I don’t remember much as I was only a child of 11 at the time, but there are certain details of that trip that became important to me; sewn into the fabric of my being. Like the fresco faded walls of my grandmothers house in Serbia, the wall details and decorations that despite poverty, made a home more then just a place to rest your head. The plates, the cutlery, and the food that sustained and gave life.
There was strength built into both of my grandmothers homes. I felt it, even as a young child. Perhaps that is why I chose to remember these very specific details, because against all odds, they were survivors of a life that was difficult, and they did the best they could, making the most of what they were given. -tM