Well, I'm getting to bed earlier, but sleeping lighter it seems, as it's staying warmer through the night, and waking when the sun comes over the ridge of the valley. For a change, I started breakfast with bread and olives marinaded in a mixture of olive oil and lemon. A pleasant appetizer with the usual porridge, toast and marmalade to follow. Mercadona's mermelada de naranjas amargas is decent alternative to our home made version.
After posting this week's pew sheet to the chaplaincy website and emailing it to several recipients, I drove into town, parked in the 'dust bowl' and walked to the church shop, to chat with Brian and Mary who were today's volunteers on duty. My arrival seemed to coincide with an influx of visitor, mostly Irish, shopping for colourful summer blouses to take home at the end of their stay, I guess, joking about needing to wear several of them at a time, as their bags were full enough already.
On the way back to the car, I called at Mercadona for coffee, bread and marmalade (as I've nearly finished another jar. I saw a notice in a shop window advertising a special Mass celebration for the end of May at the 18th century Ermita de Nuestra Señora de las Angustias in Calle San Miguel. It's at seven on Sunday evening. I doubt if I'll be back from Fuengirola by then, however. Good to know that traditional Catholic customs continue to be observed, tourism notwithstanding.
Horns were blaring in Calle San Miguel, as a long open topped vintage American car drove up the street with newly-weds in the back. Both wearing white. A gay couple coming from the Ajuntamiento on the Plaza de España I think.
A text message arrived on the Chaplaincy phone telling of the death yesterday morning of Ian Mortimer whom I visited a couple of weeks ago at Sanysol care home in Velez Malaga. It was from his daughter Helena, and addressed to Fr Nigel, as she had been given the wrong number. I needed to know anyway and was able to obtain his number for her from John. Her sister is on her way from Australia so they can make funeral arrangements together some time this week.
When I visited him, he didn't feel well enough to receive Communion, but appreciated laying on of hands with prayer, with a reading suitable for Ascensiontide from St Paul's letter to the Colossians 'If you have been raised with Christ seek the things that are above where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.' He was one of the long standing survivors of the Almuñecar congregation. The place name is still preserved in the official name of the Chaplaincy and its website, a relic of a once successful outreach there.
I returned home and made a rice dish with mussels, onions, mushrooms, red pepper and judia plana. It worked well, seasoned with lemon and black pepper. I must remember to cook this for Clare when I get home. I needed a short siesta again after eating, and started thinking about Tuesday's wedding blessing. The chaplaincy issues a simple certificate recording the occasion. The couple and the priest sign copies after the service; one for church records another for the couple to go with their civil marriage certificate. There used to be a thick hard back book, representing the register to be signed, but the only one I could find was full, but there was a ring backed folder containing signed certificate copies from recent years.
Then I searched the Chaplaincy laptop. The 'Documents' file system left much to the imagination of anyone but its author. Odd folders with year dates, but no indication of content plus hundreds of files unclassified. Fortunately the search facility easily produced lists of matching partial file names given making it possible to find certificates from other wedding blessings. It gave me something to customise for Tuesday's celebration.
A cup of tea followed by a paseo on the senda litoral towards Nerja. As I reached the Mesonera de Nerja restaurant, a couple approached me and asked if I spoke French. The Mesonera doesn't operate a bar in the evenings. There's just enough staff to maintain their gourmet 'slow food' restaurant ethos. Was there another bar anywhere near. I explained about the Mirador restaurant and the one at Playa Vilches and gave them directions in French which they understood. It was a struggle to break out of the Spanish mind set, and it was a struggle to stay in the same language! They complemented me for the effort and I said I'd lived eight years in Geneva, which brought looks of comprehension - they had lived or were living in the Departement de l'Ain, just across the border!
On the return leg, I spotted the couple I'd seen earlier in the American open-top enjoying a romantic photo opportunity in a layby overlooking the sea. In the distance, loud disco sounds were emanating from the Playa de Vilches restaurant. Looking down on the beach from Paseo Tamango Hill, it became clear there was a wedding reception going on. Sadly I hadn't realised this and mis-directed the couple. I forgot the Mirador restaurant also has a bar terrace. I hope they ended up there, and not disappointed or deafened at the other place.
Tuna salad for supper, a spell of writing, with a break to record the large tailed nightjar's strange song at ten, distant but clearly audible in the nighttime stillness. I was delighted to discover how well my little dictation device served to pick up the sound, though it needed a big boost to amplify the signal when editing it in Audacity. Then reading and editing more of Dai Troubadour, before bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment