Twas the day before Christmas

At 69, the holidays are different.  Gone are the expectations of what may be, thrills at opening presents, experiments in riding, doing, constructing, playing all ending in exhaustion for children and parents at the end of the day with the Christmas meal.  Now my grandchildren are young adults, my daughter and son-in-law are well into their 40's, landing unexpectedly in middle age, amazed to remember when they thought that age to be that of the ancients.  

My holidays are now about memories of past times, like joining my sisters and mother, ensuring her holidays were full of fun, especially, I remember, the year, they all chipped in to give me my first yellow foul weather suit with its large brimmed hat that tied under my chin with a blue cord; like constructing my daughter's first bicycle with her dad at midnight laughing at the instructions that started out "Assemble before riding"; like stomping  through the snow in New York City with John to celebrate mid-night mass with caroling and the Christmas story, every year a different but sparkling experience.

My memories do not make me wish for the past, rather they warm me, fill me like a satisfying meal.  Each memory is special, some more exciting or ordinary than others, but all add up to what they are -- a history not to be shed. Presents are no longer necessary as we are lucky, we can buy exactly what we want, when we want it.  Our love and friendship satisfies us.  However, we continue to fill "orders" to deliver what our grandchildren specify and attempt to surprise our children and their spouses with presents, hoping to hit the targets of their desires.


As you can see from the photo and I am sure you are experiencing it for yourself, the weather this holiday season is gray, wet, warm and humid so our focus beyond a modest set of decorations in the apartment is on spending what is becoming "buckets of money" on preparations for next year -- repairing, outfitting, customizing, and enhancing Dolce Vento for our sailing adventure that starts in late summer 2016.  The work is like a HGTV episode, except we know that in the end the cost will not be recovered when we"list it", but we need to do it to "love it" because it will be home for quite a long time in the not to distant future.

We'll spend the summer on the Chesapeake Bay testing Dolce Vento's systems, new and old equipment, learning her quirks and strengthening our skills with this 46' recreational vehicle without wheels, but rather a 5'5" keel that slices the water while her 60'1" mast and sails fly through the air above.  In late August, our belongings will go into storage when we abandon all that is land based.  We are headed to the Keys first using a combination of coastal sailing and the Inter-coastal Waterway (ICW), then sail over to the Caribbean Islands in early 2017, if all goes reasonably well.  

Our lives are growing shorter, our skin is wrinkling and our muscles are demanding more exercise than ever before, so we decided to spend this last set of years doing something we are passionate about.  Life is an adventure and this holiday season is the opening to a new chapter.  What is in store for us we do not know, but we look forward to it.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Letter from Berlin

 

When you view German painting and sculpture created from the late 1800's to 1930's you get a sense of German culture.  Through a series of "successions" from the formal art academies, young German artists sought to align themselves with the modernists and the innovations of impressionism, cubism and abstract art that had exploded in throughout Europe.  However, after viewing the exhibition at the Bröhan Museum, we concluded that these artists were unable to imbue their work with the light and freshness, clarity and color purity of non-German artists at that time.  We sensed a seriousness or darkness that pervaded the work.  None of it made me embrace the art; rather it made me study it, not experience it.  Instead, where Germans succeeded above others was in crafts and fine arts-- Bauhaus, Art Nouveau and Art Deco design, all innovative styles in the building or construction of things.  German furniture and fixtures, where function and form combine, are a joy to sit in, touch and experience.

To understand more about the Berlin psyche, see "Bridge of Spies", a story of the cold war reality of a divided Berlin.  The devastation of Nazi rule and allied bombing of the city, the post WWII Soviet occupation and blockade, the East Berlin dictatorship with its Stasi police that spied on and terrorized East Berliners and the Wall that separated them from freedom resulted in over 250,000 tortured and almost 16,000 dead between 1946 to 1989.  This is the underlying cultural legacy of Berlin.  It is a city of people weary of secrets and guns who demand openness, personal privacy, freedom to act and commitment to democratic and transparent government.  It is why Germany took in a million Syrian refugees escaping the terrorism and destruction of the Assad regime in this past two years.  Freedom is precious for Berliners know what is it like not to have it.

For generations to come, Berliners will remind themselves of this dark past through its museums and memorials. The Holocaust Memorial starkly plants you amid coffin like gray granite blocks taking you into dark depths of isolation and unexpected fear of what is next around the corner.  Portions of the Wall has been preserved.  Tall iron posts the height of the wall mark where it once stood across the city.  The Stasi Prison conducts tours, some guided by former prisoners, to explain the physical and mental brutality of the Stasi against its own people.  The DDR Museum is dedicated to East Berlin life, the good, the bad and the very ugly.

The fastest growing and most energetic sector of Berlin in the former East Berlin where our friends Liz and Piotr live with their young daughter.  New construction and rehabilitation of old buildings for offices, apartments and retail space proliferate because there is open and re-purposed land ready for expansion.  All of Berlin is connected by an complete transportation system of affordable trams, underground subways and above ground trains and buses.  We traveled on all during our week visit.  

Living in Berlin is affordable with solid modern housing, excellent government supported childcare and support for families, placing a high value on free education from preschool through university.  Food is affordable and there is nothing better than the breads and pastries.  Bakeries are everywhere. I'm talking about flaky, delectable, light and not overly sweet cream puffs, croissants, eclairs, cakes, tarts, waffles, and custards displayed next to savory scones, puff pastries, and other edible delights.  Local cuisine focuses on cabbage dishes (sour krauts), warm potato salads, snitchzels, sausages, and goulashes or stews (meat, potatoes and vegetables in a gravy sauce).  To augment their crispy potato pancakes are crisp on the outside and creamy on the inside frites, sturdier than those of the French.  The food reminded me of my mother's cooking which she learned from her mother and grandmother.

The challenge we learned is the every day bureaucracy that has yet to be modernized and streamlined to support the rapidly expanding modern, technology adept population.  For example, to get your car registered and your drivers license, you must must go to multiple bureaus and private offices.  For exmaple, in Decmeber, you need to stand in line for an appointment to get processed.  The first opening are in February.  As Piotr said, "It makes American DMVs look like heaven."  

What we loved about Berlin was being outside, despite the cold weather.  In late November and December leading up to Christmas, there is a Winter Christmas Market in almost every Platz (Plaza).  The protestant religion is state supported so the markets are unabashedly Christian Christmas celebrations.  Markets are dressed in lights, have dozens of tents and stands offering grilled foods, pastries, mulled wines, beers and coffees, gifts and crafts of all sorts.  But, in my opinion, besides the entertainment stages, the best fun is had on the Ferris wheels, ponies and other rides for the kids that bring a holiday carnival atmosphere to the markets.  Berliners take their winter holidays seriously, rain, shine or snow.

With the euro at only $1.10, it is a good time to visit Berlin.  Just bring your woolly mittens, hat and warm clothes.  Our visit was special because our friends, Liz and Piotr, not only gave us shelter, helped us get oriented, joined us for some of our touring, but they also gave us valuable insights into the everyday life of living and working in Germany.  This city has energy.  It's a great place for young people to live, have children and do well. 
Aufwiedersehen!

Letter from London

London is like my favorite sweater -- comfortable, familiar and warm.  This is our fourth stay at the same hotel, just three blocks up from the Holborn tube station on the Piccadilly line that we take in from Heathrow airport.  It's a brilliant location just three blocks to the British museum, four blocks to Covent Garden and an easy walk  over to the Thames River to the south, Oxford Street Selfridges shopping to the west or St. Paul's and the City of London Museum to the east.  In this climate changed weather, it was mild, sometimes windy and occasionally sunny during our week here.  While in the north of England, cities and villages were inundated with rains and resulting floods, London had only light rain occasionally.

The purpose of this trip was to catch up with Martyn, with whom we have kept a friendship over twenty years after  we first met on a hiking tour in Tuscany, and his daughter, family and close circle of friends.  Under his guidance and companionship, we have a insider's experience when we visit, allowing us to embed ourselves in the culture and pulse of the city.  I've been visiting London since 1984, but knowing Martyn makes it special. Whether it's dinner out in London or at his home in suburb north of London, attending a Sunday concert we would never have found on our own, accompaying him to an opera or play in Covent Garden, exploring on our own the National Gallery, Tate Modern or British Museum, or  catching the river bus to Greenwich, we are at home in London.

London as many people know is a multi-cultural city.  Because of this, the holiday lights are less gold, green and red, leaning more to the white, silver and blue.  Window dressings are minor compared to what we have in the States, however, huge light ornaments and stars swing from lines that crisscross the main shopping streets in the areas of Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and Covent Garden.  Although,  I must say, the holiday street market in front of the Tate Modern was especially festive with green and red lights, tinsel and bells.  Stands selling crafts were intermingled with others offering grilled sausages, pretzels, and sweets.  We indulged.

We had a chance to see two major exhibits this week.  For the first, at the British Museum, we purchased tickets online before we came.  This exhibit traced the history of religions in Egypt since the pharoahs and their influnences on Egyptian culture.  Over a period of some six to seven hundred years, starting with the death of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony ending  the age of the Pharaohs, came the  Roman gods followed by Jews, then the Christains and then the Islamists, the dominant religious force today.  Each adopted practices, icons and rituals of their predecessors and added new ones to the mix.  For example, the familar icon of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ child looks almost exactly like the icon of the Egyptian goddess Isis holding her son in her arms.

The second exhibit, the portait painting of Goya, at the National Gallery, was recommended to us by Martyn.  It was a breath taking collection as Goya was able to capture the essence of his subjects.  Throughout the seven rooms of the exhibition, I felt like I was looking at real people, their eyes and features were so honestly and plainly presented.  Most of us know Goya as a dark painter who presented in oils the horror of the Inquistion and war.   The portaits reflect a completely different side that allowed him to succeed through a number of political upheavals in Spain during his lifetime.

At luncheon yesterday after a chamber music piano, cello and violin trio that played to packed the hall, I spent time explaining American politics to my eight companions.  They were thristy for first hand knowledge of Obama, Trump and the upcoming election as well as an explanation of why the U.S. is so completely gun crazy.  I did my best to explain it all, but had to admit that much was up in the air in our polarized environment. It was much less fun than the previous evening when John and I explained the rules of baseball to our dinner party, comparing what they saw as complext rules to what we saw as the incomprehensible rules of  cricket.  It was a brilliant, good laugh. Luckily, almost everyone had traveled in the U.S. and were very sympathic.

That's what I like about London.

My first visit

When the Social Security Office counselor failed to call me as the letter promised at the appointed day and time, I decided that the best course of action was a direct action -- to show up in person at the office to get my medicare monthly fee adjusted for 2016.  It was a learning experience, kind of like a root canal, the process can be painful, but the result could solve the problem.

The sky was pregnant with rain on Monday morning as I drove down to the office.  Luck was with me, I found a parking spot right in front of the building.  Thinking that I could easily and quickly make an appointment with a counselor for a meeting after I returned from vacation, I was frustrated a bit when I accidentally hit the "max" button for a parking pass.  I had paid for two hours, instead of 30 minutes.  "Oh well,"  I said to myself,  "the next guy to take this parking place will have a gift of some free parking."  Little did I know what last lay ahead for me.

I walked into the office at 11 am to find over 40 people waiting in a space designed to accommodate 20.  Like the DMV, I signed in at the computer and was issued a number based on my selection of topic area from the five presented to me.  My number was F512.  Posted on the board the "F" type was at number F502.  I must wait my turn.

In the middle of the mass of humanity, was a young woman who started complaining about the wait she was enduring, raising her voice and swearing so all could hear.  We attempted to ignore her ranting, but it was impossible, as few people can say "mother fucking" in so many ways.  She made her way to the front of the room, continuing her stream of consciousness. The guard at the desk stood,  glared, then abruptly went into the back office.  Five minutes later, a very authoritative woman, tall, a bit heavy set, but muscular, wearing glasses, came to the counter and announced in the voice of a drill sergeant, using a microphone, "If you cannot wait for your number to be called, please leave now.  Profanity is not allowed in this office.  It is Monday and Monday is always busy."  The guard returned, standing at attention at his desk.  The young woman, stood and stamped out.  Everyone in the room, breathed a sign of relieve, returning to a quiet wait.  Lessons learned - do not come to the Social Security Office on a Monday and do not cross the office manager, if you want to have your problem resolved.

The office manager then came out into the waiting room and explained, "We are short handed today so we will get to you, but it will take time."  She answered questions with her strong voice, making everyone understand that she and her staff cared about them and would take care of everyone given some time.   We hunkered down.

Coming to the Social Security Office was a leveling experience.  I was surrounded by people, only a few like my white, middle class self.  Languages proliferated, aged women and men were accompanied by their adult children; students with backpacks were sprinkled among others in work clothes or disabled in wheel chairs.  We all shared one restroom.  We all waited. We were all in the same boat and determined to keep it pleasantly afloat.

As I finished up my third New Yorker magazine article, my number was called.  I didn't need to make an appointment; a counselor processed by request in a matter of minutes.  She was pleasant, helpful and patient as I filled out the required form.  I left the office like many of the others who had waited with me - pleasantly surprised by the staff's kindness and support.  With patience, the government bureaucracy can work.  I returned to my car with 10 minutes to spare.