For whatever reason, there’s only a single picture of Oma Ida and me, a keepsake I’ve always cherished throughout my life. She’s the only grandparent I’ve met in person; all others had long passed on when I was born. My life with her began on a hot summer day when my mother labored to bring … Continue reading Molded after Oma Ida.
Mother. Mom. Mami.
A TRIBUTE What's in a name? Mother. So rich, so much meaning. So filled with love and compassion. So warm, so embracing, so still. Mom. Mom, carrying me in her womb. Mom, hugging me as a little child. Mom, making Arme Ritter for breakfast or lunch. Mom, faithful and protective when facing my teenage pregnancy. … Continue reading Mother. Mom. Mami.
Memories of Advent
It's just after four o'clock and already dark outside. Helga and I are tapping our feet at the threshold, freeing boots and pant bottoms from snow before opening our entrance door. I inhale deeply. She looks at me, nodding, and we giggle in anticipation. A wonderful whiff of baked apples, cinnamon and caramel sugar greets … Continue reading Memories of Advent
A woman from the East
Grandma Ida’s house was not really that large. But too big for a widow living by herself, decided the mayor. “Sorry, Madam, but you must take some of them.” “How many?” she asked, fully knowing there’s nothing much she could do. The ending war just swept a wave of refugees from the East into the … Continue reading A woman from the East