15 Apr 2012 11:59 AM

Caught an interesting TV programme today in between the No or Bad Signals displayed on the televisión screen whilst bemoaning the fact that the drive is again a landslide of mud and I can’t get out onto the track.  The programme was called Duti Free (spanish spelling) and is about spanish emmigrants around the world.  I obviously find this subject of great interest being the daughter of spanish immigrants in the U.K. The last in the series I do wish I had known about it before  I was moved to tears by its content. 

Now, who amongst us born in the nineteen thirties and forties didn’t love to sit at the feet of an older person and listen to the stories they had to tell, more so, the child of an immigrant or immigrants was transported to the land of their ancesters and the imagination knew no bounds.  In my own case, it was triplicated because I lived in a house full of West Indians from all over the Caribbean.  Back home to me was Jamaica, Trinidad, Dominica, Antigua, bullocks ploughing fields, cows giving milk and wonderful sounds that I danced to with all my big friends. A child isn’t born prejudiced he/she is told to stay away from people who are different. Why?

Duti Free was visiting a group of spanish people aged between seventy and seventy five in Manila capital of The Phillipines. Born there to spanish parents they sat in the gardens of their local church and described with great dignity how they had watched their loved ones, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers slaughtered by the japanese in 1945.  A gentleman of seventy five stood in a small hallway and explained that his and others’ loved ones blood had formed a puddle so deep that the skirting has to be painted dark brown because after all these years the blood still comes out of the brickwork.  The japanese are a lovely people, polite and gentle, but then I’ve never met a German who wasn’t friendly and I know many muslims who are generous, warm and funny, loving parents and good people.

What is it about war that turns us into cruel and uncaring people, rapists and  plunderers finding joy in others pain?  Does it matter where we come from, what our religious beliefs are or the color of our skin?

We are only on this earth for a short time so what gives us the right to inflict such pain that seventy two years later a total stranger thousands of miles away brought up in a so called peaceful world can be moved to tears by innocent people’s memories.

Love and light.  Granny.

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15 Apr 2012 11:59 AM

Caught an interesting TV programme today in between the No or Bad Signals displayed on the televisión screen whilst bemoaning the fact that the drive is again a landslide of mud and I can’t get out onto the track.  The programme was called Duti Free (spanish spelling) and is about spanish emmigrants around the world.  I obviously find this subject of great interest being the daughter of spanish immigrants in the U.K. The last in the series I do wish I had known about it before  I was moved to tears by its content. 

Now, who amongst us born in the nineteen thirties and forties didn’t love to sit at the feet of an older person and listen to the stories they had to tell, more so, the child of an immigrant or immigrants was transported to the land of their ancesters and the imagination knew no bounds.  In my own case, it was triplicated because I lived in a house full of West Indians from all over the Caribbean.  Back home to me was Jamaica, Trinidad, Dominica, Antigua, bullocks ploughing fields, cows giving milk and wonderful sounds that I danced to with all my big friends. A child isn’t born prejudiced he/she is told to stay away from people who are different. Why?

Duti Free was visiting a group of spanish people aged between seventy and seventy five in Manila capital of The Phillipines. Born there to spanish parents they sat in the gardens of their local church and described with great dignity how they had watched their loved ones, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers slaughtered by the japanese in 1945.  A gentleman of seventy five stood in a small hallway and explained that his and others’ loved ones blood had formed a puddle so deep that the skirting has to be painted dark brown because after all these years the blood still comes out of the brickwork.  The japanese are a lovely people, polite and gentle, but then I’ve never met a German who wasn’t friendly and I know many muslims who are generous, warm and funny, loving parents and good people.

What is it about war that turns us into cruel and uncaring people, rapists and  plunderers finding joy in others pain?  Does it matter where we come from, what our religious beliefs are or the color of our skin?

We are only on this earth for a short time so what gives us the right to inflict such pain that seventy two years later a total stranger thousands of miles away brought up in a so called peaceful world can be moved to tears by innocent people’s memories.

Love and light.  Granny.

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13 Apr 2012 12:03 PM

Think I'm going to manage a post today, this weather is incredible, blazing sunshine followed by grey skies.  I type a few sentences and I'm offline!  Just so you can see how away from modern conveniences I am (27-30 kms from the sea) and how wonderfully this area has not succumbed to modern life I am posting a picture of the table behind the door in my local post office.  Two chairs to sit at and two bottles of alcohol (one sweet and one bitter) to soothe dry throats in case of a queue.  I just love Andalucia!

Simba the alsation is desperate, Phaedra is on heat and the brown and white stray who has joined the menagerie is on her tail 24/7.  Simba managed to grab him when he got too confident and strayed into range of his chain and I thought that was the end of the newcomer but resilient little beast limped off into the night howling followed by Phaedra who was visibly concerned only to re-appear bright as a button with his gal by his side for breakfast - aint love grand? 

I can't get over these wonderful animals.  My heart goes out to  Simba and the other dogs that Manolo keeps chained up but they kill the goats and rabbits who are profitable breeders.  The point is, they're not guard dogs because they live at the end of a chain but they bark at the nightly visits by the boar and foxes and I haven't slept for two nights.  Once Phaedra gets pregnant I'll have her spayed then wait for Karma to go through the same process.  I just hope that they don't have more than two each because they are only tiny.

To those of you that commented on my last post, I did respond on the comment page so I don't think you have received my thanks.  They are there to read.  To those of you who commented on the drippy guy who's targeting the ladies I say a special thank you and to all the genuine lovely guys I send a big hug.

Love and light,  Granny. 

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10 Apr 2012 11:53 AM

Sometimes we have good days and sometimes we have bad days and on those bad days a good belly laugh can make all the difference.  Someone put this joke and picture on my social site and I laughed out loud for so long that the rest of the day has been wonderful!  I do hope it does the same for you....

Love and light, Granny.

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9 Apr 2012 5:31 AM

Since returning to the lovely fields and tracks of Andalucia in southern Spain after an absence of over a year, I have rented a little wooden house deep in a valley (very cheaply because I'm a poor pensioner) and pretty much isolated from the entire world.  Although 30 kms., from the Costa del Sol beaches I might as well be in Siberia, except for the fact that I am surrounded by olive, avocado and almond trees, all types of lush fruit trees such as mango, chirimoya (custard apple) and many that in the past I have paid large sums of money to savour, I can go outside,  walk across a field or two and pick whatever I want.  Unfortunately, this is not as easy as it sounds.  Being the proud owner of a brand new titanium ankle after six very long and painful operations I am not as sure footed as I used to be and Andalucian farmers bless them, tend to rely on the occasional strong gust of wind to clear the debris from their fields.  Coupled by the fact that to go anywhere I have to walk uphill and when there's a slight shower the car can't even get to the top of the drive let alone onto the track.  We have had months of grey skies, thunder, lightning and torrential rail for a few hours at a time but not enough to fill the reservoirs.  Now that the sun has returned albeit for a few days according to the long range forecast I once again have T.V.,  Internet and telephone access and the prospect of perhaps a visitor or two.  My next rental will be within two minutes walk of a main road.  Those wonderful lazy drives through dry river beds and unknown tracks leading to know not where are what I have missed most but the dogs have been wonderful company.

During my isolation I had one good bit of news and that is that my daughter gave birth to a daughter of her own.  Her name is Edith-Willow and looks just as her mother did when she was born.  I find it interesting then to be told that the  paternal great grandmothers of which there are two still alive, are both in agreement that young Edith looks like great grandpa Charlie did.  Is this re-incarnation, wishful thinking, blind love or simply strong genes?  Whatever it is, I am just thankful that she is healthy and will grow up surrounded by the love of two parents, three grandparents, two great grandmothers (and may they remain in good health for many years to come) two uncles, one aunt and two cousins (as yet).  We may never agree as to whom she resembles but I don't care, makes me feel that my small contribution was worth it!

Love and light,  Granny.

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