Karinaland River

Language as Vehicle and Vessel   Sunday late morning – still so much fog wafting, mystical and mysterious – engulfed in shades of grey. What will the future bring us? Where will it go? How will it look like? Unknown. Seeking anchor, I am reflecting on the last few days, my encounters with German and Jewish friends. All week, history has been visiting me, triggering vivid memories. Opening internal space, where I am free to roam. Vast time spans and continents interweave their landscapes as I am preparing my late breakfast. Come on a ride with me.   Surprisingly, I am in a really good mood. Splurging on a home-made espresso, a rare occasion these days. Getting out my old Bialetti stovetop Moka pot. The fresh coffee beans are called “Grounds for Innocence,” a blend by Bongo Roasting Company in Tennessee, created as a fundraiser for the Innocence Project . This organization has been fighting since 1992 to free the innocently incarcerated, prevent wrongful convictions, and reform ...

  Mellow Lemonbalm und Zärtlichkeit in my garden so much tenderness– so viel Zärtlichkeit  – and medicine   We all need allies. Mine are my wild friends growing on Karinaland ’s hill. Especially three of them. A sprawling meadow of beautiful   Plantain plants (considered a weed by many), now spread out all over the garden, bushy, high, with delicate blooms. From their leaves, stems and flowers, I make a skin-healing oil. The milky seeds of my Wild Oats , harvested at the right time, infused in cognac for my Milky Oats tincture, becomes a gentle nervous system soother. And under the old plum tree my small meadow of Lemon Balm . All three are my tender allies, beloved balms. As oil, tincture and tea, they calm, nourish and soothe skin, nerves, mood and mind. In Germany exists  Klosterfrau Melissengeist , an old classic remedy for all kinds of un-wellbeing – Unwohlsein . Each year, I used to bring a small bottle back to America. Nuns in monasteries knew how to pr...

  The Shards of my Papa’s Story The elements of my Papa’s initiatory story as a teenager can easily be detected in our fast-changing world in America. These days, I hear myself spontaneously sharing with friends and strangers an abbreviated version. In the past I did this very rarely. Even in our family, Papa’s story had been a taboo. My father evoked the traumatic events only two or three times. Listening, it would pain me to witness the toll the remembering took on him.   So why share now?  First, to honor my father as a man of peace, justice, and integrity. Second, to make clear to others, that I know in my own blood and nerve strings what these coming scary times might bring us. Seeing things early, before they are obvious, visible, palpable. Third, as a warning to those around me to take things seriously. As shocking as it might be. Good luck might keep many of us unchallenged, unscathed. We might stay under the radar, quiet. Perhaps serendipity will save our life. O...

Let Us Be Careful   The last few days, a feeling of being adrift in a vast tumultuous ocean…. I am stirred deeply.  Uneasy. The recent bizarre speeches of American politicians in Germany have left me strangely irritated. The arrogant tone, the hostility. As most of you know, I am now officially  both a German Citizen and an American Citizen . Both countries with their histories and cultures are lodged in my bones. Ich bin tief verbunden . In telephone talks with my two siblings, I try to find out how things are evolving in Germany, the country I left 44 years ago. In recent years, cultural transformations of unknown outcome have been happening. Again, times of war in Europe. It does not bode well for the future. The weight of the Unknown. Generational and personal memories keep arising.     In 1992, I arrange for my (Chicago born Jewish)  late husband Bob Blauner and me  (München born German) a personal tour of the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial. W...