Window fans

It is just about October and the weather here in Western Washington continues to be gorgeous. There is not a cloud in the bright blue sky, there is a sweet breeze, it is a cozy 71 degrees Fahrenheit. The window fans we put in  at the beginning of the summer are still going strong, and in spite of the constant dust they bring into the house, I absolutely love them, their sound, their presence, because they mean it is summer, or even now that it is officially autumn, that it is still warm outside. Perhaps another reason I like the window fans, is that they remind me in shape of the twirly sticks they sell at the ocean to children. I love the ocean, because I grew up near it, and spent time there in the summers, from the time I could walk. The window fans are associated with free time, with ease, with warmth, play, sun. I want to postpone putting them away as long as possible. I love how the the light plays in them, casting shadows, in the morning and late afternoon. I love the fresh air they bring in, the feeling of a fresh wind, that I can feel cooling my face on hot summer evenings when the house is slow to cool off. There is a reassuring quality to the sound of their whir, that helps me fall asleep on those hot nights when it would be to stuffy to fall asleep comfortably. Summertime and the living is easy, and the widow fans are twirling, the house is cool, there is ice-cream in the freezer, and plenty of nice, cold water in the pool. The simple pleasure of some whirling window fans, is a big part of what makes summer a happy time for me.

Cinderella and the Vietnamese Wedding

Yesterday evening, my husband and I attended a Vietnamese wedding celebration in Portland, Oregon. It was the reception wedding dinner of my hairdresser's younger sister. It was a cheerful celebration at a local oriental restaurant. The banquet room was decorated in lavender, white and pink, the tables were set with fresh bouquets of lilies, roses and orchids and it was apparent that an abundance of food would be served , while a Vietnamese band would be playing. There were 30 tables for ten people each, and just about every seat was taken by the time dinner started. There was a very energetic and effective master of ceremony, a freely flowing bar, and the atmosphere was genuinely congenial. We sat at table 30, with three other couples we did not know, since we were not family. The couple to my left was a distinguished looking Vietnamese husband and wife, reserved, elegant and very nice to talk to. Since we were siting at the end of the room, but still in the middle, we had a good view of the family groups of the bride and groom. The bride looked like a dignified princess in her elegant gown, and at the end of the dinner, she changed into a beautiful red gown with gold embroidered flowers, to come and thank all the guests for their attendance and gifts. The whole dinner had a feeling of class and elegance to it, without being pompous or fake.Everyone seemed to have a good time. When we got home around midnight, I sensed a feeling of disenchantment, not uncommon when one attends an elegant social affair. The thought of Cinderella came to me, of how instead of 300 family members, we had a family of 3. Without my husband and son, I would have no family at all. I am very grateful for them, and together with our cozy cats Sneakers and Tigger who wandered into our yard 12 and 3 years ago respectively, and our recently adopted dog Yara, there are 6 of us. We are very close, very cozy. There are times. like after a large family wedding like the one we attended last night, when the absence of an extended family feels painful. I grew up with many aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, but by the time my parents were done tearing each other apart, I no longer even had siblings. Some of the numbing of the loss will probably never wear off, anesthetizing the sorrow was a way to survive it, to analyze it and eventually understand and accept it. Like Cinderella at the ball, it was not the absence of a gown ,or slippers or a fancy carriage or prince that were the problem. The problem was the nasty stepmother, and evil stepsisters, and the curse she had to break. She succeeded with the help of her fairy godmother. I succeeded with the help of my husband and the blessings of my son, my church and a few very faithful friends. That way, no matter the melancholy aftermath of a big wedding, anniversary, baptism of friends and neighbors, I eventually always find back the slipper I lost in the self-pity party, and the words on my glass slipper are always, invariably:" gratitude at a second chance."

Tamara

In the Tamazight language of Morocco, the word for spider is tamara. A beautiful word for a crafty and intelligent creature. Granted, spiders as a rule are not considered attractive, but I do respect their skill and patience. I carefully avoid tearing their webs as I harvest berries and green beans each day. The only spiders I have no tolerance for are the leggy yellow-green ones that kill honey bees. As honey bees work so hard to produce the medicinal honey, I try very hard to protect them from this  particularly nasty spider. It is fun for me to observe how we react to words, even words that are foreign to us, like the Tamazight word for spider, tamara. To me, my reaction to the sounds of this word were positive, pleasant. The word tamara reminds me of a cool German science-fiction show when I was a kid, where one of the lead female characters was called Tamara. I also like the Tamazight word for rabbit, awunin, It is , in sound very close to the Flemish dialect for rabbit, konyn. I always like it when I discover that we as humans in all our diversity, which can drive us apart with suspicion, have things in common, and the history of language certainly can be an encouraging place to find communality. Maybe that  is why I love languages so much,and why I always want to learn more about them , because they shed light on our humanity, on our experience in that humanity. The more  I learn, the more I realize we have a lot in common, if nothing else, linguistically. If we have the willingness to communicate, to meet each other halfway, a lot of conflicts may become more readily solvable. If we are ultimately brothers and sisters as a human family, we certainly are when you study languages. The further back you go in time, the more languages are related. It is cool, encouraging. If we have language in common, we really should be able to understand each other on larger cultural and political levels. It just brings a smile to my face that in this tense world politically, riddled with suspicion and dubious rhetoric, I know that one of my favorite animals when I was a child, the rabbit, which I called konyn in my West Flemish dialect, is called awunin in Tamazight, and that I can relate to that emotionally, culturally. Go grab a dictionary, and look up some words in a language you are not familiar with. You might surprise yourself, and the world around you.

The Day the Music died

I remember a time when I would listen to music all the time. In the last seven years, that has changed. I had to really work on overcoming the urge to give in to the cemetery like silence that haunted me after both my sisters and both my parents died under very traumatic circumstances. Even now, there are mornings that the quiet sounds of morning outside my bedroom window remind me of the sounds at a solitary cemetery. All the dead seem to be around somehow, quietly sleeping in my backyard. At first , it was eery, but I got used to the sense of them being there on many an early morning, before the noises and sounds of the street evaporate their somewhat oppressive presence. But not evading the silence also became a way to overcome the sadness, the shock and trauma of the tragic deaths. I wrote a piece yesterday about the sweet presence of silence, so I know that time is also a healer in this case, however slow the process may seem. I no longer am afraid of the feelings that can at times overwhelm me, they are now a part of me. I accept them. Acceptance is a big part of the healing process, but it is definitely not something you can hurry. It was extremely difficult to overcome the shock, the trauma, which manifested itself in physical symptoms, like nausea and muscle pain, fatigue and insomnia, the anger, the rage, to let it take its  course  with the guidance of a good therapist, and now to realize, with a deep sigh of profound relief, that the battle is over. I can enjoy music again. Not always, and not yet as often as I did before, but I am moving forward, with a smile and with renewed energy and insight. I went through that tunnel of darkness and made it to the other side, where light and hope live freely. Music is a wonderful thing for the heart , the soul. The music of Stevie wonder, for example has inspired and lifted me from the time I was 15. The music I get to hear and sing at my church, New Life, songs like "Holy Spirit, breathe on me"..., lift me into joy, strength. To have been in that dead space where the music fell silent in my heart, was dreadful. But if you are ever there, don't give up, keep on keeping on, and the music will come back to you, stronger, louder, more joyous, more vibrant.

Dusty silence

The weather this afternoon is absolutely gorgeous for a late September day. It is warm, sunny, not a cloud in the turquoise sky, a barely noticeable sweet breeze scenting the air. The weather is just dreamy. It is early afternoon, and there is a silence about that I have not experienced the sweetness of in a very long time. It is a silence made up of comfort, of a pillow soft ease, a silence that is so comfortable with itself and me, it feels like bliss. They say that people that live in areas where there is a lot of sand know hundreds of words to describe the varying nature of sand. They say that people who live in very icy and snowy climates, have hundreds of ways to describe the snow and ice. I think I have experienced silence that way. It has been a part of me since I became fascinated by Lao-Tzu as a teenager, and since the fallout of my family's demise. In the first instance silence was a companion, a teacher , in the latter, a feared enemy. But what I experience today is a silence sweet as Muscat wine, warm, relaxing, healing, comfortable like a favorite fall sweater. It is a silence where I know I have finally reached a comfort zone within myself where Me and I are good friends, where I am comfortable with just the presence of me. There was a time where being alone felt like being in a straight jacket, oppressive, painful, as I was trying to shake the ghosts of the past. A silence of anxiety, sadness, anger, nausea. This silence today is soft, like my cat Sneakers chinchilla like fur. It is warm, like a good cup of green tea, it tastes dusty sweet like honey. It envelops me like a lover's embrace,accepting me, hugging me, all of me, the broken parts, the strong parts, the doubting and the secure me, the lost child and the warrior, the wife, the mother, the friend. It filters through me like warm light, seeing all of me, but not minding. This silence today has all the qualities of a good song, a good friend, a good meal. I did not think that the throbbing silence of anger and despair would ever leave me ,but today I know it did. I overcame it by not being afraid of the pain of the ugly silence, by facing my sorrow head on, by accepting, understanding, tolerating, praying, and finally, 7 years later, I can drink a cup of silence sweet as summer wine and experience a peace and inner happiness I thought had eluded me for good. Today is filled with a silence that rings through my heart like music from a harp so quiet but so real, I see it vibrate in the sun's dancing light.

Terra Firma

Au pays des reves
est ou tu vivais
si longtemps,
moi t'y cherchant souvent,
sans resultats.

Apres beaucoup d'annees,
on s'est retrouves,
et du pays des reves,
j'ai su te liberer.

Maintenant notre amitie
vit au pays des mots,
jusqu'au jour,
ou les yeux et les mains ouverts

On se reunira,
l'aimitie intacte
malgre les annees,

Les coeurs battants de joie!

Trudi Ralston.
September 26th, 2012.

I wrote this poem for a friend I have not seen in over 25 years, on the hope that someday we
we may meet again, as true friends are a treasure that does not fade with time.

Reflection

This morning, as our dog Yara and I were walking early through the garden, I sensed a definite change. It was so quiet. Our footsteps sounded muffled, only a couple of birds were singing, and the whole morning had a feel of reverence about it. The sky was a cloudy blue-grey, and yellow leaves were crunching under our steps,as we walked through the tall sunflowers. Fall is here. Goodbye, sweet summer and azure skies, warm sun and brightly colored flowers, bees and dragonflies. Goodbye hummingbirds and the buzzing whirl of your bullet fast flight. Goodbye butterflies and the playful games on all our plants. Our cats Tigger and Sneakers will miss snoozing in your warmth, and I will miss the beautiful scents of sweet peas and carnations, and the stunning blooms of our bright red and purple fuchsia hanging baskets. Goodbye soon to the petunias, and my majestic sunflowers. Hello, pumpkins and squash, and leaves twirling to the ground. Hello to the abundance of spiders and their crafty webs. The squirrels are still around, getting the hazelnuts and the seeds I put out, and Yara and I still get to eat raspberries and blackberries. But I cannot deny that there is a sadness in my heart to see summer go, as I love being outside in the warm summer air. The good news is, as nature is cyclical, summer will be back. But I certainly would not mind fast forwarding from the end of October to March. I can celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas in the spring, really, I can. That way , we can go swimming after the turkey and pie.

Cannon Beach

For many years now, before our son even turned one, we have been going to Cannon Beach, Oregon in the summertime for extended weekends. I love it there, the beauty of the beaches, the unique vistas provided by Haystack Rock , the friendliness of the town, the good restaurants, the cool shops and boutiques, it is just a happy place to visit  as a family. I grew up near the ocean in Belgium. From the time I could walk , we would spend entire summers at the ocean. So for me, the ocean is ingrained into my being, I think there is probably sea water in my veins. The sunsets are spectacular. One of the most beautiful sunsets I ever saw at Cannon Beach, was just a few days ago when we spent 4 days there. The sun from our inn's balcony looked like a shiny bright pink opal, slowly sinking into the cloud covered sky, that looked like a see through pearl colored silk coin purse. It was breathtaking. I thought back on my family, on how my brother and two sisters and I would spend the whole day on the beach in Oostende. I remembered with a twinge of sadness that it was my brother's 54th birthday, as I watched the gorgeous sunset ,and let the roar of the ocean fill my soul and heart. Happy Birthday, Bart! I realized, like I do each year how we lost each other in the family's disintegration. The last time I saw my brother was in 1998, at Ludwina's funeral.My husband and son mean the world to me. If people would be visible as elements, my husband Michael would be Earth. He keeps me grounded, solid. Our son, Nicholas, would be Water, fluid and enigmatic. I identify with Wind, perhaps with a touch of Fire. Wind symbolizes my thirst for freedom. Being near the ocean allows me to let the wind sink into my being, as it roars in the waves and stirs the scent of the water, wets the sand in the rhythm of the tides. When I have spent time at the ocean, I feel reborn, recharged, calm, satisfied.So the sadness did not linger, when thinking of my brother, and I wished him well as the sun broke through the clouds one last time. Some people , if they were an element would be Fire. A beautiful element, but dangerous, when out of control. My mother was Fire, and when she was done, all that was left, were ashes. Since I identify with Wind, I try very hard to stay clear of Fire, both in my own soul, and in the people that cross my path, as Fire and Wind can be useful together , but also deadly. That is one more thing I love about the ocean, its wise insistence on balance, its knowledge to understand the need for both high and low tides.

Watermark

It is surprising to me how people can leave an impact on our being. When you cut yourself, and it heals, there is often a scar to remind us that is where we got hurt. I only make that observation, because it gets the visual image across of leaving a mark. I am thinking of a positive imprint, much like a watermark, that you can see when you hold a money bill to the light. To make a watermark impression, takes a very specific physical process. In the same way, the watermark friends, family can leave is an invisible alchemy that we can see with the eye of our heart. My friend Catherine B. in Paris, who was one of my roommates in graduate school in Austin, Texas, is such a person who has left an indelible print on my psyche. The gift of her watermark on my soul is one of inspiring confidence, and making me feel respected and valued. My friend Driss O. in Morocco, who was a good friend also in graduate school, left a watermark that provides creative energy and determination to pursue goals and dreams. Both these friends are far away physically, literally, a world away, but their presence cannot be denied, and in times of stress they appear in my dreams at night, to remind me of the qualities they want to inspire in me. It is a very cool thing. Antoine de Saint -Exupery said that ''the most important things are invisible to the eye". I could not agree more when it comes to the definite, but to the eye, invisible watermark faithful friends leave on our hearts. The watermark my husband Michael is leaving is to persist, to keep on keeping on, no matter what the obstacle. The indelible mark my son is leaving is perspective, as Nicholas has a very keen insight into people and issues. My friend Diane's gift is the watermark of active compassion and humility. My Bishop at my church is giving my soul the permanent mark of strength through rock solid faith. My father's youngest sister, Tante Lieve, is generously leaving the imprint of dignity with intelligence and heart. My father's gift was intellectual curiosity. Invisible gifts that nourish me in times both good and bad, and for which I am exceedingly grateful.

Shifting Gears

We have been talking as a family about the possibility of a visit to a friend of ours who lives in Morocco. A friend who I knew in graduate school, and who recently invited us to his country for a visit. Looking into this, we realized quickly how fast costs add up, between airplane tickets, hotels, food, etc. My son goes to the local Junior college here in Olympia, and works two different part time jobs while going to school full-time, one as a book keeper, one as lab technician. His love is in art, and he hopes to go to Evergreen State when he has gotten his two year degree at SPSCC. My husband and I were thinking how cool it would be for our son to have a chance to study abroad for a year, if he could get a scholarship. My life as a college student was so different. As a successful CEO in Belgium, my father was able to pay for private university expenses at 4 year colleges in the US for all 4 of his children. I did not worry about tuition or paying for school until I got to graduate school in Austin, Texas. There I got instate tuition, because I qualified to teach Spanish as an assistant instructor, which paid enough for rent and living expenses, while I was getting my Master's degree in Spanish and Latin American Literature. My husband Michael, whom I met while in graduate school in Austin, where he was working on his Master's degree in Clinical Psychology, too, got instate tuition the same way I did and was working while going to school. Whatever money I could possibly have inherited was whisked away cleverly by devious persons in the family war, and my husband's mother is a woman of means who has no interest in being there for her grandchildren' college education. Combined with the uncertain economy due to terribly selfish politics in this country right now, our son, who should have had an edge financially, does not, and is no better off than my father was when he started his life as a young adult after WWII. The American Dream nowadays, is more than ever what it is really is, as aspiration, rather than a reality. I am hoping the results of the next Presidential election don't evaporate that aspiration to a mere whisper and illusion. Meanwhile, we hope our son will qualify for a scholarship so he can complete his college education, as he is a very bright student who has always had very good grades.

A Toi

With the beautiful warm summer weather extending into September, and the soft, dusty melancholy air of pre-fall in the sweet breeze, I remembered a singer of whom I had not thought of in many, many years: Joe Dassin. He was a very popular song writer and singer in France in the late 60's and through the 70's, and I never knew he was born in New York to a Jewish family, or that he had a doctorate in ethnology from the University of Ann Arbor in Michigan. I also did not know he and his wife lost their baby after 5 days when it was born prematurely, or that he had died so young, at age 42 of a heart attack. He seems like he was a happy person when I was watching his videos again on UTube. An easy smile, dreamy eyes, good looks, easy charm. His songs, it is true are spiked with melancholy, like "A Toi", and "Si tu n'existais pas", and of course, "L'ete indien". My sister Goedele and my aunt Agnes liked his music, especially his 1978 album "Le Jardin du Luxembourg". Hearing his songs again, and realizing his sudden death at age 42, made me think of my sister Goedele who was 44 when she died of cancer in 2005. She chose a life of ambition and status over a pursuit of academia, with an interest in astronomy. As a child, she was industrious and homey, and I think she would have been happy as a professor, with a bunch of kids, and a healthy lifestyle and marriage. Instead her life was riddled with stress and intrigue, and I wonder if it contributed to her early death. Joe Dassin was no stranger to stress and tragedy in his life, yet he seemed so carefree and happy. Things are rarely what they seem. It was apparently true for his life, and apparently true for my sister. I remember how she would knit beautiful little sweaters as a child, anticipating having a family of her own some day. At it turned out, she had a family of her own, for which she never had time, and now her widowed husband takes care of the soon 16 year old daughter, and 12 year old son, who lost their mother when they were 8 and 4. If only we paid more attention to our childhood dreams and hopes, they are often right on as far as leading to a path of happiness, before rationalization kicks in, leading to so much blurred vision.

Gladiator

One of my most favorite movies is the 2000 movie "Gladiator" with Russell Crowe. The New Zealand born Australian actor deservedly got international attention with his role as the Roman general Maximus Decimus Meridius, and the Academy Award for Best actor, and another ten further nominations for best actor, and Broadcast Film Critics Association award for Best Actor, an Empire Award for Best Actor and a London Film Critics Circle Award for Best Actor. The movie speaks to me because Maximus deals with betrayal and spends all his energy and courage to avenge his murdered family. He is reduced to a slave who ultimately ends up as a popular gladiator able to use his skills as a general to survive and help his fellow gladiators survive in the arena in Rome. His ability to hang on to his dignity in the face of excruciating humiliations is very moving. As an immigrant and new American citizen since 1994, there have been times when the assumptions people make about me are were humiliating, and even after 36 years here, the first 10 as a college and graduate student, there are still times I miss being able to share the nuances of my own native language, Flemish, since there is no one left to share it with, other than one or two people long distance over the phone. There are songs, and books and comedians, and anecdotes I remember form my childhood, and no one to share those with. In many ways I am invisible, and even though the circumstances of Maximus in "Gladiator" are extreme, I am always deeply moved when watching this movie. Russell Crowe does a brilliant job of drawing us into the loneliness of his character, as he struggles to hang on to the love he felt for his wife and son, and tries to survive long enough to avenge their horrific murders. The loss of family is a very specific sorrow, and in my case it was not murder, but terrible illnesses, suicide, despair, intrigue and brutal betrayal that wiped out my family that should have stood together in this country, but instead turned to ashes. The genuine emotions Russell Crowe is able to produce in the face of tragic loss are so heartfelt, so real I feel his heart beat in mine each time I watch the film. He makes a connection to the audience that goes far beyond artistic ability and superb acting skills, he brings Maximus into your own psyche, you become him, you suffer and triumph with him. As he dies, and sees memories of his wife and son, you love them with him, and part of you dies with him. It is the most amazing transcendence, that leaves you breathless. We all have a warrior inside of us, and "Gladiator" makes sure we do not forget that courage and determination is there and that we can access it when we need to.