N E W S L E T T E R

 

I begin today, a day that is quite finished because the time is already 10 h. 10 p.m.. A dark but hot night. The temperature inside is not going down from 30 degrees. I have the new fan that I bought this year running. It caresses smoothly my back and my neck.

 

The kestrels’ story is going on. This year they arrived in April. And again, a couple is nesting under the window of my kitchen, I saw the first egg on the 23rd of April, 2011; I took note of it. It was a great brown egg with black little spots. It looked at me bigger as the ones of last year. This time the male remained with the female during all the process. I was seeing them always together and enamoured. Also the male seemed to me too fiery and almost cruel making love, making the female cry by pain. But it was so cute that she could not but loving him. Look at the photo on this newsletter’s Spanish version. There, he is making guard as a perfect caring partner. And he is really beautiful, is it not?

 

That day, April 23rd, rain was falling like a deluge. It rained during all the spring, and the winter before was alike, always raining. I saw the female with a big belly full of eggs, bristly feathers . I felt sorry for her. With so much rain I was afraid she could die. But she overcame. I saw her in the afternoon with her partner and she had bristly feathers no more.  But she still was not looking fine.

 

Time was passing without seeing the kestrels’ couple ; but I did see the rain, quite every day. Birds and eggs were continuing to worry me with so much water running over them.

 

On the last day of April, I wanted to be sure they were still there and alive and I leant out the window. Never would have I done it, because it made the female so afraid that she rush away flying.

 

But she returned. I had been so afraid never more to see her! The people dwelling in the line of houses in front of my home are lucky. They are able to see the birds every time they want, and also take photos of them if wanted. But they don’t, they have not the same passion as I have. They can and they do not; and I want but cannot. It is this not a pity!  I am on the wrong side of the passageway for that. Birds prefer my line of houses because of the Arab designed feature, full of holes, protecting the kitchen windows.

 

I photographed the male first when the kestrels came around, on April 16th . The picture is on the Spanish version. We can see it is a male for its blue head. It was the first time I saw a male kestrel and so near. It stands on the edge of the first roof of the building line of houses, watching, guarding its territory.

 

On the 23rd of June I dared to take a photo of the little ones. I could have two of them. They were already testing their wings, soon all of them will be out , voyaging elsewhere to spend the rest of the year. Or they shall remain here, but not in the nest under my window. When I took the photo, they did not look so alarmed at me, as their mother did. Mother must have had bad experiences with men. The little ones are new on this world. They still don’t know how cruel men could be. I hope their instinct will keep them on the highest places, away of people. I hope they will return next year.

 

Now Summer with its tremendous heat is over. Now we are enjoying agreeable weather. Working on my computer is no more a torture, but a pleasure.

 

I was 75 years old on June the 20th and hope to have still many happy returns. But I know that when we reach that age we need to be more careful about our health. I know that a blow, a little nothingness , could make people of old age fly in a rush to another world or dimension, to a place or a state we will only be aware when the moment comes. This means we have to do what we  want  to do now ,   not leaving it for tomorrow ,   a tomorrow that may not give us the possibility to do it,  a tomorrow that perhaps will never come.

 

When I was 30 years old I began to write a novel : THE GUARDIAN ANGELS, at the beginning of my life in the Camping La Habana. Then I was writing in French, that is my mother language. I was working on it in winter, at dusk, after my daily tasks were over, using candle light because we still had no access to electricity. I had no dictionary either. I could only count on some French people who came to the Camping from time to time, to let read my pages and have some kind of critic. I was asking them also to have a spelling look. I wanted to be sure that all was correct and as perfect as possible. French is difficult to write.

 

And so, little by little the book was taking form. It’s a science fiction, spiritual, loving book. Those years were economically difficult for my family and I could not publish the novel. Also because I depended completely from my husband. In those times, in Spain, a woman has no rights. She needs the endorsement of her husband for everything. We were living in an isolated place, with financial problems, have five children who needed to be taught by me at the beginning because of no possibility to bring them at the school of the village for lack of transport means. My husband was not keen about my literate ambitions. He used to say that there was lot of other important things to care for, and I have to admit he was right.

 

It was in 1992, when I was already living in Málaga for eight years, that I first saw the possibility to publish my book in a craft row way. I made 100 copies through Legal Deposit : MA-1358-92. All copies have been distributed at the time and now, I am only in power of the copy number 19 sent to my mother on April 3rd, 1993. I kept it after her death as a memory, and thanks to this I am able now to re-transcribe the book in AIR, also little by little as it was first written. I have to say it obtained the Autumn Award of Books in 1997 from the National Syndicate of Spanish Writers, then directed by the late Chairman, Emilio Zamanillo.

 

(See pictures at the end of the Spanish and French versions of this Newsletter)

 

A woman told me once that  because she loves so much my book, she takes it on her bedside table to read again some of the passages she prefers before falling asleep. That stimulates me to go on writing.

 

A  warm hug to all my readers and please

don’t forget me !

Mariette

 

 

This is the copy number 19 sent to my mother

Voilà l’exemplaire numéro 19 envoyé à ma mère

He aquí el ejemplar numero 19 mandado a mi madre

 

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