Melania Trump: what she wore

She wore an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini

For the first time that day…

(Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, 1960)

Of course, Melania Trump did not wear a bikini to visit the border country between Texas and Mexico. She did not hide in the locker room rather than step out and face the gawkers. But she did the next worse thing… Melania wore a Zara jacket priced around $45 with an angry message on the back: “I don’t really care do U”

The T-shirt message tells us what you the wearer really thinks. Melania’s message reflects her thinking-- but why is she so alienated? My guess is that refugee children and their fate hardly crosses Melania’s mind. Certainly not enough to run off and get a Zara jacket.

Zara, Melania’s choice may provide clues to her thinking. Zara began in Galicia, Spain—the most northwest province of Spain. A woman, Rosalia Mera, co-founded the company with her husband and became the richest self-made female entrepreneur in the world. Zara’s secret to success was bringing new designs to market with incredible speed and cost efficiency.

Melania may know nothing of Rosalia's story. The casual-green jacket with the modest price tag may remind her of you youth, the days when she had to pinch pennies as a struggling model. We all long for the carefree days of our youth, and Melania may miss those exciting early days on the runway.

Melania’s life changed suddenly and took a quantum leap with the marriage to Trump. He got elected President. Talk about a game changer! Melania became a FLOTUS, the First Lady of the United States. Even the name sounds uptight and boxed-in. 

Melania showed a lapse in judgement. Possibly she gambled too riskily by shouting to the heavens, asking for a life intervention from the Higher Powers. 

As the Princess chained to the top of Trump Tower, Melania has no easy way off the island. She may be eligible for a break—the jacket actually had a free-flowing, casual quality— reminding us of the relaxed world Melania seeks while no one listens. 

Donald got promoted, possibly to the job he cannot do, and Melania may be suffering the same fate. She wants a fashion line of her own. Anything other than the First Lady’s stuffy uniform. 

Melania has to look a certain way and act a certain way. She’s tired of the whole fishbowl existence and, just like the immigrants plight captured by the Emma Lazarus poem at the Statue of Liberty... Melania yearns to breath free.

The New Colossus 

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

The Camino to Santiago de Compostela: by train (June 19)

Many travelers to the north of Spain have heard of the "Camino"-- the walk from the south of France to the city where Saint James was buried at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. This is a Catholic pilgrimage of several hundred miles or more. Some take the big walk as an expression of religious devotion; others take the journey as a personal spiritual encounter.

My friend Reed, asked me to visit Spain. He knew my mother's family has roots in Galicia and we will eventually visit her home village of Sada, a fishing town situated above Portugal. So my Camino is part tourist trip and a return to family ancestry. Instead of a walk, we took a massive 12 hour train journey, from Barcelona to Santiago. Okay, it's easier riding a comfortable train, complete with a cafe car, than traversing miles of Spanish countryside.

The Renfe train revealed very productive land for the first several hours. The many miles of cultivated land impresses me with Spain's agricultural richness. Believe it or not, I visited Spain in 1963 as a 14 year old. Okay, so I'm older than you! My Aunt Carmen took mt to Espana to expose an American teenage kid to our family's homeland. We started in the south. We saw arid land and beautiful orchards of olive trees with shimmering leaves of silver. The cork trees really shocked me. The bark had been carved out, to make corks, I guess, for wine bottles. The trees survived despite have big square blocks carved out of their sides. We saw Malaga, Sevilla, Córdoba and Granada. Spain seemed more isolated in 1963. Nobody spoke much English. Times have changed. The average  storekeeper or citizen in the street now chatters away in English before "puedo hablar ni una palabra."

I went to Galicia in 1963 and spent a month here. I come back an older person and to the nueva Espana. I'm glad Spain has gone through all these changes. Maybe when We get further into Galicia, to A Coruna, Vigo, Orense, Vigo, Lugo and Pontevedra and Sada, of course, I will get to try out my rusty, high school Spanish. Galicia is green, with rolling hills, a bit of Irish greenery at the top of Spain. I love the orange tiles on the roofs of the homes. Tomorrow we will be by the seaside, the Atlantic Ocean crossed by my grandfather Juan Lopez and his wife, maiden name-- Dolores Garcia Tie. I've heard the stories from my mother Beatriz and my aunts Carmen and Dolores. Now I get to walk the streets of the town-- my own personal Camino.