I was not of a mind to take photos today, so here is one from yesterday. It is a photo of a wall, but you may be tricked into thinking it is of a dry river bed.
I loved watching the little kids singing in Church today. Each has their own distinct character and the interactions between them were a delight to behold. They seemed a happy group on this, Mother’s Day in Portugal, and for the most part not in the least self-conscious. They may even enjoy all the catechism classes laid out for them on the next part of their journey. As is traditional, the children give each mother in the congregation a flower. I accepted one, even though I have never had children. I told the person sitting next to me that when I left Zimbabwe to come to Portugal, I left behind many people who used to come to me when they had problems. When they heard I was leaving, many of them asked me the same question, which broke my heart: “Who is going to be our mother now?” My response each time was inadequate. These people had given me the honour of the title of mother. I accepted the flower today because of them.
I do like the way the past pops up unbeckoned in my present . It makes the ground I walk on more solid.
João and I enjoyed a late-afternoon lunch with friends; a braai (or barbecue, for those who do not know what a braai is). A braai is not a braai without boerwors? Well, we had the famous South African sausage today, incredible as that may seem. Good food, good company and a fabulous view. Relaxation as sustenance.
As I wrote the above, João was singing along to Frank Sinatra’s “Fly me to the Moon” in some movie on television. How fitting. It was one her mother’s favourites. I can see them in my mind’s eye singing along to it together one similarly bright day, years ago.