Letter from Berlin. . .

Yours truly earlier today, sporting a new haircut, courtesy of a small Turkish-German place five minutes away.

We've been here in Berlin for a bit over three weeks, where my wife is teaching a summer course at The Frei Universitat on German films and Berlin, with three weeks left before we return home to East Lansing. The weather here has been warm enough to keep things pretty casual where my son and I are concerned.

For example, I brought several pairs of chino shorts, and couple of knit short sleeve polo shirts, a madras, a seersucker, and a poplin shirt for example with my pair of Sperry dock-siders. Truthfully, these have sufficed most days. I did have the chance to put on some chinos, loafers, and a blazer last Friday evening to meet some colleagues of my wife's from The Frei Universitat.

Sadly, I have not yet had occasion to wear either my maroon knit silk tie, or my Madras tie. The few men I see in suits are usually poorly fitted suits with shoulders that are far ttoo boxy and sleeves that are far too long, but I'm nitpicking I suppose. Most young men around here are pretty trendy, or stuck in the early 80s punk scene along with some ugly 90s tats and facial piercings. Sorry for not being sorry about that, but there you are.

I did spot a very nicely dressed young couple about two weeks ago on the U-bahn one warm afternoon. Both were tall and blonde, but not excessively so. He was very handsome and looked like a 1930s movie star with khaki shorts, a tucked in blue oxford cloth button-down, and (surprise) something akin to leather dock-siders. She was stunning in a sleeveless black top, black shorts, and heels and two, or three understated pieces of silver jewelry. They certainly stood apart from everyone else and were Germans (I heard them speaking). So, there are people here in Berlin who get it.

-- Heinz-Ulrich

Cool enough today for tan Land's End cords and my Chucks!

Avoid Careless Chatter. . .

E specially about the personal details of our lives. There is a lot that OUGHT to be kept more private in 2022 than has become the accepted norm for many. With the conscious and intentional cultivation of classic style in mind, however, we want to avoid oversharing and keep a bit more of ourselves to ourselves. Exactly what personal information and how much of it to keep private seems to be a slippery concept though. Here’s my take based on what I was told and observed as a child and young person at home. Basically, one should keep oneself to oneself in all respects (finances, personal worth, accomplishments, politics, sex, dirty laundry, etc.). As my late father used to advise when we were very small, and I am talking preschool and kindergarten, there were particular subjects that were not discussed outside the immediate family. There is a time and place for sharing certain details of one’s life, but most of the time, those should be played very close to the chest,

Chilly Late April Wednesday Attire. . .

Y ou know, if it is going to remain this cold and blustery, I need about eight inches of snow for some more cross-country skiing. But since the white stuff is long gone, it was time to fish through the cedar closet down in Zum Stollenkeller and pull out some cold weather attire for a seasonal reboot. But I decided to forgo the usual gray herringbone jacket from J. Press (my go-to tweed sports jacket) and instead opted for this number from Hart, Schaffner, and Marx plus the tan cords that hang on the same hanger, so strenuous mental effort was not required. Pressed the shirt after tucking in the Young Master last night at 8:30, grabbed these shoes, and socks, and Bob is your mother's brother as they say. Occasionally gazing through the large library window to my immediate left this morning, and I keep hearing that old Jobim tune drift through my mind this morning (aided by the windmills), as sung by Astrud Gilberto ( together with Leonard Cohen and Paolo Conte, the musi

The Pleasaures of a Well-trained Dog. . .

A few final photographs from my visit to my sister in Washington, D.C. last week. These include one of 'Mr. Beau,' my sister's meticulously trained and truly wonderful Doberman, another of my sister, second cousin, step-father, and yours truly on the steps of the church outside Lexington, North Carolina just after our late mother's interment service, two of me solo at the National Cathedral, and a final one of my sister and me hamming it up during a long evening walk the day before I returned to Michigan. My sister routinely walks to the cathedral, about three blocks from her place, to enjoy the grounds and gardens. The Bishop's Garden, in particular, is a place she likes to sit for quiet contemplation and internal dialogues with our late maternal grandparents and mother, very much in keeping with the Episcopal side of things. Our grandfather, who was raised Methodist, became an Episcopalian when he married our grandmother. Before you ask, I am not sure tha

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