Vater, Mutter, Kind(er).

60 Jahre - Diamantene Hochzeit (6.Juni 2010)

Nun sind sie also doch gekommen, die Eltern, "Schnuppi" und Hansi, ein Paar aber nun eben auch ein Pfleger und ein Patient. Es war sehr heiß, selbst am Eastern Shore und schon Ende Mai. Nina war mit dem in Gips gelegten Liam in Baltimore verblieben, Jonas, Brittany, Vera und Chas, wir machten uns in zwei Wagen kurz nach dem frühen Frühstück auf den Weg nach Rock Hall.

Dirk hatte die Eltern schon am Tag zuvor hierher kutschiert und sich mit Bodo, Walle, Wolfram und Gabi getroffen. Jetzt am Mittwochmorgen um kurz nach zehn waren alle mit dem Frühstück fertig und erschienen nach und nach auf den Stufen des in heisse Sonne getauchten Bed and Breakfast Hunting Field. Hans und Inas Körpergröße und Haut waren vielleicht etwas mehr geschrumpelt ,sie sahen aber im wesentlichen wie immer aus, jedenfalls wollte ich mir dies einreden. Bei genauerer Betrachtung hat Ina allerdings irgendwie ungesunde Farben im Gesicht, zu rot, auf jeden Fall, Blutdruck vielleicht. Dann sind da aber auch noch andere Farben, die für mich schwer auszumachen sind. Umarmung, ein etwas feucht haariger Kuß von der Mutti, „mein Erstgeborener“ sagt sie. Momentan war alles wie immer.

Demenz in den Anfängen fügt sich lückenlos ins Persönlichkeitsbild ein. Springt nicht hervor wie ein wildes Tier, man muss sie suchen und findet sie in ewig wiederholten Fragen und in Vergesslichkeit. Aber auch diese ist nicht vorhersehbar, nicht nur ist vieles aus der tiefen Vergangenheit durchaus präsent, nicht nur ist das English Vokabular unverändert, wenn nicht sogar verbessert, da sind auch exakte Erinnerungen von Dingen vom Vortag oder Plänen, die den nächsten Tag betreffen. Da ist auch immer noch Ironie und Schlagfertigkeit. Die schon immer etwas stereotypen Beobachtungen über das Leben am Wegesrande kommen nun standardisierter, doch all dies ist unverkennbar Ina.

Wir haben gegessen, getrunken, Reden gehalten, gefeiert und sogar gesungen. Bodo hat die Ehe zutreffend charakterisiert, Dirk hervorragend übersetzt. Dann haben wir mit Hannahs zweiter Hochzeitsfeier noch einen draufgesetzt und Hans und Ina haben sogar getanzt. Helki hat endlich ihre Großeltern (wieder-)entdeckt und ein jeder Tag begann mit einem gemeinsamen Familienfrühstück.

Gestern, 11 Tage spaeter, Abschiedsfahrt von Catonsville nach Dulles. Ina vorne sitzend, der Hans hinten im Jetta, schweigsam, da redert sie in einem fort über den Verkehr, Aufschriften der vorbeifahrenden Fahrzeuge, was es bedeutet nun zwei Söhne im fernen Amerika zu haben und was um alles in der Welt hier denn nun soviel besser sei als in Deutschland. Als ein Unfall die entgegenkommenden Fahrspuren blockierte und einen langen Stau zur Folge hatte, beobachtete sie wie einst als wir zusammen gen Norden in den Urlaub fuhren, was dies doch nun für arme Schweine seien, dort festzusitzen und nicht zu wissen was vorne los sei. Die Tatsache daß man sich in umgekehrter Richtung frei vorwärts bewegend in diesem Doppelvorteil befindet, daß man ungehindert fährt und zudem weisswas die anderen aufhält, während diese still stehen und nichts wissen, hat sie schon immer fasziniert. Hans brütet derweil darüber, daß dies wohlmöglich seine letzte Reise in die USA war, oder jedenfalls vermute ich dies. Ob auf unserem Spaziergang oder beim letzten Tee und Bier am Flughafen, lenken wir die Gespräche auf den Ölteppich im Golf von Mexico, den elektrischen Circulator Bus oder das I Phone, auf männliche Themen, die ungefährlich und unpersönlich sind. Wir sprechen natürlich auch von Ina und wie ihn diese Umstellung von Partnerschaft auf Pflege belastet.

Da er natürlich Auskunft über meine Zukunft geben könnte und erst Recht über meine Vergangenheit, vielleicht sogar gerne über seine Erinnerungen, Ängste, Erwartungen und Probleme im hohen Alter reden würde, empfinde ich meine und seine Unfähigkeit diese Themen anzusprechen als mein persönliches Versagen. Ich träume von den verpassten Gelegenheiten, stehe die ganze Woche unter Spannung, da ich weiß, daß diese Woche mit den Eltern sich nie mehr wiederholen wird, daß Ina beim nächsten Mal nicht mehr dieselbe sein wird, nicht nur im streng akademischen Sinn von Zeit und Raum, sondern ganz konkret, als Person. Nun, da sie wieder in Heidenheim weilen und meine Welt sich langsam wieder ins Gewohnte einpendelt (wenn da nicht Nayna’s morgige Operation wäre) schreibe ich hier auf, was gewesen ist um wenigstens das Wenige, das ich wahrgenommen habe, festzuhalten.

Hans und Ina, die am Flugplatz hinter der Abgrenzung verschwinden, die die Passagiere von den Zurückbleibenden trennt. Die Rolltreppe macht sie kürzer und kürzer, nochmal winken, dann sind sie allein dem Mahlwerk der Kontrollen und der Abfertigung überlassen und ich fahre ebenfalls allein zurück über den nunmehr staufreien Beltway.

Ina hatte mindestens dreimal gefragt ob wir dieses Jahr nochmal gedenken, nach Deutschland zu kommen und dreimal habe ich geantwortet, daß mit Jonas Hochzeit und Hannahs Feier in Istanbul daran wohl nicht zu denken sei und mir jedesmal ausgerechnet, wie weit der geistige Fall bis 2011 wohl fortgeschritten sei und mich gefragt ob so eine Reise nicht wichtiger sei als Geld, Urlaubstage, Büro und all die Verpflichtungen hier und mir gleichzeitig eingestanden, daß ich gerne in diesen Alltag zurückschnappe, wo Dinge geordnet erscheinen und wo die Fragen nach Tod und Leben und vor allem dem Sinn des Lebens wieder ohne weiteres verschoben werden können.

Oil, black gold and also killer

The black gold just as its cousin the real gold is well suited to bring out the human condition. Greed, carelessness, the risk fuelling inventiveness and what is commonly considered progress. Petroleum along with coal have propelled the industrial revolution and both have added considerable stories of tragedy and loss to the storybook of mankind. It is telling that at a moment of time when the end of oil is being proclaimed by some and renewable energies are in everybody’s mouth (but barely in anybody’s furnace) that oil is leaking profusely from the earth and into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. One mile deep under water where it is very cold and very very dense and dark. Inventiveness is being challenged to not only make the earth give up the oil but now also to stop the gushing. Deepwater plumbing sounds awfully similar to the familiar one, cutting and plugging and bending pipes. However, the oil keeps gushing. Although one can see the geyser online, BP is the sole steward of this debacle unlike, say a big industrial fire on land which would bring practiced government response into quick action. Thus, the catastrophe is private but the outcome is public. The consequences from this imbalance are not yet clear. Maybe we will learn that we cannot hand over the world to the big monopolies.
With the smog of winter gone from most of our cities, with cars burning cleaner and the ubiquitous plastics all around having no apparent similarity with the black goo that is petroleum, we so-called industrialized nations have forgotten what a big mess oil really is. The rig that exploded was supposed to be a safe and modern affair until it exploded and sank. Now public opinion is shifting from “drill baby drill” (Republican slogan during the last presidential election) to caution against more offshore drilling. Nobody is clamoring for drilling in the Alaskan reserve right now and Republicans shifted quickly from wanting more drilling to blaming Obama for considering additional off shore oil exploitation in recent months or for not having enough government involvement in the current calamity. There is so much irony in all that that it would be funny weren’t the dimensions of this ecological tragedy on so gigantic that we cannot even fathom them.
Yet, nothing has really changed except that the Gulf calamity shows once more that whatever contraptions humans invent, they will fail once in a while. With an oil carpet of gigantic size floating aimlessly in the sea still fuelled by the flow from the depth it is clear that no plan exists for a disaster of this scale. In effect there was one barrier designed for the case of breakage and it failed, now all bets are off. As land mammals we are most concerned about oil reaching land and feverishly build flimsy barriers so the oil would stay afloat and not wash up on terra firma. We even spray detergents into the mess so it would disperse and sink, out of sight, out of mind. Once the winds shift and storms hit the barriers will be overrun and one day we will discover that oil in the sea or at the bottom of it is as destructive there as on land.
Offshore oil drilling will be “out” for a few years maybe while nuclear is in again because it is supposedly so clean and carbon free. Until a big nuclear accident will occur and will make us remember that the nuclear gamble is even much bigger than the one with oil.
Let’s hope these are the last throws of the dirty age of fossil fuels and nuclear adventures and the beginning of a truly sustainable future. But don’t hold your breath.

My Little Friend

In his little face one can see the effort, concentration and excitement that comes with discovering, processing and understanding this world. The sharp senses of the newly forming brain register the full sensual range of pleasure and pain with little deflection, no capability for rationalization, suppression or cynicism which each dull the older mind thus enabling it for survival.

Nothing is more fun than joining the quests of the now 16 months old young mind. So much to discover, so much to see, so much to learn, so much to feel. Opening up to see the world with his eyes is almost like being reborn. Although the old eyes need glasses which, smudged from his little fingers, actually offer little help, they now see beyond the fine points of optics: An almost forgotten world is flooding the stress-battered old mind. Like in time travel I go back to a simple understanding and direct sensation that was once mine, too, at an age too young to remember.

It feels like sharing the mind of the infant, direct and unfiltered. The glory of it is overpowering for, everyone can see it, we seem to be of one mind while we are unencumbered of the constraints of the daily routine. The new territory of grandfatherly love is almost as confusing as the teenager's crush.

How many Dimensions?

14 March 2010

String theory adds up to six dimensions to our usual set of three giving room for theoretical physicists and science fictionists alike to speculate about parallel universes which might be folded into our known one like Russian dolls or less convincingly, might coexist outside ours.
We humans don’t usually need quantum scales in our daily life, we nevertheless live in several universes and times at the same moment without all too much thought. I was reminded of this today when I observed Liam and Nina interact, the mother infant universe with a sun and a planet, a complete system the child revolving around the mother, in a stable attraction and on a fairly predictable trajectory, and the mother giving all the warmth and love as well as the gravitas to keep it that way. Concurrent I saw the parallel universe of Nina in Liam’s age with her mother, whom Nina resembles strikingly. Although Liam is quite the boy his demeanor and charme remind me a lot of his mother’s as an infant and when I hold Liam echoes from Nina’s past reverberate through my senses and memories.
Fainter and still discernible are weak reverberations of my own past as a child, the time when my mother was my sun and my life rotated around her. She, still alive and Liams’ great grandmother, now in the late chapter of her life, her own warmth diminishing and she herself in need of the glow of her offspring.
These three universes were all real at the same time just as the big bang is still around in the form of background radiation. We process all these dimensions, times and layers usually flawlessly and in split-seconds. No hourglass shows up on our retina to show overload, if the vibrations get too strong we feel saturated with feeling, sentiment, sorrow, hope and inspiration. This makes us superior to computers and, in spite of our size our brain might match the complexity of the electrons, quarks and gluons, their uncertainties and jitters and quantum entanglements.
Liam can safely sleep in his mother’s orbit on 72nd Street in Manhattan but he also is still here, I encounter his sounds, his expressions and his words at all the places he had just filled with his joy and it is as if they were still warm from the vibrations of life. Nothing better represents life than the young child expressing, exploring and discovering it. Nine dimensions might not even be enough to describe it all.

Death of an Architect

The entire architectural community was assembled on the top floor of the new Legg Mason building in trendy Harbor East and waited for the Grand Design award to be announced by the President of the local AIA.
It was Mike Murphy, partner and CEO of Murphy Dittenhafer who was called on the stage once more to receive the grand design award for a whimsy pool house design. Mike, with a full head of gray hair, a wry smile and omnipresent at all events architectural. One that would raise his hand and register disagreement, discontent and at times make blunt statements. One, who wasn't afraid. It was easy to see that his big head was not afraid of a possible wall to run into.
Mike was designer and entrepreneur and he built a lot of stuff. Modern at times, preserving historic structures at others. He fought for the preservation of the Baltimore Masonic Temple when it was slated to give way to a mundane parking garage. He found a way to preserve the Temple AND have the garage.
Tomorrow the architectural community will assemble in the beautifully restored Masonic Temple to celebrate Mike's life and his work as an architect. Mike is dead. Abruptly taken from our midst, way too early and at a time when we need everyone who can dream, everyone who dares and everyone who has the ability and the will to imagine and then realize a better city and a better world. In short men and women like Mike.

Book Review - 'The Science of Liberty - Democracy, Reason, and the Laws of Nature,' by Timothy Ferris - Review - NYTimes.com

Book Review - 'The Science of Liberty - Democracy, Reason, and the Laws of Nature,' by Timothy Ferris - Review - NYTimes.com

Mighty nature or embattled nature?

Nature as entertainment and nature as a source of threat and fear are so close together that it is easily understandable how we humans oscillate between conquest and nurture. More accurately, just began adding nurture of nature to our repertoire.

So the announcement of a snowstorm of historical proportions  broadcast to us in the comfort of our warm office evokes nothing but incredulity (oh those weather people are hyping up a storm again) or, at best, curiosity. (Let’s see it, bring it on, it should bring welcome change to the uniformity of our daily life. ). So the wet flakes signaling the beginning of the weather event are just a disappointment. The then sticking snow on the way home after dark are just a minor challenge. Then it gets thicker but we have to go to sleep. I wake up at three at night remembering the forecast of three inches per hour and oversee the rather bright snowy scene outside my window.  The yard looks unfamiliar with all the bushes flattened and covered in a vast gooey white soft lined mass of snow. I lay back down, to continue my sleep under warm down feathers, alas, the mind begins to churn.

How about our roof, especially at the heavily leaning  chimney/fireplace in the dining area? What if all this extra load overstresses the diminished bearing area of the trusses? Then a new thoughts enters my brain, what about the electric wires, the telephone and cable wires? Aren’t they amidst trees and bushes who seem to be so laden out there? Aren’t they about to snap leaving us without phone and internet and at the mercy of our generator?
Already I am up and putting snowpants and boots over top of my night outfit. Traipse through the dark house. Just when I snap the rear sliding door lock open a blue flash illuminates the snowy landscape outside. Ahh, too late I think for a second associating the flash to a shortened power line before thunder sets in and lets me know that this is a blizzard with thunder and lightning, admittedly adding some spookyness to my nightly undertaking. Out there I see immediately that the trees and branches are indeed groaning under heavy loads. Snow is bearing down at a furious clip, wind howls and yes, I hear also breaking tree limbs, quite loud actually. I wonder if something would fall on me while my feet sink into snow way above my knee. I find the 10’ 2x4 and start knocking the branches above the lines. The snow comes down in big clouds spreading over my hood, face and hands which immediately feel quite cold while clamming down on the 2x4. I should have taken my gloves out, I realize. More cracking comes from the juniper whose main trunk had already broken under snowload in December. I wish it would stop snowing right now, but about 8 additional hours of heavy downpour had been forecast and the weathermen seem to have been dead on this time. Now the snow is not just entertainment anymore, it is a threat to my house, my trees and my inner peace. It has reached proportions that are quite outside my regular experience level. When I go back to bed, I am far from calm until the tiredness of the early hour finally wins over. In the daylight of my early morning rise the world looks less spooky, but the view of my front yard is surreal, indeed. Frantic shoveling is an attempt to create a sense of order in what appears utterly different under 30’ of snow or so. Even getting to Fernglen Way is a challenge now and it is completely unclear what a path to that unplowed former street would get me. Still, I cut my path through the snowscape as if my life depended on this very lifeline to be created by a shovel and my fatiguing arms.Human history, right here embodied in the small me fighting the mighty snow, the small human against mighty nature. That nature itself should be embattled by the collective of billions of humans seems like an unlikely option.Seven hours later when the snow stops falling, the sun comes out and the streets have seen heavy equipment the snow armageddon looks already much diminished and the winterlandscape outright scenic. The dangeously leaning 70' pine tree notwithstanding.