truth

I don't know if this post has a cohesive thought or purpose.

Sometimes it's refreshing to hear the older, wiser people in your life reassure you that you're doing alright, and that good things are on the way... even if it's hard to see it at the time.

I have to say that I'm rather happy with the decisions that I've made in my life. I'm happy with where those choices have taken me, and who they've allowed me to meet. But as my life currently stands -- underemployed, living with mom, minimal social life, no romantic life -- it's easy to feel defeated. I can't help but feel that while I was out doing my own thing in Spain for 2 years, everyone else was moving forward in their lives, starting careers, getting houses and cars, husbands and babies, and all I have to show for it is a deeper sense of adventure, a bigger Spanish vocabulary, and an ever-growing collection of scarves.

At this point, I am finding it hard to admit even to myself what it is I want in life. One moment, the American dream life sounds so appealing. But really, I think I'd drop it all in a minute if someone told me I could realistically go back to Spain. (Any offers?)

It's not that my last two years weren't full of wonderful things... it's just that everyone else has stayed in one place. They can see the linear progress that they've made in two years, and I've seemingly left all of my progress somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic. People see the same person I was when I left, but they don't see my mind and all of the new ideas it holds. They will never really understand all of the love, loneliness, joy, frustration, peace, and beauty that I experienced in the last two years. (And granted, I won't really ever understand their experiences either.)

My life in Spain was definitely not perfect. Just ask my mom how many times I called her in the middle of the night because I needed to vent about the foreigner's office or any number of problems that only your mother's insight can mend. I just feel like the small triumphs were so much more rewarding over there. And these days, it's hard to find even the smallest of triumphs.

I had so many aspirations for what my reentry would look like, and by no fault of my own (okay, maybe a little fault of my own), things haven't gone according to plan. But I'm resolving to get things going. I am trying to effect change in my life.  I want to find the me that I loved being in Spain and transport her here to Pittsburgh. I want her to do all the things she loved -- make things, learn things, meet new people, and spend time with people she loves. It doesn't sound that difficult, but for some reason it is.

I'm hoping that the reassurances of my elders are true and that good things are, indeed, on the way.

(still) the best day ever.

Lindsay suggested that I share a story about funny mistakes I've made in my second language. There have been many, certainly, but one of my most mortifying language mistakes happened to take place on the Best Day Ever-- when Jero Romero played a show in Sevilla. (Disclaimer: This is probably hopefully the most teenybopper post you will ever see on this blog.)

If you spoke to me at all this spring, you were probably aware of the excitement that was building for that day. To say I was looking forward to it would be an understatement. It was scheduled to be the best day ever, and boy, did it live up to my expectations. I had waited for months to see Jero play live in Sevilla. Even though I had gone to Madrid a few months earlier to see him, the Sevilla concert was always meant to be something special.

The concert couldn't have been any more perfect. The crowd was kind of small, which made for a more intimate setting, always better when it comes to musicians you love! You could tell the band was having fun and enjoying the music they were playing. Of course, I was enjoying it all and singing along to every song. In my own, totally unbiased opinion, it was a perfect show.

What made it an even more exciting night was that Jero came out to hang out after the show. It was my moment. My fandom had been building for years, escalating each time I saw him from a distance in Toledo. For every chance sighting that I didn't say something to him, his celebrity would only increase in my mind. But at the Sevilla show, when he came out afterward, I knew it was now or never! I decided to buy a poster from his merch table, which would be the perfect recuerdo for my time in Spain, (afterall, the music of Jero Romero and The Sunday Drivers is pretty much the soundtrack for the last two years of my life). The poster was kind of big and awkward to carry, so I decided to ask the guy at the merch table for a rubber band. I don't claim to have an exceptional vocabulary of office supplies, but I was pretty sure that the word for rubber band was goma. I asked the merch guy if he had one, and he looked at me with a rather surprised expression on his face. So I asked the question again, this time signaling that I was going to roll up the poster. He answered me, kind of relieved, and told me that he would just give me some paper to wrap it in, that a rubber band would ruin the poster. I thought the exchange was kind of bizarre, but it wasn't until I walked away from the table that I realized that goma, literally meaning rubber, can also mean condom. I was so embarrassed. When I thought about my question in regard to the setting, I all of the sudden understood his initial aghast reaction. In my defense, the word goma was correct, but sometimes context is everything.

A little language mishap couldn't ruin the evening though! I did end up meeting Jero, (finally), and he signed the poster for me, and we took a picture. And then we walked away, letting the next people in line have their turn. As we were getting ready to go, I couldn't help but think that it was going to be my last chance to talk to the guy. I mean, in a few days, I would be heading back to the US, with no definite plans to return to Spain. I decided (with much encouragement from my dear friend Katie and that last gintonic) that I had to talk to him and tell him how much I loved his music. After the crowds dissipated, I had my chance. He was about to walk away when we called him over, and I spilled it all -- how I had been a fan since The Sunday Drivers, how I had lived in Toledo, how I was always sharing his music with everyone, how we went to his show in Madrid, and how this concert was the last hurrah before my return to the United States. In retrospect, I can't tell if it was a creepy exchange or not. The gintonic clouds that perception in my mind, but as far as I know, it was awesome. He said it was a beautiful story, and he thanked me for sharing, and told me to come say hi the next time I see him around. And then he gave me besos, which pretty much seals the deal as far as this being the Best Day Ever. My expectations were exceeded in every way, despite my embarrassing exchange with the man who sold me the poster.

And in case you still haven't heard it, you can listen to Jero's album here. I don't think you'll be disappointed. ;)

The Ultimate Perk of Bilingualism

Everybody's quick to note the benefits of being bilingual, (see below). From being a highly marketable skill in the work force, to delaying or preventing the onset of dementia, to improving "brain power" and cognitive skills, it's pretty obvious that knowing a second language has its perks.

It recently occurred to me, though, that even if I don't experience any of the other benefits -- even if I never have a job where I speak Spanish, even if I suffer the effects of dementia at a young age, even if my cognitive skills never improve, learning a second language has been worth all the effort, if only for the fact that it brought many people into my life whom I would have never had the chance to communicate with otherwise. I've made some amazing friends and shared some inspiring and profound conversations completely in my second language. And that's a benefit that can't be topped.


New York Times - The Benefits of Bilingualism
NPR - Being Bilingual May Boost Brain Power

Sassy

I recently began re-reading a lot of the drafts on my blog. You know, all those posts that I wrote, or started to write, but never finished and never published. Some of the them are amusing, so I'm going to work on publishing a few. Here's a gem. It's the moment I realized that my time in Sevilla was changing me, for better or worse. In the grand scheme of things, this moment is rather trivial and insignificant. But nevertheless, the anecdote makes me smile. :)
Original post from February.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

If you know me, you probably also know that I'm normally pretty reserved. I am not the type to go around sassing strangers on the street. But today, I did just that. It may seem like nothing, (and really it was nothing), but because it's so out of character for me, it was surprising and possibly noteworthy. And, I don't know... maybe I was a little bit proud of myself, too.

You see, I was on my way to a friend's house for brunch, loaded down with bottles of juice. I decided that taking a bicycle would be easier than walking. I rented the bike and headed down the main street, not a care in the world. On this particular road though, there is no bike path, just sidewalk. The path runs along the river, down a ramp and parallel to the road.

After getting the bike, I was trying to make my way down to the aforementioned ramp. At one point, on my way down the sidewalk, I came across a couple walking hand-in-hand, Red Rover style, taking up the entire sidewalk, as it's customarily Spanish to do. So I gave my bell a little ding. The woman turns around, and says, in a rather sassy tone, "This isn't a bike lane!" To which I turned around quickly and replied, with just as much sass,"Thanks, I already know!" And I rode away. Ha!

I know it's not that exciting. The exchange wasn't full of insults or swear words, and no punches were thrown. But I was rather surprised with myself. Normally I wouldn't have responded at all. But this time, it was as if the words came out without thinking. More impressive is that the exchange was in Spanish. Spanish sass without thinking. How's that for fluency?

Good Article.

Today I read an article online called What Happens When You Live Abroad. A lot of it resonated with me, and I'm sure that if you've ever lived abroad yourself, you'll find some paragraphs that sum it up pretty well. Here are a few quotes I really enjoyed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Yes, the country and its people will have their own effect on who you are and what you think, but few things are more profound than just starting over with the basics and relying on yourself to build a life again. I have yet to meet a person who I didn’t find calmed by the experience. There is a certain amount of comfort and confidence that you gain with yourself when you go to this new place and start all over again, and a knowledge that — come what may in the rest of your life — you were capable of taking that leap and landing softly at least once."

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"So you look at your life, and the two countries that hold it, and realize that you are now two distinct people. As much as your countries represent and fulfill different parts of you and what you enjoy about life, as much as you have formed unbreakable bonds with people you love in both places, as much as you feel truly at home in either one, so you are divided in two. For the rest of your life, or at least it feels this way, you will spend your time in one, naggingly longing for the other, and waiting until you can get back for at least a few weeks and dive back into the person you were back there."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"When you live abroad, you realize that, no matter where you are, you will always be an ex-pat. There will always be a part of you that is far away from its home and is lying dormant until it can breathe and live in full color back in the country where it belongs. To live in a new place is a beautiful, thrilling thing, and it can show you that you can be whoever you want — on your own terms. It can give you the gift of freedom, of new beginnings, of curiosity and excitement. But to start over, to get on that plane, doesn’t come without a price. You cannot be in two places at once, and from now on, you will always lay awake on certain nights and think of all the things you’re missing out on back home."

The TV Trap

One of the worst things about being back home and unemployed is how easy it is to get sucked into a TV marathon. It doesn't matter what channel it is, they are all seemingly black holes for productivity. I never really watched TV in Spain (aside from the few American TV shows that I downloaded on my computer), and to be honest, I didn't miss it. I got so much more stuff done. I painted. I spent time with people. I read more books. I went out more.

But for some reason, here at home, I just can't seem to ever turn it off. Maybe it's the fact that I'm home with nothing to do, or that there are hundreds of channels with movies and shows all in English (though rarely is anything of quality), or maybe it's the way they trick you into watching the next show by starting the next episode without a commercial break. It's not like the shows that I'm watching are actually worth watching either. In fact, they're horrible. I'm wasting my life away watching things like Snooki and Jwoww, Teen Mom, Say Yes to the Dress, House Hunters International, and the worst, by far, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Most of them are so bad, I kind of have to watch. You know, the train wreck thing.

Anyway, of all of the horrible TV shows that I get caught up watching, House Hunters International is the most productive. If nothing else, it inspires me to dream about someday buying my own house in Spain, even if it is just a vacation home. Of course, that day is a long way away. I'm still working on finding a job. And then, you know, my student loan payments will start killing any remaining dreams pretty much immediately afterward. But at least I'm getting ideas.

Teleportation

Physical teleportation may be impossible (at least for now), but today I had the joy of being mentally transported to another place and time.

After opening a vacuum-sealed bag of my fall and winter clothes, the scent of bargain detergent, purchased at my corner MAS supermarket, filled my bedroom. For just a few seconds, I was back in Sevilla where the warm spring sun shined brightly onto my 6th-floor balcony. As I took my recently dried laundry off the rack, a fleeting rush of fear passed over me as I wondered what kind of trouble Tony might be up to. I went from an overcast summer morning in Pittsburgh to a beautiful spring afternoon in Sevilla, all within a matter of seconds.

I don't think about Spain constantly, but I constantly get reminders of it. They come in whiffs of  laundry detergent, in seeing European products at the grocery store, in eating imported Manchego cheese or drinking imported Rioja wine, in listening to and singing along with Spanish music. These small, seemingly insignificant moments are significant for me-- they are reminders of wonderful memories. And they take me back, even if just for a few seconds, to where I'm pretty sure a part of my heart will always reside.

An Ex-expat's Views on Gun Control

This post isn't exactly meant to get political, and I don't mean it to offend. It's just meant to be an observation of a cultural difference between Spain and the United States. Since returning to the States, I have been increasingly bothered by the things I have been seeing on the news. I will never claim to be an expert on guns or gun control. I know this is a super heated discussion here in the States, but I feel like I need to share my thoughts on the issue, based solely on my own experiences. This is in no way comprehensive of the whole debate. You are free to agree or disagree with me about anything I write. Feel free to comment or email me, or don't; you can ignore me just as easily. I don't really expect to change anybody's mind about the matter, I'm just throwing my own ideas out there. That being said, let's begin.

Throughout my travels in Europe, one question that I was repeatedly asked by strangers was, "You're American?? So... do you own a gun?!" Is it sad that the overwhelming stereotype of Americans is that we are all gun-toting crazies, who barbecue for every meal and work all the time? I kind of think so. I mean, the barbecuing and working parts aren't horrible, but the gun thing gives us a bad image, I think. (And, in fact, upon looking up the numbers, I see that, "The rate of private gun ownership in the United States is 88.8 firearms per 100 people" (http://www.gunpolicy.org/firearms/region/united-states)). Sick. The only thing worse than the stereotype is how close it is to being truth.

The common argument that we hear here in the States is that "if you outlaw guns, the only people that will have them are the criminals!" But what's the difference? All of the criminals have them now, so can it really get any worse? In Spain, where guns and other weapons are generally illegal to own, I can hardly remember a time where I felt unsafe walking alone, even in the middle of the night. There really isn't much to fear if nobody  has them. But here in my own neighborhood, (which isn't even a bad neighborhood by most peoples' standards)? You won't catch me walking anywhere after dark. The problem here is that anybody could have a gun. And you don't have to look very hard to find a story about somebody getting shot over something ridiculous. Just turn on the news.

Every day my mom watches the local news, and every day there are about three stories of local people being shot. EVERY DAY. People outside of bars, people at home, people in stores, people in cars. Why is that acceptable? Not to mention the mass shootings that have become ever so frequent in the last several years, and even over the last several weeks. This sort of thing just doesn't happen in other civilized countries. Our lax gun laws are like none other. And maybe there's good reason for that.

Say what you will about our second amendment rights. That's all fine and well. But perhaps we can follow the example of the rest of the world on this one. From what I know about Spanish gun laws (and please, correct me if I'm wrong), you can still own a shotgun or rifle for hunting, but you must provide a reason for having it. Police and military officials are generally the only ones allowed to own handguns. Everyone that owns a gun must undergo psychological, criminal, and domestic violence evaluations and take a training course, and they have to register their weapon. And I believe that there is also a limit to the number of guns that you can own. Want to know how many people die each year from gun violence in Spain? In the year 2008, there were 80 deaths due to gun homicide (http://www.gunpolicy.org/firearms/region/spain). Compare that to the 9,484 that occurred in the US that same year (http://www.gunpolicy.org/firearms/region/united-states). Granted, Spain is much smaller in size and population than the United States, but per 100,000 people, that is .18 deaths in Spain, and 3.12 deaths in the US. That is less than 6% of the number of gun deaths that we see in the States! Though, in my opinion, it is far too many in either case.

Honestly, it is so disheartening to watch the news here. What value do we place on human life anymore? And it is so unfortunate that we should have to worry about walking around our own neighborhoods and cities. We can't even go to a public event without being frisked at the door. Welcome to the Land of Liberty, where our freedom to own a gun is more important than our right to walk our own streets without fear.
If you ask me, I'd rather live without that fear.

And yeah, yeah, I know that the gun issue is so entrenched in our American culture and it's not likely to change anytime soon. But I just want to point out that it is  possible to have a society where guns aren't necessary, and where they aren't even close to being the norm.

Most Romantic Poem Ever

Contigo
by Luis Cernuda

¿Mi tierra?
Mi tierra eres tú.

¿Mi gente?
Mi gente eres tú.

El destierro y la muerte
para mi están adonde
no estés tú.

¿Y mi vida?
Dime, mi vida,
¿qué es, si no eres tú?

Oh, hello!

Oh, blog. It's been a while.

I didn't mean to take such a long hiatus. I really didn't. I have even tried to blog a few times, but the things I wrote came out just as scrambled as my own thoughts, and I figured that nothing was really worth posting -- or worth trying to rework into cohesive, meaningful sentences. So I gave up. The last 7 entries in my list of posts are drafts. So there you have it.

Thanks to a friend's reminders, I have been thinking about the ol' blog again. Rachael (back) in Spain isn't exactly applicable anymore, so I've got to change the title. It's kind of an interesting exercise to think about titling a chapter of your life (before you even know what the chapter contains). As far as blogs go, I've got 'Rachael in Toledo' and 'Rachael (back) in Spain' -- both are pretty self-explanatory and unimaginative. So what's next?

As life would have it, I don't know what's next. I'm still figuring it out. Right now, I'm taking any and all options into consideration

Since coming back to theStates, I've felt the need to build a new life. Things are not the way they were when I left. (Nor did I expect them to be.) Things have changed, I have changed, and now comes the fun part (sarcasm optional) of trying to make things work.

Anyway, I just want to let you know that I plan on blogging again shortly. I've got some things floating around in my head that I'd like to write about, if for no other reason than to get my thoughts sorted out on the topics.

Either way, Hello again, blog. I've missed you.

Consolation

Consolation
by Billy Collins

How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.

There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous
domes and there is no need to memorize a succession
of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon.
No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's
little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass.

How much better to command the simple precinct of home
than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica.
Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps?
Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyed camera
eager to eat the world one monument at a time?

Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice,
I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress
known as Dot. I will slide into the flow of the morning
paper, all language barriers down,
rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way.

And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone
willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner.
I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal
what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window.
It is enough to climb back into the car

as if it were the great car of English itself
and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off
down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.

En Abril, Aguas Mil

I know... it's not even April anymore. But you get the idea.
Recently, the weather has been causing some serious confusion here in Sevilla.

First of all, it seems that our spring weather has taken a few steps backward, or at least it slowed down a bit. I am sort of okay with this, though. It was really nice for a while there -- but at the rate the temperature was increasing, we were due to hit 90 degrees by the beginning of May. While I like sunshine and warmer weather, I was not exactly ready to sweat bullets or combat heat exhaustion. So, I suppose these last couple of weeks, I welcomed the rain as a metaphorical speed bump (except for that time I was cursing it, walking through torrential downpours on my way home from school). Miraculously, Sevilla's normal weather has been transplanted to Pittsburgh, where 85 degree weather and sunny days were the norm last week. Who says climate change isn't a thing??

But I'm not the only one confused by weather. It's evident that everyone's a little unsure of it by the way people are dressing. If you were to stand for one minute, (no more, no less) on any random sidewalk in Sevilla, you are guaranteed to see a nice mixture of people wearing short shorts and tank tops, while others are in long pants, boots, and jackets. How is this possible??

Well, to be fair, the girls in short shorts and tank tops are probably American, while the Spanish are pretending not to sweat in their jackets and long pants. All stereotypes aside, though, it's rather impossible to figure out the weather by watching what people are wearing outside.

I just wonder how long it will be before everyone stops asking whether or not we're cold without our sweaters on.

The End is Near

Well, the flight has been purchased. That means that the end is in sight -- the date is final. I'm going home.

And more than likely, for good. Or at least for a while.
I always thought that at some point, I'd know when it was time to go home -- that I'd feel like I was ready to leave and be done, and move on to the next phase of life. I suppose I did feel that, some time around December, amidst the troubles I was facing with my apartment and with my residence card. But the spring has been much better to me than the winter was, and now that my departure date is approaching, I find myself wishing I could stay -- if only there was a way.

Life seldom turns a page when we want it to, and never as cleanly as we want it.

 I think part of the problem is that I don't have anything lined up. I don't have a job to return to, or one to stay with either. I don't know what comes next. What is my life going to be like when I get back to Pittsburgh? Will it be the same as when I left, or will it grow to match who I am now? What's the next dream?

The part of me that wants to stay knows that life can't continue like this forever. The important thing is to move forward -- I'm just not sure what that includes yet.

Something to think about...

If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present.

-Lao Tzu

This or That

How's this for a juxtaposition...
I am currently sitting on my balcony, weather as perfect as can be, having just eaten some delicious croquetas, enjoying a glass of wine and the final wafts of azahar in the air. --- And I'm working on my résumé, job searching in the States, and wondering how I might actually afford a plane ticket home.

At any given second in time, I can be 100% sure that I want to stay in Spain forever, or 100% sure that I am ready to go back to the US and work a real job.

It's okay. I question my own sanity, too.
Does anybody ever really know what they want in life?
Maybe we just have too many options.

Trouble With Tony

Some of you know the back story of my living arrangements better than others. Those of you who are fortunate enough to know Tony and his quirks know that it is definitely a topic worth blogging about. But I don't want my blog to become Tony Central. For that reason, Meredith and I have started a new blog ... one especially dedicated to our Tony stories (and trust me, there are plenty!).

Some of you may have already seen the link on facebook, but I figured I'd share it here, too.
Trouble With Tony

This blog will be helpful when we start working on our book, and eventually the movie. I'm telling you... Tony is a real life case of being "stranger than fiction". You won't want to miss this!

My old friend Stress makes a visit.

Oh... Hello, Stress. Have we met?
I'm afraid it's just been so long since I've seen you, I must have forgotten what you look like. But don't worry... this week there's no mistaking you.

This week, you look like:
A 4-hour English lesson.
A fun, but activity-filled week at school.
A 2-hour English lesson.
Another 2-hour English lesson.
Visitors -- Past, Present, and Future.
Having no food. And eating out for EVERY MEAL.
Money -- most notably, my lacking it. (See above)
The ridiculously fast arrival of Semana Santa.
The realization that time and life pass way too quickly. (Shout out to the over-thinkers.)

Yeah, ok. You're right. In a normal world, this wouldn't really be stress. But in the last 2 months, my biggest sources of stress have been about messing up the lines on a painting, which library book I should read first, where I left my metro card, or where I should go with my friends for a coffee... and honestly, none of these problems are all that stressing.

And yep... I realize that I'm in for a pretty big shock when I head back to the US. But until then, I'm just going to try to keep on living this stress-free life while I have the chance. I'm just hoping my old friend Stress packs his bags and heads out quickly. I'm sick of the way he makes my mind run without ceasing, how he keeps me awake and prevents me from getting a good night of sleep, how he creeps in and shares all of his doubts. Anyway, I've got better, cooler visitors coming TOMORROW. :D And we don't really want a crowd.

Sweet dreams?

Meredith has some friends in town this week, so last night we all went to have dinner at her favorite restaurant, Contenedor. I have to admit that the restaurant was pretty awesome, and the food was bangin' (aka, really delicious). We shared 4 different courses; salmon with a type of coleslaw, hake with some kind of tasty sauce, rice with duck and mushrooms, and venison with apples. All of them were incredible. Yes, all of them. Even the fish. (Sorry, I don't have the pictures!)

The most notable part of my experience, though, was the pacharán that they served after the meal. Pacharán is an after dinner liqueur made with berries and anise. Yes, anise. I am not a fan of anise, but I drank it anyway.

No big deal, right?
But I'm pretty sure the pacharán is to blame for the outrageous dreams I had last night. They were so vivid and so ridiculous. I dreamt all night that I was running late to work. All night I was stressed about arriving on time today! And the most random people showed up in my dream as well-- people I haven't thought about in months, even years.

All I can say is, that's the last time I drink pacharán before bed.
But in case you're looking to spice up your dreams, go ahead and have a glass.

Just another day in the life...

In case you were looking for a snapshot into my daily life, here it is. Having tea on the balcony. It's sunny, I'm (relatively) tan, sitting at our awesome new table, overlooking the river. It's a great life, and somebody's gotta live it.

My Best Friend; My Worst Nightmare

If you have been to Sevilla in recent years, you may recognize the handy little bicycle station pictured above. This is a Sevici station-- one of the several across town where you can pick up and drop off bikes at your leisure. Pretty clever, right? Depending on the day, I may either love it or I hate it. There is no in between. Feelings are usually pretty extreme.

Lately though, I have been loving it. The Sevici gods have been smiling upon me, and I am happy to report that the last several bikes that I have rented have been good ones. No broken seats, no crooked pedals, no popped chains, broken handle bars, broken bells, or bikes that won't stay in gear. Or, maybe I have just learned the art of choosing a bike more carefully.

I like Sevici for a lot of reasons. Probably most of all, I love the word play. I love the way Sevici takes advantage of the interchangeable V and B in Spanish -- Sevici, Sebici ... same thing. And so dang clever. (I'm sorry, but ValenBici just doesn't have the same ring to it.)

Anyway, coming in close second, I love how easy Sevici is. I don't have to take care of a bike, worry about where to park it, or about it getting stolen. And I have a station right outside of my house. Sevilla is a rather bicycle friendly city, too. It's flat, and there are plenty of bike lanes. And cutting your walking times down by more than a half is definitely a perk when you're always late like I am.

But it's not all perfect, either. There are days when Sevici can be your worst nightmare. Imagine --- you're already running late for work. You take a Sevici thinking it will get you to the metro in no time. You ride your bike all the way there, only to find NO EMPTY PARKING SPACES! (This may or may not have happened to me once.) You continue riding along the path of the metro, hoping to find a space to park it. And 3 (yes, THREE) metro stops later, you finally find one. Needless to say, it probably would have been easier to walk in the first place.

And the opposite nightmare is common as well. When you really want a bike, sometimes there are none available! (I don't think this is quite as dramatic, though.)

Another frequent Sevici nightmare includes the broken bikes. And they can be broken in any number of ways, many of which I listed above. Yes, it's nice that I don't have to take care of a bike -- but it's frustrating that people destroy the bikes that aren't theirs to begin with -- especially when I happen to rent one of those broken bicycles.

This weekend, I experienced yet another nightmare. A new nightmare -- or new to me, anyway. The nightmare of the poorly parked bike. (Is it just me or does that sound like an Are You Afraid of the Dark episode??) When you return a bike to the station, you have to wait for it to beep. Twice. I swear I heard it beep, as always, but when I happenstantially went to the machine to check how long I had had the bicycle out, it told me that a técnico would have to come make sure I actually parked my bike. That was on Saturday. And surely technicians don't work on weekends. Which meant a full weekend without a bike. (Lucky for me, I have a pretty awesome roommate who doesn't mind lending me her Sevici card.)

Anyway, despite the complaints, I'm rather glad that Sevici exists. It makes life so much easier (usually). And I can cover way more ground than I could walking.

Two thumbs up, Sevici! Way to go.

Bliss.

My life feels increasingly like a movie these days.
From the antics that go on in this apartment (for better or worse), to the occasional rom-com reminiscent moments I've had lately, I feel like somebody is secretly filming some kind of Truman Show about me. But if this is a movie, it's a good one, and I don't mind starring in it.

Not much has changed since I last wrote ... which is why I haven't written anything. But I feel some outside pressure to update you *ahem*, so I'm doing it.

As cheesy, cliché, and unimaginative as it may sound, life is still fantastic. Spring has arrived to Sevilla, 100%, and of course I am enjoying it for all it's worth (before the unbearable heat sneaks up on us). I'm spending a lot of time outside, getting tan, reading books, painting pictures, talking with friends, going for walks, riding bikes... My days are full of all of the good things in life. Ever since my semester in Sevilla, I've wanted to spend a spring here. And now that I am here, and it's kind of hard to imagine how this could possibly get better.

I am greatly anticipating the smell of azahar, or the orange blossoms. It's all I hear about anymore. The buds are on the trees, but they haven't opened yet. It's only a matter of days! And then, I'm told, we're in for a week of olfactory bliss (or really bad allergies). I'm so pumped.

I don't really have much else to say, but I'd like to offer some advice:
Take a break and go read by a river, America. Your soul will thank you.

A monumental achievement (that's been way overdue)

You probably know by now that I'm an avid reader. But only in English. Today is a big day for me though. Today I finished my first non-required Spanish novel.

It's not that I haven't tried to read in Spanish before... it's just that I never finish reading anything that I start. I have a tendency to choose childish books thinking they will be easier to understand. After a few chapters, I usually realize that I just don't care about the story, and give up. My other cardinal sin, I think, is that I always try to underline all of the words I don't know. I'm kind of a perfectionist when it comes to language. I want to know what EVERYTHING means, and I don't want to make mistakes. But anybody can tell you that to learn a language, you have to make mistakes, and you can't be afraid to do so.

Granted this novel was a short one, but I read it in 2 days. (Ok, so at least I was impressed by my pace.) The book wasn't earth-shatteringly good or anything, but it was enjoyable. I didn't have any problem understanding the writing, or the story, and I didn't underline any words (it was a library book, after all). I mean, of course there were words I didn't know before, but I picked most of them up from the context. And the ones that I didn't, well... me da igual.

The story was a little strange... it wasn't what I was expecting, at least. But the title, Todo Lo Que Podríamos Haber Sido Tú y Yo Si No Fuéramos Tú y Yo, (or, Everything That You and I Could Have Been if We Weren't You and I) was too good to pass up. I loved the title -- it's humorous, it's complicated, it's long, it uses the conditional. The book only slightly reflects that -- it's humorous, but it's rather short and simple, and yes, it makes frequent use of the conditional and subjunctive tenses (and we all know I need the practice with these!).

I'm happy to have finally read a book in Spanish. Now if only I could find another one that holds my interest.
Any of you Spanish speakers have a recommendation?

Also, though it's seemingly unrelated, for some reason, I took a liking to this quote:
"Nunca se sabe qué encontrará uno tras una puerta. Quizá en eso consiste la vida: en girar pomos."
Roughly translated to: "You never know what one will find behind a door. Perhaps this is what life consists of: in turning doorknobs."

I would not be upset if you mailed these things to me...

Yep. I am posting this at the risk of sounding tacky. And yes, I feel like a child writing home from summer camp. But it has been way too long since I've received any mail, (I'm beginning to question whether somebody is intercepting it... or if you all have forgotten about me...) and just to elbow you in the right direction, I figured I'd share with you my latest cravings and necessities. But mostly cravings. You can do whatever you want with this information. ;)

 

Letters. Cute stationary preferred, but not required.

Girl Scout Cookies. Most notably Tagalongs or Samoas.

Macaroni and Cheese. The only antidote for the blue box blues.

 

 Tootsie Rolls. Why? I have no idea. 

 

Caramel Creams. Because sometimes you need a "grandma" treat.

 

Secret Flawless Invisible Solid -- Totally Fresh scent. Supplies are running low!

Don't have my address? Why didn't you say so! Ask my mom ... or send me an email! I will gladly share it with trustworthy individuals. :)

I am not dead.

Dear blog,
I have been horrible. Really, really horrible. I am well aware that it has been 3 weeks since I have last updated you. This whole time, I knew that I should be writing things, but the more time that passed, the less I felt like doing it. So today I'm biting the bullet. I don't even have anything interesting to say, but I just want you all to know that I'm not dead. In fact, quite the opposite.

These last few weeks have been pretty awesome, actually. While it still gets cold at night, the afternoons have been nice enough to sit outside and read or paint, to have coffee with friends, and just enjoy life. So, that's what I'm doing -- just enjoying life.

Also, I currently have the world's best roommates. This is a 180° turn from where I was a month ago, when I was living alone with The Creeper (aka Radio, aka Hungry Monkey, aka Tony). Life is so much better with friends around! In a strange and totally unexpected twist in life, after months of me looking for a new apartment and trying to get out, it turns out that all of my friends (not all of them, but you know what I mean) have come to live with me. So now we're a happy family -- Me, Ivan, Meredith ... and Tony. Still Tony. But being with friends has made everything so much more bearable and life is much more enjoyable.

Also, I have been/will be traveling a bit, which is always a fun addition to life.

Last weekend I went to Cádiz for Carnaval, which, as you may or may not know, is my favorite holiday in the world, as of last year. The best way I can think to describe it is like Halloween with more alcohol and Mardi Gras with less boobs. In Spain, it is celebrated as a ginormous costumed botellon, where everyone dresses up in highly original costumes, often with a common theme among friend groups. They bring their alcohol to the public squares to drink together. It's debauchery at it's finest. Ok, so before you get the wrong impression -- I didn't go for the debauchery so much. I went for the atmosphere. It has come as a shock to me lately that I AM OLD. I can no longer stay out all night. I can no longer drink without feeling hung over almost immediately. I don't like the loud music in bars anymore, (exceptions made for good DJs or good music). All signs point to old age. So our Carnaval adventure began with a train ride to Cádiz at 2pm, and by midnight we were in the car on our way back to Sevilla. I am really happy with the way things worked out, though. We had a great night, but I was still in bed by 2am. Us old people like our sleep.

This weekend, I will be going to Granada! And the weekend after, I will be taking a trip back up to Toledo. I already know these cities (as the Spanish would say)... but they're both great. Granada is fabulous, and I'm excited to spend a few days there, mostly for the free tapas. ;) Toledo, of course, is like my home away from home, and on this trip, I'll get to share it with some of my friends from Sevilla. I am quite looking forward to these adventures.

Well... Until next time, friends! Hopefully I'll have some good updates in the near future!

Happy Retirement, Mom!

Beauty.

After 41 years of nursing, the greatest woman I know, my mother, will be retiring tomorrow. You have no idea how much I wish I were there to celebrate this moment with her. After all those days of working overtime, of taking work calls at home, of meeting people outside of work, she will finally be able to let go a little and relax! She's not giving up nursing completely -- I don't think she ever will. But she's giving up her full time gig. I am so happy for her and hope she enjoys her new part time schedule. (And I'm sure she will!)

So here is where I gush about her, and let you all know how proud I am to have her as a mom.

As far as mothers go, I don't think I could have asked for a better one. She's my best friend, my best source of advice, my example. She is one of the most compassionate people I know. She is always willing to help others, and often goes the extra mile to do so, not caring what she has to give up in return. She's a hard worker. She fights for what she believes in. She is strong, beautiful, smart, thoughtful, caring, and selfless. And I can't imagine what my life would be like without her.

My mom has always been my biggest supporter. Always. She has always trusted me, and has always believed in me and my ability to make good choices. She gave me a lot of independence as a teenager, and in return, I always knew that she had my back when I needed her. She's the kind of mom that you can call at any time of night, with any kind of problem, and she will never get angry. All she cares about is our well-being and safety. She raised my brother and me on her own, and she gave up so much of her own time and life to make sure that we were able to do what we wanted to do. She would give anything to make sure we're happy -- and she has. It's not cheap or easy to move to Spain, but she makes it work. When I need somebody to talk to, she's the first person I call -- despite the time differences and international calling rates.  I hope she knows how much I have appreciated the sacrifices that she's made for me.

I just hope that someday I will grow up to be as compassionate and caring as she is. I hope that I can have the same strength and courage that she has, to fight for what I believe in. And I hope that when I have children of my own, I can be as good of a mother as she has been to me. The world needs more people like her.

I have definitely been blessed.
Love you, mom! I'm so proud of you! And I wish you all the best!

Is that what I think it is??

Some things, you just never expect to see.

This is what I found on my way to work this morning -- a man tightrope walking between buildings. I think it was an advertisement for something, but to be honest, I don't really know. I was in a hurry, initially irritated by the commotion that I was walking into. I thought it was just another tour group taking up the entire sidewalk, which is the typical source of commotion on my way to work. But when I got closer, I couldn't believe it. I had to walk under the rope to get where I was going, hoping he didn't choose to fall at the same exact moment. I snapped a quick cell phone picture, and then I continued to get on the metro, half wondering if I made up what I had just seen. Thank God for camera phones. This photo is legit, too... probably the coolest picture I've taken in a really long time. The subject matter is pretty awesome, too. I hope it makes your day like it made mine. :) Is it possible to witness something like this and not have it make your day?

This picture reminds me of a book I read last year called "Let the Great World Spin" by Colum McCann, which looks at the lives of several people in 1974, when a man tight rope walked between the Twin Towers. There is also a documentary about the walker, Philippe Petit, called "Man on Wire". So good, I recommend them both! 

The Little Sister in Me

I am a little sister. I am the last born -- a natural instigator (just ask my brother, cerca age 8). I learn how to press peoples' buttons, and I do so ever so slightly, enough to evoke a reaction. And then I innocently watch as the consequences unfold. (These days, I usually refrain from button-pushing, unless I just can't help it.)

I also thrive in an environment of slight disorder. (I said slight, Mom.) I don't make my bed. When I am working on a project, I like my supplies and notes to envelop me. When I am cooking, I like to leave dishes and opened jars of food all over the counter until I'm finished. When I am getting dressed, I like to leave piles of clothes on the bed or chair until I choose the right outfit (and sometimes I leave them longer). I like to live in a way that, if you should walk into my apartment at any given time, you would think, "somebody lives here."

Are any of those things wrong?

Maybe it's not wrong, but it's definitely wrong for this apartment. Though I don't care about the direction of the utensils in the silverware drawer, or the way my shampoo bottles sit in the shower, or how the tea towel (i.e. Terrible Towel) hangs in the kitchen, or which end of the laundry lines the knots sit on, or where the furniture sits in the living room, I have a flatmate who does care. Too much. Like, OCD too much.

Being the instigator that I am, I can't help but put the utensils in the opposite direction, knowing that they will be reversed the next time I open the drawer. I can't help but hang my bath sponge on the hook, knowing that the next time I enter the bathroom, it will be taken down. I can't help but leave the knots unaligned when I finish taking my laundry down.

And maybe it's wrong to instigate. But I am pretty sure it goes both ways.

Artsy Fartsy

This painting was my project for the week. I did it with watercolor paints and outlined it with a fine sharpie. It is based on a quote that I posted a few weeks ago.

Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that, but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing. -William Butler Yeats

 This is the first thing I have painted this year... and hopefully it's not the last (especially since I bought a 40 pack of watercolor paper). I'm just waiting for the winds of inspiration to blow my way. :)

The painting!

And edited, in picnik.. haha

Currently Reading...

And that's pretty much all that I've been doing lately. Just reading. Since I found myself without private English classes to give last week (and indefinitely), I seem to have much more time for myself. It's not like my lessons occupied that much time, but when I think about my schedule now, it's pretty much wide open.

Though I would definitely consider myself a reader, I don't usually read all that quickly. One year, I read 25 books in a year, and I thought that was good. This year I'm going for 30. I have already read three books in January. I'm halfway through the fourth. And right now, I have three books checked out from the library (Two in English, on my kindle, and one in Spanish, from the public library here). In three weeks, I have to return them all, which means I don't have time to stop the reading trend any time soon.

I figure that now is as good a time as ever to tell you just how much I love my Kindle. (And no, Amazon didn't put me up to this.) My mom bought me a Kindle for Christmas last year, and it has pretty much been my favorite ever since. I used to think that e-readers were just a trend, that they would never last, and that books had so much more character (no pun intended), especially used books. But books are also heavy, and they take up a lot of space in a suitcase, and they aren't always widely available in English when I want them. The beauty of the kindle, for me, is that in less than a minute, I can have almost any book I'd like to read in English (except for any of the Harry Potter books, clearly). Usually they are reasonably priced, too. And the best part is, I can still take the books home with me when I leave. In fact, I can carry them all around with me, every day, and never have to think twice about it.

So, naturally, my new favorite discovery is that I can check out books from the library to read on my Kindle. Impressive. But even more impressive is that I can borrow books from my library at home from another continent. Maybe I can't keep all of the notes and underlinings that I make in the book after I return it, but the beauty of not having to pay for every single book I download totally outweighs any inconvenience. I'd like to kiss whoever thought of this.

So... have you read anything good lately?

Want to Know What Heaven Smells Like?

In Spain, I have come across many things that heaven does not smell like. For instance, the horses that sit outside of the cathedral in Sevilla, or the smell of a pescadería (fish market), or the B.O. scent that tends to linger on public buses when it's warm outside.

But I have also found the closest scent possible to heaven -- a mixture of Catholic church incense and rosemary. This is the smell of Corpus Christi in Toledo. In Sevilla, it's the smell at the corner of Avenida de la Constitución and Calle García de Vinuesa, where a man sits daily outside of the Horno de San Buenaventura and peddles incesnse kits for at-home burning. (I kind of want one.)

I may not agree with everything in the Catholic church, but one thing we do have in common? -- What we think heaven should smell like.

'Bird by Bird' clippings

So, I just finished reading Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott. Maybe it's a strange book to pick up for a leisurely read, but I've actually wanted to read it for some time. Aside from this blog, and the occasional unfortunate entry in my real-life, tangible journal, and maybe a nonsense poem every now and then, I don't really write. But I like the idea of it. I wish I were a writer. So, I thought, perhaps this book could teach me a thing or two-- maybe it could fill me in on some of the secrets of the writer's life. I really enjoyed the book, mostly because I enjoy Anne Lamott and her incredibly honest, often amusing stories. But the book kind of gave me a glimpse into the life and thought processes of writer. I'm not exactly sure I'm up to the task, (it seems rather daunting and demanding), but I kind of like dabbling.

I borrowed this book from the library, (on my kindle!), and I was rather displeased to find out, after finishing the book, that your bookmarks and clippings don't actually show up in your clippings folder for borrowed books. So, I decided to write down what I "underlined". These are just some quotes that I liked. Some are relevant to life, some are less so. Some are funny, and some just sound nice. And yes, I could have just left these clippings in my "drafts" folder, but I figured, if I've already written them out, maybe you, too, could find some little gem of wit or wisdom to tuck away for later. I hope you enjoy them, and if you're at all interested in writing, I would definitely recommend the book.

Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist's true friend. What people somehow (inadvertently, I'm sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here--and, by extension, what we're supposed to be writing. p. 32

In general, though, there's no point in writing hopeless novels. We all know we're going to die; what's important is the kind of men and women we are in the face of this. p. 51

Just as everyone is a walking advertisement for who he or she is, so every room is a little showcase of its occupants' values and personalities. Every room is about memory. Every room gives us layers of information about our past and present and who we are, our shrines and quirks and hopes and sorrows, our attempts to prove that we exist and are more or less Okay. You can see, in our rooms, how much light we need--how many light bulbs, candles, skylights we have--and in how we keep things lit you can see how we try to comfort ourselves. The mix in our rooms is so touching: the clutter and the cracks in the wall belie a bleakness or brokenness in our lives, while photos and a few rare objects show our pride, our rare shining moments. p. 74

(talking about characters), you will finally have to admit that who they are isn't who you thought they were.
Dying people can teach us this more directly. Often the attributes that define them drop away--the hair, the shape, the skills, the cleverness. And then it turns out that the packaging is not who that person has really been all along. Without the package, another sort of beauty shines through. p. 83

if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans. p. 87

I honestly think that in order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent. If not, why are you writing? Why are you here? p. 99

Mostly things are not that way, that simple and pure, with so much focus given to each syllable of life as life sings itself. But that kind of attention is the prize. To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass--seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one. p 102

It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what's keeping things running right. p. 180

"Is life too short to be taking shit, or is life too short to be minding it?" quoted from Violet Weingarten's Intimations of Mortality p. 187

Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It's like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can't stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship. p.237

Overcoming the Bystander Effect, Kind Of.

So, as I mentioned in my last post, my days in Toledo were mostly great. But I also mentioned that something really unfortunate happened. After debating for a few days about whether or not I wanted to share this story, and to what extent of detail, I am finally attempting to let this all out.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, this is a horrifying story. And though I am not directly involved in what happened, it's kind of life-changing. I have spent approximately half of the last 4 days thinking about it, while simultaneously trying to "get over it". But I don't really know how. Aside from the friends who were with me when it happened, I have talked about it with less than a handful of people. Hopefully sharing it will help me to clear my mind a bit more. So here goes.

Friday was a fairly carefree day for Bailey, Elizabeth, and me. We, (or should I say, I) woke up in the early afternoon, and not really wanting to jump directly on a bus to Madrid, we decided to stay in Toledo an extra night. We didn't really do much all day, but we did go out for tapas at night. We left our favorite restaurant around 1 AM, trying to decide if we should get another drink or not on the way home.

About 2 minutes after leaving the restaurant, we heard an American girl crying hysterically in English saying, "Where is she?? Is she alive?? Tell me where she is!!" Her friends, not native English speakers, were forcefully trying to calm her down. The three of us just looked at each other, confused. Should we help?

To be honest, my first instinct was that she was probably just really drunk. After all, it was 1 AM on a Friday night, and she was probably just talking about a cat or something. But after some more crying and screaming, between the three of us, we decided to ask and make sure everything was okay. But we never expected the situation that we walked into.

It turns out that the crying girl has been living in Toledo, and she had 2 friends from home come to visit her that morning. They were hanging out at another friend's apartment, when one of the American girls somehow fell from the 3rd floor to the ground patio. This part of the story is still rather unclear. We don't really know if she was drinking, or how much she was drinking, or where she fell from, or how. All I know is that I took a peek into the patio and saw one of the most horrifying sights of my life. As one who does not handle blood or injury well, I knew that I couldn't go out into the patio.

Because the police and ambulance had not arrived yet, our first priority was making sure they had been called. The scene was rather chaotic, as you can imagine. The fact that there were three of us meant that we could all simultaneously talk to the people involved, try to offer support and calm them, and help with translation issues between the girls and the police when needed. I cannot imagine going through this experience in my hometown, in my native language. To be in a foreign country and speaking a foreign language must have made it all the more upsetting.

The scene was just so chaotic. None of her friends really knew what happened, or how, or what to do next. There were so many police, many of whom weren't in uniform, and none of whom spoke English. The poor woman who lived in the bottom apartment was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as well. And the truth is, none of us really knew how the girl was doing. One of her friends was a nurse, and luckily, she was able to help her and stay with her, but none of us knew whether the outcome would be good or bad. When the ambulance came, they were able to stabilize her. They were with her for a long time, and then they took her to the nearest hospital. The next day, we learned that they were going to keep her in a coma for a few days. And as of yesterday, we heard that they are still waiting, but that she seems to be doing a little better.

Having seen all of this, everything seems kind of trivial now. Everything we were worried about all day paled in comparison to the events that unfolded. I can't help but be grateful for life. I thank God for his protection, and pray that he will continue to protect me and my loved ones. I know it seems like a crazy detail, but some of my friends actually lived in the apartment that this girl fell from last year. When I think about that, I can't help but think about how it could have been any of us, and I just thank God that it wasn't.

At the same time, I am terrified of accidents now. To think that you could look forward to a trip to Spain for so long, show up, and end up in a coma on your first night there leaves me with a gnawing sense of discomfort, knowing that the world is chaotic and life is unfair. I am suddenly afraid of being so far away from my family, should anything happen to me, or God forbid, to one of them. I know that "God has a plan for everything", but when you see something like this, it's hard to see what good can possibly come of it. The whole ordeal has left me with both deeper faith and deeper questioning. Every time she crosses my mind, I pray for her and her friends and family, and I just can't imagine the pain and feelings that they are having to deal with. If I am this affected by it, imagine what they feel.

And somehow, I still feel really guilty. Despite the fact that we did stop to help, I keep thinking about how I almost didn't stop. I wanted to keep on walking. Bystander effect, right? If there's really a problem, someone else will help. Getting involved with a hysterical stranger at 1 AM didn't really seem like a good idea. But I just thank God that my friends talked me into it. Now I can't imagine not stopping. I can't imagine having to go through that situation alone, especially in a foreign language. I think that our presence helped to calm the girls down, and I think they were really grateful that we were there.

So did we overcome the bystander effect? I guess so. But as a psychology major, having studied it so much in school, I wish my first instinct would have told me to stop and help a stranger.

Anyway, I just ask that you pray for Lauren, the girl who fell, and for her friends, Megan and Julie, and her family. I really can't imagine how horrible of a phone call that must have been, on either end. Pray for healing, and for peace and comfort.

And the next time you see someone that might need help, stop. Because you may be helping more than you really know.

2012, Can You Start Being Nicer? Please?

my roscón treasure!

Well, here we are, a little over a week into 2012. And how has it been? Let's just say that I might believe people when they say the world is going to end this year. If my first week is any indication of things to come, I'm scared. But despite the bad things that have happened, most have been resolved favorably. And I did get the figurita in a piece of roscón de reyes, sooo... prosperity and good luck are headed my way! I guess we'll just have to wait and see! 

To begin, my computer broke the night before my return to Spain. The power jack broke, and it would no longer charge. After lots of last minute scrambling, and even a little bit of crying in a computer repair shop when they told me they couldn't help me, and after spending my last 2 hours in the United States transferring all of my music and pictures onto my mom's laptop, I am happy to say that it seems that things are going to be okay. My mom, being the awesome lady she is, gave me her laptop.. and reminded me that I had bought a warranty for my own.. and the warranty is going to cover the whole cost of repair. And when it comes back, she is just going to use my computer. Whew... what horrible timing. And also, what good timing. Thank God my computer didn't break after I got here. That would have really been bad!

Anyway, I also found out the day after arriving to Spain that my mom would be having surgery in a few days. I was kind of distraught. I think that the worst part of being away from home is not being able to be there for those kinds of situations. So, I was really nervous. But, the good news is that she went in for surgery today. And everything turned out fine. I think it was even better than they had thought, because they let her go home the same day. I was really relieved to hear that.

Also, my first few days back in Spain were spent in Toledo and Madrid. Mostly Toledo, though. I'm sure that by now, you all know how much I love it. It was a nice weekend... for the most part. I got to hang out with Bailey and Liz, and we stopped at all of our old favorite places. It's nice to go back, to feel so comfortable there, to be recognized by waiters and store clerks, and to be asked how we're doing. We wandered the streets, found new shortcuts (because let's face it, there are always shortcuts to be learned in Toledo), and we watched the cabalgata, or the parade for Three Kings Day, which included real, live elephants! Unfortunately, the weekend had it's own share of interesting events, but that deserves its own post, I think.

Tomorrow is my first day back to work. I am kind of excited. I think it will just be good to get back into a routine. And maybe going to work will be the thing that finally breaks my jet lag. Since arriving, I have not gone to bed before 4am, and I have not gotten up before 2pm. Seeing as how I have to be at school by noon tomorrow (I know, I know, I can hardly complain, right?), it looks like I will have to force myself into a normal sleep schedule. Bring it on!

My apartment continues to be a rather hostile environment, but I just learned today that a friend of mine is moving in. Good news! And hopefully better news will follow shortly (that somebody will be on their way out!)!

Also here, I would like to make note of the Steelers losing their first playoff game last night. What a shame. Just when I thought we had reason for hope, it ended just like that... We'll get 'em next year.

But you see, 2012? You need to start being nicer.

Beauty and Kindness

Wise words.