“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly

What is essential is invisible to the eye”.

Antoine de Saint Exupery, Le Petit Prince

Walking into a red brick church today, after a frantic drive of over 200 miles, I am struck by the amount of folks filling the pews.  It’s a thanksgiving service to remember a lovely gentle man.  I listen to the eulogy, beautifully written and delivered by his daughter, Clare.

She comes to a point where she says

“For me, going for a walk with Dad was so interesting, he was always in the moment – observing everything, a flower bud, picking out a bird song, noting a smell.

Everyone knows of Dad’s passion for gardening. There was a standing joke that on any walk or visit to gardens, Dad would return with a pocket full of cuttings to grow on.  How many of you in the congregation today have plants in your garden grown from Dads cuttings?  I  have it on good authority that his Candelabra Primula reside in many a Cheshire garden”.

What a lovely way to leave your mark on the world. A soft, gentle touch which breathes on season after season.

Later, we are observing the community who have come to the wake party – there are nearly 100 people in the room – and we note that none of these folk are from his work environment.  These are Tony’s friends from his passions – nature, the great outdoors, gardening, U3A, sport.

This stays with me as I drive home. I think of all these people I’ve just left behind, who have seeds and plants growing in their gardens due to Tony’s love and passion. Plants which need this incessant rain to flourish and bloom.  The grey ‘scotch mist’ which has hung around for days, continues, occasionally turning into sleety, dirty rain drops necessitating a constant need for windscreen wipers.  The car is filthy.  The grime from the rear windscreen wiper builds up either side of the blade creating my rear window on a murky world.

So knowing I’m too late to make my evening meeting and with eyes tired from driving in the rain, I decide to break my journey.  It’s a very slight detour to Bicester village.  This used to be an outlet centre ( I know this as we used to live 6 miles away when it originally opened).  But now it’s become a consumers designer dream world, stuffed full of Bond Street type stores, all with goods at still vastly inflated prices, masquerading as bargains.  I don’t know why I thought stopping here would be a good idea.  Every time I visit now I become more depressed; by the obscene prices for big name brands, and by the gobbling tourists, arms full of crinkly cardboard bags who don’t seem to be enjoying the experience as they are so intent on grabbing the next item on offer.

On the plus side, it’s very prettily decked in Christmas lights, all twinkling in the dark, cool, night air and it has some of the very best public conveniences of any retail park I’ve ever visited. And I’ve been to a few retail parks in my time!

Empty handed and still contemplative, I’m heading homewards when right next door to Bicester village,  I spot what is quite possibly the largest ever supermarket superstore I’ve ever seen.  90,000 sq feet of retail space waiting to be explored.  Naturally, I stop and park up.  Walking inside this mecca of grocery and consumer goods, I am at once confused and overwhelmed.  I’m transported back to Kampala where, prior to Shoprite and the march of the South African supermarkets, our food choices came from the market, the grocery store in Kisimenti, or driving over the other side of town to visit Quality Cuts, the Belgian butcher serving fresh meat and cheese, European style.  Food quality is good in Kampala but in my early days there, choice was limited.  And food from the UK was rare.  I once called Craig in the office to excitedly tell him I had bought a Frey Bentos pie for tea.  This ‘delicacy’ being a rare find. Needless to say, this was a one time purchase.

So ending up in this Bicester superstore, reminds of a Christmas past, when I flew from Uganda back to ‘Blighty’. On my way to friends in Cheltenham, I stopped off at a supermarket to pick up some essential supplies.  But I left empty-handed, as I got to the cereal aisle and became so bewildered by the amount of choice, that I stood silently stupefied in front of the garishly coloured, neatly stacked boxes.  The entire aisle was cereal – both sides – stacked high.  It was just too much contrast from where I had come from.

When you spend time in places where people have very little, you learn to appreciate, and feel fortunate as well as guilty, about the vast amount that we have.  However,  having now been back in the UK for some time, and living in a very affluent and privileged part of England, I forget. Until days like today.

Today I remember, again, what’s important.  Having passions for activities and things which are meaningful for me. Taking time to show friends they are cherished.  Developing and nurturing my communities of shared interests.  Treading gently on this earth and, paying attention to the moments of learning.

Living in our world, at this time of year, it can be too easy to buy fancy presents to show people you care.  But the gift of time and genuine attention, of listening, of love, it’s priceless.