Azael

Today my mother, were she still alive, would have turned 100. She was an extraordinary woman, although I don’t think she thought of herself that way at all. She was born in a hamlet on the Danube River in Austria between the twentieth century’s two World Wars. The latter war raged through her teenage years, and upon its conclusion she met my father as a US Army officer stationed in his native Austria. She accompanied him to this country as a war bride, and thus left for good the valleys her people had farmed for centuries. I knew her as an American diplomatic spouse in the days when that was a full-time job in its own right. There was none better. She was fluent in three languages, a master at putting people at ease and finding common ground, and—along with my wife—the most naturally elegant woman I ever met. We’re blessed that she had the opportunity to meet her grandchildren, and I’m proud to carry forth her mischievous spirit and hearty laugh. Happy centennial! Maria Jobst Landau, 1926-2010