Dear Cyndy,

Thank you for your letter. I continue to marvel at the enigmas
which arise from the complexity of our world. You are correct,
of course, that the grandchildren's concern for me is more than
just being chauffeured here or there or borrowing the car. I 
understand: the fault is mine in that I expect too much. "Zuviel
begehrt das Herz," as Hoelderlin wrote. I should be satisfied, -
and fundamentally I am, - with the measure of affection that is
apportioned to me. Christianity teaches that of love there can
never be enough, never too much; but I think wrongly so. Even in
matters of affection there is a golden mean, which is sometimes
very difficult to find.

The past few days and nights I have spent alternatingly meditating
and ruminating on my prospective argument before Suffolk Superior
Court on May 12. The "Rule 9a Package" of documents which I handed
to the clerk on the 12th floor of the Pemberton Square Courthouse
has finally been catalogued on the docket sheet, but incompletely
so, in that Kimberly's Appendix (the one on paper, of course, not
the one that flares up with appendicitis.) has not been listed,
nor have my Memorandum and Exhibits. Since I was required to file
a sworn affidavit that I had filed these also, I thought it prudent
to make another trip to the Courthouse to try to find out what was
going on. I couldn't. With all the prevailing affirmative action,
there wasn't any competent employee who could explain the omissions
from the docket sheet. And when I negotiated for a look at the
papers themselves presumably physically secure in the file-folder
of my case, I found that none of the documents I had brought last
Friday was in place; and the custodian had no idea where they might
be, and no suggestion where I might search for them.  I gave up:
I limped to the elevator, and as it descended to the ground floor,
I thought I felt my heart leap up with happiness for the liberty
made possible by the incompetence and stupidity of my government.

For Sunday, day after tomorrow, Klemens and I are planning a day
trip to Nantucket. Nothing that I can see in the images which I
download each day, suggests that the house has been disturbed in
any way.  What the computer can't tell me is how much water has
trickled past the rubber flange in which one of the vent pipes
protrudes through the roof. Since this is a vent that Mr. Ciarmataro
wants to have extirpated by a licensed plumber, I thought I would
wait before proceeding with the repair, which strictly, would be
a violation of the cease, desist and abate order.

I've forgotten what it was that turned my attention once more to
issues of esthetics. Partly, I think, an effort to understand the
compulsion which the music of various composers exercises, - or does
not exercise - over my emotions. I haven't gotten very far, except
to conclude that the conceptual apparatus of language is of little
help and that understanding, to the extent that it is possible, must
evolve from listening to, if not performing, specific pieces of music.
Maybe more on this topic later. That's a threat, not a promise.
Margaret just asked me about the meaning of "prolix". I confirmed my
definition by looking up the word on the Internet; I think they've got
my number.

I have heard nothing from Liberty Mutual. Almost forgotten about the
accident myself.

Stay well and give my best to Ned.

Jochen