Day 4 - Sunday, August 30

Cool & sunny morning. Out with Maggie for our first Kaffee and Apfeltasche, sitting outside at a neighborhood bakery, just the two of us. How could I ever eat American grocery store pastries again?? The baked goods here are not like anything in the States, and of course they are fresh every day, not packed in cellophane. They are also not new to me; this is not a revelation. I am simply reminded of one of Europe's marvels.

Maggie is getting bolder as she recovers from jet-lag and acclimates a bit to the noise and activity of city streets; lunging at sparrows under the cafe table! This was my first coffee in four days and it gave me quite a buzz, but tasted so good.

Also took Maggie to the flea market, a Sunday staple here. We went to the one in the neighborhood, at Boxhagenerplatz. More exposure for her to crowds and random dogs. I can't even imagine what goes through her head during these barrages. Does she wish one of these dogs would turn out to be Buster?

Hannah met friends for brunch and I went to look at an apartment - quite a nice flat but in a newly built area with no street life at all. Just apartment buildings. Right on the river and nice for walking but I want the full European city experience, not something that mimics my life in Walla Walla.

Met up with Hannah at the tacky Domane store - an Ikea idea gone terribly wrong; we couldn't get out of there fast enough. We talked about taste and poverty. This store was not much cheaper than Ikea in price but the quality! It should be criminal!  Made us feel slimy just to have walked in.

Bought a roasted chicken on the way home - again, one of those things done so well here by sidewalk vendors and so poorly in most places at home. The Leschi mart had good roasted chickens but I don't live in Leschi any more. American grocery store chickens taste like chemicals. This one, from the Haenschen Hutte, tasted like Heaven. Another reminder: this is one reason I remain a carnivore.

On my walk to look at the apartment I thought about boredom, as I have blamed that state for my wanting to make this move. What IS boredom, exactly? And is it boredom that propels me into these big life changes or just a nervous restlessness? Is it a result of the lifelong search for SOMETHING? Why is nothing big or exciting enough for me for very long? What WOULD be big and exciting enough for me? How would I sustain it? And would it paradoxically be what I need to settle down?

I have started picking up ephemera - such a polite word for trash - for collage, which I don't really do. But it seems approachable here, small, lightweight, portable, unlike my larger paintings or assemblage boxes, which would be difficult for me to make here given that I have none of my "infrastructure" except a pair of scissors with me. And I have to pack it all home again.

Found four pennies yesterday; go, Daddy!