Margot

Margot was a very interesting person to me when I was growing up. I don't remember exactly when my parents met her and her husband, but they were the friends that took my brother and I to London and Paris. She and her husband lives in a huge mansion that sat like a castle atop a hill overlooking a huge garden. We often went to their house, for brunch and dinner, and the place was a delight to explore, as it had secret passage ways and was full of exotic trophies from Africa and Asia. The house seemed like a fun labyrinth to me, and it smelled exotic too, of lilacs mixed with sandalwood or Moroccan musk perfume.Margot was Walloon, and everyone always spoke French at her estate, even though her husband was Flemish and so were we. She dressed extravagantly, in dresses and jewelry bought during her extended weekends in New York, a city she adored. She cooked extravagantly too, there were times I was not sure what it was we were eating, but it always tasted good, so I thought it was always exciting to eat at her house. She liked me, and I enjoyed her taking me seriously in conversations, she was a boost to my self esteem. Languages always came easy to me, so I was quite competent entertaining a conversation in good French, even at only age twelve. She was a big lady, and very gracious and sensual, and very attractive, in personality and looks. I remember many years later, when my husband Michael and I went to Belgium after we finished our master degrees from the University of Texas in Austin, and we took a train to Paris, you could at one point see Margot and Jeff's huge mansion from the train. It still was there, imposing, proud, still on its hill. I wandered what happened to her and her husband. If they are still alive they must be well into their eighties. With all the chaos of my parent's marriage falling apart, I lost track of them. I wander if she realizes what an impact she had on my desire to travel, and how much I always enjoyed her house, her company and conversations, and how grateful I remain for the wondrous experiences at a young age in London and Paris.

Paris 1970

In the late summer of 1970, my brother and I , who were 12 and 13, spent a week in Paris courtesy of the same generous friends who had taken us to London with them the year before. Most people think of Paris and images of the Champs Elysees  and the Eiffel tower, Monmartre, Notre Dame cathedral, L'Opera, L'arc de Triomphe, come to mind. My experience included all that and it was wonderful, but when I think of Paris, I think of the Catacombs and the Paris Mosque as the highlights of my week there. It is what comes to mind when I remember Paris. To this day I have the postcards from the Catacombs and to this day, the scent of mint,which now grows in our backyard and whose perfume greets me each spring and summer morning with its enchantment, reminds me of drinking hot sweetened mint tea at the Paris Mosque. I still remember how fascinated I was with the beautiful mosaics and their bright turquoise colours, and to this day that shade of bright blue remains one of my most favorite. The experience at the Mosque opened up my mind at a young age to the marvel of other perspectives in aesthetics, music, culture. I was fascinated by the sounds, the clothes, the timbre of the voices mixing French and Arabic. It woke up a subdued nostalgia for foreign lands, exotic adventures. I remember many years later, listening to the magnificent voice of the Egyptian singer Fairuz, and how her songs of love and country would transport and mesmerize me, even though I did not speak a word of Arabic, other than understanding that "shukran" meant "thank you" and "habibi" meant "I love you".
The Catacombs were a very intimate experience. You would not think that artistically arranged skulls and bones from an original overflow of mass municipal graves going back centuries would be a recipe for beauty and contemplation, but to me it was. The catacombs were opened to the public in 1874 and people have been going to see them ever since. Some 6 million bones in underground tunnels that are well lit and have spacious walkways, are on display in seemingly endless walls. To me there was nothing creepy about it. It was a spiritual experience, very solemn, very quiet, as people around you whisper respectfully. It is right in the heart of Paris, too. So one minute you are walking around the streets of Paris, the next you are going down this spiral staircase that descends to this cellar that leads into the Catacomb tunnels. I still remember coming back up to the streets. By then the light of day was fading, and the street lamps were lit. It was surreal to walk around, surrounded by all these people that were, well, alive, after seeing the bones and skulls of so many, many dead people.
I have very fond memories of Paris, thanks to the Catacombs, and thanks to the Paris Mosque.

Malaguena Salerosa

There is a beautiful Mexican love song that over time has become world famous. It is called Malaguena Salerosa and is the story of a man lovestruck by an enchanting woman of a higher social class. It is an ancient theme and a familiar dilemma. I have always been particular to both Mexico and Southern Spain, ever since I spent a month in Mexico City when I was 21. I have also always had a fascination for Southern Spain because of the influence of Arabic language and culture. So, the song Malaguena salerosa, literally, spicy woman from Malaga, holds a double intrigue. I recently had the pleasure of getting back in touch with a long lost friend, who is from North Africa, a part of the world rich in the confluence, past and present of several cultures, and it has always been a dream of mine to experience the richness of countries like Tunisia , Algeria and Morocco. Close to the time I received a welcome phone call from my friend, whose voice and laughter I had not heard in almost 27 years, my husband put on a CD with Mexican music and the first song to play was Malaguena Salerosa. I had not heard the song in many years, and it struck a deep chord of melancholy, of time gone by, of friendships gained and lost, and recently recovered. It is amazing to me how persistent the emotions can be attached to our dreams and aspirations. In this case, it was a favorite song reminding me of a Mexican friend I had loved and lost to remind me of the power of my longing to reconnect with a friend from a favorite part of North Africa. In my mind, I was already there, meeting at the airport, introducing my husband and son, meeting his wife, visiting his university, the wonderful area in the Atlas mountains, seeing the imperial cities of Meknes and Fez, visiting Rabat, Casablanca, Essaouira, just enjoying the experience of the blend of Berber, Arab, French, Spanish language and culture. If we make it back to Belgium finally again for a visit, it is only a few hours by plane to Southern Spain and North Africa. It was a powerful experience emotionally, to feel a resurgence of that dream to visit and travel to that part of the world. The invitation came by phone form my friend, only adding to the happy feeling of sensing a dream closer to reality. All our focus right now is on getting our son through college, and like in the song Malaguena Salerosa, I too will understand life if it chooses to move on past my dream, but it will never diminish the feelings of love and hope for a deep longing carefully kept in the treasure chest of my dreams.

London 1969

There is something enchanting about our persistent fascination with the British royal family. I just watched bits and pieces of the four day celebrations in honor of Queen Elizabeth II 's Diamond Jubilee of her ascension to the throne. I watched the images of Buckingham palace, Trafalgar Square, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and it took me back to 1969. I was twelve, and my brother and I had been invited to spend a week in London with good friends of our parents and their twenty year old only daughter. These friends had traveled all over the world, and they had this big, old jeep they drove everywhere, a souvenir from their safari days. They decided to take the old jeep to London, just put it on the old boat that would take it across the Channel to Dover. The ride on the big old mail boat was exciting, we went up on the deck,and I loved the fresh wind in my face, as we left Oostende and headed for the famous white Dover cliffs. Once we got there, we got the rambling, loud jeep off the boat and started driving for what seemed endless hours by miles and miles of row houses leading into London. We ended up staying at the posh Carlton Towers. It was the first time for my brother, who was eleven,and I to be abroad, without our parents. It was thrilling. I still remember the luxurious feeling of waking up in the spacious room, of eating breakfast in the elegant dining area, the lush feel of the bathrooms, the carpeting everywhere. The fun part was exploring London, from Picadilly Circus to yes, believe it or not, Soho and its seedier sights at night. I still recall how I was slightly scared when we walked by a very loud all nude dancing strip club. I remember seeing the naked picture of a very pretty woman, and how worried I was about her having such a dangerous job, from the looks of the nasty looking men hanging around the entrance. We were there during a garbage strike, and in Soho and elsewhere, away from the fancy boutiques and prominent tourist places, there was enough garbage to feel it hitting above your ankles. In with the super short mini skirts and cutting edge hairdos and footwear, it was an almost surreal experience, especially for an eleven and twelve year old who had grown up in a very quiet small town. I bought my first mini skirt ever at Harrods of London. It was so short, my father refused to let me wear it once I brought it home, unless I wore long pants with it. It was one of those mini skirts they sold with matching panties, because it was so short. I am surprised my parents let my brother and I go to Paris with the same friends the next year! I remember having my picture taken outside Buckingham Palace with one of the Queens' famous horse guards in the shiny helmets. I remember the thrill of being at Trafalgar Square and being fascinated at all the different cultures and ethnicities : Sikhs in their impressive turbans wearing smart western suits, women in sari, black men and women from various African countries, very rich people, and very poor. I remember one mad homeless guy, dressed like Napoleon. He got around walking on skis he had painted gold. He would do a song and dance for money. It left quite an impression on me. I remember being in the Tower of London, and what a creepy place I thought it was. I loved the peace and quiet of the beautiful St. Patrick's Cathedral, a respite from the hustle and bustle out side. It was summer when we were there, very hot. The week long trip to London left a vivid impression of how a big city can be both absolutely wonderful and absolutely terrifying. I loved the experience and already looked forward to our trip to Paris the next year.

Meterke

One of the fondest memories I have of my father's mother, whom everyone called Meterke, "little godmother", for reasons I am still not sure of, is her large cookie tin full of buttons. She and my father's two older sisters were seamstresses and my Meterke made some beautiful dresses for my sisters and I. The two dresses that stand out in my memory were a pair of jumpers in a very soft red and dark blue corduroy with very smart short sleeved lace blouses. I loved those dresses. My Meterke also made my first Communion dress and veil, out of a beautiful French eyelet lace, with pink satin ribbons and a matching little handbag. I was so proud. She also made the most elegant clothes for my sisters and my dolls.I had a doll I adored, called Isabelle, and she had gorgeous long black hair, which I combed every day. I kept her little white shoes sparkling clean. Meterke made Isabelle a red coat, with a mandarin collar in black velvet trim, that matched the trimmed cuffs of the coat's sleeves. Where she found the tiny glass buttons for the coat I never knew, but I was thrilled. Meterke had a lot of patience with her grandchildren, took their concerns and ideas seriously, and she was great to play boardgames with.She was also a very upright person. My youngest sister who at the time was no more than five, loved to cheat at card games,and Meterke tried very earnestly to change Ludwina's penchant towards this particular delight in mischief, but to no avail. So, she just chuckled and let it go. It was fun to go to her apartment in Oostende, by the seaside, in Belgium, as there was the irresistible attraction of the big box with what must have been hundreds of buttons. Buttons large and tiny, shiny, wooden, mother of pearl, glass, ceramic, satin, lace, bright red, gold colored, black, silver, and Meterke allowed us to dump them all out on her sewing table. They made the most lovely rustling sound, like water running over large boulders, it was such a delight to run your fingers over them, as were they keys to a very bizarre musical instrument. I also remember her helping me buy a lovely piggy bank piggy in ceramic, that cost two dollars at the time. I was about eight, but I had only brought one dollar in my little coin purse, so Meterke paid the difference, because she could tell I just fell in love with that piggy bank. I still see it before me. It was a girl piggy, with flowers in her hair, a big smile, and big eyelashes of which I was always fond of. I made sure my little sisters did not have a chance to cut doll Isabelle's eyelashes or hair, as they liked to do with the less alert dolls. Meterke died in 1976 of breastcancer, about six months after I left for the US. I missed her funeral, so she stayed alive in my mind, as I never saw her dead. All these years later, I still think of her fondly, and every time I see someone wearing a sweater or dress or coat with unusual buttons, I remember the fun times my sisters and I had with her big box of buttons, and how beautiful my doll Isabelle looked in the coat Meterke made for her.

Rain

Days that are cloudy,cool and quiet when in springtime we expect warm and sunny skies, I often find soothing, but also energizing. For some reason I think of Merlin in his cabin in the woods, solving problems he'd been pondering for a long time, somehow having an extra clear insight, because the weather is just right for a keen understanding. I like to think that everywhere important solutions about the universe, medicine, climate change, feeding the world's growing population, resolving military conflicts, all come about easier on days when the weather is subdued, here, in the tropics, just about everywhere where there is such a thing as weather. Rainy days too, have their own meaning to me. I know a lot of people complain when it rains, it gets everything wet, it makes for muddy shoes, dirty cars, messes up floors and carpets,etc., but to me rain gives me a sense of security, of being less visible, more shaded, more relaxed,too.I like the sound of rain, and how it makes everything green in the garden and forest shiny, abundant, and how it enhances the scent of the leaves, the dirt, the trees and the flowers. Cloudy days also enhance colors, makes them more dramatic, deeper,richer. In the spring and summer, the rain brings out the small tree frogs, who sing ecstatically, delirious with the joy of a new mating season. I love to fall asleep with the window open, listening to their exuberant calls. Sounds carry differently on rainy days in, too. They are more muffled, more musical,softer. I love to feel the rain get my hair wet, and how it gets frizzy, making me feel more relaxed, more casual. Everything smells better after a rain shower,it is mother nature's washing machine, for our hair, our clothes, and also our attitude, our energy, our soul. Rainy days always make me feel renewed, lighter, freer. I know too much rain is a real problem, and so is not enough rain. It is rare that a flood or drought are a blessing. But just enough rain, to add a touch of sparkle to everything when the sun comes back out, to freshen the growing flowers and vegetables, the feeding animals, the stressed out people who tend to take everything too seriously, a whimsical rain shower that messes up our hair and shoes, our carpet and car is just the thing to get that sense of humor back on track. A walk in the rain, with or without that umbrella, might be just what the proverbial doctor ordered, so we can watch the ponds and lakes rejoice at the extra reserves they will have when we do hit a dry spell in the summer, and watch the birds and frogs get a cool drink of water as they watch us too appreciate the blessings rain can bring.

Legos

It is an image that comes back to me
Time and again:
The four of us playing Legos together
Noisily, on the garage table
On a hot summer's day.

The garage was cool, a happy refuge
From summer's heat.
The hundreds of Lego pieces
Bustling loudly in our busy hands.

We were building toy houses.
This is where I'll put the window.
This will be a door to the kitchen.
I'll put the bathroom here
And these are our beds.

Laughter, happiness ringing out
Above the Lego blocks.
Hours passed, blissfully.
Four children playing together
In innocence and joy.

Whatever love there was, turned to ash.
Leaving bitter seeds for us to digest.
Whatever home we had, was broken.
The toys spilled all over our hearts
And souls, like toys gone mad.

Death and silence triumphant ghosts
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

But in my heart I still can feel
a faint smile come to me,
A longing palatable, persistent, strong.

The sun is hot today,
The garage cool, full of my now grown son's toys.
And I dream and wonder
Of  a childhood come and gone,
his and mine, and childhoods yet to come.

May they be sweet and long
Full of joy, and may they be spared
The dark shadow of our family's tragic war.


Trudi Ralston.
April 15th, 2010.

One of the most persisting memories attached to this flashback in my recollections of this particular moment in time, is the sound, like music, of the Lego pieces, and the voices, so happy, so unaware of what was to come. It is one of the most hypnotic memories I have of all four of us playing together, my brother Bart, my sisters Goedele and Ludwina and I, a moment of innocence and happiness frozen in time.
June 1st, 2012.