The Importance of December 26

This will be a two-parter...

First: B's parents drove over about noon, then we drove across the Danube and through Vienna's 21st District, parts of which were formerly villages---one of those being Stammersdorf, which we walked through / outside of, along paths and vineyards.

The weather: PERFECT. Sunny skies, no wind, and almost warm, like an early Spring day. I don't know why the gods arranged it, and though there's been a bit of sadness (!) on the part of those who wanted a white Christmas, I was happy for the sunshine.

The village church

On the way to the fields, you pass many old wine cellars like this one, dug into the side of the hill

Posted on the side of a wine cellar:

"Without a horse in front of this cellar with lance and sword."

A cyclist enjoying the weather

Some of the vineyards of Stammersdorf

We walked a couple of miles in the fields, then back in the village stopped in at one of the many Heurige (wine tavern) for lunch and a bottle of the vintner's white wine.

Then back to B's place for the continuation of a family tradition: every year, B's dad takes a photo of B blowing out one of the candles on the Christmas tree. He's been doing this since she was a little girl.

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While walking along the tranquil vineyards and fields, it came to me that this is the season of important birthdays----B's sister on the 24th, Jesus H. Christ on the 25th, and today, the 26th, one of the most important human beings ever born.

I refer, of course, to none other than Henry Miller.

The walk with B and her parents had been lovely, and a good beginning to my celebration of Henry's birthday. But after the sun went down, I decided to go into the center of town alone and commune with the spirit of Henry Valentine Miller in one of the funkiest haunts in Vienna, Cafe Alt Wien (Cafe Old Vienna.)

Cafe Alt Wien

The place was crowded, even at 6:30. No free tables, so I sat at the bar, ordered a small beer, and whipped my camera and notebook out. Started writing.

My notebook, my pen, my beer at the bar of Cafe Alt Wien. How very cliche.

 

 

 

Henry Miller could fill a blank page with a series of very interesting and entertaining black marks, which, when decoded and processed, make you really think about things. He filled many thousands of such blank pages. One might say he left his piss on a lot of trees before vanishing into the void in 1980, nearly 90 years after arriving on this strange planet.

I looked around at the people in Cafe Alt Wien with me. There were maybe 50 of us. All ages. All of us on our way to having our atoms unglued one way or another, one day or another, all of us on our way to becoming ghosts, just like Henry became a ghost, and just like those who preceded him became ghosts, and just like those who follow us will become ghosts.

However: before Henry became a ghost, he played the role of a human being and he played it really fucking well. It's our job, likewise, us sons and daughters of Henry, to do our best to do the same...to be really human.