Feeling really down? Need something to chow down? Have a currywurst. Herbert Grönemeyer
Currywurst isn’t just food. It’s a way of life. And it is so German.
You can see this in the clip with Herbert Grönemeyer singing the currywurst song. Oh Mein Gott!
Some people say that life is like currywurst. It’s all about the sauce—and you never quite know what you’re going to get.
Last week, we had plenty of it. In Garding during the Musikantenfest. On the Arche Noah.
We also got Brötchen.
I was reminded that asking for a bread roll in a German bakery is as complicated as ordering a coffee in Seattle. Too many options. And in both situations I feel like an idiot amongst all those over-confident customers in the know who, without hesitation, get their orders straight out.The truth is: you haven’t really lived until you’ve experienced both.
This is what life is all about: Currywurst. Brötchen. Schnitzel. Great walks out to the sea. Musik in Germany’s second smallest city. Wiener Schnitzel, Pfefferrahm Schnitzel, Champignon Schnitzel, Paprika Schnitzel. Currywurst 10 feet above the sandbank on the Arche Noah.
I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling. Frida Kahlo
Sorrows generally don’t disappear. They learn how to swim when you try to drown them. They survive.
But then, somehow, and alongside those ever-lasting sorrows, something decent, good, and beautiful can emerge. Nobody better to tell us about it than Frida Kahlo. She had a very difficult life with great pain, periods of deep depression, and a passionate but complicated relationship with Diego Rivera.
She did not overcome pain by making it disappear; she confronted it, painted it and incorporated it into her identity. Her art repeatedly transforms the injured body into something vivid, beautiful, humorous and defiant. It’s when we stop trying to escape but learn how to live with sorrows, that we realise: life continues – with all its beauty, decency, and moments of happiness.
We’re back in Tating.
And back in Garding on Tuesday evenings at the Musikantenfest – though a more appropriate name would probably be Rockfest. There are always three parallel stages. Last Tuesday, on two of them the bands were playing a song by Rio Reiser’s “Ton Steine Scherben”, one of the defining German rock bands from the 70s. One was playing Junimond, the other Keine Macht für Niemand. It was a time when Germany and the Germans had not really dealt with their past. When children found it hard to understand that the older generations had allowed this most horrible period in German history, perhaps in history – and the older generation just went quiet, out of guilt, perhaps shame – or both.
In any case, last Tuesday felt like time travel.
And there was this “Gang” again. I have a feeling that I took a picture of Germany’s narrowest road a million times.
I like this one as, to me, the two ladies with the nordic walking sticks seem to wonder whether they should venture a walk through the Pannmeistergang or whether it would be safer not too.
The sign says: Only for Pedestrians, Nur für Fußgänger – presumably to stop drivers trying to give it a go!?
When we are not at a rock concert in Garding, we go for walks, try to eat well, sleep, and spend time together. A couple of times a week, an OT Pádraig has been working with for several summers joins us. We have time to support Pádraig using communication tools, going beyond choosing from a pre-defined set of answers, but spelling them out.
We also met our local GP, just to check in. He gave us a few tips this year, and he explained why, in his view, some clinicians and providers have trouble providing an adequate service to people like Pádraig.
He said that they are just “überfordert”. Overwhelmed, out of their depth, not able to cope, or out of their league. How well I know that feeling! Do you?
It makes perfect sense. Simple. I will remember it – instead of becoming desperate in the face of that lack of understanding, I will remember that, most likely, nobody ever prepared those whose profession is to care, to care for people like Pádraig. (I won’t speculate here about the reasons why they weren’t prepared.)
I like Rio Reiser’s approach: Let’s tear down the walls that divide us. Come together, people—get to know one another. (Reißen wir die Mauern ein, die uns trennen. Kommt zusammen, Leute, lernt euch kennen.)
When we stop trying to drown our sorrows and, instead. learn to live with them. In community. Together. And care for one another.
Then we’ll realise that life goes on – with all its challenges and with all its beauty.
Let the sky fall. When it crumbles. We will stand tall. Face it all together. Adele, Skyfall
At around 3pm Dublin time yesterday, 13 years ago, I had given a successful invited presentation to the guests of one of China’s biggest localisation service providers, following a visit to the Chinese opera, a dinner in the French restaurant overlooking Tiananmen Square, and a flight to Sanya on Hainan Island in the South China Sea.
The presentation followed the story line of Adele’s song about the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. And how you have to react to it. The theme was topical at the time as the position of localisation service providers was fundamentally challenged by what was known as Community Localisation.
Together with a friend, I had won a poolside competition.
I was about to go to bed in the early hours of the morning, Sanya time, when I received the phone call that changed life forever.
Skyfall became real.
In the middle of the night, I left it all behind, and flew to Boston via Shanghai and Detroit.
In my head I was now singing Forever Young. Thinking of Pádraig in Cape Cod Hospital, in Hyannis.
May God bless and keep you always May your wishes all come true May you always do for others And let others do for you May you build a ladder to the stars And climb on every rung May you stay forever young May you stay forever young
This year, we went to Carlingford to celebrate life.
I don’t know anyone who has adapted to such a profound change in their life as Pádraig has. Of the many qualities I admire in him, this is perhaps the greatest.
Rainer Maria Rilke’s words best describe my own experience:Perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.
If you’re ever feeling lonely, if you’re ever feeling down. You should know you’renot the only one Because I feel it with you now. When the world is on your shoulders and you’re falling to your knees, oh please. You know love will set you free. Kodaline
You will have your own, favourite love song, right?
When Pádraig had his accident, the lads from Kodaline sent him a get-well-soon message, together with The Heathers, The Coronas, Bell X1, and many others.
When he came back from Germany in 2015, they invited him to their December gig in The Point.
He (and us) were there for the soundcheck and experienced the magic of one of the best of their many great songs being sung in a humongeous empty concert venue.
Last night, we went, together to see Kodaline in the grounds of Malahide Castle for the kick-of concert of their Farewell Tour. It was a magic night. Brilliant songs, fantastic audience, beautiful people. Including a couple of young women who had not discovered the front camera of their phone for taking selfies. Out of this world.
A few other things happened last week.
Pádraig met the Tánaiste and Minister of Finance, Simon Harris, in An Saol, visiting together with the Minister for Disability, Emer Higgins on Thursday, accompanied by Councillor Gayle Ralph.
On Friday, he went to the Mansion House, where the Lord Mayor of Dublin, Councillor Ray McAdam, hosted the An Saol Community’s event: A Decade On. From Pilot to a National Centre for severe Acquired Brain Injury (sABI)
The best thing last week? Pádraig became an uncle, for the second time. This time to a wonderful baby girl. He, and us, couldn’t bet much happier and much prouder. The future is catching up with us. The next generation is arriving. Soon, they will be ready with their idealism and young energy to make this world a better place.
Ain’t no right way – Ain’t no wrong – Whatever road you might be on – You find your own way. Keb’ Mo’,
We all have moments in our lives we will never forget. For me, many of those moments are associated with music. More than one way home. And now also the lads from Killeagh.
One summer, I was in my parents’ house with my sister who was ten years older than myself. Both of us had long left home and were just back for a visit. Mark Knopfler and Keb’ Mo’ were guests on a music programme on the telly. I told my sister how much I liked their music and the songs they had played. The next day at lunch time, she came back from town with two records: one by Mark, the other by Keb’.
I had never ever seen Mark or, indeed Dire Straits, live. But last Monday, Keb’ Mo’ played in Dublin and I managed to get two fourth row tickets, right in front of the stage.
He was brilliant. He is not only an extraordinary musician, he is also funny and completely understated. Full of energy at almost 75 years of age.
For me, though, it was much more. It was one of those moments, when tears come to my eyes. Memories become overwhelming. People long gone appear right beside me. That love, that caring feeling, that feeling of being loved, being care-free, not having to worry about anything is there again, stronger than ever. Those two magic albums my sister got me. It was back, present with me last Monday.
On Thursday, I had a dentist appointment. (Not one of these anymore, where the dentist tells you all is good, and ‘just keep brushing your teeth’…:) There is always a paper in the waiting room. That day, I was reminded that there is another world out there. A world I don’t seem to be connected to anymore.
One of the (longer) headlines read:
“Did that woman need to eat an entire pizza during a showing of Devil Wears Prada II? I do not believe that poor comportment indicates poor personal values, but could she not have waited until afterwards?”
Well, I don’t think that I will ever find out the answer to this important question. So important that it made the front page of Ireland’s most important broadsheet.
But it brought a big smile to my face. I agreed with Fiona McRedmond, the author of this headline in last Thursday’s The Irish Times, that there is a time and a place to do certain things. Or not to do them. Right?
Which brings me to another of Keb’s classics: “The Old Me Better”.
I liked the old me better, I was a lot more fun I liked the old me better, didn’t take crap from anyone Well I’d sleep all day, party all night Did whatever I wanted whatever I liked You made me a brand new man but I liked the old me better
I do things now I would never have done as “the old me”. I lie awake all night. I don’t party anymore. I take a lot of crap from too many people too many times. I don’t have that much fun anymore. – I’m all with Keb’: I like the old me better.
The new me has learned to be happy with and about much less. That’s a lesson Pádraig taught me. He is happy with and about very little. As always, a trailblazer. Minimalism, seeing the essential, not being distracted by all that noise around us – this is what we should all focus on. The rest is wasteful and destructive.
Last night, Pádraig brought me and a friend, and his sister, along to see Kingfishr in Malahide. This was definitely not about bringing up old memories like Keb’ did. This was about the new. The upcoming. The energy and pride of the lads. The beating on the chest. The “boys roar for to rattle the air” energy. The “bury me with my hurley” pride.
They’d go rarin’ and tearin’ and fightin’ for love….
It was a fantastic evening.
There were moments when I felt like the old me: when I didn’t take crap from anyone, when I’d sleep all day, party all night, did whatever I wanted whatever I liked. I thought: Well, there ain’t no right way home. We’re finding our own way.
And when our time’s at an ending, when our days are no more. Please bury us with our hurley by the River Dissour.
Over the years, we have been told to be realistic.
Funny thing is: much of what Pádraig is doing today—standing, communicating, participating, contributing to community life, inspiring the work of the An Saol Foundation—might never have happened if everyone had accepted the “realistic” view offered in 2013.
Pádraig had an incredible week.
We continued to walk as much as we could. Breaking records. Literally breaking new ground. We walked across the therapy room in An Saol. In the only place in Ireland where this is not only possible, but standard.
On Friday, we had three Neuro-orthopedic consultants in An Saol who reviewed 14 of our clients over 4 hours. Mr Poschmann came over from Germany for what must have been his 6th consultation with our clients. The atmosphere in An Saol was truly electric. We reached our capacity limits as clients went in and came out of the consultation like clockwork. Full of life, full of hope, and full of energy knowing that An Saol is the only place in Ireland where they could access such a service – without excessive waiting times and without a charge. Thank you to the three Neuro-orthopaedic orthopaedic consultants who provided this vital services to our clients!
On Friday, the production company tasked by RTE to produce FutureVille Ireland filmed in An Saol – with details to follow.
Saturday was the highlight in our calendar, marking the achievements of our clients in the annual all-inclusive social event, the IronMonth.
Later that afternoon we all went to Hedigan’s for the wrap-party of the documentary he had put together with some of his friends – and which we can’t wait to watch, later this year..
Are you still curious about the most expensive word in healthcare?
I think it might be, at least in the context of sABI, ‘realistic’.Because every time expectations are lowered, opportunities are lost. And when opportunities are lost, people often end up costing the system more—not less.
There have been few weeks like last week when I felt such a spirit of community, support, and hope.
It was only rivalled by this year’s experiences at the Teach an Saol’s annual BBQ, where we celebrated the incredible achievements of some of our client, attempting to do as much as they could in a self-paced the cost-paced all-inclusive IronMonth.
The thought crossed my mind that none of this would exist had it not been for Pádraig’s accident.
The central question, on reflection, is not really what the most expensive word in healthcare is, nor whether we should be more ‘realistic’
The real question is: should healthcare be built around predicting limits or creating possibilities?
The measure of a life is not the challenges it faces, but the love, courage, and joy it brings to others.
13 years ago, on 29th May, we celebrated Pádraig’s birthday in a very nice North Dublin restaurant having lunch together. We had an exceptionally good time together.
When we were finished and left, we spent some time together outside on the pavement, chatting. Pádraig was going to Boston and Cape Cod the next day.
We didn’t know then that this was the last time we were chatting together in person for a long time.
Last Friday, we celebrated his birthday again.
And, for the first time in lucky 13 years, we went back to the same restaurant and had a blast of a lunch. A feast for the eyes, the nose, the palate. In the best of company.
We had to carry the wheelchair down some steep steps to the basement of one of Dublin’s very historic buildings. The staff of the restaurant couldn’t have been more helpful and kind.
Apart from the really outstanding food and eating experience, that afternoon was a perfect example of what can be done if you really try. And you never have to do it all yourself. There is always help around, often when you expect it the least.
There were a few more “firsts” last week.
For the first time, Pádraig supported his head with his arms and hands. He also actively stood up with his arms stretched out moving balls from one bowl to the other, all with a little help from his friends.
For the very first time in Ireland, we walked with Pádraig across An Saol’s therapy space. Myself behind him, two practitioners, each of them helping him with one of his legs, and the fourth person supporting his shoulders and head from the front.
It was a truly spectacular week in so many ways.
A week when I nearly forgot the terrible tragedy that got us where we are today. That has broken our hearts, but will never break our spirits.
And then, on Friday, there was a nearly full-page article about the An Saol Foundation Centre in Ireland’s leading newspaper, The Irish Times, both in its online edition and on Page 5 of its print edition.
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man. George Bernard Shaw
“Be realistic.”
We heard those words many times.
But there is something strange, frustrating, and limiting about “realism.”
Because almost every meaningful improvement in human life began with somebody refusing to accept the limits that others considered reasonable.
Pentecost is, in many ways, a story about refusing to be realistic.
Because the story of Pentecost is about:ordinary and frightened people hiding away – and then suddenly speaking publicly, courageously and across boundaries they were never expected to cross.
It is about: transformation, courage, imagination, and possibility beyond perceived limits.
If people had always been “realistic,” there would be no disability rights movement. No accessible transport. No independent living movement. No challenge to the idea that survival alone should be enough.
Every meaningful change begins with somebody looking at the world as it is and saying:
“No. We can do better than this.”
Pádraig decided to opt for change.
Is vótálaí mé – I have voted. I’ve made my decision.
On Friday, Pádraig cast his vote in the Dublin Centre by-election triggered by the resignation of Pascal Donoghue who took up a prominent job at the World Bank.
Pádraig made his mind up 13 years ago, that he would not quit. Not die. Not donate his organs. Not to go into a nursing home. Not to comply with the health system’s expectations. He was not going to be ‘realistic’.
Pádraig decided he was going to start a bit of a revolution. To be totally ‘un-realistic’. To proof the ‘realists’ wrong.
Let’s take a quick look at last week: he went to a pub (accessible only via stairs) for a family gathering; he had a brilliant time joining the 70th birthday celebrations of his uncle; he went for beautiful walks in our local park; and, on Friday, cast his first, second, and third preference vote in the Dáil by-elections.
On Thursday, Pádraig was invited to a gathering in a local pub. There were the usual steps which we quickly left behind. Then his tall wheelchair did not fit under the table. No surprises here either. But this time, we lifted the table, found some small containers, turned them around, and placed them under the table so that it was now high enough for Pádraig’s wheelchair. First, the staff were somewhat reluctant onlookers with a frown on their forehead, but then went with the flow. – We had a great dinner and a few drinks in the best company you could have wished for.
Earlier in the week, we celebrated a 70th birthday and the family came over to our house – from a 3 year old to the 70 years old. All sitting around the table sharing good food, drinks, and a myriad of stories. The craic was mighty. In fact, it became so outrageously funny that I heard Pádraig laughing out loud for the first time since his accident. We just couldn’t stop laughing.
With the weather getting a bit warmer and the days getting longer, we’re also back more regularly to our local park for walks along the river and along the ancient trees. The smell of the wet grass and leaves, the view of the slowly moving river, the feeling of the light breezes on the skin, the sounds of the birds singing all around us – each time we go, it is a feast of sensations that puts any therapy into the shade. You just can’t beat nature for beauty and sensations.
Thirteen years after Pádraig’s accident, many of the challenges remain real. Some always will.
But so too are the conversations, the friendships, the travel, the walks in the park, the concerts, the parties, the laughter, the routines, the decisions, the frustrations, the ordinary moments, and the life that continues anyway.
Perhaps realistic people accept the world as it is.
Hospi-Tales 