At a fancy dinner, across the table, another guest talked about “women of a certain age.” I looked him straight into the eye and said: “I am not a woman of a certain age. I am 68.” There were a few gasps at the table.
Age seems to be a problem. But not if you have been a very sick baby that should not have survived 6 months when she came down with the double whammy of measles and diphtheria (they put her into a corner to die, and told the mother not to bother) – at the end of World War II in Europe when there were no antitoxins, no antibiotics, and no food. Or should have died of pneumonia every winter of her childhood. Or should have died of tuberculosis at age fifteen (or thereabouts). Or should have died in childbirth because the doctors deemed her too week to give birth of a baby of her own. Or should have died in her forties when the doctors thought she was too old for another baby. Not to mention two heartbreaking divorces, and all the foolish and dangerous things she went through in her youth: Hitchhiking alone from Brussels to Paris, drinking underage at parties – and more foolish & dangerous things I better don’t relate here.
Not sure what kept me alive during all those perils. Love of life, probably. And sheer luck.
But so it comes that I am not afraid of getting older – only curious, and proud.
I see my life as a Chinese scroll: Every day the scroll unrolls a bit more, and – surprise! surprise! – showing more and more of my improbable, disorderly, wonderful life: A gorgeous picture! Still a bit unfolding at the edges every single day. And how lucky I am to still be here, and see it unfolding, understanding more of myself, understanding better the forces that worked on me and nudged me and pushed me forward!
Oh, and that baby there, left to die in a corner of the pediatric ward? I imagine a kindhearted nurse who must have touched me and fed me and cuddled me secretly to keep me alive. And then, two weeks later, they called up my mother: Would she, please, finally pick up that healthy baby that was eating the food of all the other babies on the ward? Read More
Blog: On Health. On Writing. On Life. On Everything.
Another Unproven Pearl
January 19, 2013
As I am still writing like crazy my diabetes book, here another “unproven pearl” from my long experience:
Turmeric works against breast tenderness. Those lumpy areas in the breast – also called fibrocystic breast disease – can be alleviated with a generous dose of the herb turmeric sprinkled onto your food. Not daily – but whenever you feel you need it. Of course, turmeric is known for its anti-inflammatory action - this is only one of its many uses and benefits.
Also: Observe yourself: When do you get breast tenderness? For many women, it comes after ingestion of dairy or certain grains. Have you found an offending food in yourself? That food item should surely be cut from your nutrition: Your body tells you that it hurts you. Read More
But When the Next War Looked Like All-Too-Certain
September 14, 2012
Last night, for reasons readily understood, I translated an old German poem of Erich Kästner’s into English; the poem was first published in 1932. Kästner is the author of the famous children’s book “Emil and the Detectives”. In German, the title of the poem is: Und als der nächste Krieg began.
Erich Kästner: But when the next War looked all-too-certain (1932)
But when the next War looked all-too-certain,
The women said: No way!
And locked in brother, husband, son
And took the keys away.
In every country, every town, they stormed
Each sergeant’s, major’s, off’cer’s home,
And chased the guys, and got them tight,
And beat them with a broom.
They gave a beating to everyone who
had ordered to break the peace:
The bankers, brokers, ministers,
Generals and military police.
A lot of brooms were shattered then
And many a blowhard finished and done.
So many men cried, so many men whined.
The War was over before begun.
All that accomplished, the women went home
To brother, husband, son,
And said there was no War.
The men looked hard not in their eyes
But rather to the floor.
[translated by Alexa Fleckenstein 2012] Read More