Probably most people do hate shopping. ... I think it's because hating to be nothing but a consumer. We are perfect consumers and got skills in shopping and trading. My whole nation consists of being a trading state. The profession of being an accountant got somehow honorable and once you finished it, all doors stand wide open for a further career. Except, you are a cashier. Nobody wants to work as one and people look down on them as if it's an undignified action. Seldom I meet proud cashiers .. Once I thanked an Asian lady because her pace was meeting mine: slow. She told me that she is old enough to give herself the luxury to be slow. I smiled and told her: "Rightly, so."

On another day it was hot and the woman behind the cash-register was all sweating and wishing for an ice cold coke, not speaking to me but to herself. I went over to the coffee-counter and told her colleague to give me a coke for her. When I wanted to pay, he said: "No, let me pay and just bring it over to her." Which I did. I often have an urge to get in touch with all the strangers in the shops but mostly they won't let me or are too absent minded. Which is a pitty.

When we arrived as a fresh emigrated family in Germany, they gave us bananas to eat and my siblings didn't know what that was. They turned that yellow thing in their hands. Many of the food was unknown to my parents and us. But of course, we quickly adapted to the full shelves and the obscene masses of food. My mom never looked back at scarce times and thought she was in heaven. Still, we bought milk and meat from the nearby farmers and had half of a pigs slaughtered body on the kitchen table. Then the ritual began: My parents al sweating and busy with the meat cutting and preparation. My father turned the meat through the mincer and my mother made aspic out of the remains. All went into the freezer to feed the hungry mouths later on.

Our garden was full of cucumbers, potatoes, tomatoes, herbs, peas and beans, fruits and berries. My parents didn't have to maintain there used lifestyles but wanted to go on with that. We children thought of them as stupid as everything could have been bought.

Though my mom and dad never made me working in the garden I observed enough to see that it's possible to live a self-sufficient life. Before the second world war, I was told that people all over the country had gardens with things to eat and used them for a living. ... I can still smell the scents of pickled cucumbers when my parents stood in the kitchen and boiled water and stuffed the vegetables in the glasses with fresh dill. ... Maybe I felt useless as they didn't teach me or involved me in the processes and maybe I would have refused to help. When all is cared for, what's left? Does life make any sense when one does not provide food for himself?

I feel even sorry when I pick mint or parsley from my balcony boxes and blind out all pity when I go shopping. I would be a bad gardener as I wouldn't want to cut and prune branches of living beings. But I guess I would get used to and accept that I am an animal which feeds on other animals and plants.