Can I share a little insight with you that I recently had? It's not translation-related (I tried hard to somehow tie this to translation, but I failed), so you're free to skip this part and jump right to the parts of this Tool Box Journal that deal with more "professional" (and, if I dare to say so, very rich) matters. 

Anyway: A few weeks I shared the arrival of sweet Simon Jerome, grandbaby No. 1 in this Zetzsche family. My wife and I were lucky to recently spend yet another week with him and his parents (they unfortunately live in a very different part of the country), and while I was holding him it finally occurred to me what makes being a grandparent so special. Yes, I deeply and profoundly love my grandchild (but then I loved and still love my children also). And, yes, there is that oft-cited carefree attitude of the grandparent who is (typically) less involved in the mundane day-to-day activities of raising a child and more engaged in doing the "fun things." But I believe there is something beyond that, something that might be even more profound.

As I held and gazed at Simon for hours on end, I realized that he is perfect as he is. Not because of his potential to be someone good or meaningful at any point in the future, but because of what and how he is right in this moment. And the next. And the next. And so on. I don't mean to make that sound like a sweet "Awww" moment of an emotional grandparent. I mean that as something really different from what the parent sees. Of course, the parent also loves this little person -- more than anything in the world. But I think it's almost impossible for them to feel that and not think of the future: of what's going to happen with this child, of what they as a parent can do to make the possibilities in the future as deep and wide as possible, of how they can protect that little person from any harm that might befall them.

The grandparent marvels at the finite, at the present perfection, the parent at the (seemingly) infinite and their role in it. While both are beautiful and important notions of love and survival, I've been overwhelmed with the power of the former. If Simon is complete and perfect at this point, then anyone is, no matter who they are, what they do, and how potentially broken they might be. I don't know about you, but I so often have a sense of impatience with others (and myself) about how much more they (or I) could do or be. And that's true -- they (and I) can grow. But since there's never a moment -- except the one where life on earth ends -- when the growing will stop, they are at this and any point in their lives completely lovable and, well, perfect.

Take it from this grandpa!