For days I have not been in a mood for writing any chapter for my new book about Nordic Walking around Vienna’s periphery. As I subsequently began looking for a walking companion to share this project’s experiences, a woman, called Hilda, returned my contact interest on a website. She agreed to meet me on Sunday or Monday, around 10:30 am, she even left me her telephone number for calling, in case something came up. I looked up the weather report and Sunday seemed to be not such a good idea for a first walkabout meeting. The weather report was unfavourable, but Monday seemed to be a better choice. I send her a message and she agreed to meet on Monday.
I got up Monday morning in good time to be ready for our meeting. Feeling an oncoming cold, I was looking up her telephone number to rather cancel the meeting. Opening the mail, I saw that Hilda had sent me Email asking to cancel our meeting. When I replied for her reason, she mentioned that I had not answered the question for my present status of a relationship. Perhaps, she carried on, you might be married. Well then, I thought, if this is for her a problem and she has such an issue with this, we better never should have contemplated to meet in the first place. Problem solved. She was not looking for a walking partner, but a potential husband. Why did she not say so in her profile right away? What was the matter with this website seeking friends for sporting interests? I had to laugh. However I was glad she had jumped the gun, the barrel of her strict moral codex, and I did not have to dress up into my Nike walking gear and besides, I had to break in my new trekking shoes, I had bought for this pending occasion.
During late Monday morning I felt my head cold worsening. I started to take inhalations. Somewhere in the bathroom cupboard I found the little blue bottle with etheric oils I had used the last time for a cold. That was a year ago. I saw a date on the bottle. Nethertheless, the small drops of the potion still had quite a bite in my respiratory system, when I scented the boiled water with it. The first inhalation nearly sent me running up the wall and falling victim to asphyxiating coughing, as in an allergic reaction. The war against the common cold bacteria had started in earnest. I had time to think and realized that it was rather difficult to find a suitable pal this way through the Internet in Austria. It appeared to me that it was like some sort of satisfaction of the elderly women to tease their potentially suitable male partners this way. Or was I wrong, having lived most of my working life overseas, with developing a natural open mind, leaving prejudices and overhauled moralistic views to the dustbin? I still felt fine, just on the go to find a female partner for sporting ventures eventually. But it’ll take more time and patience, if one intends to find a potential friend the electronic pick-up-way.
It had been different ten years ago, or even more so twenty years ago, when I was fortunate meeting Ana on a hat program. But then, as she often said, it was like winning a lottery with us. Indeed, it was. Many thoughts about her still race through my head. A series of photographs follow and keep my mind flooded with memories. Perhaps I will have to finish my novel about her, as I always intended that I would. The basic text had been written and this novel had grown to have three books integrated into one.
Just as I hang on to my pondering B comes along and castigates me with her monologues. Not a marriage any longer, but a communal togetherness of two estranged people, once in love, then hampered by fate’s cruelties, and now sharing a bedsitter. For that’s all we could ever afford with our income. Economies force togetherness. She calls it: Still married by using the same keyhole.
Since I have not been able to help Mr T, while I was curing my head cold, I phoned him and he was grateful that I would not come to see him until I was cured. On top, when I started coughing, I immediately walked the small path next to the Weidlingbach on a bitter cold day and seeked some medical help. I was lauded for my inhalation self cure and had to carry for a few more days with what I was doing. Then Friday I had a check-up. All was well and with some cough medication scripted, I was sent on my way into the cold moist Klosterneuburg air to fetch my medication. Weidling has one pharmacy I don’t like personally, but there’s a bus to Kierling station and a short walk to the city pharma I prefer.
I mused about my shadow. I have not encountered it for a whole weak. I had been rather fond of this image, but it had probably taken off to the warmer southern regions. Perhaps it’ll return one day into the realm of my mind’s eye and appears again on my mind’s monitor. He, my shadow, is rather an important player in the anecdotes of my book that talks about my experiences and reflexions as a wanderer, and my book dwells still quite happily on my mind, a kite flying up against the pale wintry sky. It’s the same way as my meandering ways finding a new artistic expression for portrait painting. In my mind I have developed ideas of drawing a face as true to reality as possible. Then reduce it on an overlay to the basic characteristics, as so called minimalistic drawing, from which I intend to outline these on good quality watercolour paper, or on canvas. Then I will apply colour compositions to the background, keeping it probably very dark with my favourite colours, have the face reflect light shadows of these colours, the face enhanced with black outlines, the hair drawn out fading into the background. There’s no better way than trying it out. Theory alone will not bring me there. However, I have since one year tried new ways to paint portraits.
Now then, I have to crack the nut to eat its contents meaning, do one at a time. Do Dr S first, then Mrs IRA. It’ll be not difficult if I’m left alone without monologues from my spouse, who is a sharp critic, a destroyer of dreams, and snappy if one only tries defending oneself. ‘Get going Zolty’, you hear your friend’s voice, as if he would invite you for a round of golf at the Observatory golf course, like you visited regularly on a Saturday morning, for many years. Even on a frosty winter morning in Joburg you proceeded to beat the slaving office work off. With a round of interesting golf filled with surprises. At the third hole, just as the frozen greens started thawing, Vian’s golf ball took a silly meandering roll when he putted it and imagine it dropped into the hole filled with water and sunk. What a laugh we had, what a day, when many holes betted on, yielded lots of pints of beer later in the pub. Celebrations! Cheers.
I remembered this scene as it was snowing today. B was in a lousy mood and exercises her scalding monologues. However, I’m glad I have many plain notebooks to fill in with my writing, she also thinks of as a senseless undertaking. Perhaps if I sold more books, she would talk differently to me. However, she does not know that I have a bit of a following and a readership on the Internet. Besides I had some powerful scotch and bourbon to help me fight the war against the bugs that came from the cold. Prost!