Easter Sunday

My day started in Australia just after midnight my time. I phoned my sister (the new mother-in-law) to wish her a happy Easter. What a lovely conversation that was! My subsequent hour-long conversation with my mother and father absolved me for not having written to them for three weeks. I went to sleep in the early hours of the morning with their sweet voices echoing in my mind.

We woke up much later than planned. João was presentable while I was still in a state of cultivated  dishevelment when our friend Eliza appeared unexpectedly at the door with a marvellous Easter gift; a curry of turkey breast, rice done in the Indian manner with mung beans, homemade mango achar, and a miniature bottle of sparkling white wine. As if that were not stupendous enough, added to this feast was a strawberry blancmange, which João pertinently described as containing one surprise after another.

Such was the rush to arrive at the joyous Easter Sunday Mass on time that discovery of what delights this pure act of kindness contained had to wait until afterwards. In Church, I was privileged to sit in the company of newly-made friends, and then another, with his wriggly son, when I shifted along to make room for one more.

Afternoon rain cloaked the lavender outside our kitchen window in pearls of water. I brought some lavender in for João, whose gratitude exceeded by far the effort the gesture entailed on my part.

I have been blessed with an independent spirit; I have been fortunate in that I have had the freedom to exercise that independence. Such self-reliance also means I am am still learning how to ask for help when I need it, and I am always surprised when it is offered unsolicited by the observant. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the many kind and helpful gestures and words I have received in recent days. The special human beings who I am honoured to count among my friends and family need to know that I welcome this powerful encouragement with joy and a sense of wonderment.

Outside our front door is a flower bed encased in stone, which I tend. If I were a flower, I would be glowing like the geraniums after a rain shower in springtime.

I secretly hope that all this joy is contagious.

Allison