Tasks

My days are usually quiet, particularly the mornings.  By quiet, I mean literally quiet.  The walls of the this modest apartment are the boundaries of a sanctuary.  Morning is the time for work.  Up until last week, the quiet of the morning was dedicated to sending out submission packages to prospective literary agents.  Looking for a literary agent is a bit like knowingly having sex with the devil after buying him (or her) dinner.  Back to the devil and his due:  forty-four submissions were sent out, exposing my second novel's soul to the prying eyes of the world.  Grow a thicker skin, Son, you're going to need it.

One less thing to wait on.

It has been a time of waiting.  I wait for rejections from literary agents, for my residency title to be approved, and for a care package from the Boyos back home.  And then things begin to happen.  My package arrives, stuffed full with lovely cigars from the states.  New things, new things!  And then, miracle of miracles, I receive news that my title application had been approved, that a letter should be on its way any day.  And Lo!  Arriveth the letter at my box:  Please come pick up your title on December 23rd.  Now there is a first rate Christmas present.

  Cornbread, my attempt to bring Down-home to Vienna

Regardless of whatever writing project that I might be engaged in, the Hausmann duties remain.  Meals to make, dishes to wash.  Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment:  chop wood, carry water.  

Steak salad was another novelty, particularly the warm mushrooms and peppers above the cool greens. 

I simmer, I taste, I stir.

Outside the walls of my sanctuary, the world is not so quiet.  In Europe and the Americas the Fascists push back the light, trying to crawl from under their respective rocks.  Sometimes they emerge fully, as in the United States.  It is the same message, always the same message.  I hear it, I see it emblazoned across the headlines and the websites.  The message these benighted creatures bear is that we should fear the Other.  It is the Other that is to blame for everything that is wrong, everything that is keeping us from being "Great."  The Other comes in many forms, for there are many brands of fear.  Whether it is your Muslim neighbors, your Gay or Lesbian neighbors, your Brown or Black neighbor, or just someone who was born in another country, the message is that you should be afraid of them.  The Fascists are selling fear.  And folks, it's moving off the shelves like fried-food-on-a-stick at a county fair.  

This week afforded me time for reading.  I am back to devouring books.  This week I re-read The Crucible by Arthur Miller.  Always a powerful work, it once again resonated when viewed against the current events of the world.  For me, Miller's words take on new power.  Written during the red scare of the cold war, it is a chilling tale of the Salem witch trials and the penalty of swimming against the tide of public hysteria.  Perhaps even more pertinent now, this play was written in response to the 1950's witch hunt against anyone who might be tainted by the touch of communism (read: any heterodox views).  As world political views become ever more Us vs. Them, With Us or Against Us, it is important to remember the consequences of blind adherence to an orthodox belief structure.  The consequences are that people die.  Not literary characters, real human beings.  If they ever come for me, if I ever find myself confronted with the choice between joining them or paying the price, I will remember Giles Corey:  "More Weight"

The holiday season is upon us and there is nowhere on earth I would rather be at Christmas than in Wien.  Okay, yes, it is cold and gray and the gloom of the winter seems to bite from across the years of the little ice age.  But the lights shine and the Christkindlmarkt calls.

I do not believe that the Viennese are fully prepared to embrace simple happiness.  Thus the custom of standing outside in the freezing (no exaggeration) cold merrily sipping hot Punsch and smoking.  It is my theory that the bite of the bitter cold brings enough suffering to buffer the joy of drinking and smoking.  The the Viennese love to drink and smoke.  But better to suffer for joy.  Who knows what mischief could result from unbridled happiness.

My favorite stand.

The drink menu for a frosty night at the Spittelberg Christkindlmarkt.  One of the reasons that this is my favorite stand is the owner's sense of humor and literature.  Check out the penultimate selection on the menu.  When living in an absurdist world, it is a good idea to have a reference point.  This particular reference is to Douglas Adams' A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  The Donnergurgler is the Viennese version of the Pan-galactic Gargleburster, the most wonderful and dangerous cocktail in the known galaxy.  Oh, for you non-math folks, the price is 42 times 10 to the negative power of one.

That's 4,20 Euro.  In case you were wondering.

Outside the walls, outside the walls.  Last weekend we were at a Christmas market in Vienna.  This week, a homicidal maniac plowed a tractor-trailer lorry into a crowded Christmas market in Berlin.  What madness is this?  Innocent people, people warming themselves with Puncsh on a cold winter night, just as I was.  It cleaves my heart.

More and more I feel that I have entered a world that is governed by absurdity.  Or un-governed by absurdity, if you will.  As if I were caught inside of Terry Gilliam's film "Brazil."  Periodically things explode, but not-to-worry, not-to-worry, things are under control, we've got the blighters on the run.  Hogwash.  But an excellent example of art mirroring life. 

And so it is Christmas and what have I done to make this world a better place?   Not enough John, not enough.  That is the hard answer.  My world, inside these walls, is a place of love and quiet strength.  I am blessed.  Outside these walls, I carry that love and quiet strength with me.  Fear has less and less power over me.  That is the greatest gift, I suppose, a lot more important than my little worries about a residency title.  So, for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa,  or whatever other holiday tradition you embrace, I wish each of you personal freedom from fear, personal freedom to be happy, and the courage to reach out to your neighbors and wish the same for them.