A Kaffee Klatch is an informal gathering of people who gather at a friend’s house to talk and enjoy each other’s company over a cup of coffee and a piece of cake.

I attended my first Kaffee Klatch in the village of my mother’s birth. In the village, it was mostly a woman thing. I was not yet a teenager and not yet terribly excited about going to a Kaffee Klatch. I was a city girl, and Neibsheim was a small village stuck in a time warp in the middle ages. The women who attended were over forty. I knew they were over forty because women over forty wore long grey skirts and grey blouses, and their hair braided into knots at the backs of their heads, also known as "Alte Weiber Knoten" (old women knots). Very young girls wore their hair free with the wind blowing through it. Girls of marriageable age wore their hair in two long braids, sometimes doubled back a little. We called those braids "Affen Schaukel" (monkey swings). It was easy to identify the young from the old in the village. What they wore was like a uniform.

It was different in the city. Women in the city wore color like a badge of honor. It was the Youth that wore a uniform at least once a week. A law of the Third Reich, created by Goebbels, declared that the Youth of Germany belonged to Hitler. That meant once a week we wore uniforms: black skirt, white blouse, brown jacket, and a black scarf held together with a "Knoten," a leather knot much like a brooch holding the scarf in place. We too gathered once a week. We sang songs about the glorious Fatherland and competed in athletic contests. I learned how to do a handstand. When I showed off my newly acquired skill in the village, I was told in no uncertain terms that behavior of this type was immodest and "verboten" in the village.

My mother did not want to run the risk of my doing any more immodest stunts and since she was going to the Kaffee Klatsch, so was I. It was a command performance.

The Kaffee Klatsch was at Aunt Ida’s house. Aunt Ida had just recently returned from America. The Third Reich insisted on her leaving America, since she was not an American citizen. I found Aunt Ida fascinating. I loved my cousin, Karl Franz. He was three years older than I, tall and handsome with a smile on his lips. Even more fascinating was my cousin’s latest acquisition. Karl Franz had rescued and raised a young raven. I loved animals and I had never been within hailing distance of a raven. I had an ulterior motive for attending the Kaffee Klatsch, actually two ulterior motives: one, to see and touch the raven; the other, to enjoy coffee and cake.

There must have been at least eight or ten women gathered around that table. Karl Franz, being male, was excused from attending the Kaffee Klatsch. I sort of wished I had been excused. But I was female scarcely past ten years of age and my hair braided stiffly into two tails bent double, the traditional Affen Schaukel. I was sternly advised to speak only when spoken to. Other than that, I could respond with "please" and "thank you." Aunt Ida’s sister, better known as Aunt Sassy, a nickname she had acquired because I could not pronounce the R’s in her name. Aunt Sassy was in charge of Kaffee Klatsch manners.

I did not like Aunt Sassy. Even though she was an adult and considered my elder, I had difficulty respecting her. I found her arrogant, overbearing, and adept at stretching the truth a little when it came to informing my mother about my latest misdeed. When she felt her territory threatened, she shouted and pointed her finger at the miscreant. She did not tolerate opposition.

At that particular gathering, her eyes rested on me frequently as though to tell me that she was in control and all I had to do was submit. I never liked submission unless it served a good cause.

Grandmama was well acquainted with the situation. Grandmama was there as well. It was a hot day in the summer, and the door to the dining room had been left open to permit a small breeze to circulate. It did not take me long to spot Karl Franz. He smiled at me and pointed to his right hand. And there was the raven. Ravens are about twice as big as crows and perhaps twice as curious. The raven peeked in through the partially opened door. I could have sworn he made eye contact. I concentrated as hard as I could, hoping that my thinking could persuade the bird to come into the dining room. While I craned my neck to follow the path of the disappearing bird, my Affenschaukel accidentally took a bath in my coffee cup. That was an OOOOoops, subject to a scolding. Aunt Sassy was great at that. My Affenschaukel was out of control and, heaven forbid, there was a spot on the napkin. I was told to behave. My Aunt Antonia pinched me on the right posterior and my mother pinched me on the left. Grandmama’s bony knuckles came down on my head. I promised to sit still and pay no attention to anything no matter what. It wouldn’t be an easy promise in the beginning. But it got easier as the afternoon wore on. Once again I spotted the raven. He had entered the room unannounced. Ravens have that staid, ceremonial, professorial walk. I looked demurely and primly straight down at the tablecloth before me and just a bit to the right at the floor below. The raven looked up at me. And with my eyes I tried to tell him, "Get the one over there, the skinny one with the overbearing disposition."

I don’t know how mind control works, but about five minutes later, Aunt Sassy suddenly levitated, both arms flung wide as though she was attempting to fly. Her coffee cup tumbled, its contents spilling all over the pristine tablecloth. Her spoon made a tinkling sound as it skipped from the saucer to the table to the floor. Aunt Sassy screamed. The raven let her know quickly that he could scream louder. Then he saw that bright and shiny object on the floor. He stopped belaboring Aunt Sassy’s ankle, picked up the spoon, spread his wings, and just sort of swooshed out of the room, but not before he left his commentary in brilliant white, the consistency of whipped cream, on the lady’s dessert plate right on top of the coffee cake. I loved it. For just a little while, I was as close to heaven as I could possibly be.

That was the last Kaffee Klatch I was permitted to attend in the village. Thirty years passed before I returned. I had been forgiven for emigrating and for immigrating. There was a gathering at Uncle Johann’s farm house. I presented my daughter to the family, to the clan. They loved her for her smile, her gentle nature, and her blond hair. They said she looked more German than I ever did. But then I had always been different. They remembered me for doing handstands at the village square and for letting the raven bless somebody’s coffee cake.

And now I’m doing a Kaffee Klatsch at Culpepper once a week.

Grandmama is once again standing behind me with a question: "Exactly why did you dislike Aunt Sassy?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Aunt Sassy stretched the truth to fit her purpose. She shouted at people and she pointed her finger. She just had to be on top." Grandmama has a problem understanding "on top."

It has to do with early American History, I tell her, with the Puritans, to be exact. The Puritans wanted their men on top and their women submissive. The men controlled and the women were controlled in every aspect of their physical existence.

"Do I understand your thoughts correctly?" Grandmama probes.

"Yes!"

"Very interesting history."

"There are people who have to be on top, just to be on top."

I was still thinking about that first Kaffee Klatch and I wondered silently. There is no silent wondering with Grandmama. She knew I was curious to know whatever happened to Aunt Sassy.

"You should know that. What happens to people who forge the world to be a tool to serve their purpose? They usually become sad and lonely and depressed. Age does not turn white for them. It turns that kind of grey that hangs over sea and sand like a mourning cloak." If I wondered about myself, about that white hair, Grandmama reassured me that it would never happen to me. I had laughter and kindness in my soul, true gifts of heaven.