Tales of love and sorrow, by Amos Oz, a book recommended.  Other recommended books: the Diamond Cutter.  Chaim Potok. …

“Old man, look at my life
I’m a lot like you were
Old man, look at my life
I’m a lot like you were

Old man, look at my life
54 and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two

Love lost, such a cost
Give me things that don’t get lost
Like a coin that won’t get tossed
Rolling home to you”
– Neil Young, age modified

Walked and ate meals today with Klaus. Klaus is a bundle of searching, sense of humor, and self-deprication. At 76, he is telling his stories, for any who listens. I walked his pace since breakfast, listened.

Son of Nazi father, descendent of Jewish grandmother, lived in Israeli kibbutzim instead of German military service, student of Zen Buddhism. Never married, but seems to have loved Ivanka, whose family he knows as well as his own.

Talks like Dad, during a long car ride. That is, talks without noticeable pauses.

Not like Dad, but his own: Some harsh stories about the war, holocaust. Some searching stories about his need to find religion, via buffet, until he found a master in Zen Buddhism. Some political summaries, condemning most leaders on some grounds.

Stubborn like Willie, my German restaurant boss from high school dishwashing. Warm. Walker. Perrigrino. Blisters inside, walking to fatigue.

I will always carry Klaus in my heart, dear man.