Dear Marion, Klemens, Laura and the grandchildren have packed their minivan and gone to bed, expecting to start their one-day return trip to Belmont in just six hours, at 5 a.m. The week has been hectic, made awkward by the complexities surrounding Margrit's life and her death. The principal mourners, members of the Ludwig family, had organized a family reunion of their own for which they had rented two vacation houses in nearby Green Cove. Disappointed by my not organizing a memorial serice for Margrit, they planned a "cook-out", including a "singalong" for which my grandchildren were to provide the music. The four Ludwig children, now all past middle age also wanted to be present when we buried Margrit's ashes. The time set for that ceremony was 9 a.m. yesterday, July 16. Klemens, Margaret and I went early to dig the small, shallow grave, taking a mattock a spade and a rake. The task was quickly done. Klemens was able to use the spade to excise a piece of sod about 18 inches square. We then dug down about 12 inches more until we struck a flat stone face which it seemed unnecessary to fracture. The excavated soil we piled neatly on three rubber mats removed from the car. The cardboard box with the ashes themselves I covered with one of the linen table napkins we had brought over from Germany. It was a clear cloudless day, cooled by a gentle breeze. The sun had long since risen from behind the ridge of the mountain. Klemens made a short statement about the program: It would begin with the children's playing Beethoven's trio for two oboes and horn - the oboes being replaced by trumpets, then he, Klemens, would read Psalm 121, we would bury the ashes, I would read Numbers 6: 24,25 and 26, whereupon any of the mourners could say - or read - whatever they wished, and then the children would play more music. The Beethoven trio I thought was played extremely well. The concluding piece of music was unfamiliar to me. Not my choice; but I had wanted to let the musicians - and their mother - express their own tastes in choosing the music. After I had placed the ashes in the grave, I strewed over and beside the cardboard box, most of the small rocks which it had been Margrit's custom to collect on her travels. Then I used my bare hands to sweep the excavated earth from the rubber mats into the little grave. Anna Ludwig, overcome with tears, wanted to help. Anna is the friend who had rescued Margrit last October by driving her to the airport with the strangulated hernia. When the children had concluded their playing, the mourners joined, a cappella, in a rather thin and unpersuasive rendition of "Now thank we all our God", - the English version of the classical "Nun danket alle Gott, mit Herzen, Mund und Haenden, der grosse Dinge tut, an uns und allen Enden..." I suspect, because it's the only chorale they know, - or the one they know best. Again I was startled by the semiotic insensitivity, since it might reasonably be inferred if one takes the text at face value, that they were thanking God to be rid of the deceased. We went home. I had a belated breakfast, and soon thereafter Laura asked me to print out for her, fifteen copies of the words for the singalong. Rebekah had typed them into one of the lap-top computers for her. I was rather taken aback when I read what she had in mind: Margrit's Sing-Along, Green Cove 2010 Clementine In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine Dwelt a miner, 49er, and his daughter Clementine Chorus: Oh my darling (3X), Clementine You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine Light she was and like a fairy and her shoes were number 9 Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine Drove she ducklings to the water every morning just at 9 Stubbed her toe against a splinter, fell into the foaming brine Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine But alas! I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine In a church yard near the canyon where the myrtle doth entwine There grow rose and other poses fertilized by Clementine Then the miner, 49er, soon began to peak and pine Thought he oughter join his daughter, now he's with his Clementine In my dreams she still doth haunt me, robed in garments soaked with brine Though in life I used to hug her now she's dead I draw the line Now ye boyscouts heed the warning to this tragic tale of mine Artificial respiration would have saved my Clementine How I missed her (2x) how I missed my Clementine Till I kissed her little sister and forgot my Clementine =============================================== She'll be coming round the mountain She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes (toot toot!) (2x) She'll be comin' round the mountain, she'll be comin' round the mountain She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes (toot toot) She'll be riding six white horses when she comes (whoa back!) She'll be wearin' pink pajamas when (scratch scratch!) Oh we'll all go out to meet her€(hi babe!) Oh we'll kill the old red rooster€(hack hack!) Oh we'll all have chicken and dumplings€(yum yum!) Oh she'll have to sleep with grandpa€(snore snore!) ======================== Home on the range Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Where the air is so pure and the zephyrs so free And the breezes so balmy and light That I would not exchange my home on the range For all of the cities so bright How often at night when the heavens are bright With the light of the glittering stars I stand there amazed and I ask as I gaze Does their glory exceed that of ours? =========================== I've been working on the railroad I've been working on the railroad all the livelong day I've been working on the railroad just to pass the time away Can't you hear the whistle blowin'? Rise up so early in the morn Can't you hear the captain shoutin' "Dinah blow your horn!" Dinah won't you blow (3x) your horn (repeat) Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah Someone's in the kitchen I know Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah Strummin' on the old banjo A-playin' Fee fi fiddle-y-i-o- Fee fi fiddle-y-i-o-o-o-o Fee fi fiddle-y-i-o Strummin' on the old banjo ====================================== America the Beautiful Oh beautiful for spacious skies for amber waves of grain For purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain America! America! God shed his grace on thee And crowned thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea Oh beautiful for pilgrim feet whose stern impassioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat across the wilderness America! America! God mend thine ev'ry flaw Confirm thy soul in self control, thy liberty in law Oh beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife Who more than self their country loved and mercy more than life America! America! May god thy gold refine Till all success be nobleness and ev'ry gain divine Oh beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam undimmed by human tears America! America! God shed his grace on thee And crowned thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea Oh beautiful for working folk who forged the wealth we see In farm and mill, in home and school, unsung in history America! America! May race nor sex nor creed No more divide, but side by side, all rise united, freed! ========================== This land is your land This land is your land, this land is my land From California to the New York island From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters This land was made for you and me As I was walking that ribbon of highway I saw above me that endless skyway I saw below me that golden valley This land was made for you and me I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts And all around me a voice was sounding/ (This land...) When the sun came shining and I was strolling And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling As the fog was lifting, a voice was chanting/ (This..€) As I went walking I saw a sign there On the sign it said "No Trespassing" But on the other side it didn't say nothing That side was made for you and me! (This...) In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people By the relief office, I seen my people As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking Is this land made for you and me? (This...) Nobody living can ever stop me As I go walking that freedom highway Nobody walking can make me turn back/ (This..€) Canadian chorus: This land is your land€... From Bona Vista to Vancouver Island From the Arctic Circle to the Great Lake waters/This... ======================= Blowin™ in the wind How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? Yes and how many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes and how many time must the cannonballs fly Before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes and how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes and how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? /(The answer...) How many years can a mountain exist before it's washed to the sea? Yes and how many years can some people exist Before they're allowed to be free? Yes and how many times can a man turn his head Pretending he just doesn't see? /(The answer...) ==================== Turn, Turn, Turn To every thing - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for ev'ry purpose under heaven A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weap A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stone together A time of war, a time of peace A time of love, a time of hate A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time sew A time to love, a time to hate A time of peace: I swear it's not too late! =================== The Ash Grove The ask grove how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking The harp thru it playing has language for me Whenever the light thru its branches is breaking A host of kind faces is gazing on me The friends of my childhood again are before me Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam With soft whispers laden its leaves rustle o'er me The ash grove, the ask grove alone is my home My laughter is over, my step loses lightness Old countryside measures steal soft on my ear I only remember the past and its brightness The dear ones I mourn for again gather here From out of the shadows their loving looks greet me And whistfully searching the leafy green dome I find other faces fond bending to greet me The ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home =========================== As I read over the texts and my agitation mounted, I understood that I wouldn't be able to keep my composure, and that my sadness and despair would be offensive to the revelers. When I told Klemens, I would stay home, he was relieved, and so was I. And I did stay home, - though the spiritual drama that I missed made me wish I had been actor enough to be able to attend without being offensive. The emotional and intellectual ambience established and documented by that singalong seems to me to constitute the most genuine memorial service for Margrit imaginable: because Margrit would not have invited me and would not have wanted me there. Had I come nonetheless, she would have asked me to leave, because my criticism, which she considered unwarranted, would have embarrassed and offended the guests. She would have been indifferent to the coarse vulgarity; she would have welcomed the facile ideology, she would have unreservedly endorsed the tastes and judgments of her friends. My father, on the other hand, would have said: Das hat mit mir nichts zu tun, and Margrit would have felt rejected and hurt. My staying home solved the problem. No one took offense at my absence. I worked on my novel. The next day, Benjamin took pleasure in teaching me how to throw a frisbee. Nathaniel and I sat on the porch and followed the orchestral scores while listening to recordings of Beethoven's 7th and Mozart's 29th symphonies, both of which have been my favorites for many years. He is organizing a concert in Belmont in the middle of August at which he hopes to conduct both works. I expect to meet you at the airport on July 26th; but I'll probably write again before then. Jochen