Dear Family and Friends,
It takes a village to raise a child
and a bus ride to get my pen moving. There is something about staring
out a window at passing scenery that puts me in a pensive mood. If I’m
in the backseat of a car, it puts me in a puking mood, but on a bus, I
see my own reflections in the glass and feel inspired to write them
down. Assuming that the elderly and pregnant get the assistance they
need in a timely fashion, it’s a 27 minute trip into Valladolid, which
I’ll use as a start on an update.
My excuse for not writing is
that I’ve been under the weather…not as in sick, but more like under the
influence of bad climate...like my mood has been thrown under the tires
of gray skies, cold , rain, cold and walking around in a shivering self-hug hoping to leech my own body heat to battle the cold
drizzle. I produce about as much body heat as a cucumber, so I prefer
to stay home in front of the wood stove, which has added cabin fever to
my list of ailments. “Hate” is not too strong of a word to describe my
sentiments toward cold, which is why the threat of going to
hell does not scared me. I’m hoping to go there, actually, which
explains my incessant need to curse, dance, drink, play cards, and chase
women. I hope the devil has a seat waiting for me pulled right up next
to the hottest fire down there. Some hot chocolate would be nice too,
but I doubt the devil would be so hospitable.
----three days later----
See
what a little whining will do?-- spring’s water has broken at last and
it’s brought out my animalistic nature. The first day of sunshine,
after going for a run in only shorts and a sports bra, I wallowed in the
dandelions and daisies like a hound dog rolls in something dead,
snaking the spine and pushing off with the back legs for good coverage.
Before exiting the patch, I got down on all fours to give both cheeks a
rub for the road, and then I bounced off, tail wagging. I’m so afraid
that if I don’t show spring some love, it will go away. I shall frolic
like a kid of the bhaaaaing kind until clouds again dampen the spirit.
Aside
from the weather, the update reports that I’m entering week 4 of
stagnation. In the work realm things have not gone as planned. Marta
still hasn’t found a place to open her bar, so my vision of sliding
frothing mugs of beer down a wooden countertop goes unfulfilled. Being a
barmaid is not a role I’ve ever aspired to, but at least it would be
something different that requires no lesson plans or grading. I was
actually looking forward to it now that the Spanish government has
passed the brilliant law that PROHIBITS SMOKING IN ALL PUBLIC PLACES,
including bars. “Genial,” as the Spaniards would say.
The travel
bug has not left my veins. I’ve inquired with 64 tourism organizations
about employment, but nada. I’m getting so desperate that I am filling
out apps for chaperoning summer abroad programs for teens (even those
who need to have a knot jerked in their tail, as we say in the Holler),
some even volunteer gigs. Hell, I’ve considered ones where I have to pay
to do it. My soul craves adventure and it will not leave me in peace
until it gets it. Marta understands this and wisely encourages that I
have a Latin-American whirl, knowing restlessness would breed shallow
roots.
My inner guru is on strike and has a nasty attitude the
moment. Part of me clamors that I could be using this time to work on
myself--practicing patience, training my mind to think positively,
enforcing the law of attraction, being in the now, accepting what is, so
on and so forth, but I’m not in the mood. Anxiety is having its way
with me and I’m coping with a yoga class here and there, long runs and
hours of internet job searching. “This too shall pass,” comes to mind,
and when I get that job and whine for a break, someone will remind me,
“remember when you were in Spain….”
So, my dear ones, I conclude
one of my drier travel missives and look forward to telling you about
the whopper of an adventure that is sure to come. As I write this,
Marta and I are on the road in route to the pueblo where she was raised
in Austurias. We are running parallel to El Camino de Santiago and I
feel the wild hair to hike it is sprouting.
Much love to each and all. I miss you. Please write.
G
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