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In a space so busy as a downtown New York, I myself remain still with a rictus of a constant surprise.

I never met the German Man sitting across from me on the boat we took around Lake "Starnberger". How can we be such strangers ‘be’ in a land that has become I must say "strange" to me. This entry was posted on Saturday, September 15th, 2012 at am and is filed under travel, spirituality, pit bull, sidecar, motorcycle, cooking, photography, riding, homeless.

A pleasant 4 hour ride, some Castles turned into Hotels, beautiful sailboats, but it is the "man" that intrigued me. What would he know about living in the Desert in Utah or Texas and what would I now known about living in Starnberg? Maybe today and now so different I am better off only posting some photos of the daily Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

Starnberg xxx-88

Gesucht, Liebe Spotted Gemeinde, Ich habe heute zwischen 11.00Uhr und 13.00Uhr auf dem Steg neben dem Undosa in Starnberg trainiert.

Da ist mir eine Frau, die Alex, aufgefallen, schlank, dunklerer Hauttyp, lange dunkle Haare mit einer Art Afrika Tattoo auf der rechten Schulter.

Ich glaube sie hat dort um die Zeit grad Mittagspause gemacht.

The smell of a storm approaching through an open crack, this is not the Desert, far from it, but the company of my Mother so much makes up for it. Reminiscing of old times, times lingering back from days too far back of my own birth, she, the Story Teller across me as never before has immobilized my senses to listen and comprehend a Family Genealogy which I had only heard of bit and pieces in earlier times. It is what it is and must enjoy the present moments, this worth while outing in Munich.

dark nights, lightning, somber across the street, patches of lighted windows at times flickering, no open spaces but buildings after buildings with just enough room for the lightest of winds to move on unstrapped from the City present. My last name "Gureghian" will no longer exist some day as all others also have dwindled in the course of the years.

Of incredible frames passing, great grand parents and their lineage, their escapes from the Wars, the births and the marriages. So much needed, so much real, so much so wondering if any repercussions will take place besides trying so hard to move my Mother to Atlanta, a City she really likes and familiar with. I feel as much as I have been here before the City has changed. Friends have written and I have read their words while at times able to get on the Internet which is rare here, the public ones that is as all is so strongly locked down.

The crowds are greater, the immigrants from other Countries are also present. They have written to go here, to sightsee there and as much as I would love to, we cannot.

Could 85 be the magic number when all dwindles down? I have come thousands of miles to only be with her, to try making sense of a move to the USA for these last years left, this last "Hoopla" as I call it. Can lead a horse to the water but not make it drink. And yet I understand the obstacles as moving at this certain age from one Continent to another has more logistical difficulties than moving a tent.

When suddenly the energy of being out is shortened to a few hours? Plans are changed every day as also the weather does, there is now fall in the air. Sometimes though one "should" need to do what they "should" do to keep a branch of a Family together.

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