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.

Legacy

As summer starts to fade, and the scent of flowers becomes more faint, I find myself turning more inward, and returning to my small tapestry and embroidery projects. My husband and son are both computer game aficionados, an interest I respect , but that eludes me. My father's mother and his two older sisters are skilled seamstresses, and on my mother's side there are several painters, her mother, and her two older brothers. I decided to combine both legacies and do embroideries of my own design, as a way to pass on both art forms for my son, who also has an interest and talent for art, especially pencil and ink drawings. My husband has a solitary nature, which can prove to be a challenge for my gregarious personality, so embroidery became a way to embrace our quiet life style, and in a way that part of Michael suits my basically Buddhist perspective on solitude. Michael has always been intrigued by Australia, especially the outback, and I can see him there, because his tolerance of solitude is impressive. My embroideries take a long time, anywhere from six to nine months, and the stitches are minuscule, so it takes an excruciating amount of patience, making the experience transcendental and very meditative. Most of the poems I was finally able to release and write after my family fell apart, were written carefully in my head, while working on an embroidery project. In a  world of instant technical gratification, needlework seems outdated , and belonging to a different space and time. But that is precisely why I like the challenge it presents. I am an anachronism doing my painstakingly slow needlepoint, while I hear the noises and sounds from my son's and husband's computer games. I am working on my 7th project, and each project presents a new technical challenge, depending on whether I am working on flowers, animals, an abstract design, depending on the thread I use, and since I draw each pattern myself in pencil on the canvas, that too presents a different challenge each time. It is in a way, like creating a painting, but with needle and thread. I love choosing the colours, the dimensions , choosing the design. It is interesting to be inundated in the language of computer games, much of which I  do not understand, and to have my son and husband attend the PAX video and computer game convention in Seattle for the 4th year in a row, as I work on my embroidery project of a family of red eyed tree frogs, and smile at how our family literally sometimes lives in different worlds.

Manatees

In the Defenders of Wildlife 2013 calendar, there is a picture for the month of November,of a mama manatee happily swimming with her baby. The picture conveys happiness, contentment, peace, but it filled me with sadness, because I thought of my sweet Basset hound Lafayette, who died on March 28th of this year. I loved her passionately, and the last two years she struggled with a bad hip and arthritis. She was no longer able to go for her loved walks, and it broke my heart, as she became heavier than she already was before, her body becoming a prison to her. Her sweet and patient disposition often reminded me of a manatee, and when I saw the idyllic picture in the calendar, I wished for her to be a manatee in a next life, so her big body would be able to feel freedom in the comfort of the water. Like a manatee, Lafayette was very sweet and harmless, often the brunt of jokes at heartless commentary from friend and foe alike. I miss her every day. I am so glad she died peacefully at home when her heart gave finally up on her cumbersome body. I hope animals have a spirit world too, where they are free from the suffering and trials they endured while in their physical bodies. The blissful picture of the manatee family also reminded me of how often cruelty is hidden in its suffering. When we say something hateful or hurtful to an innocent creature, the blow does not show, but the pain is there, in their eyes. The world must be full of blind hearts, because I have seen and see a lot of animals with pain in their eyes that seems invisible to their heartless owners.

Silk Ribbon

I love late summer, when the heat simmers down without losing its warmth, and the sky turns a blinding blue, with a sweet south-western breeze. Our sunflowers tower above us, the morning glory Heavenly Blue trumpets  put on their best and last showing, and there is a silence of peace and acceptance in the air that seems to come with only the last of summer's glory. This morning, the sky seemed a huge liquid silk blue ribbon, stretching over my house and my garden. I thought of a friend of mine, far away, and for a brief, magical moment, it felt like our worlds were next door to each other. As if my friend was able to reach up and touch the same silk ribbon sky as it undulated majestically past his window. It was one of those rare artistically-visually enchanting moments , silent, mesmerizing. When I was a young teenage, thirteen or fourteen, I drew and painted, before I started writing poetry and stories at age 17, and the visual beauty of the mirage of the blue silk ribbon sky reminded me of those days when my favorite way to express myself artistically was with a pencil or a paintbrush. The moment reminded me also of a visually stunning movie, set against the unlikely background of the carnage in Nanking in 1937 during the second Sino-Japanese war. "The flowers of War", directed by Zhang Yimou, and based on "13 Flowers of Nanjing" by Geling Yan, is a cinematographic jewel as it tells the unlikely alliance between an American mortician and twelve prostitutes who risk everything to save the lives of thirteen orphaned schoolgirls who found temporary refuge from the slaughter going on in Nanking by the butchering Japanese troops, where not even children are safe from murder and rape. The courage found by the mortician and  the displaced prostitutes in the face of destruction and brutal death is filmed in a stunning way, and manages to convey hope amidst constant fear and despair. They come up with a cunning and risky plan to guarantee the survival of the orphaned girls by dressing the prostitutes up like young innocent girls to save them from rape and death by the predatory officers. While the prostitutes play the role of the teenage girls, the mortician gets them out of Nanking with an old repaired truck, eluding the Japanese. It is a beautiful film, in story and vision. The cinematography by Zhao Xiaoding is gorgeous, leaving us enchanted by the ability to find beauty in the starkest of realities, war. By focusing on enhanced perception of daily circumstance and objects surrounding the characters as they navigate through the hell of their city's annihilation,  the viewer becomes both a witness and a participant. When I looked at the sky this morning, I too felt both a witness and a participant, albeit of a much more peaceful place and circumstance. By the way, Christian Bale as the mortician and Ni Ni as the de- facto leader of the prostitutes are both brilliant, so is the young actor portraying George Chen, Huang Tianyuan, who plays the young boy becoming in disguise the extra person needed to give the Japanese soldiers the number of girls they expect.