So I'm just putting the finishing touches to a degree assignment that has to be in tomorrow, when the doorbell dings. My dear friend Alex has arrived from London to take a break at her finca near Lanjarón. She has brought a new old friend with her from her inexhaustible supply of eccentric Englishmen. Alex tries to talk to me while John tries to talk to her and me together. I reply in half-sentences, but it's OK because no-one's listening to anyone anyway. I get them up to the roof and give them liquids to keep them busy.
Meanwhile, naughty spaniel Lola slips out and goes into town, probably in search of Friday night takeaway. Fred, just coming out of a long day of work, laces up his hiking boots and stomps off in search of our princess. I see Alex and John off with a cheery wave, all the time watching Fred walk back to the house empty-handed.
We take off into Lanjarón with the sad cargo of Lola's empty lead and split up to look for her. It's the solemn feast of El Señor de la Expiración. (The pìcture shows the Orgiva celebrations). The whole town is stepping over the roadworks towards the church. Cannon and firecracker explosions seem to rock the very buildings, and I jump so often I have to pretend I'm skipping. I wait for the townsfolk to fall to the ground screaming, but nobody even blinks. Various neighbours stop me in the street, lay a hand on my arm, report sightings of Lola - (Carmela, our vegetable vecina, has alerted friends).
I get home to find Lola happy and excited after a minimal telling off and far too many cuddles. She is sent to bed without any supper except her usual full bowl.
I take Macduff for his walk. On the way, Carmela presents me with a lettuce as beautiful as a newly-opened rose, and graceful purple lirios, irises - a gift. I can't turn back now I've got 13-year old Duffs up the hill, so I cradle the lettuce, the irises and the poop scoop and we carry on. As we go round the corner, the cannons go off again and we walk into a flock of goats heading into town for the weekend. Three of the goats detach themselves and head towards us. I lunge at them with the lettuce/iris/poopscoop combo. They know not to mess with that and take off at a trot. We get home without any more adventures.
All of which is just to give you a snapshot of a typical untypical hour or two in Lanjarón - exasperation and affection woven closely together and usually affection wins.
Don't you love Fred's latest in his White Bowl series? It wasn't posed specially, but simply found in the natural environment of our kitchen. I thought the stapled teabag was particularly poignant. We are going to call it La Cuenca del Crisis, and are happy to discuss commissions from thrifty art lovers.
Have a good week/month/time elapsing before my next blog!
I was just beginning to wonder what you were up to over there. Nice to hear and see you! Lissa sends regards to Lola & Macduff, having had similar adventures, with similar consequences (only two liver treats for you bad girl!) earlier this week.xoxo
Posted by: Lori | March 28, 2009 at 10:14 PM