I have been out with my camera today to take photos about textures for this week challenge. I have found plenty of different images around my home here are some of them:
This is the door of a small church from the XIV Century in Idocin (Navarre) The arches are primitive Gothic. A treasure I found in my last outing.
Many years ago, in the early nineties, my boss sent me to Eastern Germany for a week to visit an engine factory which was producing pieces for a car manufacturer of my community.
The reunification of Germany was very recent. And the big western firms had just landed there occupying the old factories they had lost when the country was divided after the WWII. The firm I was going to visit had just installed the new state-of-the-art chain of production inside the old building and had trained the workers to start the production immediately. Finally, little by little they were repairing the building.
It was really interesting to see How they were doing the transition from the communist way of working to the Western way. Very efficient. The main problem, they explain us, was that the big communist factories that had given jobs for thousands and thousands of workers with obsolete systems, now could improve the production with only the 30% of the workers, so the unemployment was high those years.
Our hosts booked for us rooms at a hotel near Trier, the home town of Karl Marx. It’s an area were there are almost no catholics. But we were going to be there in Sunday and I wanted to go to Mass. A young man who was our driver, promised me he would do everything possible to find me a church.
On Sunday, very early in the morning he came to pick me up, and drove me for half an hour to a place were there was a regular one-story house, very old in appearance, all outside covered by dark grey concrete, that seemed a family house instead of a church.
I had no inkling on what was going to find inside. The door was open, so I went in and the first thing I saw was an enormous organ with a man playing Bach beautifully and a space with the walls covered with child’s drawings, and like ten or twelve pews full of people in front of an altar.
I know no German, but I was deeply moved by the celebration because of the faith and the sense of community I could feel in those people. When we finished I had to wait for my driver . And I could see that the mass goers were looking at me quizzically. A woman left the group and approached me. She could speak a little English, and she asked me if I was going to stay with them, because the community wanted to welcome me. I explained to her that I was a Journalist and I was going to left next day and she seemed disappointed.
She explained me that they were a little community but very active, with a little Sunday school. That they were there for me in whatever I could need. I certainly felt welcomed and part of a community in which I only partook one Sunday, thanks to my kind driver.
This week I’ll show you my parish. It’s a beautiful XIII Century gothic church in Pamplona, Spain named San Cernin.
It has beautiful arches
And colorful rosettes
Attached to the main Church there is a big baroque chapel ( XVIII Century) . This is the dome from inside:
And this is its main door (closed) from the outside. The street is pretty narrow so is no way to take a wide perspective of the facade.
A sanctuary is a place you can escape to, to catch your breath and remember who you are. Write about the place you go to when everything is a bit too much.
Today is one of those days when I would like to disappear, and get lost in a deserted beach, to have a long walk by myself. The nasty noises from the street and my neighbors are sounding amplified in my head, hammering my brain, and getting on my nerves. There is no way to focus on what I’m writing. But I have nowhere to hide. I’m trapped at home. I can’t leave. My mom cannot stay alone. I only can go out when my sister come to take turns with me. And then, I have so many things to do when I go out, that is not restful at all. My real sanctuary these days is the old gothic church, next block. I can enter when I want, enjoy the silence, the beauty of the architecture, admire the light filtering through the colors of the magnificent stained glass rose windows, feel seven centuries of history in its walls, columns and arches, and discover the tiny red candle by the tabernacle, get close and have there a little prayer. These visits give me peace.
Have you ever been addicted to anything, or worried that you were? Have you ever spent too much time and effort on something that was a distraction from your real goals? Tell us about it.
When I was a little kid I spent hours caressing my cat and my stuffed toy animals. I couldn’t stop it. I had always something furry with me. On Sundays when we went to Mass I always choose a seat near to the alley, so in winter when the rich women with their furry coats passed by I only had to hasten my arm and open my hand to caress the fur carefully without being noticed…until my mom discovered me. From that day on I had to change my seat and control my first known particular addiction, at least while in church. At home I still had my cat.
Read more addicted posts on the next page:
Right now I can’t dream. I only can think in what I need. I have my mom paralyzed in a wheelchair so I need a home ready for that. No architectural barriers, no stairs, wide corridors and doors, spacious rooms and a special bathroom for her.
Because she loves light and sunny places, my new home would have a lot of big windows. Because she has a lot of books and she loves to put everything in order we would have a big library and a lot of closets with enough room to have everything in place. We need several bedrooms and a good kitchen.
A sunny terrace or a small garden would be great. We would be close to the hospital, because she has to go often, but more important, close to a Church because she likes to go everyday when it’s possible, and of course, every Sunday to Mass. And I use to go too. A big garage with an adapted vehicle to transport the wheelchair would complete the “dream”.
At the end the home of my dreams is that in which my loved ones would be comfortable and happy with me. Because some of my loved ones are no longer around I guess the ultimate home of my dreams is in Heaven where I believe they are waiting for me. And if I manage to deserve it, we will be together forever close to God in the best place imaginable.
Other dream homes:
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