In Einem Tickitackituki Hous…

The title of this entry comes from a song that’s been stuck in my head for the last few hours, about a “tickytackytuki mann” in a “tickytackituki hous” – that is, a little, itty-bitty man in a little, itty-bitty house. It’s a kid’s song that we sang at the familianloung today with the kiddos, and  it’s rather catchy. Anna calls it an “ear worm” – a song that gets into your ear and won’t come out again.

Today was good – one of the best so far, I think. After class (and thank the good Lord it’s Friday. I like my class, but I need a day off) I went to the indoor market and – after wandering for a bit – decided to get a “Kasebrotchen” (basically a cheese-baked roll the size of my hand) and a chocolate croissant. I stood in line and practiced what I would say when I got to the front – “Bitte, ein Kasebrotchen und ein schokolad croissant. Bitte, ein Kasebrotchen und ein schokolad croissant. Bitte…” – and when I finally got there, I gave the girl my most “sorry-I’m-an-idiot” smile and blurted it out: “Bitte, ein Kasebrotchen und ein schokolad croissant?”

She smiled, and obviously could tell – whether by my accent, my hesitancy, or my limited vocabulary – that I was an English-speaker. She got my food, and then asked for the money in English, and wished me a very nice day. I think she may have laughed a bit at the overwhelming gratitude in my voice when I said my “danke shön”. Her friendliness, plus the absolutely delicious quality of the food, means I think I’ll be frequenting that stall for my lunches for a while. There are so many options, but I know so little of how the market system works – let alone in a foreign country with a foreign language. So I’m taking it slow, and watching what other people do before making my move.

I also found a grocery much closer to home, with better prices for my jam, juice, and so forth. Which is good, because as much as I like the walking, the walking is not liking me. I have three blisters on the bottom of my feet right now – very uncomfortable. I need to get new shoes – like, real tennis-shoes. All the ones I brought were converse, because my tennis-shoes at home were pretty much worn through anyway. If I had brought them instead, I would have had the same problem and not had my favorite shoes. *grins*

I think I’m really starting to settle in here, and I’ll tell you how I know that: I’ve started thinking again. Not just the “ok, which way do I go next; what am I supposed to be doing; what is the word for ___?” kind of thinking, but the creative thinking that I hadn’t even recognized was missing until it came back. For the last week – really, ever since I got to the airport on Monday morning – I’ve been operating in survival mode. I didn’t really stop to consider it, but I knew that I was feeling… Flat. Two-dimensional. Like I was just operating on a surface level.

But when, on a break in the middle of my three-hour class, I started writing down first phrases for a fairy-tale retelling (The Little Mermaid set in the Mississippi River, if you’re curious) and it was like a bubble bursting. That third layer came back, and it was as if I’d put my glasses on and could see clearly again. Suddenly a shoe on the sidewalk becomes an invisible man’s lost foot. Walking over a grate in the sidewalk leads me to discover the shadow world hidden beneath the city. And I say discover because this sort of thing really is like a discovery to me – it’s not like I’m making it up and saying, “Ok, this is how it is,” it’s as if I’m simply realizing it. Or being told about it, or reading about it. I may make a decision in a story, but it always feels as if I’ve just realized that that’s how it is, not that I’ve made it up out of thin air.

There’s a spark in me that is responsible for this sort of thing, and though I didn’t realize it, it had been buried for nearly a week. I barely even knew it was gone, which is terrifying. I knew something was off, but attributed it simply to the off-balance feeling of being in a new place. I can see now as I never have before how some people might stop being writers – a concept I’d always been flabbergasted by before. If circumstances cause you to bury that spark long enough, it could go out altogether. Another thought that terrifies me.

Anyway, with that bit of philosophizing out of the way – I wish you good night, dear reader. And away I go to my bed.

  ~Mags