Monday April 22 was a bit dreary so we didn't venture out except to pick up a few of our daily groceries like fresh bread, milk, peanut butter for Mike and my blue cheese (which I am eating far too much of). I have to stop for a few days cause my feet are swelling due to the extra salt intake. Salt everywhere. Even if you touch your lips with your tongue you can taste salt! Otherwise the day became greyer, cooler and windier and the sea was up a bit. We actually found a documentary which was in English that was nice to watch in the evening.
Today, Tuesday, started out very sunny and warm, but by noon the sea was churned up quite a bit and spilling over onto the road and the sky darkened. No rain, yet, but very cold winds from the sea. We had gone out to meet with friends Leli and Kitty and we drove to a 'large' grocery store, Pave. By large I mean a slightly scaled down version of our Superstore which by Maltese standards is a very large store. We wandered around just looking at all that was available. Foods from local suppliers, fresh, frozen etc., and from around the world. Fascinating to see and I wished I could have a taste of it all, except the fresh tripe, the pork and young bull tongues!
From there we drove to another grocery, still quite large by Maltese standard called Scott. We were picking up the heavier and larger items, such as packs of large water bottles, and big bundles of t.p. I needed to find the facilities which oddly were in another side building. As I exited, the alarm when off and I was hailed back into the store, politely, but non the less hailed in with a stern 'madame please come back in', madame without the French accent. This is a very common way of addressing a woman. Madame. Seems a little harsher than ma'am or Miss or excuse me, hello. I was a little confused as to why I was being called in, but returned into the store where my purse was taken and searched. I was anxious and a little afraid I might add. One by one each piece in my purse/bag (this was the large bag I used as a carry on bag in the airplane) was taken and waved between the exit bars to see what item would set off the alarm. The store Manager assured me it was necessary to find the offending item or if not, every store I visited, alarms would be heralding my exits, though it had not happened at Pa vi. All the while I was defending myself in that I had just come in, and had not gone past the check out. Did she hear me? Don't know. Waving continued. Nothing, silence. Did she think I'd thrown away the offending culprit outside? More anxiety. I'd be spending the rest of my life in a Maltese goal! Not until my art journal, purchased downtown London, Canada, was waved and glad shouts, it happened. On the back cover, the bar code sticker set off the alarm, which the Manager quickly tore off and threw away. Thankfully I had some sketches and remarks already in the journal, but I suppose it didn't resemble anything sold in the store any way. There was no further discussion except for me to say my heart was pounding in my chest. All was well and I made a quick exit to the out building in search of the, by now, much needed facility. I just had a funny feeling there were extra eyes on me the whole time I shopped. Why can't I just go about inconspicuously and quietly? Seems I'm called to be a spectacle of some sort or other wherever I go.
From there we drove to another grocery, still quite large by Maltese standard called Scott. We were picking up the heavier and larger items, such as packs of large water bottles, and big bundles of t.p. I needed to find the facilities which oddly were in another side building. As I exited, the alarm when off and I was hailed back into the store, politely, but non the less hailed in with a stern 'madame please come back in', madame without the French accent. This is a very common way of addressing a woman. Madame. Seems a little harsher than ma'am or Miss or excuse me, hello. I was a little confused as to why I was being called in, but returned into the store where my purse was taken and searched. I was anxious and a little afraid I might add. One by one each piece in my purse/bag (this was the large bag I used as a carry on bag in the airplane) was taken and waved between the exit bars to see what item would set off the alarm. The store Manager assured me it was necessary to find the offending item or if not, every store I visited, alarms would be heralding my exits, though it had not happened at Pa vi. All the while I was defending myself in that I had just come in, and had not gone past the check out. Did she hear me? Don't know. Waving continued. Nothing, silence. Did she think I'd thrown away the offending culprit outside? More anxiety. I'd be spending the rest of my life in a Maltese goal! Not until my art journal, purchased downtown London, Canada, was waved and glad shouts, it happened. On the back cover, the bar code sticker set off the alarm, which the Manager quickly tore off and threw away. Thankfully I had some sketches and remarks already in the journal, but I suppose it didn't resemble anything sold in the store any way. There was no further discussion except for me to say my heart was pounding in my chest. All was well and I made a quick exit to the out building in search of the, by now, much needed facility. I just had a funny feeling there were extra eyes on me the whole time I shopped. Why can't I just go about inconspicuously and quietly? Seems I'm called to be a spectacle of some sort or other wherever I go.
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| the sea just below our balcony |
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| along the coast from our home |
Tomorrow we will wait here for our delivery of my art supplies from Valletta, do some laundry and maybe prepare a little more elaborate meal. Maybe a walk after the delivery around town and stop in for an Espresso and a regular Maltese coffee with cold milk on the side. Somehow we will figure out how to order and get the right coffee for Mike. Saturday evening we went for pizza with my cousin Charles and Marlene and they ordered a regular coffee, cafe ta' Malta, and asked for milk on the side and poor Mike got a coffee alright, instant Nescafe, with steamed milk poured on top! I wonder how much that would cost at Starbucks. Three separate visits to the beautiful Malta islands and we still can't explain what an ordinary Canadian coffee is. Some things just get lost in translation, right? We shall persevere. We shall keep you posted. lol. Oh, by the way, I received an email from the Gallery owner at Talbot Centre and I've sold two more paintings. How blessed am I.
Keep well my friends, and know you are loved with an everlasting love.
local time: 22;40
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