door door door eleven p.m. eleven p.m. behind door hides the saddest day.
you think that everything stays as it is. even if you know better, some of us still believes that nothing will change. that in each year with Grandma and Grandpa around the Christmas tree sits and sings.
my grandpa could fix anything with duct tape. He taught me to play mini golf, to count the points in tennis, and anything else I need to know.
when we were little, we often stayed with him, we always had cats in the evening washing make and sometimes we were allowed to bathe in the blubberbadewanne.
on New Years Eve we have seen folk shows with him and pretended that we would find it funny, but really we wanted to drink only champagne. There was champagne with my grandpa all the time.
my grandpa was always a solution for every problem.
he kindled the fire place so beautiful like no one else.
what not teach an old dog learn new tricks, he explains. And there are things that does not exist.
when he was young, my grandpa helped his buddy to come by the truck-driving test, as he climbed the back of the truck at the beginning and during hill and jumped out behind a large stone mature laid.
young as he was, he was in the village of his football club.
my grandpa always wanted to learn to play schifferklavier.
to the storytelling afternoon he told me about a man whose father was dying. the son, the shutters up, and then directly to do it again.
is so live that, then the father has said.
I know he is with God and that he has recovered as much power as he deserves. but it is so sad. I can not imagine that I get married again and my beloved grandpa is not here.
