Outings become increasingly more inconvenient as the weather
turns to deep fall. When we left the house this afternoon for the annual
Kürbisfest in Akazienstraße in the Berlin district of Schöneberg, it was wet and
sprinkling. Lennon already had the rain cover on his stroller, I an umbrella, and
my husband a raincoat. We easily could have stayed in—the weather seemed to be
asking us to—but we would not be fulfilling the promise of the 40 Days of
Birthday.
Regarding the past fifteen days—they really have begun to
change me already. Many of the things I’ve done in the last couple of weeks are
things I’ve wanted to do but always felt there was something more productive I
should do instead. Not that I always did something more productive. More
accurately, I believe I’ve been in a rut, churning out each day without regard
for its wonder. I always supposed I’d get around to really enjoying all there
was to living in Europe when things settled down, or I learned the language, or
I wasn’t so tired, or when work was going better. It’s been a tumultuous two
years and while it hasn’t been without it’s very happy highs, the adjustment to
this new country, this new life, this new child has left me in survival mode—a
perpetual regrouping, pausing time, hoping no one would notice, until
I had it all sorted.
If this sounds familiar, it's because I'm still learning how to love and seize Now, regardless of its imperfectness. Though the things I’ve done and the places I’ve seen over
the past fifteen days may not be more than most people allow for themselves
every weekend or maybe everyday, waking up and committing to participation in daily extraordinary is moving me beyond mere survival to a state of engaged curiosity,
which is where I want to be and where most truly happy people live.
That being said, the Kürbisfest, or pumpkin festival, was
kind of a bust today. It was down pouring when we finally got to the train and
while it let up as we arrived at the festival, everyone seemed wet and
defeated. Additionally, the booths were rather common and predictable—things we
see at nearly every festival in Berlin and nothing particularly pumpkin themed.
As we walked deeper down Akazienstraße toward the more affluent section of
Schöneberg things began to look up. There was a pumpkin farmer with an
enormous, beautiful selection. We bought a creamy, butter colored pumpkin and
some wonderfully gnarled gourds, wrapped for us at the register in a lovely
cotton mesh bag. Nearby, a small open fire pit was set up for people to roast
marshmallows. This really concluded the highlights of the fest and we headed
for home, my husband still able to use the same two-hour train pass he started
with.
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
Rained out and under-whelmed, we were still glad we went—today
and everyday—and my butternut squash soup tasted like perfection for supper on this cold, wet night.
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
