The Dream of Freedom. And the Reality of It.

To dad: for his patience, and his persuasiveness, and for his amazingly never-ending, unconditional love for us…

For the past 12 years of my life, I have been saying almost the same prayer every night: that one day, our family will be together. Happy. We are all scattered all over the world, and I just want us, at important times, and sometimes I even dream that maybe at permanent times, to be together. I seldom got to spend birthdays and holidays together with my family for the past 12 years and it’s sort of an emotional roller coaster for a very closely knit family like ours. It started out being unbearable, then it moved to being a matter of fact, and somewhat easier, but there are times when the distance just becomes as sharp of a pain as a toothache. Just insupportable!

It would have been one of those times, if my dad was denied a visa once more when he asked the US Embassy to come to my wedding! For some odd reason, although everyone else in my family got a visa with not much fuss, my dad has been denied for years. Although everyone else got visas good for ten years, his only granted one was for a month. He is the sweetest, funniest man you’ll ever meet, and yet he must look like some sort of threat to the US government for them to deny him to come visit his daughter.

It’s been a long 12 years without him here. Especially since he’s the one that raised me and my sister with the love, respect of America, and the dream of becoming an American one day. It’s been a painful journey not being able to share all my “American accomplishments”, really, my whole adult life, without the man who prepared me for it, and mentored me into living free, living independently, living simple and living honestly! All things impossible in my home country!

When I got the call this week that he was granted a 10 year visa to the US, it was one of those moments where you don’t know whether you want to cry, laugh, scream out loud in the streets, or just contain your happiness for fear of jinxing something!

I felt much like when Communism fell in Romania, or much like I felt when I became an American Citizen. Another door has opened. Another set of heavy locks were smashed. The world just became a little bit freer, and our lives, my family’s life, has become a little bit more “together” and happier.

I cried. Within myself. I kissed dad virtually (for now), and thanked God and the American authorities for their help and generosity! I thanked the Government for finally granting their new citizen the very basic (you’d think) right to enjoy her family for a while, whenever she needs to.

My dad will not live in the US for the next 10 years, so I can get to see him every day and so that he can benefit from the US free and bountiful life. But just to know that we’re ONLY a plane flight away from each other anymore, in either direction, makes me melt with joy, and gratefulness! Just to know that he can escape what he calls “The Prison of Romania” whenever he feels like it, feels like the biggest blessing we have been given. And it doubles the feeling when I know I could give this to my dad who has taught me that anything is possible if you take the right opportunities, and who has taught me that living in America is just as doable as anything else in the world. Even when you come from “The Prison”.

I know it’s unfathomable to most Americans, who are free to travel the world with no visas, and no screening from any governments to know what it truly means when a huge door like this opens up. It is very weird, indeed: the hardest thing I have found for the past 12 years is to try to explain to most Americans what freedom feels like. They talk about it, with their fist clenched across their hearts, they take pride in being the freest nation on Earth, and they are, but I don’t think they truly know, deep inside their gut, what it feels like to get it. What it feels like to truly appreciate it, when you’ve been deprived of it for most of your life. I guess it’s only fair, because there is really nothing they can compare it to.

When you’ve had something all your life, it’s hard to imagine what it’s like if you were ever forced to fight for it yourself. I hope, one day, I’ll find the words. For now, I am just grateful once more for good things in history, and for governments making justice, sometimes, and not just destroying lives. However long the wait, however bitter the sacrifice, it is always worth it. Those 12 years of waiting melted away with that one phone call.

I am also grinning from ear to ear and waiting for my family to come join me in front of the altar. After all, that’s where it all begins.

New Year. Old Self.

“Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.” (Buddha)

You’ve got to at least notice all the books in the bookstore at the beginning of a new year! “New Year – new you” in pretty much every single field: diet, family, relationships, cooking, travel, etc… The new year, and the new books, it seems, want to reinvent you in every way possible: you have to learn to re-evaluate everything and then some about who you are to find out who you want to be.

But what if you don’t feel like you need to be reinvented? What if you like the same old you and you just want to stick with it? Will that burst the bubble of the marketing industry? Maybe. But that’s not all that important, is it? Or is it?

Do we want to be trendy and in line with the “next new thing” this year? Or do we want to stick to our values and perfect them – same old ones, new year? Are we really obsolete and way off stream if we’re not buying into the “new year – new resolution” kinda deal?? Probably. But do we care?

I am definitely planning a new year, in every sense of the word: new job (hopefully), new family (definitely), new marital status, new state, new time zone, new climate, new style of cooking, paying bills, sharing time, bed space, bathroom space, you name it … but do I really need a book to tell me how to handle all that?! If anything, I just need to dig deeper inside of me and see what’s there, insure it is strong, and that it will carry me through whatever changes I have coming my way …

I guess my approach to the new is a bit different … building from within and finding the

ground there that will carry me through what lies ahead …After all, if I didn’t think I already got all the guns, I would not even entertain the idea of the war, would I?!

I love books – don’t get me wrong. But now, more than ever, what I crave more is just finding a quiet moment to just listen to my heart! To hear it tell me what it learned from years passed, and how it’s prepared for what it is to come.

Now more than ever, I am self centered, and self conscious. And I believe I should be just that. I am relying on my good old heart to be my strong core to carry me through what’s ahead. And hoping that looking within will provide more advice than any of the Barnes and Noble book collections out on display as New Beginnings teasers this time of year. After all, a dear friend of mine used to say: “always, always go with your heart! That will insure you the least regrets!”

So, book-learned or not, my heart will have to do the trick!

And as I have said before on the verge of a new, daunting beginning, in my life: “I am scared. But I like it”. So, 2010, I am ready! I hope you are ready for me. I come with no books. And no formal learning. Just with an open heart. An open heart that I allow 2010 to fill with whatever it’s got. Cannot wait!

Happy New Year, all! And before you buy, just listen to what you’ve got already: I am sure you’ll find one or two answers in there. Really! And save a couple of pennies!

Old Traditions, New Customs ...

I have thought lately of all the traditions the various “families” I have been fortunate to have over the years follow for Christmas … I have thought about how I want to have a piece of every one of them, and yet make my own. I think this year was a good start for this.

Aa. wanted a log cabin for Christmas. I wanted snow. I know – always hardest to please! And as luck, or fate, or just chance would have it, we got both. We rented a log cabin on the grounds of Autumn Creek Vineyards, in Mayodan, NC, and about a week before Christmas, we had lots of snow. After that, we had lots of cold-cold days that ensured we still had snow on the ground when we got there.

Our faerie - like living room at the cabin.

We didn’t go crazy with gifts. Just some things that we both knew the other liked, that represented us, or that we needed. We went away on December 23^rd, and returned on Christmas Day. I cooked a couple of dishes, and I had the traditional Romanian cold cuts and ham plate with bread all made up, we took drinks and of course we bought wine at the place we stayed. We had the cabin all to ourselves, complete with a fire, and a Christmas tree. We had dinner out the first night there, but we had all the breakfasts in.

For the first time in a long time for me, we hiked in the snow, in the nearby Hanging Rock Park on Christmas Eve. The hike was beautiful! A perfect, cloudless day, with squeaking snow under our feet and nothing but the sound of wind in the swishy, paper-like ruffling of dry trees.

The woods had a Robert Frost - like majestic quality about them: their frozen beauty and serene silence made our souls as pure as the snow and as fresh as the cold that enveloped us. We took our time on the icy trails, played with the cameras, watched for weird paw or foot prints everywhere, and admired the beauty of the simple nature gone quiet for the winter. The usually vibrant rhododendron was sad looking, but stoic, nonetheless. The snow was solid mercury, under the strong light of the sun – unbothered by clouds.

We climbed several of these steep, treacherous stairs, full of packed snow and ice.

We went home with red cheeks and chapped lips and we turned on the fire. Aah, the wonders of advanced technology: we can “build” a fire no longer. I guess we cannot have everything.

I prepared the Christmas dinner, which is another Romanian tradition: we typically eat that on Christmas Eve. We had warm and fresh dishes that complemented the cold endured during our hike that day well. Then, we opened presents and had some more sweet wine. If you do like sweet wine, the Autumn Creek Mayo River White Muscadine is to die for! And since we’re both word people, we also played Scrabble.

The cabin was wonderful, too! Everything in there was so nicely done! Very tasteful, and not “loud” , nor cheesy– just nature shades of brown, green and gold and natural textures of wood (mainly), ceramics and leather. I loved how they use bark to decorate the inside roof, the crown molding and the base boards. It was like being in the tree house I have always wanted but never had.

The master shower was luxurious and complicated – not something you’d think you’d find at a rustic retreat, but somehow it fit the rest of the high end and classy fixtures, as well. The smell of the wood logs took over our sinuses as we walked into the simple mud room. That was exactly what I lived for all year: that smell!

I used to open the train car’s windows when I went to the mountains as a kid when I knew we were getting closer, just to smell the fresh scent of lumber. That’s how I knew we had but mere miles to go! That smells still remains imprinted in my brain as the most soothing scent of home.

The next day, on Christmas, we had breakfast and headed back home in the rain. And I must say: it was perfect timing, too. Great to wake up with the soothing sound of the rain on the metal roof while you’re enveloped in the warmth of wood and heavy comforters, and know that it’s your last day, so you’re not missing much, since you would not be able to play outside anyway.

It was a short distance from Greensboro (less than an hour), but miles and years away from its crazy pace of every day chores and engagements! It was a warm getaway for the two of us, a priceless retreat for our new love, and new family, and a beautiful spot to start our new tradition.

No matter where our real or symbolic log cabin will be every Christmas from now on, whether in our own home, or rented, whether with other friends or family, we will try to always have our table bountiful and glasses filled, our hearts open and to be surrounded by peace, quiet, love and hopefully, if we’re good that year, snow, too.

Thank you for a wonderful Christmas, honey! The first one of innumerable ones to come, I hope!

I love you …

Our first Christmas together. Please click on the picture
to view all the shots from this trip.

Small Town … Anywhere

So, we’re off to Mayodan, NC … We planned on spending Christmas at this cool log cabin outside of this small town, but for our first night there, we wanted to eat out … Mountain Side Restaurant came with high recommendations from the folks that hosted us and we did try to make it happen. But we were to find out, small town Mayodan had other plans for us …

I have always wondered if people in really small towns have slower pulse rates than the rest of the world. The world seems slower, and the life seems braked when you’re in a small town. Everything is measured by its own measure, and it’s timed by its own timer in a small town. Directions are approximate, and the world is small. Really small!

After all, our own log cabin folks have told us before “if you get lost out here, you might could find us, but otherwise, you can’t” – or is it “cain’t”?! They come with their own dictionary and grammar, the small towns do!

Although the above mentioned restaurant had a link to our log cabin host’s website, we figured we asked for directions at the log cabin, just because the restaurant had not one, but two … addresses … on their own site… We were not sure whether they’re on Main Street, or Ayersville Rd. Isn’t everything on Main Street, in a small town, you’d ask?! Well, we thought so, too, but …

So, before we headed out to dinner, we asked our hostess (by the extremely thick Southern drawl, a local) where we would find this fine place, The Mountain Side Restaurant: is it on Main? Or Ayersville? She proceeded, ever more puzzled: “I b’lieve it’s Ayersville. Well, it’s Main, really! You go down a biiiiggg hill (or is it “heel”?!), and then you go up another hill (remember, we were in a place “that you might could find if you’re lost”, so it could be any hill from there…) and then you keep going, and going till you see a fire station on your right. No! On your left! And then you just keep going and you’re looking for a lodge-looking, cottage-y thing, and that’s that!”. I swear to you her directions were verbatim the ones above. Or about 95% close to that!

So, we try to follow those directions and we also have a GPS with the Ayersville Rd. address punched in. Even the GPS is approximate: it cannot find 401 on Ayersville Rd. , but it suggests 600. And we get nowhere near a fire station. There are hills. Up. And down. But which ones are we looking for? Where do we declare the hill chase done?! We are getting nowhere.

We then try the Main street address the site listed. And we get nowhere with that, either. Then, we call. And we find out they are in fact on Ayersville. But they’re closed for the night, because their main water line is busted, and they had to close down!

So, we’re thinking: the water cannot possibly be broken because of the winter temperatures? Sure, there is snow around, but it’s been 40F degrees for the past week! That’s not cold enough for the water to freeze, and thus pipes to break. But go figure …

So, famished, we keep driving in the dark, on Main Street, looking for a place that looks open and sells some food. We hope to find anything else other than McDonalds or Pizza Hut open. The town looks dead. It’s barely 6 PM, and everything is dark, with no cars parked in front. And no traffic! This is December 23^rd. Greensboro has bumper-to-bumper traffic and security men directing traffic at all intersections of shopping centers. Mayodan has emptiness on Main Street! Pretty fast we’re reminded that we’re in Small Town USA, and our hearts need to stop beating that fast! Or expecting life to move that fast, at least.

We finally come across a Steak House but Aa. is saying “No. That’s closed”. I see four cars in front and the Open sign lit up, so I beg to differ and I park! The place is open. Once we enter it, it feels like a cave from Twin Peaks opened in front of us. There are maybe four tables taken, and the place feels more like a diner than a steak house per se. It’s slow. People talk slow. And walk slow. And order a burger very slow, as if a burger is such a complicated order. I order a Caesar Salad, and the waitress is dubious that I would like the dressing. I guess it’s an unusual order and people sometimes are turned off by the anchovies or garlicy taste of the Caesar dressing in that place?? I know: I am presumptuous! And I assure her I love the dressing.

You know this is a small town when the boyfriend of the hostess is waiting for her to finish her shift in the lobby, so he can probably take her home. So he can make sure she’s not hit on by the patrons – all two of them that happen to be single wandering in that night … It’s cute.

The food is mediocre, at best. They heard about boiling noodles but definitely not of seasoning them … I suspect they don’t get Emeril on TV to tell them that “noodles don’t come seasoned” or they don’t have the curiosity to listen to that channel. Again: presumptuous!

On our way out, the hostess is “taking a break” since all the 10 patrons for the night – probably the busiest night since Valentine’s Day, since it’s almost Christmas and everyone’s family must be in town, going out “at the Steakhouse” to eat – are settled in. The boyfriend is holding her as if she were his own private property, and he’s wishing us well, sort of like “the man of the house”, and he warns us : “Bundle up, y’all! It’s gonna be killer out there tonight!”. We both chuckle. The forecast calls for 35F at night – hardly what a Michigan boy and a Romanian gal would call “killer” for a winter night … We’re suspicious!

But maybe we were wrong … Maybe as everything else is different in small towns everywhere, maybe water, and people’s noses and toes do freeze above 32F … in small towns … Maybe noodles are meant to taste like drained hot water in these towns and that’s their local taste! Who knows?! Not us, “city people” for sure … We should not judge. The noodles might not have flavor up there. But every dark street corner and nameless hill and person does.

After all. We go there to visit. Not to blend in. We would not be able to do the latter. And in our speedy passing, we only but skim the surface of the life which indeed must go on under what seems to be the reality of a small town from anywhere by the eyes of an outsider.

We left tired and hungry . And smiling with pleasure. Full of the charm that is not to be found in the big city where temperatures, speeds and directions are as exact as a Physics manual. And just as boring!