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« transmitting hope (part three) | Main | Transmitting Hope (part one) »

Transmitting Hope (part two)

When you see the universe as capable of sending messages via couriers, like I do, Mitchell assumes the role of Earth Angel, here to impart a directive aimed at me. Which I distill to mean the following. Cogitation’s fine. Gets your ideas flowing.  But when inertia sets in. Give it up.  It’s a moribund activity leading to self-loathing. Living’s a participatory sport. Dealing with hands on activities. Moving our bag of bones from place to place. It's the human dance. Until individuation sets in. Separating some from the pack.

A startling revelation. We’re all not the same. Except ideally, we’d all like to go about of our own accord. Inside our own emotional property.  Adjusting to our own temperamental outbursts. Until we achieve unencumbered inhalation and exhalation. The relief. Our personhood at last.  

Putting me in that category, requires additional information. Observing what I do. Presently I'm busy. Trying to get to the bottom of how I come to see winging it as a virtuous activity. I'm so good at it. When in reality, it’s a type of aviary transport getting you nowhere. If achievement’s a desire.  Good luck. And mine is to become bilingual.  Look how that didn’t happen. I’ve no study habits, save sloth. 

Then I read, learning another language is an exercise in pursuing a long-term goal. Unbelievable. It's one thing I've never done. And when achieved, it brings with it all the attendant benefits. Obviously, I'm out of the loop.

Control of impulse. Delaying immediate gratification. Improvement in decision making. Prioritizing, conservation of time, energy, spirit. Increase in confidence.  A win/win for all. Concluding,  my want of it had to have emanated from my unconscious. The depository of truth. Prodding me to go out there. Become yourself. 

Emergency measures are with gravity now considered. A force-feed is due. To surround myself with natives. I'm going to Spain. Conjugate verbs. Daily. To my betterment. Healing myself.

It'll be in Salamanca. There the Don Quijote Language School has a “Golden Years” program. Aimed for those like me, between the ages of 50 to 80. And miraculously I'm signing up before I age-out, October 16 to 27. Choosing, under advisement from school officials, a home-stay, where learning's on-going at the breakfast and dinner tables.

Assigned to live with a divorced woman. Miranda, 62. Her adult daughters, Esme, 27, who speaks a little English. And is a student at the University of Salamanca. As is her sister Isabella, 29. I arrive at Madrid's airport, at 9:15 am. A driver takes me to Salamanca, 2.5 hours away. Drops me at their second floor walk-up apartment, in the Barrio Vidal. I see my bedroom and bath, where there's no hot water pouring in to the sink; only cold. And taking a shower shows tepid the hottest temperature.

Then lunch. An invitation. It's the big meal.  In the kitchen. Paella with sausage. A local dish. Awful. Like salted sawdust. I say“Es delicioso.”  I'm poliite. Miranda denies my appraisal. True. I am lying. And comes back with,  "No me gusta estar en la cocina." I don't like to be in the kitchen. She's right. No where near it must emerge as her favorite haunt. Yet I keep eating. Not wanting to hurt her feelings. She bothers to cook and asks me to join. The effort needs acknowledgment.

Then on to conversation. Miranda has a headache.Doesn't speak much. Her hand's either at her forehead or rubbing her stomach. Its been aching for days. She eats little. Says less. Yawns. While I stare at the color of her hair. It's dyed shoe polish brown. Like a corpse. But who am I to say. Certainly not in Spanish.

I had to look up every word in the sentence I'm about to ask. There's an urgency. I'm a water drinker. "Si bebo agua del grifo meuro immediatamente? “If I drink the tap water,  will I die immediately.  Shocking Miranda into rising, spouting  “Tranqila. Tranquila. Tranquila." Taking me by my hand to visit the filter hanging from the faucet in the kitchen sink.

"Esta bien.” I offer, steering clear of English. Watching Isabella get up. Saying not a word. Her stance from the start. Taking her food. Leaving. To throw up. I'm sure. But doesn't want her mother seeing. As Esme begins in English. "My dad leaves my mother ten years ago. Another woman. A catastrophe. My mother becomes a maid. Takes in boarders. Makes ends meet. Families do that. Unemployment's high."

Leaving me to ascertain, what needs to follow is a mood lifter.  “La vida es una pociliga y luego mueres.” It pops out. Life’s a pigsty and then you die. The truth. Alright. But more to the point. Did I or did I not have a moment of bilinguancy.

The prospect makes me smile.      

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Reader Comments (9)

Now I understand the Instagram pictures. What a wonderful adventure!

December 20, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterJason Waltman

I loved Hope part 1 and went immediately to Hope part two before commenting. I love the idea of earth angels randomly stopping us to impart wisdom and confirmation of our inner voices... now I'm thinking back to those times on the ski lift when a seeming stranger talked of dreams they had realized and I was still counting sheep to achieve....(I ended up calling it the Gondola of Life as it happened 3 times, so each time I boarded I assumed I was on some telepathic vessel to my guardian angel who was putting clues in my way like some strategic game)...anyway, I really enjoyed reading of your journey to Spain and your interaction, I had a lot of LOL moments but please write more about it!! Part 3 please!! I'm glad you have a 'newly diagnozed condition'! ha and that you didn't take the pill!! Don't change! xx

December 20, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterFizulu

Enjoyed reading your adventures.
Look forward to hearing more when I see you.

December 20, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterJoe

Always enjoy your brilliantly written stories!

December 20, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterRuth Devorah

Yes indeed. Those "moments" enable us to move forward to the next one, so carry on, Jane. Carry on!

December 21, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterNetta

I love to read about your daily insight. Your perspective of life is so true and human. You bring joy to those who surround you. Follow your instincts. Paella for lunch when we meet next time.

December 21, 2017 | Unregistered Commenterjudyl

All your prospects make me smile.

December 21, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterJean Doty

Enjoyed your blog and great to see you writing again!

December 24, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterLonnie Jarrett

If you wish me to have your personal e-mail; please send it.My e-mail directory went down when I transferred from Outlook Express to Outlook. Thank you.

December 25, 2017 | Unregistered CommenterJane

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