Post Thanksgiving Ramblings

This was Austin this afternoon, as you can see, not forgetting Guy’s birthday, even though he is in the middle of the North Atlantic.  This warmed my heart no end, as you can imagine.  Firstly, that I can see his smile via the wonders of modern technology, and secondly that in the midst of his adventure he remembered Guy’s birthday.

I have always hankered to celebrate Thanksgiving.  As my friend, Louise, said on Facebook, it seems like such a worthwhile festival celebrating the best things in our lives.  Of course, other than the year I was in the US at the right time, there was no-one here of the same mindset until Guy’s return this year, so, finally,  I got to celebrate at home in what seems to be the traditional way.

Other than a distinct absence of pecans in Tenerife I found all the right ingredients for dinner, and my addiction to candied yams, sweet potato pie and pumpkin pie is now official.  I also did a broccoli casserole which was very “American” i.e. lots of cheese and crushed crackers on the top.  The whole, glorious meal was colesterol heaven, and absolutely wonderful!

Of course the day set me thinking of  things to be thankful for, which always brings on the warm fuzzies, doesn’t it.   Already in a pretty good mood since seeing the doctor the previous day (and seeing light at the end of the broken-wrist saga tunnel!) , I had a nostalgic stroll down memory lane and came up with some good stuff.

That Austin and Guy are who they are, however, far eclipsed all other memories.  As today is Guy’s birthday more memories surfaced.  On their birthdays I always kind of go back over the hours around their births…..total, overpowering happiness, but that they should go on to grow up to be the people they are today is the greatest pleasure of all.

 

 

 

 

The Gift of Time

It was one of those silly, clumsy moments when you wish the earth would open and swallow you up. I’d popped the stuff into the recycling bins. What I hadn’t noticed was the woman walking on the other side of the containers with her two dogs……but Trixy did. She bolted, I was taken by surprise, I managed to steady myself for a second, and then down I went to my great surprise. “Can that woman see my knickers?” I wondered as I collided with the dirty tarmac – or lack of it. I realized later that a small pothole had been the ultimate cause of my embarrassment, as my big toe began to swell.

Not to dwell on the boring bits – upshot is that for the last four weeks I have been sporting an ugly plaster on my left arm.

It’s itchy, it’s frustrating and it’s irritating on a dozen levels, but it has also been a learning curve.

The one thing we can never buy is time, so this has been a gift. The first couple of weeks, not fully understanding the extent of the injury or the time scale involved I just read and read and read. There is never, ever enough time for this.

Evidently much greater minds than mine have already mused on this:

“One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for 1,000 years. To read is to voyage through time.” (Writer and Astronomer Carl Sagan)

I am still reading as if there is there is no tomorrow, but this gift has been to give me time to reflect on what has gone before, come to terms with some things which happened and with some which I now know will never be. Time has given me acceptance.

It has also given me time to pull together all those half-formed ideas and plans which have been rushing around my brain, and vying for attention with the more immediate needs and committments of my life. Time has given me clarity.

There has even been time to clear out the deadwood, all that stuff, both mental and physical,which weighs down our journey, and slows us down. The type of stuff which stops us from seeing the trees because the forrest is too thick. Time has given me a clearer road map.

Mostly time has given me the opportunity to explore new paths and abandoned roads. It has shown me new possibilities, given me hope and inspirations. Time has renewed my purpose and ignited enthusiasms, which had been buried under a rubble of mediocrity and ennui.

All this virtually without leaving my sofa, because the heat caused more discomfort! Who knows what awaits when one actually sets out on the journey again!

Why I Live Here

The day starts out badly, the rude awakening to a dark morning I am not ready for, the coffee lukewarm, the sense of my soul being elsewhere. The day an average toil; ups and downs, frustrations and humor, contempt and appreciation. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ennui.

In the afternoon the mood turns; a swim in the ocean to wash away the angst; moments sitting in the sun, unwinding, chatting; a platter of sardines and octupus; a glass, two, of cold, white wine; good conversation; a stroll home along the sea front; stopping to chat with a friendly street vendor from Senegal; watching boats coming, going or just bobbing about; a sand sculpture to celebrate the local fiesta; stopping to buy the best ice cream on the island; sharing the ice cream at home with family and a friend; more good conversation.

Ennui turns to pleasure.

Island are strange places. They entrap you, then they smother you, and just when you think you are ready to breathe free, they snare you again.

Sharing Cultures

And pictures of the colorful intercultural evening in the square of Los Abrigos as previously mentioned:

Performers from Equador, from Bolivia and from Senegal demonstrated their traditions, and (below) Maria had her foot painted with henna by a lady from Western Sahara:

Where Did Two, Whole Months Go??

It’s ironic that when we are having the most fun, or the most interesting times there is less time to share it with friends via our blogs. So it was with DC and Fredericksburg and North Carolina. That part of my trip which was vacation was marvellous and packed full, but the memories are not so sharp as they would have been at the time:

I never expected to fall in love with Washington. It was simply on a list of places I wanted to visit, but I didn’t imagine that, standing in front of the Whitehouse I would feel such an incredible pull of history. I found it completely natural to visualize how it was in the past, the mud when the roads were unmade, the farm animals which roamed free. The Lincoln Memorial, yes, I was ready for that feeling of awe, not at the inspiring sculpture and architecture themselves, but in what they so appropriately represented. Yes the designers perfectly capture the grandeur and depth of this man. Other mental snapshots – gliding into town and Brittany saying “There, on the left, that’s the Pentagon”. Somehow I’d not expected to come on it so naturally. I’d imagined it to be farther out of town, more remote. Images of 9/11 inevitably came to mind. The energy exuded by the place, people everywhere running, walking, biking. People in the Zoo – colorful, elegant, happy. The fact that the Zoo is free! The complete peace in watching a deer nibbling away as dusk began to fall. How well laid out and elegant a city it is.

Next to Fredericksburg. Ghosts on the sunken road. Oh, I didn’t see any, but they were there alright. Row upon row upon row of Union dead (a quick visit, next time the Confederate graves), the wonderment of what brother can do to brother in the name of their cherished beliefs. I have always known I would have been for the Union, simply because of slavery, but have had more than a bit of sympathy for the South. Afterall, the US began as a fight for freedom from taxation! The next morning, a few days before Memorial Day every grave had grown a Stars and Stripes. Old Fredericksburg, well kept, pretty, nursing its scars and its pride. Charming people happy to share information. Carl’s Ice Cream…..don’t leave without trying it!

The rest – sweet rain (you can only imagine that adjective if you live in a desert climate!), comfy driving down a green, lush I 95, great burgers at Hardees, delicious salmon and margaritas at Outback, feeling at home, and have a nice day…….

If my first glimpse of Ireland had been shrouded in mist and from a disgruntled and uncomfortable point of view, my second, and longer was to be cherished. Arriving on a distinctly busier day than previously, Guy and I fought our way through departing vacationers to meet Liz, who whisked us away to a peaceful and charming and lovely Howth Harbour. Our all too brief time filled our senses and our hearts, and left both of us hankering to return before too long. The gentle scenery, the fresh scampi, the Guinness, the kindness of friends and of strangers, the local bakery, the balmy weather and the blue ocean, that special imprint, that Irishness, that, despite being my first visit, I knew to be unique.

And this island, my home. How has it been since my return? The Summer is hotter than I ever remember. As I write, on the neighbouring island of La Palma there are raging, uncontrolable wildfires. We cross our fingers that here on Tenerife they continue to be able to control them. I have spent a glorious day on a beach you have to walk 20 minutes to reach, over what is essentially, desert….only to find the batteries in my camera dead! Que pena! I have spent a fascinating night in a village square, watching dancers and musicians from South America and Africa performing traditional songs and dances, under a warm and starry sky. I have cheered on Austin in the Él Médano Triathalon, which happened in fierce gales and burning sun. I have wandered cool, early mornings on La Tejita beach, well worth what is now a 20 minute drive, and splashed and paddled in the warm surf as it curled up the beach. My pictures are on not on this computer, so next time….two months on?? It seems that I lost some Summers along the way in recent years. No regrets whatsoever, but this one I am embracing.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

And they did! Bags still in the car we sped from Dulles Airport to the stadium, just in time for the beginning of the game! With rules way easier to understand than football, it was no time before I was scoffing hotdogs and crackerjack, and swilling ice cold beer…..and feeling as if I had been doing this all my life. The evening turned a tad chill, as you can see from the foto, but not so cold as to spoil much. I even knew the words to the song at the 7th….much to my amazement….sign of a mispent youth watching old, black and white movies I think

Of Cancelled Flights, Ruined Hairdos and Uncomfortable Airports

Beggars can’t be choosers, right? Right! Maybe it was foolish to think I could spend an eleven hour stopover, which spanned the wee small hours, studying to try to finish the paper I should have handed in the previous Tuesday. The four hour flight from Tenerife lulled me into thinking everything was possible. I studied. I stayed awake. I arrived in Dublin on time. So far, so good.

I wandered around Dublin airport at 2 am looking for a place to park myself and study some more. Now, I hope none of my Irish friends will take this personally, but Dublin airport is NOT designed for comfort. It is, apparently, designed for DIScomfort. Unless I missed some comfy corner somewhere, and apart from the couches in Starbucks, which were already strewn with bodies, there was nowhere, save hard or metallic chairs to park my, by then, weary bones. I toyed with a Starbucks and a scone. I fell asleep over my books, despite the lack of comfort, and after wandering around some more, decided to try the departure lounge. “You’re very early, aren’t you” said the checker as I presented my passport. I explained my hopes of finding somewhere to rest and he laughed…….my heart hit my toes. He was right.

It was around 4am. I gave up on the studies, and tried to read. I drank more coffee, I bought sandwiches which I didn’t eat. The sun rose. I bought chocolate, which I did eat. People drifted down to the gate. I stretched my legs, and returned to find no seating left, so I sprawled on the tiled floor, which turned out to be slightly warmer than the metal seats, more comfortable too, come to that.

11.30 arrived, surely they would be calling us to the gate very soon for the 12.30 take off, but, no, only an annoucement about a delay, and more news at 1.30. I walked some more. Bought another sandwich, which I did eat. Vainly tried to make out the rolling, Irish hills, of which I had heard so much amongst the heavy clouds, about which I heard just as much. Returned to the gate at 1.30.

A heavily accented announcement told us the flight was cancelled owing to a technical fault. No-one had understood much more than that, so we queued to get information from the staff. My fellow passengers being either American or Irish the queuing was good-natured, and the staff were charming. We should claim our luggage and proceed to a hotel which Aer Lingus had booked. We trekked across the airport, no more guidance, we asked each other if we were going in the right direction, we followed other people who looked as if they knew where they were going. At the luggage claim a nice man indicated vaguely that we should go upstairs to the check in area. The charming staff explained that we would be bussed to a nearby hotel, and take the same flight the next day.

This was where the niggles began to set in. They already KNEW that they could accommodate today’s passengers on tomorrow’s flight? It occured to me that the technical fault might be non-existent and that they had simply decided to cancel the flight for economic reasons. Maybe someone here who knows more about airlines than I do could confirm or deny that possibility for me?

We trekked again. In the pouring rain we followed a nice, young man, whose back displayed the words “Carlton Hotel Flight Delay Team” across several roads to the waiting bus. Drenched we handed over our baggage and climbed aboard to shiver whilst the rest of the passengers arrived. We arrived at the Carlton. We stood around in the pouring rain whilst our bags were unloaded (could the driver not have suggested that the people who arrived last got off first to collect their bags, so we didn’t have to crowd the narrow pavement, getting soaked as we waited for our first-loaded bags?) We checked in. The dour staff handed out keys and information about meals. All I could think about was a hot bath and sleep, but the information about tomorrow’s departure would not be available until after dinner.

Hot bath taken, and the idea of food not appealing, I popped down to check on departure. The dour staff informed me a bus would be there at 9am, so I ran back up and tucked myself in for the night at 9.30 pm. I slept the good sleep, woke in time, took a deep breath and did the best I could with my appearance. I had hoped to arrive in DC looking just the tiniest bit glam after an expensive session at the hairdressers, but the rain had put paid to that, so I went for the “pulled through a hedge backwards” look.

A couple of courtesy buses were waiting outside the hotel when I got downstairs. With no-one to confirm which one we were supposed to take, we made a best guess and heaved our bags into the hold. Waiting for the bus to set off I heard tales about the awful food, and thanked god I’d opted for rest over sustenance. I shivered in the early morning cold and drizzle. I hadn’t figured on a prolonged stay in colder climes, and stupidly I didn’t have warm enough clothing!

Eventually we arrive at the airport. Check in is smooth enough, but no apology nor compensation is offered. The delicious 18 Euro sandwich and smoothie I have for breakfast bucks me up. Satisfyingly, a lady approaches me who is doing market research for the airport, so I can vent my feelings about its awfulness. I check in with the world via Facebook, and, after another half hour camped out on the airport floor we are boarding. Being in the first economy class seats I glimpse the more-or-less empty first class and fantasize about being upgraded to make up for the inconvenience, but it ain’t happening.

Take off time arrives. Ding, Dong. “This is your Captain speaking…..we have a computer problem…..excuse the delay……Ding, Dong…..”the computer is still playing up, we have to reboot, this will entail you sitting for 20 minutes without air con. We do apologize, but without this computer we are going no-where”………thank the gods for a pleasant travelling companion. We chat. We bite nails and we wait. Ding, Dong. “The computer has successfully rebooted we will shortly be on our way.”………and at last we are. We hold our breath as the plane climbs through the clouds, but as it levels out we relax, the waiting around is all behind us.

The flight is fine. I have a nice and interesting fellow traveller, and a good book. The time passes well, and eventually we can spot the Washington Monument as we cruise into Dulles. The only problem now is that half the world appears to be arriving at the same time, but after sitting still for seven hours, standing around for another hour doesn’t seem quite so bad.

Still, I am here, and off to my first baseball game!

Thoughts on the New Apartment

Interior of complex. View from our terrace.

This was a move only half my heart and mind wanted. That I will be sharing space again with my sons thrills me. It wasn’t something I expected, and I know it will be a moment in time, so I hope to enjoy every minute, until our roads take us in different directions again.

Leaving living at the beach has been difficult though, even though, I resent the stiff breeze which was whipping around Sotavento when I returned for the final packages the other day.

Here I step outside the door in the morning with Trixy, and wonder where the heck we should go. We amble down to the Promenade which winds along the shoreline and down to the harbor, and it seems far too tame. Close to the apartment the beach is rocky and narrow, and further down, where it widens into a tourist beach, dogs, of course, are not allowed. If we wander in the other direction we can very quickly leave the cement behind, and scramble onto what must have been a finca in the past, where crumbled terraces blend into the rocky terrain, and rabbits scurry as we approach. This doesn’t sound so bad, except that the fumbled tents and tarpaulins dotted around tell me that people are sharing this area with the birds and rabbits, which is not to say that I believe all homeless people to be dangerous, but I am prudent and walk in another direction. This is not La Tejita nor Playa Achile, where Trix could run and I could paddle, and I had no fear of the tent and cave dwellers.

Dog walking aside, the apartment is nice. It is light and spacious, but at the moment gets no direct sunlight, which is great for keeping cool now that Summer approaches. It overlooks the interior of the complex, which is green and pleasant. I am told the pool is nice, but I’m not a swimming pool person. The layout of the apartment is good, we shouldn’t be tripping over each other too much, which should make for easier living. The furnishings are adequate, cheered up by some throws and bits and pieces I cling to still. There is video security on the front door, which is, of course, a bonus, and we have a chemist, an expensive supermarket and a decent Chinese restaurant around the corner. It takes me five minutes to get to work and park up, or around 12 to walk, although arriving hot and sticky is not a good idea. Summer does seem to have arrived in the South of island at least.

It strikes me that living in such a close environment will get to be claustrophobic, and I must guard against that. Driving from Los Cristianos to Él Médano each day disconnected me from work, whereas here, it seems we are in the middle of the client base! Still, we shall keep ourselves to ourselves no doubt, neighbourwise. I am saving probably around €10 a week in gas, so I must keep that in mind.

As I write, I can hear gulls circling above and the deep, echoing blasts of the ferry’s horn as it eases out of the harbor. I love these sounds. They speak of the ocean, of course, and the boat is calling me to travel……..

Barranco del Infierno

Barranco del Infierno

Originally uploaded by islandmommacanarias

My favorite of the pictures I took on a hike this morning. I haven’t done this, particular hike in ages. It was great to go early (9am) to see the sun rising above the mountain tops. In the valley it is shady and cool, and because of the streams which trickle from the mountains above it is less dry than the climate of the rest of the South of island.

Am posting this via Flickr – there are more photos there, and I will expand on this entry when I get a minute!

IMHO Susan Boyle

I can’t remember the last time there was so much fuss in the media, not that she doesn’t deserve it, because if this is what she wants then she richly deserves it. Not being a fan of either tv talent shows nor media “human interest” stories normally, I avoided logging on to YouTube this week, but was finally won over by comments on a friend’s blog. So glad I did, of course, Ms Boyle has the most beautiful voice, and her lovely personality is a joy, and I enjoyed it hugely…….not least watching the comeuppance of those shiney, young bimbos in the audience (oops, this whole thing is partly about not judging a book by its cover, and there I go doing just that!)…….I enjoyed even more her rendition of “Cry Me a River” (one of my favorite songs) which was all over the internet today. I am overjoyed for her, and I wish her lots of happiness and future success.

That said, there is another reason this story is so huge today. The entire world is facing one of the biggest crisises ever known, we are depressed, we are gloomy, we are down. People who thought they were about to enjoy a comfortable retirement are left to scrape by. Young people who should be enjoying the first pleasures of wage earning are “hanging” at the unemployment office. The situation is provoking violence and crime and suicides. The media screams headline after scary headline, so it is ironic that they have fed us this antidote too.

We needed a hero, someone who has beaten incredible odds to show us that it is possible, that anything is possible, as the gurus tell us….if you believe, if you want enough. Susan Boyle wanted it enough and she did it. We look at this middle aged woman, who has nothing in outward appearance other than a friendly smile, and we see ourselves. Even those lip-glossed and heavily-mascared bimbos in the audience feel that way inside. Then she opens her mouth and sheer beauty flows out, and that is how we would like to be, and we are thinking – “If she can do it, so can I”. Maybe we don’t want to sing, or be famous, but we can be the best mom in the world, we can pass that exam, we can do a better job or we can make the football team.

We already had proof of this in Barack Obama, but now he is, actually, is, President of the United States, and we are a bit awed. But Susan Boyle is on our level. She is ordinary.

So not only does she give us this marvellous gift of enjoyment, but she gives us hope too, and we most certainly do need that.