Another house we love, another farewell to the memories we created in it. This one is particularly sad, as it is the house where Skye spent her first two years.
When she’s in her teens, and we’ve (probably, finally!) settled down to our “Forever Home” – I will remind her that during her earliest months, she woke up to a view of two castles…in lovely Germany.
We went to Buchenwald today. Seems to me that requires a bit more than just a photo posted on the ubiquitous Facebook.
I’ve been sad before in my life, obviously – but the overwhelming sense of sadness in this place was like a wet, thick fog – and when I walked into the ruins of the houses where the SS officers lived and enjoyed the finer things with their families, all the while, less than 500 meters away, more than 33,000 people were dying – I understood all at once the feeling John said he got immediately: that there was evil here. It might sound hokey to some, but I believe evil exists, and you know when you’re in the presence of it. Even our trusty “Labradog” was apprehensive when he went ahead of me (John stayed behind with Skye, as it was too snowy and rocky to safely carry her in) and kept whining and scratching – barely remaining still long enough for me to snap a quick iPhone photo.
I don’t need to spend a lot of time talking about what was done at Buchenwald, especially to the audience of this blog. You already know what happened, you already know the depravity that surrounded and caused the death and misery that occurred there.
My heart physically hurt, and my eyes filled – many times. They spilled over, though, as I held my little girl while we looked out over the “inspection field” where prisoners were made to stand for hours in little more than cotton pajamas, their skin raw and exposed, their bodies crawling with vermin and riddled with disease – all hope for mercy extinguished. They spilled over when I saw the shoes of a 4-year-old boy, and thought about how frightened and cold and terribly hungry he must have been, and how alone he must have felt, since he was undoubtedly separated from his mama when he died.
As we passed the entrance gate, and saw the clock frozen at 3:15 (the American Army’s liberation of Buchenwald occurred on 11 April 1945, at 3:15 p.m., and the clock has been permanently stopped to reflect that moment), and the gate’s mocking motto of Jedem das Seine (“To each his own”) cruelly twisted out of iron letters, readable only from the prisoners’ side - I thought of a story I heard Gerda Weissmann tell in the “Testimony” film at Washington D.C.’s Holocaust Museum:
In May 1945, U.S. Army lieutenant Kurt Klein came upon Gerda and about 120 other young women who were all near death, all victims of Nazi concentration camps. Gerda apparently made a sweeping gesture with her hand as she showed Klein where the girls were lying on the ground, and quoted the German poet Goethe (who had lived and died just a few miles from Buchenwald, in Weimar):
“Noble be man, merciful, and good.”
Klein was struck with her composure and declarative irony – delivered so simply and sadly.
He married Weissmann in 1946 in Paris.
As we were leaving, I said aloud to John, “John, I still cannot believe the horror that happened here.”
His response: ”Holly, when you take morality out of the decision cycle, you can convince people that an irrational act is rational.”
Morality and compassion.
“…merciful and good.”
Found this little brass candleholder (when I showed her tonight, Skye immediately said “flowuh, Mama!”) in the back of a dusty cabinet at the Rotes Kreuz today. I took a quick detour on my way to work after I dropped off Skye with Jenn – I figured I’d do my monthly walk-through (where I skulk for a bargain!) and do it as soon as they opened.
I also found some shelves (a pair of them) that are made to be mounted on a wall, and are for dishes or cups.
I consulted Mom via email…and thanks to the magic of iPhones and pictures sent over the internet, she and I are in agreement that I should go ahead and snatch them up tomorrow. They’ll be great bookcases for Skye – and at only 15 € apiece, I’m going to go ahead and paint them and not feel a bit bad about it. We’re thinking white with sky blue (natch!) interiors.
Maybe John and I’ll get it done this weekend – or maybe we’ll just spend the whole weekend in Leipzig instead.
Yeah, painting can wait.
Life is happening!
I’ve been hanging onto this scarf, hoping to get it into the mail before it’s unusable for another year…but our mailroom is only open two days a week and I keep missing their open days!
The twisted herringbone stitch made a beautiful fabric, and it was surprisingly easy to do. Easier than dealing with the post office, apparently. :/
photo credit: www.loon.org
If you’ve never heard a Common Loon, please listen to one now. It’s eerily beautiful and so lonesome. I love it.
Hearing this, I think of being at camp on Lake Winnipesaukee, of campfires complete with guitars and singing, cold summer nights watching the water from the shore rocks, and when I was an of-age visitor, Mom’s days off from the camp at Moose Pond, when we’d go toward the coast and get “chicken” lobsters, French fries and share a cheap, icy-cold bottle of White.
Whatever birdsong you remember fondly, or whatever bird you’ve never heard – you can look it up at Cornell’s Macaulay Library – what an incredible website.
Right now, I’m sort of loving this one, too. ;)
I love this poem.
I think her pragmatism and message are both brilliant. I believe poetry is like a painting, or like a piece of music. It doesn’t have to please everybody. At their best, these art forms make people think. And at their core, if they please you – then you can call them brilliant if you like.
We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” mate, a giddy sound, not strong
Like “rent”, “feeding a wife”, “satisfying a man”.
But could a dream sent up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,
Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?
We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.
Lately, we’ve been cooking a lot out of Kim Boyce’s Good to the Grain cookbook.
It’s a great compilation of recipes you’re used to – but with the twist of whole-grain flours instead of plain old UnbleachedAllPurpose. My favorite so far are the chocolate chip cookies.
Don’t roll your eyes. Try them.
I used rye flour and Ms. Boyce’s recipe for Onion Jam and made blue cheese-and-onion scones. Next time? More salt, different cheese (cheddar) and will add chives.
The onion jam was good-to-go as written, though! Delish.
There’s a great thrift store here in the area where we live – lots of older furniture that the Germans don’t want anymore. In this particular store, there is a lot of the 1940s – 1960s-era blond wood furniture that I just love.
John and I have been waiting to get a bed until we could either A) justify the expense from Thomas Moser (we just can’t seem to get there, though) or B) find an old bed that we love. In the meantime, we’ve been sleeping with the mattress directly on the floor…and it’s been a really crappy night’s sleep every night for about a year and a half, let me tell you.
On Saturday, I dropped off Dosie and Spectre at their beauty parlor appointment and to pass the time, I drove a couple towns over and skulked around, looking for a deal. I walked past a king-size platform bedframe with two endtables – for sixty-five Euros! I didn’t have room for it in the car – or I would have walked out with it.
I went back today with John, he said, “I like it,” and we loaded it all into our two cars.
Now that it’s in our bedroom, and our mattress is springy and high off the ground, well, we more than like it.
We’re thrilled.
“Thrilled” is not the word I’d use to describe our former bedfellow, however.
Who could ever believe they’re not genetically related? I’m proud that my daughter is adopted, don’t get me wrong. She’ll always know it, and our story (private except to our dear friends and family) will be told to her when the time comes. But I am still, and continually, amazed by how much she looks like us.
I love how God works out those details, because of course, she *was* always meant to be ours. I’m so grateful for her Becky, and I’m so grateful for His divine plan.
Some months you just want to put in the past quicker (no, Grammarians, I don’t think that’s a word) than others.
We had some bright spots: my folks celebrated 45 years together on the 11th, my mom-in-law had a birthday and we took a trip to The Somme to see the battlefields and pay our respects at the (sadly, way too many) cemeteries. And of course, we got to hang out with our Bluebird (always a bonus).
But we had some really tough days, too. John and I stood out in the snow in front of our house one night and were talking about all the crap that had come crashing full-blast at us out of nowhere, all that is coming up this year – all the uncertainty that we face – and realized, adversity is what makes “you” stronger. It certainly brought us together more, which I suppose is a proper way to start a year, when I think about it. I took a picture of our view that cold night, to remind me of that conversation.
I love the snow, I love the early darkness and mornings that start slowly. I love the cold, I love the sleety rain – I love the baking and the fires in the fireplace every night. Heck, I even love root vegetables. January is one of my favorite months!
However, this year, I’m definitely looking forward to February.
