Ad Infinitum

Ok, so we decided to drive to Nosara yesterday. The rain had been plummetting down – we didn’t know there had been a landslide in San Jose and 20 people had died -,so we set off when the last drop of rain had fallen…so we thought….
It was 10.30 our time, cocoa time for you lot.
Down the track, right onto the tarmac road, left past the one roomed church and then right past the bulldozers and new apartments. The road soon petered out and we were thrown about like so many loose coconuts in a crate, so the driver made an executive decision to turn back. Back over the ravine, onto the main highway to Nicoya and a new start as we headed towards Nosara beach and a fancy lunch in a hotel.,.so we thought

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When the thunder clapped and the sheet lighting struck I swear we all held our heads.
When the rain came onto the upstairs balcony and the wind threw the water bottle about I swear I thought Hurricane Catastrophe had hit.
At 3.30a.m.I was begging the elementals for sleep. I bargained my life, my art and my woolly brown socks which I have nicked off the daughter.
When the rain reached the mattress him and me started shouting at each other. He wanted to close the shutters but I didn’t want to be locked in a dark, damp, box…
We were going to another beach today but the grey clouds are SO full of rain that I fear we may get blown out to Japan.

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Last night the rain started in the wee small hours. I was reading and Jim was trying to make friends with a tree frog that had inadvertently got himself stuck to our bedroom floor.
A spider was busy spinning its web in the bathroom, an assortment of flying green crickets kept plopping on my head.
I turned the fan on, an old fashioned three armed jobby that hangs from the ceiling like a Graham Greene novel. Stieg Larssons scenarios meant that I had a recurring doubt that at any moment the fan would whirr itself out of the roof and land up on our heads. So I got up and turned it off.
Jim slept through my see-sawing in and out of the bed. Into the bathroom to check the spiders progress, back under the beige macrami throw, off with the fan, under the throw, on with the fan, under the throw, into the bathroom, under the throw, off with the fan, back to bed, by midnight you would have thought I was exhausted.
Not so….

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Dear All, I would love to publish photos but I DONT KNOW HOW. The old git says he will teach me how to do it when we return to Blighty. Until then you will just have to use your imaginations….
It’s 10.41 your time and late afternoon ours.
We have just driven back to the villa, covered in sand, cool box covered in sand, tortilla chips, covered in sand, water bottles covered in….well you get the picture…we arrived at Carillo beach by 10.30. 150 feet of sand before you get any of the Pacific on your toes, and then it’s warm and shallow.
A curved bay with not yellow, powdery sand but a gentle grey vulcanic sand that is soft enough.

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When the man started talking to me at 7.00 I was confounded by his intrusion, I then realised it was the radio.
As the story unfolded I marveled at the excellence of humanity, a whole country behind a handful of Chilean miners. The President, money, time, ingenuity, compassion, hope, love, all being lavished on a group of grubby workers. I lay in my bed wondering whether we would do that in our selfish country?
Climbed out of bed, forsook my meditation, and siddha paste, forsook my mung bean soup and herbs, and jumped into my clothes instead.
I left the flat just as THOUGHT FOR THE DAY was beginning.

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I woke up this morning with my left , lower, back muscle in spasm. There are thems that say its the stress coming out. There are thems that say its the detoxing. There are thems that say its because I fell on my left hip with such a force I have buggered me lumbar. There are thems that says its because I am going on holiday on Saturday and I’m letting it all hang out – they must have seen my little red bikini -. whatever thems that know say it don’t ‘alf hurt mum.
So I wandered around the flat this morning putting in washing, emptying bags, paying bills, and then my lovely roomie came in. We sat and talked as she spread a banana on two crispy rice cakes.
She left for Brighton and I decided to go onto the Kings Road to the bank and to buy a replacement bikini, back pain gel for my painful back and hair gel for my growing barnet.
The lunchtime weather was perfect for a gentle stroll.

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Phoned the bank to check out we had travel insurance.
Having given the wrong security details my call was blocked. A very nice Scottish lad helped me out. Resetting the security number and advising me not to use birthdays or anything sequential I resorted to my mothers Co-op number from 1956…
Then I meditated in the bathroom with a pile of onion and garlic paste plastered on my belly.

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There’s an undulating discomfort in the bottom of my belly, and it’s not the mung bean soup, it’s the thought I will have to give up my lovely flat.
‘It’s only a building.’ says George.
‘Don’t get so attached.’ says Monica.
It’s time to re-group, move on, take stock.’ says Roberto.
‘You’ll be in your lovely cottage with Jim,’ says Marie.
‘But the man who is tired of London is tired of life.’ say Ben.
So what’s my problem then? If it is time to move on, change, give up the ghost, look to the future?
There’s always Grouchos to stay in if I need to be in London. There’s also friends, family and a host of boutique hotels that will be willing to take my nightly rate. BUT I love my mad flat and anyway it’s not the giving up of the apartment that hurts but the reality of the move. Seven years of books, cd’s, furniture, paintings, tables, chairs, bedding, weights – yes weights – shoes, clothes, toiletries and memories.
If you are what you think then if I keep thinking that the flat will remain in my life will it?
If it’s time to move on, how will I know?
At what point is holding on giving up?

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I fasted yesterday.Not for religious reasons but because I am getting my body used to cooked food again. I have been totally raw since April first, no joke let me tell you. But over six months it has done wonders for me. Now I need to introduce a cup of coffee here, a plate of rice and beans there, a pile of chips, or soup made with lentils and coconut.
My ten day cleanse is an Ayurvedic tradition, and I love it. Four days of mung bean soup, one day of fasting, and five days of mung bean, rice and vegetables. I feel a little unsteady on my pins, but in a nice way.
The notion of dieting is beyond me now, at my age eating for the soul means I may get to see my grandchildren if the biological daughter ever decides to lay down her musical instruments and find a father for her unborn eggs.

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