Reunion

Devereaux discovered us. Her simple note on the Christmas card, "Hi, guys, how are you?" was welcome relief after searching the web over the last eight years to find her, her brother or sister. We used any lead - we found an uncle in New Orleans, made contact, asked for addresses, and there was no follow-up. We thought David was a doctor but could not find his name in California, where he was purported to have gone to medical school, or Richmond, where it was rumored he was practicing. We especially wanted to find these three orphans, who had lost their mother in a freak accident in 1993 and their father to cancer just a few years later. Their home in Louisiana had broken up long before Katrina blew through, and the fragments of their lives had scattered as well. Despite our own four children and their families including four grandchildren, we needed to find these offspring and adopt them. Their mother was a roommate; after she married, three of the four roommates continued to get together with too many small children in very small beach houses or on long weekends where we exchanged germs with one family hosting. When we all lived on the east coast, our gatherings were frequent. When this family moved south and was clouded in illness and superstition of family incest, our conversations and meetings were less frequent. Our kids grew up. The news of the unexpected deaths caught us offguard. We gathered for a brief memorial service - the three remaining roommates including the one without children who had lost touch with our chaotic occasions. Our contacts waned except for a few touchpoints, a wedding announcement, a call when in DC. Then we lost touch altogether. Devereaux's note spawned a gathering with most of the focus on the seven of eight in the next generation who gathered as toddlers, unaware of the history. Two of the roomates made it; five of the nine children gathered. We had an opportunity to embrace these children once again and hope to gather them periodically under the large family umbrella.

The Desert Queen

Gertrude Bell navigated the Iraqi desert almost 100 years before U. S. troops arrived in the land. She went by camel and car to the oases and architectural sites across Mesopotamia. She learned Arabic and conversed over coffee with many a sheik, who otherwise would not share his table with a woman. She cultivated trust and learned of the dynamics of the tribes and peoples who had wandered this land for centuries prior to the discovery of oil. She knew of the Sunnis, Shiites, and Kurds long before they became familiar names in the Washington Post. She broke barriers in the Middle East because she had broken barriers at Oxford, as one woman among many men. She brought excellence to her studies and applied this excellence to her exploration of the Middle East that became her second home. Less recognized by her British peers, she gained prominence during World War I when her geographical, social, and political understanding of this hot spot led her to the Cairo conference following the war. Gertrude became part of the political leadership, not always appreciated, that served to guide the newly emerging Iraqi government. Despite her intellectual breadth and her adventurous spirit, she remained conservative about women's rights, even their right to vote. She retained her cultivated, upper class British presence as a woman despite her keen insights into the Arab world and mind. She reflected a bit of the aura of the British queen while ruling her own desert realm.

Machu Picchu

The Inca Trail leads through the Andes along the Urubamba River ultimately to the heights of Machu Picchu. In the rainy season, especially after two days of altitude sickness, the alternative to the trail, the train from Cusco is a much more attractive, comfortable route for tracing Incan history. The anticipation created by the early train departure - 6 AM, the four hour trip to Aguas Calientes, the switchback bus ride up the mountain, is satisfied by the first glimpses of the stone city atop the mountain. The city and the site take the breath away; no photograph can do justice to the vista - of terraced walls and structures for living, worshiping, working, punishing - set among high peaks, shrouded in cloud cover. The lively llamas are the only link with the reality of the day - although groups of tourists dutifully follow flagged leaders and absorb the history of several hundred years ago. Machu Pichu is both frozen in time and in constant flux. The walls present a fortification against civilization, but the relentless sky brings mist, rain, sunshine like a kalaidoscope, and the distant peak of Machu Picchu and its sister climb show the tiny crawling people, toiling to get to the top, as their Indian predecessors did - perhaps to pray to the gods or preach to the world or simply to acclaim a new height. The beauty is in the magnificent and the detail. The large sacred stone invites guests for photos; the small, beautiful flower grows along the path. The structures offer solemn amazement as multi-faceted stones bond together seamlessly, confounding understanding, with the knowledge that no iron tools existed. The steps up and down do not seem to wear away under the countless shoes that trespass today. Mystical, Machu Picchu minimizes the accomplishments of modern man and expands personal horizons to eternity.