universal, wonderful bandana has a good story or two. I heard, the bandana was a tobacco snot wipe to begin with. Imagine, or don’t, that rag used to be white. And the tobacco stains wouldn’t come out any more. Therefore, an Irish tradesman had the fashionable idea to print his bandanas up in color. The print work was done in India, thus the pretty paisley patterns. As we all know, the cowboys came to appreciate the bandana too—duh, red neck. Bandanas trigger excellent cowboy stories.
Bandana Warriors
Or think about famous men. Some of the toughest cookies wear bandanas: Geronimo, Winnetou, Rambo, Hulk Hogan, John Wayne, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Willie Nelson, and other warriors. Right, the bandana takes to the street for activism.
Here is Ed Kabotie, member of the Hopi tribe, a well-known edu-activist, sharing his fight against uranium mining at the Grand Canyon. He also resents the now much in vogue “land acknowledgment” towards the Native American nations as a hindsight excuse for the colonial land grab and subsequent oppression.
Bandana Art
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
When I see a bandana these days, my imagination gets sparked. What’s next? An exhibition? Do you paint? Make photographs? Prints? Sculptures? How about making a bandana exhibit together?
Australia (yes, this is NOT China) drives on the left, walks on the left, sneezes to the left. How do you avoid being run over? Are Australians bound to be more left-handed too? I figure, they’ve got to be, because the left does most of the work in a car: gears, wipers, climate control, radio. Try that for a change.
Darling Harbor skyline
So, here we arrive in Sydney, in our Holiday Inn, in December 2023. Wherever you look, there are no fat people, least of all the slim and trim Singapore Airlines hostesses. Have they banished the overeaters to Tasmania? Hardly anyone in downtown seems older than 30. Where do they put their seniors? These skinny, fashionable Oriental girls and boys must be all students? I sure feel out of place now.
We tourists are the oldest people around. Some grey-haired troopers in North Face puffer jackets carry sizable backpacks and meander about with walking sticks and hiking boots. Occasionally, you see parents dragging their kids around in a cart. They could be British or German or Dutch. We all hang out at the Public Market. That has everything we need, from lychees to toothbrushes.
The Holiday Inn at Darling Harbor lies amidst China Town. Only Asian people around, Beijing ducks in the shop windows, tasty donut holes (Emperor Puffs) filled with custard, boba shops with many flavors, and the whole range of Oriental cuisine. But what’s with the jostling? Did everybody switch off their inborn proximity sensor?
Asians seem to have expensive seafood taste: a can of three abalone mussels for 100 Dollars! I am not joking. All that dried seafood, some of the most ominous kind, is all very expensive. The abalone—big trays of different mollusks, 1 kg for $675—are harvested in the wild waters of the Tasmanian Sea. Some shell fish divers have even braved shark attacks.
But just go for it! In Australia, you don’t need money. They will take a plastic card for everything. Even the commemorative coin machine at the Sydney Aquarium spews out your minted penny for a tap. The aquarium is an excellent place to go under the sea. It has some of the best shark tanks around
Buses also will let you ride for only a tap: a tap on and a tap off. (No, not a swipe!) If you’re lucky, the tapper doesn’t work and the driver lets you go for free. However, something is amiss with the busses: a signal flashes “bus stopping,” but where-the-heck do we stop? Count on the driver to let you off at the right place because nobody else may speak English.
I always thought I speak English well, but my American accent occasionally collided against the Aussie-speak. It was sure fortunate that our friends taught us lessons about slurpy Tim-Tam cookies, Lamingtons, and the (peculiar) Vegemite spread in the safety of their home. Later I learned some of the local intricacies the hard way.
On the first morning, a ketchup packet exploded on me: I pointed it the wrong way, squeezed, and voila had ketchup all over my snout. Most things don’t seem obvious when you’re under a 14-hour jet lag. Yeah, the blow dryer flicked the frothy soap all over my shirt. Silly me, I hadn’t approached the duplicitous (double-action) faucet from the right angle. Fortunately, Sydney seemed so much cleaner than our American cities. Kudos to the restrooms! And drinks come only with paper straws and there is an extra charge for takeout containers.
I had fun bumbling along the parks and exploring on foot. My mission on Tuesday was to reach the beach. Another faux pas! Bondi is pronounced “Bon-die” or “Bon-day” Beach. Good day? Or a good day to die? Huh? That’s what the Lakota would say. The bus driver wrinkled his brow, then smiled, and taught me the correct pronunciation of my destination.
I finally made it to Bondi. The sandy bay looked just like in the pictures. I encountered fewer tattooed people here than I had expected. But the ones that afforded body art, displayed their whole tribal story from neck to toe. Surfers, right!
It’s fun to watch the surfers at Bondi. Even better than staring into the tide pools at La Jolla. I settled into a coffee shop for a capuccino and avocado sandwich. Australia had me then and there.
At the Sydney Darling Harbor Wildlife Zoo posing with sleepy Koalas
What’s behind a rock, a root, a shell, or a time-proven fence post? Maybe nothing. But you can always make it “something.” Just by looking and thinking. Art objects are all around us. Nobody knows that better than silversmith and “Macher” (maker) Helmut Buchner from the Bat Cave Ranch by San Antonio.
Helmut has a very deliberate way of talking. Each sentence, no matter how obvious the content, clearly captures a deep thought. And that also applies to the stories behind his sculpture park on his ranch, which grows steadily. I will try my best to do our conversation justice with my English interpretation of some of his new, money-free objet d’art.
“Mona Lisa came together just for fun. There was a river rock laying around for years. It had the shapes of a beautifully formed woman, no relations to the Kardashians (maybe Picasso or Gaugin). And then there was also the tree stump of an old cedar tree. That tree had been in conflict with an oak. Every time when I have to cut down a tree, I leave a stump as a memorial. It could be used for something later. That tree offered itself to install something on it. The other two things had been waiting in the grass for a while. So I put all three together, set the rock on the stump, and installed the metal frame around it. The stone, steel, and wood enhanced each other quite naturally.”
Covid-19 Man: “I made that at the beginning, when we started to realize how threatening and aggressive Covid-19 was. For the first time it happened in my long life that we had such a worldwide epidemic. For me, the woodblock face demonstrates the anguish of a patient screaming from pain and terror. We’ve had the ball made of sea shells for a long time and it offered itself as a Covid virus symbol encompassing the entire globe.”
Bird Happiness: Helmut stands at the bottom of 40-foot-tall bamboo pole. It has a weather vane at the top, a bird with a long ribbon tail. The “Windvogel” sways in all directions, depending on how the wind blows. Unfortunately, storms repeatedly tore the sculpture off its mount. Helmut’s solution? He made a bamboo man to help support the structure. “The golden-haired bamboo guy holds up the pole so that the bird won’t fly away,” Helmut says. So how is this working out? Time will tell.
Himmelsleiter-Stairway to Heaven: A bicycle without a saddle is parked at the bottom of a bamboo ladder leading up into the air to who-knows-where? This sculpture, one of Helmut’s oldest, is thoroughly weathered. Visitors are fascinated by it, a stairway to heaven. “I figured that the ladder alone won’t get you to heaven, but I had a lot of people thinking that it might,” Helmut says with a wry smile on his face.
Nothing is accidental about Helmut’s sculptures. They are built on careful observation, selection, and artistic vision. A lot of thought goes into them. Helmut’s next sculpture could take a while or happen spontaneously. It starts with the idea, then the collection of materials, and finally comes the technical problem solving. The organic part is undeniable. These sculptures, exposed to the elements, change and mature over time—intentionally. They are in constant dialog with the maker and spectator. And nature.
“I don’t want to convert people to anything. Everybody should make up his or her own interpretation. Friends brought visitors over to show them the sculptures. I am always surprised about their comments. Everybody gets to think what they want. And that is the way it should be.”
Another piece is in the works, called Kama Sutra, aka a bunch of large, gnarly cedar roots arranged together. “At this time, I am working on the enlightened lovers,” Helmut says.
What will people think about that?
Whatever they want. Like me. Mea culpa, Helmut! I had thought that man with the sea shells was playing beach volleyball: shells = beach, white ball, get it? Perhaps some wishful thinking there. We all could have done so much better without the Covid.
Maybe some objects are also crying out to you for the art inside of them? Just look around! Elevate your vision for the not-so-ordinary.
There is more. Helmut is also an excellent silversmith-jewelry maker. His life partner Edda Buchner will be showcasing his jewelry together with the sculptures in a book. Helmut has also built a Zen garden, a labyrinth, and a tipi on his Texas home turf.
War on Crime, War on Drugs, War on Poverty, Star Wars, Price Wars, – Why not have a War on Plastic—NOW? We need one more good war!
We splurge in unnecessary plastic all the time. Where does the waste go?
Refuse, reduce, recycle that plastic!
I confess, I use plastic still too much. Most of it is totally avoidable.
Regardless how judicious you may be, you will have committed one of these 10 Plastic Cardinal Sins. Aren’t we lazy! (Or is it short-term memory loss?). So, let’s restart.
The 10 Cardinal Plastic Sins
Single-use water bottle: It should have been legally restricted or taxed by now. Some schools and organizations have banned them. Bring your own refillable water bottle. Water in tin bottles available now.
Plastic shopping bags: Yeah, what’s your problem? Bring your own bags, or a basket. Ask for paper bags. Don’t trust the “recycling” of plastic bags in the stores. Or hopefully the store makes you pay for a plastic bag.
Take out containers: In the US, it’s still a world of plastic and Styrofoam. Avoid restaurants that serve you tubs of plastic that could be aluminum or paper. Plastic take-out containers were banned in some European countries.
Online purchases: Hell, no! Get your items from the store, because the shipping material refuse is insane. Peanuts and bubble wrap galore. Leave that stuff to Santa!
Beverage bottles: Get your drinks in a can, glass bottle, or from the faucet, notplastic! This would be my NEW LAW: Stores must recycle plastic bottles, return them to the manufacturer. Let the Coca Cola deal with the plastic!
Liquid detergent: The utmost insanity of all! Haven’t we always used washing powder? It gives you the same results. Listen up, Tide & Co.: Take your jugs off the shelves right now! We can shake up our own soapy sauce.
Body wash & hair shampoo: Just use bar soap. Even hair shampoo and conditioner are available as solid bars these days.
Body lotion: Easy fix. Use fragrant, essential, natural oils—in glass bottles. Oils have fewer ingredients than lotions and may be more beneficial than lotions overall.
Juice & milk jugs: Tropicana switched to plastic carafes. Why?? Other juices still come in cartons. Buy those! One gallon milk jugs can still be recycled in our town. But you may just as well get milk in 1/2 gallon packs.
Egg “cartons” ???: Why should plastic egg “cartons” even exist?
Our municipal authority, the City of Mesa, has basically given up on recycling. Only about 5 item categories will be accepted, forget about washing out yogurt cups. Since China does not take our American trash any more, the dumps on the Salt River Reservation and the other one by the Florence prison are growing at horrid rates.
ONE MORE EXAMPLE OF ILL-FATED PLASTIC LOGIC: In my college days I met a lady who had a big heart for animals. She cut up the plastic rings from the soda six-packs. Why? So that no sea-life should be caught in it. WHY would our plastic end up in the ocean in the first place? This was some 30 years ago, and ongoing.
At any rate, plastic should carry a Surgeon General’s warning, just like cigarettes:
SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: Plastic Causes Piles of Trash, Harmful Inertia, Intrusion into the Food Cycle, Death of Sea Life, and various types of Cancer. Plastic Overuse by any Human Has Been Shown to Result in Global Pollution, Toxicity in the Food Chain, and the Increase in Morbidity in Humans on All Continents.
FROM NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC:
Environmental change: California’s new plastics law could force the rest of the nation to cut down on its polluting materials. The legislation mandates, among other things, a reduction in the single-use plastics sold in the state. It also requires 65 percent of plastics to be recycled within a decade—an ambitious goal. Plastics makers will have to foot the bill for recycling. The law could have ripple effects across the nation, but not all recycling proponents are pleased, Laura Parker reports.
Read the full story. (Pictured above, one million plastic beverage bottles are purchased every minute worldwide.)
Here is a taste of my my bandana story. It’s about the red snuff kerchief that my Opa always carried along. But how will this story end?
Opa took me to the St. Leonhard’s horse parade. I was 2 years old
“Opa has picked berries for you!” Mom was in her typical taking-care-of-business mode. She rushed past me through the kitchen with a load full of washed laundry. She had no time to waste before heading back out into the field.
This was the berry-picking and haymaking season in my Bavarian village. You could tell by the tattered house dress Mama was wearing. Her hair was tied under a headscarf. Her skin was flushed. On her upper arms tan lines showed from longer sleeves. She was ready to jump on the tractor as soon as the sheets were hung.
I flung my school bag into the corner of the bench. Then I dropped my four letters down and grabbed the plate, warmed-up pancake soup and a schmalznoodle. For those who do not know, pancake soup is a clear broth with plain omelet strips cut into it, and schmalznoodles are sticks of fried bread. Beggars can’t be choosers, but I could smell the berries before Mama had set the bowl on the table.
“Here, Opa picked these for you!”
Wow, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries. They glistened like sumptuous little jewels. “Where did he find them?”
“Inside the Marsh Moss clearing. Didn’t take him but 15 minutes to scoop these up.”
Grandpa always looked out for us kids, me and my three younger siblings. He helped us build bird houses, constructed an underpass along the creek so that we didn’t have to cross the busy state road, and made sure to drive us home at 6:30 with a stick.
“How did he carry them home? Did he have a basket?”
“Nope.”
“His hat?’
“Nope, his bandana. You know how he ties these knots in it.”
“His bandana?”
“Yes. Eat up. I must go now. There is some cream in the fridge. Aren’t you getting a royal feast today! Thank your Opa for it.” And out she was. Seconds later, the small tractor puttered off the yard.
Gramps’ bandana? The berries suddenly didn’t smell so good any more. I didn’t dare imagine all the places the bandana had been. And he never put it in the wash. He insisted on washing it himself, usually in the rainwater trough under the gutter spout. Easy grandpa logic. That red bandana was his only one. His lucky bandana. He couldn’t do a day without it. So, he washed it himself, as needed.
As needed? I gagged. I kept on ladling my pancake soup, very slowly. Gramps’ bandana, was it washed? When was it washed last? I ogled the sparkling berries in front of me. And my imagination went wild. Poisoned by a snuffed out bandana?
Should I risk a light bandana poisoning? It was a hot day today, and gramps for sure had wiped his sweat on his bandana. Or was I in for a severe intoxication from snuff snot? That is, my gramps was addicted to stuffing Gletscherprise (Glacier Pinch) up his nose and then blow it out like an erupting volcano into his almighty bandana. Brown goop. That and the recent bloody accident had made the “bandana berries” most unpalatable to me. Three days ago, gramps had spliced not only the kindling but also his palm with his splicing knife. Blood was dripping. “No big deal,” he had growled after mom had rushed to bring him a bandage. He beat her to it and wrapped his good-fortune bandana around his palm. Maybe it had curative properties? The next day the cut was gone.
Where all had the bandana been? I stared at the bowl of berries. The soup was finished and I was still hungry. I pulled the bowl closer and sniffed the stunning aroma.
Bandana berries—to eat or not to eat was the question
How do you think the story ends? Send me your (alternate) ending for this bit. It would be great fun to contribute your guesses to my story.
NOTE: My webmail isn’t jinxed. It just may ask you to declare yourself as human. So write in any time if you’re not an android. If you’re getting a weird reply, it’s my spam blocker.
S-P-E-C-T-A-C-U-L-A-R ! I can’t stop watching this. It’s mesmerizing. Reflections and light play a bag of tricks on my mind. And not only did my daughter Priyanka build this piece, motor and all, she also made the GIF of 85 sandwiched pictures above. And this is how she describes it:
“Kinetic Column is my contemporary take on an iconic, historical relic. It’s completely built out of neon acrylic sheets. The transparency and bright colors contrast the white stone columns we traditionally know. The top platform is meant to resemble the turning pedestals you would see in home shopping TV shows. An amphora vase cut and etched on iridescent acrylic serves as the topper.”
For this mind-bending piece of art, she had to first bend some plexiglass with the help of her mentor Trey Duvall:
Priyanka writes: “This project is one of my efforts to create open source art. I currently work at an open source technology company (SPARKFUN)and am incredibly inspired by the sharing of information to recreate or expand upon projects. I think this makes the exclusive fields of creating art, designing tech, or writing code more accessible to a range of people that would not normally think to explore those realms.”
Here is more to watch—Laser etching:
Laser cutting:
And this the movie of all of it:
Isn’t it something? Technology, design, and craftsmanship come together. Priyanka is preparing to soon learn and build more at the NYU Tisch School of Design ITP Program. She will start her studies for the Masters degree in August. Can’t wait to see what comes next. (bragging rights of a proud mom)
Wow, I hopped on the Internet–it’s astounding what bandanas are all good for! I thought I could make a book of it. But not without your help. Submit your entries! Download the guidelines below. $200 grand prize; $100 second; and $50 for honorable work (multiple)–tell your friends!
Bandana gone to the dogs
Bandanas have been an important hiking gear for me. Sometimes we have turned around when I forgot my neck-saver. Indeed, I am a redneck. I burn easily. Perhaps that happened to the cowboys too, when they were driving cattle under the scorching Texas sun. Ditto. Necks turn red. Or, wait a minute, were they wearing a paisley red bandana? That would explain the expression, too.
My bandana is blue and has Hopi dancers and decorations on it. Of course bandanas come in all colors and patterns, but red is still the best. And those colorful mini rags are usually dirt cheap. Michaels, the crafts store, will sell them for a couple of bucks. Don’t pay any more than ten. Some bandanas like to claim a boutique extravaganza. Mine actually came from a Goodwill store. Maybe 50 cents? I’ll ask my daughter.
John Wayne’s trademark rag
What else is a bandana good for? It got me thinking. My grandpa never left house without one in his trouser pockets. Mostly—gee thanks, but gross—he used it to wipe snuff and snot off his mustache. But at times (I hope that kerchief was clean), he carried mushrooms or blueberries home in his bandana. He tied the diagonal corners together to make a carry bag. On one occasion, he used his bandana as a bandage after he cut his hand splicing kindling wood.
A bandana could, seriously, save your life. Maybe you got injured and needed a tourniquet. Or you got lost and needed a flag for the helicopter search team to find you. Or you needed to filter drinking water from a desert puddle. My friend Edda might use a bandana as a signal flag for the prettiest Texas cedar tree for Christmas. And on it goes.
Bandanas are not only for hikers, cowboys, and pirates. Animals like bandanas too. Do you have a bandana at home? Maybe you can write a story about it and send it to me. I am so much looking forward to that!
Kas-Pressknödel (panfried cheese dumplings), are an Alpine hiker’s delight. They are often served with a potato salad, cucumber salad, or sauerkraut to juice them up a bit. These “cheesy dumplings” are delicious either way. I have this recipe from my sister Kathi. If she cooks it, I guarantee, it’s quick-and-easy.
You need:
1 day-old French bread loaf
3 eggs
ca. 1 cup milk
ca. 200 g savory, diced mountain cheese (Gruyere, for example)
1 large onion, diced
2 bundles fresh parsley, chopped
salt, pepper, garlic, maybe a chopped jalapeño, season to taste
The hardest part of this procedure: slicing up the French bread ca. 5 mm thick, since no “Knödel-Brot” slicers exist in America. Then pour the warmed milk over the bread chips and let it soak in.
After 30 minutes add all the other ingredients and mix up the paste by hand. You should be able to form palm-size balls to fry in your heated pan. Or you can drop portion-sized piles into the hot oil with a spoon. Cook them on moderate or low heat to a crispy nice color on both sides.
These Sparkly Thumbprint cookies are delightful on any occasion, not only Christmas. They have been adapted from a traditional German recipe, “Husarenkrapferl.”
Dough:
250 g flour
1 flat tsp baking powder
100 g sugar (or less)
vanilla flavor (sugar or liquid)
dash of salt
3 egg yolks
150 g butter
Decoration:
1 egg white (as left over from above)
sugar sprinkles
raspberry jelly
Pile the dry ingredients on your work surface (flat counter, or we use a large wooden board), make an indentation for the eggs in the middle, chop the butter in pieces and arrange the flakes around the pile. Mix the egg with the dry stuff and gradually knead all the ingredients together into a cohesive, smooth ball of dough.
Production:
Divide the dough in 4 parts, and roll each one into a 1-inch-thick sausage. Then cut the sausages into 1-inch-long pieces. Voila! Then roll each piece into little balls.
Decorating:
Dip each ball first into the egg white, then into the sprinkles, and set them on a baking sheet. With the end of a cooking spoon, make an indentation into the sparkly balls. Then fill each hole with a dab of raspberry jelly.
Baking:
Bake the Sparkly Thumbprints at 325 F for about 25 minutes. They should be golden brown. (If you were overly generous with the butter, as we were, they may turn out a little flat.)
November is Native American Heritage Month. The Mesa Public Schools NAEP celebrated a fabulous Heritage Night at Westwood High School. The evening was filled with Native royalty, sizzling dance performances, and a heart-felt community spirit. The evening started with an invocation by Freddie Johnson, Diné, and the Land Acknowledgment read by Vice Principal Paul Davis. Keynote speaker was Steven P. Toya Sr. from New Mexico, a much loved counselor and educator. NAEP Program Director Esther Nystrom was visibly proud of her District team that night. Senior NAEP Liaison Debra Toya from Mountain View High School had brought the Royalty and top performers to the stage.
Amazing performances by the internationally acclaimed Indigenous Enterprise group (top row) and Renae Blackwater/Maswade (above).
The fancy Rooster Dance
Multi-talented performers
The Drum Group (above) fired up the spirit of dance. Then the Traditional Akimél O’odham Singers (below; Salt River Pima) invited everybody to join hands for a social dance.
Everybody dance, and . . .
. . . they all did.
Finally, Thunder and his brother Tyler read us a story called “Thunder’s Hair.” Here Tyler and Thunder are with team leader Tiffany (middle) and their mom (right).
Debra Toya and Esther Nystrom provided gifts for Royalty and honorees.
Great job, everybody!
IMPORTANT NOTES:
Arizona is home to 22 Tribal Nations that comprise approximately 28 percent of Arizona’s land base. Two important legislative bills impacted the Native American communities in 2021:
In April, Governor Ducey signed a historic tribal-state gaming compact agreement that modernized gaming in Arizona.
The Governor also signed legislation allowing Native American students in communities across Arizona to wear traditional tribal regalia at their graduation.
“Paper or plastic?” When have you heard this question lately? I haven’t. It’s “plastic, you must!” That happens to me each time when I forget my reusable bags.
DETOUR to Germany. I just returned from there. Hey, Nutella comes in a glass jar there, isn’t that great? But vitamins are in messy bubble packs, why? Be it as it may, they are ahead of us with managing the mess. They charge deposits on (plastic) bottles and customers will return them to the store (picture below, the fully automated return).
Leergutannahme–Acceptance of Empties: Nice! Let’s bring all our bottles back to where they came from (Fry’s, Albertsons, Safeway, etc.). They made a buck on them, so they must share the recycling responsibility.
All other, non-deposit, glass (wine etc.) bottles must be brought to recycling dumpsters separated by white, brown, or green colors. Papers and cardboards are collected in a separate bin. Compostables go in a brown bin. Next, the packaging refuse (yogurt cups, food containers, cans etc.) are to be cleaned to be recycled. That leaves the “Restmüll” pile much smaller: diapers, hygiene items, & other messy messes to be incinerated.
On packaging: as the consumption of take out food ramped up in Germany during Covid too, there is a new law that all carry-out containers must be paper/cardboard. My mom has a wood-burning stove and can dispose of these in the hearth. For community festivals, china plates, real silver ware, or edible bowls must be used. I went shopping at the grocery store with a basket. Nonetheless, that dang plastic showed a horrible presence in the Edeka cooler section: sliced meats and cheeses strutting more plastic per weight than food. And lots of extra plastic wrapping on fruits and vegetables too (see Aldi).
In the US: Do what you might, you can’t apparently refuse the plastic. Store clerks look at you with disbelief: What? No bag? One for the apples, one for the meat, one for the shampoo, one for the tortillas, one for the toothpaste, one for the birthday card . . . Come on, what are you doing? Save them! These bags are precious!
I have fought to keep those bags at bay. I confess, sometimes I forget to bring my own reusable shopping bags. Then I tell the clerk, “Just put all that crap from the motor belt back in the cart!” What? The packer won’t believe my callousness against his expert wrapping science. Little does he know that I have a (plastic) basket in the trunk. That’s where I throw all my purchases (without crushing my lettuce like they do).
That fight against the bags never ends. The only place that is perhaps a little different is Boulder, Colorado. There they make you buy a bag. Definitely, bags are precious. So, we should pay for them, reuse them, or refuse them. Let needier people have them.
Fight the plastic bags! If we can’t stop this trash, we will drown in it eventually.
Plastic bags should have become extinct by now. The next things to scratch on this long list are the one-way water bottles. Bring your own bottle to the game or school event, fill it at the faucet. Don’t be lazy. Or buy something in a can or glass bottle. Look, San Francisco Airport banned them already in August of 2019. Schools—oh my God, how much trash piles up there—should do the same! Train them school kids to bring their own bottles!
There are signs of hope against that plastic tsunami we live in. Here in Phoenix, the Phoenix Suns Arena was recently renamed the FOOTPRINT Center Arena for its partnership with a material science company that works hard to replace single-use plastics with biodegradable plant fibers. Imagine, all the hot dog boats and burger boxes will compose in the fill after three months!
Footprint Center
So here are my three points:
Let’s skip the plastic bag,
Bring your own refillable drink bottle, and
Boycott liquid detergent.
Why the detergents? Is there any proof that liquid detergent works better than powder? And if, is the result noticeable? I doubt it. BUT: It creates a lot of plastic trash. And plastic is precious, as we know, as our lives are precious. So save that plastic and spare us from it! Because the plastic comes around in the food chain from the plankton in the ocean and up to us. Therefore, if plastic is “dear” to us, we must use it most sparingly, even that micro-plastic.
If we fail on these easy things, we are failing ourselves on many levels. Let’s muster up some strength. Maybe St. Kateri Tekakwitha (Feast Day: July 14th), Patron Saint of the Environment and Ecology could help.
Oh, Holy Saint Kateri! May you protect us from all superfluous plastic and our own negligent recalcitrance! Or can you clean up Midway Island, please? (Sorry, you are right. We better do it ourselves.)
Someone needs to do something about it! How about YOU?
My idyllic hometown, Ascholding, received a hodge podge of oversized industrial buildings over night. Some structures are large enough to park the whole church inside. Was this necessary? Where will this insanity end?
Im Jahr 2018 hat das idyllische Bachzeilendorf Ascholding ein Gewerbegebiet erhalten. Hier (anklicken) ein Überflug mit den Dohlen vom Kirchturm: Zuerst das wunderbare Alpenpanorama, dann das industrielle Schachtelwerk.
Da haben wir den Salat–ein “Gewerbegebiet.” Die zwei größten “Flugzeughallen”, überdimensionale Fremdkörper, verhindern nach allen Richtungen den Ausblick. Solche Mammutbauten gehören nicht einmal an den Rand des idyllischen Bachzeilendorfes. Bieten die neuen Firmen den Ortsansässigen viele gute Arbeitsplätze an? Die landwirtschaftlichen Felder sind für immer zerstört, die Sozialstruktur verstädtert.
So war es früher einmal: auf dem Feld links unten steht jetzt das Gewerbegebiet.
PHASE II: Geht es jetzt so weiter? Mehr als 80 Parkplätze für den Edeka Markt (insgesamt ca. 120 Stellflächen mit Kindergarten eingerechnet) sollen noch kommen. Aber brauchen doch mehr Grünflächen und weniger Abgase, um das Global Warming zu reduzieren? ABER: Die nächste Bauphase (II).
Wie viele Parkplätze braucht ein Lebensmittelladen in einem 1000-Seelen-Dorf?
So viele wie der Holzwirt (40 geteerte, 30 auf Kies)? Oder so viele wie der Netto in Egling? Genau 68, aber Egling ist größer. Oder so viele wie das Kaufland in Geretsried (120, wenn ich mich nicht verzählt habe)? Welcher Parkplatz ist jetzt da am schönsten?
PHASE Baustelle mit Keltengrabung–2019, siehe Schotterfeld
PHASE EDEKA und Kindergarten–2020–Siehe Mega-Markt
We did it again. We do Kaltenberg on every German trip. Look, here is the Grand Entry. The Kaltenberg Medieval Jousting Show and Marketplace is hosted at Kaltenberg Castle, the residence of the Duke of Bavaria.
42nd National Old-Time Music Festival and Pioneer Expo
August 28 – September 3, 2017
Plymouth County Fairgrounds—LeMars, IA 51520
Funny, how a small Bavarian village (where I spent most of the summer) can harbor all kinds of memories. But country music? When the Ascholding riding club let out a few country western tunes, it sent me down memory lane. Those tunes sounded much like the skiffle group that I taped two years ago at Bob Everhart’s Festival at Le Mars, Iowa (above), or back then at guesthouse Lacherdinger.
Country music was nothing new in Ascholding. More than 30 years ago, old-time country music ambassador Bob Everhart came to perform in my quaint German hometown. Maybe those stones got rolling there?
During his European trips, Bob and I and another few put several country music acts on stage in Germany. I will never forget when the Black Bottom Skiffle group heated up the fully stuffed “Saal” and eventually made off with all the door money, or when Jeff Doty ran up the phone bill mile high at my friend’s house. Kathl, by now almost 90 years old, still remembers the story. Jeff had the love-sick blues. Duh, that explains the phone bill. Luckily, there were more stints to come in Wolfratshausen and Munich.
Bob Everhart has been promoting traditional country music all his life. He has recorded classics for a select album for the Smithsonian Institute (Folkways Records), runs the Old Time Country Music Hall of Fame, “live-streams” the traditional tunes (Wabash Cannon Ball etc.) at countless appearances and hosts every Labor Day the Old Time Country Music Festival in Le Mars, Iowa.
Bob Everhart is a country boy to the bone, as he reveals in his autobiography, “What I Saw”. Bob came from a day laborer family, which was terrorized by an alcoholic, violent dad and held together by a saintly mom. The singer had his first “radio appearances” in the Navy as a radioman. Maybe he also caught the travel bug there because the Navy took them as far as Japan.
Soon after his college studies, music fever led Bob Everhart into the hard-knock music business. Big record labels called the shots, and good bands got their songs stolen. In his early beginnings in the hard-hitting music industry, newspaper reporter Bob met the Rolling Stones when they toured America early in their career before the Battle of the Bands in Omaha, Nebraska.
I visited Bob’s Traditional Country Music Festival in 2015 and was amazed that his flagship event was still going. My friend Maria (also from Ascholding) faithfully played the zither there at several workshops as 30 years before. Bob apparently had not changed much; but he was close to 80 years old now (did I miscount?). How did he keep up this energy? Music keeps him young.
Eventually, I stopped at the festival information booth. Boy, some of these photos seemed familiar. When I was a student at the University of Texas, I attended Bob’s Old-Time Country Music Festival several times. And took pictures. Yep, some of my snapshots stuck out of the photo display. Bob had kept them all these years! Even Bob’s Folkways album cover seemed awesomely familiar. I remembered that performance in the 80ies. I came to Iowa from the University of Texas. Could I have taken the picture for the album cover and didn’t know it?
Bob Everhart has a fabulously strong voice, Nashville-good. But he didn’t want to go that route, selling out to the music industry. He decided instead to serve the Midwestern people’s old-time music and friendships. It’s no easy feat to pull off such a large festival each year. Seems the audience has gotten a little older. But many young musicians join the lineup just as well as the old faithful make the pilgrimage to present faithful crowd pleasers.
If you like traditional people’s music and want to spend a couple of casual days with friendly people, the Traditional Old-Time Country Music Festival is just the right place for you.
Its rustic charm was irresistible. The Crofting Inn put forth a Hallmark lumberjack façade. The bed and breakfast in Cloudcroft, New Mexico, offers 7 quaint, old-fashioned rooms. Just what my friend, Bandanaland Princess Edda, had been looking for. She was planning to get away from the Texas heat for a summer outing to this ski resort village with her Prince Helmut.
“No problem!” the hostess said. “We will move you into another unit.” Those showers were totally up to date.
A couple from Kerrville, Texas, shared their discovery of mega croissants from the best bakery in the 950-souls-strong little western town of Cloudcroft. They talked with an astoundingly sprite 90-year-old woman who celebrated her birthday with a family reunion. And a good-looking couple was planning a flashy wedding.
“We get many guests from Texas up here,” Gail explained. “They are very fond of Western themes, in which the bandana plays a pig part.” So, she made her place extra comfy and welcoming for cowboys and cowgirls. This goes to show again that there is creativity in bandanas to no end. The sky hangs full with bandanas at the Cloudcroft Inn.
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
And yet Princess Edda left the safety of her Rainy Castle for the tea house, cozied in her covers, pulled the blanket up to her nose, and admired the strength of the swaying trees outside. This was such a noble fortress, with Saltillo tiles and stained-glass windows and a bed. But it rattled like a mousetrap. The pelting rain noise felt like being inside a drum.
But the morning was still far away and the wind howling with no mercy. She decided to read herself to sleep. It got later and later. It got so late that it was almost early again. Yet the lightning kept flashing through the glass door, and the wind howled even worse. No use trying. So, Princess Edda decided to admire the power of God’s nature instead. This was better than a movie.
And she was still alive. A tree had crashed only a foot from her tea house. Oh, miracle and wonder! Not quite. Prince Helmut had sent his Bandana Gang to the rescue. Who else could have heaved the tree away from its fateful destiny? And so Princess Edda escaped the storm unscathed. The Bandana Guard kept watch all night.
Bandana Stories
Bandana Origin
Bandana Warriors
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
Australia (yes, this is NOT China) drives on the left, walks on the left, sneezes to the left. How do you avoid being run over? Are Australians bound to be more left-handed too? I figure, they’ve got to be, because the left does most of the work in a car: gears, wipers, climate control, radio. Try that for a change.
The Holiday Inn at Darling Harbor lies amidst China Town. Only Asian people around, Beijing ducks in the shop windows, tasty donut holes (Emperor Puffs) filled with custard, boba shops with many flavors, and the whole range of Oriental cuisine. But what’s with the jostling? Did everybody switch off their inborn proximity sensor?
But just go for it! In Australia, you don’t need money. They will take a plastic card for everything. Even the commemorative coin machine at the Sydney Aquarium spews out your minted penny for a tap. The aquarium is an excellent place to go under the sea. It has some of the best shark tanks around
On the first morning, a ketchup packet exploded on me: I pointed it the wrong way, squeezed, and voila had ketchup all over my snout. Most things don’t seem obvious when you’re under a 14-hour jet lag. Yeah, the blow dryer flicked the frothy soap all over my shirt. Silly me, I hadn’t approached the duplicitous (double-action) faucet from the right angle. Fortunately, Sydney seemed so much cleaner than our American cities. Kudos to the restrooms! And drinks come only with paper straws and there is an extra charge for takeout containers.
I had fun bumbling along the parks and exploring on foot. My mission on Tuesday was to reach the beach. Another faux pas! Bondi is pronounced “Bon-die” or “Bon-day” Beach. Good day? Or a good day to die? Huh? That’s what the Lakota would say. The bus driver wrinkled his brow, then smiled, and taught me the correct pronunciation of my destination.
It’s fun to watch the surfers at Bondi. Even better than staring into the tide pools at La Jolla. I settled into a coffee shop for a capuccino and avocado sandwich. Australia had me then and there.
“Mona Lisa came together just for fun. There was a river rock laying around for years. It had the shapes of a beautifully formed woman, no relations to the Kardashians (maybe Picasso or Gaugin). And then there was also the tree stump of an old cedar tree. That tree had been in conflict with an oak. Every time when I have to cut down a tree, I leave a stump as a memorial. It could be used for something later. That tree offered itself to install something on it. The other two things had been waiting in the grass for a while. So I put all three together, set the rock on the stump, and installed the metal frame around it. The stone, steel, and wood enhanced each other quite naturally.”
Covid-19 Man: “I made that at the beginning, when we started to realize how threatening and aggressive Covid-19 was. For the first time it happened in my long life that we had such a worldwide epidemic. For me, the woodblock face demonstrates the anguish of a patient screaming from pain and terror. We’ve had the ball made of sea shells for a long time and it offered itself as a Covid virus symbol encompassing the entire globe.”
Another piece is in the works, called Kama Sutra, aka a bunch of large, gnarly cedar roots arranged together. “At this time, I am working on the enlightened lovers,” Helmut says.
Liquid detergent: The utmost insanity of all! Haven’t we always used washing powder? It gives you the same results. Listen up, Tide & Co.: Take your jugs off the shelves right now! We can shake up our own soapy sauce.
Environmental change: California’s new plastics law could force the rest of the nation to cut down on its polluting materials. The legislation mandates, among other things, a reduction in the single-use plastics sold in the state. It also requires 65 percent of plastics to be recycled within a decade—an ambitious goal. Plastics makers will have to foot the bill for recycling. The law could have ripple effects across the nation, but not all recycling proponents are pleased, Laura Parker reports.
