Apricots and Recollections

Today:
I am eating a bag of dried apricots at 9.50 AM, and I realize that I haven’t written on my blog for over a month. I freeze, the leathery button of fruit half-eaten between my thumb and forefinger.

What to write about?

Maybe I need to write about the swimming in the Danube last Thursday, its frigid, brown water closing over my head as I dive in, ahhhhhh!!!! gasping and spitting out flecks of ancient water, feeling deliciously patronized by this old, unimpressed river. The Donau has seen its fair share of foreign idiots jumping in and out on warm autumn days, so my white legs and streaming eyes were nothing new to her; but she was new to me, and I laughed and skipped rocks, feeling impudent in the newness of my first European swim.

Or about the smell this morning when I stumbled across the living room and into the bathroom (watch out for sleeping cats, they’re like furry landmines; especially Chou Chou, the one who speaks German and won’t let me pet her)—it reminded me of autumn mornings at the Fryeburg Fair, and electric blue skies and orange leaves and Dad making apple crisp late at night. I stood in the kitchen with cold bare feet on the wooden floor and breathed in deeply: cinnamon and apples and autumn. Apfelstrudel. Frau Panzenböck is a genius, an easy-smiling Martha Stewart, and I dance down the outdoor hallway, electric in anticipation.

Or maybe talking with Franz, my host brother, as we walked home after a brief two hour stint at the rock gym that left us both weak and somewhat discouraged. Walking next to him, I’m surprised about how tall he actually is—maybe six and a half feet? (And how many centimeters is that? My European conversions are still greatly lacking.) He is wearing his enormous army coat and his dreds are in a ponytail, still reaching past his shoulders. And he’s talking about the government. “I hate all politicians,” he says, “all they do is talk talk talk talk talk. And does anything actually happen? No!” I suggest that maybe politicians do more than we can do in areas that we can’t affect—schools, hospitals, etc. He laughs. “Sure, sure, that’s what they say. But people can take care of each other much better than one person can take care of all of us. We don’t need politics.” Ten minutes later, I almost give up. “Franz, do you even vote?”
He grins. “Of course. Last time, I voted for the communist party. A whole .02 percent of the country was on my side.”

So yes, Austria is a place for me now, with cold rivers, apfel strudels, and communist brothers. Could I ask for anything else?

On second thought, maybe more apricots, I’m almost out. :)
Happy Tuesday, all.