Don’t We All Need Care Packages?
How can a small package create so much feeling and pleasure? Well, this package has had a long odyssey coming all the way from Königshagen in Germany where my brother Matthias lives, it is traveling to the US twice. First time, end of August – in a spontaneous move – my brother sends it somehow incorrectly even though it cost a lot of money. Sitting at customs in US for a while, it is then after all returned to him. But das Päckchen urges him to not give up, it is feisty. At the post office he finds out about another option, and mails it again. It takes only 3 weeks this time. So, five days ago, the small package lies peacefully – to my eyes smiling wistfully – in my mailbox after almost three months. My heart leaps. Inadvertently, it has now become my "early" birthday package. Without hesitation, I allow myself to open it. Letting the content spill on the carpet, I am oohing, aahing and cooing, feeling the delirious excitement of very young age. First focus goes to the Woven Eye which my brother created from birch wood, thread, and wool that is spun and dyed by his wife Ingeborg. Both enjoy making things with their hands, an old and long tradition in our family, that has continued in my life on another continent, too. The eye has several sickle moons in it. The day before I started writing a poem with the theme of Promise. Somehow this spunky little package with its long-delayed arrival knew that it wanted to arrive, and especially when – it is winking at me mischievously.
On our last zoom call, not knowing yet where and how the package got held up, we promise each other, no more packages. Very sad. This old tradition of care packages journeying back and forth across the ocean as messengers of appreciation and caring, is abandoned because increasingly they disappear, are delayed for three months or more, or inexplicably cost extra toll in Germany. Forty years of care packages – my mother was sending them to me every December with her incredible Lebkuchen – coming to an end. Mailing presents for birthdays was a beloved ritual for me, as good as receiving them. Big sigh – the small pleasures of small ordinary people don’t have a place anymore in a world of global commerce. As you can see, it is about ordinary pudding pulver, baking powder, dunkle Schokolade, note books, hand-made trinkets. We don’t send things of money value, we exchange gifts that have heart value, calm our homesickness or nostalgia, bring joyful surprise, declare our love, and warm the soul. The German Bio Backpulver tastes much better to me in cakes, the Rapunzel Schoko Pudding a winner. On his birthday I call Matthias. He is just back from for a rare dinner out with his wife and grown son Janis, their annual ritual. During the day, he bakes two cakes for the visit of his other kids and grandchildren next day, Sunday. When he notes: Mit viel Schlagsahne, I groan with pleasure – remembering whipped cream in Germany where everyone eats it without guilt, the real thing! All pastries there are about half as sweet compared to here. My mouth salivates, my brother is a very good baker. I am only getting into it once in a while as an amateur.
Every year, Matthias and I are the same age – gleichaltrig – for a full month and 3 days, till I will leap ahead of him again. After my mid-December arrival as the first child to our then very impoverished yet inventive parents, he is born only 11 months later. How lucky I am to have a brother (and a sister). How very grateful I am for their presence in my life, even if far away. The package also contains photos of Matthias’ big family. So lovely to leave these snapshots of my three nieces, nephew, and the grandkids lying on the table and couch. And here is one of him:
https://karinalandriver.blogspot.com/2022/05/a-week-ago-i-met-my-brother-matthias.html
PS: Found this sunset photo from December 2005 – my brother visiting me for the first and only time – we look young, don’t we? Eighteen years later, both of us are just as happy, perhaps even more, fulfilled and at peace… my heart flows over with gratitude.
We used to send care packages to our maternal uncle's family in East Germany – Ostzone. My brother grew up for the first three years of his life in Weimar (East Germany) with the paternal grandparents who had a big garden and chicken. In München (West Germany) there was not enough food to feed us both, my parents in a tiny attic room whose ceiling fell, almost crushing me as a baby. Remember, there was a military border between East and West – we almost did not get him back.
What is your story of care packages? Please share….
https://www.dw.com/en/care-packages-prevented-starvation-in-post-war-germany/a-15313828
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