On the Pennsylvania Border
Spent the first week of my stay on the road with my brother seeing small-town America. Drove south in Pennsylvania crossing over into Maryland where I wanted to visit the Antietam battlefield. Had read a book about that last year [Stephen Spears] and was so taken by it that it resulted in a poem. My nephew, who is a Civil War historian, spent two days with us there explaining in detail the battle as it took place, hour by hour. By coincidence it was September 17, the very day the battle took place in 1862.
I never had anyone check me over as closely as they did it at the Frankfurt airport before I got on the plane. No area of the body was left unexamined. I felt as if they would only be satisfied if all of us had stripped and gone out to the plane naked. Chuckled about that as we lifting off and were getting above the clouds.
My American Airlines flight to Pittsburgh took me there by way of Chicago where I had a 4 hour layover. I didn't mind. It was delightful just to see the sit and watch the people, everyone in a hurry, not noticing that I was admiring them, the first Americans I have seen in a long time. Just the sight of them made me feel that we are a breed of our own, different than Europeans. Some light-footedness, some ease, some freer rein. And they were all speaking my American language.
She must have been 60. He carried her luggage in and found a seat for her by the window. A quick kiss. Then he went out and stood on the platform close by her window, waiting. The train pulled out but she didn't wave because she was so busy storing her bags.
Today I'm all tickled about flying home to Pittsburgh for a wedding. My nephew is getting married!
As I was playing the piano this morning I was thinking that the next time the little fellow comes I'm gonna' pull his crib right up close to the piano and play those Bach chorals and variations I was just playing. Those pure sounds he has got to hear, to remind him of where he came from.
Thank you Charles for your letter. What could be more meaningful for a creator than what you have said to me.
I was never thinking about lecturing because I never wanted to talk about the subject. All that I am thankful for is to have the ability to transfer it the way I do.
About the recognition, it may be as my granddaughter once told me, 'people are going to recognize you after your death'. So maybe she is right and if my stories and my creation are strong enough, this is going to be sufficient to transfer a view of this tragic event in history in the twentieth century which was experienced by me.
I have started to work these days on the addresses you gave to me. I hope to have some positive response.
Thank you again. No words can express my gratitude.
Tamara
They came in June and made a summer of astounding aerial acrobatics for us. As if they were writing in the sky. Were they trying to say something? Was I too busy contemplating less worthy things?
Elias Benedict
Eight weeks old.
I can still hear the old monk saying: if you love God you will see him everywhere -- in the people around you and in all of nature.
There were two one-year-olds in the waiting room at the doctor's this morning. Their mothers had to wait a full two hours. The children played on the floor the whole time. The one wimpered quietly and wanted to go home, the other tried to humor him by playing with the balls on an incline plane or by setting up blocks. They got along nicely and the patient young mothers had a chance to try out all their newly-learned motherly competencies, in public -- and looked on with pride.
One wonderful week of singing, mornings and afternoons with a random group of men and women interested in voice training and choral performance. Gave two concerts at the end. Having to part last night was heartbreaking.
There is something about working in a group that gives you the feeling that you can do what is required. It is so much easier than when one has to do it alone. . . but then there was that tiny nagging need for recognition, that little sign of approval.
Today I get news that an old friend of mine, and choir director and organist at our church back home has been arrested and put it jail for having touched a sixteen year old music student of his in an inappropriate manner on two occasions following the lessons. He also is said to have furnished alcohol to the teenager.
I can still hear the wise old monk saying: Consider that things are often better in the imagination than they are in reality.
It cannot be: that he who formulates a prayer better than the other is more worthy of being heard.
The insight of the old monks stands: It is the suffering, that we are bound to bear, that keeps us turning to God.
Knowing our selfishness [it was given to us by Him, our Creator], I think that God must be pleasantly moved when any one of his creatures breaks out of oneself for just a moment and sends up a word of thanks to Him — for life and what we see in other people and nature all around us.
Dear Charles,
I am listening to your advice and creating a lot and refreshing the knowledge of my soul. I feel more and more lately that in my painting there are actually souls - soul conversations, agreements, disagreements, stories - sad or happy. So maybe I am bringing the souls in my paintings back to life. Do you think that it is possible?
I wrote two new poems (of a sort) and one which is on my site but I had it re-translated. I would be very honored if you would read them.
About the other sites you gave to me, these days I am going to try to have some answers.
I hope that you are okay. and that your creations are flowing through you and it will not take a long time before I will have the opportunity to read them.
Thank you again for everything.
Tamara
There was a picture in the newspaper this morning of a young boy in Hamburg with the German colors wrapped around his shoulders walking along the sidewalk with his head down and the caption read: Insurmountable Katzenjammer. I have heard some people who ridicule these fans who just can't seem to get over a loss. I feel for them. They'll pull out of it eventually. Just give them time. Besides that, maybe it's not bad to get some practice at experiencing loss. There are other insurmountable losses coming. Like when you lose your son in Iraq or a child drowns in the pool.
They have been three weeks the likes of which I have never experienced in all my time in Germany, some 40 years now. It was soccer that had brought a nation together again: in a common dream, a common hope, a common aspiration, that 11 men gave their all to bring about. And something as trivial as football had brought about that miracle. They had even brought out the flags again that they had only hesitatingly used for official ceremonies for the last 60 years. We were all caught up in the color and the gaiety.
Last evening, in the last 2 minutes of the match, Germany lost. Quietly now, with watery eyes, people are trying to get back to a normal Wednesday.
America is functioning again: When a court of law can rebuke the President and say that even he must obey the laws of the land.
There is no end to looking — We look and look at a baby's face and can never get enough. What is it that we see? Is it something virginal, unspotted, something beautiful that was ours that we have lost and are seeing there again for a limited time, knowing that it will soon disappear?
It was truly magnificent! Feast of Corpus Christi in our village in Germany. 60 altar girls/boys, 30 choir members, 35 musicians of the brass band, grown ups and children in the local costume, 30 members of the fire brigade in dress uniform. The priest under the canopy with the monstrance, men carrying church banners, all marching slowly through the streets to stop at three different altars for the blessing with the Eucharist. What deeply impressed me was the atmosphere of awe and the many people along the way who would go down on their knee or bless themselves as the monstrance passed by.
The advice of the wise old monks stands: Avoid the things of the world, do not let them divert you from the one important thing, Him, for whom your soul longs.
I look up into the blue but can't catch sight of the lark singing all those glissandos to thank You for a perfect Sunday morning.
The story about Saul and David [1 Kings 16 ff] reads like a drama script. Been reading only one or two paragraphs a day, but the suspense keeps mounting. There are lessons we can learn from this David!
That sinking feeling I had yesterday when I saw that the zinnia and calendula I had planted and had been nursing along since sowing the seeds in April were gone. The snails had visited overnight and had destroyed most of the batch.
The chimney swifts are here again and they are having a great time this morning flitting and darting in the light breeze.
It was on a hillside, a beautiful long meadow where the wild orchids were in full bloom. Our group admired them at the side of the path and then ventured into the fields deeper to get pictures and get a close view. An expert told us about the many varieties and the dangers from pesticides and acids. You felt as if they were now yours if you were able to identify them and name them.
I felt the elusiveness of the beauty of flowers. It is for us to see, to enjoy, but their beauty remains apart from us. It belongs to God alone, and He is beyond all possession.
How thoughtful of you, Cheryl, Pia and Bob to send me your congratulations and well-wishes. The never-expected surely does enliven. As a grandfather you made me feel right chipper again. Thank you for your kind words. Charles
Dear Charles,
I hope that my letter is finding you in high spirits even though all of the events in the world are not making humanity feel so cheerful. Anyway, that is what I feel.
I have a big favor to ask and I hope that I am not bothering you. I will never forget that you helped me with the Auschwitz museum. Without you I would not have sent my art to this place. Time in general is limited and I have so much to accomplish. What scares me is that I do not have much time. I came to the realization this year that to purify my soul the paintings should be shown in Germany also. I do not know to whom to turn or what to say. Some places around the world, when I approached them with my art, did not even answer. Europe is not any more the world of yesterday of Stefan Zweig.
I hope that you are in your creative period. I am creating with a slightly different perspective which brings me a lot of satisfaction. I am not a person who thinks about time, dates and numbers. It was never important to me. But when I start feeling the limits, I start thinking about the end of time.
I am sorry to bother you. I would be very glad if you could help me with a name of something else.
I wish you a nice summer.
Warmly,
Tamara
What does a first time grandfather say when his daughter, the little baby girl I used to play with on the soft carpet in the living room, has given birth to her own baby now? She kept waiting for me to say something on the phone. . .
Yesterday we were sitting in a restaurant. She is eighteen and college bound. She wanted me to see some of her new poems. There was one she had written about her mother, about breaking loose and going off on her own:
"I tried to hold myself in your arms, Mother . . .", she wrote.
Beautiful, poetic idea. I tried not to show her how deeply it had moved me.
Standing at my window in my study I can view our yard at eye level. What all can be seen there as the months pass! One foot away I have the most beautiful columbine that has shot up between the flagstones.
Today I disposed of an old black briefcase Aunt Martha had given me as a graduation gift back in the 1950's. I had used it through my college years and as a young teacher. When it was too worn to use I just couldn't bring myself to throw it away.
From my window, with heavy heart, I watched as the disposal truck came and drove off with it.
Spent the hour at the piano this morning. How consoling and quieting were the Bach hymns I played after attending the crushing funeral services for Dr. C. yesterday. I played with his wife and two daughters in mind.
Just four months ago he gave me my yearly checkup, Dr. C., the dermatologist. Yesterday I read in the paper that he had died. Fifty-six years old. On inquiry they told me he had hanged himself.
The lesson of the wise old monks stands: If you have all you need with 20 of a thing, do not strive for 30.
Heard rumblings yesterday that Bell Laboratories, a symbol of American ingenuity, is about to be dismantled. And now, Kodak is focusing very sharply on digital. If their late entry into digital photography doesn't pan out the whole complex might come tumbling down.
Our daughter is about to give birth to her first child, our first grandchild. Expecting in the first week of June.
I remember my friend Tom who died last December saying, jokingly, that when he was gone he would make himself felt by tugging at my jacket when I was out taking my morning walks. I didn't take him literally but started to think that the crows I see when walking might somehow be expressing that tugging. Ah, that's silly! Be that as it may, somehow the crows have taken on new meaning for me.
A Black Day it was when I tried to reinstall Microsoft Windows and lost just about every bit of information I have stored. It is that feeling that the house burned down or the city was bombed. Having to start again from scratch. But on the other hand, it is good to be free of all the balast. Maybe a clean board will free up new energy.
Every now and then one realizes things in a whole new light. For example, the notion that nature in all its forms is a being that is totally independent and that it exists all by itself and needs no help from man. Trees and flowers and birds and insects are givens. Literally given to us. One is astounded when one realizes that obvious fact fully.
It is irking. Nobody cares to be corrected every time they turn around. To refrain from correcting is a virtue that has a definite, positive effect when it comes to the relationship with one's partner and/or children.
Take J. S. Bach, Goldberg Variations, Nr. 30 and play it — you can do it a lifetime — and every time, every time, that electrical feeling runs through you and you awaken to the sublime.
Stood in the middle of a field and listened to a happy twirping of a lark that was fluttering high above me. Then I saw a windhover approaching, stand perfectly still in the air, the soft white of the flapping underwings caught in the sunlight. Then I saw a crow coming from directly behind the windhover and finally the two birds swooped. The crow flew on but the windhover went down.
I waited long but saw nothing more of that noble wind-dancer.
The price of gasoline this week in Germany: $6.38 per gallon. Are we crazy, paying that kind of money? We are worshiping the idol of mobility?
Saw this while passing a kiosk this morning:
Every fifth 14-year-older has already had sex.
60% of the High School students have nothing against a One-Night-Stand.
30% only pretend they have had a orgasm.
from: Bild Zeitung, Berlin
Bell Labs has been bought by a foreign company. Another American icon, our inheritance from Alexander Graham Bell, gone. There have been no protests, no cries of rage, not even an offer from another American company to acquire it. What has happened to our American pride?
We took her to her grave yesterday. She was 94. Spent a life in the service of the church. Her brother was a priest and she forfeited marriage to be at his side lifelong as housekeeper and helper. She played the organ and sang. And she could cook. She lived next door to me and I would visit her. And watch out when she would walk to the nearby post office in ice and snow without a coat.
There weren't many people at the funeral. All her friends had passed on long ago.
