PS: This picture was taken with a rather poor mobile phone camera. The colours are all wrong, the atmosphere is all right.

This was taken before, on Christmas day, he raised his leg and peed on the tree.

Let me tell you more about the dog.  He was born in Lohmen, a good 23 kilometers away from my parents’ house. It was a pretty close call: he wasn’t breathing when he came out of his mother’s womb and the breeder had to help him a little. He developed fine, thanks, not least, to his rather healthy appetite.

He is one of eight siblings, five boys and three girls, all of whom found a good home. There are plenty of pictures of the little ones’ growing up on the breeders’ homepage. If you want to spot our four-legged friend among the happy crowd of wee dogs, then look for a puppy with a white spot right on top of its head. Yep, that’s him. Barney.

The breeders posted a few videos on Youtube as well. There is this one (below) of Barney playing with one of his sisters  when they were four months old. Don’t ask who is who, at that age, it was still rather hard to tell them apart. The female voice in the background is the breeder’s, the male my dad’s, the barking is probably Gundula’s (the doggies’ mum) or their step-dad’s, (Moses) who sadly died a few weeks ago.

My dad and I visited Barney and his siblings a few times after they were born before we took him home in February this year. The first time I got to hold him he weed on me. He didn’t know it, in fact neither his eyes nor his ears had opened by the time, and he didn’t even have a name, yet, but this was probably the first time Barney marked his territory or, rather, declared ownership. I had, of course, already lost my heart to him by then, in the bleak midwinter of 2010.

It’s been a while since I posted anything. About a year, it seems. Much has happened during that time, and little. My life has changed, and not. I have … , or maybe … Too many contradictions. Too many distractions. I suppose I’m looking for a focus to keep me going and to let myself go. My way.

One great thing which has happened is the dog. Hence the picture in this post. He’s an airedale, just turned one, and I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting him when he was only a few weeks old and about the size of two large fists put together. He’s much taller now and still a bit of a handful but I love him to bits. The downside is I don’t see him often. The upside is that I enjoy every minute we’ve got together – at least until he tries to eat me again.

Another, much much less significant thing happened: I left FB. People have been asking me why. For, mainly, three reasons. Firstly: there was an obvious discrepancy between what some of my ‘friends’ did in real life and what they did online; secondly, I found the new features FB offered its users (archive your whole life online etc.) rather, lets say, off-putting; thirdly, and most importantly: some week, in the space of what felt like only a few hours, two old, dear friends of mine got in touch because they needed to talk, someone to listen, advice. It made me very grateful.

I’m sure FB will have kept copies of everything I ever posted, everything I ever deleted. Maybe it will be preserved for virtual eternity that way, I don’t really care.

This place is and should only be about what I really care about.

There will be photos.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(Robert Frost, from: The Road not Taken)

After some deliberation, I have acquired a Polaroid  Supercolor 635 CL. Since it is hard (and fairly expensive) to get hold of adequate film material, I decided to try out a recent innovation by the Impossible Project, namely their youngest baby called PX 70 FF COLOR SHADE (which, despite its name, can be used in 600-series cameras as well, they claim). Well, so far the the results have been a little disappointing, which is why I turned to the Polaroid Project, which equals cheating by digital means, I know, but is still good fun. (Of course this doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on the ‘real’ thing, I just need to practice and save enough money to buy the right type of film).

About the picture, though: I took it in Quedlinburg/Germany this summer. The newspaper stand (‘Zeitungskiosk’) reminded me of my childhood when these stands (as I remember it) were to be found everywhere in East German cities. Many of them seem to have disappeared during the last twenty years, which is why I got so excited (and had to take a picture) when I spotted the stand in Quedlinburg. For a split second it felt a little bit like being caught in a time warp. When I was a child, I loved to browse the display, look at the magazines and bits and bobs they sold. I would also buy something there from time to time. If this newspaper stand does not strike you as being special in any way, take a closer look, and you will realize they come in many different colours, shapes, and sizes. Surely almost everyone who are now in their thirties or older (that is anyone born before the world, or great chunks of it, speeded up all of a sudden and went digital) must have some memories attached to them. ‘Zeitungskioske’ make a good meeting point, for example. Often, they are located close to tram or bus stops, train stations, or busy town squares. You also see them in films (old and new ones) ever so often.

If you adopt what some might call a slightly nostalgic view, they seem to be humming with excitement; they tell stories of a time when the word ‘news’ still had a bigger, somehow more lasting meaning. That they evoke that feeling, though, is not the only thing I like about this stand (and this picture). It reminds me of the fact that although we may, as some say, live in the age of globalization (whatever that may or may not mean), our personal and our most dear memories will always remain linked to very specific objects, places, and people; to smells, to a certain shade of light, to sounds, to the touch of a hand, a pair of eyes. This is, what makes us human, too.