If I could turn back time… I would go back to the time just before I was born. Those couple of months just before the birth of their first, and ultimately only, child when my parents were presumably discussing how they would bring me up. I would try to infiltrate
My father was a hoarder. His house was not as bad as those you see on television, with stacks of newspapers lining the walls and furniture balancing on top of each other in the corners, but he certainly kept stuff. So much so that, when he died, I threw out
Once again I have found something interesting in my quest to sort through the paperwork and documents I inherited from my parents. The picture above shows the front and back of a small card, around the size of a business card, I found tucked away in some of my father’s
Is writing in the blood? Are writers born and not made? Can the desire, if not the talent, for writing be inherited? I write, my parents wrote – my mother authored a couple of non-fiction books – and my maternal grandmother was a published author of a memoir, Upheaval. I
My son is an awesome father. I might be slightly biased, but he truly is doing a wonderful job as a dad and his boys adore him. I love the way he engages himself with every aspect of his sons as they grow up. A quick online search brings up
„Gone, gone, the damage done“ are lyrics from a Neil Young song and, while the song is about drug addicts, the words could also describe the feeling my father, and I’m sure other Baltic Germans, felt when their properties were confiscated. I wrote about their estate, Nurmhusen, here and described