Frankly … social  Gemütlichkeit’s Running Late

It’s autumn and Maximilian Buddenbohm is wondering what to write his next column about. He was planning to explore some cosy autumn rituals… but things didn’t quite work out as planned.

I don’t always have to write about world crises, I think to myself, about doom and gloom, about the Big Issues. Why not have a look round my own four walls and find something right here, in my own home, in my family. Why not stick to what I can see from here, explore the world from my desk or my living-room couch. That should work! At least in theory.

So I open my laptop, stare at the blank page in my word-processing program and cogitate. The idea is to find inspiration within myself for a change – or something like that. It occurs to me that it’s already autumn, we’re actually well into the so-called dark season. And there used to be rituals for when you sit around during this time of year. Sitting around in autumn isn’t the same thing as sitting around in summer. There was something we used to do, involving certain traditions... So I go over to the cupboard, take out a candle on a candlestick, light it and place it beside me on the desk. How tranquil and contemplative, I think to myself, gazing contentedly at the tiny flickering flame. I’m sure something else will occur to me in a moment because writing is sometimes just a question of the right setting and décor, as we know from the theatre. Though a good old rainstorm would make it even better, with a chilling wind howling round the house, with that spooky whistling noise in the bathroom vent and the steady, reassuring drumming of raindrops on the skylights ... That would be mighty fine – in an eerie autumnal way.

Warm winds from the south

But no such luck. There’s a fairly pretty sunset out there, the last warm golden shades of daylight. The roof of the church steeple across the street is shining amiably in the last beams of a remarkably sunny day. I’ve left the door to the balcony open: it’s 21 degrees outside. Must be climate change – what else could it be. But I didn’t want to write about that today, no way. It must be possible not to notice for once, I think to myself – or is that ultimately absurd, seeing as we’ve long since reached the point of no return, and if so, since when exactly. The candle flickers in the gentle breeze wafting in from the balcony. Wind’s from the south, I observe, and incredibly balmy for a late October evening, it’s almost Halloween. The kids are going to work up a sweat in their would-be-scary costumes this Halloween. And if any real ghosts come out at midnight, they’re going to wonder whether they haven’t risen from their graves a month or two ahead of time this year. But I didn’t want to think about that.

By candlelight?

When my wife gets home, she asks what I’m up to at my desk. “Well, writing!” I say a bit peevishly. What kind of question is that? How long have we known each other? “By candlelight?” she asks incredulously, as if there were something grotesque about lighting a candle on an October evening. Peering at me quizzically, she draws nearer, apparently expecting an answer. “You can see that,” I say a tad too emphatically. And all of a sudden there’s an edginess in the room that’s almost worse than this unnaturally warm south wind. My wife keeps staring at me and slowly nodding. Then she reaches out and nudges the candle a few inches to the right, then nods again, this time with a look of satisfaction on her face.

But this feels awfully invasive to me and I tell her so. I mean, even if she does generally have a bit more say in matters of home décor – this is something that has gradually developed over the course of several decades of marriage, though not without the occasional row – surely I’ve a right to put a candle on my desk wherever I please, according to my own taste, sense of space and notions of symmetry, style and atmosphere, don’t I? My wife says I seem strangely on edge today, then shakes her head as she leaves the room. I slide the candle back to the spot I’d picked to begin with, but a bit too hastily and the flame goes out. I relight it and cogitate some more. There is something at issue here: I’ve lit this candle for a professional purpose, not just on a whim.

Decorating issues

This might be a good subject for a column on gender issues someday: it occurs to me that in most couples, at least the ones I know around me, the women clearly call the shots when it comes to interior decorating. That might be worth exploring, whether from a humorous or serious angle – though the subject is bound to prove far more serious than on the face of it, that’s the way things always are. But I don’t know: this topic doesn’t really grab me today. And besides, I can’t shake this nagging, unpleasant feeling that the candle actually did look better where she put it, a couple inches to the right.

My older son comes home from school, sees me sitting at my desk on his way to his room and asks, “What are you up to there?” What’s with my family – don’t they know me by now? “I’m writing!” I reply petulantly. “With a candle?” he asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows as if this were yet another quirky boomer brainwave from the previous century. “You’re writing by candlelight?” “Yes, with a candle!” I bellow. “It’s cosy and relaxing, it soothes my nerves! Now get out of here!”

He goes over to his mother in the other room, I can hear them talking sotto voce.

Playing with fire

My younger son comes home from school a little later, sees me sitting at the desk and, his eyes lighting up in delight, exclaims, “A candle!” That’s nice, at least someone around here understands me. At least someone takes after me a little and appreciates the right setting. I wave him over and we gaze side by side at the candle, a father-and-son bonding scene. My son pensively runs a finger through the flickering flame… then asks whether he can light up some paper in his knapsack that’s sure to burn well.

So I blow out the candle and close the laptop. I give up. Nothing doing today. There’s no hope of autumnal Gemütlichkeit with the thermometer at over 20 here and record highs all over the country – all over Europe, as a matter of fact. This isn’t going to work – and that’s what I really wanted to say today. The bad news can be publicly announced everywhere, as on the PA at a train station: Cosiness is running late. November Gemütlichkeit has been deferred until further notice. The months are coming in a different order this year due to a breakdown in the circle of seasons.

I don’t know what to do, so I have a seat out on the balcony. It’s a warm, way too warm evening in late October 2022, still 20 degrees out there.

This isn’t cosy at all.
 

November 2022