My space is home,
filled with chuckles, deep hearty manly chuckles and infectious little boy
chuckles. Cuddles and beaming smiles,
administering magic kisses on poorly knees. The sound of background noise,
radio 2 or an Indie music TVchannel or more often than not, Peppa Pig. Not
too loud, because I like to think. The
computer humming, the tapping of the keys as I twitter or blog or facebook the
hours away.
My space is blue, blue
skies and blue, blue sea punctuated with the green, green rice fields. The heady perfume of orange groves in spring,
the sticky sweet scent of rice in summer and sadly the smell of manure (chicken
shit?) in winter. A lone shepherd meandering
his way down dirt tracks and country lanes, his flock of goats & sheep following
timidly behind in search of tasty grazing.
My space is the beach,
watching my boy splashing in the surf and listening to the sounds of the waves
gently lapping the shore. A double cone
of cherry and chocolate ice cream before we go home or a fragrant spit roasted
chicken to take away. A seaview
restaurant serving paella made with local fish and rice, the food of my
doorstep.
My space is a bicycle
ride through the Delta, following the flat, flat roads through the seemingly
never ending rice fields, to where the River Ebro finally spills into the
Mediterranean. The Mussel farm nets
lacing the shore. A natural habitat for
thousands of different birds, a nesting and breeding place for beautiful
flamingos. A place so peaceful and
tranquil, save for the odd hunter shooting duck.
My space is a boat
trip down the river Ebro, t’husband at the helm, helped by Able Seaman
Joseph. The warm sun reflecting off the
cool green water. The mountains setting
a stunning backdrop. Mullet & carp
leaping out of the water, probably being chased by the giant catfish lurking in
the murky depths.
My space is my rooftop
terrace, where at night the unadulterated sky sparkles with the brightest stars
and the biggest moon, and the occasional Ryanair flight from Reus to Luton or
Stanstead. The scent of our BBQ dinner
still in the air as we sip (sup) some of the finest wine in the world from
vineyards we can drive to. The mosquitoes revelling in the feast that is my
English blood. In the day the
bourgeonvilla creeps its way along the wall and blooms its pinkest flowers, my
Lime tree refuses to flourish or fruit, the little purple flowers who name I
don’t know, permeate the air with their fragrance.
My space is my bed,
the far right hand side nearest the en suite and the door. I say the far right hand side, not because we
have a big bed but because I am usually left with about 2 inches of bed space
after t’husband has sprawled himself out.
A trusty book by my side, to lose myself in and be transported to
another world before sleep takes over.
My space is far away,
off to some distant place in my mind, present, future or past. Daydreaming and scheming, planning and
wishing. Sadly all too often, about
being somewhere else.
I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Doesn't it sound like a fabulous place to live, and to bring up a child?...all that outdoor time. As someone who yearns for sunshine I'm very envious. If you would like to hear more of life for a 'late 30's stay at home mum to Joseph aged 3 and wife to t'husband' who is 'plodding my way through my Catalan life by wasting time knitting, sewing and blogging instead of ironing and cleaning' Head on over. She sounds like a gal that has her priorities right ;-) There's a lovely mix of posts, but the sunshine always comes through and I usually leave with a smile on my face. Oh and she supports Nottingham Forest Football Club, and that alone makes her a fab blogger...
