The weather is becoming cooler and the Lozenge and I try to grab a few minutes to run about and do stretches in the little garden below our flat before he boards the school bus at 7.40am. The Lozenge is often at his most philosophical at this hour, sitting on the step, sniffing a jasmine flower with a faint remnant of a milk moustache. These are precious minutes which I have learned to treasure before the day begins in earnest.
Rashimi, less philosophical, has started to express his annoyance at me having a job besides motherhood. 'Naughty Mummy work,' he said to me last week. He must have noticed that my working life is becoming a pressure cooker as the end of January approaches, when we will pack up our things almost a year on from arriving here, and move up the road to Jerusalem. I have to finish the documentary about the gallery by then. And I also want to have gathered as much material for the series on Palestinians of 1948 before we leave, so I will be able to edit these while I look for work the other side of the border. We have plenty of Jordanian Christmas festivities planned in this time too, with lots of visitors. And Rashimi must have noticed a certain determination in my stride.
The Glammy whisked the dwarves off to her flat for one last frolic before she set sail for her new job in Bahrain. Rashimi's favourite song is 'Call me, maybe' (Callleee maybeeeee) and now I can't listen to it as it makes me cry with memories of the Glammy's remarkable presence in our lives. I was worried about her for the last week as she explained she couldn't move from her bed or stop sleeping, and I wondered if she was depressed. But yesterday we had our final goodbye with a lunch at her house - and we met Ahmad, her new husband, who has the kindest, twinkliest eyes and a gentle demeanour. 'It's taken me nearly 3 years to get to her,' he said. And J and I could both see that he is the very best outcome of an extraordinary situation. This is all that matters.
Meanwhile, we joked, that St Grace was going home to lie with cucumber slices on her eyes all weekend, after her second week with us. I noticed she looked a bit pale. And I know how she feels after dwarf wrangling for five days on the trot. However, she has the most unflustered countenance, and J and I agreed, almost a spiritual peace about her.
In the book about Montaigne by Sarah Bakewell, there's an explanation of the little tricks he used for the art of living. I doubt Grace is aware of it, but I'm sure she's near this way of being in the most natural way.
The author explains that Montaigne strived to: 'achieve a way of living known in the original Greek as eudaimonia, which can be translated as 'happiness', 'joy', or 'human flourishing'. This meant living well in every sense: thriving, relisihng life, being a good person. The best path to eudaimonia was ataraxia, which might be rendered as 'imperturbability' or 'freedom from anxiety'. Ataraxia means equilibrium: the art of maintaining an even keel, so that you neither exult when things go well nor plunge into despair when they go awry. To attain it is to have control over your emotions, so that you are not battered and dragged about by them like a bone fought over by a pack of dogs.'
I hope she passes on her natural ataraxia to our dwarves (though I do love their exultations). And I'm hoping through human osmosis, a little ataraxia might rub off on me along the way.
Rashimi, less philosophical, has started to express his annoyance at me having a job besides motherhood. 'Naughty Mummy work,' he said to me last week. He must have noticed that my working life is becoming a pressure cooker as the end of January approaches, when we will pack up our things almost a year on from arriving here, and move up the road to Jerusalem. I have to finish the documentary about the gallery by then. And I also want to have gathered as much material for the series on Palestinians of 1948 before we leave, so I will be able to edit these while I look for work the other side of the border. We have plenty of Jordanian Christmas festivities planned in this time too, with lots of visitors. And Rashimi must have noticed a certain determination in my stride.
The Glammy whisked the dwarves off to her flat for one last frolic before she set sail for her new job in Bahrain. Rashimi's favourite song is 'Call me, maybe' (Callleee maybeeeee) and now I can't listen to it as it makes me cry with memories of the Glammy's remarkable presence in our lives. I was worried about her for the last week as she explained she couldn't move from her bed or stop sleeping, and I wondered if she was depressed. But yesterday we had our final goodbye with a lunch at her house - and we met Ahmad, her new husband, who has the kindest, twinkliest eyes and a gentle demeanour. 'It's taken me nearly 3 years to get to her,' he said. And J and I could both see that he is the very best outcome of an extraordinary situation. This is all that matters.
Meanwhile, we joked, that St Grace was going home to lie with cucumber slices on her eyes all weekend, after her second week with us. I noticed she looked a bit pale. And I know how she feels after dwarf wrangling for five days on the trot. However, she has the most unflustered countenance, and J and I agreed, almost a spiritual peace about her.
In the book about Montaigne by Sarah Bakewell, there's an explanation of the little tricks he used for the art of living. I doubt Grace is aware of it, but I'm sure she's near this way of being in the most natural way.
The author explains that Montaigne strived to: 'achieve a way of living known in the original Greek as eudaimonia, which can be translated as 'happiness', 'joy', or 'human flourishing'. This meant living well in every sense: thriving, relisihng life, being a good person. The best path to eudaimonia was ataraxia, which might be rendered as 'imperturbability' or 'freedom from anxiety'. Ataraxia means equilibrium: the art of maintaining an even keel, so that you neither exult when things go well nor plunge into despair when they go awry. To attain it is to have control over your emotions, so that you are not battered and dragged about by them like a bone fought over by a pack of dogs.'
I hope she passes on her natural ataraxia to our dwarves (though I do love their exultations). And I'm hoping through human osmosis, a little ataraxia might rub off on me along the way.
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