- hello Simona Lindow
- Username: lasimona
- In response to: "Even if you aren't a chef, what's your favorite dish to prepare?" Apart from pizza and pasta I am able to serve spinach leaves with unpeeled potatoes. I add herb quark and butter - a simple and tasty meal!
- lasimona's latest answers
Es lag nicht in seiner Macht, er konnte sich nicht wehren. Es beruhigte ihn wenig, dass es an seinem Aussehen lag, er erfüllte alle Klischees - Perfektion. Man starrte ihn an, zeigt auf ihn, mit großen Augen, feuchtglänzenden Lippen. Er konnte nicht aussuchen, er wurde ausgesucht.
Sie setzte die Brille auf, dicke Gläser. Sonst würde es draußen brenzlich werden, wenn Sie aus dem Auto stieg. Gleich müsste sie zum Flughafen aufbrechen. Schnell noch etwas erledigen, dann ab auf die Autobahn. Sie presste die Lippen zusammen - mit dem Lipgloss hatte sie es vorhin wohl etwas gut gemeint - und betrat den Laden.
Zu Hause! "Zweitzuhause", korrigierte sie sich gedanklich. In London war das Leben, in Berlin das Herz. Sie setzte sich auf das Bett, zog den Rucksack zu sich heran und suchte darin herum. Erinnerung. Eine hatte sie sich mitgebracht. Sie hatte ihn gesehen, er hatte sie gesehen, sie lächelte, er war erleichtert, so war es gut. Nun hielt sie ihn in der Hand, sie dachte an Berlin, er an sein Glück. Als echter Pfannkuchen in London.
- Well-worn phrases – For free!!
To cut a long story, like, sort of short, hi all, an easy way is to jump to conclusions. However, Rome wasn't built in a day. Even short-cut stories deserve some multitasking abilities. Be considerate of others, how will their quick grasp of new ideas set the wheel in motion? As in: How will the abridged story be perceived? "Twinkle twinkle little star" or "Off is the direction I want you to fuck"?
So, obviously, we need to talk. Or not, it depends.
To cut Little Red Riding Hood short (Girl goes into the woods, equiped with wine, gets involved with a wolf, which then eats a relative, is stoned thereafter and dies) might result in hot tears wept by the tender mind.
Those who love the arts to bits, hate TV, spend their pastime in galleries and do something with media – they might find that version intriguing, inspiring, quirky.
What is to be done is to cut nothing short but to remain silent, smile and wave. Nobody gets hurt, we can stay friends, it's not you, it's me.
All is well and we live happily ever after.
- Stained White
Taken somewhere in The Tottenham / Walthamstow area. We went to this vernissage after a day in Southbank for the Mayor's Thames Festival. The piano just stood in the corner of that gallery. A random day and therefore nice to remember. Randomly going here, randomly exploring secrets there, nothing that changed my world. But browing through the Pictures folder sometimes reveals casually that life is good.
- Way back machine
I just have one image in front of me, not a whole situation. It's the evening before my sister's birthday, I assume her 1st, so that makes me 4 and a half. I sit in the lounge of our house, under that scary built-in-the wall fish tank, under the stone shelf that belongs to it. As a child the lights of that fish tank scared me when it was dark in the house. I wear red woolen tights, a piece of clothing that was as unpleasant as the lights in the night. They are scratchy and my mum always pinches me a little when dressing me and pulling them up. I must have played with this doctor kit, which, as research for a dear image of the past is now described as "vintage", as I remember me holding a stethoscope or something in my hands.
That's the whole image I consider my first memory, no one there, no voices, just that image.
- A Great Gift
When my weekly prompt-question was sent by http://www.plinky.com, I tried to think of something that was not immaterial and dramatic but an actual present I received. Surely, those presents with a meticulous thought behind them, those that show somebody listened to a small sentence you dropped randomly are those most dearly remembered.
Last Christmas I got one of those.
It was a book.
The title alone made me sigh and remember the olden sunny days in my Wedding-Kiez in Berlin: "Mein wunderbarer Wedding" (My wonderful Wedding) by Heiko Werning. My mum gave it to me and urged me to open the book where I found a dedication by the author. It reads "For Simone, with warmest wishes from good old home to London, the Wedding of Europe. Heiko Werning". The book holds many stories related to Wedding telling about day-to-day life of its versatile inhabitants with a good mix of a very oberservant eye, thigh-slappers and silent smiles.
This present contained so much. Not only am I a happy listener of http://www.brauseboys.de/ whom I got to know in the long night of books and literature in Berlin. Strangely, the name "Wedding" reminds me of warm summery days in my Kiez, the smell of the huge fruit market on the corner, glasses of white wine, days and evenings of exploring Berlin on a spontaneous walk without a specific route, coming home late at night the air still being warm.
Oh, I am very aware how I a glorifying time and area. Especially because even in Wedding it snows, freezes, the fruit of the market sometimes land on the street if they are too ripe, and Berlin consists of more than on area.
What makes me so happy about my obvious overglorifying is the fact that I can do that, proudly. That even if there are bad memories, and quite a few of those, they are not in the foreground. I am so glad that my self-chosen exile in a new city was not out of hatred or disgust or pure boredom. I love coming back and seeing my hometown remaining and changing.
When I came home after Christmas, back to London, I read my new book in one go, laughed about streetnames mentioned, situations that sounded familiar. And then my new book got a place next to all the other books. I did not put its cover in a frame for a prominent spot on the wall. I get it out from time to time and browse the pages, glorifying a little and thinking of sunny walks.
And then I go out and explore London a little more. I wonder how I will remember London ...