Morning Stories

Just because the bourgeoisie is small doesn't mean thinking has to be. Yes, I grew up in a perfectly normalised family. Father brought home the money, and Mother kept the house and kitchen in order. And raised the children, more or less on the side. Ideas that might upset the peaceful family picture were neither welcome nor wanted.

"You've known this for a long time, haven't you?" She said it in passing, sometime in December, setting down her coffee cup and looking at me as if waiting for an answer I should have given already. I laughed. I remember that laugh exactly — it was too short, too loud, and it came from the wrong place.

This moment was simply regal yesterday in Washington DC. Not only the speech itself, not only the words King Charles III spoke before the US Congress. But the moment just before: how the hands of the members of Congress shot up and briefly paused. Are we allowed to applaud these words? Is that okay?

There's a secret behind the theatre world's most famous good-luck charm, and most people only know half the story. Anyone who has ever called out a cheerful "Toi, toi, toi" to an actor before a curtain call has, technically, sounded like someone who knows what they're doing — but missed the rest.

"Sunshine in the heart and onions in the belly." Anyone who never shouted that singsong rhyme as a child — face scarlet, laughter barely contained — has a genuine gap in their childhood. The second line had that unmistakable flavour of "you're not really supposed to say that." And what do you not say? Exactly that. Always. The small illegalities of everyday life simply taste better.

"Oh, that's hard to estimate." True. Because only once "that" has vanished, signed off, checked out — only then is "that" treasured. Whatever "that" might be. To estimate is guesswork, sure. But estimable, all the same.

Does serving actually make you happy? God only knows. And the servers themselves know. Those attentive people who, day after day, look after guests, ask how they're doing, and eventually clear the table again.

"That will never work." Four simple words — tossed out casually and devastating in effect. I've lost count of how many times I heard these or similar final verdicts.

It's time to collect. And even more often, it's time to gather together. Because many minds have more and better ideas. And it's precisely those that are needed — in collectible quantities. And as fresh and unspent as possible.

“No Nukes!” was the battle cry on the streets. “No Nuclear Power” was — and still is — meant seriously. Nuclear force, whether as weapons or energy supplier, is a half-baked solution. In medicine, things look different. Today I’m heading to Southlake Hospital for a Nuclear Test.

You have to be born a hero. Oh really? And what about all the other Homo Sapiensers?

He's approaching the thirty-thousand-day mark. And that's a good thing in itself, because the days that got him here were well lived. Peter turns eighty today. But that's not really the story. Because ageing is something practically everything does without much effort.

So simple as this short word seems — its impact is extreme. Anyone who wants to say goodbye to someone — or has to — is closer to tears than to laughter. A person dear to your heart is setting off on a journey. That's a real cut into the comfortable routine of everyday life.

Love is flighty, most of all in its opening stage. Every now and then it remembers itself and goes flighty again. The flutter of butterflies in the belly. The flutter of knees. The fluttery liability of shared birth control.

“Of course I can shift into a lower gear.” Especially when you’re driving down a residential street. Going deep — depth — is a word and an action that has somehow slipped out of modern life. Probably somewhere into the deep end.

Mind you, it was not an answer — Google delivered a collection of possible sources that might have one. Might. I was astounded. And thought: This is the end of ignorance.

Stories are — as the very word suggests — the many different layers that come together over the course of a life. Shaping a life story. The story itself.

GAL? Could this be the ultimate core of justice? The hardcore gene of civilized society? Could well be – because these three letters, GAL, hide inside many a meaningful word. Is it even egal if a book about Égalité sits le­gal and regal on the gallery shelf in Portugal? Too much of a good GAL? Well, maybe – but that is not the least bit ille­gal.

Wanderlust or Homesick? Anyone who has always lived behind the moon or under a rock won't be surprised by the state of the world today. Because they don't catch any of it. The news? A Canadian was behind the moon. But only briefly.

Götterdämmerung? (Which is Twilight of the Gods) Which gods are currently facing their twilight? And if any of these ladies or gentlemen are available for comment: what exactly does this twilight contain right now? I mean, at many corners of the globe - wait, why corners? - this very world is no longer in order. Not even at seven in the morning. Yet the bearers of hope in all countries - or at least most of them - refuse to stop carrying.

Those are two separate word parts, aren't they? Uni and Versity struck a deal — and in doing so, made quite a contribution to education. Oh wonder of wonders, this concept too comes straight out of the old Latins' kitchen. “Universitas” stood for “totality” or “community.” Oha — academics are accessible to the totality of citizens? Well, how marvellous.

If a single word can set the entire arsenal of emotions spinning, then those few letters must be carrying an enormous payload of associations. When spring announces not only itself but is heralded by the writing and rhyming guild, many things begin to sprout anew.

No, I'm not entirely certain — but appearances suggest: most fingers are already finished by the time a human arrives in the cradle. They're still a little small. And still a little clumsy. But as fingers go, they're perfectly fine and ready to feel their way through the world.

Brian is full of meaning. Not the man, mind you, but the name itself. When Brian was still a freshly minted Celt having a look around Ireland, his name gained a little extra weight. The Celts and the Irish agreed that nomen est omen. Brian is the noble one, the strong one, or simply the hill, depending on which way you interpret five letters.

The newspaper hits just as hard in print: overwhelming. Anyone who ventures past the first two pages in the morning will likely feel buried under an avalanche of information. Probably.