Letter From Russia

I held a letter from a Russian cousin in my hand! From the daughter of my father’s sister. At the end of World War II father’s young and beautiful sister, Rena, a nurse at the local hospital, had been loaded unto a truck and taken to Russia. We never heard from her again. I poured myself a cup of tea to restore my equanimity.  Then I sat down to read her letter:

Dear Roswitha,

Your father and my mother were brother and sister. For many years I have dreamt of tracking down your name and address one day, and finally I have succeeded. I was born and grew up in Russia and recently, after turning 75, I was aloud to retire and allowed to travel to Germany. 

Rena, my mother, grew up in Germany.  World War II had just ended and Russian troops occupied  our town. She was working in the local hospital when Russian soldiers came and loaded all doctors and nurses onto trucks and carted them off to Russia. They were taken to labor camps where they had to work. I was born in the first camp. 

While Mother worked in the fields, she tied me around her front to protect me from the whip of the foremen because she often collapsed from hunger and fatigue. She and others spent nights in a cave to be protected from rain and cold. It’s only thanks to her love and caring that she and I survived. She never let me out of her sight, because hunger was so acute that the other prisoners would have gladly eaten me if given a chance.

She taught me to read and write. But very little, because it was not easy. We had no books, no paper, no pens. Nor did we have time; as soon as I could walk I had to work at whatever I could do. A friend wrote this letter for me, because for many years I have been speaking only Russian—ever since mother died, long ago. 

During the winter they truck us to factories to work there. Sometimes little, sometimes much. We never know. Life is unpredictable. Mother had more children, I did too. But they were taken away. I think one of my granddaughters may still be alive. They do not want us to have children or friends. We are always separated and put in different camps. We rarely know where we are. Russia is very large. They did not school us, only when necessary for work we are doing. 

I have a train ticket to return to Russia in two weeks. I do not know if I can stay longer in Germany. Can I see you? 

I would very much like that.

 
          Natascha.

A hundred questions flooded my mind. Should I send her a plane ticket to come to America? Would she get a visa? Once here would she ever be able to go back? Or would she be stranded here? Should I travel to Germany and see her? Would we be able to communicate? I didn’t speak a word of Russian and she not a word of English. If I sent her money would she get it? Every letter to or from East Germany used to be opened and read by the Communists. It took many months to get mail from East to West Germany. Had it changed after Germany’s reunification? Worse, Natascha was a Russian citizen who had worked in labor camps all her life. I wondered how much freedom or privacy she was allotted. 

Truth can be stranger than fiction.  I decided to sleep on it. 

Until next time,

Rosi

Why Not?

         Wayne, my grandson, is graduating from grad school today. 

          I still remember his graduation from his first school, many years ago. His family lived in Sun Valley and I was visiting them. Just before breakfast, Wayne, eight years old then,  knocked on my door and ask me to knot his tie. He was wearing his dark blue Sunday suit and a T-shirt, with a yellow tie wrapped around his bare neck.

“Do you have a shirt,” was my logical question.

“I do, it’s at the cleaners, but this T-shirt is fine.”

“Do you need to … do you want to wear a tie?”

“Yes,” he said, “you need to wear a tie when you give the graduation speech.”

“You’re giving the graduation speech?” I asked surprised; he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. “May I read it?”

“No need; you’ll hear it soon enough,” he smiled.

         Frantically, we all searched for something shirt-like for Wayne to wear, but we couldn’t find a thing.

“Actually, I like your T-shirt, Wayne,” I mused. “It has character. Let your Dad do the tie. He’s better at it than I.”

So eight-year old Wayne gave his speech wearing a dark-blue suit,  a white T-shirt and a yellow tie nicely knotted around his bare neck. He carried it off majestically. And I’m still smiling whenever I look at that photo of long ago.

After thanking all his teachers, he also thanked his friend John for bringing him lunch. 

        My daughter was sitting next to me and audibly inhaled, “I always fix him lunch,” she whispered deeply embarrassed. In a small town where everyone knows everyone, word would spread quickly that Alison didn’t fix lunch for her son.

“Wayne,” she said when she saw him, “I always fix your lunch!”

“Yes, Mom, I know, but I eat your lunch during my first break at ten. I’m hungry again by 12 and am really happy that John brings a big lunch for me.”

Audibles: Condo Living & Staying Young

I’m thrilled to announce that two of my books, “The ABCs of Staying Young,” and "Condo Living" are available now on audible.com. They are read by Blair Seibert, a professional narrator with a most delightful voice. "The ABCs of Staying Young" is brief and to the point, and cannot fail to keep you feeling vibrant with the energy of youth. "Condo Living" clarifies the differences between living in a house or a condo. Both books abound with humorous anecdotes. Enjoy.

Staying Young

The more we learn, the more we realize how little we know, and how much remains for us to explore. 

Whether we read about the latest technology or the wisdom of the ancients, whether we contemplate the mysteries of the cosmos or the secret world of nanoparticles, any type of learning activates and enhances our brain functions. The body of human knowledge is immense. It provides a bottomless well for the curious and inquiring mind. 

Curiosity and eagerness to learn are traits of the young. Whether you’re curious about the recipe of a tasty dish or a better way of taking care of an orchid, never hesitate to ask. Every person knows something that we don’t; it’s a matter of asking.

It may require putting away our cell phone once in a while and engaging in conversation with a stranger, for instance when standing in line. You may be pleasantly surprised about the intriguing ideas you may hear and how quickly time passes. 

When shopping for fish the other day, I noticed a lady buying a large amount of it. Amazed and curious I asked her, “You must be having a big party?” 

“No,” she replied. “I freeze it.”

“My home-frozen fish tastes awfully fishy,” I replied.

“Put it in a plastic bag and cover it with water, then freeze it,” she advised.

She was right. It made all the difference! Now that I freeze fish covered with water, it tastes like fish fresh from the sea. 

Can We Stay Young?

Can we stay young?  Yes, we can, in spite of age and a few wrinkles—and amazingly so. 
Try it. A new book and audio book, “The ABCs of Staying Young,” gives you some four dozen tips how to stay young and enjoy life. Both are available at amazon.com. The audio book is beautifully read by Blair Seibert.

Art, Glorious Art

Would History have run a different course if Adolf Hitler had never become a politician? If the Vienna Academy of Art had accepted him as a student? He ardently longed to be an artist. Yet the Academy turned him down for lack of talent. What irony of fate. What tragedy for millions of people.

In his despair Hitler deserted his roommate Kubizek, who had been selling his paintings for ten shillings each. He walked the streets, slept on park benches and for six long years ate in charity kitchens. Yes, Adolf Hitler.

In 1914, when World War I broke out, Hitler hurried across the Austrian border, changed his citizenship and joined the German Army. To vent his pent-up feelings he wanted hands-on battle. He earned the Iron Cross First and Second Class. They became his proudest possessions that he wore until he died. 

Yet painting remained Hitler’s foremost passion. As soon as WW I ended, he hurried back to Vienna and applied again at the Academy of Art. But, again, he was turned down. His fury was boundless, and he swore revenge. It must have been one of his most gratifying moments when a few years later he deprived Austria of its independence and annexed it to the German Reich.

More ironic, the government sent him to oratory training so he would spy for them on communist activities. Yet wherever he went he gave fervent hate speeches against the government.

The founders of the new German Labor Party heard one of his tirades, and were so impressed, they made Hitler a Committee Member. Hitler renamed the party the Nazi** party, the gruesome embodiment of tyranny.

What would have happened if Hitler had been more artistic? If the Academy had accepted him? If he never had become a politician? We'll never know. But it may have saved the world from years of agony and destruction at his hands.

Until next time,

Rosi

*      based on the book, "The Madman & His Mistress."
**    Die National Sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiter Partei.  

Schatzi, my Chaperone

Schatzi was the tiniest dachshund I’d ever seen, with beautiful long curly hair, but he was sharp as a razor blade. He felt it was his mission in life to protect me. I was barely thirty then with two little daughters. My husband had left us, and since this was the swinging seventies when a single woman was considered free game, protection was a good thing to have.

I was the editor of a small German newspaper then and well aware that our advertisers were our most important asset. Our biggest client was Mr. Holze who imported alcoholic beverages from Germany. Mr. Holze was in his sixties, stately and of the old school. He had lost his wife a year or two earlier, but he continued buying the same two season tickets for the San Francisco Opera as he had done for years—the Opera needed to be supported he felt. 

One day he invited me to see La Boheme. Somewhat reluctantly I accepted his invitation—there was just too much work to do and not enough time for my children.  But La Boheme is one of my favorite operas, and I invited him to have a home-cooked dinner beforehand. 

We placed him at the head of the table, my two little daughters to his left, I to his right, and Schatzi, our dachshund, positioned himself strategically between the two of us, keeping a sharp eye on Mr. Holze. 

Mr. Holze, aware of his vast store of knowledge and experience, and my lack of it, proudly held forth with good advice. All very good counsel of course, and most likely I needed it.

Once in a while, and for greater emphasis when he’d explain that I must always do so and so or must never do this or that, he would pat my arm. 

The wrong thing to do—Schatzi did not approve of touching. He uttered a sharp, prohibiting yelp! Dear Mr. Holze quickly retracted his hand, while I could barely keep from bursting out laughing.

the Joys of Aging

“It’s annoying to get older,” Mary looked disapprovingly at the mirror.

“You wouldn’t want to remain a baby all your life, would you?” She frowned at the absurdity of my answer.

“Not a baby; but in my twenties!”

“I like getting older and hopefully wiser,”  I laughed.

“But we’ll be old one day,” she shot back.

“And wiser.”

“Old or dead,” she grimaced. “At what age are we old? 45?”

“Of course not! But then, some people look sad and elderly at 45, some are still youthful at 80.”

She looked at me quizzically. “How can anyone feel young at 80. Pretend?”

“Of course not!! But it would be depressing if we felt as old as we look;” I grinned and added, “I keep my bathroom suitably dark — it makes me look 20 years younger. Try it.”

To tell the truth, I had never felt happier. Less work, fewer responsibilities, fewer deadlines; yet more leisure, more kindness and more time to do what I want. Every morning I get up with a smile, thrilled to be still alive. I walk on the beach, and am delighted when I have walked two miles. I invite dinner guests and if a dish isn’t perfect, who cares? We laugh. Actually, after so many years of cooking, dinners turn out pretty well and pretty effortlessly. Yes, life couldn’t be better.