of fathers and Catholics
Neuburg (ahl) Some are a little creepy, most of them (auto) biographical, in a word's is philosophically, another evokes her own childhood memories. From 80 texts submitted for the festival "Fliesstext10" the jury of Cultural Affairs director Dieter Distl, notary Udo passing star, Oberstudienrätin Cornelia Golling and festival director Stefan Kopetz has ten stories selected for the final. makes
Rita Brunner Aresing with "The Firebird" the race
(from http://www.Fliesstext10.de )
The Firebird
"Jetz is the aa do!" With a tone of satisfaction my father used to say this, if he had completed a difficult task or just finished his day's work. My father was a farmer, developer, musician, philosopher and anarchist.
Not very big, a bit stocky and the hair like an old rocker: front and rear bald lack of interest in regular visits to the hairdresser getting a little too long. With gleaming, inquisitive eyes and often a mischievous grin. dispose
His way of things he no longer needed was a little unorthodox. Old chairs, rolls of wallpaper or even car tires were quickly burned. "Des is so only in d'air!"
When he established with his early 60s once a residence and my mother every object which differ from the old house had said goodbye with sadness, said he beaming like a little child: "In celebration derf heid all Tog net outgoing!" The fact that he was in such a contact with the larger action Police had very big in the newspaper came out and had to pay a fine in us unknown, but probably a considerable height, is still a taboo subject that is beyond any family celebration.
one morning - I was about 10 years old - I was sitting at the breakfast table. The bark had just brewed bread soaked with Caro, the radio was on folk music. Since my father asked me what instrument I have to learn because may. I listened to the song on the radio and said that this instrument would be quite as beautiful. So I started studying harp at my father, who himself had never played a note zither. He bought a guitar school and off we went. When he came up
evening after field or barn, with its heavy tread the basement stairs, crept up on me regularly conscience. Host scho g'übt? "Was his stereotyped question.
At twelve I could do fairly well on harp and violin music. Because he thought it would get to the time for me, a wind instrument. In his brass band just missed clarinets. Ado, he showed me on his clarinet chromatic scale from the lowest to the highest possible sound and prescribed me three days practicing. With the words, so I could now play all the notes, he then gave me a booklet Landler and the march of the brass band with a reference book, next Thursday is sample. So I practiced so the Bavarian Defiliermarsch, "Prussia's Glory" and other essential pieces of the brass band literature, and drew from now on with him and the rest of the chapel for some years to folk festivals, and concerts each state flags and orders from spring to autumn.
Around this time he started himself in the grand old age of mid 30s to learn bass, because in our string music group, which now also my younger sister with their prescribed dulcimer was a member, was missing a bass. In the weeks before Christmas we moved now every year going on with the Stubnmusi the tireless Bethlehem rally, Father had the leatherette passenger seat of our orange 200 diesel completely folded back, where the bass was packed with unusual tenderness in the trunk of dulcimer and zither, and in the back seat next to the bass neck my sister and me. "Spuit gscheit and makes us koa shame!" We were approved each time by the mother under the door.
Again a few years later - the circle of our musical friends and acquaintances has been steadily growing - were musicians or should I say now: music festivals? on the family farm a tradition.
father killed a pig, which came at noon on one of its own design and welded grill. It was powered by a bulldog engine. Afternoon, while mother inside the fog of cooking lard produced fair amounts of pasta in restaurants, was outside in the courtyard of the suckling pig so far as to pulling it off with a pipe wrench and crisp crackling skin pieces. Delicious!
evening then came the guests: musicians and musicians, chamber orchestras, brass bands, folk groups, there were no reservations, but much appetite, and music and much laughter.
laugh could not even my father, when terms such as "District Office" or "IRS" were mentioned. Even for politicians of all stripes, he had only a single, damning hand: "Nothing but sheep!"
On a cold and sunny September morning, shortly after the hop harvest, he set out with two trailers, fully-loaded with huge hop sacks on the way to Pfaffenhofen. It happened as it had: the inflection after the Müllerbräu in the curve for Gritsch street tipped the complete charge to all hop sacks. To date, no one holds of us seriously as a coincidence that this accident happened just just before the entrance of the former tax office. True respect
father had just before few people: Benny Goodman, Anna Netrebko and its tax advisors.
amazement as a small child or a philosopher, he came from his trips he made in his later years, usually with a Raiffeisen bank group back. The pyramids of Giza or the St. Peter's Basilica in Rome: "Saxndine, the hom de domois ois scho macha kenna" His astonishment was even long after the journeys never end.
concert and opera visits impressed him too hard. Clearly, he said after the orchestral sound in "pointed" horns and "batzige" strings.
"An Firebird by Stravinsky, the i really want to horn moi," he said to me often. The calendar of events I was proud of the Munich Philharmonic a performance date in October 2005.
died in a rainy night in May 2005 Father suddenly and peacefully. The next morning the sun was shining.
"Jetz is the aa do" we could put in his obituary.
Rita Brunner
The story of Rosemarie Schowalter-Frey, that is with "The Others" in second place
As a representative of youth, which solved the problem linguistically excellent, excellent one Pfaffenhofen schoolgirl in " And then "under the pseudonym of Len Hawk" the Thunderbolt Kid by the turn of the century "critical takes a close look.
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