I woke up late again this morning—I hope my body adapts to 5AM soon—so, as I walked out the door, the streets echoed with children laughing and shouting as they made their way to school. Down the street ahead of me, two friendless students, sporting identical backpacks, moseyed along slower than the rest.
I can never help but laugh at these backpacks. Almost every German toddler wears a similar one, proving the success of what must be a remarkable marketing campaign. The backpack is called the Scout. The backpacks sell for close to 200 Euro a pop for an awkwardly shaped, plastic box, covered with pictures of unicorns, mermaids, and other fantasy creatures. Thinking of my own hand-me-down backpacks growing up, I didn't even spend $200 on my school year's worth of clothing, let alone a single, silly backpack. This morning I thought of the struggles poorer parents go through to provide their children the popular pack. But, I do have to admit, we picked one up for my daughter the other day for when we move back to the states, and I'm sure she'll love it. I say picked up because it was lying on the sidewalk with a sign that said FREE.
After I passed the elementary school, the local architecture again caught my attention. As noted before, the majority of homes in this area, including my own, are block family houses, usually inhabited by multiple families (one on each floor). The exteriors are completely cement with only minor alterations from house to house. Awhile back I saw such a house being built. After having set the foundation, the construction crew arrived with giant slabs of cement that they simply put in place, and voila the exterior was finished. This morning I was drawn to the length people go to make their cookie-cutter home look different than the rest. Some do it by painting the whole exterior a bright color.
I especially liked the single flower in each window to go along with the spring pastel paint.
Others display their uniqueness through their choice of door.
I really liked this door's vintage vibe along with the matching rain gutter, mailbox, and window frames
Others make their homes unique through their choice and color of shudders.
Although the architecture is uniform, they decorate the walls, the doors, the gutters and the shutters, everything and anything they can to stand our from the crowd.
As I heard a man yelling at his family through the walls behind me, I realized that others make a name for themselves, whether consciously or not, from what echoes from within. It sounded like he had woken up late, was now in a hurry, and it was all his family's fault.
The next thing I noticed is quite disgusting, but hilariously ironic. I noticed a wall of dog dejection, or as my Mom is wont to say, doo doo. This wall was definitely a favorite pit stop for the dogs’ walks around the block.
Sorry if I just ruined your breakfast! Halfway down the block came the irony.
The stand was obviously misplaced. The true Hundetoilette was 50 feet back down the wall, but again what did those city planners expect when they put up a sign for dogs in German. Dogs don't speak German, except for maybe German Shepherds, but even so their first language is dog. If the city wanted the dogs to obey the laws, they would write the laws in dog. It only makes sense. I can imagine the furious city workers, scooping up the doo doo day after day, cursing the dogs for not being able to read, swearing that if they ever got hold of one of those unruly mutts, they would give him a punishment he would never forget. But, then again the whole mess could be solved if the dogs’ owners would simply translate the law to their dogs, and pull out a potty bag with their opposable thumbs. How often do our laws treat speakers of other languages like dogs? I’m sure the dogs wonder why we humans don’t follow their laws. I’m sure they are often confused about whose house, whose car, or whose wall is whose with no urinary mark of ownership.
A few yards past the toilet, I spotted an abandoned pacifier, announcing the parents’ failed attempts to press their interests onto their child.
I pray only that this free-spirited child will never feel the same abandonment.
Around the corner, a local church made a bold claim.
The metaphor may be sound, or perhaps it is not meant metaphorically at all, that modern churches serve the same saving purposes as Noah’s diluvial ark, but with so many self-proclaiming Noahs, and so many make-shift arks, I wonder if any will stay afloat when the final flood comes. I believe in a Noah; I believe in an ark, I believe in floods, and I believe in a God capable of flooding and inspiring a Noah to save those willing. But, I’m afraid brick edifices will sink not swim.
Last night, my wife and I were reminiscing about the glory days of high school soccer, so I decided to conclude my walk today with a jog and game of me against myself at the local field. But, when I arrived at the pitch I was instantly reminded of my current station.
Germany offers an array of some of the finest artificial and natural soccer fields I’ve ever seen, but fences and club memberships block my admittance. Instead I played this morning on the neighborhood, free-for-all field of non-netted goals, gravel, and broken glass. It sure made me excited to return to my hometown in the states again where there is always an open stretch of grass for any kid and his ball.
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