July

A mixed emotions month – but then, isn’t every month like that?

The first week of July was the last week of school... packed with prizegiving evening, school concert and a lot of tidying, clearing out and packing up. Fortunately, the latter was really easy – I have had an AMAZING class this year who are capable, helpful, sensible, efficient, well-organized, co-operative and wonderfully eager to do anything they are asked. Getting the classroom sorted was surprisingly fun.

Prizegiving, on the other hand...oh, every year it is the same. The delight on a child’s face when the prize is announced; the pleasure from other children when they see their friend sit down, proudly clutching a prize; the disappointment which hangs in the air when all is over and the MAJORITY of the children go home with nothing.  Yes, I know we can’t all win prizes and most of the teachers try to spread them around all the deserving children, rather than awarding several prizes to one child: often, there are several contenders for the same award. Yet perhaps there should be a policy that every child who is leaving is recognized for at least one achievement...? There are many arguments for and against this tradition, but the lesson that ‘not everyone is necessarily a winner’ is a hard one to learn and perhaps needs to be taught in a different way, i.e. that ‘everyone is a winner at SOMETHING’.  We encourage children to explore and develop their talents and gifts – so perhaps we should continue to develop this across every aspect of school life.

I could carry on ranting about this for a long time. On to happier things.

End of term finished very happily. So satisfying, as a teacher, to know that children have benefited from being with me: when I see huge progress in communicating, as children who were hesitant about speaking, reading or writing have gained confidence. Sometimes, I can almost see them grow physically as their self-belief blossoms. I know they would have made progress with anyone, really, but I love looking back to the beginning of the year and seeing the strides they have made...

Once term ended it was catch-up time – with cleaning, with chores left undone, with unlimited reading, with friends and even school-work!  The weather wasn’t great the first couple of weeks so I was happy to put in the hours on my computer and start preparing for next term. I know by the time I get to the end of August that I will have ‘wound down’ big time and it is always a huge effort to start The Teaching Machine going again.

So, all caught up for the end of the month when my dear friends arrived for their annual visit – and the weather turned wonderful.  July weather at last.

(I haven't mentioned the Olympics. The Olympic Torch flew in to Guernsey - great excitement. As for the games,,, I'm glad, in a way, that we don't have television - I wouldn't have made it outside into the garden for a fortnight, though I have sussed out how to watch on iplayer while sitting comfortably on the lawn...)

A quiet joy...

Our yearly reunion came round again, eventually. It always seems both long - and short - since we last met up. Words are not enough for our relationship.  It feels like family. It feels like best friends. It feels as if, sometimes, these friends know me better than I know myself. Safe. Loving. Accepting. Joyous. Peaceful. Enough.

Ann, Cath, myself, Mary - barbecue supper...

...and fruity al fresco breakfast.

The Church of Christ the Healer - with God, all things are possible.

Meeting up again
just a year ago
we walked together, laughed together,
celebrated
a friendship endured
across years
across countries
across continents.
These friends 
who know and are known.
Truth tellers.
Masks off, souls bared. No pretence.
Women who ask real questions,
listening to unspoken yearnings, doubts, loves.
Questions answered in honesty
to know and be known.
There is no sense of urgency.

We live in the moment, THIS moment. 
Gazing back at shared experiences, looking forward 
to an unknown future, 
LIVING, together, in this moment.
Finding healing together.
After they left, I felt bereft, momentarily
until the gap closed
and normal life resumed once more.

Sisters' shenanigans

Off to Ireland - Westport County Mayo - to be with my three 'sisters' from Kenya days. Ann, Cath and Mary. Anna, Katerina, 'Mama Miti' (Tree Mother) and me, 'Nyako' (girl, in the Dholuo language. Wow, we go back 30 years - we all met on a training course in the summer of 1981, before we were all sent out to various parts of Africa. That was also exactly when the apparitions of the Virgin Mary started at Medjugorje in Bosnia, not that that has anything to do with it. I think.

It's always a bit crazy when we meet up.

We laugh and reminisce until the wee hours of the morning - the memories as crazy as the evenings. Quite embarrassing, those recollections sometimes. I won't detail them here, just memories of singing, and clothes, and the 1982 coup in Kenya, and who had a crush on who during the preparation course. Crazy people. Crazy memories. Age has NOTHING to do with it,of course.

It's always a joy to get together, but this time seemed crazier than others.

We started by getting to the airport two hours earlier than we needed to. A fault on the right side, anyway, but lots of extra sitting around.
Then Cath, having checked in online for both journeys, gave in her boarding pass for the return journey by mistake. Fortunately, the airline staff noticed just as we were about to board the plane - or the return would have been very interesting.
Then, when we arrived, I couldn't get out of my seat - an unseen force slammed me back down again when I tried to get up. It was easier when I undid my seat belt.

Of course, there were lots of marvellously joyful things too. As Psalm 103 says: O my soul, bless God. From head to toe, I'll bless his holy name! O my soul, bless God, don't forget a single blessing!
Blessings of sitting together on the plane - despite making separate bookings and online check in, it all worked out.
Blessings of walking down the lane with dogs and children and conversation and talking and laughing and drinking wine and eating to-die-for homemade cake and chocolate and chocolate and jokes and laughter and...oh, blessings and blessings.

We visited a derelict abbey,

walked across a salt marsh on a causeway

and drank Guinness in a pub named after Grania O'Malley, 16th century Irish pirate queen; saw wiggly worms, wriggly sand eels and complacent jellyfish; met a charming boy who lives in a pre-famine cottage; paddled in cold Clew Bay and searched rock pools; and made plans. And plans. And plans.

So we sat on rocks at the waters' edge, watching seals sitting on rocks watching us. Up to 20 of them, though sometimes there are as many as 50.

Mullet leapt on the surface of the water. Rock pipits clustered along the shore, ferreting among the pebbles as sand martins ducked and dived over our heads. The grass was springy under our heads. We searched rock pools for fish and shrimps, finding mainly hermit crabs in periwinkle shells and dozens of stranded jellyfish. Their translucent beauty made for compelling photography.

Later, we wandered across miles of deserted sands. Paddled, and swam. (Well, some of us, braving cold, chills and jellyfish.) Only in Ireland could there be such space and tranquillity.

But then....a sudden attack of headache, sickness, nausea, chills, shivering and chattering of teeth. We bundled Cath up warmly, checked her breathing,lay her down in the car and rushed for home, only stopping for essential supplies of headache tablets, water, milk, mints and ice cream. And for Cath to throw up over a wall into a convenient garden. After a shower and a sleep she was fine. Phew.

And so the days continued...early morning tea at 9am, brunches, afternoon tea and cake, late evening suppers with glasses and glasses of wine - enough, but not too much; strolls through the town, absorbing the creativity that is Ireland - mohair scarves and cable-knit sweaters, ceramic art and intricate jewellery, filmy fashions and ethereal photography...; and talking, talking, talking. Mary left us for an urgent dentist appointment: in Dublin, four hours away by train: we missed her. The evening reunion felt as if a family, stretched and separated by adversity, had come together once more. As comfortable as really, really, really old shoes.

The days ended with sharing music: dancing to Ladysmith Black Mambazo and watching Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers sing together...

So we've enjoyed drinking tea like old women; sipping cappuchino coffees like the middle-aged professionals we are in other lives; throwing back wine like young bright twenty-somethings; hanging out like teenagers; giggling like little girls. Four friends of the Sisterhood.

Blithe times. Blessings. Bliss.

Tomorrow we leave.

'Sisters'

24 hours ago they were here. Leaving them at the airport felt very strange. Wrong, somehow.

Leaving my ‘sisters’.

These dear friends – a friendship which goes back nearly thirty years – came to visit. Our days were filled with laughter, reminisces, secrets told, more laughter…

Days of wonder, as we looked at the Little Chapel, so lovingly crafted out of shells and fragments of porcelain and pottery.

Days of exhaustion, walking the steepness of the cliffs. Marvelling at the birds soaring above us, the tiny flowers clinging to the spare soil beneath our feet.

Days of laughter, when we couldn’t stop smiling for the joy of being together – especially when we met up with Alan, also a friend from Kenya days. I’d kept it a surprise for them. Their shrieks of amazement and delight, when they met him on Herm as we stepped off the boat from Guernsey, brought smiles to the faces of strangers.

Days of enjoying the sun, the sand, the shells and the sea air.

Days of eating and drinking in celebration of a birthday, a reunion, thanksgiving for the years then and now.

Days of the comfort of being known so intimately that there seemed to be nothing we couldn’t talk about and share with each other. Days when we realized that there are very few others who we love so much that we feel as close as family.

We plan to meet up again soon. Because leaving felt so very, very strange.

Leaving my ‘sisters’.

Friends, daughters and sisters

Sometimes I don't know how to 'label' people. Not that I particularly like to do that, but it IS convenient sometimes.

This week I've met with a number of different women, all who need labels.

My sister-in-law and my niece came to stay for a couple of days. I have three sisters-in-law, but how to describe them? The one who came to stay is the sister-in-law who 'lives in Kenya and is a Christian'. Then there is my sister-in-law, more than a decade younger than I am, who is the most perfect little mother to her two young sons. And another, highly intelligent mother of teenagers who runs her own business and copes bravely with her widowhood. There is no way of accurately and succinctly 'labelling' them.

Today I went to a women's breakfast, hosted by another church with a nationally acclaimed speaker. I was with sisters-in-Christ: one very close friend from my own church, others from my church and yet other 'sisters' from other churches on the island, some of whom I knew, some I didn't.

With me was the 'Dottie' and her best friend.

But how do I describe the best friend Mary?

Mary has been on holiday with us several times. She is so much past of the family that she stays over at the drop of a hat and makes tea for us all when she comes round. She is a real gift from God to our family. How do I label her?

Simple. My God'sdaughter.

More than friends: sisters

An add on to my notes about my recent reunion in Ireland last week. Here is a photo of what we look like now. 27 years have been and gone since we originally met.

I have searched and searched for my group photo of how we all looked then: I have it firmly in my mind's eye but cannot physically find it. We spent our days together remembering everyone else in the group, but without the photo I cannot be sure that we have named everyone. I hope we have. Wouldn't it be awful if FOUR people had all completely forgotten a person's existence?

Cath, Ann, Mary and I at the foot of Croagh Patrick - Ireland's holy mountain, on the top of which St Patrick fasted for forty days and nights. Thousands of pilgrims climb it every year in July.

At the foot of Croagh Patrick, overlooking Clew Bay.

Special times

So where am I headed off to?

This weekend has been planned for a few months now. I'm meeting up with three very special women - my sisters in Christ. They are closer to me than sisters. We've known each other for decades, since we first lived together for a few weeks before departing to work in Africa. We have had a rare opportunity to live in close community with each other, sharing every detail of our lives. A closeness developed which has spanned thousands of miles and years of neglect.

We've survived weddings, and a divorce. We've survived not being asked to weddings (there were good reasons for that) and not knowing about the imminent divorce until it was too late. (We would have loved to have helped - but there were good reasons for being kept out of that, as well.) We are so trusting with each other that we live above hurt or injured feelings. We love each other deeply.

We are possibly more brutally honest with each other than with anyone else - even our husbands. We speak the truth immediately, no holds barred, completely secure.

This weekend, I'm taking two flights and travelling hundreds of miles to be with them. I'd go a lot further than that. It will be a very special time. I can't wait.