Dear Cyndy,

Thank you for your letter. It's good that your foot
and the injuries to your knees have been getting better,
and I hope they continue to improve.

Thank you also for your comments about Jane and Steve.
Steve, of course, was born after I left the family, but
I note with bemusement that four years after my reappearance,
Ellen's and Jane's relationships to me are as distant as they
were five or ten or fifteen years ago, or, for that matter,
almost as distant as they were when I left Chappaqua late
in August 1939.  But please don't remind them of me. I would
find nothing more awkward than attentions precipitated or
sustained by a sense of obligation. Fatuously or otherwise,
I reflect on this absence of communication as yet another
facet of the complexity and unpredictability of intra- and
extrafamily relationships.  One tends to focus on the
specifics of the personalities involved, but I believe
erroneously so. It's more realistic, I think, instead of
proceeding from an assumption of family community, to start
from the premise that each one of us is lonely and isolated,
and that any lasting affectionate relationship even within
the family is something of a miracle.

An interesting example is my correspondence with my cousin
Marion Namenwirth, which as you know began precipitately
with a telephone call on June 12, - only 11 days ago, and
has since generated no fewer than 21 e-mail messages, and
is presently careening wildly in no apparent direction,
and with no end in sight. I know you will fault me, and
perhaps even feel some offense at my detachment; but so
far as I am concerned what I feel and what I think is in
Goethe's words, an open secret - oeffentlich Geheimnis -.
What is intrinsically secret does not deserve to be concealed,
because third parties who do understand, should not be third
parties, and to third parties who do not understand, no
secrets are divulged. Even the principals at times seem
to be ignorant of the implications of what they are writing.
I have the impression that the evolution of my correspondence
with Marion is of little if any further interest to you,
but if I'm wrong, let me know, and I'll spare you no details;
I repeat: it's literature, and not very good literature at that.

My concerns that after accepting a substantial down payment,
my roofer might in the end not show up have proved unfounded. 
He and his men did appear yesterday as promised, and today
the "boom truck" came and hoisted 24 squares (2400 square
feet) of asphalt shingles onto the roof, obviating the need
for the roofers to carry dozens of 80 pound bundles up a
thirty foot ladder. Very hard work and very dangerous. The
workmen are friendly and respectful and leave me with
the impression that the are not exploiting me. But such a
judgment I think is hazardous; the future will tell.

The five weeks that we have spent here have been productive
so far as work on my novel is concerned; and, of course in
that respect, my correspondence with Marion has been a gold
mine.  In eight days, on July 1, we will be starting back to 
Massachusetts. I wish we could stay longer, but the demands
of my rapidly dwindling medical practice leave me no choice.
I'm eager also to get started on the paperwork for the appeal.

Stay well, don't stumble or fall, and give my best to Ned.
As your plans for visiting Massachusetts mature, please
keep me informed.

Jochen