Tuesday, December 23, 2025
Friday, December 12, 2025
Whispers Roar by Kathleen Helen Ackroyd
My Oma came over from Germany before my first birthday. My Mom and Dad both worked; Mom as a Buyer In Training at Joske's in San Antonio, Texas and my Dad, an Airman, worked the command post at Randolph AFB, better known, as 'The Taj Mahal'. They had second jobs also. Neither of my parents felt comfortable leaving me with strangers. And an Au Pair was not an option.
My Oma Was Quite The Character! Hazel Green-Grey eyes flecked with gold, sparkled like cosmic fireballs, giving the illusion of a Powerful Enchantress or dare I say Bruha, when her ire got ired.
Oma, perfectly coiffed henna hair, darkly tanned, lips and nails, (Avon Accented color match guaranteed), bejeweled slippers of silver or gold, purple swirled paisley, turquoise twirled with red violet vortex, on chaos theorized caftan canvas or (Fresh As A Flower, In Just One Hour) chemically dry cleaned, crisp pressed pant suit, was accessorized in over-size, by the intricately designed, turquoise inlaid, and tooled leather purse; with effortless, stately swing, upon Oma's heady, (and, this scent, on others, whose chemistry couldn't carry 'Patchouli' either, nauseous caustic coquettes of cringe) 'Tabu' enfragranced emollient creme glistening, inner forearm.
Oversized Onyx stones of Oval or elongated ellipsis, floated on strong pronged settings of silver shiney and brush textured rings, worn on every finger, except Her wedding finger. Tiny thin-delicate silver bracelets, windchimed harmonically, around her wrists.
"..Gold, purple swirled paisley, turquoise twirled with red violet vortex, on chaos theorized caftan canvas..."
One of the many, Mexican Diamond encrusted brooch, (an owl 🦉of course, and always) complemented the Tiger Eye Stone body and head of (an owl 🦉of course,and always) with the Emerald gem chip eyes pendant, that hung from a delicate chain of virtual crochet silver link ring to ring to ring of perfect length and drawing no gauche accent of breasts. Huge, heavy and solid, more than hoop, silver earrings, accented in punctuation the head shaking "Ja!" or "Nein!" counter in haggling of price on fruit, fish, or Fanta. the implore of the Stall Keeper, (who constantly conceded, conspiriatorially, with my Mother; but more on that later)
"Por Favor, Señora Mayenfels...Or in heavily accented English; "Meeszes Mayenfels Pleeez..This too little money"
And don't think a crowd didn't gather to soak up the energies of the
BATTLE OF THE HAGGLE
A Spanglish-Germanglish Dialectical Spectacle
Oh, but of course, My Oma always got the price She haggled. Adjacent stall owners and market regulars, blessed me with goodies, given me as gift, or sample, as consolation for the duration of The Battle of The Haggle. Not one person, derided my Oma, when she pulled out Her pack of Pall Mall non filters, feigning search for Her Brush-Silver, Ronson fueled, adjustable wick, wind proof flame, rubbed down to brass beneath, striker, and illegible initials of worn, World War II, lighter. The lighter bestowed upon Her, when She was commissioned as Lieutenant in the Luftwaffe. Oma Rode Patrol on a motorcycle with a sidecar.
That was when, there were only whispers of war. . .
Oma cared for me. But, it was more. More like having another Parent. Stern, Strong, Sturdy when wielding, wooden spoon warnings, worried me not. And I would laugh, as I outran Her.
Oma couldn't keep up. Her kneecap had been shattered, when she had to, once again run, to the air raid shelter, my Uncle in tow, and my Mother, clasped tightly to her breast, as the bombs whistled and dropped all about her, and the dust of bullets straif, choked her throat and the smoke burn blinded her freshly rubbled path to hope of safety.
But I didn't know of these horrors. The war whispers, that, then roared. And throughout My Oma's Lifetime and Nightmares, in Her much later years, the roars, clawed and gouged, feeble attempts, at Her Sanity, and scratched ineffectually, at Her resilience. As often happens, in many families, the cared for child, exchanges roles. It was my turn to care for my Oma. One very early 2:00am morning, I was awoken by a bad dream. Only to find, it wasn't a dream.
"Kahhh-Teee! Kahhh-Teeeee!" Oma cried out through her memory-misted night terror. She had these often. This one was particularly dark.
"Die haben mich geshossen! Ich bin geshossen!"
("They shot me! I've been shot!")
Oma's eyes were glazed and mired in the past. I could tell she wasn't with me here, now, in this time and place. I didn't know what to do. I felt so helpless watching her. She was terrified! My response shocked even me.
"No, Oma" I said in English, as I checked her back, under her nighty, for non existent injuries.
"They just missed you. Don't worry. I've got my gun right here" (I lied) "I'll shoot those fucking bastards' heads off!" (and I would have).
"Nah Kah-tee!, so sprecht mir doch nicht" ("Kathe! we don't talk like that"). The shock of hearing her granddaughter's use of profanity, in her presence, brought Oma back into the waking world. I spent the next several hours rubbing her back. We shared warm tea and cookies and watched a German non-war movie.
Current Administration Immigration Atrocities, continued escalation and violation of U.S. Constitution Amendments and Human Rights, has, according to the sources below, Clawed Away At Our Freedoms.
Freedoms guaranteed in the U.S. Constitution are under threat as the administration consolidates executive power, suppresses dissent, and reshapes public institutions to serve partisan interests.
...I Am Very Grateful My Oma is Not On Earth to see this...roar, that was once a whisper.
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