Climate protection and socio-ecological market economy
The leaders of the SPD , Greens and FDP have agreed on a joint exploratory paper – and thus recommend entering into the negotiations on a traffic light coalition. In their agreement, which SPIEGEL has before them, they insist on a “comprehensive renewal of our country.” The explorers emphasize that it is not about »profiling individual actors«. The following points have been defined by the SPD, Greens and FDP:more on the subject
As a first point, the party leaders formulate a modern state and a “digital awakening”. The speeding up of bureaucratic procedures was an important campaign topic for almost all parties – now the SPD, Greens and FDP want to implement these plans. They set themselves an ambitious goal: »In the first year of government (should) be made and implemented all the necessary decisions in order to be able to implement private and state investments quickly, efficiently and purposefully. Our goal is to cut the duration of the proceedings at least in half. «Laws should be subjected to a» digitization check «.ANZEIGE
Climate protection and socio-ecological market economy
SPD Chancellor candidate Olaf Scholz emphasized climate protection as the most important point in his statement after the talks. The exploratory paper states that the traffic light coalition wants to launch “an immediate climate protection program with all the necessary laws, ordinances and measures” in 2022.
An accelerated phase-out of coal-fired power generation is also mentioned under this point. “Ideally, this will be achieved by 2030,” is the cautious formulation.
Germany is to be developed into “the lead market for electromobility”. There will be no general speed limit. Apparently the FDP has prevailed here. The Greens had already announced before the talks that the speed limit on German autobahns was negotiable for them .
Writing is hard. For me, it takes a lot out, because I’m pouring so much energy in. It’s okay to wonder why you’re doing that, when so few people really pay attention. They’re your words, after all. Crafted by you, and yet it seems so irrelevant.
I think it’s okay to say that being anonymous hurts, when you think you have something to say, and that what you have to say is meaningful in some way. Or just different. Or just a voice that hasn’t been heard before. My experiences in my writing are shaped by being an immigrant to North America. For anyone who hasn’t followed that path, it’s impossible to explain what I mean by that. If you’ve not experienced racism in its ugly forms before, you cannot feel me.
But it’s more than that. I want to create better worlds. Unravelling…
Now, that I am 87, I often remember these simple little childhood prayers. These prayers must have meant something to me when I was a child. This is, why I still remember them! 🙂
The family I grew up in was not very religious. During my whole childhood I remember being taken to church only once. This was for a service on Christmas Eve in 1943. Lots of familiar Christmas songs were being sung then. I thought this was wonderful!
Now what about prayers? Strangely enough there are some childhood prayers that I often remember when I wake up early in the morning. Then I am that child again who was being told to say these prayers before going to sleep.
The first prayer I learned was just saying that I am small and my heart is pure with only Jesus in it.
Slovoj Zizek is a philosopher and researcher at the Department of Philosophy of the University of Ljubljana in Slovenia. In this film (written and narrated by Zizek), he explains the concept of ideology by comparing it to magic sunglasses that enable us to see the true message behind all the propaganda we are exposed to in daily life. An actor puts on the sunglasses and magically sees messages of “consume,” “obey,” “conform,” and “make love and reproduce” all around him. Zizek warns that most people don’t want to see the dictatorship behind democracy because “freedom hurts.”
Most of the documentary focuses on specific ideological messages contained in popular films. However though one segment focuses on Coca Cola and Starbucks advertising and another on the propaganda value of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (ie the section adopted as the hymn “Ode…
Today, I talked to two complete strangers. One after another. Both had a beautiful dog on the lead: Archy, 7, and Leila, 5.
It was a beautiful, sunny morning. The soccer fields were not very damp, just right to walk on. I had all of them completely to myself! Quite a few large patches of clover had appeared all over the place and were a lovely sight, since they are in full bloom. However, the grass was pretty dense in some places for no lawn mowing tractor had touched the place for a while.
I managed to cross the fields in full sun and felt quite elated for I had taken my lovely light Jean jacket off, and was wearing only a skimpy top with no bra underneath! It felt so good to let the sun touch much of my skin! I went slowly, for it was not easy to get my rollator to make it through some of the rather high patches of grass. After a while I made it to the bench number two at the footpath. It was still in the shade. I actually set down on that bench rather than on the seat of my rollator. So I took my water bottle out to have a sip. I also thought of putting my nice jacket back on! Through some trees I could see some cars on the carpark where recently a test site had been established. They even had put a huge dome up as protection against wind and weather!
Sitting on that bench was very enjoyable! I contemplated that easily somebody else could be sitting there with me, for there seemed to be ample room for social distancing! For months on end though I had during my morning walks never ever seen anyone sitting on one of the benches!
Usually I put one of my masks on for my morning walks, even though never ever anybody does come at all close to me! But I tell myself, it is good to get used to wearing a mask in case I would go sometime somewhere where mask wearing is required by law. Maybe it is even required in that nearly totally deserted park! I mean, the few people that I do see crossing this park are never ever close to each other except perhaps for some family groups with a few children usually on the way to the playground in the distance. But it is seldom that any children are actually seen on the playground. The people, that walk their dogs, are usually single people that walk very briskly. Some people let their dogs run freely across the grass fields, but only for a little while, and then they are gone again.
So after I had relaxed on that park bench for some time, a mature, not exactly skinny man passed. He had a very skinny looking black poodle dog. on the lead. Some polite greetings were exchanged, but the man didn’t actually stop. Still I had the presence of mind to make him stop for a bit by asking some questions about the name and age of his dog. So, this poodle was 7 year old Archie.
Soon after the man had disappeared with Archie, another much younger and rather skinny man appeared with a female dog of good proportions. He was the owner of beautiful looking Leila. He said that Leila was getting old. I protested, saying that 5 years was not very old for a dog. I was allowed some patting of Leila! Then the man wished me a good day, and I wished him a good day too. I think Leila was black too but not quite as black as Archie.
I went back home all the way on that bumpy footpath, thinking that asking these questions about the two dogs, had made my day! 🙂
Peter died on the 12th of December 2020. We had been married since the 21st of December 1956. So, on the 21st of December 2020 we would have been married for 64 years.
I knew already by the end of 2019 that his days were numbered. Either his very advanced cancer would be the end of him, or his very serious heart condition would result in his death. When it came to the crunch, once he had developed cancer of the bone, his body was destroyed more and more. I knew, there was no way he could survive this.
I had really been warned well in advance that he would have to leave me soon. When the day came that he actually died, it did not come as a shock to me. I had expected it all along, and I think during the last few days of his life the…
It is about life, as I experienced it, how I see it and how I imagine it..
Happy Birthday Aunty Uta
Today is an important date. Not only is it the Equinox but also my lovely wife’s birthday. We had a lot to remember. Many of her birthdays we have celebrated together. The most memorable was her 21st. That is how she looked then.
Easy to fall in love with
On the day in question in 1955 we had agreed to meet at her place. Uta had rented the tiniest of rooms in a fourth floor apartment When I arrived at the agreed time and I wanted to climb up the stairs her land lady came down and told me that Uta had gone out to do some last minute shopping and there was no need to go up the full flight of stairs. But, she left it open that Fäulein Spickermann could have been come back unnoticed. I climbed the full flight of stairs and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. Another knock – still nothing. The land lady must have been right, Fäulein was still out.
I walked downstairs and waited in the cool entrance hall as it was a rather warm late summer’s day. I waited and waited. All sorts of ideas and theories went through my head. Has she dropped me in this rather cruel way. No, not my darling Uta. What was I to think? Has anything happened to her on her way to the shops? The shops were not that far and she should have been back a long time.
Young people today have no idea how life was in those day without a mobile. People were not easily contactable. Any misunderstanding can quickly be resolved nowadays by SMS or a phone call. We did not have that luxury then. The brain had a free reign to invent the most outrageous scenarios. After almost two hours of waiting I was close to call it quits when Uta suddenly appeared, with a beaming face, coming down the stairs. What a relief. We were both happy to see each other.
Uta had to to go a phone booth to call her aunt who wanted to see her too for her birthday. After the phone call we went to another suburb where we met her aunty and her cousin. All in all the day ended well. But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had given up waiting. I could have rung her another day at work to clear things up or be disappointed and forget about this “unreliable” girl who stood me up.
Fourteen months later we got married and we are still together to tell the tale.
The young couple February 1957
I’m still in love with Uta and would still wait any number of hours for her as the reward is in the being together.
Last Monday we, my wife Uta (also known as Aunty Uta) and I, went to Bulli Beach for a cup of coffee. We had to kill some time as we waited for the doctor to start work. We were early.
Uta wanted to relax with a book she brought along. She loves books written by Andrew M. Greeley and this one, “The Bishop in the West Wing” seemed especially of interest to her. Greeley is called ‘author and priest’ but I can tell you, he is not your common garden variety priest. His novels are always political, as seems to be right for a man with an Irish background. While Uta was delving into her book I decided on a little stroll as I can’t sit for long. Movement is the best for my ageing and aching legs.
The above picture does not show Bulli Beach (on the Illawarra Coast of NSW) but the neighbouring Sandon Point Beach. Along the shoreline runs Blackall Street. New, modern houses have sprung up there over the years and replaced many of the old houses that I remember from more than fifty years ago; many have disappeared or were altered beyond recognition.
During the sixties, I worked with another German from Berlin beautifying the old houses there. This kind of work brought us in contact with so many people of different walks of life. For instance, migrants who still had to come to grips with the cultural shock they had suffered after coming to Australia. Australian men did not like us “New-Australians” but the women did. Meeting us those women found out, that men actually were able to talk and converse with women as that. We often had great conversations with them during our lunch breaks. They always supplied us with cups of tea and ‘bikkies’ as is the Australian way.
Here at Sandon Point’s Blackall Street, we struck migrants who had made Australia their home after World War Two and all the destruction and replacement that went with it. Overlooking the Pacific Ocean surely must have been a kind of paradise for them.
First, we worked on a cottage that belonged to a Dutch family. They were older than we were and could have been our parents. They were from a region in the Netherlands that was close to the border to Germany and they were able to talk in German to us. They preferred that to speaking English.
We were able to establish an instant rapport with them, even though, we were on opposite sites during the war. They were so friendly that they provided coffee and cake every afternoon. We were sitting and talking about the war and Australia. We dubbed the place “The Dutch Cafe”. We learned, during our conversations with them, that the husband of the Dutch couple used to be a truck driver during the war and was on tour to Berlin on many occasions. He also worked for the Dutch resistance and had to spy and report on what he saw in Germany. It was a dangerous mission.
They put us in contact with another lady who lived down the road from them. We were able to do the same work on her house as well. The lady was from Russia but was of German descent. She was much older than the Dutch people but they had taken an interest in her and her wellbeing.
While working on her house she was telling us about her life in Russia and the Soviet Union. She had experienced the Russian Revolution and had no good word about it. Her German family were decried as capitalists as they were in the habit of painting their fences. The old lady cried a little as she told us her family history. On a table, I saw a photo of her husband, as a young man, standing in the Red Square of Moscow. The view of the Kremlin was in stark contrast to the view from her tiny upstairs window towards the ocean. We nicknamed her home “Russia House”.
This is the view from Russia House today
When we left her premises, she gave us a piece of advice, probably born out of her own bitter experience, never to trust a Russian. Some of my followers will know, from reading some of my previous posts, that I had to trust Russians to survive.
Walking along Blackall Street I could not help noticing the changes and gentrification of the street. Where would the families of the former Dutch and Russian families be today? We all have moved on, some of us have gone back to eternity and we ourselves are waiting to move there.
But, I’m not in a hurry yet, despite dreaming last night that on a visit to my doctor he informed me, that he had bad news for me; the government would like to let me know that I would depart to the hereafter soon.
I still want to write a few more posts for this blog.
So, while I was cooking my brunch today, I was mainly thinking about the future. I was contemplating what might be possible for me to undertake as far as travelling within Australia is concerned. Of course, as soon as possible I would like to visit my son again, who lives in Victoria. It would be nice if I could go to Benalla in Victoria sometime next month. My birthday is coming up towards the end of next month. To be honest, it does not look like travelling like this will be possible for me some time soon. Well, when then? Maybe towards the end of December? This is just a maybe. However, there is a little bit of hope. When I am in a hopeful mood, I imagine I could catch a train to Benalla. Now wouldn’t that be nice? I could catch the train in the Highlands at Moss Vale. Before catching the train, I might be able to spend a couple of nights in the Highlands. Maybe book a hotel somewhere and meet Gerard! Maybe I could join Gerard for his coffee mornings in Bowral. I would also like to go for a walk in the Lake Alexandra Reserve in Mittagong! https://auntyuta.com/2021/07/31/lake-alexandra-reserve/
If I can manage to take my rollator with me, a few slow moving, contemplative walks are really something to be looking forward for. Besides, if I do travel to Benalla and stay there with Martin for one or two weeks, I definitely need to have my rollator with me again. Last time I did stay with Martin for two weeks, was in March this year. I was fortunate then to have my rollator with me. And I was able to make good use of it, even though I did have an infection in my legs at the time.
Yes, if at all possible, I would like to spend some time in the Highlands! Maybe I could choose a time for my trip when daughter Caroline and son-in-law Matthew have a little holiday again. Recently both of them had some leave. But because of the lockdowns they could not travel anywhere. However, Caroline told me, they both felt they needed some time off. And being able to spend this time together in their beautiful home was the next best thing to doing some travelling.
So, I was thinking, whenever they can travel again and also have some time off, they might want to spend some time at my place in Dapto. I think they would very much like to see all the alterations to my place, especially the beautiful deck at the back of my house! I think the last time they were able to come to my place was on the 16th of May this year celebrating Peter’s birthday in memory of him.
I needed a break from writing. But I am back now! There is so much more to write! Why did I put ‘LONELINESS’ as a heading for my next section? Well, I could not help it. I feel, it is totally unnatural to be living totally on your own. Really, there are still so many things I could share with someone! Usually, I do not go much into matters of a believe in God. But I think the best way to put it when I think of the end of my life, is actually to say, when God calls me, I do not want to delay. But what I want to do and what I have not quite achieved yet, is, that I want to make the best use of the most likely very little time that may still be given to me. To make the best use of time? What is this. I feel, for a number of things, that I would like to be doing, this is really my last chance now. So, should I allow myself to feel angry about it, that there are quite a few things, that I meant to be doing, and that I still haven’t done yet? No, no, no. I have to learn not to be angry with myself. As a matter of fact, when I do make an effort to ‘love’ myself, I find it is easy for me to love people in general and to love life!
. . . . .
Today I haven’t done the dishes yet, even though I had a big, very healthy meal. So what? I can do the dishes later. I think, that should be alright. Today is Friday. In normal times I would this afternoon be playing Scrabble and Rummycub with my friends. But right now the law in the vicinity of Sydney is, that we have to stay in isolation. Actually, I totally agree with this law, since I want to do everything possible not to catch the virus. So, I am not going out visiting friends, and nobody is coming to visit me. If I’d expect my friends to visit me this afternoon, I’d have to do the dishes quick smart before everyone arrives, right? But neither my friends nor the queen are coming to visit today! This is why I decided to forgive myself for not doing the dishes straight away. To be honest, I am looking forward to doing the dishes later on; for I actually like doing the dishes! It gives me satisfaction to see everything being nice clean again. And while I do the dishes, I can let my thoughts go wandering . . . .
Recently, I have been thinking again and again, why one of Peter’s grandfathers and also one of my grandfathers had to die young when they still had children who had not quite grown up yet. So, my mother as well as Peter’s father had lost their fathers much, much too early. I wonder, how this may have effected their lives. My mum was only about eight when she lost her father in the Flu-Epidemic after WW One. Peter’s father was 15 when he lost his father in France in WW One. When he was 16 he volunteered to become a soldier in WW One and in WW Two he was a soldier again . . . .
Wouldn’t that title suit a movie? It would promote a mystery and a bit of drama.
The date and time for the “production” were set weeks ago and I was invited to provide the setting for the production, namely my bladder.
As sometimes is in movie making, the setting becomes the star of the film, as, for instance, a film set in Paris or Berlin can be. And so it was with my bladder. A bladder is not so exciting as Paris or Berlin but it is to me as the doctors hold out the prospect of ripping it out of me.
I had a cystoscopy done before. It was done at a doctor’s surgery without much fuss. A competent nurse inserted a catheter into my urethra and then the doctor inserted a camera into my bladder. I was invited to watch it all on a screen. “There is cancer”, he exclaimed as if he had discovered a new small-sized planet. I didn’t see anything, it all looked uninteresting to me. That was it. They let me go home to nurse my manly pride.
Not this time. It was to be big, bigger than “Ben Hur” apparently. “You have to fast from midnight,” they said, “and you need an anaesthetic,” they added. I did not understand. It is hospital procedure and they added that I have to have someone to drive me home. I can go by bus, Oh no, you can’t.
I became angrier and angrier and called the whole thing off. It did not take long and another female person, more friendly, rang me back and explained why an anaesthetic was necessary this time. Now we know I had cancer and if it looks like it could be back they would take a biopsy. If I cancel the procedure I would lose my place in the queue and it could take months before I could be treated again. Reconsider! I did.
I had my evening meal at seven pm and was allowed to eat and drink up to midnight. But when I went to sleep at eleven I did not feel like a meal.
Next morning I took the bus, accompanied by my wife for moral support. We were early and waited in the visitor’s lounge until the appointed time.
When I fronted the reception desk I was instructed to sit down and wait for the nurse. It wouldn’t take long I was assured. As any actor would be able to tell you, movie making is actually very, very boring. There are long waiting times between takes and the setting up of the set
On a big wall TV screen, we were informed that the hospital performed many procedures that day and ten were of a urological nature, just like me. In the meantime, ambulances brought emergency cases to the ward which meant I had to wait longer. After about an hour one nurse came to invite me into the inner sanctuary. My hope that it was soon my turn was quashed quickly. She put some stockings on me and questioned me in regard to my persona. Having established that I really was the one I claimed to be I was duly tagged with two tags, wrist and ankle. “It won’t be long,” she promised.
It was back to the waiting room in which a silly TV receiver showed constantly ads in which they inserted snippets of news. My stomach began to rumble. Seventeen hours had passed since my last food and drink. The TV started to show an old American movie. How did I know it was an old movie? The people did not use a cell phone (mobile phone) and nobody stared at a smartphone. They were actually talking to each other.
My bladder is not the only part of my body that gives me cause to worry and to consider my future here on Earth. For instance, if I sit for long I have problems walking, my right leg becomes almost useless. So, from time to time I have to get up and pace like a panther in the zoo up and down the waiting room. By doing this I can be sure I can actually walk into the ward for my procedure and not collapse because of my immobile right leg.
The silly movie made way for more ads with some news reports inserted. In the waiting room beside us was only one other lady. She too complained about the long waiting time and she too had nothing eaten since the previous night. Hungry people are not patient people. They are getting angrier with each rumble of the stomach.
During my walks around the ward, I saw a poster on the wall inviting us to give the ward manager a call when you have any concern before, during or after the procedure. In times long gone by, those managers were called Head Sisters or Matrons but in today’s modern times everything has to be managed. I was wondering how anybody under an anaesthetic could call the manager during the procedure? But anyway, I was still before the procedure and gave her a ring because the lady at the reception desk had long gone home. My case needed to be managed.
The manager was surprised to hear from me when I explained that there were still two patients waiting for their procedures. She promised to come out and “look into it”. I would say they had forgotten us.
When she came out, she wanted to know who I was. She explained that they have been rather busy and had worked their way down the list and it so happened that they had reached us on their list. The lady patient and I should come in now and we would be taken care of. Finally!
I must tell you here that I wasn’t so keen on the anaesthetic in the first place, plus I was silly enough to watch the night before a hospital drama in which a patient died during an operation because of a haemorrhaging brain tumour.
Instead of getting an early mark the crew in the operation theatre still had to look through a peephole into my bladder and take pretty pictures of what they saw. And if what they saw was not to their liking a biopsy had to be taken.
The man who prepared me for my anaesthetic was delighted to see the back of my hand looked like “a map of Papua New Guinea”. The veins were sticking out like a river system in a rainforest. There was no need to search for a place were to stick in the cannula.
I started to remember an operation I had when I was nine years of age. I was so afraid of the anaesthetic that I screamed like hell. I wanted to get off the table and run away. But the staff tied me down with leather belts on all of my four limbs. I was naked and it was freezing cold. There was a war going on, the enemy was only 100km away and American and British bombers were pounding our city day and night at any time of their liking.
A sister put a gauze over my face on which droplets of ether was trickled. “Count to hundred and back again,” I was instructed. I was so scared then and did not expect to survive. It all went well but would a nine-year-old expect that?
Back to the future. While the anaesthetic tried to shut down my senses I was heard myself saying, “I feel I’m getting drowsy…”. This time I was not scared only concerned and then nothing…
When one is unconscious time does not exist. I could have been dead or died during the procedure. I would never have known. But suddenly, a sweet, angelic voice was saying, “Peter, it is all over.” That is what the voice said but it was not what I actually heard. I heard, “Peter, it is ALL over!”
That could only mean one thing, I was dead. When I opened my eyes I found I was still in the operating theatre and the nurses prepared me to take me to recovery. There they took a few measurements like pulse and blood pressure. All seemed to be okay and they offered me some hot tea and sandwiches. This was very welcome after fasting for twenty-three hours.
A young resident doctor by the name of Shaun turned up and told me that he had indeed found a new cancer in my bladder and he had removed it. The biopsy would also show whether they got it all out and the surrounding tissue was free of cancer.
While I was munching on my sandwiches my wife and daughter were suddenly standing beside my bed. I was satisfied that my story had a happy end and soon we were on the way home. We practically had been eight hours in the hospital.
I think, being alive is a good substitute for being in “heaven”.
Annelie Engelmann on said: Happy that it was over before you had the chance to think about it. Wishing you all the best of health and happiness. Looking forward to more of your writing so please take care of yourself so you may feel like indulging us readers. Reply ↓
berlioz1935on said: Thank you, Annelie. I will do my best to stick around. I don’t fell ill but I am inconvenienced by it all. But with cancer one never knows. It can leave you without a trace or flourishes when and where it should not. Reply ↓
doesitevenmatter3 on said: I’m SO HAPPY for your happy ending, Peter! Yes, being alive is good! I wish you great health in the years ahead! It was interesting to read about your first surgery at 9 years old. When I was 8 years old my nose was broken and had to be operated on (the bone snapped back into place). They mad me count backward, too. I have some interesting memories of that hospital adventure. I had my cancer surgery 2 years ago. (My next oncologist visit/exam/check up is next week.)HUGS, Carolyn Reply ↓
berlioz1935on said: Thank you, Carolyn. The whole thing is a matter of management. The doctors don’t want to operate due to my age. And I don’t want it either.Reply ↓
auntyuta on said: Wishing you all the best, Carolyn, for some good results next week! HUGS. Uta Reply ↓