Dear Cyndy,

Thank you for your letter. No, a marching song: aleluja, aleluja, is not
familiar to me. From the Internet I gather that there is such in Poland,
but having never even begun to learn Polish, it's inaccessible to me.

I've completed the composition of the Appeal. The next step, with which I'll
begin with the end of this letter, is to start making the required 11 copies
of 835 pages. The judges will understand and will be confronted with the
predicament of deciding whether the dignity of the Appeals Court requires
it to endorse or to repudiate the mischief of the lower court. We shall
see. Maybe Donald Trump will indeed be our next president. No question
about his citizenship or religion.

Nathaniel, who is temporarily living next door, sought refuge in this
large cold empty house from his sister Leah for two days at Thanksgiving.
He hasn't spoken with me since, not, I think, from lack of, but rather
on account of excessive empathy. He considers me a role model, and doesn't
quite know how to pull it off. Later this month he's flying to Europe for
a conductors' audition in Gotha, Germany, - but he's come to understand
conducting to be a kind of show business which is difficult to reconcile
with his genuine passion for music.

Life is seldom easy, and when it appears easy, it's likely to be quite
shallow. As for my sonnetry, I consider myself praying to Margaret,
genuinely and desperately at first, but also at risk of degenerating into
show business. I must qualify my report that there are now 53 poems on 
the Internet, by noting that one sonnet, #40 and #41, as well as #51, 52, 
and 53 are multiple versions of the same sonnet about which I couldn't
make up my mind.

More later, - and on and on until I catch up with Margaret. Best wishes 
to Ned and to yourself.

Jochen