After almost six consecutive hours of sleep, I woke at a more reasonable time of 6:15 a.m. I had to rip some paragraphs out of my Day Zero blog entry that Caroline found challenging to post and so it finally was pushed to being published. I can’t recommend reading its remaining voluminous 3,300 words that emerged from the transition zone between leaving America and arriving in Europe as it’s so much rehash of me saying blah blah blah, but then again, I feel that way about most all I share here. At least some of the photos are nice.

Then it was on to Day 2 in order to finish writing what I couldn’t put down last night because I was so tired. Between sentences, I was able to get in my ablutions and began to feel like a routine of normal life was starting to settle in. Well, as normal as things can be while adopting a new (albeit temporary) routine thousands of miles away from my wife and home.

Distracted by a fit of inspiration, I started writing about my mother-in-law in another document that may or may not be published here, but that’s beside the point other than to excuse myself for the lack of blogging here. Before I go much further, I’ll explain these two photos. The first is the bed I’m sleeping in, which was Jutta’s, and before her, it was her brother’s. She believes the mattress had once been her father’s but can’t be certain if it’s been replaced in the intervening 100 or so years. I’ll confirm with Stephanie (my sister-in-law) if she had it replaced in the past (let’s hope). The second photo is of Jutta’s desk which was the desk of her ex-husband Hanns’ father. For the time being, this desk is where I’m writing, as well as preparing the photos I’m posting, in the late evening and early morning.

All of us humans need beautiful things to catch our eye and bask in the good fortune that we might have been able to decorate our dwelling in some way that appeals to our sense of the aesthetic. We grow older, and yet these objects tell us stories whose full depth no one else can really fathom how we see others and how they might make our hearts smile.

Heaven, children, home, and the art of life have decorated the walls of Jutta’s apartment, but now these things must all go somewhere. Her new place is quite tiny and will only hold a fraction of the things held so meaningfully by my mother-in-law. How to decide what is parted with when so much is deeply embued with memories?

I do not know the story of the image on the left, but I do know that the man in the middle is Wilhelm Linnenkohl, Jutta’s father. My mother-in-law has never been able to speak highly enough about her terrific father, and it’s obvious she felt incredibly close to this man. Sadly, the same can’t be said about her mother, who doesn’t warrant even a single photo to be found anywhere in this large collection of mementos.

The cake plate from a local Konditorei was painted by a very young Caroline when she was in elementary school. If her memory serves her right, that’s her mom in the middle and Caroline in the back. Of all the times I’ve been in this apartment, I somehow have never really seen this picture, and if I did, I never considered its provenance or how my mother-in-law connects to the memory of her then 7 – or 8-year-old child.

Things brought home from Jutta’s many journeys to America were never very far from her heart. As a matter of fact, they were beside her during those times she sat at this desk I’m sitting at tonight. While I write on my computer, she wrote by hand her entire life in the chicken scratch appropriate for a doctor.

Speaking of provenance, there are no markings on these treasures which makes it nearly impossible to try selling them as what is the story behind them? Stephanie doesn’t believe anything in her cabinets was used, not even once.

I’m thinking that I need to use some of these so their function might extend beyond decoration.

The one thing from Jutta’s effects Caroline and I both love is this clock. How it’ll get to Arizona, if we even ship it there, is in question, but one thing is certain: we’d like to get it repaired and listen to its chimes into the future.

Now, on with the day. When I finally broke away from the apartment, I took an hour-long walk down some random streets, trying to follow my dysfunctional inner map to Jutta’s new place. When I reached the zoo, I started getting the idea that I might be heading in the wrong direction, so I checked a map, and sure enough, I had to do a little backtracking and alter my route. My pace was slow as I was just as interested in finding what I didn’t know I was interested in yet as getting to my destination.

It’s easy to have the impression that Frankfurt is a shiny modern city filled with glass and steel and high rents exclusively for the wealthy, but you can also find many old buildings in varying states of disrepair.

Maybe returning to the earth is just a natural part of life that plays its role, taking back all that it has given. Even the cars are being pulled into the camouflage, so we might not see them disappearing.

There are 12,000 markers on this old Jewish cemetery on Battonnstrasse next to the Museum Judengasse here in Frankfurt. Twelve thousand people, whose names are impossible to remember, with lives unfulfilled with the satisfaction of dying of natural causes surrounded by loved ones. These souls were exterminated by hate, and they had no avenue or wall to post their grievances as the world turned its back on a harsh reality. It’s somber to slowly walk by and try reading birthdays and names while everyone else walking by, apparently tuning out what this memorial represents.

Who were you, little Robert Goldschmidt, when you died in a concentration camp before you ever reached the age of 8? Not only were you dragged from home and shipped almost 1,000 km to die with your family, but you also missed any kind of real childhood and fun that all people should know. An anonymous marker that is effectively hidden among the thousands of others on this wall will never really tell anything about you or your dreams. All we know of your existence is that you were born Jewish and died in the heinous manmade hell known as Auschwitz by the hand of monsters.

Getting to Jutta’s just as she finished lunch worked out for us, sitting a good long while talking about her fears, inspirations, guilt, and what comes next. We were able to have a coffee delivered, which was great as, once again, the heavy rain kept us in. Maybe I need to try visiting early in the morning or late in the day, as the rain seems to be held at bay during those hours.

It’s 4:00 p.m. when I’m able to grab a table at Hauptwache Cafe to sit down for an early dinner, or is this a late lunch? I’ve never eaten a meal here, only Apfelstrudel. I started with an order of Handkäse mit Musik, naturally, of course, followed by Wiener Schnitzel with Grüne Sosse because that’s the way it has to be for the universe to function.

The pleasure of being ignored for a meal and having to gain the attention of the server is a luxury. I finished my lunch over 20 minutes ago, and my plate continues to sit on my table. In a moment, I’ll order dessert, though I hate admitting this here where Caroline is going to learn that I had another sweet, so it goes; she knew I’d be indulging myself. Oh my GOD! Hauptwache Cafe does not have Apfelstrudel on the menu. The menu was changed due to the pandemic, and while the server sold me an apple pie she insisted was great, I was seriously disappointed.

Gray skies are not very motivating to wander far as the chance of rain remains ever-present. Not that I’m leaving anytime soon from this normally packed establishment, but I am aware that I need to do something or other within the next 4 or 5 hours. I have a sense of needing to do important things that use my time wisely and that I don’t waste a valuable moment from this amazing opportunity. Yet, maybe being present can be enough.

I’m an experience glutton with an inner voice that yells at me: do not relent; go out and find something new! Hah, so what am I doing at Hauptwache Cafe enjoying a two-hour lazy meal? Well, I fooled you; I snarfed most of my dessert and decided to play it safe by calling it quits so I could get out and walk this off. So, with no time to waste, I’m taking a pause on this side of my journey to see where I end up.

Drawn to the main train station, which always has had a pull on me, and so through the high rises, I walked into the rotten funk between the heavens and a nearly defunct red-light district filled with sketchy types that seem to be eyeballing passersby looking for victims. Sure, I’m a bit paranoid, but I think when we are in seedy areas of downtown, it is smart to move with purpose while not making eye contact with a soul.

I’m in love with these ground-based rocketships. They speed effortlessly over the European landscape, cutting the journey time by car from 6 hours from here to Paris, France, to only 3 hours. Someday, you should be so lucky to have a full cup of coffee or a beer brought to you in first class and watch as not a drop is spilled in the quiet of the cabin, hauling you at 300 km/h (186 mph) across Europe.

Those things that can’t move might grow moss on them in this damp climate. but the same happening to the population here is a strange phenomenon to witness. There’s a tragedy to covering so much of the city in just a few days with a constant reminder that so few people are here and even fewer visiting from anywhere else. Germany is a land of many cultural traditions that bring people together for music, talks, coffee, cake, shopping, long dinners, many festivals, and historic destinations. It’s incredible to think that my fellow countrymen were bursting at the seams due to the most minor pandemic-related restrictions based primarily around masks while Europe has had to put on hold the heart of their society.

I remain incredulous that I’m actually in the city of Frankfurt am Main, living in memories that should be being shared with Caroline, whose connection to this place is far, far greater than mine. Yes, I feel guilty for the luxury of exploring her birthplace in a way I never had the mind for when I was younger, and I’m guessing the same would go for her. I’m lucky that communication tools are what they are and that she and I can chat all day, that I can share a video call with her and her mom as I did again today, and that I can capture and write all this stuff that may not matter to anyone else but for her, a surrogate experience with the man she loves is better than nothing.

Keep Entrance Clear Day and Night. These signs are ubiquitous across Frankfurt, as are the bicycle lane and one-way signs, stickers demanding that fascism doesn’t have a place in Frankfurt, and buttons to summon a change in signals so pedestrians can cross the many streets required to get around. I’ve done my fair share of walking this city today. I covered 16 kilometers (10 miles), which saved me $6 for a day pass for the train. I wonder what tomorrow brings?