Cold, globular and incessant rain has been pelting this land for the past five days and you can hear the ground sighing with relief after what seemed like an interminable drought. There is so much of it that our house is surrounded by a chain of deep puddles - drainage systems long since blocked and forgotten. The leaves on the trees are shining after layers of dust have been battered away and crystal drops of water hang from the brittle branch of the pomegranate tree outside my den window. In a couple of days, I should set my camera up to film a time-lapse of the growth explosion that is sure to follow when the sun returns.
Since the Lozenge is not in school until September we've had some good mornings of puddle running, and riding as fast as possible on the scooter, through the puddles until the tidal waves of muddy water make us so wet we have to retreat indoors to dry out before beginning again. The radiators are covered with rows of diminutive, steaming footwear.
When not outside we've been baking, although my attempts at a sponge cake were thwarted, first by the Lozenge who wrinkled up his nose and asked if it was 'cake made from thponges' and by the fact I still haven't found icing sugar here. No icing. No go. In the pauses from the rain we've heard a woodpecker in our garden which unfortunately has given Rashimi nightmares: 'Scawy wood pepper.' He thinks it will come and peck him.
A couple of days after my return from the pilgrimage to meet my new niece, after a burst of London, I felt like my life was closing in on itself, like a mental claustrophobia, which is strange considering the layers of history and politics surrounding us, but perhaps that can make it worse, particularly if you don't know which door to open first. I decided I needed 2 things: to make some local friends like we had in Jordan and get out and begin running again, since this is a very jog-able city - unlike Amman. But my trainers and sports bra, without which I daren't set foot at even a slow jog from our gateway, are in the container making its way here and how do you go about making local friends at the click of a finger?
I voiced my frustrations to J, who within a day, had made a date for us to have lunch with a Palestinian lady in Ramallah and returned with a very expensive black Nike sports top which will more than keep the two best friends at bay on my first foray around this hilly city.
We are far from home, but it doesn't always feel so as J understands me well after nearly a decade of life together. And even better, we have the same size feet so I can wear his trainers.
Since the Lozenge is not in school until September we've had some good mornings of puddle running, and riding as fast as possible on the scooter, through the puddles until the tidal waves of muddy water make us so wet we have to retreat indoors to dry out before beginning again. The radiators are covered with rows of diminutive, steaming footwear.
When not outside we've been baking, although my attempts at a sponge cake were thwarted, first by the Lozenge who wrinkled up his nose and asked if it was 'cake made from thponges' and by the fact I still haven't found icing sugar here. No icing. No go. In the pauses from the rain we've heard a woodpecker in our garden which unfortunately has given Rashimi nightmares: 'Scawy wood pepper.' He thinks it will come and peck him.
A couple of days after my return from the pilgrimage to meet my new niece, after a burst of London, I felt like my life was closing in on itself, like a mental claustrophobia, which is strange considering the layers of history and politics surrounding us, but perhaps that can make it worse, particularly if you don't know which door to open first. I decided I needed 2 things: to make some local friends like we had in Jordan and get out and begin running again, since this is a very jog-able city - unlike Amman. But my trainers and sports bra, without which I daren't set foot at even a slow jog from our gateway, are in the container making its way here and how do you go about making local friends at the click of a finger?
I voiced my frustrations to J, who within a day, had made a date for us to have lunch with a Palestinian lady in Ramallah and returned with a very expensive black Nike sports top which will more than keep the two best friends at bay on my first foray around this hilly city.
We are far from home, but it doesn't always feel so as J understands me well after nearly a decade of life together. And even better, we have the same size feet so I can wear his trainers.
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