events

Yom Hashoah Living the Legacy: Second Generation Holocaust Survivor Children

Here are a few photos from the Yom Hashoah Living the Legacy: Second Generation Holocaust Survivor Children Panel that Linda spoke at last Monday. It was an introspective and wonderful experience  with 80-100 in attendance.  This event serves as a reminder to lean on each other and to always remember and share.
Slipper Camp

Slipper Camp: BLOODLINE/FAMILY

SLIPPER CAMP: BLOODLINE/FAMILY

lindahogan

My next online writing Slipper Camp – Bloodline – begins on February 20th. I was inspired by this quote: ‘Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands’- Linda Hogan.

We will be writing about our ancestors and our current family. This hits home for me, a daughter of the Holocaust whose family perished in the camps. As always, you can stay home and write in your pjs and slippers. As always, if you enroll you will receive 3 prompts a day on Bloodline/Family (every other day) for 20 days. As always, you will write 1,000 words on a prompt of your choosing and send it to me every other day. Please join us. You can PM me for details – Linda Schreyer – or post here. Only a few spaces left. Thank you.

If you want to join Slipper Camp please email me at pravina@aol.com (or join the facebook event here) and we’ll send you details. Starts February 20. Ends March 10.

THANK YOU

Linda

family, Friends, Memories

Labor Day Memories

One year ago I spent Labor Day weekend proofreading Jeanne Goen’s manuscript. It was published two weeks before she died, feeling complete that her book, priceless stories of her life, was out in the world. Today I’m remembering fearless and effervescent Jeanne with love and the fondest of memories. We are with you.

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family, love

Daughter of Two Artists

When you have a granddaughter in Bali, you know her life is different than if she were raised here. And when I saw this photo, 3 years ago, I realized just how different her life is. Because this is Jazz, age 5, ‘piecing with a krink mop’ according to her dad, my son Evan, outside their house in Bali, free to be as abstract as her inner muse takes her. ‪#‎daughteroftwoartists‬ ‪#‎baligirl‬‪#‎grandkidsarethebest‬ ‪#‎truelove‬

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family, love, Memories, Uncategorized

One Year Ago

Our Bali granddaughter, our beloved Jazz came to Brentwood with me where I taught a writing class as she read and drew and thoroughly enchanted the class. Afterwards, we went out for ice cream. And here she is, almost 7, pure sweetness and beauty, sharing a moment of love with me. In six weeks, I leave for Bali to celebrate her 8th birthday in her home, where she was born in a bathtub of frangipani flowers, delivered into the loving hands of midwife Ibu Robin Lim. I was the first to hold her, after her mama and papa. When they handed her to me I was overcome with love. I’m still overcome with love for Jazz. I haven’t been with her since August and she says she’s waiting until I arrive to cut her hair. I’m waiting, too, Jazz. For the moment you’re in my arms again, always deeply familiar despite the months and the miles. That’s what love does. Keeps us heart to heart. Keeps us deeply connected. Always. Our beloved Jazz..

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Art, family, Greta Schreyer, love

Blessings this week

Big news this week.

I finally found a home for my mother’s Burning Wooden Synagogue paintings. (Burned in Eastern Europe on Kristallnacht.) Some of you may recall that at the end of her life my mother, artist Greta Schreyer painted a series of 6 of these burning synagogues. She said she had to live long enough to find the courage to paint them. They were exhibited in a museum in NY before they came tome when my mother died 10 years ago last October. And here they’ve been, in the studio, all these years.

This week the first shipment of these paintings went to the Skirball Museum – Cincinnati.
I’m incredibly grateful and a bit overwhelmed.

It’s been my decade-long goal to get these to the right museum. I’ve tried again and again. Now that they’re packed and ready, my tears are falling. Not exactly for my mother. I’m so grateful to have found a good home for these. But just before we closed the shipping boxes I began to sob. For the suffering of Jews in these small towns in Poland where these synagogues were set on fire. I said a prayer over them.

And now, off they go.

Greta