Summer heat and frustration

The summer heat suddenly arrived like an unexpected and unwanted visitor and hasn't as of yet dispersed.It makes one bad tempered and intolerant.
Other reasons for this frustration are the occasional misunderstanding between people who love eachother.Insecurities coming from others,transferred onto you create a fury that bubbles up, culminating in reactions that don't help matters.Sometimes the person you spend most time with is the one you suddenly lack complicity with.Intimacy is not always coupled with a strong mental connection.

Overlooked joys

2015, a New Year that also allows us ( if we wish ) to reassess what we had just one month ago, ending with fireworks and hugs on New Year's Eve, and also what we still have now.

I would say that pure joy comes from the smaller things in life? For me these include: having slept well or eating healthily. Having time to yourself. Reading a fascinating book. Dancing or going to the spa. A good conversation. Being dangerously honest with yourself and others. Sharing a strong and positive connection with somebody. 
But recent moments of pure bliss and comfort come from other places: a solo trip to a coffee shop, where I quickly scan the place for the daily newspaper, order my coffee, pick a table and then indulge in reaquainting myself with the World's goings on. Or dozing into a contented sleep whilst my partner remains at my side, wide awake.He then kisses my forehead endlessly, and strokes my hair, showing me that this is his most condensed, and perhaps honest, moment of shared sentiment and affection. 

Personal encounters: The Cultural Group

She is so small, so fragile yet possesses a fierce lust for life. She omits a quiet yet forceful dignity as she walks half doubled over, her eyesight bad enough for her to grab the back of chairs for guidance.

I first saw her enter the classroom in The Civic Centre last term. I instantly recalled my own Grandmother; sentimental recollections and associations.

We begin the discussion. She rarely speaks but she listens intently and absorbs the energy of the other participants .
I wonder about her life, where she lives, if she has children who take care of her.

The voices of the others fill the air and compete to be heard. They fling themselves around the room like missiles. Their urge to be heard is almost painfully aggressive .

Egos and restlessness of the older generation who may have been forced to suppress their opinions by our youthful society.

I watch their faces change as they become animated or begin to argue their point. Occasionally a separate conversation begins between two of them, and disorder rules.I am the instigator and secret observer.

I see them as individual Worlds, to be discovered and learnt from.How do they see me?

We say goodbye. They crowd into the lift as I take the stairs. Another week will pass before we come together again.

Shirking responsibility in modern society

Saturday night a smiling man throws his empty beer can on the ground in crowded downtown. He bounces away conscience free.He turns to me to try to flirt as I stare at him with contempt. I verbally challenge him and he looks sheepish and walks on.
I wonder what makes people believe that as apparent tax payers, we can abandon good behaviour whenever it suits. One worrying excuse is that 'tomorrow someone will come along to pick it up'. Have we regressed to a hierarchical mindset, where others are our minions and where personal responsibility for our actions doesn't exist?

I went home that night disgusted.

A new beginning, a surprising new influence

When someone new enters your life and their intention is to stay put, of course things change. When it happens to be a romantic union things transform themselves into something overtly attractive and intoxicating.What begins as something spontaneous and unexpected soon settles itself into longer term, that consumes you in only a positive way.

He is tall, with lots of thick black hair and fashionable glasses. Quiet, unassuming. He invited me for a drink on a Friday. He worked on my road. What a coincidence. I wasn´t sure I liked him, I remained closed. As we carried on talking I saw something worth investigating. A seductive calmness, a good dancer. He smelt fantastic. So young, no emotional baggage. A youthful, controlled energy. A positive, innocent outlook.

At first he was harder to pin down. Not elusive exactly but he hadn´t realized what his feelings were going to do. He was busy, in his own routine, not yet letting himself fully connect with mine. When I mentioned that I was going away for a week he was affected. He began to respond by wanting to meet daily. I was glowing. Under the mesmerising flashing lights of the club he introduced me to his friends and cousin as his girlfriend.

On the day of love here in Catalonia, the streets were filled with an expectant energy, roses and books. We met at night. He handed me my rose in the street and took me to his house to meet his family. I saw an over crowded flat filled with affection and family values.

He has changed my outlook somewhat. Made me feel more complete but no less myself. He has added another, emotive dimension to my life.

Remembering

Sometimes it´s a conversation with a grieving friend over lunch that reminds you. Her face turning angry as she explains the family situation since her loss. Her eyes growing sad as she looks down, her expression changing. Laughter and appetite, frustration and pain.
He left us 8 years ago and yet I still remember the moment he died. His golden beard hiding his thin, pained face. My mother gathering strands in between her fingers and cutting small, neat sections with her nail scissors; ´For us to remember the rich red of his beard even at the age of 79´. His ex wife of over 20 years. The woman who bathed him when he soiled himself and came walking anxiously up to our house. The person who offered him refuge, gave him food whenever he appeared at our door.

´I love you´ were the only words he could utter at the end. The dementia took away the rest of his words, his speech, his coherence. A disease that rots your brain ( In this case a lot of brain to steal away ) and leaves you helpless.

If I could say one thing to him now I would tell him that I learnt what unconditional love was from him. Dad; a man child. Dad; a lost and frustrated being consumed by addiction and poignancy. I will never love another person as I loved him. It would be impossible to replicate.
His soft, creased hands, observing his frailty. Feeling lost, knowing that every moment was doubly as precious as the last. Piecing together the past moments we had shared, his foibles, his habits. A lonely man who was engulfed by love from his young daughters. But it would be wrong to suggest it was one sided. How he adored us, never utterly a word of criticism. A hugely tolerant, accepting father. An atypical father figure. I was loved and I loved.

The other culture II

4-1-14

A day of work. A lunch hour devoted to visiting a garden centre, and having lunch in a steamy, humid cafe...

5-1-14

More chores in the local town. More time together.

6-1-14

A week of joy at teaching well educated, small, innocent creatures. A reminder of the positive aspects of my own culture. Happiness, dancing, artwork, visual observations of the environment and frenzied creative activity of the children.

7-1-14

A sense of calm. A still, sunny day. Familiarity. Recognition. Local life and how things change: my High School classmates now collecting their children from school. Greetings. Rushed conversations over the School wall.

8-1-14

Another success. Talent exuding from Year 6. Gratitude and a responsive attitude. 

9-1-14

Time to leave, to come back to Spain. A last, delicious lunch and a somewhat cold goodbye.