This picture marks the rekindling of my vegan kitchen. I've never really had my own kitchen, at least not during a time in which i was prone to use it. There's a kitchen in Home-Boston, but when am I there? There were kitchens in the dorms. One canteen for 120 students would work, if people cleaned up after themselves. And didn't steal. By the start of second semester my freshman year, all the pots and pans were missing, except one or two that sat uncleaned in the sink experimenting with their own worlds of microbial evolution. Freshman year was my vegan cafeteria. Madison is a terrific spot to be a vegan living in the dorms. The dining halls know you exist and they care. They host meetings with the cafeteria directors and overseers whatever their titles may be, and any vegetarians/vegans who want to put in their two cents (three or even four) in regards to vegan eating accomadations. What's more, they act on what you say; I asked for more Vegan Shepherd's Pie. And I got it.I could be a vegan living off food in the city center or at the school cafeteria here as well; options are everywhere and ever-growing. But I have my own kitchen. Not only do I have a kitchen, but a grocery store 90 seconds from my apartment, a grocery store with more vegan meat options than any I've encountered in the U.S.. Germany is full of Wurst loving Germans, just like America is filled with salt doused corn syrup burger loving Americans. America also boasts a plentitude, though great minority, of vegetarians and conscientious eaters. So does Germany. The world is changing how it eats. In the early 1900's our source of animal products changed from family farmed animals to animal genetics engineering factories. What didn't change is the public's image. The word is getting out.
Meet Bruno. He, above, is happy. Mark, however, is not. Although it is his birthday. And he is happy, in reality, just full from a terrific multi-personal undertaking culminating in a veggie sweet and sour chicken, apple-banana-hazelnut-cashew-almond-raisin-walnut-cinnamon-apple-sauce-fruit-salad concoction, corn, pasta, and a spicy veggie red sauce lunchtime extravaganza.. Also a cake. 2 actually.
two cakes.
...one of which was a pirate cake! 
Picture from Mark's balcony, enjoying after-dining coffee. Little secrets of spring were rustling and dashing around all day. The birds were happy and lively, and the sun just smiled, until it was ready to turn itself around and move on. It enjoyed Freiburg for a solid afternoon and sat with the city for a good warm while.We went to a classical concert that evening, Bruckner Symphony nr. 8. The piece was perfectly mediocore.
The 40 minute walk was simply perfect. why walk?
The streetcars striked today. That meant I couldn't make to my morning class at the distanced Pädagogische Hochschule. Boy. Isn´t that a shame. I mean, I usually ride my bike anway, but... well the mere optionable lack of public transportation was motivation enough to miss the class.
A few pictures from Mark's quaint birthday party. I apologize that they are all sepia. One or two sepia prints would be artsy. All of them? It's just annoying, quite frankly.
Home Crew. Hier ist jeder in der Tat zu Hause. Haus 17 leistet ja schöne Gesellschaft. :)
Mark. Bruno.
Es wird getanzt!
besser...
...besser noch... 
...und ein peinliches Foto, Mark. ehrlich gesagt. Du scheinst trotzdem hammergeil aus, ohne Zweifel. Wie immer :). 
"und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein"
This would be one of those photos that could look really artsy in sepia, but loses all potential when surrounded by a half dozen others.
I like this one. It takes birthdays. That's the latest correlation in my life: more birthdays, more music. Two birthdays in two weeks, two accomplished music sessions. This one was somewhat of the epic sort.
Krümelmonster and Bruno started grooving to kick us off, though Cookie Montster's contributions were crummy at best. In the least, he was a never faltering supporter.
Bruno is a jazz musician. He is the closest I've been to Berklee since I left it. He talks about practicing in a way only a student of music could. He gives me peculiar blues progressions to play so he can practice soloing in phrygian. That is a jazz performance major for you. He talks about this musician and that, this motif and the other, and I think of Berklee. And I respect him for studying music just like I do anyone in that boat: with the absolute highest regard and admiration. I give music studies the greatest esteem because it baffles me. I've been somewhat studying music, either half-time or all out every-piece-of-coal-to-the-engine-room my entire life, barring the last two and a half years, and I've never been able to put it all together. I've always missed something. There is some piece of it that is blocked. I don't know if it's external, a sound I need to hear, a mentality I need to learn, or an experience I need to have, one that is charging at my head trying to get in but I've got a brick wall, or if it's already in there and I just can't wake it up. or find it. or overcome it, or believe that I need to. A fear? of practicing? of being judged? of not being the best? Sometimes you just have to do it, whatever it is. I don't know if I ever did music. I was 90%. or 80%. but it's all or nothing. Sometimes it's just that extra little push to get you to the point of everything I have is going in this direction. period. That's an overcoming. Regardless, Bruno is every-piece-of-coal-to-the-engine-room doing it, and I respect and admire him for that an inexplicable amount.
There were four of us who slowly amassed together. A quartet for the evening and into the dawn. Four voices, four guitars, scattered people fading in and out of the apartment as the night turned. We just played. We transfered harmonies from guitar to voice and melodies from voice to guitar and everyone listened. That's to say, those of us playing. Each of us had ears. That's why it worked with such booming calmness and bursting, soft-pedaling nevertheless full and unabridged energy. Listening Listening Listening that is the key.
It was a beautiful evening.
Streeesssssss; it's not such a bad thing in moderation. In the proper dose it is merely, though powerfully, a motivator. Sometimes it's the only one you have for certain affairs, example, writing a paper. Thank goodness my stress finally found me, i had zero other inspiration to research. The library here isn't as awfully harrowing as first impressions make it out to be. It's actually quite nice. I like it. It's also nice to feel like a student again. Well, nice to have the feeling for a day. Being a student should happen twice a year, and only when you want it.
March 1st is my date of Freedom. March 8th is the day I can fly. What I do and where I go are still in air, seeing as I can't think ahead beyond the evening, let alone beyond the month.
Fortunately some fabulous friends did some thinking for me. Eric and Carolyne are officially visiting at the end of March/April. Dublin, Rome, Freiburg as plans would have it. Stirring excitement; I'm pumped, stoked, excited; I'm challenged, the new induction into the English box of "excitement" vocabulary.
Delicious. 
A bright wintery night in Freiburg.
Find yourselves a happy evening, perhaps alongside a warm cozy fire (there's one in the rathskeller...).
:) happy happy. good day.
