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  Knowing Last night, on New Year’s Eve, 2025, I am flooded with immense gratitude, bigger than life. To honor it, I finally write about something specifically sacred to me. With its intense flame, the essence of the story is burning inside me. Today, ten years ago, my Mama puts her simple paper affairs one more time in order with the assistance of Edeltraut, her trustworthy helper who comes twice a day. It’s New Year’s Eve – Sylvester . I speak to her on the phone, my morning, her evening already, nine hours difference. “Like you, I am not going to do anything, just go to bed early,” I say. She falls asleep and never wakes up again. That night of hers is my day here. Despite not having heard yet of her death, I seem to know. The irrepressible urge to drive to Point Reyes for a walk on the beach. When two hospice workers drop by bringing confusing news about the service for my husband Bob, I blurt out impatiently: “I need to go, can’t figure this out now.” At the ocean, my feet are...
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How Little It Takes   Maybe just a ginkgo leaf falling into your lap? The winds of winter are blowing hard. Making me feel a little homesick and lonely. On my way home from errands, I spontaneously stop at the outdoor latke tent at Saul’s. This decision seems random, but it highlights my vague longing for comfort. Last day of Hannukah, dusk is falling fast. Solstice with its longest night. A warm rain storm to arrive soon. Everyone I am encountering today is kind. The tired cook fetches the last hot latke for me and asks if I like applesauce and sour cream. Yes, I do. He is generous with the applesauce, just the way I like it. I meander over to the bench to devour this snack which makes me feel home. An elder gray-haired gentleman sits there, quietly waiting for his take-out order. He looks kind. Me, an elder white-haired lady, completely absorbed in my latke delight, my own small world. Taking bites from the crunchy treat which is cooling down fast. Savoring. Entranced by tastes o...
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  Winter Angels – Engel   cement is bursting again and again, delicate tiny blossoms break the heart of sidewalk unfathomably bright faces, fleeting presence   just as we might freeze stiff with cold, fear, gilded greed we also might melt into an ocean of gratitude, forgetting our untrustworthy desires, arbitrarily chosen smallness   sometimes an angel appears with modest gifts leaving them in your shoes or under the tree then flies down the many stairs and the little girl rushes to get a glimpse of angel presence and… – she does   in winter we wait, we welcome the dark sister precious glow of flame, snowy night flickering inner fire warms our fingertips, toes, and soul   we remember the sick and lonely, we send care packages, later we hum and sing in harmony, eat Stollen und Lebkuchen , connecting East and West   sometimes, filled to the brim, we turn light as a feather we dance to the floor, spiraling, whirling swirling bowing to God, Grace, Gravity,...
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  Leseratten   It’s not fashionable with human beings, but I must admit that I admire the curious and inventive intelligence of rats. I have even written a couple of children stories, in one a desert rat features prominently, in the other a white pet rat. And from Garland (owner of Rat Patrol) I have learned over the decades many things about city rats’ lives and behavior. Today I will introduce you to two different rats, and of course they are as smart as any other. They know to make themselves useful: by being Leseratten . Reading Rats – how do you like that? In English this term would perhaps be translated to bookworms. In German we call anybody – young people especially – who get easily and endlessly lost in books: Leseratten , reading rats. I was one of those kids. An endangered species now. Rare, forgotten. Till it might come back into fashion… digital is only one of many ways to feel connected. Let me introduce you to Lupina and Marco, dressed in red-patterned and black...
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  Flows, Sings In the early hour peeing later morning   surprises on tongue tasting tea teeth chewing lips   listening with feet on curious soles   another day steps into my humming orb with honest clarity   midday overflows into afternoon filled with silken chords multiple voices ring echoing through ears, flesh, bones   misty waves of sound weaving droplets into dusky desire for rest, drifting, winter five o’clock sun’s gone already, structures, roofs, walls, fences, blurred, melted, faint – how could the day glide so effortlessly Open is the garden: Licht   fading to shades of grey evening sprouts questions   darkness delicately explores night star-studded with dreams Here a fugue entices centuries converge music by J.S. Bach reaches consoles, flows, sings, strings shimmer Tröstet das Herz, wir sehnen uns nach dieser Berührung der Seele   Es regnet… Auch heute noch In der kleinen Kathedrale klingt der Gesang  Violoncello Stimme Orgel ...
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Trustworthy             A secret safety resides in the pomegranate’s pregnant belly           is hiding inside bloodred seeds of truth filled with imminent           life – we might no longer believe in such luscious possibilities           instead, we the people panic, deny, force, coerce, control, are           thinking too wishfully, grasping tightly – can’t trust the stream           skin and brain cells’ quiet steady renewal, pulsing beingness           – tenacious           change so intensely uncomfortable, inconvenient, uncontrollable           like my laughter when the radio announcer reports that the driver           was put into driver-less status, yes, his misconduct got pass...
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  Our Common Smallness   The hawk circles high, nothing escapes his eyes. Big white and grey clouds are billowing in blue sky. Out of old habit, I enjoy paying attention to the “ordinary” beings around me, there is little pomposity to be found in their extra-ordinary splendor. Observing, asking questions, listening curiously, intuitively sensing how to best connect. This Thursday, I am happy to see the open round face of a young man coming up the stairs. Right away, I know we are going to have a good time. Despite my big problem that turns out to be very expensive, sigh – quickly we are at ease with each other. He expresses his admiration for the Memorial Mural on the garage doors, wants to take a picture of it, share. It moves him. Later I tell him more about honoring the people affected, whether dead or freed. The research it took to give each their tiny bit of personal story. A wall for mourning. Obviously, his heart is spacious and has a natural tendency toward justice. He...
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  Love Poems of Life The summer of 1991, I am hired to take care of Lowell. Barbara, his wife of only one year, asks me to also cook. There is a steady stream of visitors which Lowell delights in. His best friend is Bob, a writer and sociologist, visiting often. After dinner, everyone enjoys listening to Bob as he reads out loud from his writing-in-progress about his Jewish family and upbringing in Chicago. Balmy evenings. Lowell’s progressing bladder cancer. He and I have a secret code when things need to calm down: doucement – gently. Three weeks later, the hospital bed arrives, making things a little easier. Lowell needs stronger painkillers. Together we discern who is “comfortable” visiting their bedridden friend, now by looking gaunt. I am laser focused on Lowell’s well-being, all else is just part of the colorful, at times thorny, setting. To me new, unknown. Doucement. The home is light filled, birds chirping outside the window, a warm breeze. On this quiet Sunday afternoon,...
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  Defiant is the Word   keeps sneaking into my dreams like a girl with long thin sandy braids on her screw-on metal roller skates Twirling   slithers into my daily labor in the garden bare hands weed, dig, prune, tenderly treat those thorny things, noble thistles Laughing spending time memorizing new locations street names, turns, maps, when GPS seems bent on making us helpless, unable to survive Without   definitely using cash, rarely that plastic card robbing us in split seconds, keeping our fingers from sensing paper, deciding, counting, valuing Quietly all that is offered to us as convenient, as necessary easier, cheaper – tyranny of more – the price is high yet we follow, follow news, fashion, others, ads, fads Blind   costing us an arm and a leg, not taking time to muse speak and act for ourselves, it accumulates, the gladly mindless habits of copying – rusted, repeated same old Sentences defiant – needed quality to escape the slippery road down ...
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  Thin Skinned Darkness Has emerged for us on earth. How are we going to ride it?   Paradoxically, as a child, I experience thin-skinned darkness in the majestic pathless unpeopled forests. The canopy of tall trees, whispering high above to each other in secret languages. Leaving us humans on the moss-covered bottom in the dark. Soft bare feet. Mama in her wide long light-blue skirt, smiling Papa, little brother, little sister, further off, invisible and yet present. Family is spread far apart. I know their presence. Der Wald ist dunkel, und schön. Durchsichtig. Transparent. Dünnhäutig , thin skinned. We each ­– sammeln Beeren – collect buckets of berries, blue and red, in pregnant silence. Blaubeeren, Walderdbeeren, Waldhimbeeren. Blau und Rot. Food to be transformed into a simple dish, berries with milk – heavenly. And jam or jelly for the winter, our vitamin supply.   The fifties in Bavaria, Germany. Post war. Our displaced small family. For me as a young girl, time...
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