An Apology

Dear World,

On behalf of the majority of Americans, I want to apologize for the unhinged, crazy, greedy, uneducated, boorish, vile, selfish, uninformed, heartless, lying behavior of the person occupying the White House. 

I apologize to our Kurdish allies for our leaving them to be slaughtered by Turkey, with the tacit approval of the so-called leader of the free world. I apologize for the many times (too many to count) he has insulted the leaders of other countries, particularly those countries that have long been this country's allies (Germany, the UK, Canada, France, Mexico and Australia come to mind. I am sure there are others.) I apologize for his more than 12,000 lies, with more added every day.

I apologize to the Hispanics, Jews, Muslims, blacks and others he has insulted. I apologize to the women and girls he has insulted and assaulted. I apologize to the businesses he has refused to pay for their work. I apologize to the countries he insulted by calling them "shit hole countries."  I apologize to the family and friends of the late Sen. John McCain for the insulting way this five-time draft dodger spoke about a genuine war hero. I apologize to the migrant families whose children were taken from them at the border, locked in cages and kept there without showers, toothbrushes, and other basic hygiene items. I apologize to the residents of Puerto Rico, who are, after all, American citizens, for the complete lack of concern and compassion shown to them. I apologize to the family of the Muslim American soldier who died in defense of the United States, for the insults to which you were subjected because of your religion.

I apologize to the people of the world for his actions to undo a variety of environmental protections, including those that help protect our water, air and endangered species. I apologize for America's withdrawal from the nuclear treaty with Iran, the Paris climate accord, and other agreements on which this country has reneged. America's word is now worthless. Why would any nation trust us again? The orange menace has proven, repeatedly, that America's word is worthless.

I apologize for his myriad racist, sexist comments. I apologize for his name-calling and for the insults hurled at everyone who dares to disagree with him. I apologize for his ongoing insults to four women of color, all of them US citizens and all of them members of Congress. I apologize for his ignorance, his incessant bragging about himself, and for his refusal to listen to people who actually know what they are talking about. Finally, I apologize that so many millions of people in this country remain gullible enough to believe his lies and support his racism and misogyny. 

What I will not do is apologize for fighting against this petulant man-child, for opposing his hateful words and actions, and for doing my best to let others know the very real threat he presents not just to the United States, but to the world.

A Short Gratitude List

 I think it's time to start working on a new gratitude list.

I did one a few years ago, but I haven't gone back to look at it for a number of years. As I'm getting older (aren't we all?), I have begun to think more about the things in my life for which I am grateful. And under the circumstances facing America with the dictator-in-chief and his cronies in Congress hell bent on turning this country into a fascist state, a gratitude list seems more appropriate than ever.

For my previous list, I set myself a goal of coming up with 100 things for which I am grateful. I'm not going to do that this time. Instead, I'm just going to make a list of things as they come to mind.

• Rain. I live in the high desert of New Mexico. After several years of drought in this normally arid state, we have been blessed this year with a fair amount of rain. Just a few days ago, I was listening to the wonderful sound of rain on the skylights.
• Travel. I have been to more than two dozen countries in the past few years. Each of them taught me something; each of them has left me with some wonderful memories. I have made new friends, including some who live in other countries, as a result of my travels.
• Education.  I saw a post on Facebook about a young girl in Kenya who was able to enroll in high school and go on to college because of the scholarship sponsored by a couple from another country. That story made me realize again how fortunate we in the United States are to have a system of free public education. I know there are kids whose families can't afford to provide them all the clothes and school supplies they need each year. And our public schools have lots of problems. But I have yet to see an American school without electricity and running water, no supplies, no lights, only a handful of textbooks, no place for the kids to eat their lunch other than sitting on the ground outside, and trying to learn in a room with dirt floors. And yet the children in Kenya are excited to learn. I am now sponsoring the high school education of a girl in rural Kenya.
• My good health. Although I have arthritis in my hands and osteoporosis in my lower spine and hip, I am otherwise in excellent shape. 
• Food. Unlike people in much of the world, including here in New Mexico, I have always been able to afford to buy food. 
• My house. I am fortunate to have a lovely home with gorgeous views of the mountains. 
• Excellent medical care. Over the past 2 years, I have needed multiple eye surgeries to repair torn and detached retinas in both eyes. Although Albuquerque isn't known for its excellent medical care, there is a group of amazing ophthalmologists here. I have had eye surgery by four of them. I am so grateful that these skilled doctors are available to save my sight.  
• Financial security. I have enough money to allow me to live comfortably, pay my bills, and look forward to a secure future.
• Good friends. I don't have a lot of friends, but those I do have are wonderful.
• Giving back. I have the desire and the means to give to those less fortunate. From donating money to a variety of charities to collecting food to support local food banks, I am blessed to be able to give. And I am glad that I was raised with a spirit of giving.
• Photography. I am grateful that I have the talent, the desire and the means to take part in photography, and to share my talent with others. 
• New Mexico sunshine and gorgeous blue skies 300+ days every year.
• The love and devotion of my dogs.

This is a short list of 13 items for which I am grateful. I think making a gratitude list is a good exercise that makes me/us aware of the positive things in our lives. And thinking about positive things can make our outlook on life more positive. Studies have shown that people who feel thankful are happier. I take happiness wherever I can find it.

And with the world as it is today, we need all the happiness we can get. So, what are you grateful for today?

What I Would Like To Do

You know what I would like to do? I would like to live my perfect life.

In a perfect world, this is what my life would look like. I would

• live in a cozy cabin in the woods (but not too isolated, and with modern conveniences).
• spend hours every day reading.
• spend lots of time hiking with my dogs.
• travel the world pursuing my passion for photography.
• listen to music -- classical and smooth jazz -- to keep me relaxed. 
• minimize exposure to the news 
• have a small shop to sell my photographs, calendars, etc.
• live part of each year in a different country
• do more writing and get more followers of this blog

 Some of these items are a reality now, but to a lesser extent than I would like. I do spend a lot of time reading every day. I travel six to eight times each year, with some trips being devoted to photography. I listen to classical music regularly. I have cut back on how much news I watch. 

I'm not sure I will ever live part of each year in another country, and I'm not likely to have a shop where I can sell my calendars, photos, etc. And I'm not likely to move permanently to a cozy cabin in the woods. But maybe I can rent one for a few days or a week, just for my dogs and me.

What are the things you want to do to make your life happier or more meaningful?

The Red Shoes of Auschwitz

During my most recent time (several days) at the main Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland, I saw, heard and experienced many disturbing things.

I walked through the cold, dark 'Death Barracks' where female prisoners deemed too ill to work were warehoused until executed in a gas chamber. I saw the field where the ashes of countless people remain buried after their bodies were burned outside when the crematorium broke. I saw the cell where prisoners were kept until they starved to death. I walked past the building where heinous experiments were carried out on Jewish women. I entered one of the gas chambers and walked past the ovens. 

Then there were the glass-fronted display rooms that housed all sorts of  brushes, suitcases, eyeglasses, pots and pans, artificial limbs, even human hair. But of all these macabre items, it was the shoes that had the greatest impact on me this time, as a couple of years ago. Yes, the shoes. Ordinary, everyday shoes in the styles of the 1940s.

Why the shoes? I wondered. But think about it. Aside from the eyeglasses, shoes are perhaps the most personal of the items taken from the prisoners, nearly all of them Jewish. Their clothes were laundered and sent to Germany for use by the wartime civilian population. Most shoes were sent to Germany as well. But some shoes remained in the camp, perhaps at the end of the war when the Nazis realized they were losing the war and running out of time. Some shoes were given to prisoners, but without regard to size or practicality. Some received two left shoes, for example. Most prisoners were forced to wear wooden clogs.

When Auschwitz was liberated by Soviet soldiers on Jan. 27, 1945, the camp held some 43,000 pairs of shoes. Let that sink in. More than 43,000 pairs of shoes, each pair representing a human life. There are shoes of all sizes, all kinds and all styles. 

Most are brown. Most are well worn. But among the thousands of brown shoes on display, I spotted two red shoes, of different styles. Their color made them stand out from the rest. And so I began to wonder, Who was the person who once wore these shoes? Where did she live? What was her name, her story? How old was she? Did she perish immediately, or did she die later of starvation or disease? Did she die along with other members of her family? These are questions whose answers will never be known.

Despite never being able to know anything about the wearer of these red shoes, I feel a certain connection to her. In my mind, I see her as young, fun-loving, perhaps somewhat bold, and certainly full of life. 

Few physical items are more personal than the shoes people wore. Shoes take on the shape of the feet that wear them every day. They are chosen by the people who wear them, whether for comfort, style or color. Each of these 43,000 pairs of shoes, and countless uncounted millions of other shoes, were removed from the feet of people imprisoned and doomed to death because of who they were. It doesn't matter whether the people were Polish political prisoners, Roma, Soviet prisoners of war, Jews or homosexuals. All were rounded up, stripped of possessions and their identities, and murdered simply because one group of evil people decided they must die.

Piles of shoes in Auschwitz and other death camps served several purposes. They were a reminder to the Nazis of the success of their ongoing efforts to cleanse the Nazi empire of anyone and everyone not 'Aryan' enough. They provided shoes for German civilians. And they served as reminders to those still imprisoned that they, too, would soon join those whose shoes were part of a huge pile of items taken from people who no longer needed them.

I don't plan to return to Auschwitz again, having visited the camps twice. But I don't think I ever will forget the red shoes and wonder about the person who once wore them.

It's About Doing, Not Having

The older I get, the more I believe this statement. It isn’t about having, it’s about doing. 

It's about experiences. It's about giving. It's about helping. It isn't about buying.

Material things just aren’t that important to me. Yes, I live in a nice house and I drive a nice car. But the things that make me happiest are the experiences I get to enjoy through my travels and through my photography. And I like to help others.

I have worked for the past two years, off and on, to get rid of things from my house. I have given away to a local thrift shop clothes, shoes, tons of CDs and household goods. I also have given numerous books to an organization that uses the funds from the sale of these books to support our local public library. I gave two unused suitcases, a large artificial Christmas tree and boxes of lights and ornaments, as well as a couple of coats, to a shelter for victims of domestic abuse. And yet, despite all this, I still have a lot of 'stuff' in my house. So the process of getting rid of things continues.

And I don't miss any of the things I have given away. My house still looks the same, although a couple of book shelves are noticeably less crowded. My closets remain filled with clothing and shoes. But now I think twice before buying anything. Do I really need that item? Will I actually use it? Do I already have something that will serve the same purpose? Do I need it, or do I merely want it?

So rather than accumulating more items, I much prefer to do other things with my money. I travel a lot. I donate to charity. Recently I helped my daughter with a down payment on a car after hers was stolen and trashed beyond repair. All those things bring me much more pleasure than does buying something I don't really need. 

I recently returned from a 12-day trip to Berlin and Poland to learn about the Holocaust. Part of the trip was a service project at the original Auschwitz concentration camp. I joined our trip leader and 11 others in raking leaves, sweeping sidewalks, inspecting portable exhibits for damage, and checking the language on the permanent displays. The wording had been translated from Polish, and we, as native speakers of English, were asked to review and make note of any incorrect or awkward word usage, punctuation errors, etc.

A few members of my group noted that some friends had asked them why they were taking this trip, and especially why they were doing a service project for which they had to pay. "Who would pay to go to Auschwitz and work?" was the sentiment. But each person in the group saw far beyond the cost of this trip. We saw it as an opportunity to learn about a horrendous time in history, and to contribute in some small way to preserving the memory of the victims. And perhaps by sharing out experiences with others, we can make some small contribution to ensuring that another genocide doesn't happen. 

I love the experience of travel to other countries. For some, it may be taking trips with the family, or spending a day with the grandkids. Experiences don't have to involve spending a lot of money. Volunteering, taking a neighbor who doesn't drive to go grocery shopping, helping a friend with a project -- all of these experiences can make meaningful memories. When you're on your death bed, will you recall how big your house was, or what a fancy car you drove? Or will you reflect on the experiences you had and the memories you made?

It's doing, not having, that is so important. I hope Americans will remember that, especially now that the ever-earlier 'holiday season' is upon us. The garish displays of Christmas merchandise appear earlier every year, urging consumers to spend, spend, spend. If you must spend, how about putting your money into experiences rather than the latest gadget or toys the manufacturers tell you and you kids you absolutely must have?

The Machinery of Murder

I recently returned from an intense 12-day trip to Berlin and Oswiecim, Poland.

You say you've never heard of Oswiecim? Perhaps you know it better by its German name of Auschwitz. I went with 11 other people on a tour to learn about the origins of the so-called 'final solution to the Jewish question,' and to see and learn about the places where mass crimes against humanity took place. The trip was developed by Road Scholar and led by a German political scientist who has spent years educating people about the Holocaust and the conditions that gave rise to it. 

I have struggled to find the right words to describe this trip. As a writer, I love finding just the right words to express myself. I enjoy manipulating language to convey the proper feelings. But this is different. It's quite difficult. And I think it will continue to be impossible to find the right words to adequately describe the experience and the reality. Several of us in the group talked about struggling to find the right words. This trip was intense. It was surreal. it was impossible to understand the why and the how. 

Despite the impossibility of finding the right words, and knowing that only those who have spent time at Auschwitz will understand, here are some of my thoughts. I jotted down some thoughts each evening after dinner as I tried to retain the experiences while they were still fresh. With so much information thrown at us, and so many surreal experiences, it was difficult to process everything. So I took a few notes.

Each aspect of this trip showed us just a tiny fraction of what the more than 1 million people who were killed in Auschwitz went through. It also showed us a bit about the life of the large Jewish population in Germany and Poland before the war. 

This was a physically and emotionally exhausting trip. Days were sometimes 12 hours long. There was a lot of walking and a lot of standing. Our trip began in Berlin, where we spent 2- 1/2 days visiting a variety of sites and memorials. We visited the Brandenburg Gate and the

Reichstag, and we saw some of the many 'stumbling stones', brass squares engraved with the name, date of deportation and, if known, date of death, of Jews who lived in a given house and subsequently were sent to death by the Nazis. 
 
We saw the main Berlin synagogue that was seriously damaged during Nazi attacks in November 1938, as well as other buildings that played a prominent role in Berlin Jewish life before the war. Sadly, the synagogue must still be protected by two police officers to safeguard it from vandalism.

We visited the memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe, as well as memorials to homosexuals and to the Roma and Sinti (Gypsies) who fell victims to the Nazis. One of the most touching places I visited was the Wannsee conference center where 15 members of the Third Reich got together one day in January 1942 on the shores of the lake to decide how to implement their so-called final solution. They put in place concrete plans to rid Europe of all Jews, as well as homosexuals, those with physical or mental disabilities, and the Roma (Gypsies). After that they enjoyed a hearty breakfast while gazing over the lake.

We spent time in private exploration of the Topography of Terror museum, built on the site of the former Gestapo and SS headquarters. But the place that touched me most was track 17, the train track in Berlin from which Jews were shipped off to Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and other concentration camps. The tracks are no longer used, of course, but the short section that remains is marked on both sides with metal plaques indicating the date, the number of

Jews deported that day and to which camp they were shipped from Berlin. Perhaps most unsettling of all was hearing trains at the nearby, still functioning train station. Trains leaving from track 17 carried some 50,000 German Jews to their deaths.

Leaving Berlin, we took an 8-hour bus ride to the Polish town of Oswiecim, infamous for its most well known landmark, the Auschwitz concentration camp. One morning, we toured the old city of Oswiecim on foot. This city of some 40,000 inhabitants once was home to a thriving Jewish population. Today, not one person of the Jewish faith lives there. Most were exterminated during the war. Survivors, understandably, don’t want to live there. The only remaining synagogue is used only for special occasions by Jews from nearby towns. 
 
Our lodging was a former Carmelite monastery now known as the Center for Dialogue and Prayer. The rooms were simple and small, but comfortable. Meals were served family style, and consisted of typical Polish food, usually soup, cabbage salad, potatoes and pork or chicken. It was plain and simple food, yet as I ate, I recalled the watery soup fed to the prisoners in the camp and their near-starvation diet. 

The lodgings provided a wonderful respite from the emotional stresses of our time in Oswiecim. Staying in a fancy hotel would have been so inappropriate. Even the center's name encouraged us to engage in discussions and to reflect on what we saw and experienced each day. And at the end of an emotionally and sometimes physically exhausting day, I looked forward to returning to my room, a hot shower and some solitude. Our lodging wasn't totally devoid of comfort, however, as we could get a bottle of Coke, a latte, ice cream or a candy bar.

On the first full day in Poland, I went for a walk around the monastery grounds at 6:30 a.m.

The outside temperature was 43°F, and the sky was foggy. The weather seemed to reflect the somber nature of our visit. Somehow, a bright and sunny morning just wouldn't have seemed right. As I was enjoying the early morning solitude and fresh air, I heard a train whistle, a sound that this morning gave me chills as I thought of those innocent souls who were brought to their death on trains. And as I walked in the chill and fog, dressed warmly in a long sleeve shirt, long pants and a down jacket, my thoughts turned to those who endured freezing cold winters in Auschwitz without benefit of warm clothes or shoes, and who returned from 12 hours of back-breaking work to unheated barracks.

Several mornings after breakfast, we walked to the main Auschwitz camp for a morning of work or study. The walk was less than a mile each direction, but I think it gave each of us some very tiny experience of what the prisoners must have endured as they walked and ran every where. I felt that walking made me feel more like a participant in the entire experience rather than as a mere observer. Some days, we walked back to the camp after lunch. Walking was for me a meaningful part of the experience. Rather than arriving in a bus as most visitors did, we walked across some of the railroad tracks and saw some of the many buildings that still stand as stark, cold reminders of the Nazi horrors.

The appearance of the main camp, with its tidy brick buildings, is deceiving. It looks like a small village, with streets neatly laid out. The reality, of course, is far more sinister. Auschwitz is anything but a neat Polish village. The famous sign at the main gate, with its proclamation that "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work will make you free), was a chilling introduction to the camp, marking the place where countless people walked to their deaths. We passed the spot where the prisoner orchestra played as new arrivals entered the camp, and where the bodies of those who were killed while trying to escape were displayed as a warning to others. 

We had a 4-hour, in-depth tour of the original camp, Auschwitz 1, led by a Polish guide who provided an amazing wealth of information. Auschwitz is a state museum, and it feels like a museum. It covers 49 acres. Despite the atrocities that took place there, I don't feel that I got a real sense of the horrors and reality of life and death in Auschwitz 1. Yes, I saw displays filled with eyeglasses, suitcases, shoes, brushes and even human hair. For some reason, the collection of thousands of shoes got to me, as it did the first time I visited Auschwitz a few years ago. My eyes were drawn to the two red shoes in the case among thousands of brown shoes. People -- now brutally murdered -- once wore these shoes. The human connection was very real. But I felt detached from the realities of this place whose name will always be synonymous with cruelty, torture and death on a mass scale.

I saw the basement 'standing cells' where prisoners were forced to stand up. There were four standing cells at Auschwitz in the basement of Block (Building) 11, each of which measured about 1 square yard. Four prisoners were crammed into each tiny space that forced them to stand, with only a 2-inch opening for air. I also saw the starvation cell, where prisoners were held without food until they died. Block 11, with its narrow corridors and dark cells in the basement, truly was a house of horrors. Another tidy brick building was the scene of horrific experiments on woman, most of them Jewish. I saw displays of empty cans that once held pellets of Zyklon B, the pesticide used in the mass killings in gas chambers. I saw a display of the gray pellets themselves. Auschwitz 1 also housed SS headquarters. The camp initially held Polish political prisoners and Soviet military prisoners, part of the Nazi plan to exterminate Slavs, whom they viewed as sub-human. Later it and its sister camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau, held primarily Jewish prisoners.

Despite knowing about and seeing these horror chambers and exhibits, I feel that the camp on the outside seems too neat and tidy. It's hard for my mind to imagine the torture, the starvation, the cruelty and the mass murder that took place there. At the back of the camp, just beyond the electric fencing and several guard towers, stands the house once occupied by Rudolf Hoess, the commandant of Auschwitz who was hanged for his crimes. It is occupied to this day, complete with a satellite dish on the side of the house. I cannot imagine how anyone can bear to live there.

During the trip, I certainly was struck by the immensity of the suffering and death, but strangely, I didn't have a strong emotional response. I was very tired, yes, both physically and emotionally, and overwhelmed, but I was surprised by my muted reaction to what I saw, experienced and learned.   


Perhaps one reason for my lack of a visceral response was due to the fact that the brick barracks are not what most people envision when they think of concentration camps. The first time I visited Auschwitz, I expected to see the wooden barracks shown in many documentaries about Auschwitz. This, in part, made it difficult to imagine and comprehend the true horrors of this camp. The double electric fences and numerous guard towers, however, did give an idea of the true nature of the camp. Perhaps the human brain simply has trouble comprehending such cruelty and death on an unprecedented scale.

Seeing the rooms in the brick buildings (known as blocks) crowded with wooden bunk beds gave a pretty good idea of the awful conditions in which prisoners were kept. Some groups of tourists were noisy, chatting away and laughing. The group I was with, however, was silent and solemn as we toured the various buildings and learned of the horrors they had held.

The following day our Polish guide led us on a 4-1/2 hour tour of Auschwitz 2 Birkenau, the huge expansion camp about 2 miles away from the original. This camp covers 423 acres and has 360 barracks, 60 of them brick and the remainder made of wood. It had four crematoria and could house 92,000 prisoners.

Standing outside the main gate, looking at the tracks where the trains entered the camp, I tried to imagine how frightened and exhausted the new arrivals must have felt. They had no way of knowing what lay ahead. Perhaps that was a good thing. But of course, my imagination fell far short of their reality.

We first viewed the camp from the big guard tower at the main gate, gazing down on the massive prison. We then stood near a train car, frozen on the tracks with the doors closed. I looked at long rows of barbed wire, electric fences and countless brick buildings destroyed by the fleeing Nazis attempting to cover up their crimes. We walked the route prisoners took as they went either to the gas chambers or to barracks where they would be worked or starved to death. We walked most of the acreage and visited sites most visitors don't see, including a lush, green field of grass that holds the ashes of countless bodies cremated outside when the nearby crematorium V stopped working. This camp truly was a house of horrors on a massive scale. The overcast skies, and eventual rain and falling darkness, only added to my sense of foreboding.

One building holds displays of photographs prisoners had with them when they were 'processed' and sent to their deaths. Some show smiling couples, families, children and individuals. They were ordinary people condemned to death simply because they were deemed different, inferior, sub-human.

The final stop at Birkenau was known as the death barrack, for the two buildings housed women deemed unfit by the SS for further work. These women awaited death in the gas chambers without food, water or medical care, perhaps for several days. When the barrack was full, additional prisoners were kept outside in a locked yard. There is no electricity in these buildings, so it was nearly impossible to see the crowded barrack and stacked wooden bunks in the falling darkness. Some visitors used light from their cell phones to provide the only illumination. The building has a stove, but there was no wood with which to provide heat during the cold, cold winters.

The next day we returned to Auschwitz I. My group spent about an hour one day and 90 minutes the following day raking leaves and sweeping a small portion of Auschwitz 1. These very mundane and seemingly small tasks were our little contribution to maintaining the grounds at this very special place. It also, I think, enhanced our understanding of what it was like to live here. But we had proper clothing. We all had shoes that were appropriate and that fit. We had no concerns about being beaten or shot if we didn’t work quickly enough or hard enough. And unlike the prisoners, we were able to leave and return to our lodgings for a good lunch. Everyone in our group pitched in to help others. We took pride in our simple work. And we were happy to contribute in some very small way to the museum.

I think each of us felt this personal contribution to the museum. My back was sore after the first day of sweeping and raking, but my discomfort was nothing when compared with the suffering of the prisoners. Physical labor, something most of us weren't used to, put things into a new perspective. We also spent time on other days checking portable displays for signs of damage or wear and tear, and inspecting permanent exhibits for spelling or grammatical errors in the text that had been translated from Polish into English.

In the evenings, we had a debriefing session to ask questions, present our thoughts about what we saw that day, and respond to questions from our German leader. His questions were thought-provoking, to say the least.

We also got to hear from a member of the archive staff who showed us some of the documents (letters and Nazi forms) both original and photocopied produced during the war. The Nazis were consummate record keepers, a task carried out by slave labor under the direction of the Nazi overlords. But only those prisoners not sent directly to the gas chambers were registered, so no record remains for the vast majority of those who passed through the gates of Auschwitz and Birkenau. 

We got to see a special exhibit of art produced at great risk by prisoners and by survivors, as well as getting a tour of the facilities where work is ongoing to preserve the thousands of artifacts from the camp. Everything from baskets to some 3,500 leather suitcases

to toothbrushes and enamelware are being carefully preserved. Sitting next to a box of toothbrushes that once belonged to prisoners, and realizing the very personal nature of these items, was chilling.

We had a couple of hours of free time on the last day, to revisit exhibits, take photographs or just be present among the ghosts of  Auschwitz. I took advantage of the nice weather to wander the camp one last time, taking photographs that I hoped would capture the horrors of this evil place. This also gave me a chance to be alone with my thoughts. The people in my group are wonderful

The wall where the SS shot prisoners.

people, but sometimes I needed to be alone.

Auschwitz is so much more than just a stop on a tour of Poland, or a day trip from nearby Krakow. The first time I was there a few years ago, I visited both Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz 2 Birkenau in a single day. There was so much I didn’t get to see and experience. 

Auschwitz is so much more than simply a a collection of buildings, guard towers, electric fences and mass killing facilities. It deserves to be visited with enough time to truly understand its horrors. What members of my group struggled with, and that still remains unanswered, is how this could happen.

This trip was very physically tiring due to the long days, lots of walking (more than 7 miles a couple of days), as well as the emotional and intellectual toll it took. But as one member of the group noted, our feelings of hunger, our sense of feeling tired or sore or cold, are nothing. 
   
As I prepared to leave Auschwitz 1 for the last time, after spending many hours there, I paid a final visit to the crematorium. There were few people inside, so I was able to offer a final, quiet tribute to the victims of the Nazi killing machine. I wanted to say something to the ghosts of all those murdered by the supposed superior race, to let them know that they have not been forgotten. But all I could whisper was "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The crematorium and gas chamber at Auschwitz I.

Grief Below the Surface

I am experiencing grief in a new way.

It's not overwhelming, but it lurks just below the surface. I got home earlier this week from an intense 12-day trip to Berlin and Auschwitz, Poland, to learn about the Holocaust. It was physically and mentally exhausting. Less than a day after getting home, one of my dogs, a 12-1/2 year old papillon, died suddenly as I rushed her to the emergency veterinary hospital. She had been in good health, and just a few hours earlier she covered my face with kisses as I drove her, her sister and my other dog home from the boarding kennel where they had stayed many times.

This little dog hadn't been an easy dog. She had lots of attitude and a rather demanding personality. But she had come a long way since I adopted her and her sister 7 years ago, and she now rarely acted out when she saw other dogs. Regardless of the challenges she sometimes presented, I cared deeply about her and was both shocked and saddened by her sudden death.

I still feel very sad, and I continue to look for her before realizing that she is no longer here. Fortunately, her sister shows no outward signs of distress over the sudden loss of her littermate.

The sadness of Auschwitz, the final walk through the gas chamber and crematorium at the original death camp, reviewing my 1000+ photos and preparing some of them to share with the rest of my group, writing a blog post about my experiences, and the death of little Bailey -- all created a deep pool of grief. But the grief isn't manifest with sobs and incessant tears. Instead, little things will cause, as they say, my eyes to leak. 

Today I received a sympathy card from the veterinarian who tried unsuccessfully to save Bailey. That brought tears. I try to avoid people in my neighborhood who are used to seeing me walk three dogs, because I don't want to explain why I am walking only two. I still expect to see Bailey in her favorite spot near my desk as I edit photos or write. I have cleaned and put her food dish away. Her leash hangs on the hook in the laundry room, unused. Her special beaded collar that I bought in Kenya sits, no longer needed, on my night table in the bedroom.

I have been through the loss of close to a dozen dogs in my lifetime, some with which I had a special bond. But just because I didn't have a special bond with Bailey doesn't mean I didn't care about her. She got the same care, the same attention, the same grooming and quality food and veterinary care, as all my dogs have received. This little 14-pound Munchlet, as I called her (her slightly larger, 20-pound sister is known as Munchkin), took up a bigger place in my heart than I knew.