Falling and false fancies

On the 31st of July I was visiting my son and family in Folkstone with my mum.  We had flown over to look after my grandson while his childminder was off on holiday.  He is a delightful child and full of energy as only a 2 year old can be.  My mum and I worked together and found it delightful getting to know this little chap.  

There is something about being the major caretakers that creates a bond between you and a small child.  There is also much laughter and smiles when small children are involved.   Every night when my mum took her medication Charlie would haul himself up on the  sofa to get a better view of her taking her inhaler, sprays, pills, lotions etc and roar with laughter at the sight.  It was as if she was putting on a nightly show for his entertainment.  He never tired of this routine and his reaction made us laugh each night.  

Seeing a small child examine the sea, the stones, the insects reminds you of the amazing world we live in.  It is all so completely new to him you are reminded of the miracle of even the simplest thing around you.  Then on the third day while walking Charlie along the sea front my mum fell.  It was a bad fall and somehow both she and Charlie ended up on the ground.  My mum’s injuries were considerable and included a fractured elbow, bruised ribs, a colourful blow to the side of the head and a large bleeding wound to the arm.  Picture the scene, a two year old crying on the ground with a small cut to his palm and my eighty two year old mother lying not far away in agony.  We were on an isolated promenade by the sea and quite some distance from a road or town.  

As we pondered what to do a couple of joggers appeared, aged 20- 30 both male.  I supported my mother’s shoulders on the ground waiting for the shock to pass and the two joggers passed us by without a word.  A distraught two year old and a bleeding eighty year-old were obviously not on their exercise programme that day.  I asked Charlie to bring his great granny some water from the buggy and with tears running down his cheeks he raced to the buggy and brought the water bottle. 

Three weeks have passed and recovery has been slow, painful and steady.  The medical staff in Folkstone were fantastic, my son and his wife looked after us with much love but what sticks in my head for some reason is the sight of those two joggers ignoring us.  They had to run around all three of us.  I keep wondering what on earth were they thinking?  Was there some other priority that took precedence?  There are times when you just have to scratch your head and wonder, just what is going on in this world.  Has present day isolation taught us to be immune to human suffering?  Does the plight of others leave us cold and indifferent?    Are we all too busy with our own concerns to react?  I have no answers but only questions.  Can we even see those less fortunate than ourselves?  Do we see the world we live in and those we share it with?  

Through the eyes of a two year old this world is beautiful full of beauty.  Charlie is still at that stage that he greets everyone in a cafe as though they were his best friends.  He is as fascinated with an ant as an eagle.  All of this world is there waiting to be discovered and enjoyed.  At what stage on life’s journey do we turn away from each other and cease to care?  Does our inability to register the needs of others coincide with our inability to be truly happy?  

Heroes and Kittens

Was down town trying to keep up with my mother.  She sets a blistering pace with daily tasks to be achieved and an attitude to life that is productivity focussed.  Gardens, houses, clothes, bathrooms, cupboards, carpets, bills, financial papers read, letters to be written etc.  Boredom is not something she has ever experienced.  That is probably why she refuses to wait for anyone or anything.  Abundant with all sorts of virtues patience is not one of them.  Her name Emily means industrious and by name and nature she epitomises that word. 

So when I hear a small kitten crying I have to quickly draw her attention before she is miles ahead of me on the pavement.  Stopping, we both listen attentively – nothing but the normal traffic noises around us.  But when I make that wishwish sound, one does to cats, the kitten cries again loudly in response.  The sound is coming from under the bonnet of a red Fiesta parked with a disabled sticker on its window.  Tentatively approaching the vehicle we hear the piteous cry again.  It is definitely coming from under the bonnet of the empty car.  We peer under wheel arches, crouch down to look under the car but see nothing. 

A couple of ladies join us listening intently and, in response to the tiny fur balls squeals, agree that it “is a kitten stuck somewhere in the engine”.  Into this now growing crowd of well-wishers comes more people including the owner of the car.  She hands over her car keys, so one chap could pop the bonnet.  With that achieved most of us lean over the engine and peer into the innards of the car.  There deep down under spark plugs and hoses etc is a tiny fluffy kitten howling its distress and looking up hopefully at us.  First the man and then each of us tries to reach down past cables to pull the kitten us but to no avail. 

One stranger goes into a nearby supermarket and returns with a box of dried cat food to try and entice the kitten down to the ground from the engine frame.  This does not work and by now the crowd on the pavement and road has grown to a critical mass.  People are now flocking to the scene because there is a sufficient number of people to cause curious stares and interest.  All have their own ideas to share, “Shall I call the police?” “Whose is it?”, “There is a garage down the road!”, “How long has it been in there?”  Every newcomer is rapidly filled in by those in the know and all the while the piteous cry of the kitten urges action on us all. 

A tiny thin girl appears from the supermarket in her blue uniform with tattoos down each arm.  She leans forward and her matchstick arm does the impossible, she reaches down through the tiny convoluted spaces and pulls out the frightened kitten.  We are all relieved that a rescue has been engineered.  I look around at all the well-meaning faces and know that these people are those who could not walk past without expressing concern and taking action to help.  So many good souls on a pavement ridiculously pleased that with all the pain and loss in this world, a tiny furry kitten has been saved at least.  I suddenly wanted to celebrate the inherent unspoken goodness of all these strangers and savour this moment but my Mum is off.  No time to stand and stare, there are things to do, no wasting time she is off, an unstoppable force and I race to keep up.

Lost in the Trees but grateful

I went to a talk on trees here in Malta this week.  It was interesting to hear and learn about what is happening here and to listen to people from Malta passionate about protecting their environment.  Inspiring to be surrounded by those who really care in a world where it seems so many don’t have time to.  Not, that the rest don’t care, it is just that everyone seems to have more than enough on their own plate as it is.  So I was delighted,  that the room was packed with over a hundred, all there to make their feelings for their environment clear. It was with reluctance I left, slightly early, to make my way home by bus.  Proceeded in the dark, to catch the wrong bus heading not to Sliema and home, but in exactly the opposite direction.    So after a 45-minute bus journey (it always amazes me that on a small island,  picture a square with a side of 12 km, journeys can last so long) the bus came to a halt in the darkness of an isolated village.  The bus driver turned the engine off and then turned to me in the empty bus and said in an exasperated tone,

“Where exactly do you want to go?”

I told him where I wanted to go and he told me that I was an hour from where I should be.  Despair must have filled my face because he was suddenly anxious to help.  I asked if there were taxis anywhere around and was even more disturbed to find that there were none at all.  This was a pickle, indeed. 

He started the engine of the empty bus and told me that he would take me to Rabat and there might be taxis available there.  I was shocked that he would go out of his way, bus and all to take me closer to home.  He dropped me off and I was able to catch another bus homewards.  By this stage, it was dark and the only other person on the bus was a Canadian woman.  We started talking and she turned out to be a financial advisor and photographer from Canada who works from her computer here in Malta for a firm abroad.  A lovely person and we exchanged mobile numbers before we parted.  As I waited for the final bus home another young Maltese teenager told me she was studying for her final exams, she wanted to be a chef.  It was sweet hearing her discuss her plans to have her own restaurant one day.  It is impressive how hopeful young people are and how passionate about their futures.  When you reach my age, finding the right bus home is enough of a major challenge for the day! 

But as I staggered up to my flat exhausted and falling asleep from the long day at work, I was suddenly grateful for it all.  Grateful for the many who came to the Tree meeting, thankful to the benevolent bus driver, happy to meet such warm and likable travellers on a cold lost night and aware that every moment of life is special.  Even the absolutely exhausting ones.