strawberry gestures
I'm sipping my morning coffee, though it's no longer morning.
I can't lie. I've been awake since 9 AM, I just preferred the sound of "morning coffee" over plain old "coffee." I often think I'm a morning person, but only if that doesn't imply that I wake with the dawn. If I can rise pleasant at 9 (or even 8) and call it morning, I think I'm a justified morning person. (Oder? = the German word for "or"... in this case, "Right?")
There was a time last night - or maybe this morning - when I dreamt myself inside a garden. The secret garden? A labyrinth-like journey of a garden. I was inside a road-side vineyard wanting to purchase some wine. The keeper of the vineyard listed the bottles I could purchase: strawberry, raspberry, grape. These weren't genuine wines, but rather sparkling juices. Just as well (for the sake of a positive attitude), I couldn't have changed the goods had I wished to.
The keeper spoke a southern German dialect, he wore a white cotton apron that reminded me of one a butcher might wear -- with blood (or juice?) smeared across its front. I couldn't recall whether or not he had said "Erdbeer" -- strawberry, that is --. I asked, "Haben Sie Erdbeer?" (Do you have strawberry?) and he looked all of a sudden angry with me.
"Were you not listening?" his tone darkened. I stuttered a reply in broken German, only to find him even less-impressed with me because I was a foreigner.
For some reason, my heart was set on strawberry, though I know that if I were to choose in reality, I'd have picked raspberry. I could have left right then, having decided that getting the flavor I wanted wasn't worth feeling like a stupid tourist; but I'd have felt that way with or without the juice.
Finally, after managing hold of a bottle of strawberry juice, I went to pay and didn't have exact change. The keeper tried to swindel me out of my money, at which point I had lost sense of purpose and gave in. Losing two euros then and there, I had not the wit nor determination to try and retrieve them.
Upon leaving, I smiled a quivering smile and thanked the keeper of the vineyard. He seemed subtly altered -- starteled -- by my gratitude. Even in dreams, little gestures really can make a lot of difference.
I can't lie. I've been awake since 9 AM, I just preferred the sound of "morning coffee" over plain old "coffee." I often think I'm a morning person, but only if that doesn't imply that I wake with the dawn. If I can rise pleasant at 9 (or even 8) and call it morning, I think I'm a justified morning person. (Oder? = the German word for "or"... in this case, "Right?")
There was a time last night - or maybe this morning - when I dreamt myself inside a garden. The secret garden? A labyrinth-like journey of a garden. I was inside a road-side vineyard wanting to purchase some wine. The keeper of the vineyard listed the bottles I could purchase: strawberry, raspberry, grape. These weren't genuine wines, but rather sparkling juices. Just as well (for the sake of a positive attitude), I couldn't have changed the goods had I wished to.
The keeper spoke a southern German dialect, he wore a white cotton apron that reminded me of one a butcher might wear -- with blood (or juice?) smeared across its front. I couldn't recall whether or not he had said "Erdbeer" -- strawberry, that is --. I asked, "Haben Sie Erdbeer?" (Do you have strawberry?) and he looked all of a sudden angry with me.
"Were you not listening?" his tone darkened. I stuttered a reply in broken German, only to find him even less-impressed with me because I was a foreigner.
For some reason, my heart was set on strawberry, though I know that if I were to choose in reality, I'd have picked raspberry. I could have left right then, having decided that getting the flavor I wanted wasn't worth feeling like a stupid tourist; but I'd have felt that way with or without the juice.
Finally, after managing hold of a bottle of strawberry juice, I went to pay and didn't have exact change. The keeper tried to swindel me out of my money, at which point I had lost sense of purpose and gave in. Losing two euros then and there, I had not the wit nor determination to try and retrieve them.
Upon leaving, I smiled a quivering smile and thanked the keeper of the vineyard. He seemed subtly altered -- starteled -- by my gratitude. Even in dreams, little gestures really can make a lot of difference.
posted by B-Go at
2:45 PM
1 Comments:
Isn't it interesting that people, who are small and sometimes mean, can make us feel small by their ungracious attitudes and God, who is so great, can lift us up and affirm our worth by His graciousness? SAG
By
Anonymous, At
9:20 PM
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home