Brokenness & Hope

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Brokenness & Hope

Brokenness & Hope

It has been a muddled few months. I’d moved houses, my children were at home, and the Coronavirus lockdown oppressed the city with its depressing quiet view. The only lights flickering through my days were the gorgeous spring weather and my WhatsApp messages. I’d barely gasped for air between unpacking boxes before Ariadna, the American Women’s Club VP of Membership reached out to me – “What do you think about this?” I give authority to whoever has a good idea. “Go for it,” I said, and I went back to laundry/homeschooling/the Board Meeting agenda. About a month ago, I clicked

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Ijs op de Schelde!

Ijs op de Schelde!

This morning, in a lovely little restaurant called Presence in Schoten, forty-two women gathered to celebrate the American Women’s Club of Antwerp’s 91st anniversary. With feathers in our hair and jazz music twinkling, we embraced, remembered, and honored our members celebrating mile-stone anniversaries and our club. Ariadna, our 2nd VP of Membership, worked tirelessly over the past few weeks to create the most amazing program. Constant phone calls and whatsapp messages flew between us. “Where are you now?” I’d ask as I sat at my computer updating luncheon payments. She was hopping all over the city – collecting videos and

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Life Love Hope

Life Love Hope

A festive vibe energizes the city. I’m on the number four headed towards the Nationale Bank stop. The passengers are filled with excitement despite the drizzle accumulating on the ancient tram windows. Darkness fell hours ago. I check my phone. 6:07 p.m. This is winter in Antwerp, days before Christmas. The tram eases to the stop. I descend the steps and walk on the glistening cobbles. The darts of moisture are in that in-between-stage, as any seasoned expat knows – it would be self-indulgent/wimpy to open an umbrella, but I left my hat at home. I glare at the rain

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AWCA Gala Evening

AWCA Gala Evening

The Indian summer air shimmies through the wide boulevard of the Meir – leaves on the towering trees dance. Shop lights glow in the twilight as the final shoppers are deposited, hands full of bags and eyes wide with excitement – the Saturday evening beckons. My dress bounces around my knees and high heels click on the pavement I’ve so often passed over – always pushing a stroller laden with cups, snacks, and a discarded jacket, shoe, or both. Tonight, a tiny gold purse dangles from my wrist. Freedom. I grab my husband’s suited arm and we sashay towards the

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