Summer Photo Gallery 2015

Who We Really Are

Words connecting us on our walk through life
reminding us how to find our way.

People meeting us eye to eye, listening to our hearts
as we follow the music of our hopes and dreams.

Steady, rhythmic as the beat of the ocean's timeless waves
life drums out a story, of light and shadows patterned to the fabric of time.

I know you, why would I not, we know each other, how could we not.
Friends, family, neighbours, we all are one.

Yet I wonder, who we really are, as we dance our steps
as best we can and try to keep the song in our hearts strong.

There is only so much the mirror can tell us all,
and we never see ourselves at all, only the light bouncing silently off each other's souls.

Who we really are is dust off the gods' magic wands
as the stars align to the light and the slumbers of our nights.


Trudi Ralston.
August 17th, 2015.

Nobody Wins - A lesson in caution

The summer heat continues on, it is often too hot for people to be outside long until the evening hours when the sun's heat is fading behind the tall evergreen trees. My son is at a friend's house and I feel his absence in the quiet house as the AC unit drones on and my steps echo down the hall way. The isolation  of our small family can hit hard. Suddenly, a wave of sadness gripped me, and the powerful song I first heard at 22, " Nobody Wins", by Elton John started singing in my head. I heard it the first time I realized my parents ' marriage was turning into a nightmare, and we were all going to pay the price as their four children :
" They must have loved each other once
But that was many years ago
And by the time I came along
Things were already going wrong
I felt the pain in their pretense
The side they tried hard not to show
But through the simple eyes of youth
It wasn't hard to see the truth"...
The chorus is heartbreaking, and chills me to the core, to this day:
"And in the end nobody wins
When love begins to fall apart
And it's the innocent who pay
When broken dreams get in the way
The game begins, the game nobody wins"...
By the time my mother was done tearing her marriage apart, my youngest sister committed suicide, my other younger sister died of cancer at age 44, my brother's marriage was destroyed, my father died alone in an Alzheimer's institute in Belgium after she kicked him out 7 years before that, my brother and I became permanently estranged, and she died from complications of a lifetime of alcohol abuse. I struggled with the trauma of loss, betrayal, anger, and the fear I would not be able to escape my parents' awful marriage, and my in- laws disastrous marriage. My husband and I have been married 29 years, and it remains difficult at times to believe we are OK, as the ghosts of his and my parents haunt us off and on, the doubt, the fear, the sadness.
Elton John goes on in the sad ballad to show the fruits of love gone wrong:
" They must have loved each other once
Before the magic slipped away
And as their life became a lie
What love remained began to die
I used to hide beneath the sheets
I prayed that time would find a way
But with the passing of the years
I watched as laughter turned to tears"...
I remember my mother screaming at my father in her drunken rages, when I was already an adult, 26, taking a semester break from graduate school, to try to help my parents' miserable relationship. It is horrible when children get torn apart, no matter what age, when their parents' marriage turns to dust and ashes. My mother roped me in, and manipulated me into her narcissistic games, it was exhausting, and in the end , she threw me away like I was a used Kleenex tissue. It was devastating to my already shaky self confidence. I put myself back together, for the most part, with a lot of time, and a couple of years of therapy, but the damage, though invisible, is real. The hardest part remains to stay vigilant and make sure I do not set up traps for myself , my husband and our 23 year old son, that get us stuck in the same swamp of my parents' and my in-laws marriage disasters, keeping our love for each other alive and healthy:
" We used to love each other once
With all the passion we possessed
But people change as time goes by
Some feelings grow while others die
But if we learn from what we see
And face the truth while we still can
Then though the passion may be gone
Some kind of love can still live on"...
The song is a strong reminder to me to stay alert, to be aware of my own weaknesses incurred under the regime of my parents' sick marriage. The chorus is powerful, and reminds me of how important it is to be determined to break those chains from the past, to make sure the damage to my son remains minimal, because it is so devastatingly true that " And in the end nobody wins
When love begins to fall apart And it's the innocent who pay When broken dreams get in the way
The game begins, the game nobody wins"...
Elton John's song is a powerful, powerful message, one anyone caught in that web of parental marriage dysfunction can learn from. 

Whistling Winds

This has been the driest and hottest July on record for our state, and now that August is here, the feel of a cold breeze this morning felt like a delightful and welcome change. It felt like an early September this morning, the kind that makes you reach for that sweater you put away last autumn.
Last night I was enjoying a stroll through our backyard when I heard our neighbour Mark calling across the fence to our dog Yara and me. It turned out he wanted to hand me a bag of golden plums a friend of his had extras of in his orchard.The hot, dry summer has made all fruit and vegetables here grow abundantly, as Mark and I both commented on our own gardens. Mark and his wife of 43 years have lived next door from us since we moved to this house 26 years ago. They raised 4 children, we all saw grow up and get married, and they now have 13 grandchildren and another one on the way. Mark's wife, Karen, who is 62, was diagnosed with bone cancer 5 years ago, and has been battling this devastating disease ever since. Mark is out early every morning getting his bicycle ready to ride the 3 miles to work. I believe it really helps with the stress of his wife's illness, which is progressively getting more debilitating. She is now in a wheelchair. I asked how she was doing, and he said the doctors were getting ready to update her medicines, since the current generation had run its course in stalling the cancer. It sounded like the pain medicines too needed an upgrade. I am so glad Karen and Mark have such great children, and that their children live close enough that they can visit on a regular basis, so that the grandchildren too can bring a welcome boost of hope and energy. Talking to him over the fence so casually about such grave matters made me grateful we live in such a friendly neighbourhood where people feel comfortable enough to check each other's mail and water each others plants when out of town, and to stop by to borrow a cup of milk , sugar or flour when out of these while making a recipe or dinner. I thought of my friend Catherine, whose long time and former boyfriend bravely battled bone cancer for 10 years, until he finally succumbed to the disease at age 50 a couple of years ago, leaving behind a young wife and 5 year old daughter. At least Karen has the satisfaction of having lived a full life, having celebrated a long marriage, having raised and see marry all four of her children, and now enjoying a large troupe of grand kids. Life seems so random at times. Some people live to be a hundred, others never make it to adulthood, or die as children. You have to enjoy every sunrise. That is one of the things I really enjoy about living in a country setting. I love the feel of being close to nature, to its rhythm and wisdom, and  its acceptance of life as it unfolds on good and bad days. As humans we tend to think we are the only creatures on this planet, and we forget we are surrounded by animals, plant, sky, wind. We get so absorbed in our own importance that we forget we are part of a larger system, a larger mystery. Nature has a way of reminding us of that, as we experience here with the enormous wild fires in California right now, and the terrible drought in Texas, the very strange heat here this summer, and that is just in our own backyard. Being close to nature keeps me calm, realizing this planet is billions of years old, and that whatever is coming its way, no matter how dire things may get, it and humanity will probably get through the upheaval one way or another. I do have to admit the climate globally is a bit oppressive, also politically, and that too, I hope will pass and leave hope for our children and their children.
My husband and son believe the universe is a random sequence of events, and that there is no such thing as destiny, human or otherwise. I am not so convinced all matters human or otherwise are just an accident that evolved over time into what we now see or perceive as reality. I am thinking of the pictures I took this morning of a very dedicated bee that fearlessly dove into a large Morning Glory's narrow heart and it was a tight fit, but like an expert spelunker she manged to get in there without tearing up her wings or legs. That confidence and determination is what life is all about, whether you are a bee or whether you are me taking the picture. I heard Mark's footsteps echo away as he walked back to his house, and I walked past our greenhouse back to our house, where my husband and son were eagerly awaiting me finishing the BBQ. pepper jack burgers I had started to cook for dinner.
Joni Mitchell has a song called " Both Sides , Now", where she has a line that says " Well something
's lost, but something's gained in living every day". It felt that way tonight, in a very real and concrete way.
.Maybe that is one good thing coming out of this global climate change we have going on. Whether we are next door neighbours or live half a planet away, the weather makes us relate, at least on that level, as if we were we all living next door.

The Recipe

If I give everything I have, everything I am, was and can be,
will it stretch my soul far and wide enough for you to see its light coming through?

If I swallow the words I want to scream, and chew them quietly like my morning cereal,
will your words find a way to my heart, and will I be able to listen without choking on their silence?

If you give everything you have, everything you are, were and can be,
will it stretch your soul far and wide enough for me to see its light coming through?

If time could slow down just for a while, and help us find the smiles we dropped like crumbs
along its path, would it be enough to see tomorrow's river touching our searching steps?

If for one moment we could reach up to the stars above our nights, and touch their fire
would they lead us back to the dreams we tossed up in to the sky like sparkling dust for our eyes?

Soft like a summer's breeze, our steps together mark their prints in destiny's sigh
and together we walk, together we search, for that dawn where all hesitation falls away.

A touch of pepper, a pinch of salt, I think this dinner turned out allright.
The candle is lit, its lilac scent delights the moon watching over the story of our lives.


Trudi Ralston.
August 3rd, 2015. 

The Shore

How delighful to lose sight of the familiar shore, to feel the wind in your hair
as the waves and water swallow up any land that held the eye.
New horizons to explore, new sounds, colours, scents to enchant the heart and mind.
Time flowing easily around the new boat so eagerly stepped on, a small suitcase casually
strapped to the boat's energy and new found trails and path.

As time goes by, the yearning for the well known lights of the home shore stir unrest
and a longing to turn the boat around, takes over any thirst for more adventure,
and when it turns out the road home cannot be found, the heart sinks as were it itself the boat.
Circles in the water, circles in the drowning soul, matching the circles under the eyes, that compete
with the salt of the water for tears, swept up in the whim of the winds.

A lifeboat comes to mind, as the old boat creaks and wears under time's strain and weight,
the shore might still be found, time and again, so it is thought, until it becomes clear the voyage
on the boat no longer may include the possibility of reaching the home shore.
Travels continue like a song, deepening the soul's reach and strength, acceptance
the boat's breath and sail, a rhythmic journey of courage under foreign skies and stars.

Only in dreams is the familiar home shore found, and laughter and joy of reunion abound.
Because even when the home shore is once reached again, all familiar faces are gone, tossed
to the wind and seas beyond, as home never really was the safe harbour after all,
but a dance of death only one step behind the boat you boarded so long ago, all smiles and hope.
In the end, the only kindness found is the one that required you to leave your name behind.


Trudi Ralston, born Geertrui Wilhelmina Desender.
July 28th, 2015. 
 

Shadows and Shade

The night is cool here right now, a welcome change after yet more scorching heat. The moon looks like a crisp piece of crystal in a darkening sky, the fresh air feels soothing and the light sweater I am wearing adds a touch of casual ease after the stress of finding the heat controlling everything from sleep to food to mood. I shiver with a certain delight, the sensation one I missed all the previous nights this month as the recent heat wrapped itself around every flower, every plant, every breath, every step. The stars sit encrusted in the velvet dark above me, and I welcome the silence of their sparkle. There are days like today, where it feels like I must always have lived here in the US, and that I am almost able to convince myself that I was born here, and the person who grew up in Roeselare, Belgium, is just someone I conjured up to amuse my mind. I remember an interview with an American survivor of a Japanese concentrationcamp during World War II. He was a prisoner in one of those death camps for 5 years, and he said there were times where he felt that the life he knew before his imprisonment was just something he'd imagined, it seemed so far removed from the reality he was in while in the camp. Of course, the comparison with my 40 years in the US are absurd, but the words of that soldier hit a nerve emotionally,because I remember them well and the sensation they provoked was one of identification with the impact of what he was conveying. It has been a rare occasion indeed, and remains one to this day, where I can speak freely of what it is like to live outside of your country and language and culture of birth for so very long. You develop a secondary vision, one that makes you view the world around you as were your eyes looking always through a kaleidoscope, where there are layers from all the worlds you have absorbed blended in with how you see things, layers that are invisible to the eyes of those around you, because you feel everything in Flemish and English, and everyone around you feels it only in English, and you are one layer removed form them, because there is no one around you that also has the Flemish perspective. My Peruvian friend Maricela has those double layers too, of Spanish and English, but all the years she has been in the US, she is surrounded by other Latin Americans and speaks more Spanish than she does English. The same with my Vietnamese friend Yvonne, who speaks Vietnamese constantly with her mother and sisters, each and every day in the beauty shop where they work together. My perspective is unique, and that can be very exhilarating and charming, but being away from any one who speaks my language all those years also makes for a sensation of being in a space where the intimate parts of my identity and being are invisible to an often dehumanizing degree. My art and my writing are a way to combat that, and my love for animals, who also often are without a voice as to their existence and emotional reality. There are days it feels like I am a shadow in the shade, irrelevant, here, but not seen. One thing about that condition of exclusion so to speak, is an almost pleasant sense of detachment, and a sharpened sense of intuition, that rarely fails me, especially when it comes to those in close proximity to me, either  physically, or emotionally. I often think of the character Russel Crowe plays in " Gladiator ", general Maximus, who through betrayal is reduced to being an exile and a slave and who overcomes his limitations through will and integrity. I have seen that movie half a dozen times, and each time I come across it, it sends chills through my heart because I know what it is like to have to reinvent yourself in a world not your own. It is fascinating at best, infuriating at worst, and most of the time, it feels like you are a monk without a monastery, because it takes so much faith to keep going and to keep hoping. It did not help that I lost what ever family I had, and that Michael too has no real connection to his small family. The best part of this exile has always been the interesting people I got to meet, and sometimes know, friends from all over the globe, who in time though, all went back to their country. Catherine went back to France, Driss went back to Morocco. Everyone went back home. Michael gave me a second home, and Nicholas made it a family with him, and for Michael too, this country is a strange place, since he is a stranger to his family as much as I became one to mine. We both are shadows in the shade. Nicholas is free of that, for the most part, but he is quite aware of my tragic family history and Michael's bizarre family story. Over the years , you develop a thick skin, one that accepts that you are an outsider, culturally, emotionally, and intellectually and philosophically. So, being an artist makes it all acceptable, even interesting some days. Heaven to me would be a place where I get to be around all my favorite friends, who would all live within a few hours distance, and we get to celebrate life together, on good days and bad, and laugh each in our own language, and in the language we have in common. In real time, those friends all live on the other sides of the planet, and I see them in my dreams, and I talk to them in my mind,  briefly and happily erasing the boundaries of space and time, like I do when I miss Catherine, or Driss, or my aunt Lieve in Oostende.