I read a lot in Barcelona. I read books. I read articles from hard to come by American magazines. I read maps, my kids’ texts and some Spanish. I find my mind less cluttered so the words make more sense. I cannot carry on without sharing a profound book I’ve recently read and have since began rereading. It’s called Milk and Honey. Jeffrey watches Season 2 of Game of Thrones while I read this book of poetry by Rupi Kaur. It’s strong, poignant and complete. It’s a book by a woman for women. Her ability to grasp emotion reminds me that I’m made up of all my life experiences, no matter the kind. We all move forward by significant and minute moments in our lives.
On Monday, our Columbian housekeeper returned after a two month visit to her country. She visited with her children and grandchildren and treated herself to a lasered svelte tummy and tushie as well as a new tattoo, like all good Columbian woman. Ligia brought a gift to us from Columbia. It’s a glass bottle filled with tiny items reminiscent of her country, a pack of smokes, a bottle of booze and a common open air mini bus used for mass transportation. While Ligia travelled, her ADD amiga, Marisel, substituted for her. We sing their names when they come in the morning to squeeze the orange juice and we shout, “adios” at the end of their days. We share as much as we can with lots of signing, pointing and broken tongue. These women, clean the house, fold the laundry and find their way into our hearts. I now understand it’s not about being able to speak or even read the same language, it’s about feeling the emotional connection, just like I did with Rupi Kaur in Milk and Honey.