Karinaland River

  Quince and Courage The strong visual language of quince intrigues all who encounter them, whether on my tree or dining table. This ancient fruit – who was most likely the true “apple” of ancient times – holds forth with earthiness and energetic originality. Hers is a lovely mantra: “Unabashedly I dare being myself.”  Perfectly imperfect. Each fruit grows into a splendid golden yellow globe, and inhabits its uniquely sculpted shape with quiet vibrancy. Quince is a queen. Unapologetic. Self-assured. Gnarly. Bold. In all of her aspects, she emanates a true beauty. Her perfumed fragrance is delicate, her unusual taste multi-layered, tart, sweet, unexpected. Being a wise old woman healer, she makes herself useful as medicine. This year my quince tree carries an abundant early harvest. Very happily, I allow the treasures to fill the living room with Quince-ness. And I start cooking batches of quince compote – no sugar added, just a bit of rum, cognac, or Damiana liqueur – deliciou...

  The Cicadas are Calling   This summer the cicadas are singing again in my patio! Oh, how I yearned for them to be back. Last May’s "mind-boggling" flea infestation of the whole hill forced me to have it sprayed with chemicals. Meanwhile, bitten all over my body and discovering that I am extremely allergic to the hundreds of fleabites from working in the garden, I get my first anaphylactic shock. My whole body is densely covered in red welts, ferociously itching every minute of the day and night. Unrelenting. Not just the garden, by now house and bedroom cottage are also infested. Non-stop, I am vacuuming, and washing clothes and sheets. Everywhere I am spraying oils of cedar wood, rosemary, and lemon grass diluted in water, and wipe floors and furniture with it. After two sleepless weeks from the intense pain – worse than itching – I catch a high-dose covid infection, first time and brutal. This takes me out for another three weeks, ribs dislocated from excessive violent co...

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 ...

  I Will Not Be Sad In This World   #2 This declaration is my every day mantra nowadays. 94-year-old Zaroohe – the protagonist of  I Will Not Be Sad In This   World , is a survivor of the Armenian Genocide (1914 – 18). In my 2001 film, she comes alive as gardener, fabulous cook, storyteller, mother, seamstress, grand- & great-grandmother, lover of music and life. She is my heroine. All my life, I had the good fortune of counting amazing elder women as close friends, several of them German-Jewish Holocaust survivors, now long gone. Remembering and honoring them is how I find  Trost , consolation in our times.  Yesterday, my friend Connie sends me pictures from a small town in Germany where she and her late mother Lucy are honored by the 500-year-old Gymnasium  (advanced high school) and the City of Nienburg.  90 years ago, Lucy was forced at age 20 to emigrate to save her life. Recently my lawyer warned me visiting my brother and sister in...

  When You Feel Afraid   When i feel afraid i become a hare at dusk small and white and soft exploring the fields of life learning to bolt, turn corners escaping fitful deadly dangers quickly recognizing helpers i nuzzle and restore   When you feel afraid i become an owl at sunset sailing silently through oaks scanning cool air and ground speedily i carry medicine to those in silenced need of swift miracles calmly sensing their despair i gather and embrace When i feel afraid i become a little girl at midnight tracing paw prints with my fingers counting stars as close friends of mine feeling insanely safe amidst explosions with invisible fierce feet i run and run abruptly stop, rendered helpless i remember and snuggle   When you feel afraid i become a raindrop before dawn letting myself fall and fall and fall along the way touching in with clouds breeze and branches, multiplied by sunrise gently i land on fragrant quince tree blossoms and on your cheek, languidly evap...