a new home

www.fromthethreshingfloor.wordpress.com

-bwremington

hesitation and fear

words that emerge

here

within

from every place

I've ever been

are counted now

once

and yet remain

unaccountable

to logic

and the smell

of logic

and the smell

of love

that renders me

here

within

toward a future

once

perceived as certain

once

received and

once

believed

G-J

the fluidity of categories --German, Jewish, etc.-- would be a worthwhile project, especially in regards to what Zo had said about Klemperer and the, perhaps, 'differentiation', or attempted differentiation, of denominational developments within Judaism in the nineteenth/twentieth century. the blurred lines here of catergories seem to be symptomatic of modernity.

@ the office

Hey. Well, I'm in my office on campus...listening to Ray LaMontagne, sipping Passion tea....
Soon I'll head downstairs to get my lunch/dinner and eat before class starts. I'm excited--this is going to be an important semester. One in which I'll finish my portfolio papers....which sounds strange because I can barely see the edge of the horizon on the second paper.
I'm just really blessed, and at this very moment, that's the best word, the most fitting. The office is all set up--got my new water boiler, my mini-French Press and my coarse-ground Christmas blend...a basket of snacks to share with my other office dwellers and the occasional guest. And I'm about to order my books for the semester. So, just a brief message out into the world of gedachtnis....

Hallelujah.

Blake

5

As soon as I get it in the mail (maybe today maybe tomorrow), I want you to set your eyes on it until the last page. It's something I think we can share in and enjoy together having both read it. I might buy it as a present for everyone I know. It's unassuming, nothing spectacular, nothing famous, and then it slowly just creeps into your heart and you feel perfectly satisfied, with a little bit of yearning and longing left on the tip of your tongue, but unsure how to express it and not so certain it even needs expressing.
I want to write a book like that, that could take people in, warmly, without generating the sort of sappy criticism a book like Mitch Albom's would. This book, Five Photos of My Wife, remains a well-written, almost classic style of literature, never dipping or ducking below the surface of even academic-expert standards, and yet it still takes you by the heart and not the mind.

My pen was a gun...

Hello my friends. It's Thursday, August 17, and I'm in Germany. Sitting at my desk, in the dorm, with the window and door open wide to let the breeze through--this reminds me, somehwat, of thefirst few days of here, with the heat. It's only like, 75 degrees right now. A welcome shift from the nights of 49 with constant rain. But the weather isn't the only thing on my mind. I'm listening, obviously (to some!) to "The Year," and it's really fiting, if you substitute "my month in Deutschalnd for the phrase "the Year":

"The year has loosened its grip on me
and i'm taking in air that i've never breathed
you've lifted my burden
and taken me from my tensions..."

I've only had two, maybe three headaches this whole month--a drastic departure from my normal routine. Which is exactly why--I think--I haven't had them....I've departed from my normal routine, a routine of too much stuff to think about. Papers, essays, a film series, reading, scholarships, financial aid, reading, meeting with Profs, reading, TA application, and when all that's done I read a little more. Here, German has been my primary task. Even before I left, this was so--studying Deutsch at UNT for over a month. Hopefully I'll bring this peace back to Texas with me. The air is better here, it seems. The sun shines the same--actually, not nearly enough--but overall the whole area of Marburg seems cleaner, nicer, more beautiful, and more natural than Texas.

It's odd to remember my first few days here, days full of fear and worry. Hesitation, doubt--strange feelings for me; I'm usually full of positivism, optimistic thoughts, smiles and laughter. So a switch for me indeed. And yet, here the end is, standing just a few hundred meters away, hands in his pockets, just waiting. I couldn't see him when I arrived, but not for want of desire! I tried to find him in every building, every room of this city. Eventually, Marburg became a sort of friend; as we got to know each other, and learned from our strengths and weaknesses, I could see the faint outline of the end approaching from far up on Universitätsraße. A part of me was even reluctant to notice him at first. Indeed, my walk through the city to the train station Saturday morning will be bittersweet, but will be 100% cocao.

through the world...
-BW

Essen

When is a mushroom not a mushroom anymore?

When it's been simmering in balsamic for almost an hour--just enough time to let the vinegar turn to glaze--and swirled with a little uns. butter right before serving. That's when it's not a mushroom anymore; it's become a completely different ingredient-al entity. I walked down the hall from the kitchen towards my room balancing the plate and glass of water, and I couldn't resist the temptation. I reached for a quarter of mush and popped it into my mouth. Sure, my fingers were a little black now, but the flavor just burst upon bite and it reminded me of why I play with fire and water in the kitchen when the other students are out at "Fun Park" for free beer night.

Roasted tomatoes [Foil and Oil, right Starchef?], roasted chicken [same mantra], the balsamic mush, and topped with a (say it Brian) poached egg.

I spoke--auf Deutsch--to the girl making her dinner in the kitchen at the same time:
"Zu Hause habe ich alles, dass ich brauche. Hier....also...heir habe ich--"
"Nothing?" she interrupted.
"Well, ja, nichts...ich wollte ein bisschen sagen...aber, ja, nichts!"

I mean, it's not really that bad. I really can't wait to get home though...honestly, I wish Gina was coming here--then we could spend time together exploring Marburg and I could show her what it's like living abroad, buying groceries, speaking to shopkeepers, postal workers, professor, etc. Then I'd have everything...well, except for Bailey Booler. So, yeah, scratch that good idea and throw it in the "bad" pile. I'm coming home in three days, Daggums.

One step closer to knowing....to knowing....
-BW