A necklace

It seems that life is intent on reminding me of the validity and ubiquitousness of my favorite word: juxtapose (to place side by side, especially for comparison or contrast, fyi).  The sorrows and joys of life are lined up side by side, one dark, one light, followed by another dark one, then perhaps a light one--like beads strung on a necklace.

It seems that there has been a fair share of dark in life recently, as pertains to those around me and their processes.  My aunt has cancer.  A friend has heartbreak.   My own thoughts and energy have been murky.

But on a brighter note, my parents will move back to Finland in two days.  They are returning to a land that has changed much since they lived here, and from a country that is the opposite in weather, temperament and location.  It will not be a painless change, but I trust it will be a good one.

Then, along with this wonderful news of family reunited, there is once again the shadow side of loss. My uncle passed away.  I don't grieve on his behalf because he went somewhere that I long to go, to the other side of finite time, to a joyous eternal life.  But on this side of time, I feel the loss.  I know my aunt and cousins and their spouses and children have to deal with a new reality that is missing an important piece.  My uncle and aunt had been married for over half their lives; they met when my aunt was 14. It's not just a hole in your life when such a person passes away, it's a part of yourself that goes, too.

So, I sit here at the kitchen table, staring out at a brilliant blue sky and sunlit apartment buildings, contemplating the intricacies of life to the rhythm of the wall clock and my own keyboard typing. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Each bead of the necklace is carefully juxtaposed by the one beside it, adding luster, adding beauty, adding content.

May we wear it with hope, ever with hope.

Spring in Madrid

I am seated on my aunt`s red couch after a lovely day of visiting Miguel Cervantes` town of birth, Alcalá de Henares. My aunt and uncle and I had a great tour guide who was full of intellectual anecdotes and details from the 16th century. Among other places, we toured the University of Alcalá, where the defence of a doctoral dissertation could take two days and involved standing in a room filled with professors and peers to question you.  If you did well, they cheered.  If you did poorly, they jeered.  And if you passed, you had to provide everyone with dinner and organize a bullrun in the town,  which was heralded by all the university and church bells of the area. 

I´m seeing family here for a few days, before I head up north to visit a friend and walk a few days on the Camino de Santiago.  It brings back memories of the walk Sonja and I did in 2009, but nothing along the same scale, as a few days is all I can give.  But the idea of walking through mountainous Asturias with great company is compelling.

Three years have passed since I was last here.  The garden at my grandfather´s house has flourished and he has a satisfactory sauna installed in the patio. My cousin has moved out and lives nearby, and age is a creeping vine that has not left me untouched either. Some things don´t change though--the Spaniards love of food and their own history, and the unexpected itineraries of daily life hereabouts.

In the Room of Losses

1985: Yours truly learning to make pulla with Mummo (d. February 23, 2012)

This small picture, and a few others, are the new additions I bring to the room of losses as I grieve.  Not without hope, because I will see her again.  And with peace, because she is free of her earthly burdens and pain. 
I can't seem to write, to express anything in poetry or words. Just tears. Aching. An image in my mind's eye, where I place a kiss on her forehead and cup her face in my hands as I whisper, "You are loved, Grandma, you are loved."

getting acquainted

Me and Mamma
Summer 1983

the cellar room

         In the cellar of my imaginary house, there is a room that I rarely go into.  I usually only pass by its closed wooden door on my way elsewhere down the corridor.  But on days like today, when my lungs and heart seem to have been replaced by a constant ache in my chest cavity, I know I must open the door.  The door has a simple plaque that reads, "Losses." With a deep sigh, I enter inside, aware of the feeling of familiarity that sweeps over me.  The minute I enter in, I forget that I am in my cellar, for it is so large.  It is the kind of cellar room that is composed of many smaller ones full of nooks and crannies and odd little windows with views I no longer see.  The walls are lined with shelves full of odds and ends; filing cabinets with clippings and airplane tickets; photographs in frames of all shapes and sizes; and boxes piled against the brick walls, full of emotions and colors.  There is a whole corner piled up with bags of things I haven't even gone through yet.  It is a room full of snippets from my life gone by.

         Today I came to place some items on the shelf and to sit in the overstuffed chair in the corner. I am not always great at acknowledging how much something lost meant to me. Sometimes when I ache, I don't even know why.  But today is different. I open a little velvet box in my hands. Inside it is a golden chain with a pearl pendant.  I don't even know how many years ago my grandmother gave it to me.  But I remember thinking when she gave it to me, that it was because she wasn't sure she would see me again.  Thankfully, I did see her on various occasions after that.  The second item is a glass jar of peach jam, the kind you can get from Lidl. When Sonja and I were in Spain this fall, my grandma was so upset she couldn't send anything home with us. So we finally agreed to take the opened jar of peach jam that she so insistently wanted us to have.  Grandma loved to give, so this jar reminds me of her. 

         I slide into the overstuffed chair after placing the jar and the box on the shelf.  I let my mind drift through memories of her.  I can hear the tone of her voice, her laugh.  I see her and my grandfather's wedding picture in my mind's eye.  She was so brave to travel halfway across the world to marry him.  She was a woman whose life was given to the service of God and others, first in Finland, then in Uruguay, and finally, Spain.  I think of the lovely moments we had this fall to just sit with her and Grandpa and hear stories from their youth.  I am so thankful for that time.  And I am thankful that she is no longer in pain and no longer suffering from physical limitations.  I am thankful for the hope of seeing her again one day.  Regardless of that hope, I cry, because I have never been good at goodbyes.  But that is why I am sitting in the hug of this overstuffed chair in the room of losses, for my grandmother passed away last night and I ache. 

fall

Back in Finland, where the leaves are turning colors and the air is 20 degrees colder than in Spain. Brrr! At the end of the Camino, I felt ready to come home. But I confess to feeling a bit of culture shock upon arrival, a bit of melancholy that seems to be part of the season. I am sure that after a bit of adjusting we will find a routine. We haven't really settled back in yet, as we are spending time in Heinola with my parents before they head back to Ecuador next week. We are staying at my cousin's home and trying to get paperwork and errands done. After weeks of walking and a steady routine, it seems the world (even in Finland) rushes by too fast. Sometimes in the mornings, I have stared at my closet and wondered why it is so difficult to figure out what to wear. For weeks we didn't needed to think about that, just wear the shirt that's clean or dry.

Anyway, just some ramblings on a fall night. Candles are burning and the evening is waiting to be enjoyed with family. Some tea. Dear friends to be seen soon, wood trails to be walked, mökki sauna to be heated. Each season has its loveliness.

85

Grandma turned 85, and her birthday bash was celebrated amongst relatives this past weekend. I spent ten lovely hours rubbin' elbows with cousins and aunts and uncles. My great uncle held a speech that reminded me how the women of my mum's clan have a common trait, namely that they can't keep their eyes dry. I guess that means we are sentimental. The nostalgia of a time that existed before I did--before my mum was a twinkle in her parents' eyes or before any wrinkles dared show themselves on my grandma's face--but continues today in our shared lives, somehow touches me when I hear older relatives reminiscing, thanking, honoring and sharing about it. Speeches hibernate in everyday life, but such occasions as 85th birthdays are perfect for rousing into kind words those memories and feelings that have been sleeping in the heart...even if they make me cry.

snippet

"Should we eat, or go to the bookstore first?" We are in the car deciding what to do with our limited time.
"We should go to the bookstore first. Since we're hungry, we won't stay there as long as we would otherwise," My sister suggests, knowing full well how inextricably tangled one can get in the interesting offerings of Barnes & Noble. We arrive at the stoplight and are still undecided.
"To eat!" Mum decides.
"Ok, Mum won!" Dad announces, then adds to her, "But now you get the job of dragging Laura out of the bookstore when it's time to go! With force if necessary!"
We get a good laugh out of the image of my mother hauling me out by my feet as I dig my fingers into the carpet, wailing that I won't go! Why they would think it is difficult to get me out of a bookstore, I don't know.... :)

grand tour

Where does the time go?! I think that in the recent days, it has neatly disappeared into our mileage meter as we have navigated the freeways of the South. We drove through five states during our ten day stay there. I already mentioned we were in Georgia, but here are some moments from the others:

NC
I tasted some of the best coffee I have had at the Crooked Door Coffee House in a small town called Marion. I forget the name of the process for this coffee, but it involves making a coffee concentrate by pouring a gallon of water through a pound of ground coffee and allowing it to soak for ten to twelve hours. The result is a soft chocolaty flavored liquid best served iced! After trying a tiny blue cupful of it, the regular coffee flavor tasted second rate. Apart from the friendly huge windows overlooking Main St., the wi-fi connection, the fireplace room with tall green velvet armchairs, the hardwood floors, the friendly barista and the redbrick walls, it also had an attached art gallery that made me wish I lived in a house with plenty of empty wall space.

VA
"If you could have anything for dessert, what would it be?" Uncle Gary asked first my sister, then me. We both answered promptly, "Flan!" But realizing such a wish was probably a bit unrealistic for the afternoon barbecue moment, we also added that chocolate would also be good. But some wishes just come true, and our taste buds were happily surprised by delicious caramelized flan! (My favorite!!) It was a small moment, but it captures in my mind the essence of the friendship, hospitality and surprise element that was part of our time in Virginia. A lazy day on the lake, a movie, cute dogs, a surprise birthday party for my dad, reconnecting with friends we hadn't seen in years....aaaah!

SC
Panera: not only your neighborhood soup and sandwich hangout where you can meet Spanish-German men with tropical-sea-colored eyes planning to sail in the South Pacific for six years, but it is also the tasty intersection for friends who knew each other way back when Alosta Place at APU was called home. In this case, it was Abbey from California, and her beautiful children. It is the people, you know, that make travel worth its while. And their smiling faces certainly made the stop in Anderson worth its while!

AL
The Toomers' home has a backyard view toward a jungle much like the one in our beloved Shell, although the foliage is somewhat tamer since Auburn is not quite the Amazon. I think the fact that it was raining only made the comparison more appropriate. I love surprises. So does my family. So we successfully surprised Aunt Trish by showing up at her coffee shop in the university town of Auburn where we enjoyed catching up and tasting some good southern barbecue!

Our road tripping continued upon our return to California, but now we are helping my sister pack her five years worth of belongings in too few suitcases. Condensing drawer-fulls of books, photos, cards, memories, backpacks, shoes and clothes into a space that fits within the airline allowances is no small task! My parents leave tomorrow. Perhaps they will need another vacation to recover from this vacation! I know I could probably sleep for a week straight through. But how else would we have gotten to see all the incredible people and places that we have!?

the south

My favorite war to read about in US history is the Civil War. I am reminded of the division between the North and South whenever I come to the East Coast, away from the completely different dimension of California (that carries its own fascination with its Spanish history). I've always liked the South, perhaps because I have not visited the North yet, or perhaps it is due to my romanticized imaginations of sprawling plantation homes and gently rocking chairs on verandas that overlook green lawns with huge old leafy trees. Here in Monroe, we've driven by amazing old homes with tall pillars framing painted front doors and homes hidden behind tall trees and vibrant flowerbeds, very Sweet Home Alabama-ish. It is humid. People drink sweetened iced tea and stretch one-syllable words into two-syllable words. Life seems slower here.

The negative aspect is that it seems people have no clue of the outside world. There is a whole planet out there, and some people are just not curious about it, or feel that it does not touch them in any way. I have to say that some places exude a red-neck mentality that strikes me as bizarre. I realize that everywhere on the planet people have localized thinking, because what is in one's immediate context is what takes up most of daily life, and that's normal. But to expect that the whole world should (or does) live the way you do or think the way you do is to forfeit the opportunity to learn something new or expand your world.

(Stepping off my soapbox now...) Our journeys take us up to North Carolina and then Virginia in the coming days and I am looking forward to visiting with dear friends I have not seen for many years! I have been enjoying my stay here in the US so far, and am having a blast with my family. We are at the Charles' home, and they have a precious grand-baby named Cidney (affectionately nicknamed Chivito). My mum has a grandma glint in her eye....uh oh! :)