Humbled

Cod drying on a clothesline

I spent a lot of time as a parent with adult children travelling with my father who was in the same, well, boat.

I love this 'destined to repeat' aspect of my life. For now I spend time, frivolous, playful time, with Daughter who is herself the mother of an adult child.

We were walking the roads today with Ansa and she linked me and stopped me dead in our tracks. And we looked down over the sunny sparkling bay with all the boats in a row nestled in the harbour, the two offshore islands with a red hulk of a barge lurking on the horizon, and she said: "My God Mum, we live in paradise."

And on the way back, we stopped in at friends who have been incredibly kind to me (and now to her) over the years. I had this small bag of boxed gourmet chocolates. Not too big a token, not too small. I felt it was just right. The couple were leaving to go visit her 90 year old mother but immediately threw their coats off and invited us in to their roaring fire where we cuddled with Jeff and Buddy, their large cat and small dog for a while.

So we get up and I was feeling that surge of joy one gets when you feel loved. For nothing really. Just for being yourself. This couple have always made me feel this way. I just look in their eyes and I feel loved. And I don't have to do anything for it. It is so very rare that feeling. And so treasured.

And here's where the humbling comes in. Daughter and I are leaving, hugging them goodbye, and we are each handed a bag of freshly caught halibut and a huge salted cod.

And we look at each other, tears in our eyes, as we drive off.

"I've never known people like this," says Daughter emotionally.

Me neither. Me neither. But I'm too full of gratitude to verbalize it properly. But this says it for me: