The apartment is done, the jobs have been started, a favourite local döner established. (The cafes and restaurants are still in the process of being sampled.) The baby’s out of the bag, a new doctor has been found and probably The Hospital scouted. Good. After feeling so stagnant down south, while we waited to find out when we were moving, then the frenzy of finding a new place, packing up the old one, and burrowing through piles of paper to make it all official, as is the German way, a new sort of rhythm is slowly emerging. It takes time, it always does, to stretch into a new space and make it familiar. Of course, in a few months this rhythm will be disrupted in the most enormous way, and there will be a whole new space to stretch out and fill – but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. (Relative) calm before the storm and all of that.
April – I know, I know, er macht was er will – is being its usual mischievous self, flinging all four seasons into one day and laughing uproariously as we all get blown around, drenched, and then flock to the sun when it makes its sporadic appearances. But when it makes its sporadic appearances, the world lights up and it feels like truly great things are on the way. I think April knows how dependent we are on the weather, how sick everyone is of the grey and of boots and jackets. I think April definitely knows how desperate I am to get into maxi skirts and dresses. I think April is a bit of a sadist. Oh and the pollen, my God, the pollen. Our street is lined on one side with a series of beautiful trees that are joyfully blossoming, right outside the window of my favourite spot in the entire apartment. April is egging them on, reminding the trees of how mild winter was, of how safe it is to bloom and bloom hard. And I am horrifically allergic to them, in the snottiest, most eye-watering, chest-wheezing kind of way.
But then again, this was Kiel this time last year: