My Mother Never Spoke...

about the Holocaust.

While growing up, my brothers and I weren’t  privy to the “How”my Mom and her family escaped Nazi held Austria. The few details we had were murky at best. 

In 1939, Clara Zinn emigrated from Vienna. She might or might not had been with her two siblings or her parents on the NYC bound ship. The European country she debarked from was also part of the mystery. 

What we knew was this. The Zinn family settled in New York. Young Clara met Sid Sambur on a blind date. After the War, they married and got down to business of raising three sons. I’m the youngest.

When it came to those tumultuous WW II years, the unofficial Sambur policy was “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.”  Clara nurtured, hugged and loved her Boys. We were blessed by the best Mom in the World. When life is good, why ask questions? So we didn’t. 

In 1972, God recalled an Angel back to Heaven. Mom was 52. 

I was 17. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/05/losing-your-mother-at.html

Years went by. I emigrated to Colorado. One day, Sid (My Dad) phoned me. 

“Jeffy! I have bad news. Grandma Zinn passed away.”

“ Oh! That’s so sad! She was such a sweet woman. I loved her.” 

Sid never minced words, “Don’t feel so bad. She wasn’t your real Grandma. Clara’s Mom was killed in the Holocaust.” 

Who knew?

Now we live in times where it’s in vogue to speak your mind, to tell it like it is. “Alternative Facts” are fine as long as you say them in a convincing manner. America now has a Racist Mentor occupying the White House. The Commander in Tweet believes American Immigrants should be predominantly White Christians from Norway. (But only if they are not handicapped). In Trump’s geopolitical world other countries are “shit holes.” 

Presently, there is no such thing as a politically correct pause button. Wannabe candidates reckon if the President can get away with trash talk, so can they. 

In this political climate change, is it any wonder Patrick Little is currently ahead of all other Republicans in California’s Primary race for Senate? Mr. Little (minded), is running under a platform of unabashed Anti-Semitism. The State Republican Party disavows his strong beliefs. Yet, this SS Stormtrooper in a suit could be on November’s ticket. 

Other States have similar like minded losers under the guise of being Republicans as well. Are these true American values? 

Back in 1974, then Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz, made a joke about the Pope. Catholics rose up en mass to condemn his low brow comedy routine. He kept his job after a half hearted apology. Two years later, Mr Secretary verbalized an off-color jibe about Blacks. A wave of outrage forced him out of office. 

Where is the outrage in 2018? 

A recent survey of American millenniums (18-34 of age) reported  22% were unaware of the Holocaust. Education is the key to combat racism. If the human race aspires to evolve, it’s imperative we learn from our sordid past. 

My Mother never spoke about the Holocaust, but “We the People” need to.

RIP Mom. I still miss you. 

Last photo: it’s a shame my wonderful nephews never met their wonderful Grandma. 

A Road Trip Like...

no other.

That’s a good thing. 

I’m now in the waning days of a three month-plus on the road again trip. I’ll say it now. This tour has been the most challenging in the six years I’ve been Homeless by Choice.

It all began on February 12th after a six month hiatus from sleeping in a movable object. I had great expectations and high hopes for another worthwhile Barley the Van  roll through the Southwest. It was not to be. It’s was a stuttering, puttering and plodding quarter of a year. 

Why is that? Jeffy? 

Most of the reasons had been weather related. 

I spent a month in Death Valley National Park. Normally, average temperatures are pegging the orgasmic range. ( 74-82 degrees.) I was scoring low 60’s with a wind from Santa Claus’ address. On one hot (for a change) windy day, two date palm trees at Furnace Creek Resort were whipped down. It takes a lot of push to make an old palm tree go horizontal. 

All in all, wind was a constant unwanted companion. I’d say a typical week yielded three days of 25 mph plus breezes. Oftentimes my sleep was interrupted. I wish I could report it was the “When this Van is rockin‘ don’t come knockin’” type of motion. But it wasn’t. It was the damn wind.

You can now find my name in the Guinness Book of Records for the highest CPM of the wind. (Curses per Minute). 

This caused my route selection to be determined by the Weather Channel app. 

Instead of heading to the wild lands I wanted to revisit IE: Escalante region or the Cedar Mesa Areas Of Utah. (Too icy or too wet). I sojourned to warmer places such as Palm Springs, CA. ( probably not the best choice for a straight male looking for a girlfriend ) and Borrego Springs, CA ( a pleasant surprise. ) 

I was in reaction mode of travel instead of an action mode. 

Towards the end of this trip, I surrendered when the forecast turned malicious. I said “Screw it!” and headed to beer and 420 friendlier Colorado. The thought of spending another night in Blanding, UT (yawn) would have had me reaching for Prozac. I couldn’t do it. 

Don’t misunderstand me, it wasn’t all painful. I caught a weather break in Zion and Canyonlands, Those National Parks proved to be the Apex of the nasty spring of 2018. There were a few other “Eureka!” moments, but not that many. 

It was a shame Mother Nature didn’t cooperate. I was so hoping for an easy, gentle transit through the Southwest. I wanted to be reminded on why I live this homeless, nomadic and sociable Hermit-like existence. It didn’t happen.

For the first time of Barley the Van travel, I caught the loneliness bug. It was a virus I thought I had immunity to. The malady made me introspective. 

Back in 2013, Robin (the best sister-in-law in the World) asked me if I enjoyed living and traveling in a Van. I quickly answered, “Yes! It feels right!”

On this Southwest sashay, It rarely felt right.

I’m now in Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes National Park. I’ll admit it. It feels right to be in my “Home” State. 

If future road trips are as rough as this one, I’ll buy an immovable address somewhere in the “Centennial State.”

It might be time for a change...

Jeff