It was Meant

My paternal grandmother was, I have to say, not my favourite person, but one of her sayings was, “It was Meant,” – about something that she felt she had no control over. As a pessimist, this was frequently something dire, but occasionally it could be something good that happened – a chance meeting, perhaps.

And this got me thinking about two women that have come into my life over the past few weeks. They are both called Maggie and are around the same age, but there the similarity ends.

One came about because I left one of my business cards in the pub in Devoran. It has a picture of Moll jumping up on it and as Moll was jumping up for crisps, as is her wont, it wasn’t hard to figure out whose card it was, and Maggie emailed me. We met up, got on like a house on fire, and found we have similar backgrounds. We are also both journalists, worked in TV (Maggie has her own production company) and have written novels. Better still, she and her partner have just moved down here.

I met the second Maggie last weekend as she was my mum’s current carer. She’s not had the easiest path in life – a v difficult first marriage, but happily married now and has been living in the mountains in Spain for the last 12 years, having always dreamt of living there since she was a child. She’s a fabulous cook and used to run a restaurant and now takes the overflow from her son’s B&B/holiday accommodation nearby.

It looks so beautiful, and she said, “If ever you want a cheap holiday, get in touch.” Having seen the website, I am sorely tempted.

She’s also had breast cancer and, like many of us who have been touched by death, lives very much for the moment. “It means I’m not afraid of anything any more,” she said. “There’s no point in worrying about stuff that may not happen. I believe that when that big ball in the sky comes up with your number on, there’s nothing you can do about it. So I’m going to make the most of my life until it does.”

What more can I say?