Weimar, Germany is such a quaint place that I want to go back there again and again. If I had stayed healthy, I might have convinced my husband that this quiet town of artists and musicians was a great place to retire.
Goethe and Schilling wrote their masterpieces here. I know that my writings do not compare to the German poet and the playwright, but maybe, maybe...
Well, it is over, and I have some good memories of walking down cobblestone streets, and working horses, and museums.
I also have memories of English tourists complaining of the sparsity of relics. I soaked in the atmosphere, ignoring their upper-class accents. After all, Goethe walked here. And, I walked here.
I wonder what Goethe and Schilling would have thought if they knew the reverence the Germans have for them. Schilling's plays were irreverent. Goethe was not the remorse man of his book.
I wonder if anyone will remember my sense of humor.