My mother’s 100th birthday

My mother, Lotte Robinson, turned 100 on November 16, and I went to California for the party.

Lotte Dreyfuss was born in Nurnberg, Germany. Her father had taken a bullet for his country in WWI. The family was affluent and Jewish. In 1937 they sent Lotte safely to school in England; she arrived in the United States as a refugee on May 14, 1938. The rest of the family followed, though a grandmother died in a concentration camp. Lotte went on to marry and raise two children in the quintessential American way. Hitler’s dead 75 years, but Lotte is still here.

Lives in her own home (able to afford full-time care). Still has her marbles. Short term memory shot, but no dementia, and still a very positive attitude, constantly repeating how lucky she is. Though she’s been everywhere and seen everything, she’s the farthest thing from jaded. Her favorite words have always been Gorgeous, Marvelous, and Unbelievable.

Being in California less than 24 hours made my return less complicated, under New York’s travel restrictions. In two days I had six flights, stopping in four different cities (Detroit twice). But I reminded myself that the entire peregrination took less time than just getting home from Somaliland last December.

Flying over the vast American expanse, seeing it through an airplane window, has always inspired emotion. This time more than ever. Returning from my mother’s 100th; returning home to my beloved wife. And my dark anxiety for my country having lifted; it’s been saved, with my own proud participation. The whole world looks brighter. We still face grave problems, but help is on the way. Looking out that airplane window, my heart was full.