It’s good to be back to blogging. For a warm-up bear with me through a family saga: it may be funny, for you. And there may be a point.
A late uncle of mine (let’s call him “Bruno”) died in 2013. I know little of him except that my mother, then 13 years of age, dragged him (then age 3 or 4) through the Hamburg firestorms in 1943. I met him once—at my grandmother’s funeral, where they had really good food. From various conversations that I did not follow at the time (the 1960s) and cannot now recollect, I understand that my mother and aunt bailed Bruno out of trouble at various times over the decades. His life was fully European—aimless, on public support, and fruitless (so far as we know). It’s a very sad story.
Having been informed of Bruno’s death, we all (with an exception noted below) promptly renounced the inheritance by means of a notarized declaration. The guy can’t own anything except debts, probably including colossal debts to the German government for late-life care: who wants that? But that clever maneuver has come a cropper.