One gesture. One person. One moment in time.

Yesterday.

This is how change happens, or doesn’t happen. One gesture. One person. One moment in time held, or let slip.

I love hobbling through the dew in the morning, calling to the hens, telling them what delicious scraps they’re about to get, opening the stiff gate into the chicken run, and then searching for their eggs. Usually they each lay one every 24 hours.

At 11 am, I sat for an hour in the eucalyptus forest with a group of  young mums with their babies and young children.  Close by was the forest  bar, the dry river bed, the gypsies ponies, and the busy main street is not far away. The sun was shining, the mood  lively.  They were planning a fund raiser in the forest for  RCK - an organisation which provides daily meals for thousands of refugees in France.
Their inspirational young leader Bridie, is fired with passionate enthusiasm.

I listened and watched. There was something in the air.

Then seemingly suddenly, but oh so gently, a 5 month old baby and I fell in love with each other.

She was lying  on her mother’s lap, just inches away from  me. There was nothing to be done except to  look into each other’s eye and beam love.

Occasionally we touched hands, but all she wanted to do was soul gaze.

Painting y George Roualt.

Then, because my legs became sore from sitting for an hour and a half, and I knew my  purse was empty,  I left the forest, and went to the bank.  This was a small side track to the ‘mission’ to buy local olive oil. 

I like to think of my visits to the nearby small town as my ‘missions.’ Sometimes I succeed.  Sometimes I fail.  Both happened yesterday I think.

At the cash point outside the bank, I quickly became spellbound by a short conversation with an elderly señor visiting our area. You go first he said, so I did.

He told me quietly he was  afraid to use the cash machine, in case his card got goggled up.

Automatically I pushed buttons, one eye on him, the other on the screen. My card popped out.

With little  encouragement, he launched into  a passionate philosophical – or was it a poetic-  explanation on the origin of fear.  

All the time  he  beamed such vulnerability and such sweetness towards me,  I almost offered to wait  to see if his Visa card  slid out  ok.  But didn’t, and I don’t know why.  

 I drew his attention to the help number above the machine, if needed, and turned away.

Drawing by Egon Shile.

His eyes followed me into the street, as if saying, but I haven’t finished yet, please wait.
He looked six years old.
I felt deeply  ashamed of myself  for giving so little of myself, and so little of my time.

Who knows what one more minute, one more sentence could have manifested?

One gesture. One person. One moment in time, and change can happen. On this occasion , it didn't, well, not in a positive way .

Walking away to buy the oil, downhill and uphill, I  felt acutely the meaning of the word deserter.

It isn’t every day that buying organic olive oil includes a concert of Sufi music! A group of talented musicians were playing at the indoor market.

So,  after listening to the sweetest of sounds for  a short while, as if being blown from one place to another by a strong wind,  I bought the golden oil,  and  from the new Moroccan tea shop, chose a small treat. I think it’s called Baklava.
It’s  a two inch square of brown sugary heaven.
It will be quartered and rationed and shared tomorrow with a visiting Norwegian lady vicar.

48 different nationalities live in and around our little town of Orgiva in Andalucia, Spain.  Every known faith and no faith, I think , is practiced and respected here.

This afternoons siesta was deep and long, and lunch was not a culinary success. Some ingredient was missing ! Healthy and  organic  yes, but… well… not quite right !  Do you every do this?

The day seemed to then  change gear in late afternoon.  I felt exhausted.  My legs were sore again. When will this operation be?  Soon please.  So I decided not to go the evening concert in the church.

Supper wasn’t  a great success either, not a good cooking day, but then a walk around the lane at 8.30pm set  the inner compass  back into perfect balance.

All around my new little rented house there is so much natural beauty.  So much  coming to life in the springtime plant world.    So much newness… so much space… so many shades of green, and the poppies appearing overnight in such amazing places, as if chosen my angels for the very maximum wow factor.

Why am I writing this? What’s my mission right now, post chemo, in remission for 2 years?

I really feel it’s to follow Mary Oliver’s advice:

‘Pay attention. Be astonished.  Tell about it,’

Nothing is certain in my life now, and that’s universal.

We all interact with strangers every day. For me they are my daily teachers.
I find it so easy to love them, anywhere in the world.

So what happened with the elderly man at the cash point?
My heart was guarded. Why?

What I  find hard is to end one experience and then start another right after.. it feels a bit like writing a story without any punctuation, or , eating soup and pudding at the same time !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And this is how change happens, or doesn’t happen. One gesture. One person. One moment in time grasped, or let slip.

my home for 3 months

Bridie and friends are fundraising for http://refugeecommunitykitchen.com/ on Saturday 22nd April in the forest beside Rio Chico, Orgiva Andalucia.  11-5pm

A day of wonderful kiddies activities and taster sessions of many therapies.