Old Habits Die Hard
11/04/2020 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
izmeinaOn Monday it will be 3 weeks since the Federal Government ordered the shutdown of all pubs and ordered that cafes and restaurants could do take aways only.
I guess that they use fines and threats of loss of licence to enforce such rulings because within hours the CLOSED signs were up on the pubs and the cafes either had removed all their chairs and tables, put the chairs on top of the tables or resorted to using crime scene tape to keep people from using them
I did find one cafe the next day that still had its tables and chairs available for use. I was quite surprised and made the most of the opportunity to sit and read the Tuesday paper. As it turned out that the museum where I was going to work that morning was closed until further notice, I went back to the cafe only to be told that there was to be no more sitting. He got an SMS from the landlord etc etc.
A lot of places had gone Take away only even before the deadline of midday on Monday 23rd March including one of my favourite joints with a gorgeous garden out the back.
It took a while to dawn on me that I could not visit any of them for the foreseeable future. I felt a sense of confusion and sadness far out of proportion to the situation.
It took a while to realise why. It was just past the autumn equinox which marks one of the serpent rituals of filling in my little green book. This is the book where I write down goals for the next 3 months, 12 months and 5 years. I always do this at cafes and make an effort to pick particularly nice ones for the occasion.
It turns out that aside from filling in the little black goblin book of daily expenses, I do nearly all my offline squiggling while out and about in cafes. Be that writing in a diary or sending letters or postcards to people.
I have been doing this for 30 years and had not realised that it had become such an ingrained habit until I could no indulge. For the first time in 30 years I gave a thought to how it started.
I was working in a nursing home in a small town about an hour by train away from Hamburg. I was living in a flat at the back and shared a kitchen, bathroom and common areas with 2 old ladies. One was nice and one was nasty. She had a dog who constantly barked and often tried to bite people and they she would yell abuse at them because of course it was all THEIR FAULT for provoking her perfect little poodle
I used to write at the table in the kitchen but was often pestered by Poggie and her poodle. No amount of explaining could get it across to her that I merely lived in the flat with her and although I did not mind doing the odd favour for her such as emptying the bins or returning her meal trays to the kitchen, I was not her personal 24/7 servant.
In the end I simply gave up even trying to write in the house and just went to cafes instead.
That habit lasted 30 years even thought these living arrangements lasted barely six months. One day I was on the evening shift and the fire alarms started blaring. They indicated that the source was the share flat. I ran to the stairwell leading up to the flat only to be greeted by the stench of blue smoke.
The whole apartment was full of it. The kitchen was just a stinking grey bluish cloud.
There was no fire but there was a buckled and charred saucepan sitting on the stovetop
The stupid Poggie had boiled some liver for her precious pooch but had left the kitchen, returned to her room and forgotten all about it.
After having to sleep the night in that stinking hell hole, next day I went to the manager and insisted on them finding me somewhere else to live. I was lucky not only that the flat next door was empty but they let me have it. I had only four months left of my 12 months contract there so it’s not like I would be there forever.
Poggie did get moved downstairs to high care after that. I assume she was not allowed to bring the dog with her.
So even though I have now been in the Lair for a couple of days over 22 years and have all the space in the world in the house and in the garden for a nice nook to write, I have never even given it a second thought. The habit of writing at cafes was so entrenched that I never even questioned it. Until 3 week ago when my fix was suddenly withdrawn
Who knows how long the present state of affairs will continue with the pubs closed and cafes permitted to do only take aways.
Maybe by then, sitting at a table in the garden drinking cups of tea and reading the newspaper or at the writing desk near a window overlooking an angel’s trumpet tree will be the new default habit and writing at cafes will be for special occasions only
I could not believe how bad the withdrawals symptoms from this habit were and how long it took to get over it. And I’m not even dealing with addictive substances such as caffeine, nicotine or methamphetamines.
So so true that habits start as cobwebs and end as cables
I guess that they use fines and threats of loss of licence to enforce such rulings because within hours the CLOSED signs were up on the pubs and the cafes either had removed all their chairs and tables, put the chairs on top of the tables or resorted to using crime scene tape to keep people from using them
I did find one cafe the next day that still had its tables and chairs available for use. I was quite surprised and made the most of the opportunity to sit and read the Tuesday paper. As it turned out that the museum where I was going to work that morning was closed until further notice, I went back to the cafe only to be told that there was to be no more sitting. He got an SMS from the landlord etc etc.
A lot of places had gone Take away only even before the deadline of midday on Monday 23rd March including one of my favourite joints with a gorgeous garden out the back.
It took a while to dawn on me that I could not visit any of them for the foreseeable future. I felt a sense of confusion and sadness far out of proportion to the situation.
It took a while to realise why. It was just past the autumn equinox which marks one of the serpent rituals of filling in my little green book. This is the book where I write down goals for the next 3 months, 12 months and 5 years. I always do this at cafes and make an effort to pick particularly nice ones for the occasion.
It turns out that aside from filling in the little black goblin book of daily expenses, I do nearly all my offline squiggling while out and about in cafes. Be that writing in a diary or sending letters or postcards to people.
I have been doing this for 30 years and had not realised that it had become such an ingrained habit until I could no indulge. For the first time in 30 years I gave a thought to how it started.
I was working in a nursing home in a small town about an hour by train away from Hamburg. I was living in a flat at the back and shared a kitchen, bathroom and common areas with 2 old ladies. One was nice and one was nasty. She had a dog who constantly barked and often tried to bite people and they she would yell abuse at them because of course it was all THEIR FAULT for provoking her perfect little poodle
I used to write at the table in the kitchen but was often pestered by Poggie and her poodle. No amount of explaining could get it across to her that I merely lived in the flat with her and although I did not mind doing the odd favour for her such as emptying the bins or returning her meal trays to the kitchen, I was not her personal 24/7 servant.
In the end I simply gave up even trying to write in the house and just went to cafes instead.
That habit lasted 30 years even thought these living arrangements lasted barely six months. One day I was on the evening shift and the fire alarms started blaring. They indicated that the source was the share flat. I ran to the stairwell leading up to the flat only to be greeted by the stench of blue smoke.
The whole apartment was full of it. The kitchen was just a stinking grey bluish cloud.
There was no fire but there was a buckled and charred saucepan sitting on the stovetop
The stupid Poggie had boiled some liver for her precious pooch but had left the kitchen, returned to her room and forgotten all about it.
After having to sleep the night in that stinking hell hole, next day I went to the manager and insisted on them finding me somewhere else to live. I was lucky not only that the flat next door was empty but they let me have it. I had only four months left of my 12 months contract there so it’s not like I would be there forever.
Poggie did get moved downstairs to high care after that. I assume she was not allowed to bring the dog with her.
So even though I have now been in the Lair for a couple of days over 22 years and have all the space in the world in the house and in the garden for a nice nook to write, I have never even given it a second thought. The habit of writing at cafes was so entrenched that I never even questioned it. Until 3 week ago when my fix was suddenly withdrawn
Who knows how long the present state of affairs will continue with the pubs closed and cafes permitted to do only take aways.
Maybe by then, sitting at a table in the garden drinking cups of tea and reading the newspaper or at the writing desk near a window overlooking an angel’s trumpet tree will be the new default habit and writing at cafes will be for special occasions only
I could not believe how bad the withdrawals symptoms from this habit were and how long it took to get over it. And I’m not even dealing with addictive substances such as caffeine, nicotine or methamphetamines.
So so true that habits start as cobwebs and end as cables
