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.