The actual topic I had in mind when I found the last paper clip was of much greater concern than the various mice and critters living in our house (funny story: the day I wrote that post, a mouse came out of a trash bag I was just carrying downstairs, and I accidentally stepped on it, without shoes; it’s living somewhere in our walls now).

At a random breakfast morning, a few of us debated on the recent change of Germany’s position on nuclear energy. Why this relates to our house? We came to a fast conclusion that in order to “save the planet” as one might say, we simply have to cut down on our energy consumption. We figured the same counts for alternative sources of energy. Thus, if we want energy that does neither stem from nuclear plants or coal power stations, we need to start saving energy. By now, the Sueddeutsche Zeitung has written a report on Germany’s balance on energy production and – hey! – the country could switch to green energy without taking cold showers or reading a book by candle-light. Nevertheless, to change the world, we’d still need to cut down. In our house, though, we pay all inclusive rents, a flat rate for gas, water and electricity. So what we do when our renting agency doesn’t fix the shower, the mold on the wall or the broken sink/oven/lighting, is consume. And that’s awful, and we know it. The worst part is: our agency doesn’t care. They actually want us to leave on the lights in the hallways, and I have so far failed to find a light switch for the entrance area. (I am, by the way exaggerating. We do care not to waste energy as much as we can most of the time.)

So here is me, in a seldom moment of peace-willingness towards the agency and a tad of goodwill, I unplugged the cable of my laptop, put on some candles and switched off the light. The other day someone turned off the light in the kitchen during the daytime, and to our surprise, there was still light (we DO have windows). In our house, I am obviously not the only one with environmental concerns (otherwise the discussion wouldn’t probably have started), and yet there is this gigantic invisible threshold to simply use less energy.

But now there was this realization, there are the candles and spring is coming up, so I’m keeping my hopes high. Maybe the agency will be nicer to us, too...

I was just about to start typing a post declaring the end of the paper clip as such – we are more of a stapler generation – when I found a clip right in front of the door to my room. And don’t worry, I am certain it’s not one I’ve written about before, because I usually don’t pick them up unless I need one. The paper clip in my house gives me a fantastic opportunity to talk about this curious place. As of the moment when I moved in here, my housemates and I (or at least those talking) were absolutely certain this house is alive. It has become a kind of organic entity, acculturated to the soil it stands on. Ivy is growing up the walls, the windows, into the kitchen. Green moss and mold lives on the shower window and under the lacquer of the bathroom door and one time, we were in the uncomfortable situation to witness the decay – nay, composting of the cellar. As of lately, when water and mold have transformed one of the walls in my room into a yellow/blackish eye-catcher, I decided to buy pretty plants in pots to distract our views from it. Needless to say, organic entities, especially those with mechanic heating systems, attract not only plants but also animals. When I found the first silver fish under my bed and took a picture of it, I was astonished by its anatomical distinctness. It was the first such critter I’ve ever seen. Only later I learned that these animals aren’t usually as big that one could photograph it without a macro lens. Also, mouse traps have become an item of interior design in our kitchen, hallways and even rooms. We share pasta packages and flour with them, and pretend we don’t notice. One time, we thought we might have trapped one in the oven (by accident, of course), but then we hadn’t. The organic trash can has become the mice’s breeding or family vacation spot, or maybe they discovered it as transportation to paradise.

However, all these things we’ve come to terms with, we’ve fought it, we’ve yielded, we’re sort of cool with it (except that wall in my room). Once, we gave names to the mice, but I forgot what they were. We buried our dead gold fish in the back yard, as if to give back something to the soil. Our house is as fragile yet indestructible as the annoying wild mulberry plant in the yard. All this wasn’t even the point why I started thinking about our house in the first place. But I’ll save that for next time.